Part OneOrbit of Vega III
January 15th 2335The warfare of the 24th century appeared to be almost beautiful to the casual observer. War had become the graceful ballet of fighters which danced and pirouetted between the ever watching lights of distant stars. But even this, in all its imaginary grace and artistry, was as cruel and unforgiving as war had been ever since it was waged.
And one who would not be distracted from fast-flying fighters and the bright exchange of laserbolts between cruisers would see that there is still was the unavoidable slaughter, meter for meter through bloody dirt on planet's surface. The few uncolonized and habitable worlds in the known space where just to valuable to give to the enemy so easily. Thousands of soldiers of the Galactic Terran Marine Corps still fought every day on Vega III against their Vasudan counterparts. The Galactic Terran Command did all they could so the apparently endless number of units moving to reinforce the ground offensive would never cease.
Many died on the surface of the worlds which had become battlefields of the fourteen-years war between Terrans and Vasudans every day. A victory always costs lives and it never comes cheap.
Those five hundred soldiers aboard the medical convoy now leaving the area of Vega III under the protection of Delta wing were could be called lucky - if one was cynic enough to call a man which had left everything but his life on the battlefield lucky. They were the wounded and the crippled, those who would not feed the moloch of war again.
Lieutenant DeSilva enjoyed this grim duty to guard those who had given themselves so willingly to the Terran Cause that all they would now receive was a blessing compared with the hell they had just been rescued from. For the fighter pilots of Delta wing there was little to do but to watch the convoy of medical ships slowly progress towards the stars and away from Vega III. The Vasudans honoured the agreements that proclaimed that both side would not willingly open fire on the helpless, such as civilians and the wounded.
Surely a wing of Vasudan harassers would pay the convoy a visit and try to stir up its escorts but the aliens would never go as far was to destroy such a convoy.
"Delta 1, I'm detecting a single contact - but my sensors are unable to give a where and a what."
"Diagnostics?" DaSilva was not surprised to hear that the instruments of one battle-worn Apollo-fighter might play tricks on the rather fresh pilots who had been send to escort this convoy with him.
"All is green, no error detected. Even flushed the sensor cache - that blip is still there."
"Delta 1, Sigma 9 here. Any trouble?"
"Negative, Sigma 9. Probably just a broken sensor array. Maintenance screwed up again."
"Delta 3 to Delta 1. Lieutenant, I don't believe Jones' sensors are broken - I'm having an additional contact on sensors too. Unable to pin-point location as well."
Now DaSilva was surprised. One or the other of the non-essential parts got through maintenance despite being still broken - that was just the way it had always been. The flight-techs concentrated on keeping the fighters in the air and patching up the worst cracks in the hull that came from the weapons fire the fighters had been taking. But that two fighters would have same malfunction in the same mission was just too unlikely to be just an oversight.
And there was only one solution he knew to deal with something unknown out there - God, he hated to do that.
"Amadeus, Delta 1 here. We have got a unidentified contact in the area - Unable to get exact coordinates. We need a tactical evaluation."
"Delta 1, Amadeus. Request acknowledged - Tactical uplink in progress..."
Among the wonders in the warfare of the 24th century, the Pilot-Command Tactical Uplink was in DeSilva's eyes the most annoying gadget one could think off. It allows an operator in a command facility direct access to several cameras in the cockpit as well as a data stream from the navigational computer, the sensor-system and the targeting systems. But that was not the worst part of it. The operator had a direct line into the cockpit which the pilot could not disable. That line was every pilot's worst enemy.
The operators back on the Amadeus could be real nice and quite but with DeSilva's luck he would either have one of those who knew it all or far worse someone who would actually try to make him do it all by the numbers. Most of these operators knew space combat only from their safe chairs in the ships Command and Control where everything out here was just bunch of multicoloured symbols dancing on a screen.
"... uplink established, Leutant. An operator will be with you soon."
DeSilva sighted.
"This is Amadeus CnC, Ensign Cheng speaking."
Oh great, a new guy, DeSilva thought. We have an unidentified contact out here - which could be anything - and they are using this as an opportunity to let some kid learn how it is done.
"Alright, Cheng, this is DeSilva. We have two..."
DeSilva looked to his own sensor display where a red flickering dot had just appeared.
"Correction, three confirmations of an unidentified sensor contact. Signal is scrambled somehow ... and looks like the targeting computer is unable to give me a clear lock." DeSilva added while he browsed through all targets his systems had made him available.
"I see. Have you ruled out a malfunction of your targeting computer?"
DeSilva sighted again and was tempted to say: I know how to do this, kid. Meanwhile he diagnostic lights all but two flashed green as if they wanted to declare support to their pilot.
"Sensors and targeting computer are green. All up and running."
"But you do have two critical malfunctions on your diagnostics display."
Now DeSilva had enough: "That's the secondary firing control and auxiliary engine two. Those are anything but not involved in the targeting process, Ensign, neither are they required to fly this thing. Unless you are planning to put me up against a zod cruiser."
"Sir, if you are done shouting at our dear operator..."
"What do you got for me, Delta 2?"
"I think I have a fix on the unknown's location. Should I head out to investigate?"
"Well, that's progress. Take Delta 3 with you, and try to stray too far. The Zods might not think about ambushing this convoy but they will try to get you if they think you can be isolated."
"Roger that. Making full speed to target area"
In the six minutes until Delta 2 reported back in, the operator from the Amadeus stayed silent and DeSilva regarded that as a good sign. But when he just though that things had been worse enough and it could only get better from this point onwards he mistaking.
"Delta 2 to Delta 1, I've now three additional contacts they appear to be almost in visual range but I can't see a thing."
"Maybe those guys have a pitch black paintjob, Jones."
"Why is it that always make the silly comments, Delta 3?" DeSilva spoke into his comms unit in order to silence the idle chatter in his wing for a while.
"Delta 1, I think I see something.... Oh CRAP!"
There was a loud noise in the comm-line for a more than was good and honourable.
"Sigma 9 to Delta 1, what is going on?"
"Unknown, Sigma 9. Delta 2, do you read?"
Nothing but silence.
"Delta 3, are you there?"
"Oh holy.... they are all around me... Help me! Get me out of here!"
DeSilva instinctively knew what was going on. Delta 2 was dead, his fighter mostly likely destroyed by the opening volleys of the engagement in which Delta 3 was still caught.
"Three, keep it together and try to make it at least part of the way back - I'm on my way."
"No time, Sir. I'm hit, engines are breaking down, weapons are failing. I won't..."
"... make it." DeSilva whispered as the sound of an explosion cut off Delta 3's sentence.
He was now all alone with a group of transports and an enemy that just killed both his wingmen in less than a minute.
It took him a while to catch his breath again. Then he stared down at his sensors display and realized that three flickering contacts on his screen were now gone. That could mean only that another strike force was not far away.
"Amadeus..." The operator was the only one he could turn to right now. The pilots of the transports were most likely too terrified by the events that occurred just minutes of their own ships. "... we need support."
But there was no response. The channel was dead, not even ambient noise was there to hear. Such a total blackout of communication could only mean one thing - jamming.
"Sigma, we are being jammed and we got incoming. Warm up your subspace drives and let's get out of here ASAP."
There was no response but DeSilva knew that if they had heard him they would do as he had said. Terror would drive their efforts, just as it drove his hand to the subspace drive controls. The navigation computer came to life with a high tone whine as its cooling systems cut it. The nav-system was small but one of the most powerful computers aboard the Apollo-fighter. The calculations required for a safe trajectory through the n-dimensional sea of subspace were beyond the capabilities of a normal human.
While the system rose from its slumber to peak efficiency a white flash behind his fighter illuminated space around him. DeSilva's instinct took over and he pushed his Apollo into a hard dive.
He had been in the exit vector of major vessels before - in most chases accidentally. A ship leaving subspace was still travelling with speeds that defied Einstein's physics but would rapidly decelerate to normal manoeuvre-speeds. But while it decelerated such a ship would most likely make a one or two "road kills" as it transferred to normal space too close to other vessels.
When he looked up he realized that this was a ship he had never seen before and would never forget. It was roughly of the size of a terran Fenris-class cruiser and most of the ship was triangular with a wide midship and smaller rear. At its front a smaller triangular section was surrounded by what DeSilva could only describe in all his life as claws. The ships armour was completely black, only pulsing red lights on its surface showed that that it was there amongst the stars.
Shocked DeSilva had to realize that some of these pulsing lights were no just lights at all but gun ports firing. The newly arrived vessel was firing all it got against the transports of the convoy. Like droplets of burning blood the discharges of its turrets rained down on the convoy ships. On ten transports full of wounded soldiers who had just escaped the hell of ground warfare on Vega III.
He brought his fighter about and cycled his missile armament to the secondary missile bank - which was loaded with 80 Fury dumpfire missiles commonly used by pilots to engage larger targets. When the unknown cruiser appeared in his weapons firing arc he squeezed both triggers - the one for the laser and the one for the missile armament - hard.
A storm of missiles and blue laserbolts left his Apollo and impacted on the cruiser. Explosions form the Fury missiles covered a whole tenth of the ships length before vanishing but leaving the hull beneath unscarred. The fighter's ML-16 lasers had little more effect than creating carbon burns on the already black skin of the attacker.
While DeSilva attacked until his missile bank ran dry the larger ship seemed not to notice nor to care if it was attacked. Still it concentrated all its fire in a deadly rain on the convoy ships, vaporizing two transports in the same instant DeSilva finished his attack run.
"Delta 1, Sigma 9 here. Jump drives are on line. We are getting out of here"
DeSilva was glad to hear that the transports now would be able to make their jumps into a safe distance. He searched for Sigma 9 just to see the transport opening the event horizon that would allow the ship to jump to subspace. And right in that moment Sigma 9 was hit by a large laserbolt, fired from a turret under the bow of the attacking cruiser. While Sigma 9 stayed on course the ship began to bleed fire into space form the large impact the laserbolt had left. Then suddenly the transport began to shake and in the same instant the ship first hit the event horizon it was torn apart by secondary explosions.
DeSilva screamed as he saw the transport half disappearing into subspace while the other half slowly drifted away. He fired his afterburners and brought the fighter around for another pass on the cruiser.
As his fighter came around he finally gained an overview over the fighting, no the massacre going on. Though the transports by now had returned fire with their defensive turrets it was of little consequence. Six transports had already been destroyed, two drifted and due to be next, the other two already had several hull punctures and vented atmosphere as well as smoke and flames. The unknown had already won.
In the vain hope he could allow at least the last two transports to escape DeSilva fired the afterburners again and made another attack run with just his fighter's lasers. The laserbolts impacted on the hull of the attacker but failed to damage again. No armour puncture, no fire and no atmosphere escaping into space.
There was a distant flash of light, a signal that another transport had managed to open a jump vortex and was about to escape. This time the ship even was able to evade the fatal heavy laserbolt that had claimed Sigma 9. It vanished into subspace, sure to emerge far away from the battle.
The other transport DeSilva had though fit to jump had meanwhile taken a severe hit at its engines and lost all propulsion. It's fate was sealed but DeSilva was not about to let go down. With the power of desperation he tried his luck with another pass.
But while he was trying to get his fighter into position two more transports broke into pieces shaken by internal explosions. Following its last kills the cruiser broke off and firing its last shots it manoeuvred out of debris field it had created.
Only seconds after it had broken its previous course, long before DeSilva could reach weapons range again, the cruiser accelerated sharply and an event horizon formed before it.
The attacker was making a run for it.
A moment later DeSilva was alone within the debris. The unknown attacker had just vanished as fast as it had appeared above the convoy.
In shock and panic the pilot could not move but on pre-programmed paths. His left hand reached out with life of its own and flipped the activation switch of the fighter's jump drive.
GTD Galatea, Ribos System
Two weeks later...DeSilva browsed through the briefing files again and again but he did not read the words, nor listened to his superior going on about the importance of this mission. His eyes kept only to ever lingering picture of their target - the SC Taranis.
Though it was impossible to tell if that ship had been the same as the one that had attacked the medical convoy in Vega weeks ago, but a strange sensation settled in DeSilva's mind; It was time for payback, he had found the one ship that had murdered all those poor souls. He would see to it that they were avenged.
****
Part TwoLocation & date classifiedHe could not close his eyes, he never could. These moment were just too terrible to be forgotten or blocked out so easily. His fingers closed even tighter around his fighter's control stick and squeezed the trigger for his fighter's laser-weapons even harder.
"Why are you doing this? We did nothing wrong!" came a voice out of his comm-system. He did not care - at least that was what his mind kept repeating over and over again.
The vessel before his fighter was rocked by another salvo of incoming fire by the second attack wing bearing down on it. It would not last any longer, a military ship would have stood its ground against the attacking fighters but not this research vessel.
Then another hit punctured though hull and multiple deck before the laser-discharge finally ended with unleashing the full of its terrible power against the ship's reactor shielding. The force unleashed was not enough to melt through the hard plating surrounding the ship's fusion reactor plant but in processes it must have destroyed vital circuits for the reactors safe operation. Large arcs of electrical discharge flashed across its hull signalling the shipwide overcharge of all systems. Soon after explosions broke out of the vessel's rear section as the processes inside the reactor core turned into an uncontrolled chain-reaction.
The ship would soon be destroyed, nothing but debris would remain. His job was done.
And as always when he had completed such a mission (of which there had been far too many for his taste recently) he repeated the all familiar words: "Someday I'll make amends. Someday I'll make it all right. History cannot always be written in the blood of innocents."
Ikeya-System
January 28th 2335The Shivans had proven their terrible tactical genius once again. Their combat wings had sprung the trap only seconds after all Terran and Vasudan forces were fully committed. Sixteen Basilisk-fighters had jumped into striking distance, forcing the allied attack force to break away from the supply convoy they had targeted. As the fighters had clashed for the first time things had not gone well for the escort of the Adamant, already four pilots were dead, their fighters had perished in the Shivans' coordinated missile and laser volleys. Now the PVC Adamant, a vasudan Aten-class cruiser, and its remaining escorts craft struggled to survive the ambush.
As the attackers now closed in again, they outnumbered both the terrans and the vasudans two to one. But weapons' fire from PVC Adamant and the bold manoeuvring of its defending fighter pilots kept them off-balance. Shivan fighter wings were deadly efficient and a horrifying sight when they operated in formation, now as they were separated from each other and spread across this small corner of the void, their advantage was taken form them.
A casual observer of these proceedings might have guess that their unified purpose had been lost. How close or far this was from the truth no one in the joint Terran and Vasudan strike force could tell.
And it hardly mattered to them as would Leutant Maynard be happy to confirm. What was of consequence now was that the Shivans had no time to re-group and re-gain the initial momentum of their assault.
"Beta 2, dive, dive, dive!" he heard a fellow pilots yell over the commline as the melee around the Adamant entered a new deadly phase.
"We have got incoming - three Manticores just jumped in."
"Galatea CnC confirms new contacts, designation 'Rama'. Gamma, break their formation and try take them down ASAP. Those bandits won't stand sustained fire."
"Roger, Alpha." reported the computerized voice of the translation program as response of the leading pilots of Beta wing, masking the true words of the Vasudan pilot.
"Beta, tighten the escort of the Adamant. You have to make up for Gamma."
"Roger, Alpha" Maynard acknowledged his new orders.
A large explosion flared and illuminated the darkness of space around the Adamant. One of the Shivan freighters that had been the initial mission objective had been destroyed by the two Athena fighter-bombers of Alpha wing. Alpha had resumed the attack on the freighters shortly after the attacking Shivans had successfully engaged. While the Adamant would not be able to strike at the supply convoy as planed the wing leader of Alpha wing, a certain DeSilva, would not let these ships go.
Maynard strongly disagreed with the plan his superior had conjured from thin air. And as if the universe itself wanted to prove Maynard DeSilva's efforts had met only with little success so far. Only two of six Shivan re-supply ships had been destroyed by Alpha wing yet, considering the firepower only one Athena-bomber could bring to bear this result was quite poor.
As Maynard though about the situation he knew what was bound to happen next: The Shivans would dispatch another wing of fighters to keep the defenders around the Adamant busy and then wait. They would wait for DeSilva and his wingman to increase the distance between him and the Adamant, once they were out of range for any of the escorting wings Shivan interceptors would strike a the isolated bomber wing and eliminated them with ease.
Though he disliked DeSilva's recklessness Maynard was a soldier and soldier didn't leave their kind to die if they could do anything about it.
"Maynard to Delta, let's gain so ground and get some room to manoeuvre. Try to force your bad guys towards the convoy."
His two wingmen acknowledged by sending a small burst of targeting data, a silent response that also served as reminder which targets his fellow pilots were fighting. The silent response also served another purpose ... one which on this mission only Maynard knew: Agents of the Galatic Terran Intelligence used this narrowband frequencies to communicate while acting deep behind enemy lines where every normal transmission would betray one's position to the enemy.
He quickly drove the thoughts about the GTI out of his mind. Too many secrets lay buried there ... and the dark knowledge of all he had done in service of the GTA over the past five years. If he dwelled too deep into these memories he knew that he might not return. If one accepted the burden of guilt just for one moment it would drag you down and never let you go again, or so they had said.
He tired to focus at the task at hand: Protect the Adamant, protect your fellow pilots, don't let the Shivans win. Focus on what you do, they had said, it will take away the doubt, the remorse, the pity.
As a Shivan fighter came into his field of view he shook his head and quickly changed his target on the targeting computer. Following the enemies course he pressed his fighter into an easy rise. A red diamond appeared in the centre of his HUD, indicating the time until his Interceptor missiles were locked on to the targets energy signature.
Matching the enemies movements he waited until the fighter and the tracking diamond were in alignment then pulled the trigger for the on-board missile system. The missiles raced past the cockpit of his Valkyrie and straight for the Shivan fighter which seemingly oblivious to the danger turned for another attempted attack on the Adamant. The missile hit home, pierced shield and armour alike and detonated within the Shivan fighter. It ended with a neat, clear fireball.
Having successfully dispatched another enemy Maynard turned to see if his wingmen's efforts had had the desired effect. With both radar and naked eye he could confirm that his wing had increased distance to the Adamant and gained ground towards Alpha but were involved in a one-on-one dogfight with little options to break free.
As his eyes pinned from the Adamant to Alpha wing he saw the all familiar blue vortexes of ships transferring from Subspace to normal space. There were six of them and with a quick check with his targeting computer he knew that those were no friendly ships making the transition into the combat area. As he checked them signatures with his targeting computer he realized that the enemy had tricked them again. They had just waited for his wing to move away from the Adamant.
The ships jumping in were Shivan: Four additional Basilisk-fighters and two Nephilim-bombers. While Basiliks were no need of immediate concern, the Nephilms were. The Nephilim-bomber was the primary Shivan capital ship-killer. It's armoured bulk held warheads of unknown configuration that could dissolve even the hardest alloys and most well conceived structure with a single detonation. A ship of the size and armour of the Adamant would not survive a single hit. With his wing breaking away from the close protection of the Adamant and the other wings engaged with Shivan fighters, those bombers would surely make have we opportunity to fire their deadly payload.
"This is Beta 1, we have two Nephilims at large here. Looks like they have a four Basilisk-escort."
The moment he send that message he ran another quick scan of the battlefield . He saw Gamma 2 going into a fiery corkscrew dive and then the fighter broke apart. The marker for the fighter vanished from his HUD. Other fighters were still engaged in their deadly dances with their Shivan partners but no one seemed to able to just break away to focus on the more dangerous bombers.
It seemed that it was up to him alone. As he always be alone with such important tasks, no one else could do it just as they had said. Knowing this he pushed his speed throttle to maximum and raced to intercept the doom made manifest in those bombers.
As his fighter approached the bombers' escort recognized his approach and the four fighter wing turned to face him. They flew in a perfect formation, their weapons' firing arcs would create a kill-zone just between them where they destroy Maynard's fighter regardless how he tired to dodge missiles and laserbolts, their coordinated attack would just overwhelm his shields and peel away his fighter's armour.
At least that would happen if he was stupid enough to charge at them head on. But Maynard was not willing to indulge the Shivans. While none of his wingmen could help him with a flanking move he had to try something else.
He reduced his fighter's speed slowly as the enemy fighters approached. As he knew the Shivans would make small adjustments to their headings to ensure their wing's attack would flawlessly carried out. And so they did, precise as clockwork they almost unnoticeably changed their bearing of their fighter noses.
As they closed in on him Maynard closed his eyes. He took two deep breaths and opened them again. While he ignored the flashing warning lights designed to announce him that an enemy missile was being aimed at his fighter, he steadied his grip around the fighter's flight control stick. Such gesture was unnecessary as he could not loose his grip on the control just because he was sweating, the think gloves of his suit prevented that.
Right now as the first red flashes indicating that the Shivans opened fire were to be seen, the pilot known as Leutant Samson Maynard pushed his thump against the activation switch of his fighter's afterburners.
The nimble and fast Valkyrie accelerated from zero to 150 meters per second in less than 2 seconds and raced far past the point the laserbolts fired at it could hit. With g-forces of the sudden increase of speed pressed Maynard back into his seat. Once again he was grateful for the fact that there was no gravity of consequence in the areas space ship did battle. Otherwise he would have passed out from the force this sudden and strong acceleration his body would have experienced.
But racing past their aim was not enough to shake his newly found 'friends' so Maynard turned his fighter's movement from a straight flight into a chaotic dance of hard manoeuvres to his port and starboard as well as wild banking to both sides. There was no pattern in these movements except that Maynard decided them again and again when he felt his heartbeat pushing blood to his head.
The Shivans had a hard time keeping up but they would not give up. While their wing still would not part each fighter now sprayed laserbolts into a different direction. Maynard's fighters was hit again and again but not a single one of these hits penetrated his craft's shields - or at least not just yet.
Unfortunately the attention of this wing of Basilisks was not what Maynard wanted. His goal were the heavy bombers that were still making their way towards the Adamant with a determination only a Shivan pilot could muster.
Now how to get there..., Maynard thought as be pushed into another hard 70 degrees dive. Like every time he was lost in though he bit is lower lip and tired to muster enough of mental capacity that was not occupied with coming up with new twists and turns so his ship would not be destroyed by the chasing Shivan fighters.
The decision was taken from him as another allied fighter crossed his field of view. It was a Vausdan Horus-class, the alien's counterpart to the fast and agile Valkyrie. Despite being chased by another Basilisk, the Vasudan pilot lead his fighter on a path that would bring it between Maynard and his pursuers. Guns blazing and releasing dump-fire missiles the Vasudan engaged the Shivans head on. It was a foolish move, one as both Vasudan and Terran pilots had discovered in the first days of this war as certain death. However the Vasudan pilots managed what Maynard had not done with two minutes of erratic manoeuvring: he distracted the Shivan pilots chasing Maynard.
The malevolent aliens turned on the Horus and ripped it apart with laserbolts and carefully armed missiles. The distraction the bold, or foolish, pilots had tried to create did not last long but allowed his Terran counterpart to finally break away from his enemies and go after the targets he had had initially sought to destroy - the bombers.
Both Nephilims were slow but also unrelenting in their advance. They clearly gained on the Adamant with every second but the Vasudan cruiser would not be caught easily. Sadly even though it was fast and agile for a ship of that size, once the bombers had acquired their target lock and closed into the effective range of their warheads it would not be able to evade fast enough to prevent a hit. The cruiser had only two options: One, Maynard successfully intercepting both bombers, or Two, to shoot down all warheads that were released by the bombers with its turrets. Chances for the success of option two were quite slim as the warheads were small and fast objects - even the most experienced of gunners could not hope for a sure hit. But the success of option one depended entirely on Maynard's skill and the strength of his fighter's weapons. Right now was the time to determine how slim this chance really was.
Maynard again steadied his grip on the control stick and then risked a quick glaze on the status display for his weapons. The gauge representing the charge of his laser capacitor was green, indicating that he could unleash his primary weapons at will for the time being. The ammunition counter for his on-board missiles showed a yellow single digit number - a six. Considering that his fighter could hold up to 15 of these Interceptor missiles which had been loaded into the it before he had launched from the Galatea it was a poor result.
But right now he had to make due with what he had. There was no time to meet with a rearming craft.
With the tip of his right thump we flipped the safety switch for these missiles. A red light flared to life signalling him that the weapons were now armed and ready to be fired, even without a confirmed lock on a target. Just as the safety was removed he brought his fighter's flight path in alignment with the HUD indicators that represented the first bombers current vector. Before the targeting computer had established a lock-on Maynard fired four missiles quickly after one another into the path of the Shivan bomber.
Three of them missed, without proper guidance from the on-board computers the missiles were either too fast or too slow to find their targets. The last missile found its mark but force of the explosion it unleashed was absorbed by the bomber's shields which glowed in a dark red like an angry eye as the energy of the blast was absorbed.
Following the missile-hit Maynard unleashed his fighter Avenger-cannons against the bomber. The shields of hostile craft began to glow from the strain the accumulated impact forces from the multitude of bolts. As they finally gave in Maynard fired his last two Interceptors into the yawing gap. Both missiles both properly locked onto their target hit home and cracked open the bombers armour.
The larger part of the bomber broke away driven by the blast force. The rest of the vessel was rocked as secondary explosions were set off in it. What once had been a dreadful threat now slowly disintegrated into floating junk.
But while one bomber had been destroyed the other had begun to push even harder towards its intended target. It, Maynard realized after a quick scan over the readings form his targeting computer, would come into range to fire on the Adamant within the next minute. As he had no more missiles available for this target, this would become a hell of a lot time more difficult than the first kill. But it could still be done. Or it least it would have been if the events of the next seconds had not occurred.
The Shivan escorts Maynard had worked so hard to evade and which to distract the unknown Vasudan pilot had given his life had caught up with him again. With their deadly coordination they unleashed death all around Maynard's fighter. Warning lights flashed as they opened fire with perfect timing. His shields screamed under the sudden punishment and finally gave it. Laserbolt bit deep into his fighters light armour and into the machinery beneath.
Maynard again pushed down his afterburner control and raced out of the lethal red hail storm. But Shivans would not give in. They redirected their fire into his new course and followed every of movements.
Again Maynard broke into the erratic manoeuvres that had saved him before but this time their effectiveness was not quite the same. The hostiles in pursuit would not be tricked the same way twice and Maynard was still trying to gain on the remaining bomber.
As Maynard in his wild spinning flight found himself targeting the Nephilim directly he squeezed the trigger for his Avenger-cannons but nothing happened. A quickly shot look at his weapon's status display showed him that the cannons capacitor was now empty and would not recharge, a dead give-away that parts that belonged to his weapon's system had been hit and destroyed.
He looked at the bomber closing in on the Adamant. Unless he acted now there was nothing anyone could do to save that ship. But he was without weapons, in a damaged fighter that soon would give in to the ferocity of the hostile attack.
Just before he could sink into depression a last desperate spark ignited the fires of his defiance. He would not give the Shivans this victory. No, not like this. As long as he lived and this fighter held together he still had one chance.
As pressed down the afterburner control to achieve ramming speed the all-familiar words formed on his lips. But this time Maynard would keep the promise he had given so often recently: "Today I make amends. Today I make it right. For once it is the guilty who pay."
His Valkyrie impacted on the Nephilim-bomber right were its primary bombing bay was housed. The fireball which the crashing fighter had become ate away the armour-platting and flames found their way to the warheads. Whatever the Shivans used as explosive the massive heat brought it to its critical point and caused it to detonate before the ship-to-ship torpedoes were released. The second Nephilim-bomber broke from within, ripped apart by the force of its own weapons.
Location unknown
February 2nd 2335The cabin was dark, as its occupant wished it to be. He longed to be alone with the stars, the stars which to own he believed to be humanity's right. It gave him the sense of manifest destiny many of his people lacked.
Another man joined him from the dark. He dressed in the same grey uniform as the first one with the same insignia of a flaming owl which stood vigilant above Earth on his right breast.
"There was another casualty, Sir. Leutant Maynard, Samson. 20 operations for GTI on record, 16 of them for the division."
"I hope the cause of death was not too suspicious. We cannot attract more attention to the division as we already have. Our position is unstable. The joints chiefs are currently not favour of our plans. "
"It appears the division was not involved at all. A normal war casualty. A clean killed-in-action, Sir."
"Good."
****
Part ThreeGTC Nepukatneza, Ikeya-System
January 28th 2335Captain Sorenson double checked his seat-belt and than reached for 'Speak'-button of his console.
"Epsilon, Nepukatneza. we got green lights all over the board. Let's punch it."
"Nepukatneza, Epsilon 1. I bet the Zods are already waiting for us to be late."
Sorenson smiled at the enthusiasm with which the pilots of his escort wings looked forward to this mission. Their fighting spirit was more than contagious.
"Helm, initiate jump sequence - Jump vector for rendezvous point with the Adamant."
There was a quick "Yes, Sir" before the mess of subspace jump began; power on the entire cruiser was rerouted to the massive jump drive. Non-essential systems, such as the artificial gravity, had to be disabled so all reactor output could be feed to the drives that would transfer the cruiser from the universe of Einstein to the n-dimensional reality of Subspace and back.
It was a only a temporary measure but one he never quite seemed to get used to, especially on a ship like the Nepukatneza where the jump drive was only a five-minutes walk away from the bridge.
The Fenris-class cruiser gained speed as the subspace vortex opened before it. The blinding bright light the transit's event horizon would have filled the entire bridge if not for the armoured shutters.
"Displacement to Subspace achieved. Forty second until we return to normal space." one of the helmsmen reported.
The better part of a minute past and then the Subspace drive opened a vortex to normal space just "in front" of the Nepukatneza. Sorenson leaned out of his chair to observe the busy work of his ship's helmsmen.
"Ship has returned from Subspace, Sir. Jump drive is powering down."
"All hands, stand down from jump stations. Condition two throughout the ship." Sorenson's Executive Officer, Commander Nagarinov, ordered. Her routine with Subspace Jumps had always surprised Sorenson and once again he was glad to have her to direct all details of the post-jump procedure.
"Tactical, I need a sensor sweep of the area. Have our Vasudan friends already arrived?"
"Still scanning, Sir, but there is no ship of cruiser specification."
That was odd. The rendezvous of the Nepukatneza and the Adamant was scheduled to be at this very moment. For the entire duration of their joint operation the Vasudans had made both accuracy and punctuality their virtues and now they were not here.
Either the Nepukatneza had not arrived on the right coordinates...
"Helm, did we jump off-course?"
"Negative, Sir."
... or the Vasudan cruiser had been delayed, far worse even been destroyed.
"Tactical, I need that scanner sweep."
"Yes, Sir. Sweep ninety percent complete. No sign of the Adamant or her escorts."
"Debris?"
"Negative, Sir, we are currently scanning in the range of less than 5 cubic meters. There is nothing out there but Epsilon and us."
"But where are they?" Sorenson said all by himself.
Before he could even get started, his Tactical Officer interrupted Sorenson's thoughts. "New contact, inbound from Subspace.... Bearing 1-1-9 to 0-4-6, range 3 klicks.... All energy signatures match cruiser specs."
"IFF?"
"No IFF transponders, Sir."
"Get me a..."
Again Sorenson was interrupted but not by a member of his ship's crew but by the sound of an energy weapon hit on the Nepukatneza's armour platting.
"Have we been fired upon?"
"Positive, Sir. Contact must have opened fire after exiting Subspace while the transit interfered with our sensors."
Sorenson didn't loose a second and pressed the speak button for his headset again: "All hands, action stations. Condition One! - Helm, bring us about and into a better firing position."
There was a another hit and another. While Nepukatneza had been designed to resist enemy fire for some time, this was not exactly the kind of situation a captain wanted to be in.
"Additional contacts jumping in all around us. Looks like inbound fighters."
"It's a damn ambush. Tactical, are in the incoming ships Shivan or Vasudan?"
Sorenson would have liked to have answer already. To face a detachment of Shivan invaders just meant that this rendezvous had just gone bad, to be fighting Vasudans was dead give-away that the aliens had just been toying with the Terrans and all their offers and assurances had been nothing but empty words.
...to be continued...--------------------------------------------------------------------
I scraped the campaign a long time ago ... but somehow the fiction behind it stayed on - what you just read are just the parts 1 and 2 of 4 (maybe 5)
If you find any spelling/grammar errors let me know via PM... (but that is no invitation to just go around and look for them, k?)
ps. post 1,200
