by Chris Hechtl
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“Sir, two pair of fighters have broken off from the furball. CIC identifies them as Tangos 5, 6, 7, and 8. They have cut down on our negative Y axis and are now climbing to attack our keel from below and behind.”
“Where we are most vulnerable,” the Naga captain murmured, noting the missile pods obstructing the lower sail as well as the massive fusion engines in the aft.
“Yes, sir. We have the fewest point defense weapon coverage there. Should we direct a defensive drone?”
The captain glanced at the plot and then shook his head. He could see the fighters coming in; the drones would take too long. Besides, there was a simpler method of dealing with such ship attacks. “Helm, 180 degree roll. Execute,” he stated.
“Aye, sir, rolling her one eighty,” the helmsman stated flatly. He turned the yoke until his attitude indicator's horizon indicated 180 degrees. He righted the yoke and checked once more. “One eighty complete, sir.”
The TACO had anticipated the order and had already silently ordered the sensor feed from the keel sensors to be shunted to the weapon mounts. The roll momentarily disoriented them, but they were already in the ballpark. “Dorsal point defense engage,” the TACO stated, nodding to the JTO and then the ship's AI avatar. Both were already at work targeting the incoming fighters.
Two of the fighters saw the roll and broke off, arching wildly away. A third started to arch away, but then came back to its wingman who bored into the point defense phaser fire anyway. Invisible phasers spat energy fire into the black void, hammering at where the JTO and gun crews anticipated where the fighters would be. Both fighters jinked about, trying to prevent a weapon’s lock. Whenever the phasers hit something, it sparkled as the energy reacted violently with the mass.
“They are firing!” the sensor officer stated.
“Two missiles incoming, Threat Level 2. Switching targets to new threat priority. Engaging, one destroyed,” the AI stated. “Two destroyed.” He stated a moment later.
“One fighter has taken damage. She's slowing,” the JTO stated.
“He must have sucked up part of the missile debris,” the TACO stated. “Engaging with secondary guns.”
“Rail guns will endanger the area. Stick to phaser or grazer guns,” the captain stated, tapping at his own controls.
“Aye aye, sir. Engaging with phaser mounts. Tango 8 hit. She's a dead stick. Tango 7 disengaging and withdrawing. Tango 7 hit. She is limping away,” the Taco reported.
“Tell CIC to let our fighters know where she is. Tell them I want a confirmation on Tango 8 as well.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Check for an eject. I want to know if the pilot got out. If he did, mark him. Mark the wreckage too.”
“Damn. I'd hate to be a Dutchman. Even a pirate doesn't …,” the JTO cut herself off. “Sorry, sir.”
“Why?” the Naga captain swiveled his flank eye to the JTO. “I could care less either way. Attend to your duties,” the Naga stated.
“Aye, sir,” the JTO said, looking back at her station. “No targets in engagement range.”
“Then let's see if we can get some more. Ship status?”
“No damage.”
“Good work, Captain,” a familiar voice said. The Naga turned to look down at the repeater display. He clacked his claws against the arm rest at the sight of the chimp rear admiral. “We're a long way before we clean them up, but we're getting there. Just don't expose our own fleet train in your eagerness to blood your ship and her crew with a kill.”
“I'll do my best not to, sir,” the Naga replied with a bob of his head.
“Tango 5 and 6 are attempting to circle around to hit the transport on the flank. See that they are suitably dissuaded, Captain,” the admiral ordered.
“Aye aye, sir. You heard him, helm, guns, get on it.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I am tucking the transport in tighter. Watch for it,” the admiral stated.
“Aye aye, sir.”
“We've almost got this wrapped up but don't lower your guard. That's usually when things frack up the most.”
“We'll do our best not to disappoint, sir.”
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“Virus packages away,” Marshall stated. “So far no effect.”
“We're almost within extreme missile engagement range, Admiral,” the captain warned. They had already cut their drive to maintain the engagement window and to maneuver if they needed to do so. They were still drifting however; they still had their momentum they had built up in their charge across the system.
“I know you've wanted to kick the pods clear. Do it. Bring them on tow. Launch the reserve defensive drones as well. Put them between us and the enemy,” Amadeus ordered.
The enemy ships were coming in with the two frigates in the lead, serving no doubt as sacrificial cannon fodder, screening units. The four destroyers were following along in their wake almost a half a million kilometers behind. They had initially been spread out with the Antelope and Nelsons on the flanks in a flat plane but had recently come together into a box formation. He nodded. The box formation would be their best defensive formation. It would also be their last.
“Missile pods are away. Missile pods are locking on now, sir. Entering engagement window according to plan Alpha, sir.”
He should have put the Nelson further forward and tucked the frigates in on his flanks Amadeus observed. He had no intention of wasting his first precious shots on the small ships.
“Target the missile pods on Corsair and the Nelson. All other ships are to engage the other destroyers. Ignore the frigates,” he ordered.
“Targeting, sir. Targets locked.” the TACO stated with just a hint of eagerness in his voice.
“Then fire,” the admiral stated, sitting back in his chair.
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“We're being targeted by computer viruses over the radio net!” the computer tech reported.
“Sever our communication's link. Jam the transmission, Comm. Don't let it into the computers!” the captain ordered instantly. “Scrub those systems!”
“Severing the links now,” the communication's rating stated. “The flagship has laid a whisker laser on us.”
“Good,” the captain stated. “Are we ready?”
“On the flagship's order, sir. Firing in three … two … one …,” the TACO's finger stabbed down on the big red button. “Firing missiles now!” Lieutenant Imbi said triumphantly. His eyes snapped to the main plot, gleaming with hunter's anticipation. Captain Gumel had targeted their force's missiles on the one Arboth since it was the most capable of the enemy destroyers. That triumph immediately turned to terror when he saw the returning reply.
“Spirit of space!” Captain Queux said as hundreds of missiles erupted in their face. He had no further time for thought as his ship fought for its life.
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The clash did not go in Gaston's favor. The missile pods that erupted into his teeth more than changing the balance of forces. Corsair and Buccaneer's Breath had been brutally destroyed in the initial broadside. He was shocked by the carnage. The Federation forces weren't attempting to cripple their opponents; they were playing for keeps. He was pretty sure few survivors got off either ship.
McRae had gotten through the initial engagement almost unscathed; the explosion of Corsair had taken out some of the missiles meant for her. She and the two frigates were lucky. They turned to run, trying to cover themselves. It was every ship for itself as terror drove them to run.
His own Jean Bart lost her hyperdrive and part of her starboard sublight drive while attempting to turn away. He ran a rear guard as he changed tactics and followed his orders to protect the freighters. But that was almost impossible. As the freighters ran for the jump point, the enemy fighters pounced on them out of stealth. Two of the unarmed lumbering freighters fell out crippled while a third staggered but gamely tried to continue her flight.
When Jean Bart passed the crip
pled ships, he coldly ordered a broadside of grazers into them to destroy them. Any shuttles that had managed to get off docked with the running ships. He passed over any rescue beacons that were adrift. The Dutchman's was well and truly lost.
“But …,” Dutch protested, holding his handkerchief to his bloody forehead. He pulled it away to look at it, felt gingerly with a finger, winced, and then put it back in place.
“We can't slow down, Dutch. I know you want to know if Brom and the others survived.” Gaston knew it was highly doubtful anyone had gotten off the other warships. “No. Let the Federation stop. I hope they do! That would give us time to escape. But we'll be back,” Gaston growled, eyes glittering with rage. “This insult will be avenged,
he said, clenching his fists on the arm rests. “Order Barnebe and Walker to cover our retreat. And let them know if they don't, we'll cut them down,” he growled. “I will not tolerate cowards,” he snarled.
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Amadeus shook himself. He hadn't expected the enemy to run. Oh, eventually yes, but …. He had expected his own ship to be targeted, but Yris'ka'th and her consorts had fought off the missiles valiantly. They'd fought in a tightly knit unit, one the enemy hadn't. Only two missiles had gotten through to score hits on her. Her engineering teams had already gotten her shield back up to 78 percent.
He'd miscalculated he thought. The enemy had immediately come about and withdrawn. He'd expected them to linger, to try to pick up survivors. He also hadn't expected the missile pods to be that effective. His hesitation had allowed them to get a head start. Now they were in a stern chase, but the enemy's damage was slowing them down.
“Sir, two of the corvettes have taken hits. One from a grazer, sir, another sucked up some stray ordinance from the fighter engagement. They are falling out of the chase,” CIC warned.
“Have one of the frigates near them assist,” he ordered. He noted the fighter engagement had ended with a complete route. The enemy fighters had been chased down and destroyed to a man. His forces had lost three fighters, with an additional two damaged. The damaged fighters were limping back to Cutlass. One fighter was circling the engagement zone. As he watched points were placed all over the CIC map; beacons marking the location of downed pilots.
“CIC keep that plot tight. Get …,” he frowned and then shook his head. “Captain, order a shuttle to act as SAR. Get it out now.”
“Aye, sir. We'll be down to one shuttle on board, sir,” the captain warned.
“One will have to do,” the admiral stated. He had planned to board the freighters, but that didn't look like it was going to happen. That Horathian Arboth was ruthlessly cutting them down. He had identified it as the enemy flagship.
“Sir, Viper is pulling ahead of us.”
“I think they are eager to get a line on the enemy, sir,” the TACO said in the bridge.
“This isn't a race,” the captain stated.
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Over the course of a day, they kept to the stern chase. The remaining Horathian tin cans and one frigate covered the withdrawal of the three remaining freighters, the Clydesdale Moldy Crow, and another medium class freighter. The other frigate had been cut down by Viper when she had wandered into her engagement window for too long to pick up a shuttle. She'd fallen back, and her flagship had ruthlessly torn her apart.
“We're finally gaining on them,” the captain stated. If the long hours in the chair had bothered him, he didn't seem to show it. The two destroyers had sent back missiles to keep things lively for the tactical department though. The missiles had been dumped overboard to engage instead of fired. It was the only way the three ships could do it. The frigate had shot herself dry in the first hour. The other two ships kept the missiles coming at twenty-minute intervals. But since the missiles were coming on from a cold start, they didn't have a short engagement window as they would have if they had been fired. And they weren't very accurate either.
That was the problem with a ship with most of her weapons facing forward, the admiral thought as he sipped at his coffee. An Arboth and an Antelope had all their missile tubes in the bow, none on the stern. The Antelope was designed as a raider; she had very little stern weapons at all. The Arboth had a grazer mount on her dorsal stern though it seemed that its firing accuracy was substandard. She had a point defense phaser on each flank too, but they were also substandard. He made a note to point that out in his final engagement report as he set the cup down. The caffeine was good for his tired body and nerves. Hopefully, it wouldn't screw his stomach up in the final moments he thought.
“Sir! CIC reports the flagship is slowing! Her drive is lighting up and not in a good way!”
“Her drive already had damage. Something finally broke,” the admiral murmured. Shuttles kicked out from her flanks to the remaining ships. Two went for the remaining destroyer but then changed course for the freighter Moldy Crow with the other shuttles.
“Sir, the remaining warships are picking up speed,” CIC warned.
“I was afraid of that.”
“They are leaving the freighters behind?” the captain asked.
“It looks that way.”
Lieutenant Meia's flight came out of stealth a few moments later and engaged the fleeing ships. Her squadron didn't have the weapons to wreck the fleeing starships, but they could target their point defense and drives. Amadeus watched as the fighters headed for the freighters.
“Enemy frigate and destroyer are moving in to engage the fighters, sir,” CIC reported. “Should we order the fighters to break off?”
“By the time they got the order, it would be too late,” the captain stated. The admiral grunted in agreement. He watched with the others as the fighters split up into pairs to weave around the three remaining warships. Two changed course to tangle with the frigate. They got some good hits in, dancing around her invisible return fire, but their luck didn't last long. One wandered too close into the Antelope's engagement range, and she was torn apart. The admiral winced.
“Sir, the fighters have changed course! They weren't going for the freighters after all!”
“What?” Amadeus demanded, watching as the fighters that he had thought had broken up all changed course in one perfectly synchronized maneuver to target the Antelope's stern. They fired into her stern and vulnerable drive thrusters.
The Antelope attempted to maneuver wildly but they had her. She had very little stern point defense too, and her shields were naturally weak in the stern so her exhaust could escape. The invisible energy beams pierced the shield and then peppered her stern.
“Her drive is failing!” the TACO said, exulted.
But they had paid a price, Amadeus noted, watching as the Horathians hit back. Two of the small craft took hits—one a glancing blow on her shields but the other proved fatal. The remaining fighters broke off and went back into stealth.
“Entering engagement range of the Arboth!”
“Then fire,” the captain said, settling himself. His tail flicked as the two ships fired head on.
Weapons fired back and forth between the ships. His closely knit defenses, defense drones, and fully operational systems however were more than a match for the Arboth. The weapons fire from Viper, Cutlass, Hecate, and her sister frigate only made the destroyer's destruction quicker.
“The Antelope is trying to ram!” the CIC rating yelped.
“Helm! Maneuver out of her basket. All weapons fire as you bear!” the captain ordered.
The JTO had other ideas however. He cut the defense drone in to ram the Antelope head on. The explosion of the drone on the ship's shields momentarily blinded her and allowed Yris'ka'th to escape harm. As the ships split up around the kamikaze ship, they ripped into her flanks tearing gaping holes into her. After a moment her reactors, fuel, and ordinance went off behind them in an eye-tearing explosion.
“One to go,” Amadeus murmured. “Tell the frigates to run her down and tear her apart if she won't surrender.”
Aye, sir,”
Jojo replied. She sat back, seemingly exhausted. “All over but the paperwork,” she murmured.
“Almost. Order Cutlass to slow and recover our remaining fighters and SAR craft,” Amadeus ordered as the two frigates sprang forward, faster than before. The slower destroyers had been holding them back. They were no longer restrained however; the two pit bulls tore into the Manta, hammering her shields down. The Manta made the mistake of dividing her fire between the two ships.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Within minutes the Manta took enough hits to buck. Her shields failed and weapons fire began to bite into her hull. She finally wised up and targeted Hecate alone, but it was too late.
“Sir! The freighters are spooling up their hyperdrives!” CIC reported.
“What now?”
“Apparently so,” Amadeus said, accusing eyes locked on their icons. In a minute it would be too dangerous to get in close to force the ships to shut down. He glanced at his status board.
“Order the frigates to make one firing pass from long range and then stand clear,” he ordered.
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Despite the frigate's best efforts, the freighters escaped into hyper at the outer edge of the jump point to B-95a3. The Cygnus class freighter had been damaged in her haste to jump as well as apparent fighter and frigate weapons fire damage to engines sublight engines. CIC reported she had been leaking significant amounts of fuel and atmo when she had jumped.
Admiral White was annoyed that they had gotten away. It was inevitable though; he just wished they had gotten a clean sweep. The longer the enemy didn't know that the Federation had taken the star system the longer they would have to prepare and the more likely they would be able to pick off small groups coming through the jump chain for parts unknown. Now that was all up in the air.
He ran the playback and had CIC do an assessment on the escaped ships while tactical stood down for a much needed break. It was obvious from just a visual inspection that the Cygnus had been a bit banged up.