by Isaac Stone
““Take control of the Ove station,” said Latasha, parroting Captain's orders as our commander dealt with the Marshal, “Do not destroy the station unless you have no choice. It still has the original crew on it held captive by the Roka. Under no circumstances is the Roka to remain in control of Ove. Expect resistance from the Roka. They may have captured some Yon starfighters to use. Fly well, fight hard,” said Latasha as she spoke the ritual send off, and then added, "Try not to die ok boys?"
I chuckled. “Have I ever done that yet?”
The orbital station was built as a fuel depot, just as I expected. While Orlando made the adjustments for the course and Tran sharpened his mental knives for his role, I brought up a diagram of it on a new screen that floated in front of my head. As I expected, there was a lot of room inside the station for repair work too. The station had a complete weapon array in case any pirates or smugglers appeared. If the Roka had it under control, we’d encounter a lot of heat before taking command of it.
“We got two unidentified objects headed in our direction,” I heard Orlando speak out over the audio. “They came out from behind the station.” He gave me the coordinates and I fed them into the screen next to me.
The station was still visible only as a bright star, but now there were two icons of light moving in our direction. I enlarged the perspective and they turned into starfighters.
Once again, we were up against the standard single pilot multi-atmospheric combat craft used throughout the UDF. Different government bodies purchased them for the regional militias and they ended up in some strange places. Our guess was that some were custom built for select clients by corrupt arms dealers and ended up used against the UDF. At least it narrowed what we had to worry about. Every so often, someone would try to make a run at an Order mothership with some new technology. They didn’t last long in real combat, most of the time. Anything they’d learn how to wield, so would we. And we have a very short learning curve when it comes to adapting to new weapons.
“Hey, Corwin,” I heard Tank transmit. “Do you see what I do? Looks like we are about to have some fun.” I could the excitement of pending violence in his voice.
“Which one do you want?” I asked him as the screen identified the make and probable origin of the starfighters.
“I call the nearest one,” He let me know. “My crew is read any willing. How about your guys?”
“Strapped and primed,” I responded. “We have to get at least one for Ollie.”
“Hurry up and maybe I'll leave you some scraps boys!” hooted Tank as his FAS soared onwards.
I looked at another screen and saw the Hard Rain pick up speed. Captain was bringing her into firing range. There was no telling what else was on the other side of that orbital station and she wanted to be there in case we really hit some turbulence. The Hard Rain’s guns could blow the Ove station apart in seconds, but she wanted it take intact. Based on her instructions, I felt the guns were to be used against the starfighters if they had the opportunity. It’s hard to nail a fast-moving object in space unless you’re another fast-moving object, even with cybernetics, which is why the pack is so badass.
“Helmets,” I told everyone. “Snap those tops in place.” My life screen told me the moment everyone had his helmet locked to the rest of their suits.
Orlando fired the plasma jets to full thrust and I felt myself pressing against the gyro's cushion.
The Roka ship came at us about fifteen degrees off the front. I attacked at minus twelve. I had Tran fire the foreword lasers as we moved into range. From what I could tell, these starfighters had only one pilot each, which didn’t allow for much visibility in the three hundred and sixty degree battlespace of, well, space. Tran nailed the one coming at us right near the canopy. I watched the screen as it banked away without firing a single shot. The point of impact where the laser struck it turned yellow as the AI on board our FAS spooled out the damage done. It didn’t seem fatal and the starfighter was still in the game.
“Let it retreat,” I told Orlando. "There’s no place it can go and Captain’s right behind us, let's see where it runs too."
From what I could tell, the starfighter Tank engaged was piloted by someone with more experience. It tried to get in his backfield and do some serious damage. Tank was too smart for that old trick and had his pilot pull his FAS below the line of attack as the other starfighter roared in behind him for the quick kill. As the enemy ship attacked, Tank’s FAS dropped below his opponent range. Tank had his ship pop back up with the starfighter now in front of him. His gunner opened up with a quantum laser and scored a direct hit on the propulsion system. The other starfighter banked left as Tank’s FAS gave pursuit. Whoever was in that starfighter was good, after the breaching hit to propulsion they shunted the plasma ignition and were flying on inertia alone in order to avoid exploding.
As I’d expected, the starfighter we engaged was on its way back. He wasn’t about to let us have the advantage in pursuit. I looked down to see our laser bank charged and ready. I also noted the Hard Rain was in range too. The women who ran those guns needed target practice. Or at least that's what my intuition was telling me, and I've lived long enough to have a ten year old child, so I was inclined to listen, even if it didn't make the most tactical sense.
“Take us back towards the ship,” I told Orlando. “Let him think we’re in retreat.”
“Got it, boss,” Orlando let me know. “Don’t know why; that fighter’s acting funny. Probably the hit you scored on it.”
“Just lure him in,” I responded. The gunners on Hard Rain would have it figured out by now. They pick up things like that quick.
They waited until the starfighter was close enough for them to see the outline of it. As we retreated back, I saw the blue flashes from the surface of the Hard Rain that let me know it had fired two missiles right at the starfighter.
It tried to turn and flee, but too late. The missiles locked on their target and blew up the starfighter in a burst of color that instantly went to black. You have to admire that level of technology.
“Nice targeting,” I let Latasha know. “Who takes credit for that hit?”
There was a pause of three seconds as we hit some interference, and that's a long time in mega-speed combat. I kept one eye on the screen that showed Tank about to pounce on the other starfighter.
“It was Adri,” Latasha informed me. “Good hit too. She managed to jam the countermeasures on the starfighter and guide that Deathdealer Missile right into the target. Why did you bring it in ranger instead of engaging yourself?”
“I had a feeling,” I let the mothership know. “Something was saying Corwin, give young Ardi a bit of the enemy's hide,” I heard Latasha chuckle on the other end.
Adri was a sweet girl who’d grown up in another Order. Usually, the different Orders only matched their children to packs in the same Order, but sometimes it didn’t work out. The individual motherships needed a certain amount of bodies on board, or they would no longer be effective. Even with plans made years in advance, things might go wrong. When these cases came up, either they were forced to see what recruits were available or, better, what other Orders matched the one that needed mates.
Adri I remember from the day she came on board. There wasn’t any question about her fitting in; this was all decided by her original captain and ours's. It turned out Adri’s ship, the Mycenae, was part of Amazon Order. Paired with the Apollo Order, they managed to make things work out over the years to everyone’s satisfaction. She was still nervous around so many men for the first time but told us later she'd looked forward to the experience.
Tank was her first assignment after she’d pledged into the pack. He later told me Adri was ecstatic when he shut the door behind them. She’d assumed her eventually family would be Amazon, but never really felt it was her destiny to be one. So, everyone took it as a win. We exchanged her for a young man who would benefit the Apollo Order's gene pool, and everyone was happy. The Orders do the
ir best to treat us like individuals with agency, as best they can, even if the needs of the gene pool trump everything in the end.
“Keep the guns ready,” I told Latasha. “I’m going to help Tank.” I looked down at the image of Medoro at his loader post. “How you coming along down there?”
“Able and willing, boss,” he answered. “We’re holding steady and ready.”
I looked at Orlando’s screen. His anxiety was high, but this didn’t surprise me. In the heat of battle, all manner of emotions rises to the surface. Living and loving your packmates is one way to find out what makes them tick in advance. We're all one big family, so while it's tough to keep secrets, it's also damn near impossible to suffer alone.
We caught up with Tank the moment he’d banked back from the Roka starfighter. The pilot of the starfighter managed to keep Tank off his tail, but now his attention had to be at maximum. I counted on our presence to make it break.
I moved into a “V” pattern with Tank’s FAS to our right and the starfighter to our apex. It was moving in our direction when the pilot realized he had another FAS to think about.
“Rake it with projectiles,” I ordered Tran. “Tank will know to distract him with the lasers.”
I watched Medoro thread the belt into the chain cannon and stand back. The charge inside the shells contained their own oxygen and was most effective at close range. As the cannons swung in the direction of the Starfire, Tank would know what I had in mind. We’d used this technique plenty of times before.
The starfighter tried to turn back and run in the opposite direction, but it was too late. I had Tran open up with a full barrage of shells the second we were close enough. The explosions from the barrels as they spit death at the Roka ship arced through the stellar darkness on my screen.
I watched Tank confuse the pilot with endless beams fired down on the starfighter. Everyone scored a direct hit to match the impact and explosions from our shells.
It didn’t stand a chance.
The starfighter disintegrated when the shells ripped into its undercarriage. Unable to respond fast enough from the lasers fired down on hit from Tank’s FAS, I watched as the starfighter split open and disintegrated. The screen in front of me listed the ship as “dead” and began to count to the pieces of shrapnel that made up the loss.
“I’ll give you that one,” Tank informed me as his FAS turned back toward the orbital station. “Something tells me we haven’t seen all the Roka have to offer, they don't fight like the Sids but they sure are slippery on the stick I'll give em that.”
“Captain says good work,” Latasha informed us from the Hard Rain.
“Skies are clear,” I informed the navigator. “We’re on our way to the station.”
Now that we could see the Ove Station as it orbited over the outer planet in the Yon system. It wasn’t very impressive to look at. Instrument clusters were positioned all over it with the occasion weapon display. It was shaped like a sphere, which I expected from reading over the specifics before we engaged it. I could see the light from the Yon star blocked out by the circular shape as we made our approach. So far, there was no sign of enemy activity. But it would come very soon, I felt as certain of that as I was of breathing.
The screen floating over the top of my head began to blink. Our early warning system spotted several objects moving up the opposite side of the station in our direction.
“This doesn’t look good,” I told Tank from my position. “How many do you see coming up on the other side?” He was far enough ahead of me to have a better look.
“I count one, two, three, four,” he spoke as they round shapes emerged from their hiding place. I watched the color on their exteriors change as the direct light of the Yon sun lit them in the emptiness of space.
“Six,” Tank confirmed to me. “There are six of them and two of us.” I could feel his excitement over the audio.
“Seems about the right odds,” I sent back to him. I stared at the screen that showed me the medical readings and images of my crew. “Tank says we got three Roka on the way. Nope, make that six. Guess I need to learn to count. You guys ready for some fun?” The shouted agreements at the same time.
“Let’s do it again!” I yelled down to the crew. I turned back to the screen that showed the six Roka starfighters as they emerged from the event horizon of the orbital station. Beneath it all was the planet it orbited, not habitable, but a good place to park a fueling and repair station. I could see the reflection off the methane crystals on the surface.
“What’s the status on the Horde ship?” I sent back to Latasha. “We can use all the help we can get.”
“It just dropped out of hyperspace,” She let me know. “Captain has Shelly’s FAS on the launch pad and ready to go if it gets thick out there.” I knew Captain didn’t want to send all of her assets out at the same time.
“We have it under control,” I sent back. “I can tell by the way those Roka are grouping together, and how the others flew, they don’t have much tactical training, more like agri-pilots who got off the crop duster and into a starfighter. We can handle all of these punks.”
“I’ve got the right wing,” Tank transmitted. “We can do this the same way we’ve done before. Remember the time we took out those ten Limerah smugglers?”
How could I forget? Both of our ships were caught out in the open when they swarmed over us from the shadow of an asteroid. Tank and I flew on pure instinct and forced them into a cluster that we picked away at until they were just a debris field. We managed to reduce their number by two thirds before they fled.
“Let’s do this the same way in half the time,” he laughed over the audio. I watched his FAS spin to one side and kick its plasma torch up to maximum as it dived at the Roka formation.
“Take it twenty degrees to the right ecliptic,” I told Orlando. “Make sure you come in over their plane. Those assholes are all together, as if it will do them any good. They made our job easy.”
“Got it, boss,” Orlando called back and went to full thrust on the torch. I could feel the glove around my hand grab a safety handle as the ship made a turn and dived at the formation from the opposite side of Tank’s FAS.
This time, Tank made the first score. I watched the screen as his FAS scored a direct shot on the nearest starfighter with his lasers. They fried the side ports and caused it to decompress instantly. My AI turned it red a second later. Guess the pilot forgot to suit up or strap in, or more likely, got pulped by debris during the decompression.
I had Tran tear apart a starfighter with the chain cannon as we dived through their formation. Medoro had the cartridges in position before we even needed to us them. No wonder he’d wanted to join my crew as a loader. I only hoped he would never meet with Ollie’s fate, which was a vain hope, considering it highly likely all of us were going to get killed long before we reached retirement age, but hey, some people make it. Not that it matters much to us, it is the way of the Orders to take life a day at a time, and if we die young, well, that's why we have so many children.
Two down.
Orlando roared off to one side as Tank’s FAS dogged around to come back for another pass. I grabbed the support handles as the mass force tried to spin the gyro around the tower. My ability to guess danger came in handy. I felt the sense that served me well many times in the past.
“Orlando, down fifteen degrees vertical,” I yelled into the microphone in my helmet. I felt the ship lunge.
Two seconds later the AI screamed about an imminent collision as a large object roared over us. I looked up to the view screen to see a Spearhead Missile seek out its target in the midst of the remaining Roka formation.
The Great Khan had spoken.
There was a flash in front of me as the missile found its target, which in and of itself was impressive as hell, considering that Ardi had just broken Hard Rain's targeting records with her direct hit. Damn are girls good at shooting big guns! I watched a Roka icon on the screen turn red as the f
lash faded away, followed by a seventh starfighter who had been hiding in the former's shadow, damaged in the blast and finally giving up the ghost. There wasn’t even enough left of the Roka starfighters to look at out of the viewports.
“Fast Attack Ships from the Hard Rain,” a new voice cut in on the audio. “This is Ivanka Kalagin Khan Actual. We will hold position and assist in neutralizing the threat around the orbital station, though we detect no further fighters from it. Outliers have been eliminated, so expect no trouble at your backside.”
“Roger that Khan Actual,” I sent back, “Unless they make a direct run under your firing grid. We’ve got this under control.”
Tank and I made another attack on the remaining Roka starfighters. I’d assumed they would pull back and regroup, but whoever was commanding that unit had other ideas. They still had a hard time maintaining formation, which confirmed my suspicion these were green pilots the Roka had to be desperate if they were going to the trouble of training fighter pilots only to waste them in this pointless operation. Where had they obtained the fighters? I guessed we would never know, as they were all about to be killed. I couldn’t see the UDF Navy getting out here in time examine the wreckage before it drifted away.
The remaining trio surprised me when the three Roka starfighters converged on one center point and turned around. They kicked their thrusters up and blasted past us before we could respond.
Both Tank and I managed to whip our ships back around in time to follow them. The spin was enough to cause nausea, but I’d been through this plenty of times. I looked back at the screen fixed on their path and realized what they were up to.
It was a last stand. A suicide charge right under their firing grid. Maybe that's why I made the joke I did, like I kind of already knew they'd make a go of it. The remaining three Roka ships were determined to hit the Great Khan with everything they had. The Horde mothership hadn’t shown up early enough in the fight to get its FAS ships ready. It sat there with its lasers and rocket launchers as the only protection. If they didn’t fire in time, the ship stood a good chance of being lost or disabled.
