by Chris Hechtl
“But she gave up a lot of ground to do that. Why?” Jojo demanded. “Not that I don't mind the report that the enemy is flying Raptors, but it's hardly worth it!”
“No choice. They were facing the wrong direction so they did the only thing that made sense at the time,” the admiral said. He could tell it wasn't going to save them in the end. Not that he was going to say that out loud. It would come out soon enough.
“We can't do a damn thing to help them either,” Kyle growled. The admiral merely shook his head in agreement.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, the Prowler is running down our throats. The fighters were caught off guard. They got a small piece of her but not enough obviously. They are playing catch-up now,” Catherine reported. She looked up from her tablet. “Should I pass an order for Nimitz to launch a second flight?”
“The alert five?” Sedrick asked. “It could work.”
“No, Zakhan had his chance. He should have stood off as CAG and directed it from the rear but he got cocky and blood thirsty,” the admiral said. He glanced at the board. “Order DDron 6 to run that Prowler down once and for all.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
Like a deer UFN-001P darted to and fro on her base course, altering her course at random intervals to keep the enemy off balance and just out of reach. Every minute was precious to her, every duck or successful swerve was something to be celebrated. Unfortunately, the crew didn't have the time or inclination to celebrate such minor triumphs.
Silent thunder wracked the dark heavens as the small ship fended off the baying wolves behind her, and the bears moving in to cut off her retreat. She wasn't fighting for life anymore; she was fighting for something far more precious, time. Every second she survived meant one more tick closer to the clock when TF2.1 could escape. Every second meant one less second that the enemy would be in their engagement zone.
But gallantry wasn't sufficient armor from the wolves, nor speed and the federations more advanced tech and training enough to stave off the inevitable. Slowly damage began to climb, to pile onto the already damaged ship to slow her speed every little bit. The damage mounted far faster than her desperate crew's ability to keep up.
Then systems began to fail in a cascade. Just as the overworked systems began to falter the shields, overstressed from the relentless pounding weakened and were breached, opening a hole to her unarmored hull. She twisted, rolling to interpose other parts of her shields less stressed, but the fighters clawed at her, their energy weapons whipped like lashes, their small but still potent missile warheads went off to cleave off and scour away entire sections of her hull where the shields no longer covered them.
But her sacrifice wasn't in vain. UFN-001P managed to draw only a tithe away from the jump point. Her run drew all eyes on her instead of TF2.1, allowing them to get on their new course well ahead of the enemy's ability to pick it up and adjust their own to match.
“Comm, give them our updated log,” the captain said from within his suit. They had long lost atmosphere on the bridge.
“We've been keeping up a running log, sir,” Spooky reminded him.
“Ah yes, that we are. Thank you, Spooky. Lay a whisker on them. Give them our updated log,” the captain ordered tiredly.
“We don't have the ability anymore, sir. All exterior comm systems are gone,” the A.I. said regretfully.
“Damn. Well, hopefully it will be enough.”
“Are we going to surrender, sir?” Spooky asked.
“Hell no! I know what they do to prisoners! No, we're going to run. If we can't get away, we'll damn well take one or more of them with us,” the captain snarled. “We'll ram.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Down their throats.”
:::{)(}:::
Ship Captain Lieutenant Commander Red O'Shanasae stroked his red beard as he noted the sudden course change of his prey. It had only one meaning, and since Daring was the flagship of his squadron, most likely one target. “Helm, get us out of her path. Guns, take them down. I want that ship burned to plasma,” he growled.
“She's taking fire, but she's got too much acceleration to stop in time,” the navigational officer replied.
“She's breaking up!” the tactical officer said enthusiastically. All eyes jerked to the main screen to see the ship being savaged break up. Her reactor went off and parts exploded in all directions. That set off a cheer on the bridge.
The cheer quickly died when their ship began to take hits. The mass was too much for some of their shields, they buckled and went down. Debris tore into their flanks.
“Bastard scratched my paint!” the captain bellowed, clenching his meaty fists in rage. “Brave but stupid. Damage report! Comm, get a contact report off to Executioner!” he spat, looking around the bridge.
“Commodore Eichmann is asking the same thing, sir,” the XO said carefully.
“Well, keep him posted,” the captain growled. He was still dubious about being a flag captain. He could manage a squadron better than most and he knew it. But he'd been saddled with Eichmann. Fortunately, the commodore kept his eyes on the squadron and didn't bother with the day-to-day running of his ship.
:::{)(}:::
“He's defensive. Off balance. We can use this to our advantage. Damn the luck that the scout drew us off! They did too good a job,” Admiral De Gaulte snarled, momentarily ignoring the fact that he had issues with his own ships. Engineering issues he realized, glancing at his status board. Apparently everything was good. No one was reporting a problem.
He wondered if they would. They'd damn well better, but he knew the instinct to gloss over an issue in order to stay in the hunt. Especially one as important as this one, he thought quietly.
“I don't know if it was a scout or not, sir. They might have gotten the warning and decided to intervene.””
Sir, the Prowler is headed on a collision. SITREP update: the Prowler has been destroyed,” a CIC rating reported triumphantly.
“About damn time,” Sedrick growled.
“Either way it doesn't matter much for them anymore, sir,” Berney stated. His hand went up to the ear piece on his ear. “Sir … Daring reports … yes, sir,” his eyes went glassy briefly as he focused on the incoming report then he nodded once to an unseen person. “They've confirmed that they got her,” the chief of staff stated with a feral grin, eyes refocusing on the flag officer. “A good omen and down payment on what is to come.”
“Well, that's something at least,” the admiral said, slightly mollified. “Get those ships back here then. Get the ships in closer. Fire as you bear. We need to keep the pressure on them. If they have to defend they can't run or charge their hyperdrives. Maybe we can get a piece of them.”
“Aye, sir,” Catherine replied.
“Sir, Daring has updated her status. She reports significant drive damage. The Fed ship tried to ram in her last moments. Shrapnel damage as well throughout the squadron. Some of the ships have heaved to as their engineers get a handle on the damage, sir.”
“Very well. Keep me posted. Have the other ships of Squadron 6 unaffected get back here at their best speed and order the damaged ships to assist each other as needed. We've got a hunt to finish,” the admiral ordered, eyes locked on the plot.
“Aye aye, sir.”
The admiral grunted but didn't say anything as he turned back to the main event.
“Have those fighters recover. Get DDron 6 back into formation,” Catherine ordered.
He heard the ratings acknowledge the order, but his mind was elsewhere. He was too busy trying to find a way to close the gap and get his dreadnaughts into lethal range of his running foe.
Unfortunately, he wasn't certain if it was possible; the enemy ships were too fast. They'd had just a minute jump start on their maneuver, and his ships were only going to get into extreme energy range at best.
But at least he could give the bastards a proper send-off. A nice taste of hellfire, he thought in grim ap
proval.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir! We're receiving an omega hail, sir. It's Spooky's final transmission,” A comm rating stated flatly.
Admiral White turned to the interruption. He'd been expecting it for a while. “Spooky?”
“The A.I. of UFN-001P, sir. She's gone.”
“Ah,” the admiral said with a nod. He tapped an entry in the log along with a recommendation to award the crew for their heroism.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, status change. The main body is underway and is trying to match our course,” Jojo warned, indicating the plot. “They'll be in extreme missile range within two hours. They'll most likely launch fighters within a few minutes,” she stated.
“Damn it,” Kyle muttered darkly.
“Sir, enemy fleet status change. The carrier that was detected, she's launched, sir. Magnum launch, mixed … CIC is reporting a mixed bag of types, sir. We're getting reports of more fighters from the other ships as well, sir,” Garfield reported. “Our sensors aren't the greatest at this range. Should we launch?”
“Hold off for another few minutes. We're playing defense; let our people know that. Split the fighters between defense and interceptors.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Launch the interceptors when the CAGs let you know they are ready. Get a couple eyes out but tell them to keep out of the way.”
“Aye, sir. They'll be vulnerable as they are.”
“I know. Keep them out of the main path of the fighters. Just fighters?” the admiral asked.
“We're not sure of the mix without something there to help, sir,” Kyle stated apologetically.
“Drop a couple recon drones in our wake. No, scratch that, toss them into the enemy formation. The same for a spread of missiles set to detonate on proximity with maximum splash damage.”
“Sir?” Jojo asked.
“It could make them jink. At the least it'll break them up,” the admiral explained. She nodded and passed the order on.
“Order the fleet train to move up to 90 percent speed. Have the main body begin to fall back in stages to cover them. Alec, tighten the turn. We need to throw their time table off and cut their engagement envelope,” the admiral ordered.
“We can tighten the turn, sir, but it will mean a lengthy long range duel once we've made the turn. It will also make deceleration at the jump point dicey,” Alec warned. “If we start taking drive damage, things will add up quickly. And if they find more speed, we'll be in serious trouble. They'll be in optimal weapons range just before we jump.”
“Do what you can. Cut the time,” the admiral ordered.
“I'll do my best,” Alec replied dubiously.
:::{)(}:::
“Admiral, they are adjusting course and fleet status now,” a CIC rating reported as the admiral came out of the head. He blinked, tired mind ticking over. He'd been on duty for an entire shift and adrenaline had long worn off. The engagement wouldn't be for another thirty minutes.
He grimaced when he looked at the updated plot. Apparently thirty-five he noted. “Nav, adjust our course to compensate. Has the fighters been updated?”
“Aye aye, sir. Commander Zakhan has just launched after refueling. He's going to be in the follow-up wave,” the rating reported. “All fighter commands are being run through him,” he said by way of apology.
“Well gee, too bad if he doesn't like that we step over him or on his toes,” Sedrick growled in disgust. “He's in a fighter, it's not like we can feed the order to him or that he can see the big picture,” he said.
“At ease,” the admiral said mildly.
“Aye aye, sir.”
“He's buying the worst of both worlds,” the admiral murmured. “Trying to keep us out of engagement here but allowing it at the end of the chase?” He shook his head. “And a long range battle?”
“He's covering his fleet train, sir. That's the change in fleet status,” Catherine offered, coming up beside him. They still didn't have a good look at the enemy's composition or strength but they had a lot. And it was getting a little better as the racing fighters and bombers began to overhaul the enemy fleet's lead and reported their sensor data back to the main fleet.
“Order the fleet train to follow at its best speed. We're not going to keep to their best speed anymore,” the admiral growled. “Detail …” he frowned thoughtfully as he scratched at his chin. “Detail DDron 7 to cover them.”
“It won't buy us much speed Admiral. Nimitz and both of the dreadnaughts are only slightly faster than the fleet train, sir,” Catherine warned.
“Every little bit helps,” the admiral growled. “Close the range. I want them to feel the pressure.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
Admiral White saw the enemy's course adjustment and shook his head. “Alec …”
“Ahead of you, sir. We're adjusting course inward. It will mean a tighter turn, closer to star than I'd like. It's the best I can do. Any closer and we'll be kissing the corona.”
“I prefer to be rare not medium-to-well done, thank you,” Jojo said.
“You tan? I never suspected,” Alec said shaking his head. Jojo snorted. “I know you wanted to narrow the window when the enemy's ships will be in range of our own. This is the best tradeoff I can come up with. We might be able to stay out of their final engagement range if we leave it off for late and if we brake hard and throw in a couple last-minute random jinks and course corrections to throw them off, sir.”
The admiral cataloged the idea and nodded. “Keep them out of knife fighting range if you please. The longer the better.” Alec nodded.
“Aye, sir, we're doing our best. Interceptors launching now. They will have one pass before they have to return or get left behind, sir,” Kyle reported.
The admiral grunted. “I know. Find out if the carriers can put a SAR … his frown deepened. “Scratch that damn it. I was going to say SAR and refuel flight but they are too damn slow. No, they'll do their best.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Interceptors clear. Defensive fighters and drones are deploying now,” Jojo stated.
The admiral nodded in acknowledgement of the status report. “Good.”
:::{)(}:::
A full light minute behind TF2.1, Cutlass class fighters designated as interceptors roared in to spar with the enemy fighters and bombers just as the twelve capital missile spread went off in the center of the Horathian's formation. The enemy fighters had seen the capital ship missiles coming and had gotten out of their range easily, but they'd had to spread out to do it.
That had dropped their overlapping cohesion and limited their communications between the various ships. The explosions also temporarily blinded sensors and communications in the area dropping their datanets. The Horathian ships lacked energy shields so when the interceptors launched missiles they immediately jinked and popped simple counter measures in an effort to divert the missiles.
But in doing so they had to cut their drives and maneuver even further away from the course of their intended targets. Each maneuver forced them to burn fuel and would cost them fuel and time to get back on course.
Those Horathian fighters that could returned fire without an order. Their small spread of missiles was immediately picked off by the federation ECM and counter measures.
A few things began to tell with the long range battle almost immediately. One, the missiles of the federation were far superior to the Horathian copies. But they were running straight down the throats of the enemy fighters, so they had a very short engagement window and any that missed their target overflew them and then self-detonated harmlessly.
Second, the Horathians were much more conservative with their fighters and ammunition once they realized the first fact. But their cohesion was lost.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral White smiled as he noted the small number of interceptors had successfully broken up the enemy's fighter strike. They hadn't scored many hits at that range, but they'd def
initely broken the enemy's cohesion. The interceptors were on a bank and return course but for the moment were out of the next phase of the battle.
The rest would be up to the defensive fighters and drones he'd deployed as well as the defenses on each of his ships. He was suddenly glad he'd placed his main body between the enemy fighters and the fleet train. He had plenty of point defenses and counter missiles to spare against the small fighters.
Data came in to help flesh out their understanding of the enemy fighters and bombers. Most of the fighters were F-32 Raptor clones, easy meat for his fighter broods but better suited for space than the Cobras and Cutlass class federation fighters. They were highly maneuverable but short ranged though. But there were some E class fighters in the mix as well, enough to throw certain victory into doubt.
The computers pulled up the various status information about each class and pulled known ECM, range, and weapon mixes, then fed it to the CIC ratings to digest and report. The information was copied to all ships and also fed to the computers and dumb A.I. in the fighters riding in a half sphere around the fleet.
:::{)(}:::
The thirty federation interceptors had taken out a dozen enemy fighters, most of them Raptors. One or two bombers had been hit and either forced to return or recover with a neighboring ship, taking them out of the fight as well.
That left roughly forty-four bombers, twenty-two fighter-bombers of mixed classes, thirty-nine Raptors, and twenty fighters of various classes for the defenders to contend with.
But numbers only told part of the story. The missiles and interceptors had torn the enemy squadrons into far flung gnats, not the cohesive force needed to overwhelm the defenders. Packets began to reform as fighters and bombers close to each other got closer for mutual support, but for some the fighters were faster and too eager to engage.
For others, their first taste of real battle had shaken them. Losing some of their number so early in the battle had hit their morale. Knowing they were in inferior fighters helped that downward spiral along.
