The bridge crew couldn’t help but cheer as, after tridecs of planning, the power core of Powell ruptured. The image disappeared in a hail of bright white static for a moment before re-establishing to reveal the carnage. The port side of the Barker’s massive hangar complex lay open to space. Atmosphere poured out along with unsecured fighters, crates, ordnance racks and personnel. The Captain couldn’t contain his own smile as numerous fighters and bombers vented free, slamming into each other and what remained of the ship’s superstructure.
Looking down, he gazed into the inferno of what had been the Barker’s starboard reverse-thrust engine. Messes of tangled framework barely contained out of control plasma fires from the breached conduits. Flashes of freed antimatter from the Powell continued to tear away chunks of the hull. The remaining maneuvering thrusters on that side fired to get the ship away from further harm, but the mooring lines remained, dragging the wreckage of the Powell along.
The Captain continued to watch, focussing on the shields. So far there’d been none of the tell-tale signs, the subtle shifting of nebula gasses and debris, which would mark the activation of the graviton-based anti-projectile shields. Even the shimmer of the EM shields remained weak. “All ships,” he began tapping his link key. “Wolfsbane Actual, concentrate all fire on the Barker’s port flank.” The Captain turned to Sia at the tactical station. He could see the Var Fowne on her screen commence long-range torpedo and cannon bombardment. “Sia, order two of the Stingrays to break off and engage that Atlant back at the jump point before it gets any ideas to come and assist.”
“Yes sir. Sir, Var-Fowne telemetry confirms, no defense present or active on Satan’s mid-port quarter. They’ve ordered the Kawa-Kyrie to concentrate all fire there. Their fighters are moving to engage the battlegroup’s corvettes now.”
Officer Slaik spun about in her seat. “Sir, reading multiple fighter launches from all GF carriers, even the Satan.”
“We knew we wouldn’t get all the Barker’s fighters,” the Captain said with an air of authority.
He watched with narrowed as eyes as the Var-Fowne’s group, from their forward position, pressed the attack. Even with two of their Stingray cruisers slipstreaming away to engage the reserve force, they were putting in a great effort. Multiple torpedoes pierced the unshielded hull around the detonation site, opening more of the Barker’s hull to space. The Kawa-Kyrie’s assault gouged new fissures deep into the hull, the beam cannons making short work of the armor. They bounced off the shields further from the breach, like water from a squirt gun.
“Homi, secure channel to the Explosions. ‘Indulge your urges.’”
“Sir, main battlegroup is fifteen pulses from reversion,” Commander Salgou reported. “Stingrays will be in range of the reserve force in five.”
“Good,” the Captain replied and shifted his hologlobe to that sector of space. The five pulses seemed to go by in an instant. He loved to watch the Stingrays at work. The two cruisers didn’t even bother to slow to combat velocity, instead riding their dark energy envelope until they were right atop the Gorski and opened fire. Still partially sheathed in dark energy, the twin cruisers rocketed away as their beams splashed against the Gorski’s shields.
Beams from the Gorski’s escorts of Corsicaa frigates and Brekhov destroyer lanced out. The Stingrays were long gone, beginning their flip and burn for their next attack. All the enemy beams did was open up clear channels through the stellar fog. Shifting their beam’s energy lower and flattening them, the frigates did just that. They stripped away the gasses surrounding the Gorski to give its gunners and sensors a better view of the next attack run.
Clever, the Captain mused.
The Stingrays pressed on, making their second high-speed pass of the Gorksi. Their massive heavy plasma beams pierced the shields on this run while the Gorski’s gunners managed a few ineffectual hits against their shields. The Brekhov maneuvered to bring its Razer cannon to bear. Before it could even power up its pi-meson cannon, four asteroids emerged out of the fog on a collision course with the craft. Launched from the Venerous, one of the Wolfsbane’s escorting Cenobite destroyers, before it began its run towards the Barker, they pierced the nebula fog and slammed into the Gorski and the Brekhov.
The Brekhov buckled under the assault of the first asteroid. Its shields failed in a spectacular burst and came to flounder above the Gorski. The three remaining asteroids crashed into the forward and starboard saucers of the Gorski. Atmosphere venting, the Gorski made to maneuver away before the two Stingrays emerged from the clouds again. Instead of focusing their fire on the Gorski, they lanced out at the Brekhov.
The twin heavy plasma beams tore through the small destroyer. The first sheared the ship in half forward of its engines while the second sliced the forward hull in half again, piercing the main reactor. The resulting explosion stripped away what little shielding remained on the Gorski before another volley of asteroids, this one from the Archen, pierced the clouds. Two went wide, missing even the escort frigates as they concentrated fire on them. The next two found their marks in the Gorski’s portside hangar bay.
The ordnance and fighters still within the hangar detonated under the impact, shattering the port saucer. That was the opening the Stingrays had been waiting for. Flipping about for another assault, they unleashed their torpedoes and medium beams into the breach. Before the main battlegroup could revert from slipstream, the Gorski had been rendered no longer a threat.
With the beams cutting open clear channels to the heart of the Gorski, the torpedoes that followed had a clear path to the main reactor. Only one glided through the shaft, the rest tearing chunks out of the hull. That one torpedo was enough, however. Detonating just short of the reactor it pierced the protective shell and freed the plasma within. A massive plasma fountain burst from the shaft, as smaller ones erupted across the hull.
Hellraiser-003
It was all Tony could do to keep from throwing up in his helmet. The Barker, the mightiest ship in space, was bleeding out. The comm channels were filled with panicked chatter from every ship in the area. One of the midnight blue Splicer-5000s streaked past. Alone, without its wingmen, vulnerable, it took pot shots into the hangar complex as it rode its momentum through a skid maneuver.
Tony turned and punched his throttle open to its maximum. Blind rage filled him, and lining up his shot, he fired. The first burst skimmed the quint’s shields. He bit out a curse and took a breath to calm his nerves and settle his hands. That tiny delay, that one mistake, allowed his quarry to escape. He scanned the sky. The thick proto-planetary nebula fog hid everything beyond a few kilometers.
He checked his scanners. They had to be out there. Scattered contacts were all about the Barker. None were solid locks outside of their own capital ships. He wished he could tie into the battlenet and use the battlegroup’s telemetry. But that was reserved for command craft like his last fighter. To go back to a line unit would take some adjustment.
A proximity alert drew Tony back into the moment. He looked around. Three inert Solaars were dead ahead of him, blasted out of their launch cradles. Shocked by the sight, he allowed his instincts and training to guide his hands around them. He looked around. Dozens of fighters and bodies littered the volume. He felt fire rage into his blood. He checked his scanners again. The blip in the distance that represented the Gorski blinked out of existence. Rage fueled him even more at that sight when he spotted something - a trio of gray Splicer-3000s in the distance racing towards the Atlanta, one of the Barker’s escort cruisers.
“All Hellraisers, this is Three. I have Trips on an attack vector to the Atlanta. Moving to intercept.”
“I read ya Tony,” Vince called back. “I got your wing, let’s get dese Conts.”
Tony pressed on, they were hurt, not beaten. If he could save the Atlanta, that would count for something. He closed the distance in moments but not before the first of the Splicer-3000s released a spread of ten Shark torpedoes.
Tony gritted h
is teeth, then opened fire on the massive spread. He knocked out two before their gray-green skin disappeared against the dust. Faint trails carved their way through and he pursued, until his threat display lit up.
He pitched and slid down just as a hail of plaser bolts from another Splicer-3000’s turret filled the space he’d been in. He jinked and looked back. The second Trip was moving into position to release its load. He spotted his attacker, third Trip. Its upper and lower Shark Packs replaced by turrets and the flanking weapons packs filled with missiles, it turned to engage him. “Vince, while I have the defender distracted.”
“Already on it, ma’an.”
It was an old trick of the Conts. Sneak in an anti-fighter variant of the light bomber to escort the two attackers. But, pull the defender away and the attackers were left vulnerable. Tony played the part of the hapless victim as Vince raced in and unleashed hell on the second trip. A full barrage of plaser fire from six cannons and the twin thrasher cannons, spitting their hypervelocity flechettes, were all it took to overwhelm the fighter’s shields. The Wildcat might not be able to kill a big Confed bomber in a single pass, but a strike like that could wipe out a trip as sure as a beam cannon blast.
The trip’s shields didn’t stand a chance. Already weakened by the nebula, the assault stripped them away and tore through the armor and into the Sharks within. The brilliant flash that marked the trip’s death was a fitting end and allowed Tony the moment’s distraction he needed.
G-forces crushing him into his seat, he flipped around and poured his own load of fire into his attacker’s face. He smiled at the momentary glimpse he caught of the pilot’s furry Drashig face. An instant later a hypervelocity dart ripped that face from his shoulders.
“Good kill, Tony.”
“You too, Vince,” Tony called as he looked for the first attacker. The craft had turned away, running scared back into the nebula.
Tony looked back towards the Atlanta. Multiple bright flashes lit her shields. Scanning the ship, he spotted the hole the torpedoes had opened. Without the second strike, the Atlanta would be safe long enough to repair the shields. Or so he thought. Before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, multiple beam cannons ripped through the breach and into the Atlanta’s unshielded hull. The beams cut out only seconds later, but it was too late. Tony looked through the channel they’d cut through the fog, straight into the breached power core of the cruiser as it exploded. He moved to shield his eyes, but it was too late.
Dazzled by the blast, he looked up in time to watch the forward saucer of the tri-hulled cruiser, a class he’d always declared a lesser Atlant class, despite its more prolific nature within the Navy, sail past. Tony whipped his fighter around as he realized where the massive chunk of debris was headed. Bits of smaller debris and even crew trailed it. In subdued horror, he watched it smash into the Barker’s shields. It slowed only an iota before the shields flashed and died. It crashed into the main deck ahead of the number one and two runways, crumpling.
“Barker, your deck is fouled,” he called as the ship lurched forwards under the impact. Less than a second later a launching Valkyrie bomber collided with the remains of the Atlanta. It was as if all time slowed in that moment. Tony could almost feel himself leaving his body as the Barker reared back like a wounded beast. Then his screens lit up with contacts, dozens, of all shapes and sizes, the command net had gone live.
“All ships, Admiral Kimmet. You have full Command Net access. We have numerous incoming fighters, bombers and capital ships. The Barker is your home. Protect her with your lives. This will not be our end. Clear the zone. We are marking along the enemy's reverse vector and preparing for wide-area cannon and Razer assault. Keep us covered, keep us alive, and we will honor you with the greatest of glories.”
Spurred on by the Admiral’s words, Tony whipped his fighter about as the first wave of incoming fighters burst out of the nebula clouds. Another trio of Trips, these ones green, and with them... Tony couldn’t believe it, a trio of those midnight blue Quints. He’d do more than see to his revenge. He’d paint his hull with their blood and hang their bloody flight-gear from the walls of the Barker’s hall of honor.
Monstero Nach 003
The escape vector plot snapped to life ahead of Blazer before Arion could even issue the call. As the first syllable blared through the internal link, Blazer was already twisting their fighter about. With their nose aligned, he hammered the afterburner button. The fighter groaned around them. The g-forces pressed them back into their seats while they overcame their previous momentum to rocket away.
Easing up on the throttle, Blazer looked back just in time to watch the first discharge from the Barker’s own wide-area Razer cannon. Decaying pi-mesons flooded the volume of space, obliterating the clouds of planet-forming gas, dust and more. Blazer’s eyes went wide as a whole squadron of fighters, Splicer-2000s, he couldn’t be sure, just disappeared in the blast. He said a silent prayer for the crews of those fighters, and to thank the universe that the Wolfsbane was safely hidden. Even more that Marda had convinced Alieha to evacuate as many of the non-combatants from their damaged carrier as she could.
His pulse raced as Blazer looked back at the Barker through the SIS in his floor. The second of its three Razer Cannon barrels glowed in preparation to fire. “How can they be firing again so soon?”
“Those wide-area Razers don’t have near the power draw. And the Barker has four powerplants, two prime and two secondary, to draw from B. They could keep this up all cycle.”
Blazer hated the sound of that; at least the weapon was still a fixed one and required the whole ship to turn towards its target. He pressed on, angled back towards the Barker and the Nip Tails, as they drew closer on their attack vectors. Blazer almost chuckled at the sight of the forward hull of a Birmingham Class cruiser smashed into the Barker’s forward hull. “Arion, did that crash take out the Barker’s shields?”
“Only temporarily. They’re coming back up now. They’re pouring tons of power and ions into recharging the shields. B, incoming.”
Blazer’s threat display and attack vector lit. He fingered his slide control in response, just in time to let a barrage of plaser fire and high-velocity flechettes pepper their left shields. A millicent later and that blast would have torn right through them. Blazer jerked the fighter about to see his attacker.
He caught only a glimpse of the diamond winged planform and cruciform array of four engines as it raced past. “Frag me,” Blazer bit. He’d seen Wildcats in action before. They were formidable dogfighters, especially in the hands of a skilled pilot. The Barker was bound to have the best.
Grunting as the g-forces poured on, Blazer angled to return fire on his attacker. “Arion where are the others?”
“Already engaged,” he reported. “We’ve got a litter of them heading after the Nip Tails.”
“Understood, keep me apprised,” Blazer replied as the Wildcat flipped about to face him and snap off a shot from his six flex-mounted plasers. The shots went wide, but just, and Blazer returned fire. The other pilot dropped under the plane of Blazer’s shots. He came to a stop in space for an instant then raced back towards them.
Blazer jinked left and spun their fighter about along the course the other pilot appeared to be on. Right when he predicted they’d appear; he pulled his trigger. The target wasn’t there. Blazer scanned left, then right, and there they were, sliding along, cannons chattering away. Hammering the afterburner, Blazer vectored away but not before their shields deflected and absorbed enough incoming fire to raise the overload alarm. A jump and a kick turn brought them above the Wildcat and that fighter into Blazer’s sights. He squeezed his trigger as the other fighter mirrored his move, dropping down. Too late to prevent Blazer from stripping away enough of their shields to score a glancing blow on the three painted on the vertical stabilizers.
“Arion, analysis?” Blazer asked as he maneuvered to follow. The Wildcat flipped again, snapping off another shot to force Blazer off
his tail.
“He’s good,” Arion grunted.
“I’d noticed that,” Blazer groaned as he fought to try and keep out of the other fighter’s weapons envelope and into a position to engage himself. The fighter rolled hard and fired its thrusters, throwing itself at them. Blazer dropped down, looking up at the craft. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he locked eyes with the other pilot. Hatred didn’t just live there, but had built a mansion in those eyes.
This pilot was out for more than just blood. A drive Blazer could understand drove him, a need for vengeance. It was something he wanted as well after they’d been fooled by the fake refugees. Destroying the Barker would see to his desire for revenge, the Barker and whoever had planned the assault and made him look a fool.
Blazer cast those thoughts aside as the squadron flash of the fighter slid past, a spiked skull in front of an ornate cube. It came to him. “Arion, next pass, drop out two missiles, no burners. Feed them telemetry locks and when they’re ready, give me the signal.”
“The pilot will notice the lock.”
“No, he won’t,” Blazer hissed as he flipped them over again before a hail of plaser bolts raced past. “Too fixated,” he continued and snapped off his own blast. “Besides, he’s keeping out of our underside,” Blazer grunted, “avoiding the Narfics. He won’t see them.”
Arion said nothing.
On the next pass Blazer felt the kick of two missiles dropping out of their internal launchers. Blazer flipped around to keep them concealed and punched the throttle to kill his momentum. Adjusting their vertical and horizontal position relative to their enemy, he shielded the missiles from view and sensors.
Hell's Razer Page 49
