by Chris Hechtl
“We're taking a page from their playbook. We're going to go after their screen but concentrate our fire,” Admiral De Gaulte said as all eyes fell on him. “You read me, Zakhan?” he asked. “I want you to rip a hole in their defenses.”
“Aye aye, sir. We'll pick a few out as a down payment,” the commander replied.
“Good. Don't get cocky—in and out fast,” the admiral ordered. “Keep your fighters on task, Commander.”
“Aye, sir. We'll get it done.”
“You've got a lot to prove. Get on it,” the admiral ordered, closing the link.
:::{)(}:::
The moment when the chasing fleet entered extreme weapons range came and passed. A few sighed in relief, but Amadeus knew better. When the bombers showed up on the scopes, Admiral White's people went on alert.
Commander Meia saw the bombers coming and ordered the reserves launched to help fend them off on her own authority. Admiral White saw the order passed and silently assented to it. He had done some rethinking after a discussion with Commander Meia and the other CAGS. The fighters assigned to the warships would act as defenders since they were best suited for the role. Commander Meia would take on the interceptor role while Commander Zenkov was held back with the bombers. Commander Wilder would oversee the defenders from Kittyhawk and coordinate between the interceptors and the defenders.
Admiral Spruance lacked a CAG since medical had stuck the critically injured Lieutenant Commander Z'r'll into stasis for the time being. She'd also lost her senior-most squadron commander, and the other three were green with little experience at commanding more than their own squadron. They'd also received their most recent promotion at the exact same time, which made time in rank a matter of seconds.
Since they didn't want to sort out the chain of command and had different roles to play anyway, Meia had divvied the wing up between herself, Zenkov, and Wilder. She'd been tempted to pull the ships from Admiral Spruance to fill in the voids of the other squadrons, but she'd fought the temptation. It wouldn't have helped much and none of them had trained together.
Instead Zenkov took on the bombers while she took the Raptors. Wilder would have her hands full overseeing Squadron 1's Cobras while Squadron 3 was detailed to Zenkov to cover his bombers.
When the counter hit zero, the interceptors launched first. They would fly into the face of the enemy fighter squadrons and draw them off allowing Wilder's defenders a shot at the bombers.
Unfortunately, this time they couldn't launch drones. The defensive platforms had exhausted their limited stock of small counter missiles. They had been recharged and serviced, but the admiral deemed it not worth launching and losing them.
It was a pity; they could use the fire power. Something told Meia that the admiral would revisit the decision when they needed the extra defenses in the near future though she thought just as her fighter launched.
:::{)(}:::
“Avoid the Nelsons and that new ship class. Focus on the Arboths. They've got thicker skin, but they aren't set up for fleet defense,” the commander growled.
“But sir, the Nelsons, shouldn't they be the priority? They'll play Aegis later,” Lieutenant Ashton reminded him.
“Don't argue with me! I know what I'm doing. Leave the Nelsons and that other ship class alone like I said. We need to focus our fire like the admiral ordered.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
“They are going after the Arboths and avoiding the fleet defenders,” Kyle reported, looking up from his station.
“It makes sense. They may not know what sort of fire power the Fletchers have. And they don't want to tangle with the Nelsons since they are on fleet defense. It'd take a hell of a lot of fire to saturate their defenses,” Jojo stated.
“Agreed. Order them to cover their sister ships then,” the admiral stated. He'd expected a feint, for the fighters to come dashing in for his screen then turn and go for his limited number of cruisers but they hadn't. Apparently their last encounter had taught them some caution. Caution was good.
“Aye aye, sir,” Kyle replied.
:::{)(}:::
Lieutenant Nezier wasn't nearly as eager to go on the mission as he projected. He knew the importance of projecting a positive front though, and he definitely knew it was important not to show his fear. Not just to his subordinates but also to his superiors. The CAG was like a caged animal; he had torn strips out of the surviving fighter pilots. Nezier's bombers had fared better but only a little. They hadn't scored a single kill, which hadn't set well with the CAG either.
Now it was their chance to strike. Overconfidence was the thing of the past. He watched the fighters take point, then peel off in various directions as they worked to avoid the incoming missiles and energy weapons while also drawing attention away from his bombers.
Each of the bombers wasn't so weighed down as before. They carried three-quarter loads, with the last hard points holding extra ECM and decoy packages. They still maneuvered like stuck pigs in molasses, but it was better than running full up and bloated with fuel.
“Coming up on point Bravo. Still with me?” he asked, glancing over his left shoulder to the fighter riding beside him. It was a new tactic, keeping a single squadron in tight with the bombers all the way in. The fighters would play defense, tangling with the enemy's second tier of defenses and keeping them off the bomber's back. That was the theory anyway.
“Good. Let's do this,” Lieutenant Ashton growled.
“Right,” Nezier said, eying the plot. Cobra fighters filled his path. “Looks like we've got the gauntlet, but I don't see any defensive drones. I think they are holding them in reserve this time. We may have an easier time of it,” he said.
“Don't bet on it,” his copilot muttered as the Cobras began to cycle off missiles into his face.
His people were ready for it though. His bomber came equipped with two turrets, one dorsal and one ventral. He angled the bomber to give them each the best cone of fire and let them at it.
While they did that, he and his copilot as well as the wild weasel fighters popped off ECM buoys, flashbangs, and chaff bursts to blind the enemy.
:::{)(}:::
“They've improved,” Hurranna growled as she noted her missiles being spoofed or intercepted well of their marks. The shrapnel from their explosions wouldn't do more than scratch the paint at the distance the enemy was picking them off.
“So have we. Conserve your missiles,” Commander Wilder ordered. “Let them fire off their decoys and munitions. They'll leave them behind in a moment.”
“Aye, ma'am.”
“Looks like they are going for the Second Destroyer Squadron. Eagle and Hachimaze aren't exactly spry,” Lieutenant Darling said. She managed to stitch a bomber at long range. It trailed smoke and debris, jinking wildly until Darling caught it again on the nose and walked the fire through the cockpit and down the flank. After that the ship tumbled dead in space.
Bombers and fighters clashed as the bombers crept ever inward, pressing to ram their missiles home. Hurranna was pulled off to tangle with one of the fighters. Her absence and the absence of her wingman opened a small gap in the defender's forces.
“No, but their teeth are still sharp,” Commander Wilder retorted. “I think they'll wait and get to the halfway point … bugger that! They fired! DD 2 you've got incoming!” she barked.
“We see it,” a rating replied tautly. “Get your people clear of our firing line now!”
Commander Wilder cursed as she frantically used her hoarded missiles to try to cut the enemy's ordinance down as they started out in their early boost phase. “On it,” she said, pulling her people out of the engagement zone so the ships could fire their counter missiles.
When she checked the scope, she noted she had managed to score three despite the snap shot. Ordinarily she'd be proud of the achievement. Somehow something told her it wouldn't be enough.
:::{)(}:::
Once their missiles were away, the bomber
s pulled up and away as sharply as their small inertial dampeners would allow as the defenders turned their attention on the incoming strike missiles. That momentary distraction allowed the surviving to quickly clear the battle space. When they did so, the surviving wild weasel flight disengaged and withdrew as well.
Meanwhile their 108 missiles ran at just a quartet of Arboth class destroyers. Eagle and Hachimaze spat answering fire first since they were closest. After a moment Warrior's Creed and Endymion followed suit. Bounty managed to get one volley of counter missiles off from her location before she lost the angle and range.
Eagle's fire suddenly slacked and died unexpectedly. “What the hell happened Eagle?!?” Commander Wilder demanded as she turned her fighter back.
“We lost our starboard flank radar and LIDAR due to some damn hiccup! We're taking the feed from Hachimaze, but it's going to be close!” the rating replied anxiously.
The CAG watched, praying anxiously as the destroyer's fighters tried to pick up the slack. They were out of position however, stacked high and low to steer clear of the counter missile fire. By the time they'd gotten into position, the missiles had reached their final run and gone to sprint mode.
Horrified, the CAG watched helplessly as five missiles got past everything the fighters threw at them. Two impacted on the destroyer's shield a half second ahead of the other missiles …both within a few meters of each other. The combined two hundred megatons of force were too much for the shields to handle and they overloaded.
Before they could re-form, the other three missiles came barreling in. One impacted on the ship's nose as she tried to steer away, chewing a painful chunk out of her bow sensors and armor. A second hundred-megaton warhead hit her along her starboard flank scouring it, but the fourth flew into her midships boat bay. The missile hit at 88 degrees, almost perpendicular so there wasn't much of a chance of deflection like the other two hits. The hundred-megaton warhead cleaved through the armored door with its plasma breaching round then the real warhead went off within her boat bay a few milliseconds later.
One moment Eagle was a frantically firing and maneuvering ship and the next she bucked like a living thing as an explosion was lit off in her guts. It was just her crew's bad luck that they had a fuel line exposed at the time. The line was breached and fed the blast. Fire ran up the line and detonated a tank behind an armored wall, sending it sprawling throughout the tight confines of her engineering decks. Plasma lines ruptured and her drive cut out.
Before the computer could get a handle on the reactor and scram it, the excess plasma from her heart bled into the breaches and hit a magazine lighting off several of her missiles.
To the outside world, she seemed to initially survive the hits, but in one sick twisted moment, she started to break up, then explode in raw fury.
Commander Wilder saw it and swore, tears streaming down her face as she turned away.
:::{)(}:::
Eagle's sudden and unexpected cessation of fire had a chilling effect on her sister ships. It opened a narrow hole in their own defenses. Hachimaze took three hits in rapid succession, downing her shields and hammering at her starboard flank and dorsal weapon mounts. She lost most of her weapons in those brief but hard hits.
Warrior's Creed also took two hits on her shields. The last missile managed to bleed some of its plasma energy through the dying shield to scour some of the instruments off her starboard flank, momentarily blinding her. The shields reformed after a moment but not as strong as before. Endymion took one hit to her starboard shield. It held but just barely.
:::{)(}:::
“Scratch one!” Lieutenant Nezier crowed as he noted the destroyer breaking up in his rearview sensors.
“We did it! We got one of the bastards!” his copilot echoed, pumping his fist. The two pilots fist bumped, grinning at each other.
“One down, two, no, three damaged,” Lieutenant Nezier noted, doing a rough assessment of the damage. Then he took a look at the remaining friendly IFF tags and grimaced. Despite the mission plan, there were still going to be some empty bunks when it was all said and done.
And each time they lost people, it became harder to ram the next attack home. But he knew there would be one, and if he had missiles and a craft to fight with, another after that. They'd get the job done.
One way or another.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Zakhan nodded as the bomber wing broke off. They'd scored their first kill, and that was important. He would have liked to have seen more, but that damn stacked defense was a bitch to get through. They just had to wade in and take their licks.
Which was nice in theory but he was paying for it. He didn't like what he was seeing. Each mission wore away a part of his strength. It meant future missions would get harder. Sure his people were learning, but that balanced out against what the knowledge and skills the surviving enemy was picking up on their side.
He grimaced. Whoever ran the interceptors on the other side, they were good. He'd barely survived the mauling his people had endured. He'd ordered his Raptors to hang back and draw the enemy off or sniper them, classic wild weasel tactics, but they'd still taken losses.
Losses they couldn't easily replace either he knew.
“Back to the barn people. You know the drill,” he said as he downloaded their logs and then added his own. When he was finished, he pointed his antenna at the approximate location of the flagship as well as Nimitz and sent the compressed report off to them.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, we're getting the first assessment reports from the wing. It looks like the fighters did a little better job. We didn't lose as many, but we still took losses,” Catherine reported.
“And their attack?”
“He went after the Arboths instead of the fleet defenders,” Catherine reported in a neutral voice.
The admiral surprised her. Instead of growling he merely nodded. “Zakhan knows what he's doing. He's picking the easy targets—the ones his people could hit the hardest. If he'd tried to go after the Nelsons, he would have wasted a lot of munitions and not been guaranteed a kill.”
“Yes, sir,” Catherine replied, making a mental note of that. “It looks like they killed one of the Arboths and damaged two others.”
“A good start. Every little bit helps. It'll spread their coverage and force them to protect their cripples,” the admiral mused. Catherine nodded, waiting and watching him. She gauged his mood as guarded but hopeful. “Get them back here and turned around for another strike,” the admiral rumbled, startling her.
“Yes, sir. We're picking apart their screen. I wonder how long it will take before they launch a bomber strike of their own?”
“Don't curse us,” Sedrick growled.
“She's right. But the answer is doubtful,” the admiral mused.
“Sir?” Sedrick asked, confused.
“Their bombers would have a free ride to us, but they'd have to beat feet and burn hard to catch up with their own mother ships on the return journey. That'd cost them. If they did any maneuvering in the meantime, they'd be in trouble. I'm not expecting a bomber strike, but be on guard for it anyway.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Catherine replied, shooting a significant look to the intelligence officer. He grimaced but then nodded.
:::{)(}:::
The great thing for Commander Zakhan was that once his people were clear, they cut their engines and then drifted as the Retribution Fleet caught up with them, thus saving fuel. There had been a bit of cursing and sweating when a few of the engines had balked initially at restarting, but they'd gotten the engines kicked back on. After that it had been a simple recovery mission. His people landed each in turn. Telemetry from each bird was carefully monitored by the deck crews and Prifly. Any bird that had damage was triaged. Within an hour the entire force had been refueled, rearmed, and was ready to be sent out again for another bite.
:::{)(}:::
Once the battle space was cleared, the bombers began to launch even befo
re the interceptors and defensive fighters began to recover. The exhausted fighters kept to the flanks of the carriers in formation, well clear of their launch and recovery bay doors until the bomber wing and their escorts were away.
Only when they were clear and on their way did Meia and Wilder order their flocks back home to roost for some much needed rest on a triage basis.
Commander Wilder popped her canopy and looked over to Jane. Jane had taken her helmet off and was practically hugging her bird. “Good girl,” Jane said lovingly, making the CAG crack a tired smile.
She heard a purring chuckle and looked over to her left to see Hurranna. The Neolynx climbed out of her cockpit as her plane captain began doing inventory and overseeing the bird's wings being folded up for easier storage.
Not that they needed it, Jerrica thought. They had a few holes in their ranks. Each time they entered combat, they were bound to lose someone.
“Two more gone, CAG,” Orville reported through her implants. “And two fighters sufficiently damaged to be down for a week or more. Technically they are write-offs. If the maintenance teams have the time, they could strip them for parts and then dump the frames overboard.”
“Don't. Not unless we need to shed the mass, and two planes aren't enough to make much of a difference,” Jerrica replied as a rating handed her an energy drink. She unscrewed the lid, dropped a straw in, and took a sip.
“It's between you, the skipper, and the deck boss I suppose,” the A.I. stated.
“Hell, we've got replicators, figure it out. There will be plenty of time to repair the birds once we're in hyper.”
“If we get to hyper. Right now we've been sparring with the other side; each time we've been sizing them up and testing them as much as they have us. The main event won't begin for another two hours,” the A.I. stated. “And we'll most likely be spectators for it,” he grumped.
