First off, I'll just get some background info out there. This story takes place at the very beginning of a war of independance between United Terra (loose historical equivalent: Britain) and the new Lunar Martian Republic (equivalent: American Colonies). This does not mean, however, that the war has begun yet; it's just very, very close to beginning. The 'Gambit' part of the title refers to the tactics the LMR uses. Whether or not they pay off, you'll have to read to find out. =3 It's not FS related, but it's still sci-fi ship battles (and horror, if I can pull it off) and the like.
And no, the names of ships will not all be Japanese; it's just, those are the ones that worked out coming into this chapter. =/ And before you even have to ask, yes, the Kotaka is entirely inspired by the Charybdis' function.
ALSO! Just in: With Flipside's permission, I use his model of the Autolycus as the as-yet unnamed LMR fighter. So just to give you an idea of what that ship looks like, yeah. The Autolycus, same paint job and everything.
Without further ado, the first (teaser) chapter of The Lunar Gambit!
His head snapped forward as several short words were launched into his ears by the radio. His right hand, firmly closed about the control stick of the TFB-1 Valkyrie, pulled toward the left of his lap. The Valkyrie lunged upward and out, away from the transport he had buzzed. His wing mates followed suit with a practiced efficiency and flair. Valerik’s left hand pushed the throttle forward, flipping a small switch cover open and pressing his thumb against the red knob. The entire rear of the flattened-cigar hull exploded into flame, throwing Valerik hard against the seat. The eight massive engines of the Valkyrie spewed flame against the hull of the transport, scorching the windows and probably, he thought, giving some kids the scare of their lives.
His wing mates again followed perfectly, keeping a constant distance from his own craft. While it was classified as a Fighter Bomber, the Valkyrie acted in nearly any role, especially that of an Interceptor. Four engines, each pushing the boundaries of sanity when it came to size, lined the rear of the fuselage; two more sat above the lower line, and two more acted as the center portion of the wings. The Valkyrie had literally been designed around its engines, and the end result was something dreamily reminiscent of the ancient XB-70 of the same name, designed in the later years of the 20th Century.
Several more short words were fired into his ears once more. A terse reply was shot back by a wing mate of Valerik’s. The five of them were all entirely green, but they at least had a good disciplinary training, the five reflected simultaneously. It couldn’t possibly be a bad enough situation for qualified Terran pilots to speak so harshly.
With a quick eye movement and a twitch of a finger, he flipped to the squadron channel. Valerik was one of several flight leaders of Alpha Squadron, full of fresh recruits who hadn’t named their Valkyries yet, much less their own squadron.
“Anyone want to take a bet that we’re listening to a bunch’a Loons?” he said with a light grin upon his face, barely restrained laughter just underneath. There was a slight pause before another pilot could reply as they changed to the squadron channel.
“I wouldn’t be surprised, sir. Got any odds? Quick, quick, sir, we’re just a couple hundred miles away now.” It was Alpha Two; he could tell simply from the voice.
“I’d give it a three-to-one that it’s our own guys, and it’s those Bravo guys, at that!” Alpha Three let loose a full laugh, joined by the chuckles of the other four pilots.
“Perhaps we should change Three’s call sign to Giggles, eh?” Alpha Two replied once more, eliciting another laugh from Three.
“Shut your mouth and place a bet, Two. I’m in, m’self. A week of whisky rations, banking on the Loons being the ones makin’ all the noise.” Five now, Valerik reflected even as he planned his own bet.
“Two weeks, banking on Five being right!” A chorus of ‘Oh, so the big bad flight leader’s gettin’ in on the pool?’ rippled through the other pilots, as though it was a trained response. There was a short delay before Three replied, waiting for more bets that didn’t come.
“Okay, so, three weeks’ whisky rations on the Loons. I can match that on Bravo! Two, Four, you bettin’?”
“Aye, pilot, Four’s betting on our own guys. I’ll take your odds, Two. You better be right, ‘cause I’m matchin’ Three and Five’s bets. A month of whisky rations, and damn the consequences of losing, I say!” Laughter echoed through the channel.
“Dammit, doesn’t anyone bet in money anymore? Good ol’ American Dollar? I’ll put up a thousand of those any day,” Two replied, finally speaking up. He was, of course, laughed into silence.
“You remember how much one American buck is now? With a thousand of them, I can’t even buy a pencil! Now, Two, you gonna bet rations or somethin’ else?”
“Fine, fine, pushy bastard. One week of whisky on the Loons.”
“And now that comes to…a month on Bravo, and —what was it?— ah, yeah— a month on the Loons. That it? —Ah, ****, too late. Here we go, they’re comin’ into range. Weapons cold, sir?”
Valerik mulled over this question for a few seconds. The banter had quickly been stripped down into what sounded like practiced, experienced ‘military talk,’ even though the men weren’t experienced at all. That, unfortunately, included him as well.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Three. Weapons cold, radar hot. Light ‘em up. We’ve got an AWACS cruiser behind us, the Kotaka. As soon as we need her, she can make the sun look like a candle.” He referred to the amount of energy she could throw into her radar arrays. The Kotaka had the long tube hull of the Yamato, yet was shortened from the original design, and had no guns on the starboard or port sides. Instead, massive rotating dishes protruded from the ship; when the crew wanted to, they could put out so much energy that the ship’s designers believed she could fry the receivers of other ships.
“Damn. I was looking forward to duck season. Suppose we just postpone it, lead?”
“We postpone until they go Terran hunting, got it? Do not fire, I repeat, do not fire. All we’re doing is exchanging transport convoys, we’re not here for a fight. That said, mark your targets, and—BREAK, BREAK, BREAK! Engage, now, Alpha!”
The five Valkyries snapped away from each other, each picking a Luna fighter and attempting to lock in behind their tails. Valerik took several seconds to realize that he had lost the bet; the ‘Loons’ had been giving Bravo hell, not the other way around.
This humble newbie greatly appreciates any and all suggestions. =3 It's not my best writing, I think, but it's something I want to run with. Expect the next chapter within a week-ish.
P.S. Anyone got some suggestions on how much redshirting of flight members is too much? *koff*
