Working the controls, DuPont used both the main engines and maneuvering thrusters to turn the ship full on toward the enemy attack as fast as possible. Meanwhile, the gun deck went to rapid fire. Not just plasma balls, but laser strikes were heading out as well with everything aimed at the incoming fighters.
“Shoot them down!” Lieutenant Hart shouted into his microphone.
“Enemies moving into attack position; it looks like every squadron has at least one fighter with an anti-ship missile that they’re guarding, Sir!” called out one of the assistant Tactical Officers.
“Aim for the missile-carrying fighters, Chief Gunner,” Hart ordered over the microphone.
Like a pack of angry dogs—except a frightening thousand times or so more organized—the fighters came roaring into close range where our plasma cannons were the most effective.
“I have missile separation!” barked Lieutenant Hart.
****************************************************
“Stay on target. Stay on target!” Red Leader said in a rising voice.
“Enemy counter fire is too hot,” cried Red 5, maneuvering his now-lumbering fighter for all it was worth. One..two…three…five plasma balls he managed to dodge before he was a split second too slow to react. “I’m hit!” he yelled, losing his port thrusters and fighting an increasingly skittish ship.
“Hold it together, Red 5,” ordered Red Leader, “Red 2 and 3, move into formation on either side of Red 5 and escort him in.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Will do, Squadron Leader.”
The vagaries of fate caused Red 4 to dodge left to avoid one enemy plasma ball, only send him headlong into another.
“Aaaaahhh!” shouted Red 4 in the instant before his fighter tore itself to pieces.
“It’s getting too hot out here, Sir!” shouted Red 3, her voice starting to lose its usual cool. “4’s gone and 5 is damaged—we need to abort!”
“No abort; we’re going in,” shouted Red Leader. “Form up on me.” Right after he was done speaking, the local squadron channel was flooded with high decibel sounds of the latest—two year old, anyway—release of Iced Electrons titled ‘Sudden Overdrive.’
“Ahhhh! Not this worm screeching again,” Red 5 had to shout to be heard over the sound of the music.
“Shut up, you bilker! We’re going in,” screamed Red Leader before suddenly breaking into song and singing along with the lyrics, “Yeehaw!”
“Turn it off,” cried Red 3.
“This is hell!” shouted Red 5 acquiring a lock on the target and punching the torpedo release control.
As luck would have it, three torpedoes struck at close to the same time as his own, causing a localized instability in the shields of the Battleship whose Captain seemed to think he was a hero.
“There’s our hole, boys. Follow me,” cried Red Squadron Leader, punching his engines and rapid-firing his lasers and a second blasting through the open spot in the shields.
“Some of us aren’t boys,” protested Red 3.
“Yeeha—” the Squadron Leader’s transmission was cut of abruptly when a point defense laser, a heavy laser, and a plasma ball simultaneously intersected his position and his strike fighter disintegrated.
“Flaming atoms!” cried Red 5, following his now-deceased Squadron Leader through the hole. “Make for the engines!”
His two remaining squadron mates followed doggedly on his heels as his fighter shot toward the enemy ship’s compromised shields.
****************************************************
The ship suddenly slewed to port before recovering.
“What was that, Helm?” demanded Hammer.
“Minor damage to the port secondary, Captain,” reported DuPont, “compensating.”
“Engineering is working on it, Sir,” Blythe reported from damage control, “we have a repair team assessing the engine as we speak.”
A continuous barrage of anti-fighter fire came out of the gun deck, and two irritating little red icons close to the stern of the battleship suddenly flashed and then disappeared.
“Smoke two fighters,” Hart said with satisfaction, “we got them, Captain!”
“Keep us moving, Mr. DuPont! We have more fighters coming our way,” barked Hammer.
“A third fighter! We have another fighter within our shields; sensors must have missed it in all the confusion,” cried Tactical Officer Hart. “It’s not going for the engines—it’s moving toward our hyper dish!”
My head shot around to stare at the newly-appeared icon on the main screen representing the enemy fighter. “Tell Gunnery to take it down!” I snapped.
A torrent of fire perforated the area around the agile little ship, and I was certain it would be destroyed. Then the enemy fighter opened fire.
“It’s firing on the main-dish,” Lieutenant Hart said in a rising voice.
“Take care of it, Tactical,” Captain Hammer ordered sternly.
The fighter fired one more time before its little icon finally blinked out.
Like a wave breaking around a rock on the shore, the fighters swarmed around the Royal Rage and proceeded to launch several more coordinated attack runs.
“Protect the main dish!” ordered Hammer.
Chapter Seventy-two: Reclamation Efforts
The Imperial Flagship’s bridge crew watched as the fighter strikes continued to decimate the enemy formations. Ship after ship of the Grand Fleet fell out due to engine damage from the fighter strikes—all except in one group.
“What seems to be the holdup with Group Five?” Admiral Janeski asked shortly.
“As previously planned, we’ve been holding back the fighters from attacking Group Five until after they had sufficient torpedoes for an overwhelming strike,” explained the Carrier Wing Commander.
“I’m well aware of the orders I have already issued, commander,” Janeski said brusquely, “and I can see that they have already been armed and are making their attack. Yet despite all of this, they do not yet seem to be overwhelmed.”
“My fighters are doing their best, Sir. However, the Battleships they face now are proving a difficult nut to crack,” said the Commander, “penetrating the shields to go after the engines is a difficult task. I assure you that my fighters will succeed.”
“See that they do. In addition, when it comes to the Battleships the engines aren’t the only target worth noting. Due to the targets’ slow speed on the battlefield, your fighter squadrons can consider the hyper dishes primary targets as well,” said the High Admiral.
“I’ll relay that to my wing commanders,” the fighter commander said with a wicked smile.
The High Admiral nodded with satisfaction.
****************************************************
“We can’t be deterred by Wing One’s failure to cripple that flaming anti-fighter platform masquerading as a Battleship,” growled the Wing Commander. “We have new orders. From this point onward, the engines are not the only priority target. It has been decided by High Command that the enemy Battleship’s main dishes are acceptable as well. Remember, people: our goal is not to destroy these powerhouses. A fighter is fleet and strikes with precision. We are tasked with keeping these provincials from escaping this star system.”
“Understood,” said the Wing Leaders and key Squadron Commanders that had been keyed into the Wing Commander’s priority command channel.
“That is why Wing’s Two and Three are ordered to ignore that anti-fighter Battleship and proceed against the provincial rearguard. Those damaged Battleships they’re towing, positioned to protect their engines from our attack runs, are your targets,” instructed the Wing Commander.
“We are the ones who stand between the darkness and the light. Our duty to humanity will not allow us to fail, Wing Commander,” Wing Leader Three recited the litany firmly.
“The local Sector Fleet won’t know what hit them,” snickered Wing Leader Two.
“Only when united can the
human race ensure its survival in the face of aliens, and worse, which spawn like lice beyond the hazard filled borders of Known Space. This battle is a small but firm step in the direction of that unification. First this star system, then the Sector, and eventually the entire Spineward region will fall like dominos and then eventually join with the Empire,” intoned the Wing Commander. “The rest of the plan will have to be revealed to you by someone else with a higher clearance level than you and I.”
This last elicited a few chuckles before the top members of the group turned serious again.
“If there are no more questions, it’s time to show these people what an Imperial Navy Fighter Wing is made of,” the Wing Commander said firmly.
His words were met with a collectively hungry growl.
Over the next several minutes, more than one hundred fighters moved to avoid the anti-fighter platform and swarmed the crippled rearguard—and many of the fighters doing so were armed with torpedoes.
“Time to teach these provincials what it means to cross the Imperial Fighter Corps,” said Leader of Wing Two.
There was an angry sounding growl over the com-channel in response, and the surrounding fighters went into sprint mode.
A swarm of torpedoes preceded the fighters on their attack run, and laser counter fire started out strong before spluttering out sporadically from the two damaged Battleships guarding the rear of the larger Battleship formation.
Seemingly in defiance of the threat to their sterns, the two squadrons of Battleships continue forward at half speed with only their damaged rear guard standing between them and the Reclamation fighters.
Counter-fire dealt with a number of the torpedoes, but the majority slammed into the shields of the Battleships. Their impacts created holes in their protective shields and opened the provincials to attack.
“All fighters: proceed against targets Alpha and Beta. I say again: Alpha and Beta. We want those engines and the main hyper dish taken out,” commanded the Wing Leader.
“With those tow cables still attached, it won’t matter if we cripple the engines or the hyper dish, Wing Leader,” interjected the Blue Squadron Commander.
“A fine point, Lieutenant Commander,” said the Wing Leader, “and that’s why I’m detailing your squadron the task of taking out those very cables. As soon as your people fire their torpedoes and are through the shield with the rest of us, you’ll focus on the cables.”
“It’ll be like shooting a pig’s eye with a plinker,” swore the Squadron Commander, ducking and weaving his fighter away from an enemy’s medium laser mount as it moved to track his craft.
“If you don’t think your men are up for the job then I can assign someone else,” the Wing Leader said derisively.
There was a tense silence followed by a grunt. “We’ll do it,” Blue Commander said flatly as his fighter and squadron rapidly approached the Battleship’s shields.
“I’ll be counting on you then,” said the Commander.
“For the Creator!” howled the Squadron Commander before his channel cut from the main command channel. “Super charge your forward shields, boys. We’re after the tow cables!”
After that, there was nothing left be said and it was down to the knife edge dance between life, death and total obliteration which the Imperial Strike Fighters did so well.
Like fleas swarming a lumbering beast, they forced their way through the enemy’s relatively primitive shields and lipped in close for their attack runs.
Chapter Seventy-three: More Trouble
“Admiral Silverback reports that his ships are taking heavy damage from the fighter attacks,” reported Lieutenant Steiner dispassionately. “Engines have been hit and at least one hyper dish has been rendered inoperable.”
“Lieutenant! I’m receiving reports from com-techs on other Battleships that the tow lines are being cut by enemy fighters,” cut in a com-tech in the Comm. section.
I looked over at the com-tech with alarm and then rapidly pulled up the relevant information on my computer interface.
“Verify the bucking cable situation, Lieutenant Hart,” I ordered over the two-way com-channel permanently set up on the arm of my chair.
“Bucking-cable…” Hart looked surprised, almost dazed, as if he’d just been jerked out of an intensely interactive program and it was taking a moment for his brain to catch back up.
“I’m pulling up the Damage Control status of the other ships now, Admiral,” interjected watch stander Adrianne Blythe at damage control.
Blast it all, anyway. Why was it taking so long to pull up the info?
“Acting on the assumption that we’re about to lose the Battleships covering our engines, what can we do about it?” I demanded of the ship’s Tactical Officer.
His eyes suddenly refocused. “With your permission, I’m rerouting the Crazy Ivan. It’s the only thing fast enough to get there in time, yet small enough to get in close with weapons effective against those enemy fighters,” explained Lieutenant Hart.
“Make it so,” I said.
The Tactical Officer nodded and whirled back to his console.
“I can confirm it, Admiral Montagne,” said Adrienne Blythe, “Admiral Silverback’s flagship has lost over a third of her cables and her sister ship is just as bad.”
“Get the Ivan over there,” I barked.
“Aye, Admiral,” Hart said firmly.
Over the next minute, the Royal Rage maneuvered around the edge of the battle taking place at the rear of our formation, raking with its lasers and plasma cannons any fighters it could find outside the shields. But there were just too many of them within the shields of the badly damaged Aegis battleships for the Rage to make a difference.
After glaring at the screen, it felt like I was about vomit blood from angry helplessness. I finally slammed the palm of my open hand on the arm rest of my throne. “New message to Silverback and the Aegis battleships,” I barked abruptly.
“Ready whenever you are, Sir,” said Steiner.
“Both Battleships: drop your shields now. We’re coming in,” I ordered and then waited several ticks. When the shields didn’t immediately start to come down, I clenched my jaw, “I say again: this is a direct order and I hope you’ve learned the folly of disobeying them at this point. Drop your shields!”
A moment later, without so much as a single com-acknowledgement in return, first the Aegis flagship dropped it shields and was soon followed by its sister ship.
“Take us in helmsman. Get us as close as we reasonably can!” I ordered.
“We’re going in!” said DuPont.
“Tell the Chief Gunner to stand down the heavy and turbo-lasers—concentrate on hitting those fighters!” I snapped.
“Chief Gunner…” barked Hart as he busily relayed the message.
In a blink, the shields were down and the Royal Rage swooped in like a lumbering avenging angel. Similar to a cloud of angry bees, the Imperial fighters started taking hits and immediately scattered away from the Aegis Battleship. Also like a cloud of bees, they then began to move around even more aggressively than before.
Plasma cannons belched balls of raging fury and, heedless of the potential damage they were doing to their own allies, the gun deck of the Royal Rage seemed determined to pound both allies and enemies indiscriminately.
While I knew that this wasn’t really the case, the fact was that a plasma ball aimed at an enemy fighter close to the Aegis warship would continue on to hit the Battleship behind it if the strike fighter dodged.
“I’ve got a squadron coming around hot. They’re going for the bucking cables and Silverback’s flagship is blocking our line of fire!” snapped Hart.
“Deal with it. We can’t lose those Battleships or our legs will be cut off and we’re done,” I ordered.
“Our guns just won’t bear unless the helm can get me a better angle,” said Hart in a harsh voice.
“The enemy Destroyers and Cruisers have caught up with our lighter forces. Group Commander
s report they are taking heavy fire and they aren’t sure if or how many of their ships will make it to the hyper limit,” reported Lieutenant Steiner.
“A little busy right now, Comm.; there’s nothing I can do to help them right now!” I cursed.
“The Aegis Battleships are starting to shift!” cried the Sensor Officer.
“Pound them—I don’t care how, just get it done,” I said fiercely. I could see as well as anyone that there wasn’t much more we could do, but whatever we could do had to be done in short order. It was going to be up to the so-called professionals, people who’d actually gone to military academies and trained for these sorts of things, to pull this particular mess out of the fire.
Hart and his team at Tactical, along with the gunners down on the gun deck, did their best but the limited angle prevented them from bringing most of their weapons to bear.
Steiner put her hand to her ear. “Admiral! I’m getting the ‘warn off’ signal. It’s the Ivan, and they’re telling us to shift to port by five degrees!” she said with equal parts uncharacteristic shrillness and disbelief.
“What?” I asked in instinctive momentary surprise and then I nodded. “Do it, Helm.”
DuPont nodded, and the Royal Rage started to turn—though, in reality, that particular sequence might have been reversed.
We had barely begun to move when a blur shot past us. Like a bat out of the abyss that had been trapped in the pits and now finally saw its chance to escaping the underworld, the small Destroyer screamed by. Flying crazily close to the Grand Fleet’s flagship, the Crazy Ivan was there and gone in a blink. Moments later, it was slewing around the now unshielded Aegis Battleships in a turn that made me cringe as I imagined load-bearing members creaking and tearing under the stress of the more-or-less insane maneuver. I hope you understand then when I call that maneuver ‘insane,’ one of my first clear-headed orders earlier in my career was to ram a squadron of enemy ships while my own Engineers had been out on the hull re-installing weapon mounts.
Admiral's War Part One Page 39
