Calmly, and with no edge of bitterness or sarcasm, Bettayam, paced beside the War Table and scrutinised the image of the blue-uniformed Pritern officer before him. Excellent, Bettayam considered. The element of surprise had been total, and the defenders on the planet below were badly shaken. This was just as the First Admiral had planned, and Argun Bettayam had expected.
“This is Admiral Bettayam, Universal Alliance Third Fleet, I wish to speak with someone of authority in your government,” Bettayam said calmly, arms folded across his chest.
“For what purpose!?” the Pritern officer snapped, still obviously shaken by the sudden appearance of the Alliance ships.
In such a situation, his instinct, and training, was to try to intimidate the interloper. Unfortunately, for the Pritern, Argun Bettayam was not cut from cloth that was easily intimidated.
“I’ll make this very clear for you,” Bettayam began calmly, ”I will speak with a senior member of your government, right now, or I will simply begin bombarding your currently undefended military installations on the surface of your planet, starting with your own location,”
For a few moments there was stunned, astonished silence from the Pritern Officer, who broke the connection and his image instantly disappeared from the War Table. Calmly, Argun Bettayam waited for the next move from the Pritern government. It took only a few minutes for a new Pritern face to appear on the War Table projectors. The new image was an older female Pritern, with a narrower face and fuller lips surrounded by a cascade of long orange hair. Gone was the harsh blue of the Pritern fleet uniform. In its place was a softer, loose, peach-pink garment of a shiny silken texture.
“This is Vice-President Lamnus of the Republic of Priteria,” the voice from the image sounded harsh and defiant, in contradiction to the more feminine image being presented, “Why have you violated our space?”
“Madam Vice-President,” Bettayam began coolly, scrutinising the image before him, “your fleet invaded Alliance space just over six hours ago with the intention of meeting with your Traing allies to attack and subdue the planet of Maltor which is currently under the protection of the Supreme Council of the Universal Alliance,” Bettayam paused for effect and saw the impassive face of the Pritern Vice-President twitch slightly at the announcement of their secret plan.
“I know of no such activity, Admiral. To my knowledge our fleet is occupying territory rightfully the property of the Republic of Priteria, which was illegally seized by Maltorian criminals over two centuries ago,” the image blustered.
“Your fleet has moved beyond the previously disputed territories Madam Vice-President and was on an approach course to Maltor, where a secret rendezvous with the Traing had been arranged, prior to an attack on Maltor itself,” Bettayam replied.
“Admiral, that is sheer fantasy; now, I suggest that you withdraw your ships, before we become embroiled in some very unfortunate diplomatic incident,” the Pritern voice softened, but with the unmistakable edge of a threat.
“No, Madam Vice-President, the invasion by your fleet has already been stopped, your communications are blocked, and your Traing allies are currently being destroyed by our First Admiral. I have been ordered to demand the capitulation of your armed forces and the Government of the Pritern Republic,” Bettayam said unfazed by the Pritern’s inherent threat.
“Demand!? Demand our capitulation!?” the once calm Pritern blustered, “Admiral, this is outrageous, how dare you violate our space and threaten our peaceful planet, our Planetary Defences will blast you into space dust, and furthermore….!”
“Madam Vice-President, your outdated Planetary Defence forces could do nothing to stop us getting here,” Bettayam snapped, cutting her off in full flow, “your fleet has invaded Alliance space and has conspired with pirates and murderers to attack an Alliance planet. You have thirty minutes in which to signal the capitulation of your government and armed forces or we will reduce your cities to rubble,” Bettayam threatened, and made a cut-throat gesture to the Communications Officer to disengage the connection.
The image disappeared before the outraged Pritern could respond.
“WATO, alert the pilots and gunners, I think we might just get a response from the Planetary Defence Forces,” Bettayam smiled.
“Yes, sir,” the Senior WATO replied from above the War Table.
Like most of Bettayam’s Staff Officers, the WATO should have stood by the edge of the table. However, the Senior WATO aboard Colossus was a Chiaron, and stood no more than three feet in height, which meant that she could barely see over the edge of the War Table. She had therefore been given permission by Fleet HQ to use a platform raised above the Data Consoles, which would give her a bird’s eye view of the War Table.
Within a few minutes of delivering the ultimatum, the Pritern government had responded by launching a host of small fighter craft at the invading fleet.
“Admiral, fighters making formation in the lower atmosphere,” a Scanner technician called out.
“Are they in their “V” formation, Scanners?” Bettayam asked.
“Not yet, sir,” came the response, “about five thousand of them, but, they’re forming up that way.”
“Flight, are your fighters in position?” Bettayam asked.
“Yes, sir, they’re on station,” the Senior Flight Officer responded.
“WATO, do you have a firing solution for a “V” formation of five thousand fighters?” Bettayam called to the raised platform.
“Just working the numbers now, sir,” the Senior WATO responded, “Estimate optimal firing window opens at two minutes thirteen seconds to contact.”
“I want them wiped out long before they get near us, WATO,” Bettayam replied.
“At two minutes thirteen seconds our first volleys should take down roughly forty-percent of the fighters, sir,” the Senior WATO responded “computer predicts that one minute forty-five seconds later they’ll break off the attack with over eighty-percent losses.”
“No, WATO,” Bettayam countermanded,” they’re fighting for their homes, they won’t break, no matter what their losses, recalculate for one hundred-percent losses at maximum range.”
“Calculating now, sir,” the Senior WATO announced, “Firing solution for one hundred-percent losses at maximum range, we, should, commence firing, at three minutes nineteen seconds to contact,”
“Exactly when they leave their atmosphere, WATO?” Bettayam smiled.
“Yes, sir,” the Senior WATO replied.
“Thank you WATO,” Bettayam replied, “Give the orders for that solution.”
It was very simple, Bettayam considered, he had to show the Pritern that whatever they did was going to be met with savage and overwhelming force. The Pritern were to be left in no doubt that capitulation was their only option.
“Pritern fighters, in formation, moving up through the planet’s lower atmosphere, sir,” the Senior Scanner Officer called from beside one of the consoles embedded in the War Room floor.
“Very good, Scanners, let’s put our new battle shielding to the test shall we?” Bettayam replied calmly, “WATO, are the Eagles and Crusaders in position?” he asked.
“Yes, sir” came the clipped, but polite military response from the platform.
“Very good,” Bettayam replied, “And WATO, keep those Eagles within the shielding, please, I know your pilots are keen for a fight, but there’s no need to lose any of our brave pilots unnecessarily,” Bettayam added.
“Sir,” the Senior WATO smiled broadly in the darkness, pleased at the compliment.
From the darkness of the War Room, Bettayam could hear the muffled instructions being passed down from the consoles to the Engineers to establish the battle shielding and to the Eagle and Crusader pilots. Calmly he passed his hand over the illuminated plate that accessed the Data Consoles and generated the three-dimensional graphic image of the battlefield. The image took a few moments to materialise, but jolted into a crystal clear representation of the Alliance flotilla in blu
e, standing off the quarter curve of the planet Priteria. Bettayam took the pistol shaped Manipulator in his left hand and magnified the Alliance formation.
Everything was as it should have been, with the Colossus in the centre of its Star-Cruiser screen in the square formation, side-on to the planet below. Between the Star-Cruisers, facing the planet, hundreds of Eagle fighters and Crusader gunships were in position just behind the faint yellow line of the battle shielding. From the planet’s upper atmosphere to the yellow battle shielding was a red zone. This was the battle area. This was where the pride of Priteria would meet its fate. The pride of Priteria was slowly and gradually climbing from the lower atmosphere to challenge the Alliance flotilla that had so easily violated their space.
Five thousand Pritern Dart fighters had massed in the lower atmosphere and had formed their large “V” shaped formation that had torn every enemy before them to shreds. They were confident in their cockpits, confident that they could chase this force of upstart alien invaders away. However, by the time the Pritern fighters had emerged from the fluffy white-clouded atmosphere into the cold emptiness of space, the Alliance Eagles and Crusaders were waiting for them. The Scanners in the Alliance flotilla had monitored them all the way, and Argun Bettayam had carefully followed their progress on the War Table image. Slowly, the great “V” formation was approaching the red zone that Argun Bettayam had decided was where this great armada would meet its doom.
“Ten seconds to firing point, sir”, the platform bound Senior WATO intoned from the darkness.
“Very well, ready the fighters and the pulsar-cannons, keep them behind the battle shielding,” Argun Bettayam responded.
To the astonishment of his staff, rather than release his fighter craft into a mass free-for-all dogfight, Bettayam held his forces in position. Normally, the temptation to disobey orders would have been too great for Third Admiral Argun Bettayam. Now, here he was, calmly watching as five thousand enemy fighters flew straight into the carefully set trap.
“Engineers,” he called upon the Senior Engineering Officer, “full battle shielding please.”
“Sir,” came the response from the darkened War Room.
Argun Bettayam was taking no chances. Jarral Lotharian had shown that the battle shielding would work, but Argun Bettayam wanted to make sure that his flotilla had maximum protection. Calmly, he watched as the images of the Pritern fighters crept even closer to the red killing zone on the War Table, and as the senior WATO counted down slowly to their annihilation. When the images reached the red line and the WATO intoned the word “zero”, Argun Bettayam gave the order.
“WATO,” Argun Bettayam said calmly, his eyes fixed on the Pritern fighters about to cross the red zone on his War Table graphic, “You may commence firing.”
The officers and technicians in the War Room stared with amazement at each other. It had always usually been Bettayam himself, like some spoiled, childish, bullying, gleeful schoolboy who would rush forward and press the button. Then he would laugh, and shout like some blood-crazed Roman Emperor as the pilots of both sides fought for their lives. On receiving no acknowledgement from his order, and seeing no pulsar-bolts being discharged on the War Table graphic, Bettayam looked up from the image to the Senior Weapons and Tactical Officer.
“WATO, I believe I gave you an order to commence firing,” Bettayam said calmly.
“Yes, sir, sorry sir,” the startled WATO complied.
In the astonished silence of the War Room the small red button was pushed on the Senior WATO’s consoles with an inordinately loud click. In the orbit of Priteria, it unleashed the sheer, raw, naked deadly violence of the flotilla’s firepower.
Once again, the Fire Control Computers had calculated the threat potential of each and every attacking vessel. Hundreds of times per second the computers calculated, based on variables such as weapons capability, speed, manoeuvrability, position in formation, possible rank identification markings, to eliminate leaders, and a whole host of other factors, to create a hierarchy of threat potential. The more dangerous a vessel was calculated to be, then the higher up on the electronic priority list for destruction it became. The computers could then instantly access the targeting systems of the weapons platforms, be they Eagles, Crusaders or the pulsar-cannons of the larger vessels. Then, they would systematically eliminate the targets in the sequence of their calculated threat potential scores.
The first volley of yellow flashing death had once again torn great gaps in the huge Pritern “V” formation. The “V” formations were especially vulnerable to computer-controlled remotely-fired weapons. This was why the First Admiral had expressly forbidden the traditional fighter-on-fighter dog fights, that Bettayam so enjoyed, until the enemy formation had broken down. In his Strategic Briefing that morning, the First Admiral had predicted that an enemy could sustain around seventy percent losses before such formations broke down.
Until that point an enemy would continue to hold their formation, making them vulnerable to concentrated and systematic fire until they had seriously depleted their fighting strength. When the formation fragmented, the enemy would be disorganised, demoralised and outnumbered. They would then be easy prey to a determined Eagle fighter pursuit.
Argun Bettayam had also agreed with the First Admiral’s further prediction that these Pritern would not turn and retreat from the defence of their home planet. With no alternative other than to attack, Argun Bettayam confidently expected these Pritern pilots to sacrifice themselves completely. They were the elite and there were only two choices; victory or death. Out in the cold airless depths of space that was exactly what was happening.
Once again, the Alliance crews watched the yellow pulsar-bolts slash downrange and smash into the unprotected hulls of their white, dart-shaped, enemy’s vessels. They watched hundreds of deep red death-blooms of Pritern fighters’ blossom in the cold, empty and airless vacuum of space. Almost immediately, and at maximum range, the surviving Pritern fighters responded.
“The enemy are returning fire, sir,” the Senior Scanner Technician intoned from the darkness of the War Room.
The Pritern formation, shrugging off their initial horrendous losses, pressed on, optimistically firing their inadequate laser and projectile weapons, which exploded harmlessly, a few seconds later, against the Alliance force shielding.
“Engineers, any damage?” Argun Bettayam called out, sounding more nervous than he intended to.
“No sir, the battle shielding held,” the voice of the Senior Engineering Officer sounded with an edge of relief in the darkness of the War Room.
A wave of relief swept over Argun Bettayam. They could comfortably sit behind the shielding and pick off the Pritern fighters at leisure before reducing the planet to rubble if required. But, Argun Bettayam needed to impose his will on this battlefield quickly, ruthlessly and mercilessly. The Pritern were to be left in no doubt that they were defeated, and that surrender was their only hope of survival. With the question of the battle shielding answered, Bettayam turned back to the job at hand; the steady and swift elimination of the Pritern fighter squadrons.
Once more, there was no shortage of courage amongst the Pritern pilots, however, as each second passed more and more of their fighters fell to the Alliance pulsar-cannons, tearing larger and larger gaps in the formation. On the War Table, dozens of the Pritern fighter images simply vanished as the real fighter craft were destroyed in a deep, red death bloom.
Onwards, the suicidally brave Pritern pilots streamed, through the exploding melee of their own fighters and the flashing, bright yellow bolts of the Alliance pulsar-cannons. But, the number of Pritern fighters was dwindling fast. Almost half of their force had been lost in less than two minutes. And, at that point, the Pritern commander had ordered the large formation to break up and to attack in their smaller formations.
“They’re starting to break, they’re going to run!” the Senior WATO exclaimed.
“No, they’re not; WATO, recalculate your firing
solution and keep firing at them,” Bettayam called calmly, still watching the image on the War Table.
The Pritern fighters were splitting into smaller groups as they continued their breakneck charge at the Alliance formation. The smaller groups of Pritern fighters fared no better than the large formation. Despite their jinking and weaving evasive manoeuvres, the Fire Control Computers had systematically targeted them, hunted them down and destroyed them before they could reach the Alliance vessels. The Pritern pilots died hard, but needlessly. A few, seeing that the attack was hopeless tried to make good an escape from the nightmare of bright yellow, slashing death. One by one the computer-controlled pulsar-cannons had sought them out, and had destroyed the fleeing fighters in the deep red burst of flames and agony.
That was the fate of the fighter pilot.
When the last Pritern fighter’s image had blinked out from the War Table image, the stunned silence of the War Room was broken by Bettayam’s voice.
“WATO, cease fire,” Bettayam ordered calmly.
Argun Bettayam, as with many of his stunned officers, stood calmly and silently in the War Room of his flagship. Bettayam marvelled at the courage of these Pritern pilots, but knew that the mission he had been given required him to eliminate these forces. If they chose to stand up to Alliance pulsar-cannons, then Argun Bettayam would cut them down as he had been ordered to do.
In less than four minutes, the computer coordinated pulsar-cannons of the Alliance flotilla had wiped out the five thousand vessel strong Priteria Planetary Defence Fighter Group. The brave Pritern pilots had flown straight into the bright-yellow hail of death from the dutiful ranks of Alliance ships. Once again the black emptiness of space had witnessed the awesome power of the Universal Alliance Fleet, and saw the flashes of dozens of explosions every second.
The great storm of pulsar-bolts had struck the Pritern fighters so quickly that few of the pilots had had a chance to turn their fighter craft around and attempt to escape.
First Admiral 01 First Admiral Page 4
