by Will Crudge
Mwargoths. Darius repeated the word in his mind. He didn’t know why it had entered his consciousness, but it had just the same. He now began to understand the purpose of the Crimson aggression. They were the unwitting puppets of the Mwargoths and were being manipulated to hurl humanity into a great conflict. It seemed to Darius that the alien entities viewed humanity as a threat somehow. Humanity was a race that was equally capable of spiritual achievements, as they were at waging war. Perhaps the Mwargoths were only capable of war, and by that measure meant that they were limited in some respects.
Darius continued to ponder these assertions for several minutes, and then he decided he needed to conserve his own mental acuity. “Doom, how long do we have before we arrive close enough to Tangine for us to take any action?”
“Five hours, or so. That’s just an estimate. But considering your bio-readings, I’d say you’ll need to rest before we get there,” Doom replied. Darius figured that his NAV system was speaking from two millennia of experience and decided that the grumpy old sentient entity had a point.
“Wake me if anything significant happens. I’m going to have to fight off two gigantic cats to get enough bed-space, so I need every minute of rest I can muster.”
“I’m glad, for your sake, it’s not panther-mating season. You only have one spare set of clean sheets back there.” Doom let out a laugh.
Darius smiled, and then began removing his combat armor.
HAL Hath No Fury
Location: UAHC Sloop Foehammer, CIC, Tangine Interstellar Port
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 1552HRS Local
System: Sol System, Mid Region
“What have we got, Steve?” Griff asked, as he settled into the command console seat. The seat was oversized, and it occurred to the veteran detective that it was designed to accommodate the bulk of a large UAHC Soldier in full armor. James came up from behind and rested a forearm onto the back of the seat. Both men were visibly exhausted from manually loading every missile they could get their hands on. But they’d done all they could, and what missiles weren’t already spent were currently in their que for final loading in the tubes.
“The Aegis is now in position about twenty clicks to our starboard side. Their ammo is depleted as well, but they still have double the ordinance that we do, so they’ve taken point. We are now on over watch,” Steve replied.
“Are we any closer to rescuing Kara?” Griff asked with a somber tone.
“No, I’m afraid.” Steve sighed. “We got within five clicks of her armor’s last beacon ping, but it cut out again. Those Crimson destroyers were about to eat us for lunch, and I had to pull back with the rest of the squadron.”
“Damn. Where the hell is that big-ass battlecruiser?” James asked.
“Still cloaked. I can’t pick it up on sensors, and they’ve gone radio silent. Which is a good thing,” Steve replied.
“Good? How is that good?” Griff’s rumbly voice emerged.
“Good, because if we can’t see them, then the Crimson definitely can’t. Which is the Admiral’s plan.”
“His plan is to hide, not fire a shot, and let the cruisers and support ships take all the heat?” Griff spat.
“Sounds grim, I know but it actually makes perfect sense. The Crimson have had their eyes on the Hailstorm for the last few weeks. All their cruisers, destroyers, frigates, etc. have been inside her bays, and unseen. This is a complete role reversal, and something the Crimson fleet have to figure out before they can take to the HAL’s and begin taking out all the vulnerable strategic targets within the system,” Steve explained.
“So, what you’re saying is, that as long as the biggest threat to the Crimson Fleet, A-K-A the Hailstorm, they have to remain cautious. Once they begin to start queuing up to the HAL’s for launching, then they’d be vulnerable to attack from a capital ship?” James spoke as he rubbed his chin. Griff just looked up at the surly looking pirate with a look of surprise on his face.
“Bingo. The rest of the squadron was ordered to take positions outside of the main shielding of the station, and far enough away to force the Crimson ships to leave the taxiways for intercept. This pulls the smaller destroyers and fighters from their motherships. Once the motherships become vulnerable enough, then I supposed the Hailstorm will begin launching FEPL slugs up their asses,” Steve said with a sinister tone.
“So, you’re saying that one UAHC squadron could possibly win this battle? Even against an entire Crimson fleet?” Griff asked.
“No. The math doesn’t add up. Even with all the advanced upgrades the Hailstorm has gotten in the last several days, it’s still sadly outnumbered. It can cause serious losses, but in the end, the entire squadron would run out of ammo before it could score enough critical direct hits to turn the tide. All we can do is fight to the end, and hope that we’ve slowed them down enough for the UAHC and UDF to organize a counterattack. But even that’s a long shot. There just aren’t enough ally warships in the inner stars to bring to bear.” Steve’s somber tone shone through.
“So, our job is to die? Bullshit. My family is on that station. I can’t leave them to be fodder. I’m only on this blasted tub, because I got caught between the Crimson ass-monkeys and the Hailstorm!” Griffith scoffed. His reddening face seemed to indicate that he was none-too-pleased.
“All hope is not lost. The Crimson still isn’t desperate enough to start using civilians as human shields. If they believe they have the tactical edge during the battle, then they even won’t consider diverting resources to threaten the station’s civilian habitats. They’ve got a war to win, and if the Hailstorm is their biggest threat, then the bulk of their economy of forces will be focused on the space battle. This is exactly why the Admiral recalled the ground forces from the station,” Steve added.
“Yeah, good… great. Grand!” Griff spat with no small measure of sarcasm. “Now I’m stuck on a warship that’s fighting a battle, trying to rescue an old friend’s daughter, trying to fight the urge to kill this fucking pirate, and now I have to hope the Crimson forces are altruistic enough not to send their commandos into my home and kill my family?” Griff didn’t wait for a response. He simply got up and stormed out of the CIC. The young police corporal was heading toward the CIC in the corridor but was met with a stiff shoulder from the older man.
The two cops headed back stern-side together, and left James alone in the CIC. James’ face was pale. He knew he was a criminal of the worst distinction and could be executed on the spot while aboard the UACH ship. His heroic deeds of getting the missile systems firing again seemed to have gone unnoticed by Griff, and now he was nothing more than fodder once again.
“Do you think they’ll kill me, Steve?” James said with an anxious tone. His face was full of dread, and he slumped into the command console seat with the body language of a defeated man.
“No, James. I don’t. Your efforts are why we are all alive right now. Without those launch tubes coming back to life, we’d have been pummeled by those destroyers before I could have pulled off any evasive maneuvers. If anything, I’ll recommend to Captain David that you be cleared of any charges. I’d do it myself, but I’m technically a guest on this ship, and I don’t have a UACH Warrant Officer’s rank, like their AI’s do. I’m just trying to keep this tub flying.”
James let out a long sigh of relief, but still seemed intensely nervous. “Why aren’t there any UAHC AI’s on this bucket?”
“They were all – corrupted – so to speak,” Steve replied, but he decided the back-story of the Chimera infestation would have to wait. “The bulk of the squadron has ships capable of manual operation, and a handful of their AI’s escaped corruption. But this Sloop, and a few others with the same hull type, require AI’s for piloted flight. I was put here as a means of survival.”
“I see.” James nodded.
“So, how’s the pirate gig treating you?” Steve’s tone switched back to his usual sarcasm.
“Ha, real funny.” James huffed.
“It’s not like I saw a recruiting poster and decided to sign up when I turned eighteen, or anything.”
“Do tell. We have approximately twenty minutes before the predictive model projects another wave of Crimson fighters, so you’ve got time to entertain me.”
“Listen to you. An AI wanting to hear the tragic tale of a downtrodden criminal. A Law Enforcement Spec AI at that.”
“Being a digital cop doesn’t mean I’m not a sentient being, James.” Steve sent a raspberry icon to the holographic display that James was sitting in front of.
“Basically, I was born on the Crimson side of the ‘contested region of space’, as you Unum and You-see folks like to call it. A small open space trading post called Tiber Station. My father died before I was born, and my mother was arrested for murder when I was fourteen. I lived in the slums and was forced to steal to eat. When I was sixteen, I picked the wrong pocket, and the man you know as ‘Baldy’ beat me within an inch of my life. But not before I bloodied his nose and ripped his jacket. He was pissed, of course, but also impressed. So, he threw me on his vessel and I eventually earned my keep enough to become a member of his crew.”
“Wow that sucks. A reluctant pirate,” Steve said as a matter of fact.
“I never wanted this life. I certainly didn’t want to be on a crew of rapists and murderers. But it was either that or be thrown into an airlock and jettisoned into the black.” James just shrugged and fell silent.
“Well, James, if I have anything to do with it, you won’t be going back to that life anymore. I owe you my life, and David owes you for saving his ship. I can’t promise you won’t spend any more time behind bars, but I can promise you won’t be killed at least,” Steve said cheerfully.
“Thanks, Steve… I think.” James said. He seemed to be highly apprehensive, but Steve understood. Nothing good had ever happened to James, if he was to be believed. He was a pirate after all, but Steve couldn’t detect any bio-chemical readings that would have indicated deceit. Either he was the best liar in the universe and could out-whit a law enforcement grade AI, or he was being completely truthful.
***
Shit! Steve thought. The energy scan spiked, and Steve zoomed in on the source. The holographic display in front of James was mirroring Steve’s actions, and the pirate could see what Steve was trying to ascertain in real-time.
“They’ve just pulled off a HAL launch, didn’t they?” James asked.
“Yes. Yes, they did. And right under our noses. Our predictive model was wrong, and the Crimson fleet decided to make a run for the HAL’s with their long-range Mark-4 fighters. Those little fuckers have Mark-6 loud-outs, to make matters worse,” Steve said as he rewound the scanner’s feeds. The icons of at least an entire fighter squadron shown in red, and the hull-types were all the same. Mark-4 fighters were cheaper to build, and easier to modify, than standard Mark-6’s. But with the devastating firepower that a Mark-6 could bring to bear, it was obvious they were being sent on a heavy bombing run.
“They’ve decided to slide their fighters into the HAL’s instead of their heavier ships,” James spat.
“Seems like you’re much smarter than a normal thuggish pirate, aren’t you?” Steve noted.
“Baldy, always said the same. He moved me into the CIC when he noticed I had an eye for tactics. I’ve spent five years doing analysis and scanning. It’s not like pirates can often get hold of an AI to do it for us—at least not an AI that we could get to comply, anyways,” James replied.
Smart little fucker, isn’t he? Steve said to himself. “Well, Mr. Human-AI-Analyst, what would you do in this case?” Steve asked. The AI was already building courses of action, and feeding them into the simulations models, but it couldn’t hurt to get the opinion of a seasoned meat-sack.
***
“Well, for starters, I would try to see if we had any friendlies on the station that were close enough to the HAL control systems. Then I’d try to raise them on coms. But the Crimson ground pounders are well known for their use of ion-dampening field generators. They don’t trust Nano-tech, and they know that denying Nano-usage, or traditional voice coms, for that matter, is their only tactical edge against the You-sees…”
“Stop saying You-sees, James. Like it or not, you’re effectively a ‘You-see’ right now, for all intents and purposes. No reason to poke the bear that will decide your fate,” Steve lectured.
“You’re right,” James acknowledged what Steve was getting at. He knew that if he had any hope of avoiding the muzzle of a UAHC Soldier’s weapon, or at least a prison cell, then he had to get on board with using less – offensive – terminology. “In any case, we need to try and reach out to any friendly assets down there, and see if it’s possible to disrupt, or destroy the HAL’s power supplies, or control systems.”
“OK, James. Is there anything else we can do from our end?”
“Yes, but…” James seemed reluctant to finish his sentence. The reluctant pirate took a deep breath and continued. “It involves something really stupid.”
“Stupid? I like stupid. Stupid things make us unpredictable.” Steve sent a digital wink on the command display. “Tell me, just how stupid do we need to get?”
“Stupid enough that that Unum sloop, that’s been acting as our wing-man, would need to get onboard but I don’t think we could be that convincing.” James frowned.
“Try me, Mr. Pirate-General!” A female voice came over the audio net.
James’ eye went as wide as a pair of binary stars, and he let out a gasp. “Who are you?”
“I’m the Captain of the Aegis, if you must know. And if you call my baby a sloop one more time, I’ll fly on over to you in an escape pod and kill you myself!” The Captain retorted with a sinister laugh.
“Funny that you mentioned an ‘escape pod’, Captain…” James replied, as if he wasn’t threatened at all.
“Go on,” she replied with a more serious tone.
“Yes, James. Go on, indeed,” Steve chimed in.
Cloak and Dagger
Location: UAHC Battleship Hailstorm, CIC, Tangine Interstellar Port
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 1712HRS UAHC Standard Zulu
System: Sol System, Mid Region
Rear Admiral John paced the situation room with his hands clenched behind his back. He’d elected to switch out his dress uniform for sub armor and had his medium infantry armor at the ready in a nearby support jig. He knew his presence in the CIC would serve as more of a distraction than anything else.
His eyes scanned the displays and hated what he saw. The red icons indicated confirmed enemy tracks, and the blue ones were friendly UAHC and the sole Unum cutter. The gray, yellow, and amber icons were fewer in number this late in the battle. The gray indicated neutral or civilian non-combatants, whereas the yellow and amber represented possible threats, or likely threats in that order.
Every starship capable of flight had long since vacated the station’s controlled space, where some had been unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire and were now lifeless chunks of dead metal that drifted randomly. Only eight out of twelve UAHC cruisers in the squadron were still somewhat combat effective, whereas at least four had been outright destroyed. The twenty-four destroyers had taken the heaviest beatings, and there were now only twelve that could still fly under their own propulsion. Even fewer than that could still put up a significant fight. The three dozen frigates were largely still in the fight since they’d been tasked with covering the evacuation of the civilian traffic. But frigates were lightly armed and couldn’t last very long in a slug fest against destroyers.
His plan was working, however. Every second he could keep anything larger than a fighter from launching from a HAL, was a small victory in of itself. But the larger Crimson ships still had very competent FTL capability, so even if the HAL’s could be taken off-line, it would be more of a minor inconvenience to the main ships of the Crimson fleet. Not to mention there were at least two other Crimson Fleets within UAHC c
ontrolled space, and they were likely hunting down isolated UAHC battle groups and smaller squadrons.
I will die this day. My crew along with me, he thought. He wasn’t accepting defeat by any means. He would die doing his duty to the best of his ability, and that was what kept him calm. It was almost comforting to know that he didn’t have to be distracted by the illusion of surviving. Any thought that he may live to fight again would only make him second guess his resolve and lose his nerve. An animal that is cornered is at its most fierce! He allowed himself a smile despite the desperate situation.
“Hey, John.” The familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. The Admiral turned around to see his counterpart step into the room. Major General Gordon casually extended a hand, and the Admiral took it in kind. Gordon was the commander of all ground-pounder forces that were assigned to the Hailstorm Squadron.
The Admiral saw his friend was mentally and physically exhausted. As a ground pounder, he was prone to lead from the field of battle and had spent hours running the fight on Tangine Station. Even the toughest UAHC Soldier could experience fatigue, and Gordon was no exception.
“I’ve taken it upon myself to authorize a proposed rescue mission,” Gordon said.
“Rescue? We don’t have the resources for that! Which ship made the request?”
“Foehammer.”
John’s eyes scrunched, and his nostrils began to flare. “The sloop is our only remaining mine-layer! I need it to rendezvous with the closest cruiser and restock.” The Admiral knew the Crimson’s capital ships were nestled comfortably behind the mock-refugee ships within the taxiways, and they haven’t even moved out to the pre-positioned minefields. But his initial plan was to mine the HAL’s and prevent anything larger than a pigeon from flying into their cradles.
