SAW 1: Stars at War

by Lee Guo

  “But it’s a waste of missiles,” Donovan argued.

  “There’s no other choice!”Prancort exclaimed. He picked up the mic, “All missile commanders, abort your assigned destinations and head directly towards the snake fleet. Do not waste time! Not being picked off by snake fighters is paramount!”

  He then gazed at the holotank and wondered just how many of his missiles would make it through the waves of snake fighters and reach their destination. In addition, there would be snake countermeasures like ECMs, flak, PD lasers and antimissiles. He guessed only about 1000 of his original 15,900 would reach their target…it was one-fifteenth the total amount, but still something—perhaps if he attacked in a synchronized way, he could be less sniped off by PD lasers—but no—if he did that, he would have more sniped off by snake fighters.

  Prancort shook his head and gazed clueless at all the tens of thousands of dots. How did it come to this? How did the snake commander know he would try to take missiles from other systems and combine them at this specific core world in order to spring a missile trap with an overwhelming number of missiles? “My, my, you cold blooded bastard. You truly are a genius,” he stated aloud to no one in particular.

  “Sir?” Donovan asked.

  “Nothing, captain.” Prancort gazed silently at the holomap.

  Meanwhile, tens of thousands of dots on the main holotank continued to dance in unison. Dots and lines…that’s what this war came down to…that’s how he would be defeated—if he couldn’t take out enough snake starships, the snakes would ravage through humanity’s core worlds and cause unprecedented destruction. e couldn’t win, because the snake commander prepared for this eventuality by carrying an overwhelming number of fighters!

  Prancort stared relentlessly at those dots and lines, at the cold-hearted play of talent and tactics—he felt lost in them. This close to victory, only to be snatched away into defeat!

  If only, he could just wish new units could appear…

  Suddenly, the holotank showed new grav signatures appearing on the outskirts of the system, from the direction of the galactic center.

  Prancort glanced at the sensor tech. Is this some type of trick?

  The sensor tech gazed back at her admiral. “Sir! I didn’t do anything! Those new units are really there! And—they’re friendlies!”

  Prancort’s eyes opened up in shock and disbelief. Happiness surged through him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, sir! They truly are!”

  A dozen other officers on the flag bridge roared with sudden flurry. “Who are they?” someone shouted.

  The sensor tech responded, “Viron IDs register them as the carrier battle group which sortied out with Admiral Prion two weeks ago!”

  Prancort stood up. He couldn’t control his sudden excitement. “Comm, tie them into the command net! Let me speak with the leader!”

  “Absolutely, sir!” said Comm.

  Prancort picked up his mic, “New friendlies, new friendlies, please give me the status of your armaments and all available assets.”

  A feminine voice through the speakers filled the room, “This Fighter Colonel Bobbi Duke, temporary Air Group Commander, to Fleet Admiral Prancort. Our anti-fighter missile supplies are very low. We have 7000 of all remaining fighters from the battle of Hephaestus. Captain Jacobs sent us back, because we were no more use to him since the enemy had no more missiles. I hope we can be of use to you, sir!”

  “You sure can!” Prancort exclaimed. “Welcome back! I will assign you targeting orders immediately! Time is of essence, colonel, so I hope you don’t mind that you rush through things! You arrived in the nick of time! I want you to defend our missiles while they get in position! Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir!” Bobbi confirmed. “We’ll do exactly what you say!”

  When the line ended, Prancort felt a rush of energy rising through his backbone. My stars, we’re saved. Everything was saved. He now had 7000 additional fighters to screen his missiles and intercept the enemy fighters. If he could just position the new fighters perfectly to intercept the snake fighters, his missiles could hit their targets with minimal losses. If he could get it to happen, he would win!

  Prancort raised a fist in the air, and like all other officers on the bridge, he cheered. Then he stopped cheering and gazed at the battle before him. “It’s not over yet,” he stated to his bridge crew. “The snakes can still win this, if we screw up.” Then, to himself, he said, Focus! Focus, Prancort! Finish the endgame properly. The future of humanity depends on your next orders.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire

  Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

  Air Group Commander's Cockpit

  Arriving…Outer perimeter of the system’s gravity well…

  Inside the single-fighter cockpit, Bobbi saw the new targeting orders from Admiral Prancort. Intercept snake fighter squadron A5, it read on her instruments.

  Exactly what I will do. Since she was now CAG…commander-air-group…it would be literally up to her to give each of her fighter wings their orders.

  “Alright! All wings, let’s eject from the carriers ASAP. Let’s do this, people! We’ve had five days of rest and recuperation. We’ve refueled our energy supplies and restocked on the leftover anti-fighter missiles. It’s time to get back into the action. You have your targets! When you eject, I want everyone to form up with your wing and boost straight at the enemy!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” her wing commanders replied back.

  Slowly, her carrier opened up like a multi-layered egg carton, exposing space to each of her wing’s 1000 fighters. This type of ejection mechanism allowed almost instantaneous deployment of all fighters into space within a period of five minutes.

  When the green light clicked on, she nudged her fighter out of its slot on the carrier, using maneuvering thrusters…And out, she went.

  Then, slowly, like everyone else, she thrust away from the hundreds of other fighters that also launched.

  When she saw enough separation between herself and all other fighters, she jammed the gravity emitters to full and accelerated towards her Wing’s accretion point.

  There were one thousand fighters in her wing already there.

  After she reunited with her wing, she said, “Alright Alpha Wing, let’s do this! Boost!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” all members of Alpha Wing replied.

  Five hundred Gs of acceleration sped her and all 1000 fighters of her wing into the deep darkness below…towards another dogfight with the snakes. Alright team, back into the fray once more.

  Hiveship Roro Cro-Drignon, Fleet Command Nexus

  Roro couldn’t believe it. Human fighters just appeared on his sensors. True, they were relatively few in number…approximately half his fighter numbers, but Roro didn’t know how well human fighters compared with Cell fighters in a dogfight.

  His instinct told him human fighters were superior dogfighters compared to his own specie’s fighters. Why? Because there was a good chance these human fighters fought in the diversionary force Roro had sent to distract the enemy into sending all their forces…if they survived, meaning they wiped out Sector Command Gro-Bok’s fighters, then these fighters were superior.

  There could be no other alternate explanation.

  So…Roro’s fighters were indeed fighting an uphill battle against human fighters. His fighters were at a disadvantage. His goal had been to kill as many human missiles as he could. The fighter battle only being a means to an end. Though, if he could, winning the fighter battle would have long-term advantages, so he couldn’t discard the possibility. If he could, he would win.

  Roro knew the situation seemed very bleak for all Cell forces within the system, with a good chance he’d lose everything. Including himself. For a moment, Roro paused in his gel tank. Fear spread through his body—momentary, then it was gone. As a tactician, he couldn’t be interrupted by basic emotions. He needed to concentrate
on doing what’s best for his species.

  Using his tactical mindlink, he told his fighters to continue on course towards the human missiles. If the human fighters wanted to dogfight, they would have to intercept his fighters.

  Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

  Air Group Commander's Cockpit

  They were the elites. The ones who survived and will continue to survive.

  Bobbi Duke’s Alpha Wing, comprised of the scattered survivors of numerous battles, they were the most skilled fighters to accumulate together into one wing. They truly were the best. Now, they gave a stone cold stare at the snake fighter onslaught of fresh greenies.

  Bobbi Duke commanded the 1000 fighters of Alpha Wing, but she also commanded the entire human fighter force of 7000 fighters within the system. On her command link, she shouted to all 7000 fighters, “Alright men, you’ve been through the worst. Now, you’re facing snake greenies who probably never fought a real battle before. You have the advantage in skill and in equipment. Confidence and experience is on your side! Get ready! Go! Fight for the preservation of our species! Good luck!”

  She closed the link.

  Bobbi then eyed the enemy wing ahead.

  1700 snake fighters at 100,000 kilometers.

  90,000 kilometers…

  60,000 kilometers…

  “Alpha Wing, launch mini-missiles! Let loose!”

  Missiles separated from Alpha Wing and sped towards the snake fighters 60,000 kilometers ahead. At the same time, the snakes launched their missiles. Within minutes, both sides’ missile intertwined with each other. Some of them detonated prematurely, taking out enemy missiles, but the vast majority headed towards their targets—the opposing wing’s fighters.

  "Fire sand canisters!" Bobbi ordered.

  Soon, in the same time it took for the two missile groups to intersect, snake nukes exploded all around her. Some of them clinked against her shields. On her fighter count display, Bobbi watched as hundreds of Alpha Wing’s fighters blinked off.

  Dead. Killed by thermo-nukes or stray projectiles.

  Then…came dogfighting range.

  “All fighters of Alpha Wing,” she announced, “Ready lasers! Fire!”

  Laser means etched through space, striking the enemy fighter force with glee. Dozens of enemy fighters fell to the furious human energy beam onslaught. The snakes fired back, but without the accuracy and consistency the human pilots showed. The remaining 700 human pilots were truly the elite of the survivors. Their accuracy was total.

  On Bobbi’s gravity map, she saw the snake fighter numbers drop from 1400 down to 1350, and then 1300 within seconds.

  Soon, as the distances closed to 10,000 kilometers, the snake fighter numbers became only twice the human fighter numbers…1200 snakes compared to 600 humans.

  It became a massacre. The snake fighter numbers continued to drop without doing significant damage to human numbers.

  Then, it came time to reverse and boost. Bobbi gave the signal. “All fighters, turn and burn! Let’s keep the range with the enemy low, so we can keep shooting!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” alpha wing replied.

  Flag Bridge, Juggernaut VSF Asterix

  Prancort's strategy worked. By putting one layer of fighters 300,000 kilometers in front of the human missiles, and then another layer 200,000 kilometers in front, then a third layer 100,000 kilometers ahead of the human missiles, Prancort realized Bobbi Duke’s strategy forced the snake fighter groups into sustained battle, depleting their numbers. By the time the first wave of snake fighters reached the human missiles, the enemy’s first wave sustained over 90% causalities. It then would be up to the last human fighter layer to mop up the survivors.

  However, the stratified strategy failed in certain locations where the human fighters couldn't arrive on time to defend the human missiles. On those occasions, the snake fighters completely wiped out a large percentage of human missiles.

  For the most part however, it truly ended up being a battle of annihilation. Very few snake fighters survived the stratified layer strategy.

  As of result, an hour later, Prancort was able to position a large portion of his surviving missiles to simultaneously attack the snake fleet of eight starships… from all sides.

  With victory in his eyes, Prancort whispered to himself, “I’ve finally done it, with a piece of luck and a piece of wit. Checkmate.”

  Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

  Air Group Commander's Cockpit

  Dogfight! Dogfight! Dogfight!

  Bobbi remained in a fight for her life.

  Happiness and excitement pulsed through her. She’d been born just for this. She enjoyed the challenge. Every time a snake fighter blew up in front of her, a wave of adrenaline sped through her brain and she would concentrate on the next and the next. She kept pushing herself to the limit, as did every member of her elite Alpha Wing.

  The results…the kills and the losses…were staggering.

  Since Alpha Wing entered the dogfight, there’d been 1300 kills and…150 losses.

  Twist! Turn! Aim! Shoot! Dive! Twist! Dive! Shoot!

  Bobbi Duke became a monster.

  With such ferocity, she would never die! How could she, when she was the best trained and most experienced fighter pilot out there—a victor of over a dozen individual battles?

  “You’re all doing good!” she shouted into the Wing’s command net,” Keep fighting—”

  Something slammed into her fighter from the side. Her damage control sensors went ablaze. Inside her cockpit, red lights blared everywhere. DANGER. DANGER, they read.

  While her fighter lost its gravity-inertia compensators, Bobbi Duke was forced to stop accelerating or else she would be smashed into mush. It meant she could no longer dodge enemy laser shots at the last moment.

  What a way to go, thought Bobbi Duke. To be taken out when the battle is nearly won…no—when the battle has been won.

  For a long moment, well approximately 16 seconds, a near eternity for a fighter pilot in a dogfight—she sat there inside her cockpit, warning lights flashing from all sides, casting a crimson glow on her face. She waited for her fighter’s nanites to repair the inertia compensators—if, and when, it happened.

  For now however—she was a sitting duck.

  “CAG, you alright?” a familiar voice came on….Tomly’s voice.

  “I’m fine,” Bobbi answered, “You worry about your own—” Something struck her oval-shaped fighter from the aft. The force of the impact and the subsequent explosion slammed Bobbi Duke against her seat straps, nearly choking her as her head came within inches of slamming against her monitors, while blasting shrapnel throughout her cockpit. One fragment spliced her knee and shattered bone. Another fragment cut her face, despite the protection of her padded armor.

  A third fragment ripped her arm from her body.

  Blood squirted and poured out of multiple holes on her body. Her suit’s medivac damage control unit went into overdrive, shooting drugs into her body, and closing wounds.

  Holy stars, is this what it’s like to die? Bobbi Duke wondered, before her consciousness faded.

  While her suit worked to keep her alive, Bobbi Duke felt so tired, despite all the adrenaline. The blackness took her.

  Hiveship Roro Cro-Drignon, Fleet Command Nexus

  Roro’s fighters lost. Roro now stared down at the barrel of death.

  He’d failed. He killed some human missiles, but for the most part his fighters failed to kill enough missiles, and now the human missiles organized into proper position for their simultaneous attack runs.

  With nothing Roro could do about it. He could not evade the missile trap. By the time he decelerated his fleet and accelerated out of the system’s gravity well, the missiles would have finished their attack runs.

  Everything he’d achieved would die, including Roro himself.

  The Prey has become the Predator.

  The Prey is wicked.

  Ro
ro, in the jaws of defeat, suddenly felt newfound respect for the Prey. Somehow, he—it managed the scrap together a fighter force, despite all of Roro’s planning, and… right at the perfect time to counter Roro’s fighters. Was it luck? Or did the Prey plan it all along?

  Now and forever, Roro would never know, because he was going to die.

  Roro existed as a communal organism, but no matter how mindful he’d evolved to he was of the communal state, but he still feared death. He could feel fear's tangle spreading through his three-meter long body. He knew if he felt afraid, all the lesser commanders in his fleet also felt it.

  He felt okay with it. He’d done everything he could do to advance his specie’s wellbeing. He had failed, but he’d tried and he nearly won.

  In this light, Roro felt comfortable knowing, he would meet the Great Maker.

  While the seconds ticked slowly by, the 14000 missiles crept closer and closer—with each step, they accelerated to faster kinetic velocities, Roro watched the battle map silently within his mind. Soon, the missiles would deliver the killing blow, both in kinetic energy and in their fusion payload.

  For a moment before the missiles reached counter-missile range, Roro deactivated his connection to the command net and stared at all his subordinates who surrounded his central gel tank. He saw them as they stared down at their leader in confusion, fear and uncertainty.

  Roro spoke to his comrades, “Do not be afraid. The war is not lost. Our deaths will not be meaningless.”

  Together, the lesser centipedes clicked in agreement.

  “Let us fight with all we have,” Roro urged, “Let us fight to the last Cell. To the Cell Empire!”

  “To the cell empire!” they clicked.

  He supposed that if the humans were in this spot, they would abandon their ships. But there was no such thing in the Cell Empire. The ship was Roro’s home….Roro’s life. With no such act as abandoning the ship, or ‘escape pods.’