Ch. 8/THEN
CFA Washington CFA-1028
May 8, 2300
The original commander of the CFMF Tactical Fleet, Rear
Admiral Kristan Overstreet (pay grade O8) stood in the office of the
current Tactical Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Robert Hemphill (pay
grade O9), pacing as he received a status report from his new- gah!-
commanding officer.
Robert Hemphill had been with the Freespacers for some fifty
years, after the (untrue) accusation of an affair with a married woman
forced him out of both the military and the minor nobility of the
Manticoran Star Kingdom. His military career was marked with command
mediocrity, administrative blundering, and political genius. He held
his current rank and position as payment for his support in Aves
Rand's successful campaign for Freespacer Fleet Commander in 2285. At
the moment, he was quite literally the most powerful person in the
Freespacer nation, at least until Kris had returned.
With the reactivation of his old commission, Kris stood one
pay grade below the old Manticoran officer, but as the founder of the
fleet he still had every right to pace, rant, and blow off steam.
Or so he thought, anyway.
"Let me see," Kris said. "The Tactical Fleet has been running
strictly on a defensive status- with no contracts at all- for almost
twelve years. A third of the fleet has mutinied altogether and is
acting as a part of the Royal Salusian Navy. RebelTech is being
undersold by BudgetArms in every market. Pirates are running rampant,
and fleets under GENOM- GENOM!!- are filling the void left by the
collapse of the WDF. Last, and certainly not least, the Tactical Fleet
has not grown by one ship since I left a century ago- in fact, one
ship has been decommissioned. Have I missed anything?"
"That is essentially the situation, yes," Hemphill said. The
grey-haired, rail-thin former nobleman looked blandly over his desk at
the scruffy-looking man whose only concession to uniform was an
ancient embroidered wreathed star on the left lapel of his flightsuit.
"If you can recover the rebel ships, I'll put you in command over them
until we can find some escape clause in their-"
"Who commands them now?" Kris growled.
"They follow the orders of Rear Admiral James Joseph Condorcet
XV," Hemphill said bitterly. "He's calling for my court-martial or
resignation, and quite frankly I have no intention of giving him the
satisfaction. We have a fleet to protect, by God, and we can't do it
with just the refugees from the WDF!"
"How many refugees are we talking about?"
"Three capital ships- it used to be four, but the WDF Alden
blew up in an asteroid collision last year- plus all the available
Defiant-class and Centurion-class gunboats from the Dahak Base
evacuation," Hemphill said. "They've been registered as Home Fleet
ships until further notice."
"-Home- Fleet?"
"The Home Fleet has suffered in the past from relying on a
criminally weak starfighter patrol and the irregular forces provided
by the independent shipowners of the Home Fleet. Once the security of
our civilian population and industrial base is assured, we can
consider affairs outside the Fleet."
Kris took a couple of deep breaths and managed to say, "What
did you have planned for the fleet once we reunited it?"
Hemphill ticked items off on his fingers. "We court-martial
and eject the mutineers, we reorganize for maximum defense of the Home
Fleet, we keep moving until such a time as the galactic instability
subsides. Once the Galactica's internal situation is settled, we can
return to selling our services as a mercenary fleet- on a much reduced
basis, of course."
Kris narrowed his eyes and stared at the superannuated man
carefully. "What is the financial situation of the fleet at this
time?" he asked softly.
"We're currently running on maintenance only," Hemphill said.
"All refits and new ships have been put on indefinite hold, including
the Plymouth Mk. IV project. The mutineers are without pay, that
helps. My accountants say the payroll checks will start bouncing by
February of next year at our current limited rate of expenditure,
although loans with the fleet as collateral could keep things going
another twenty months."
"And you're not going out and getting contracts to at least
defray expenses?"
"We cannot risk the safety of the Home Fleet!" Hemphill said.
"At any time the same thing could happen to us that happened to
Dahak-"
"I have news for you, sir," Kris growled, "it already is.
Except this time, instead of turbolasers, the bad guys are using
credit."
Hemphill stared at Kris for a long moment, then said,
"Admiral, you are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir," Kris said, and with his best military
bearing, he turned on his heel and marched out of the office. With a
growl he reached for the door to slam it; a second later, he
remembered that in the past 168 years since it had been -his- office,
the hinged door had been replaced with sliding doors.
As Kris stormed out, he flicked a glare towards the Admiral's
personal secretary, who was looking at her terminal, at the walls, at
him, anywhere but at the short redheaded person standing just inside
the outer doorway. The young-looking woman had her long hair tied up
into a sort of crab-shaped style, save for a tailing end which spun
down her back to her knees. She held her pubescent body with the
confidence of a grown woman, and in her eyes glittered a stare that
said in big block letters I KNOW MORE THAN YOU DO.
Kris knelt and hugged Washuu tight, not letting go for a
fairly long time.
"So you've finally forgiven me?" Washuu said at last.
Kris let go at once. "No. But I missed you anyway." After a
few seconds of awkward silence, he added, "Been a while, hasn't it?"
"Ninety-eight years," Washuu said. "I was tempted to go find
you, once or twice... especially after Sonset..."
"Sonset?"
"S-O-N-S-E-T. Someone coined the word a month or two after it
happened." As Kris still looked confused, she added, "As in the Son
crashing on Musashi."
"Oh," Kris sighed. "I really have a lot to catch up on."
"Start catching fast," Washuu said, stepping out into the
corridor. "That idiot Hemphill must have told you about the military
side of things. Well, the financial side is much worse."
"How much worse can it be than open mutiny?" Kris sighed.
Washuu looked straight up at him and said, "Nalga the Hutt is
attempting a hostile takeover of RebelTech."
"Who the Whutt?"
"Nalga the Hutt. He's one of the bigger GENOM henchmen around
these days," Washuu said. "Right now he owns about forty percent of
RebelTech. The CFMF still holds its twenty-six, you're holding about
seventeen-"
"Seventeen? It used to be twenty-five!" Kris said.
"Stock splits, new issuances, ate into the deal while you were
gone," Washuu said. "Anyway, the other seventeen percent is scattered
here and there. JJ #15 holds about ten percent of it, and Nalga's
pushing for a vote to cash him out of that. If JJ loses his share,
Nalga's forty becomes forty-four, enough to outvote you and the Fleet
share combined. He gets the majority he needs, and RebelTech becomes a
subsidiary of GENOM... and the Freespacers get the shaft."
"Great," Kris said. "Why haven't they done the same thing to
me?"
"They would have, if I weren't around," Washuu said. "I've
had to fight off Nalga's attempts to have you declared legally dead
several times, but everyone else accepts me as your proxy, especially
since my term as Freespacer Fleet Commander."
"I served as Freespacer Fleet Commander while you were gone,"
Washuu grinned.
Kris blinked. For emphasis, he blinked again. "You... were the
Chief of State... of the Freespacer nation?"
"Back in the 2360s," Washuu nodded.
"Okay," Kris leaned against the bulkhead and counted on his
fingers, "so an idiot's commanding the CFMF- except for the part which
is calling for his resignation. That part is commanded by a man whose
hash I have to save or else the corporation which- allegedly- vaped
the WDF will swoop down and take away the Freespacer nation's main
source of employment, income, and economic stability. And, last but
not least, the Freespacers spent six years with Washuu Hakubi as their
Chief of State" He shook his head and strode out into the corridor,
mumbling, "Can't leave the fleet for one little century without
everything going to pot..."
The rest of the afternoon, in Kris' mind, proceeded to go from
bad to worse, beginning with the brief appeal over Hemphill's head to
the Freespacer Fleet Commander.
Joseph Hanrahan, the current Chief of State of the Confederate
Freespacers Alliance, kept his statement short and to the point.
"Admiral Overstreet, your service and history with the Freespacers is
appreciated, but without some tangible service to the Fleet -now,-
there is no possible way I can promote you over Admiral Hemphill.
Hemphill's lackeys and supporters hold a solid power bloc in both
houses of the Legate, and the others parties are divided. At this
moment, they support Hemphill for lack of any better choice- they
certainly won't support Jimmy Condorcet.
"Get me results," he stated, turning his back on Kris, "and
you can write your ticket. Until then, you play Hemphill's game."
Almost as soon as he'd stepped foot out of the Fleet
Commander's office, Washuu had dragged Kris into her lab, insisting on
personally giving him a thorough checkup. Kris suffered in silence as
he hung immobile from the examination rack, wearing nothing but his
worn-out old briefs, as Washuu ran scan after scan and test after test
on his person. Somehow, despite the century between now and the last
time he'd done this, everything seemed familiar, as it should be. He
could even relax a bit, familiar with most of Washuu's innuendoes by
now and trusting her to keep things to words.
He had just decided that things were not quite as bad as he
thought when the blonde bombshell, in the tight, improbably curved
T-shirt and nearly obscene cutoffs walked into the examination area.
"So Washuu, you wanted to see me about some- _HELLO_, who's
this?" The buxom young woman bounced over to examine the specimen
hanging on the rack, running a hungry glance over his nearly naked
body. If she'd been standing close enough, Kris had no doubt she would
have run more than her glance over him.... especially since her
glances kept returning to the small, threadbare piece of cotton cloth
which represented Kris' last remaining measure of modesty.
On the heels of his initial shock, Kris felt the chills of
fear which signaled the presence of esper or Force talent. He forced
himself to keep his voice calm, saying "Washuu, who the hell is
this?"
Washuu turned to Gina, nodding greeting. "Gina, this is Kris
Overstreet, also known as Redneck, also known as my personal Guinea
pig. Kris, this is Gina Shannon... my personal student."
Gina's eyes flickered with excitement. "This is Kris? The Kris
you keep telling me about? Cool!" She looked the captive up and down,
grinning a hungry smile. "I can't wait to get my hands on him!"
"Ah ah ah," Washuu smiled, waving a finger at Gina. "You'll
have to wait your turn, hon... until I'm done with him." She stretched
the waistband of Kris' underwear, letting it snap back into place
playfully as he gaped at her. "Maybe in a few hundred years."
"Over my dead body," Kris said a bit too loudly, glaring at
both of them. "Washuu, if this is another one of your jokes, I am not
fucking LAUGHING!!"
"Oh, lighten up," Washuu smiled, "We have to do a full scan
anyway... with -ALL- the samples..."
"You can NOT be serious," Kris said.
"Oh yes I can," Washuu giggled.
"Let me take the samples!" Gina said, bouncing (and jiggling
uncontrollably) in place. "I have some great ideas on collection
methods!"
"Washuu. You will send her -AWAY- *NOW.*" Kris was not in any
mood for this kind of a joke; enough was enough.
Washuu looked Kris in the eyes, challenging him. "Why? She's
my student. I trust her..." She smiled slyly and added, "...and she's
-very- diligent and -very- dedicated."
"And besides," Gina grinned, leering at Kris, "Washuu keeps
telling me I need more hands-on training." The tone of voice could not
possibly have been more suggestive.
Red sighed. He despised using The Voice, but he saw no other
way to get rid of the blonde... and he would NOT be gawked at by an
audience. <<Gina. Why don't you step out for a little while?>> he
purred.
Gina smiled and giggled. "Oh, cool! You can do that too? My
parents taught me all about it. This is gonna be fun!"
Washuu glared at Red, suddenly very serious. "Hm. Gina, I
think you had better leave us alone for a bit. Take five."
Gina pouted, "Oh, okay." Half-slumping, she walked out of the
examination area, leaving Washuu and Red alone.
"Thank you," Kris said, sighing with relief... then noting the
genuine anger on Washuu's face.
"Kristan Overstreet," Washuu said, her voice hissing with a
rage kept quiet through sheer willpower, "you will NEVER do that in my
presence, never again!"
Kris, totally nonplused, blinked and muttered, "Um, Washuu,
what-"
"Never!" Washuu shouted, eyes flashing, daring him to say
something. "Listen to me very carefully. We've got a lot of catching up
on each other to do, so get used to this. Gina is my protégé. Until
such time as she decides to step out on her own, she is my equal
partner in everything we do. She'll be with me any time she feels like
it, at any examination, experiment, study, anything! This is the way
it is. Accept it."
"But Washuu-"
"And one more thing," Washuu growled. "Mental shenanigans like
that parlor stunt you tried to use on Gina do -not- affect me, so
write them off completely anytime you're around me! Understood?"
Washuu shouted, losing control of her voice, shrieking at him.
Kris flinched a little at Washuu's rage. Something about
magic, mysticism, and the Force always got under her skin, but he'd
never seen her so visibly upset before. "You've changed," he said at
last.
"We've both changed," Washuu replied, a bit calmer but still
angry. "We'll have to learn just how much we've both changed... but if
we are to go on from here, you will promise. No mind tricks."
"...All right," Kris nodded. "I promise."
"Good," Washuu said, calm again. "Now, I'm about to call Gina
back in here. And don't worry about the flirting," she smiled. "It's a
joke, that's all."
"Does she know that?" Kris asked worriedly.
Washuu giggled and stepped out into the foyer, and as he
shifted in the harness, Red groaned and prepared for a very long day
indeed.
Ch. 8/NOW
Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere
August 18, 2388
The Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet, a handful of days
after losing most of its ships and personnel, held the largest
manpower force in its entire history.
Within twelve hours of the CFMF's arrival at Zeta Cygni,
twenty thousand Freespacers called into active CFMF service had merged
with a handful of WDF coordinators and formed full crews for
twenty-five ships ranging from Miranda-class light cruisers to
Yamato-class battleships. An additional five thousand engineers from
RebelTech Industries crawled among forty other ships, speeding up
construction through various dirty but effective shortcuts. Other
Freespacers, mostly Commodore O'Keefe's hastily organized Supply
Combat Force, were assisting with the patrol of Zeta Cygni space,
escorting refugee ships into the Sphere and allowing the dedicated war
wagons of the WDF to save their energies for the battle itself.
The results of the CFMF reserve activation proved nothing less
than stunning. The CFMF-crewed ships turned out to be tight
operations, despite the CFMF crewmen's tendency to laugh at some of
the more conventional officers' orders. Within 36 hours, only three
ships remained under construction; the CFMF Camelot, replacing most of
its armor in addition to its drive systems; the Wandering Child, whose
complex drive systems would require ReRob Mandeville to make
operational, and the Alaska-class battleship WDF Arizona, whose
impulse drive had to be torn completely out and rebuilt. Engineers on
all three ships worked around the clock to get them into anything
approaching combat readiness.
During these three days (and before), Kris went through the
motions of command, writing up orders, reviewing reports, forwarding
the most relevant points on to WDF command. Those of his friends who
stopped by his temporary office in the Utopia Planitia Shipyards
noticed a total lack of emotion, except when they gave their
condolences for Washuu. Then, for a moment or two, Kris' face would
tighten, and he would whisper, very quietly, "Thank you."
Not many stayed long after that.
Those few who tried to break through Kris' emotional walls-
especially Terri and Sparky- soon found themselves completely locked
out. After the first day, a guard was posted in front of the office
door for one purpose- to keep Lt. Theresa Curtiss away. Written
inquiries were answered curtly at first, and later ignored, as Kris
shut everyone out except when he needed someone to do something.
And things got done.
In addition to crewing or finishing dozens of WDF ships, the
CFMF reservists performed miracles on their own force. The Camelot had
a new warp core installed and operating in twenty hours, and by
Thursday morning her vital systems were all in perfect working order,
although several cracked and scarred armor plates had to be left in
place. Wounded crewmen on all the CFMF ships were transferred to the
CFA Clara Barton to recuperate, replaced in many cases by their
mothers, fathers, siblings, cousins, and friends. Although the CFMF
could no longer claim to be even a minor galactic power, it was again
an effective fighting force.
The single flaw in CFMF reservist activation, the starfighter
force, lay not in any lack of pilots, but in a severe shortage of
spare X-Wings for the CFMF pilots to fly. Only three combat-worthy
fighters could be assembled from the spare parts in Camelot's hold,
and that, plus the three surviving fighters from Wilderness and the
eight fighters and pilots of the MASS-01 Rebel Squadron, left fourteen
fighters for the battered Camelot to launch when the time came.
With two of the three Wilderness surviving pilots still out
wounded, this left five ships open for volunteer reservists. Kris
intended to fly one personally- his ancient Y-wing was still in the
Freespacer museum and couldn't possibly be refurbished in time. Terri
and Little Joe refused to be left out of the fight, and with deep
misgivings Kris added their names to the roster. The two other
surviving members of the original eight Rebel Squadron pilots, Tark
and Mesha Greyelf, had volunteered as a pair, and Kris chose them to
fill the last two spots.
And then there was one more volunteer...
The Right Honorable Ambassador of Cybertron, Powerglide, late
Captain in the 1st Autobot Air Cavalry, sat on the hangar deck of the
Camelot in vehicle mode, his normal air turbine jet engines replaced
by twin Novaldex ion-thrust engines. For the moment, he was the
commanding officer of the temporarily restored MASS-02 Cavalier
squadron, and he was listening along with the fourteen humanoid X-Wing
pilots and their astromechs to the pre-flight briefing given by the
Redneck, who stood in his own flight suit as Commander and flight
leader of Rebel Squadron. Beneath them all, the Camelot's deck
shuddered as the hastily-repaired carrier shuddered along on partial
impulse to its spot in the WDF fleet deployment. Combat with GENOM lay
only moments away.
"Our primary mission will be aggressive anti-fighter
screening," Kris pointed out. "Wingmen stick by your wingleader at all
times. We know the GENOM forces are flying almost exclusively TIE
series fighters, with the exception of the Alpha-class Starwing
gunboat. Thankfully, GENOM ain't got many of those yet.
"Be prepared to fall back to cover the Camelot from bomber
attack. We don't think Camelot is a high priority target, but it never
hurts to be safe.
"I don't have to tell you how to fight against TIEs," Kris
continued, "since all of you have met them in starfighters or fought
them on smuggling runs. For Tark and Mesha, I'll add that an X-Wing
handles like a Headhunter," and here he summoned a very small smile,
"only better." Sobering, he added, "Everyone, be careful. We'll make
those bastards pay for Wilderness... but don't get yourself into
trouble on a revenge trip. I don't want any more useless sacrifice."
A siren sounded in the hangar; Dave Ritchie, the pro tem
starfighter commander, had given the signal for all carriers to launch
craft. "Well, that's just about everything," Kris said. "Remember, at
engagement plus five minutes, we deploy to attack. Trust me, you'll
know when." Kris actually did grin, this time with an evil-looking
amusement. "Okay, people, get to your ships, we've got two minutes to
clear the bay!"
The pilots scrambled to their ships, each already loaded with
its astromech, warming up the fusion turbines for ignition. Powerglide
watched as six of the seven other pilots in Cavalier Squadron hustled
up the boarding ladders into their cockpits; the seventh caught the
Redneck by one arm and whispered (Powerglide had to turn up the gain
on his sensors to catch it), "Kris..."
"I'm sorry," he replied, gently holding her arms and pushing
her away. "Maybe later..." Then he turned and ran for his fighter, and
a second later the young woman jammed on her flight helmet and trotted
listlessly towards her fighter.
Powerglide turned his attention towards the other fighters in
Cavalier Squadron- and thankfully away from Lt. Curtiss- watched the
pilots close the hatches and rush through a preflight check. The
customary walk-around check had been performed before the briefing, to
save time on launching, and now the last of the safety formalities
were being followed before the various fighters lifted from their
landing struts and moved into the launch corridor.
Powerglide ignited his own engines and taxied to the end of
the launch runway. As the only fighter without repulsorlift or a full
set of maneuvering thrusters in the group, Powerglide was less
maneuverable than the X-Wings, but like the A-10 he was shaped like,
he could take and deliver a ton of punishment- and unlike an A-10, he
was one of the fastest things in sublight, capable of outrunning a
photorp if he had to.
Ahead of him, the seven Rebel Squadron X-Wings lifted, led by
the Redneck himself. Beacon lights flashed and sirens blared as the
carrier's massive hangar doors retracted, revealing the blackness of
space through the light blue tint of the atmospheric containment
field. The deck rumbled with the vibrations of thrusters lifting and
pushing fighter after fighter out of the bays, into the launch
corridor, and out of the ship, where they switched over to full ion
thrust and moved into patrol formation around the Camelot and its
escorts.
The last Rebel Squadron ship cleared the hangar doors, and
Powerglide received the Camelot ATC officer's clearance to launch.
With a roar of hot ion thrust, Powerglide slammed his throttle
to maximum, leaping into motion down the two hundred meter runway. The
other fighters of Cavalier Squadron, hovering in position along the
runway, blurred past as Powerglide shot down the hangar, accelerating
through into the short zero-G zone at the end of the runway. The
briefest of shudders took his flex-metal frame as he passed through
the containment field, and then he was free, out in open space.
As he retracted his landing gear and rolled up to fly over the
pocket carrier, Powerglide scanned behind him to see each fighter of
Cavalier Squadron rise in single file from the hangar. Over the
squadron's command channel, he heard, "Cool takeoff, Cav 1! Can you
teach us how to do that?"
"Secure that, Cav 4," Powerglide replied. "Form up, echelon
right on my wing. Prepare to swing around 180 to starboard on my mark
and hold position."
As the squadron caught up to him, Powerglide allowed himself a
small smile beneath his facemask, concealed in turn beneath his
ventral armor. I could get used to squadron command, he thought, and
it's a lot more fun than playing Ambassador.
With a series of massive spacetime ripples, the GENOM fleet
shuddered into existence before the eyes of the WDF and her allies.
Almost as quickly as the enemy flickered into realspace, the WDF
forces advanced, opening fire and closing at high speeds to point
blank range. In moments the two fleets were entangled amid each other,
ship fighting ship in one of the largest melee battles since the end
of the Yoma-Santovasku Wars, thousands of years before.
As Kris held Rebel Squadron in position and thumbed through
the targeting options, he took notice of one interesting fact; the
GENOM fleet had no Interdictor cruisers remaining to it. A humorless
smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth; apparently the engagement at
Wilderness had served some purpose. "Sixty seconds to attack," he
called out to his two squadrons. "Rebel Squadron will be flying
search-and-destroy on all bomber squadrons threatening our carrier
group. Cavalier Squadron, you are authorized for a bombing run on the
Ikazuchi carrier Brian Mason. Forty-five seconds, all fighters report
in."
One by one, six other Rebel Squadron pilots, and eight
Cavalier pilots, announced their readiness to attack. With Cav 8's
'standing by' call, Redneck muttered, "Lock S-foils into attack
position, stand by," then switched channels and said, "CFMF Camelot,
this is Rebel One. Secure for Goldfish Warning, repeat secure for
Goldfish Warning."
Five seconds later, the command channels of all the GENOM
ships and starfighter squadrons blared with a tune only military
historians had heard since the 21st century. As its incredibly
cheerful and perky music flooded the headsets of every pilot and
communications officer in the GENOM force (and played more pleasantly
as background in the WDF force), Cavalier Squadron peeled off from its
ready position and dove in, one after another, for its torpedo run on
the nearest Ikazuchi carrier.
Kris toggled his targeting computer to a trio of TIE Bombers
approaching the Camelot. "Rebel 3, Rebel 4, Rebel 7, Rebel 8," he
said, "target TIE Bomber group Third Meta and intercept. Rebel 5,
Rebel 6, stick with me and watch for fighter escorts."
As he shoved his throttle to full, Kris looked overhead to see
a group of corvettes and destroyers, including the Confederacy and
T'Pau, roaring down from the Dyson sphere for its own attack run, in
this case on the Imperial Star Destroyer Despot.
And who knew, Kris thought as he watched for any sign of TIE
Interceptors, who knew how many of the WDF ships currently had
Freespacer crewmen on them?
Green blaster bolts flew past his canopy, and pausing only a
moment to target the TIE Fighter group attacking him, he pulled out of
the direct line of fire, diving and turning to loop behind his
attacker.
Funtime.
On the Zardon Republican Guard battleship ZRS Fargo, Captain
Jon An'dresen smiled at the first echoes of the chipper song
backgrounding all the WDF-friendly command channels. Behind him, his
communications officer shook his head in confusion. "Sir, I don't know
where that music's coming from," he admitted. "All I can tell you is,
it's drowning out the GENOM channels."
"Don't worry about it," An'dresen said. "It's just one of our
allies reminding GENOM of a choice bit of military history."
"Military history?"
"Yes, Lieutenant," An'dresen said. "Our history, as a matter
of fact. What -do- they teach schoolchildren these days?" He ran a
hand through his grey-shot jade hair, considering his own youth for a
moment.
"Our history?" The communications officer was more confused
than ever. "I don't understand. What -is- the message?"
"If I interpret it correctly," An'dresen smiled, pointing to
a Star Destroyer shuddering under the massed assault of a dozen cruisers
and destroyers, "the message is, 'Paybacks are a bitch.' Increase
magnification," he ordered the navigation officer.
The screen focused on the ships attacking the Star Destroyer.
A trio of white angular corvettes, moving faster by half than the
others, curved around the belly of the Star Destroyer, turning across
its bow and pouring rapid volleys into the bridge tower. The mass
driver turret on the belly of one found the port shield projector,
passing through those shields and shattering the immense spherical
tower. The other corvettes in the group followed on, pouring fire into
the immense ship's armor. The Star Destroyer's batteries struggled to
fight all the ships at once, failing to do much of anything to any of
them, and in a few moments explosions ran through its massive hulk as
its reactors blew.
The lead trio of corvettes flew past in a victory roll, proudly
displaying the Freespacer banner on their hulls.
"The lesson of the day, Lieutenant," Captain An'dresen smiled,
"is never piss off a Freespacer. Mr. G'henna, find us an opportunity
and target it, if you please."
"Right on it, Captain," the weapons officer said, and the
Zardons returned their attention to their part of the battle.
Chapter 9/THEN
September 22, 2368
Olympus, Earth
Click.
"... United States forces marched unopposed through the
streets of Nashville today, marking the southernmost penetration of
the Imperial Americana since the United States split during the Fourth
World War. Many natives of Nashville greeted the invaders with open
glee, hugging soldiers and dancing in the streets. Americana forces in
the area have withdrawn south of the Cumberland river and are
regrouping to prevent further loss of territory.
"In related news, an entire army of Imperial American troops
is marching on foot in disgrace after surrendering two weeks ago to
the rebel forces claiming to be the army of the Texas Free Republic.
Sixty thousand troops are currently marching to Alexandria, Louisiana,
weaponless and on foot. This is the second major defeat Americana has
suffered to Free Texan forces since July. The Texan army is currently
besieging the city of Houston, and according to reports sentiment for
the rebels is high within the city walls.
"The United Federation of Planets has pledged neutrality,
declaring the battle to be strictly an internal matter within Earth's
jurisdiction. This is despite the involvement of forces of the
Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet on behalf of the insurgents.
At this time, the world government at Olympus has issued no statement
regarding-"
Click.
Of course they haven't issued a statement, Vice Admiral
Kristan Overstreet grumbled. He slung the remote control across the
plush carpet of his luxurious VIP holding cell, lying back on the
king-sized bed in frustration.
They haven't decided what to do about me yet...
Click.
"-how would you react to Free Texan claims that Imperial
Americana is the aggressor in this case?"
"That's a ludicrous statement. If I go and raise an army in
someone else's nation, I think it's safe to say that-"
"But it's -their- nation too, that's their-"
"-I would be regarded-"
"It's -not- their nation, it's the Imperial President's
nation-"
"all they're arguing for is the right to-"
"-the aggressor, now wouldn't-"
"Gentlemen, ladies, I'm afraid that's all the time we have. On
behalf of Jessie Symichek and myself, this is Wendell Yamazaki... good
day."
Click.
Admiral Overstreet sat across the desk from Athena, the
President of the General Council of Olympus and, according to a polite
legal fiction, the head of state of Earth.
In reality, Athena barely even ruled within the Olympus
city-state itself, and what power Olympus had in the outside world had
fallen into greater and greater contempt as the old warring nations
learned that violating Olympus directives really had little or no
effect. Still, Olympus had some significant military power on the
ground, and more importantly most of Earth's space defense forces and
interplanetary diplomatic relations were controlled by the Olympus
government.
Most, but not all. Imperial Americana and the Free California
Republic represented Earth in the United Federation of Planets, while
Olympus regarded Earth as an independency after the final
disintegration of the United Galactica. The fact that the UFP
Starfleet housed its headquarters and primary officers' academy in San
Francisco added insult to injury.
Still, Athena's word still guided the lives of ninety-six
percent of Earth's people, so when Athena spoke, people listened.
For now.
"Admiral, the only reason I'm speaking to you is I don't want
to be responsible for starting an interplanetary war between Earth and
the Confederate Freespacers Alliance," she muttered, glaring at the
nondescript bearded man sitting in front of her. "As it is, your
actions have strained diplomatic relations to the breaking point. I
demand to know your reasons for those actions!"
The Redneck rolled his eyes and spun in his chair idly.
"According to the instrument of diplomatic recognition between the
United Nations Earth government and the CFMF established in 2009,
actions of the CFMF while under contract to another nation do not
constitute official policy of the CFA civilian government."
"Bullshit." Athena replied. "You chose to accept contract with
a rebel group in an area which, at the time, was one of the *very* few
peaceful regions of Earth. Over the past five years, you have smuggled
in offworld arms- don't try to deny it- and the means of manufacturing
more. You destroyed virtually the entire aerospace arm of the Imperial
Americana military. And finally, I have it on very good authority that
you PERSONALLY commanded the rebel forces at Goodrich and Burkeville!
I said I did not want to start an interplanetary war, Admiral," Athena
growled, "now I want you to tell me how it could be that -you- have
not started the war yourself."
The Redneck sighed. "Listen, the people of that region have
been ignored for decades by the Imperial Americana except for
collecting taxes. Mutant and genengineered animals have terrorized
rural areas almost since the Third World War, and since the Fourth
World War bandits have made rural life even worse. The Imperial
Americana government won't lift a finger to defend the people there,
but when they move to defend themselves they get arrested, locked up,
and occasionally shot.
"Now, when I help these people clean out the bandits and most
of the kaiju-class predators from the area, do they get any thanks or
support? No. What they get is shoot-to-kill orders from the Imperial
Americana. What they get is family and friends massacred by Imperial
forces. The CFMF hired on as assistants to local law enforcement in
the area, Madame President. When the local authorities decided to
break away from the IA, we continued to honor our contract, expanded
to include defending the area against aggressor nations. Does this
answer your question?"
The silence drew out as Athena pondered and Red maintained his
relaxed, informal attitude. The mid-morning sun lit up the occasional
mote of dust floating by in the wide, empty office. Red picked out one
dust mote and followed its motion, up on a tiny updraft, around and
down in an eddy, drifting serenely, utterly unconcerned with the
tension in the room.
Finally, Athena sighed. "You, sir, have left me in a difficult
position." Standing, she continued, "We will discuss this later."
Pressing the intercom button in her desk, she said, "Have Admiral
Overstreet escorted back to his suite."
Click.
"- Robotics can service any landmate, cyborg, destroid or
'droid you have! We are licensed with the Olympus Bureau of Security
to work on all licensed military landmates! For the finest in quality
service, call Ben Abel Robotics, 72-678-5518 in Sector 5-G, just
across the main plaza from Tartarus!"
"And now back to 'Talk At 5.'"
"Welcome back, everyone. Our next guest on 'Talk at 5' is a
refugee from Imperial Americana. He says that the current insurrection
in the Imperial state of Texas was caused not by off-planet
intervention but by the neglect and poor administration by the
Imperial government. Ladies and Gentlemen, from Dibble, Texas, Mr.
Aaron Sheffield!"
"That's Di-boll."
"Oops. Sorry. Mr. Sheffield, how long have you lived in
Texas?"
"All my life."
"When did you first notice that the Imperial government was
not listening to the needs of the-"
"TRAITOR!!"
"Ahem, you'll have a chance to ask your questions after-"
"TRAITOR!! You support the rebels who want to overthrow the
last defense of the true American way of life! You ought to be hung
just as high as they hung the rebels in College Station!"
"Sir, I must ask you to-"
*BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!!!*
"OH MY GOD!! Call an ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!!"
"And I'll give any of those other traitors the same! YOU HEAR
ME? WE'RE GONNA KILL YOU ALL, YOU ROTTEN STINKING-"
Click.
If it weren't for the fact that both of the people flanking
him were trained SWAT officers, Kris would have sworn the pair were
prime material for a children's afternoon cartoon series.
The more unusual of the pair, a modified Hecatonchires cyborg,
strode gracefully down the hallway to his right, his totally
non-ceremonial .70 armor assault rifle held at the ready, the muzzle
pointing a few inches over the Redneck's head. Insofar as a cyborg
could express anything with his verniers and multiple optics, Briareos
seemed totally unflappable, an island of calm in a sea of angry,
confused, frustrated Olympus politicos and paramilitary.
That calm did not extend to his partner. The slender blonde
seemed perpetually angry at Kris for some reason. She didn't have to
run to keep up with her partner- Briareos' pace was slow enough to let
her walk comfortably- but she made it -look- fast, fidgeting with her
own automatic and occasionally tugging at the sleeves of her camouflage
ESWAT uniform. Kris felt extremely grateful her gun was pointed -away-
from him.
"So," he said about halfway back to his room from yet another
committee meeting, "how'd you pull this assignment?"
"Would you believe it was an honor post?" Briareos rumbled.
"No," Kris smiled slightly. "For an honor post you two are a
waste of talent. Besides," he nodded slowly towards the woman, "Deunan
Knute has a long reputation as a disciplinary hazard." He'd pulled
CFMF Intel records on Olympus's semi-secret ESWAT unit, and had been
mildly amused at some of the material in this particular two-man
team's files. Amused enough to commit the files to memory. Maybe I'll
write a book.
"Who the hell asked you anyway?" Deunan broke stride for an
instant, then had to trot a few seconds to catch up to the two larger
figures.
"So I'm guessing you're here because I'm considered a flight
risk," Kris ticked off one finger as he counted, "or because you're
getting disciplined by your superiors," he ticked off a second finger,
"or a combination of the two."
"You're half right," Briareos shrugged slightly. "We got
audited for our last expense report. Seems Ms. Spending Spree here
tried to slip 100 extra rounds of APRFDS into the voucher..."
"What about your Turtle Wax, hm?"
"Hey, how am I supposed to keep my good looks without a good
polish and wax after a rough night?"
"And those bottles of champagne?"
"You drank three of them! Don't play innocent with me!"
"Ahem," Kris cleared his throat softly. "Half right?"
"Yeah, well," Briareos said quickly, "you aren't considered a
real flight risk..."
"... since we figure you could order an assault on Olympus to
rescue you anytime you wanted," Deunan added.
"... plus we've been briefed on your many single-man and
small-unit combat actions," Briareos shrugged. "We couldn't hold you
if you didn't want to be."
"It's so nice to be respected," the Redneck drawled
sarcastically.
"We're here to babysit you..." Deunan grumbled. "Make sure you
don't disappear on us without warning, play nice with people, that
sort of thing..."
"... and make sure you don't get assassinated before the
Council makes its decision," Briareos added. "We've had word that
Imperial Americana has placed a pretty fat price on your head- not
necessarily anything extra for the rest of your body."
Redneck shrugged. "Add it to the list," he sighed. "I've got
thirty-one death-marks on me. Nobody's had the guts to try and collect
since I took Brackiss' shooting hand off him and stuffed it... ahem,
somewhere uncomfortable," he said, looking uncomfortably at Deunan.
Deunan smiled at him. "I'd have done a lot worse in your
place."
Kris nodded. "Anyway, anyone who was after my head would have
to be an idiot... a true lunatic... or really hard up on cash."
Click.
"-and remember, I'm MAAAAD MARKIE! And my prices are-
IN-SAAAANE!!"
"And now, a preview of the Seven O'clock News.
"Imperial Americana denies any involvement with the escape of
a known terrorist.
"Human protesters picket Tartarus demanding an end to bioroid
production.
"And this man claims your future can be read- in a sweet
potato?"
"Hiroyuki with the weather, after this."
Click.
Kris turned the television back off and pulled himself out of
the too-soft couch to get a drink.
He'd invited Deunan and Briareos in to relax a bit, but the
two weren't allowed to; they were on duty 24/7 until further notice,
and although Deunan could (and would, and had) probably sneak naps in
in the meantime, sneaking coffee with the Very Important Prisoner just
wasn't allowed.
Since Kris hated coffee with a passion (except for the smell
it made while brewing), he popped open a bottle of soda and took a
long pull, looking out at the sunset from his suite's window.
As his eyes stared idly over the bottle, looking at the
skyline far below and away from the government building, he
contemplated the day ahead; more of the same, sitting and watching TV
or answering more of the same questions from politicians and security
officials who hadn't decided where to land on the Texas question yet.
Athena was the important one, he knew, she would be the one
who made the final decision. Obviously she hadn't made it yet, not
officially; something he wasn't being allowed to see held her back
from whatever preconceived opinion she had and forced her to at least
keep the appearance of an open mind. For all I know, Kris shrugged,
she really -is- trying to be fair...
Kris blinked as the sunlight reflected off something outside
the window and dazzled his eyes for a split second. Only a split
second.
Kris dove to the floor and started crawling towards the sofa.
The window shattered into thousands of pieces as heavy bullets
whizzed through the kitchenette and riddled the ceiling with holes.
Outside, the thunder of a pair of jump-jets roared as a landmate- a
heavy armored power suit- hovered, guns trained on the VIP suite.
Kris' half-full soda fell to the carpet, syrup splashing
across the beige pile.
The front door slammed open and Briareos and Deunan dove in,
crawling along the floor beside Kris; a second later, the landmate
roared into the room, guns blazing, bullets ripping up the carpet
around them. "MOVE!" Kris shouted, scrambling on his hands and knees
for the door. Briareos leaned up over the couch and fired a couple
rounds into the landmate's chest, denting it but doing no obvious
damage.
Kris and Deunan crawled out the door, got to their feet and
ran a few yards down the hallway. Deunan mumbled something vile under
her breath as she dropped the standard ammo clip from her rifle and
fumbled in her pockets for armor-piercing or explosive-tip rounds.
Behind them, the thunderclaps of the landmate's heavy caliber rounds
rattled through the half-open door, followed a few moments later by
Briareos, rolling through the door, knocking it aside, landing on the
floor against the far wall.
Bullets punched through the wall of the suite, blowing
insulation and paneling across the hallway. More bullets followed,
imbedding themselves in the wall Briareos managed to turn around and
fire off a few more rounds as he scooted back on his rear end towards
the other two.
"Why couldn't they have put some -cover- in this hallway?"
Briareos grumbled as he reached Deunan and Kris' position.
The suite door, and most of the frame, crashed into the
hallway, followed by the landmate, not unscathed but not seriously
scathed either. Deunan slapped a clip into her rifle and set it to
full automatic, the spent cartridges pouring from the chamber as the
rounds ricocheted off the landmate's armor.
"What does it take to take this guy DOWN?" Deunan fumbled for
a new magazine, watching the landmate face them and aim its guns at
them.
A red wall of light appeared between the landmate and the
trio, spanning wall to wall across the hall, ceiling to floor. White
sparks flashed across it as the landmate's bullets slammed into the
forcefield, the spent slugs bouncing back and falling to the carpet.
Deunan and Briareos looked to each other for a moment, then
looked over at Kris. Sweat dripped down his face, his eyes squeezed
shut in concentration, as he focused his efforts on the forcefield.
Normally the field would be easy to sustain, but those bullets... it
felt like stopping an artillery shell every time one of those slugs
hit the field, and pumping enough power into the field to stop them
cold was draining him fast.
"I... have... goddamn well... had ENOUGH... of this!" Kris
poured everything he had into one surge of energy, sending the field
flying down the corridor. It slammed into the landmate and carried it
along, surrounding the armor with static discharge. With a
building-shaking WHUMP the hardsuit hit the far wall, embedding itself
into the structure, rattling once as the forcefield dissipated its
energy through it. There it stayed, motionless, while Deunan and
Briareos helped Kris to his feet.
As Kris and his guards made their way over to the landmate,
reinforcements finally showed up; a squad of ESWAT troops, armed with
armor-piercing ammo and anti-landmate grenade launchers. "THIS IS
ESWAT!" their squad leader shouted through a megaphone from his
position all of two rifle lengths from the landmate's head. "OPEN UP
THAT LANDMATE AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS EMPTY AND IN THE AIR!"
The front hatch of the landmate slowly opened, the pneumatic
hinges hissing loudly with the pressure needed to lift the heavy armor
away. Inside the powerless hardsuit sat a scruffy-looking man with
dark hair and wild eyes, still wearing his prison uniform, his arms
and legs trapped inside fused servomotor grips. " Olympus tyrants!! If
I could move I'd tear your heads off!!"
"Fanatic, and stupid," Kris muttered, leaning on Deunan and
sweating heavily.. "If he didn't have such a high polish on his
equipment, I'd probably have my brains spattered all over the pantry
door."
"He's the terrorist that escaped last night from detention,"
Briareos. said. "Definitely a fanatic, but very very good at his job."
Kris nodded slowly, then stood up straight and, weaving a
little from exhaustion, started walking back to his room. "Who wants
coffee?"
Click.
"-and thanks to quick response from ESWAT, the terrorist known
as the Paducah Bomber was apprehended and is en route to a maximum
security holding cell pending questioning. Back to you in the studio,
Harvey."
"Thank you, Carol. In related news, four people were killed by
a berserk cyborg in the-"
Click.
"The terror which flaps in the night is back!" "DIGGY!"
Surrounded by forensics and ballistics experts, Kris, Deunan
and Briareos sat comfortably on the couch and sipped their drinks and
watched the TV.
After several minutes of comfortable silence (interrupted only
by the chatter between the various Olympus police and internal
security detectives), Briareos said, "You got incredibly lucky today,
Admiral."
"If I was lucky," Kris replied, "my cell's window wouldn't be
broken."
The exchange caught the attention of one of the ESWAT
reinforcements lurking nearby. "Excuse me," said the trooper, leaning
over the back of the couch, "but these two officers are on duty, and-"
"Piss off," Kris grumbled. "Can't you see we're watching
ThunderForce Forever?"
"(Or until the next commercial break, anyway,)" Deunan said,
sotto voce.
"But Admiral Overstreet," the officer continued lamely, "I
really must-"
"File your protest with Athena," Kris barked. "Until further
notice I want my guard in eyesight, and I strongly prefer these two
guards."
"With proper ammunition," Deunan added.
"And an expense account for body work," Briareos said, rubbing
a deep scratch in one arm's plating.
"Sir," the officer said, "prisoners do not usually pick and
choose their guards...."
"The last time I looked," Kris grumbled, "I had diplomatic
immunity. I also have an immunity or strong resistance to bullets,
lasers, phasers, sharp objects, soft pillows and hard radiation. Now
will you leave us alone before I see how much immunity -you- have?"
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a health advisory," Kris grumbled, turning up the volume
of the TV as the animated Danilia squealed, "Yay! We get to make the
station go BOOM!!"
Giving up on the Admiral, the officer turned to Briareos.
"Doesn't he realize he was almost killed?" he shouted over the
television speaker.
"Wasn't the first time," Briareos shrugged."
"Won't be the last," Kris said.
"Coffee's in the pot," Deunan added, leaning back in the
cushions and watching the Galaxy's greatest heroes go into action
against evil. "Wanna get me a refill?"
The officer shook his head and retreated in search of a form
to fill out in triplicate.
Click.
"The Texas Free Republic began as a handful of vigilante
troops in the rural areas of central and eastern Texas who struggled
against not only uncontrolled military raiders and the rapidly
changing environment but also the corrupt government of Imperial
Americana, which claimed sovereignty over Texas but made no effort to
enforce it outside the major cities.
"The movement first gained notoriety in the galactic community
when a small army of Republican volunteers, supported by mercenary
forces, fought a corps of Imperial Americana troops to a draw in the
month-long Battle of the Trinity. The battle led to today's decree of
neutrality by the Olympus government, which effectively sanctions the
continuing war between Imperial Americana and the rebel Texans, on the
grounds that the war is a strictly internal affair and must be settled
internally by Imperial Americana.
"In related news, Earth has broken all diplomatic ties with
the Confederate Freespacers Alliance, who are suspected of supporting
the Texas insurgents against Imperial Americana. Representatives of
the Freespacer government have not made any comment at this time, but
sources suggest that the Freespacers will continue in their support of
Texan independence..."
Click.
Chapter 9/NOW
Above the Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere
August 18, 2388
Roughly ten degrees spinward of the WDF allied fleet
deployment, an enormous flotilla of refugee ships from all sectors of
the Federation orbited in formation. The Freespacer Home Fleet,
hundreds of ships strong, nearly vanished in the swarm of ships
surrounding it, small and large alike. Between the refugees and the
WDF fleet, a thin picket line of warships, mostly crippled refugees
themselves from the long string of GENOM victories, prepared to buy
the refugees a last few minutes of escape time, should it be needed.
One ship in particular lay quiet, mostly. Slightly smaller
than a Miranda-class light cruiser, it mounted a single warp nacelle
mounted atop a boxy wedge-shaped delta hull. Its forward hull gaped
with the wounds of battle, superstructure gleaming bare, wires
dangling into space. Dark lines left by glancing laser blasts
criss-crossed the once-gleaming white armor, blurring the name and
banner painted atop its hull: CFMF DEFIANT CFF-45.
On her bridge, Aya Nakajima watched the viewscreen as the two
immense fleets grappled at each other in savage ship-to-ship dueling.
"Shran, is everything ready?" she asked the Andorian standing behind
her.
"Automated circuits installed and running smoothly," Shran
nodded, checking a handful of readouts on the otherwise dead
Environmental Systems console. "Subspace pattern enhancers all in
place and operating at full power. Just don't give us too many bumps
on the way, or else all the pattern enhancers in the galaxy won't help
us."
"We have one forward phaser bank, the wing laser turrets, and
the ventral rail guns working," Shwarz added from his weapons station.
"That leaves us pretty weak on point defense."
"The new shield generators are working at full capacity,"
T'Pall said. "I read performance at 450% of old specs." She spun
around in her seat to look at Aya. "Will Commander Overstreet not be
annoyed at your appropriation of the shield generator units from the
Bethlehem drydock?"
"Eh, the Charlemagne isn't using them anyway," Aya waved off
T'Pall's worries with almost insane confidence. "Claire, open a secure
channel to the Camelot."
"One moment," Claire said, keying in the request, and then,
"Audio only, Captain Kondo standing by."
"Oi, Nanami-chan," Aya said, "ready for Operation Blaze of
Glory?"
"Everything's set," Nanami Kondo's voice crackled through some
light static. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Positive," Aya replied. "Now keep yourself out of trouble-
we're relying on you to pull our butts out of here!"
"Will do. Good hunting. Camelot out."
The channel went dead, and Aya took one last look around her
bridge, her face suddenly dead serious. "If anybody wants to bail out,
this is it," she said.
None of the five other officers spoke or moved. Finally,
T'Pall broke the silence: "All systems are at ready, Captain. We await
your orders."
Aya nodded. "Homare, forward on thrusters. Nice and
inconspicuous."
"Aye, Captain," Homare smiled, as his hands danced across the
helm console.
The CFMF Defiant floated slowly and quietly away from the
reserve group formation, bow pointed towards the battle. Behind her
and to starboard, running lights dimmed, a Miranda-class light cruiser
slipped equally quietly away in escort.
The captain of the cruiser, Mark Harris, smiled to himself as
he watched the Defiant slide away. Gryphon's hunch had been right on
the money. Nothing, even a crippled starship, would keep Aya Nakajima
away from a major battle.
Harris chuckled at the thought of Aya and her officers in a
rowboat, Aya barking orders as the others rowed, moving into battle to
meet aircraft carriers. No, sir, he mused as the two ships drifted
nonchalantly towards the fighting, Nakajima won't miss a fight if she
can help it.
Kris sent the twenty-fourth TIE Bomber of the day to a fiery
death, grinning with a joy he hadn't felt in... a very, very long
time, he thought to himself. Things were so incredibly simple in a
cockpit. You had no worries outside of your squadron, it was just you,
your astromech, and your fighter against everybody.
It felt so -good.-
The GENOM fleet's starfighter forces had thinned out,
overwhelmed by the better trained, better armed WDF fighter corps. The
human pilots in GENOM's forces were making errors, as now and again a
TIE would plaster itself into a Star Destroyer or an Iowa battleship.
Behind and above him, Kris' two wingmen picked off a trio of TIEs,
bang bang bang, too scared to turn and fight and too green to break
formation and dodge.
Unfortunately, that trio proved the exception rather than the
rule. The crop he and his two squadrons of Freespacers were mowing
down were much tougher kills than most of the GENOM pilots. The wings
in this bunch, he noted, weren't making mistakes. Each victory scored
by a Freespacer represented long minutes of struggling for position,
just to get the three or four shots in needed to spack your average
TIE.
"FUCK!" a voice shouted through Kris' headset. "This TIE has
SHIELDS! - AAAAHHH!!!" A flash of light to starboard caught his
attention for a moment- one of Cavalier Squadron's X-Wings had fallen
into a classic lead-bait trap and gambled that he could make the kill
before his shields went down. Apparently, Kris thought, the pilot had
forgotten that TIEs travel in threes, not twos.
Kris's attention turned to the lead TIE- the 'TIE with
shields' that had lured one of his fliers to his doom. At this
distance, it looked like a strange mutant cross between a classic
TIE/in and a TIE Interceptor, bent panels solid end to end, longer and
wider than on a normal TIE. As he watched, the prototype TIE regrouped
with its two wingmen and turned to face Red, then turned past him,
firing their blaster cannons in alternating fire on -
"I'M HIT!!" Rebel Three- Kris couldn't remember her name-
screamed as her shields flickered and died. A moment later, her
fighter fragged horrendously, spraying fire and fragments past Kris'
fighter. Kris' heart sank into his boots; he'd let down someone -else-
under his command.
Damn if it was going to happen again.
Kris pulled his fighter around, sliding into the prototype's
ion backwash as the TIE wing targeted another X-wing. The targeting
computer read its transponder code as GENOM Alpha-One, TIE type...
unknown. Yeah, big surprise, 'unknown,' Kris thought bitterly as he
fired a few rounds into the TIE's aft shields. Switching his radio to
cover both the GENOM command channel and the WDF squadrons' channels,
he said, "Alpha One, calling Alpha One, this is Rebel One. Do you
copy, over?" To punctuate the statement, he fired a few more rounds,
three of them adding to the drain on the TIE's shields.
"This is Alpha One," a female voice replied- in an accent very
similar to his own, only less twangy, broader... Kris could
practically smell the crawfish on her breath. "We thought we took you
all out in the Enigma Sector."
"Well, you didn't quite finish the job, did you?" Kris fired
again, but the TIE sideslipped around his firing arc, attempting to
dip beneath him and come up behind.
As Kris countered the move, the voice countered, "We'll do a
better job this time, then, won't we?" The voice contained no
amusement, no anger, no malice; it was the cool, composed voice of a
dedicated professional.
"We'll see," Kris grumbled. "Alpha One, I'm callin' you out."
This time there was a touch of amusement in the GENOM pilot's
voice. "Please, Rebel One, don't be joking me at a time like this.
This is no time for petty dueling."
"I'm deadly serious," Kris replied. "If you want a formal
challenge, how about, 'One shall stand, one shall fall?' Works for
Transformers, anyway."
There was a long silence, as Alpha One dodged and wove to
evade Kris' intermittent fire. Finally, her voice replied, "What are
your terms of combat, Rebel One?"
"My fighters don't fuck with you, your fighters don't fuck
with me," Kris answered. "We don't call for help. Fighters outside our
control- well, we can't do anything about them. No using friendly
ships for cover fire. This is strictly you and me, the best pilot
wins."
"Acceptable," Alpha One replied. "Let's begin, then." In an
impossibly small turn radius, the TIE prototype turned around and
returned fire, forcing Kris to dodge.
"FUCK!" he gasped, slamming his yoke to one side and curving
around to try and catch his quarry. He switched fully over to his
command channel, saying, "Powerglide, take over for me. Rebel
Squadron, Cavalier Squadron, do not interfere with me, repeat leave my
target alone. That's a direct order."
"No arguments, Commander," Powerglide answered. "Primus be
with you."
I sureashell hope so, Kris thought to himself. I'm gonna need
all the help I can get.
The word -magnificent- makes only the faintest beginning in
the description of the carnage taking place above the Utopia Planitia
Shipyards. Diffusing laser light illuminated the ships of both sides
with the shadows of a grand lightning storm. Star Destroyers and
Iowa-class battleships exploded in balls of flame, taking with them
smaller ships and fighters. Already dozens of ships on both limped
away from the fighting to lick their wounds. Through it all,
starfighters dueled, bombing larger ships, intercepting bombing runs,
and dueling each other for space superiority.
And in the center of it all, the WDF Concordia pressed home,
firing volley after volley of impotent phaser bursts into the
Dreadnaught's phase shields. The Dreadnaught pounded home on Concordia
in turn, slamming against the smaller ship's shields with devastating
force. With each hit, the Concordia's shields weakened, and it
appeared that, without intervention, the WDF lead ship would be
destroyed by the more powerful Dreadnaught.
The WDF Bismarck, seeing the Concordia's growing distress,
disengaged from its pounding of an Ikazuchi carrier and swung its
helix cannons to bear on the Dreadnaught. The deck guns fired, sending
a wave of deadly but ineffective force into the invincible phase
shields. Dreadnaught fired three almost contemptuous volleys into
Bismarck in reply, knocking its shields out and blasting large chunks
of armor into vapor, before returning its attention to the Concordia.
Bismarck chugged slowly away, wounded but not mortally so,
attempting to restore its shields and make repairs. Three Ikazuchis,
seeing easy prey, swooped in to make the kill.
Before the GENOM ships could fire, the Bismarck's escort, the
cruisers CFMF Valiant, WDF Excalibur, and RSN Kanly bore down on the
lead Ikazuchi, rendering it into a powerless hulk within thirty
seconds. The other two GENOM ships veered off, and Bismarck limped
away, quickly out of immediate danger.
Powerglide, having monitored the exchange while closing on his
next torpedo target, flashed his lights in salute at the passing
Valiant. The day was a day for uncommon valor... hopefully, he mused,
it would also be a day for victory.
Before his target lock had quite completed, his targeting
scope was replaced by a split view of two Ben Hutchinses, and for a
moment the battle around him paused as the two commanders faced off.
"And you managed to get out of the prison on Tantalus V and
make your way to your masters, who gave you command of this entire
fleet? Largo is still too much the coward to face us in combat when
the odds are even, is he?"
"Oh, the odds are far from even, my pathetic predecessor. Your
weapons cannot even harm my ship--and yet you threaten to destroy me?
An empty threat, I think."
"You know me. You were fully briefed on the man you were to
frame. You know I don't make empty threats. I possess the power to
destroy your vessel, and if you do not surrender and prepare your
fleet for boarding at once, I mean to do just that. The animal side of
me, who hungers for revenge after what you put me through, wants to
just push the button now, but the Starfleet officer I was trained to
be is giving you a chance. I wouldn't blow it if I were you."
"Ah, but you are me. Did not all your friends believe so? Did
not the woman you loved believe so? Tell me, Gryphon--if the people
you love can think you so full of evil and deceit as that, what kind
of lovers and friends does that make them? No, my friend, there will
be no surrender today. Think about what I have just told you, before
I send you to the void. Then, think on it for eternity."
The Dreadnaught opened fire, alone among all the ships of both
fleets, as both sides waited for the final act of this mini-drama.
"Last chance."
"I'll see you in hell!"
Concordia's keel crackled and glowed in response to the
Butcher's final rebuff, and suddenly a single burst of LIGHT shot from
the WDF ship towards the Dreadnaught. The bolt passed through the
phase shields and kept right on going, lancing the immense battleship
from hull to bridge. The engines exploded, rocking every ship nearby
with the massive burst of energy and debris, and Dreadnaught II was no
more.
Enraged by the loss, the GENOM ships pressed forward,
overwhelming a handful of WDF ships before they could react. Laser
blasts flooded past Powerglide, and as he jinked out of the line of
fire, he mused to himself; let's get back to work, guys, this battle
ain't over yet.
The GENOM ships pressed home their counterattack, building a
slow momentum against the WDF forces even without their strongest
battleship. A Colonial Battlestar, a Yamato-class battleship, and four
other vessels fell almost immediately, bringing the tally near even
between the two fleets. The ships drew closer together, brushing
against each other on occasion as both sides exchanged point-blank,
shield-grinding volleys of every kind of starship armament known.
Nanami Kondo observed the battle from her center seat on the
Camelot. As per Fleet orders, the Camelot held back with the two other
carriers in her group, keeping well clear of the clusterfuck battle in
front of her, vulnerable only to the occasional starfighter run.
On the bridge's main viewscreen, a Victory-class Star
Destroyer lumbered into view, taking advantage of the confusion to
slip behind a Alaska-class battleship. The WDF ship, noting its
unwelcome pursuer, veered away and dumped a volley of photon torpedoes
from its rear tubes. The VSD absorbed the full volley, completed its
maneuver, and let loose with a broadside against the battleship. The
Alaska's shields sparked and flared under the bombardment, visibly
weakened and flickering as the Victory recharged its guns for a second
blast.
"Mr. Kaiju," Captain Kondo said quietly, "lock our forward
phasers and torpedo tubes onto that Star Destroyer and fire when
ready."
"Aye, Captain, with pleasure." The Camelot reoriented itself
just slightly, bringing its bow directly to bear at the Victory, Atop
its crystal-shaped alpha hull, a dim blue gleam rose from the emitter
coils of two massive phaser banks. Then, with a brilliant flash of
light, a long, lancing phaser burst struck the VSD on its aft quarter.
Close behind it came a barrage of torpedoes and mass driver strikes,
slamming into the shields just before striking the exposed engine
exhaust ports.
With a surge of ions, the Victory lumbered away, realizing at
last its error in exposing its vulnerable engines to the bulk of the
enemy fleet. Camelot's escort ships added their firepower, and with a
brilliant flash the VSD's aft shields died. A moment later, the
engines exploded in a burst of flame and smoke, setting off secondary
explosions throughout the ship.
Cheers rose from the Camelot's bridge crew, and the comm
officer smiled as he said, "Captain, compliments received from the USS
Vermont."
"Return the compliments," Nanami smiled, "and keep us clear of
the heavy fighting, helm. I want to be ready when Operation Blaze of
Glory goes down."
Powerglide pulled away from the fireball which moments before
had been a -very- surprised TIE Interceptor. Beneath his armor, the
Autobot smirked as he considered just how surprised the GENOM pilot,
human or Buma, must have been by the A-10's speed and maneuverability.
Of course, he hadn't been surprised for very long, but then again,
maybe surprise carried over into the next dimension of existence.
For the moment, Powerglide had no other targets to engage.
With the arrival of the Discordia and the Silent Service, the tide of
battle had begun to turn decisively for the WDF, as the GENOM fleet
struggled to protect its flanks and rear from the swift cloakship
force. In particular, the remaining GENOM starfighters had taken an
incredible pounding; now, maybe one out of every three GENOM fighters
originally launched remained to harass the WDF fleet.
A quiet voice in the background of his command channel
muttered something about the SDF-23 being cleared to depart drydock,
and with a sigh Powerglide banked around to watch its exodus from the
Sphere. This was it. With the star fortress in the battle, the victory
was just about sewn up.
A shimmer to his port side caught his attention, and
Powerglide focused his sensors on it. The shimmer grew into a portal-
a fold effect, Powerglide noted, and a damn big... DAMN big... The
portal grew to immense proportions, dwarfing the fleet, dwarfing
anything short of a planet.
A solid steel world slid through the fold and into the space
above the Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere. At the relatively close distance,
Powerglide's scans showed a great equatorial trench and thousands of
smaller trenches criss-crossing the warworld, which itself bristled
with anti-ship, anti-fighter gunnery turrets.
On its northern hemisphere, like a giant divot, sat what
absolutely had to be the largest tandem laser emitter dish the Autobot
had ever seen in his life.
PRIMUS.
Even as he stared, the giant emitter dish flared to life, ten
'feeder' beams coalescing in the focal point, balancing, and leaping
forward in a giant green beam of death. The beam lanced the Dyson
sphere, and went through, vanishing into its interior. A moment later,
another whispered voice percolated through the command channels; the
Arizona had been hit, and now drifted powerlessly within the sphere.
That can't be Unicron, Powerglide thought, but what else is
that BIG? What in the name of the Matrix IS it?
Cursing, Kris yanked his X-Wing into a hard loop, leaving
Alpha-One's laser bursts trailing mere inches behind his fuselage. His
eyes caught a glimpse of the fold effect as it manifested; he sent his
fighter into a short corkscrew, and when he righted himself a giant
metal planet filled up a third of his canopy view. While his
subconscious kept his fighter dodging away from the TIE's shots, he
watched with disbelief as an enormous laser beam leaped from the
battlestation to the Dyson sphere, tearing a huge hole in the grey
expanse.
Largo's voice echoed in Kris' helmet, and his visage flashed
momentarily on his console's viewscreen.
"Is it not amazing, the places in which old friends meet?"
"You mother fucking bastard," Kris whispered. His eyes locked
onto the battle station for a long moment; then, in a swift blur of
hands, he switched off his main engines, flipped his fighter
end-over-end on maneuvering thrusters, reignited his engines and
barreled down headlong on the stunned Alpha One. The TIE veered off,
allowing Kris time to turn and get a better look at the battle
station.
Already the monstrous battle station turned in search of a new
target, and as it turned, starfighters erupted from its equatorial
trench, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. TIEs, TIE
Interceptors, TIE Bombers, gunboats, blastboats, assault transports,
all swarming forward into the WDF fleet.
"Rebel Squadron, Cavalier Squadron," Kris shouted into his
headset, "form up on the Camelot! Powerglide, you're in charge, keep
her covered! I've got my hands full!" He wrenched the control yoke
back, turning a tight U roll just in time to evade yet another
concussion missile. The thrill of the duel evaporated; now he wished
he could break off and protect the current flagship of the CFMF.
The battle had just taken a huge turn for the worse.
Aya Nakajima leaped up from her seat at the sight of the
enormous station. "What the FUCK is that?" she shouted.
"Receiving no transponder signal from the GENOM
battlestation," T'Pall replied calmly. As she spoke, the battlestation
in question fired again, incinerating a Battlestar in seconds. "That
was the WDF Atlantia," she said, in much the same tone she might have
said, This is a bar of soap.
Aya shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Shran, can we take the
ship into battle?"
Shran shrugged. "The automated controls are pretty shaky...
one good hit and we'll be dead in space... but we can attack, sure."
"Good!" Aya watched as the GENOM battlestation blasted yet
another WDF ship into oblivion. "Irving, pick out a target! Homare,
attack speed!"
"Yes, Captain!" Shwarz's hands danced across his console.
"Commander, the WDF Oregon is under attack from two Ikazuchi carriers
and their bomber squadrons. Bring me a clean shot at the belly of the
closer one."
"You got it," Homare nodded. With a snap of switches, running
lights appeared across the battle-scarred ship. The maimed weapons
wing opened, the starboard side intact, the port side gaping with the
wounds of Wilderness. With smooth, graceful speed the WDF Defiant
entered the fray, skipping through the rear echelons of the WDF fleet
like a child playing leapfrog, emerging in a spray of phasers, lasers,
torpedoes and iron. The barrage struck the lower shields of the
Ikazuchi, and its weaker belly guns retargeted to eliminate the new
threat.
As the Defiant circled around for another attack run, Aya
growled to herself, "Dammit, where the hell is MegaZone?"
Much the same thought occupied Kris' mind. While traded
scissors-curves, dips and loops with Alpha-One, a swarm of TIEs had
besieged the Camelot. Only a superhuman effort on the part of the
Camelot's gunners, the fifteen fighters based on Camelot, and two of
the Hornet's newly orphaned squadrons stopped the bombers from scoring
on the carrier, but the other fighters were whittling away at
Camelot's defenses...
... and Kris couldn't do jack about it, because he was too
busy flying his butt off to get rid of -one- fighter. He'd taken out
thirty-two already, but this woman, probably the leading ace GENOM
had, was giving him the fight of his life. He hadn't been able to
achieve an advantage yet, and if he broke off, the TIE would be on his
butt in a heartbeat.
Nothing for it, Kris thought, but to- WHOA!
Without the least thought or purpose, Kris' arm yanked back on
the yoke, sending his fighter up and away from the modified TIE. A
moment later, Alpha-One followed, firing a couple rounds at Kris'
retreating fighter. Kris paid no mind, he just kept running, as his
mind rang with a sense of warning...
... and his fighter shook just slightly as, behind him, the
SDF-23's Reflex cannon fired and fired and fired, a long, destructive
salvo ripping through the core of the GENOM force, clearing the line
of fire between the two battlefortresses. In turn, the AT&T turned to
face its enemy, centering its main dish on the SDF-23's bridge.
The battle around the two giants slowed, but did not cease, as
ships and fighters turned their attention to the duel. The Wandering
Child brought its bow around, centering itself on the AT&T, looking
for the perfect firing solution.
The AT&T already had one. The dish lit up, the beams merged,
and the deadly shot lanced forward-
-and scattered into a million fragments as it struck a lone
man standing in the middle of space, totally unprotected. (Actually,
he -was- protected, against B. O.- he was wearing deodorant. What he
wasn't wearing was any sort of spacesuit or armor or anything.)
Kris relaxed for a moment- just for a moment, and then laser
blasts jolted him back to attention. Alpha-One, although rattled by
the outer edges of the Reflex effect, was still very much in the
fight. The X-Wing's shields fell for a moment, and Kris dipped out of
Alpha-One's firing arc and worked to get behind her.
Halfway through the curve, he saw the AT&T fire again, and the
beam flew---
** ** ** ** **
*** The management regrets to inform you that your regularly
scheduled fanfic has been interrupted by a sudden end of the
Universe.
We therefore present this Intermission.
Go ahead, go get a sandwich and a Coke.
We'll wait. Honest.
Nice and comfy? Feet warm, head cool, comfy chair?
Good.
We'll have this fixed any minute now, honest.
Thank you for your patience.
-Ah, the Universe is once again running. In just a minute
we'll be returning you to the carnage in progress, so sit
back, enjoy the show, and please do not reveal what goes on to
your friends.
Thank you again, and we hope you enjoyed this intermission.***
Ch. 10/NOW
Above the Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere
August 18, 2388
--- towards the SDF-23... only to be deflected by another,
smaller beam of brilliant yellow light. The source of that light
quickly came into view- a slender, blonde woman in a sort of battle
armor, pink and black mixed, flying in a nimbus of golden light
towards the warring fleets.
"Iczer-One," Kris gasped. He'd never seen an Iczer before, and
the images he'd seen in the WDF history files hadn't done justice to
the sheer power the cosmic woman radiated. As he watched, Iczer-One
flew past his fighter, making towards the SDF-23, face serene without
being grim. He could feel a sort of resonance, both within the Force
and in his sense of the energy around him, as the power stored within
his own body echoed that produced by hers.
Obviously Kris hadn't been the only one to notice the new
arrival. Alpha-One's voice came through his headset. "Another day,
perhaps, Rebel-One, bon jour." As she spoke, her fighter pulled away,
followed in ragged formation by the broken wings of her squadron. Even
with half their strength destroyed in the battle, the formation looked
impressive in its own right, and for a moment Kris just stared as it
flew away from the battle, towards the immense battle station.
"It is well that war is so terrible, else we should become too
fond of it." he quoted to himself. For all the death and destruction
it caused, there was a strange beauty to warfare...
He shook himself head to toe in the cockpit, clearing his head
of irrelevant thoughts, and turned his fighter back towards the
Camelot, red-lining his engines. Battle's still not over... lotsa
things can happen...
On the bridge of the Defiant, Aya Nakajima watched the battle,
looking at one ship and then another as the guncruiser raced through
the battle wreaking confusion while staying milliseconds ahead of
bright green destruction. The GENOM fleet fought on, still inflicting
grievous wounds on many WDF ships, moving slowly into a rear-guard
action as one by one the GENOM ships worked themselves free of the
battle and turned to put distance between themselves and the WDF
force.
The Defiant bore new scars from the grand battle. The large
shield generator 'abstracted' from the CFMF Charlemagne had blown out,
leaving the ship's old, battered shield generators to provide what
little protection they could. The weapons on the starboard wing had
finally given out, the patchwork repairs overloaded in an attack run
on a Victory-class Star Destroyer. However, the engines still worked,
and the ventral mass driver turret still worked, keeping starfighters
from getting too close to the ship.
Despite the punishment the Defiant had taken, it had given
better than it had got. Shadowed by the WDF Hawking, in the brief
engagement she distracted three Imperial-class Star Destroyers from
their targets, put a Victory-class Star Destroyer out of commission,
and assisted in the destruction of three Ikazuchis and one of the
helical supercarriers. With her battle capability nearly exhausted,
the time had come to pick a target for the Defiant's objective-
Operation Blaze of Glory.
Aya scanned the ships, looking for a good target- close range,
good position, and little damaged from the battle. Finally, she
pointed at one Star Destroyer, separated from fire support, roughly a
third of the way in from GENOM's left flank. "That ship," she said.
"That's our target."
T'Pall nodded, hitting a few keys. "Target has been identified
as GSS Warspite, GENOM Imperial class Star Destroyer. Shields read at
81% capacity, armor untouched." With a quirk of the eye, she added,
"Confirmed as having destroyed three Freespacer vessels at
Wilderness."
"Perfect," Aya smiled. "Claire, send to Camelot, one word:
Go."
"Sending," Claire replied, and then, "Sent and acknowledged,
Captain."
"Homare," Aya said, pausing. She looked around her, at the
bridge she'd held for the past year, which she and her crew- her
friends- had made their home. Then she looked at the GENOM fleet,
turning away, attempting to disengage from the WDF fleet, and her eyes
hardened with the grim resolve and unholy joy of combat.
"Power dive. Target the Warspite."
"With pleasure!" Homare's hands moved on the console, and the
Defiant's ion engines lit with stellar flame, leaping hard from its
casual drift to significant fractions of c. "Impact in twenty-five
seconds, Captain."
"Okay, this is it! Claire, send: Now!" Aya shouted, standing up
from her chair.
At that exact moment, the Camelot shuddered under the combined
volley of two Victory Star Destroyers, and its main engines, still
weakened from Wilderness, died. On Nanami Kondo's bridge, the lights
dimmed to red, and in one corner, the console which had been replaced
with a Starfleet-issue interface quietly exploded.
"Damn," Nanami whispered. Then, she shouted, "Message to
Defiant! Abort! Now! And put some distance between us and those Star
Destroyers!!"
"Message from Camelot! Abort!" Claire shouted.
"Point of no return reached!" T'Pall replied. "Abort
impossible!"
For three long seconds, the officers of the Defiant looked at
each other in stark disbelief. The Star Destroyer grew larger and
larger in the viewscreen, as the Freespacer ship roared unstoppably
down on it.
Aya's mouth opened, and she said, "Oh, FUUUU..."
And she, along with the others, vanished in a shower of blue
light.
Kris flew through the fireball of a TIE that hadn't pulled out
with the GENOM retreat, looking up just in time to see a white streak
flash past, striking a GENOM star destroyer. An instant later, both
ships exploded in a giant antimatter detonation, forcing him and
thousands of other crewmen on both sides to squint and shield his
eyes.
"DAMN!" he shouted, flinching. "Sparky, what the hell was
that?"
A scrolling line of text appeared on the cockpit computer
screen. THAT WAS CFMF DEFIANT. AYA DID IT AGAIN, BOSS.
"Day-mmn," Kris drawled. "If she lived, I just might kill
her... or give her a medal."
WE'LL SEE, BOSS, Sparky said.
On the heels of Sparky's observation, Daver's voice echoed in
Kris' headset. "All fighters recalled, repeat all fighters return to
assigned hangars. Prepare for immediate relaunch, orders coming down
within the hour. Daver out."
Kris' eyebrow went up at this. Wasn't the battle over? What
did the WDF dudes have in mind now?
And how many more of his dwindling numbers would it cost him?
".....UUUUCK!" Aya completed the word in totally new
surroundings; instead of the transporters of the CFMF Camelot, she
looked around to see a WDF transporter room surrounding her. "Ano..."
she muttered, "... permission to come aboard?"
"Granted, Captain," the transporter tech smiled. "Welcome
aboard the WDF Hawking." Keying on the intercom, he said, "We got them
all, Captain."
"Excellent work, Chief," a gruff voice rumbled. "Let them know
that the Defiant went out bravely, and the Warspite went down hard and
fast. We're turning back to the reserve elements, where you will be
transferred to Commodore O'Keefe for safekeeping... OUR safekeeping.
My compliments, Defiant."
"Thank you, Captain," Aya smiled.
"Sis," Homare muttered, "this is the second command you've
lost us in two years."
"Oh, don't worry," Aya smiled. "The Admiral might be upset,
but he'll give us a new ship. Who knows?" Aya grinned even more
cheerfully. "He might even give us the Charlemagne when it's done!"
"Ummmmm..." Homare couldn't quite put his misgivings into
words.
The techs aboard the Camelot moved like mad ants around the
hangar deck, re-arming, recharging, and making minor repairs to the
remaining fighters of the CFMF. However, the crews were doubly busy,
as the deck housed not only the CFMF's Rebel and Cavalier Squadrons,
but the late Hornet's Jungle Cats and Teddy Bears as well. All in all,
twenty-six X-Wings and one Transformer sat on the Camelot's flight
deck, taking up virtually every spare inch of space and barely leaving
room for techs to wheel replacement concussion missiles around to
reload the fighters' torpedo launchers.
In the middle of the crowded flight deck, Kris stood with a
hastily drawn up diagram on a whiteboard, explaining the plan he'd
just gotten from Daver moments ago. "We have only a couple of minutes,
so I'll make this quick," Kris barked. "First off, Cavalier Squadron
will be detailed to cover Camelot in our absence. Sorry, Powerglide,
but our mission is strictly antistarfighter, you'd be wasted there."
When the Transformer plane made no comment, he continued, "Ace, you'll
be replacing Rebel Five. That brings Rebel Squadron up to seven
fighters, leaving Cav at six. That'll have to do, Powerglide, use it
wisely.
"Now, Rebel Squadron, and the two squadrons from the Hornet,
will join the mass assault on the giant enemy battlestation." He
pointed to a region near the north pole of the immense spherical
station. "Our purpose is to suppress and eliminate all on-station
fighter forces, most especially in this area here. Eight Ball Squadron
will be escorting a boarding operation into a secondary hangar
somewhere in this area. Above all, do not allow GENOM fighters to
organize a counterattack against this position. It's our job to keep
their escape route open."
One of the WDF Hornet's pilots raised his hand. "What if that
monster starts firing again?"
Kris shrugged. "We know it's got substantial anti-starfighter
defenses," he said, "but I really don't think that big popgun it has
counts as a flak gun." A few of the pilots chuckled at this. "Our
mission goes ahead whether or not that thing starts firing again. WDF
high command thinks this is the best chance not only to take the
battlestation..." He looked around the room, smiling with cruel joy as
he completed the statement, "... but to bring Largo to justice as
well."
The pilots hushed and looked at each other; Kris had expected
them to shout and whoop. He shrugged mentally, not concerned enough to
worry. "Are there any other questions?" he asked. When there were
none, he nodded. "Get to your fighters, we launch in three minutes."
The deck officer shouted, "CLEAR THE DECK! CLEAR FOR LAUNCH!"
and the pilots dashed to their waiting fighters. Terri glared at
Redneck as he scrambled to his fighter; then, with a sigh, she jogged
over to her fighter, the markings of MASS-02 Cavalier Squadron almost
illegible beneath the carbon scoring of dozens of near-miss blaster
and phaser shots.
Are you all right Terri? she grumbled to herself, fastening
her helmet to her flightsuit collar. How did things go out there?
Would you like to fly on my wing, Terri?
Dammit, Red, what's WRONG with you?
General Rayna Tangril grumbled as her pilots waited in
Auxiliary TIE Hangar 54, briefed, resuited, and waiting for
maintenance to clear their fighters for relaunch. The Buma techs in
charge of the hangar maintenance cared as much about speed as they did
about vacuum, and they crawled around the TIE racks outside with a
deliberate pace, not slow but not fast either... not nearly fast
enough to suit Rayna.
Rayna allowed herself to lean against the bulkhead wall,
slouching just a hair in the fashion of impatient fighter jockeys
everywhere. She forbore pacing up and down the room and cursing in
Acadien as she felt like doing; it would be bad for discipline to let
her pilots see their leader acting unprofessionally. She settled for
drumming her fingers against her cyborg leg, the usual clunking sound
dampened by her TIE environment suit.
Of course, that was a large chunk of what was driving her to
get -out-, back into space, as soon as possible. She -was- a
professional, and like any good professional officer, she had analyzed
the tactical situation, the strategic situation, and the political
situation, and come to the conclusion that it stank on ice.
Her chain of reasoning ran something along these lines.
One. The AT&T's weapons systems are down, except for a minimal
screen of anti-starfighter guns running off independent power
supplies. Iczer-One's interference had shorted out the power
regulators for the superlaser and much of the antiship defense grid;
it would be hours before the battle station was back to full combat
readiness. Its only real space-borne defenses lay in the starfighters
it could launch.
Two. Largo had ordered the fleet to pull back well ahead of
the AT&T's capacity to follow. Any starfighter support to the station
from the fleet would take fifteen minutes for TIE Interceptor
squadrons, closer to twenty for the older TIE/ln fighters. As for the
huge capital ships themselves, it would take as much as an hour for
the immense Star Destroyers to come about and come up to attack speed.
Three. The only humans on the entire planet-sized AT&T station
were those from starfighter squadrons like hers, transferred to the
AT&T after the Dreadnaught and other carrier ships had been destroyed.
The station was crewed one hundred percent by non-sapient Buma,
controlled from a central bridge by Largo himself. Literally one
switch could shut down the entire station.
Four. The WDF forces could see all of this information, either
by scanners or by just looking at a tactical display of the space
above the Dyson sphere. There wasn't the least bit of sensor jamming
between the AT&T and the WDF fleet. The station's sacre-damn shields
were even down.
Five. These facts, put together, only make sense if Largo
wants the WDF to attack the AT&T and attempt to capture it. Which
presupposes a trap.
Six. Did Largo actually have the intelligence or sanity to
plan this? She could think of a dozen or more things she might have
done with the huge battle station- rammed the Dyson Sphere, set the
fold drive to jump out of the station and into the middle of the new
star fortress- SDF-23, the numbers were- ordered the remaining Star
Destroyers to attack the SDF-23 in a pincer movement while the AT&T
drew fire... and instead, Largo was unlocking the bank vault door and
laying out a welcome mat for the robbers.
Six point five. Of course, she was just a fighter jockey and
starfighter engineer. What did she know about fleet tactics?
Seven. It could be that this is precisely what Largo wanted.
His personal feud towards the people who thwarted him way back at
Neo-Worcester was common knowledge; only stupid or suicidal people
broached the subject in front of him. It would be like Largo to want
to personally take down the very top of the WDF- and based on history,
the very top just plain loved risking themselves in front-line
action.
Eight. Whether or not Largo planned anything, the WDF was
coming. The potential gains apparent by taking the AT&T intact were
just too great to ignore. Starfighters would come to tie up the
defenses, a crack team will secure a beachhead, and then the landing
troops will come aboard and attempt to cut their way through to the
control center.
Nine. While General Rayna Tangril couldn't do a thing about a
boarding party once it's on board, she could stop their transports
from even making a landing. If only she could just GET MY SHIPS APRES
LE SACRE-DAMN MAMAN-LE-FIQUEN-
"General Tangril, your squadron is cleared for immediate
launch," a cold electronic voice called from the hangar. The Buma
techs jumped down from the boarding ladders, leaving her pilots free
to scramble across the gantries and into their fighters. Rayna went
last of all, dropping down into the 'eyeball' of her advanced
prototype TIE and powering up the fighter's systems.
Around her, in a TIE rack designed to hold a flight of twelve
fighters, five spots lay empty. In the hangars around her, four to
six fighters were missing from each. Out of one hundred forty-four
fighters, only ninety-two remained, with all but eight of the
casualties coming from the battle just an hour before. Rayna seethed at
the numbers. Her squadron, her private elite handpicked squadron, had
just lost one of three pilots in one battle.
These were casualties -average- TIE squadrons took in combat.
Not hers.
The lights went out in the TIE hangars, yellow warning lights
flashing in the darkness as the station's artificial gravity shut off.
(The station itself had a good deal of natural gravity, nullified in
most places to allow systems to run more efficiently.) The grips on
the tie racks rotated down ninety degrees, moving the TIEs into launch
position. Rayna ran through her checklist quickly, checking systems
without needing to look at the pull-down screen on her scanner.
Finally satisfied, she keyed on the squadron command channel and said,
"Alpha Leader to all fighters, prepare for launch. Alpha Squadron
report in." As each of the fighters reported readiness, she cracked
her knuckles through her gloves and thought, This is it...