Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War

by Mason Elliott

  But in despair, the Alliance abandoned the last few millions on DaVinci-5 that had not been able to escape, to their fate.

  No choice remained.

  Triax made an example out of such a ‘traitor-world.’

  The enemy pounded it with atomics and genocide devices, wiping out all remaining life on the planet surface.

  And still the enemy charged forward, heedless of any losses.

  Triax chased and fought the Alliance out of yet another, previously-pacified system.

  The continuing retreat from DaVinci-5 remained staggering and bleak.

  Naero and Strike Fleet Six helped the Alliance regroup around the next fall back line of defense prepared near Kholan-2.

  Hundreds of ships passed quickly through the waiting fixer nebulae to refit and re-arm.

  Then the massive enemy surge jumped in and came at them once again.

  For the first time during the entire course of the war, Naero and her fleet found themselves cut off and nearly completely surrounded by a tightening sphere of enemy forces.

  Superior numbers that had her and her people hemmed in tight.

  In a choking noose–a kill zone.

  Haisha. Dammit! Where had all of these extra fleets come from?

  By their intel, Triax still could not have even possessed a third of these numbers in the entire twenty-sector area.

  And now suddenly the Alliance was being pushed back, swarmed on, and surrounded over and over again.

  But now it was time again to hit the foe hard, slow them down, and make them pay the price–and just maybe–a little something extra.

  “All ships. Follow me in on this attack vector. We’re making a full sweep of the enemy formations to soften them up as they come online.”

  Priva Kothari, captain of The Bulldog, voiced her reservations.

  “Captain Maeris. The enemy fleets are clearly too many. We’ll be the one’s shredded…not them.”

  “Orders, Priva. The Alliance reserves will plough in right behind us in full support. Let the amazon make an opening. Everyone else form up and squirt through, all batteries blazing.”

  Hippolyta blasted several enemy ships straight in front of them, accelerating to attack speed and spinning wildly on its axis.

  The planetoid smashed straight into several enemy vessels, shoving them out of the way. Sparks and flames erupted.

  Her strike fleet roared in behind her, bristling with rapid-fire primary and secondary batteries roaring.

  They raked the enemy and the enemy raked back.

  Shields buckled and ships caught fire.

  The enemy made way for them, but kept up the heat all throughout the gauntlet.

  By the time Naero’s strike fleet finished its sweep, over half of its ships were in tatters.

  Against such numbers, they might as well have sprinkled the enemy with flowers.

  They limped and formed back up with the Alliance forces, taking up a flank defensive position on Admiral Sleak’s uttermost left, with fixers swarming all over them.

  Triax and its seemingly numberless fleets regrouped in slow, overconfidence.

  They held the decisive advantage, and both sides knew it.

  Then, as if that were not discouraging enough…

  More Triaxian reserves continued to jump in.

  Strangely enough, the Alliance forces should have executed another brilliant fighting retreat, and jumped out of such a hotly contested system.

  And yet, this time–this time they held their ground.

  They made a stand in the face of overwhelming superior odds.

  The Triaxian High Command hailed them eagerly.

  “Alliance invaders. Prepare to be destroyed. Your defeat begins now. No quarter. No prisoners.”

  So what else was new?

  Naero and the Alliance admirals awaited confirmation from Spacer Intel.

  Finally the word came.

  All stood ready.

  “Admiral Maeris. Permission to engage exposure mode.”

  “Permission granted, Captain Maeris. Engage cloaked, exposure microfixers.”

  Naero gave the command.

  Tyber and the fleet teks controlling the hidden Intel devices triggered their protocols.

  The spolymers on the outsides of the enemy fleet hulls blurred. Their scarlet, black, and gold Triaxian fleet markings and designations swirled and shifted.

  A conversion wave swept over the enemy ships like a counter-virus, and reverted them to their former designations.

  Still naval warships–but with varied colorful markings and insignia from all of the other fourteen Gigacorporations.

  Admiral Joshua confirmed their success.

  “Good work, Captain Maeris. The micro-fixers your ships salted the enemy fleets with are working perfectly. Not only have they revealed where the illegal ships originally came from, but we now have all of their ship’s logs, maintenance, and jump histories. We know where they were constructed, and where they have served, before being sent illegally to flood the Annexation War.”

  The Triaxian High Command mouthpiece laughed nervously.

  He even yawned.

  “More petty spack tricks? How un-amusing. No one cares what pitiful attempts you traitors and invaders perpetrate against us. No one cares, and no one will bother listening to your lying, spack ravings.”

  Naero did her best, ice-steel, Aunt-Sleak grin.

  “Let’s just put that to the test, shall we?”

  36

  Admiral Sleak addressed the massed Gigacorps forces aiding Triax.

  “You and all of your illegal activities have been clearly, and flagrantly exposed for all eyes to see. For the entire galaxy to bear witness to. The bulk of your forces present are not–in fact–Triaxian fleets. They are, in actuality, regular naval units from the other fourteen Gigacorporations, in clear violation of the the Fourth Spacer War Treaty.”

  The Triaxian High Command did not even blink.

  “You have no definitive proof. And even if you do, who is going to listen or care about what a bunch of stinking rebels and invaders–who are about to die–have to say?”

  Grand Admiral Micah Allen from The Spacer Naval High Command took that exact moment to cut in.

  “We care, Triaxian filth. Your kind and your days are numbered, either way. But to the other fourteen Gigacorps, we give this warning: For months you have slapped both us and the Alliance in the face with a treaty that you clearly break at will on a daily basis. You insist that only private Alliance forces can fight The Annexation War. While you pile in fleets from the other Gigacorps under false Triaxian or mercenary banners and designations to prop up these tyrants.

  “We have all the proof we need that this is going on. But it ends now. All fleets that were not part of Triax Gigacorporation, prior to the start of the war, are hereby ordered to depart immediately, and leave The Annexation War under a signal flag of truce.

  “And we know exactly now which ships they are,” Aunt Sleak added.

  The spokesperson for Triax fidgeted slightly.

  “Or what? And, for the sake of conjecture–not saying that any such ships do exist in our naval units, mind you–what are you prepared to do about it if they should not depart?”

  Allen’s face remain impassive. “Easy. Call your bluff. Triax already refuses to take prisoners under all the agreements of interstellar law. Any foreign ships caught in the Annexation War from this point on shall be shown no quarter. No mercy. No prisoners. We will actively seek to destroy them with extreme prejudice.”

  “This is outrageous, barbaric.”

  “Apparently it is not outrageous or barbaric when Triax does the same thing to the Alliance forces.”

  “But regular Spacer Naval forces interfering would bring about a Fifth Spacer War.”

  “Yes. It would. Then, by all means, let’s do so. Let it begin now and here, without further lies and pretense. First, we shall destroy Triax. Then we shall systematically destroy every Gigacorps which has and
continues to give Triax aid. You shall have five minutes to decide. I strongly suggest that you all choose swiftly.”

  The spokesperson stopped smiling and turned pale.

  “This is madness. There must be time to negotiate.”

  “No negotiating. Five minutes. Starting now.”

  “The other Corps will not stand for this. Their response will be swift and devastating, if you think they will stand by while one of their major allies and trade partners is destroyed! Who’s bluffing now? What is your pitiful might against the combined forces of all fifteen Gigacorps and their populations?”

  Grand Admiral Micah Allen knitted his hands calmly together.

  “We are ready to fight this war, you bloody-handed cowards. We will take you all on. Now. This instant. I have one hundred, advanced Spacer Navy fleets at my command. Poised to attack across all sectors. Five thousand unstoppable warships that are more advanced than anything the Corps have ever seen or can throw against us.”

  The Grand Admiral smiled calmly. “And that…is merely the vanguard of our forces. We have thousands of more fleets ready to flood in and overwhelm whoever chooses to stand against us. Take all the time you need to consider these facts. As long as it is not longer than four minutes.”

  “Ridiculous! The Corps and their limitless fleets still outnumber the Alliance Navy by far. What do you expect them to do?”

  “Simple. Abandon Triax. Immediately. The other fourteen Gigacorps do not need to suffer Triax’s fate. Pull your fleets back and stay out of this fight, as we have. It is not in your best interests to prop up a sick and diseased animal such as Triax–that either way is going to be put down. No one can prevent that now. This is your final warning. Leave now or share their fate. Three minutes…and counting.”

  The spokesperson gasped and checked his links feeds, while he continued to bluster and haggle. He seemed to be at a loss.

  “Two minutes.”

  Triax and its lackeys began to stammer and panic.

  “One minute…to the start of The Fifth Spacer War.”

  Ships began to jump out of the Triaxian systems in droves.

  First in dozens, then in hundreds. Entire fleets fled back to their own Gigacorps.

  They did not have the stomach for another Spacer War; not now at least.

  Naero smiled eagerly, her strike fleet poised and refitted on the front lines.

  Triax reeled in despair and chaos, as its fickle allies betrayed and abandoned it to its fate, melting away like a mirage.

  The remaining Triaxian forces struggled to regroup into some form of order.

  “Hit them. Now!” Admiral Sleak ordered.

  Naero merely waited for the word.

  Strike Fleet Six led the next heavy assault.

  Intel clearly had all of the illegal merc ships marked in the battle computers.

  If they found any, Naero made a point of destroying them first.

  Shortly after that, even more ships fled the Triaxian lines and jumped out of harm’s way.

  Fewer and fewer had any desire to sell their lives for Triax, very quickly becoming a lost cause.

  Surina cut in suddenly. “I’m sorry, sir. Another enemy boarding attack.”

  “Who this time?”

  “One of our destroyers. The Warhorse.”

  “Ima’s ship?” Naero grinned knowingly.

  “Sir? Should we try to assist them?”

  “Have we received any distress calls from The Warhorse, Rina?”

  “No, but last reports said the enemy hit the bridge directly.”

  “Send Duelist and Tarantula to assist, but I’m guessing the action’s already over by now. Go ahead and hail Captain Kalada. Let’s make sure.”

  “Hailing.” Surina sounded surprised by the rapid response.

  “Captain Kalada responding, sir. On main screen.”

  Ima stood before her command chair calmly, wiping the bright red blood from her blades onto her sleeves in order to clean them off.

  “Greetings, N,” Ima said calmly. “Everything all right, my sister?”

  Naero laughed. “Fine. We heard you might be having a little problem with enemy boarders?”

  Ima smiled slightly, her dark eyes still flashing fire. “Not really. My crew and I have been waiting eagerly for one of these boarding attempts against The Warhorse. It wasn’t any problem…not for us at least.”

  She voiced her war cry in an expression of sheer victory, and her crew responded in kind.

  Off to one side, Naero glimpsed Ima’s people and their Apache Marines, piling up the enemy dead from the boarding assault in large numbers.

  The Warhorse bridge seemed to have been painted in blood.

  Yet few of Ima’s people appeared hurt at all.

  “See you at our next practice session, N?”

  Naero nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it, Ima. Take care, my sister.”

  “Always. Warhorse out.”

  Naero chuckled.

  “Something amusing, sir?” Surina asked.

  “Very. I wish I could have seen the looks on their faces.”

  “Who, sir?”

  Naero laughed out loud. “Those morons on those enemy boarding parties. That’s who—the dumb bastards.”

  “Sir?”

  “Rina, if I was the enemy, the last ship I’d ever want to try and board would be one stuffed with knife-happy, Spacer Apaches. I bet Ima and her people went after the enemy straight on with their blades from the get go. They probably didn’t even fire a shot. Shields don’t stop blades.”

  Surina turned back around to her station. “I’ll take your word for it, sir.”

  “Come to one of our training matches and you’ll understand, Rina.”

  Naero continued to chuckle.

  37

  Naero checked in on Saemar to see how she was holding up.

  After the incident, Saemar only took a couple of day’s leave to work through her remaining grief and other feelings.

  She insisted that was all that she needed.

  Then she went to Zhen and got cleared to resume her duties.

  Naero watched from the mobile flight command station module, a circular pod with clear viewscreens all around, and even below, overlooking the entire launch hanger for 2nd Squadron.

  The fighters could be launched from there, the bridge, or from a back up launching station in the hangar itself.

  The 129th was currently attached to The Condor, under Strike Fleet Second, Captain Michael Marshall, one of two active, tactical fighter waves on that carrier.

  Since returning to her unit, Saemar threw herself into training her new replacements.

  Why did the newbs always look so young? Like a bunch of twelve and thirteen year olds?

  Yet a few of them were older that Naero herself, who still wasn’t even twenty yet.

  From experience, that all made it even more heartbreaking when they lost one of them.

  Bright, eager, headstrong, hot to prove themselves.

  Haisha…Naero still felt like that herself most of the time.

  Naero smiled, watching spunky, vivacious Captain Saemar back to her old self. That was very good to see.

  Saemar bounced around in her tight flight suit like she usually did, curly auburn hair, as much cleavage as she could get away with.

  All frisky again.

  Like some lander women on their worlds, Saemar would probably walk around topless if she could get past the fleet regs somehow. She had a young voluptuous body with lots of curves to show off.

  They got her all the notice she wanted.

  And Saemar wanted a lot of notice, and more besides.

  Word got around.

  A lot of guys tried to get into her unit for that very reason. Yet most, especially the female pilots, knew very well about Saemar’s excellent flight history and service record, her many citations and awards.

  She also had a rep for being one of the finest starfighter pilot trainers in the entire fleet. She did spend a lot of time with
hands-on training with her people. Whatever one might think about her personal life, she pushed every one of her pilots to be the best, and expected them to work hard and learn, right alongside of her.

  If she woke up next to a few of them at times, that was her private business. But Saemar never let her off-duty fun get in the way of her duty, and vice versa. She kept them separate, and demanded that others do the same.

  With help from Wing Commanders Chaela and Saemar, Naero and their strike fleet had even developed a new tandem, tactical starfighter with boosted power and improved dual controls–the Ghost Dragon F59T.

  Simulation could only teach so much.

  For the first few battles, green pilots were no longer being thrown into the mix to live or die on their own.

  They would go in to their first several battles partnered with an experienced pilot and trainer that could help save them if they got into trouble, and vice-versa.

  The instructor could override at any moment to help the rookie out, and judge best, firsthand, when a pilot was ready to fight solo.

  Under the new training program, within days, fighter pilot losses plummeted from thirty-four percent, down to twelve percent–the lowest in the fleet–especially among replacements.

  For all units, replacements getting killed needlessly only compounded the problems at work–and led only to the need for more replacements.

  Once more, good ideas spread throughout the fleet as rapidly as possible. Fixers even produced several other, popular tandem versions of current, successful starfighter designs.

  A good number of the Alliance units and even a few Spacer squadrons actually preferred to use the two-seaters full time, and very effectively. A team of two that worked and fought well together could be a formidable force, sometimes better than one pilot alone.

  Survivability rates also increased. If one member of the flight team was injured or unconscious, the other could get them out. This went along with auto-protocols to jettison crew lifepods if a pilot blacked out or was seriously hurt.

  Later advanced ship lifepods could even put an injured pilot in stasis if they were badly injured, semi-freezing their condition until they could be retrieved and properly healed and restored.