A Memory of Violence

by Percival Arbogast

  “Dunno if you noticed,” said Jack, calling Mika through the comm line, “but Alton isn’t here. He must be back in the station. So I guess it’s just the two of us today and… the kiddos.”

  Mika chuckled. “We running a daycare today? I imagine at least some of them are pretty good, no? Been a while since we’ve had a proper fight, but I know some of these guys have performed all right. There’s that new girl, though. Looked about ready to piss herself. Will she be all right?” she asked.

  “Tara,” he said. “She’s better than she gives herself credit for, but keep an eye on her. I’ll lead, and you keep an eye on our flanks, yeah? The rest of them will more or less follow my lead.”

  “Sounds good,” replied Mika, ending the transmission.

  Jack reached out to Tara next. “Red-Three? Do you copy?”

  “Y-yes,” she stumbled, sitting bolt upright in her pod.

  “Relax there, you're going to be following my lead, understand? I don't know what's waiting for us out there, but the bridge is going to be giving me detailed directions all the while. Remember your training and the simulations we ran through, too.”

  “Yessir,” she replied. Her voice was bereft of confidence however.

  Mika, from Red-Five, peered over and gave Jack a thumbs-up through her cockpit. She was in her thirties, perhaps, and rugged-looking. She kept her hair short and was one of the more aggressive among the pilots. Many of the others avoided her, however she and Jack had always gotten along. She was an exceptional Scrambler pilot and had perhaps a better understanding of their operation than any of the others, due to her relationship with Methuselah's mechanic, Cleo. She leaned back into her seat and revved the engine a bit as the hangar door began to open.

  The hatch opened, revealing open space. Methuselah herself had nearly emerged from the station's dock. Over the comm line came a voice from the bridge. “Clear to launch, Red-One! I repeat, clear to launch!”

  “Roger,” replied Jack, cranking up the engine and starting down the launch strip. A mechanized arm hauled the fighter down the strip, helping it build up momentum. The engine fully engaged and the afterburners loosing a blue glow, Red-One was catapulted from the hangar and into space. Jack steadied the thing, adjusting his trajectory and circling back. He then hugged Methuselah's flank while the other fighters poured out of her in similar fashion.

  One-by-one, the other nine pilots were catapulted from the ship. In reality they were all launched within thirty seconds, however it seemed like forever to Jack as they slowly feel into line behind him. When Mika had launched and signaled to him that she was monitoring their rear, Jack called out to the bridge. “Methuselah, this is Red-One. Red Squadron has been dispatched. Orders?”

  To Jack's chagrin, Faust replied. “Mr. Savage, the fighters are to rush Alpha Sector of the station. Is that understood? The aggressors appear to have congregated there. Engage them, destroy them if possible, and return safely to the ship. Methuselah will provide support when she gets into position. Bear in mind that Anvil Station may be launching fighters of her own.”

  “Roger,” replied Jack, cutting the line. That's the last person I want to be hearing from right now. Turning sharp to his nine, he relayed his orders to the rest of the Squadron. “All right, follow me. We're headed to Alpha Sector. Methuselah will be backing us up once she gets into position. We need to make sure the hostiles don't get in the way of her doing that. Got it? Mika's going to bring up the rear, and I'll spearhead the strike. I want the rest of you to follow me. Keep a tight formation; I don't know what we're in for here. And keep a lookout for Anvil Station's security forces. They're sending out fighters of their own.”

  Rounding the dock and cruising above the station, it took but a moment to recognize the target area. A large segment was engulfed in bursts of yellow-orange laser fire. Like rain it fell from tiny starfighters, piercing the station's armor and filling the inside with hellfire faster that the emergency systems could react. Shit, that thing's about to get sunk.

  “OK,” said Jack through the comm line. “I see it. Alpha Sector. They're taking heavy fire out there from... it looks like a small group of spacefighters. Methuselah? How many are there?” he asked the bridge.

  There was a pause. As Red Squadron closed the gap and neared the attackers, the bridge finally responded. “W-we're not certain. S.A.L.V.O doesn't seem to have a clear answer.” It was Quartermaster Kanpei.

  Jack gulped. “Roger, Methuselah. We're... we're going in, then.” Red-One engaged maximum thrusts and primed her cannons for a steady barrage. “Give 'em hell,” he told the squad as they entered Alpha Sector.

  There were perhaps four or five fighters, though it was difficult to count. The strange-looking craft, sleek and dark in color, whipped around at great speed. Their maneuverability was enormous; with nary a pause they laid siege on the station, their cannons pumping a steady stream of laser before suddenly charging to the side and completely bypassing Red Squadron. They were compact things, smaller than the scramblers, and built of some dark alloy. Their cockpits were impenetrably dark, offering no glimpse into their operation or of the pilots within. Their guns didn't appear especially powerful, though they fired for far longer a duration than those on the Scramblers, and didn't seem to need a cooling period. Jack rushed in, sending a barrage towards one of the craft, but it tore away at great speed. He couldn't have chased it if he tried. If they were going to destroy the fighters, then they'd have to be a good deal more strategic about it.

  The rest of the Squadron filled in behind him, some of them muttering curses through the comm. “Listen,” said Jack, turning back around and firing a few shots towards a pair of the craft, hoping to ward them off. “These things are fast. We won't shoot 'em down in a straight dogfight, not like this. Keep in rotating formation, two rows. Remember how we did that? We'll fill up the sky with so much hellfire that they won't be able to avoid it. Just make sure not to hit the station.”

  Red Squadron fell into two rows, with Jack in one and Mika in the other. The first row would wage an attack before falling away and allowing the row behind them to mount their own strike. By the time the second strike was complete, the first row was intended to resume their original position and start the maneuver again. It was a trick they'd practiced a few times in simulations, and at least once during a practice flight. Whether they'd be able to replicate it in the heat of battle Jack was uncertain however.

  The enemy fighters, more interested in attacking the station than in fighting back against Red Squadron, continued their onslaught as the first row launched a massive barrage. A swarm of laser blasts streamed from their assembled Scramblers and narrowly missed one of the attacking vessels. The craft had managed to cut its speed just in time to avoid getting hit, falling back and regrouping with another. By the time the second row prepared to fire however, they found themselves without a target. Worse yet, they were now being pursued.

  “Mika, you've got a pair of 'em on your six. Evasive maneuvers, all of you!” shouted Jack through the comm, turning sharply and attempting to provide cover fire. His shots missed, however. The enemy units screamed by and opened fire on the second row, which quickly fell into chaos. The Scramblers took off in all different directions, the frightened pilots very nearly crashing into one another. The yellow-orange fire erupting from the enemy cannons was blinding up close, and Jack found he had to shield his eyes.

  Damn it, we're out of formation now. We don't stand a chance in a dogfight... especially not with this team. They don't hardly know what they're doing, and these bogeys aren't messing around. And where the hell are the station's defense forces? I thought they were sending fighters of their own into battle. Jack wheeled around once more and called out to Mika. “These guys are good. If we don't get back into formation, we're going to get hammered. We can't match 'em speed-wise... any ideas?”

  Mika was about to answer when she hung a hard left to avoid a pot-shot from one of the enemy fighters. “Son-of-a-bitch won't let up!”
she yelled, slamming her fist down on the console. Mika cut her speed and fell back, unleashing a salvo at the fighter as it streamed past. To Jack's surprise, she connected.

  The enemy fighter took a hit and was knocked off course. Before it could right itself, it careened into the station and erupted in a ball of flame.

  “Ya see?” she barked, whizzing past the fiery wreckage. “I know that one too!”

  Jack grinned. “Nice work, Mika. Let's... let's try and watch out for the station next time, though.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, flying up next to him. “What say we get back into position and give them a run for their money?”

  The rest of the Squadron was still frantically evading enemy fire however. They were separated, some engaged with enemy fighters, others nervously skirting the battlefield. One of them, Red-Four, was having a harder time. He was being tailed persistently. “Tom! Get out of there!” Jack signaled to Mika. “We need to help out Red-Four.”

  The pair swooped in, cannons blazing, but failed to draw the enemy starfighter away. The small black vessel tore through Red-Four with a barrage before dropping off and leaving Jack and Mika frantically wheeling back into formation.

  “Goddammit!” yelled Jack. “We didn't--” A loud beeping interrupted him. His console lit up with an alert. They were behind him, now. Not one, but two of the enemy fighters. They kept pace with him even as he sought to evade, twisting this way and that around him in an almost playful manner.

  “Jack, move it!” cried Mika.

  Peering back, Jack broke into a cold sweat. The enemy vessels opened fire, the flash of their cannons blotting out his view.

  CHAPTER 7

  Faust nudged the helm, maneuvering Methuselah into the cover of the dock. The fight at Alpha Sector was more or less visible from her bridge, and the main display featured the ongoing battle in yet greater detail than any could discern with the naked eye. Watching the fight unfold, Faust inquired after the readiness of the main cannon. Learning it to be fully primed, he ordered that a warning shot be fired at once. “Send a shot straight across Alpha Sector,” he commanded, bearing down on the helm. “If possible, aim for those tiny fighters while they're busy engaging ours.”

  “Sir?” asked Kanpei, his face somewhat pallid. “We could hit our own if we're not careful; the main cannon is massive. Its blasts aren't really meant for such pin-point accuracy.”

  The Captain stamped a foot down. “Well then I guess we'll have to be damn careful, won't we, Kanpei?”

  Kanpei nodded and pulled up the fight on his own console, eyeing up the skirmishing vessels and attempting to take aim. As soon as his sight settled on one however, it was almost always too late. They were too fast. “Sir, I... I can't get a lock on any of them. They're moving way, way too fast.”

  Faust nodded. “All right, then. Just send a warning shot. If we can't hit them outright, perhaps we can intimidate them. Fire on my command.”

  It was by the careful movement of the cannon's yoke that Kanpei put it into the proper position. “Standing by, Captain. We're in position.”

  Faust nodded. “Fire!”

  The ship's cannon lit up and fired off a massive charge. From the bridge the crewmen watched it barrel through space, a bright bluish-orange. Methuselah lurched as the cannon discharged, and Faust had to hold the helm firm to keep her from shifting too much. The charge crashed into the skirmish and seemed to connect with one of the combatants. A bright explosion rocked the space above Alpha Sector.

  “We hit one!” cried Kanpei. “Absolutely annihilated!”

  “Well done,” said Faust, sporting a grin. “Now prime the cannon for another blast, just in case. Gunners,” he said through the intercom, “stand by. We're unsure how they'll react, so be ready.”

  The main display featured the scene; one of the enemy fighters that had been pursuing Red-One had been caught by the edge of the blast and utterly destroyed. The other had only narrowly avoided the same fate, and had dropped off from its pursuit. It'd been a complete accident and might as well have resulted in the destruction of one of their own fighters. Nonetheless, the strike had been enough to visibly spook the alien pilots, who scrambled away from their engagements and attempted to regroup themselves. What they did next was somewhat unexpected however. Within moments they bypassed Red Squadron and were making a furious drive towards Methuselah.

  “T-they're coming right at us, Captain!” said Kanpei, pointing at the main display.

  “Yes, I see that. Stella?” he called to the navigator, “how many are there and what are they made of?”

  “I-I can't quite tell,” she said. “I think there are four or five. They're still moving too quickly. They're just blips; the system can't lock onto them long enough for me to glean much about them. The only thing I know for sure is that they're dense. Definitely metallic... I don't recognize the fuel source. It's just like that object that showed up on radar earlier, eerily similar, actually.”

  Faust snarled. “Well they're closing in fast, so I reckon you'll be getting a damn good look at them very soon now.” He cut the line and then called out to the gunners. “The enemy is closing in on the ship. As soon as they come into range, let them have it!”

  The crewmen stationed at the gun ports grew gravely silent. They studied the displays at their consoles carefully, looking for the first sign of the enemy. A blip on the display was enough to set off the first barrage. Guiding their yokes into position, they aligned themselves with the threat and let loose. Streams of bluish fire poured from Methuselah's gun ports, the cannons fed each by their own generator. Save for a short cool-down period between any salvo lasting more than fifteen seconds, they were capable of near-constant fire. The gunners locked onto the oncoming ships, glimmering like black beads in the void, and peppered space with their fire.

  Of tremendous scope was the first barrage, and it evidently caught the incoming pack of vessels by surprise, for one was caught by the blast before it could steer out of the way. The bluish beams tore through it, and the craft erupted into a mess of molten metal. The wreckage crashed into the dock behind which Methuselah had been taking refuge. “That's one!” yelled out the gunner, eliciting a cheer.

  “Raise the shields!” ordered Faust.

  Kanpei engaged the shields and watched as the ship outside the bridge was enveloped by a faint blue glow. Methuselah's was a powerful shield system, capable of deflecting anything the small fighters were capable of delivering. It operated via a set of shield dynamos, which generated a net of sorts around the ship. The energy would neutralize most any laser blast and could hold up against all but the strongest cannon fire. If the attack was particularly intense, the shield system was capable of concentrating the bulk of its energy at the point of greatest impact, which was intended to help stave off more powerful attacks. As the invaders launched their initial strike, their cannons lashing out a steady barrage, one thing was clear: Methuselah's shields would not be pierced by such weak cannons. Their shots sank into the ship's shields and withered to nothing with a sizzle.

  Faust threw back his head in a laugh. “Insects!” He planted his fist against the helm and watched the feed on the main display. The fighters encircled the ship, but couldn't seem to land a strike no matter where they aimed. Where they thought they found a weak spot in Methuselah's armor, their attempts were either deflected by the shielding mechanism, or they were chased off by the artillery fire before they could even press the trigger. Also appearing on the monitor were the nine remaining starfighters of Red Squadron. “Red-One, I want you to bring them to their knees!” shouted Faust into the intercom.

  Red Squadron, emboldened by the sight of their flagship, began an offensive of their own, striking at the aliens as they attempted to avoid Methuselah's fire. The aliens were boxed in; in one corner they had the Battlecruiser Methuselah, the whole of her gunnery engaged against them. In the other, Red Squadron laid down support fire. Their options were few: A full retreat or certain death. The crew of Methus
elah didn't even need exceptional skill finish the job; so enormous was their attack that it lit up space and assured, in the way of probability, that the aliens would invariably end up in the crossfire.

  And so they did the unthinkable.

  The aliens wheeled around and crashed into Methuselah in unison.

  Faust's eyes went wide as Methuselah was rocked by numerous powerful explosions. Members of the bridge were thrown to the floor, and it was only because he so forcefully grasped the helm that the Captain managed to stay upright. Knocked off course, the ship's hull met the edge of the dock, pulverizing it and sending a deep rumbling through her. Nestled now in the ruined dock, the lights in the command center flickering, the stunned crew scrambled back into action.

  Kanpei staggered back to his console and immediately began punching keys.

  “What in the hell was that?” barked Faust, spinning the helm and attempting to dislodge the ship. “Shields? Well?”

  Kanpei gulped. “Sir, the shields have failed. They shorted out; they were overwhelmed!”

  “What?” gasped the Captain. “How?”

  Kanpei scoured numerous reports, attempting to asses the damages incurred. “Sir, it... it looks as though there were three fighters in total. They all struck the ship in different areas. The shields are made to focus the bulk of their energy against the most powerful attack, yes? So, when three spacefighters hit her in three different areas, it was too much for the ship to handle. It looks as though we were spared the worst; there are damages, but nothing too serious. However... the shields are fried. Completely, by the looks of it.”