Pressing the icon for the pulsar-cannons, the image of the two guns turned from flashing red back to their original light blue. The circuit was restored. In less than five seconds Stular Vercasse had performed a repair which in normal circumstances would have taken many hours.
“Test complete, weapons functioning at one hundred percent efficiency ma’am,” Stular announced.
“Outstanding, Flight Engineer,” Nerla praised her highly efficient crew member.
“Good work, Stular,” the Corrollian WATO exclaimed opening fire with the repaired pulsar-cannons, genuinely impressed by the speed of Stular’s work.
“And, run battle diagnostic on the other guns,” Nerla added.
The Flight Engineer would now be checking the circuitry and tolerances of the weapons aboard Lionheart as they were actually being fired. This was a difficult job, even for Stular Vercasse. Running diagnostic tests under battle conditions could interfere with the firing of the weapons, which could create a massive power feedback that could potentially destroy the Lionheart.
“Aye, ma’am,” Vercasse responded trying not to show his own anxiety.
What his Ship’s Commander had ordered was his duty. Stular Vercasse was not a crewman who neglected his duty, no matter how potentially dangerous.
The WATO began to open fire again, and in an instant another Traing vessel disappeared in a huge red billow of destruction and death. A single-seat, yellow and black leaf shaped Traing vessel exploded into thousands of fragments that would help to litter this area of space for months until the Alliance Fleet Engineers could salvage anything useful from the carnage and destruction. The pilot was instantly killed and vapourised.
Once again, Nerla could see the images of the leading Traing ships approaching her battle line. She could see many of the images simply blink out and vanish, as the pulsar-cannons of her flotilla took their toll on their enemies. However, once again she could see the Traing ships were perilously close to her line. The pursuing Alliance Eagles and Crusaders were almost upon the rear elements of the Traing retreat. Still, there was a gap as the Traing ships behind the leaders fought and died, delaying the pursuit ships.
Looking at her two-dimensional Main Tactical View Screen, Nerla could see that there were still around one thousand Traing ships that could break through her cordon and make an attempt to run for the Badlands. She couldn’t order another retreat. Two were bad enough, but a third one was just beyond reasoning. The surviving Traing would be able to disperse and scatter before the pursuit ships could reach her position.
“Keep firing,” she ordered for the sake of ordering.
“I’ve blown it,” Nerla assumed silently, and slumped into the Command Chair of Lionheart. “Career over,” she further believed blackly as the Traing images on her Personal Tactical View Screen drew closer to her line more rapidly than her flotilla could shoot them down.
Even as Nerla was lapsing into her deepest, darkest fears, the salvation of Nerla Daelstar’s career was already materialising out on the battlefield. Singly, and then in pairs or small groups, the Traing ships still at liberty, began to lurch and stall before grinding to a halt. The pursuing Alliance fighter pilots, many of whom were still operating on sheer instinct and reflex, fired at, and destroyed, many of the motionless Traing vessels. Hundreds of stationary Traing craft exploded in their death blooms before the Alliance pilots realised they had been neutralised as a threat.
This was the decisive culmination of the battle and the First Admirals meticulous planning. The critical component of the battle, which the First Admiral had recognised from many of the captured Traing vessels, was fuel. The Traing ships ran on a primitive, explosive-liquid fuel system that limited their range and their length of activity. A Traing vessel could only carry so much fuel, and the rendezvous with the Pritern had been to re-fuel the Traing craft before attacking Maltor.
The opportunity had presented itself and a plan formulated to draw the Traing Fleet out into the open and leave it stranded.
So, rather than draw the Traing onto the Alliance Fleet’s pulsar-cannons, from which they could flee, the First Admiral had engaged them in the massive dogfight to burn off more of their precious fuel. The Alliance vessels driven by Thrust engines on proto-star matter would run for several thousand years provided the engines were mechanically sound.
“They’re running out of fuel, ma’am!” the Comms Tech announced triumphantly from his console.
On her Personal Tactical View Screen, Nerla could see the images of hundreds of Traing vessels begin to lurch and shudder to a dead stop in the cold emptiness of space. The Eagles and Crusaders swept past the stalling Traing craft in pursuit of those who still had propulsion.
“Order flotilla to cease fire and offer them the chance to surrender,” Nerla ordered, unable to believe her good fortune.
“Aye ma’am,” the Comms Tech responded smiling broadly, and passed the order to the rest of the flotilla.
Scarcely able to believe her eyes, Nerla watched the majority of the Traing images on her Personal Tactical View Screen draw to a halt in front of her battle line. For a brief fleeting moment Nerla believed that the entire Traing line had come to a halt. However, the Traing were still “The Free Ones”, so there was one last chapter to be played out before the last of the Traing were cast into the pages of history that ended in an ignominious and total defeat at the hands of the First Admiral of the Universal Alliance Fleet.
Through the shoal of the remaining Traing vessels that had either run out of fuel, or had run out of hope of escaping, some thirty vessels made a continuing dash for the safety of the Badlands. From both her Personal Tactical View Screen and the Main Tactical View Screen of the Lionheart, Nerla saw the Traing vessels burst through the other static images and scatter in almost every direction. For the briefest moment, Nerla felt a surge of admiration and pride for the Traing captains who had thrown down the gauntlet of challenge to her flotilla as if to say, catch us if you can!
First Squadron Commander Nerla Daelstar accepted their challenge with undisguised relish.
“Comms, order Saracen and Scimitar to take squadrons one and four to pursue fugitives,” Nerla began, “second squadron commander to secure the position here,” she added.
“Aye, ma’am,” came the response from the most junior of Lionheart’s crew.
“Those three closest to us, after them Skull!” Nerla ordered excitedly, pointing to the three images on the View Screen that were climbing away from the Lionheart’s position.
In her excitement, Nerla had forgotten that Skull; secure in The Pit, could not see where she was pointing. However, the order of “closest to us” was enough for Skull to comprehend his commander’s intentions. On the Main Tactical View Screen, Nerla had changed the image to Real View mode, and three vessels were showing Lionheart a clean set of engine casing burners as they sped away from the Alliance Crusader.
“Yes, ma’am!” came the delighted response from the Navigator, accompanied by the cadaverous smile that could only be described as a disconcerting leer.
An instant later, the Crusader set off in pursuit of its final quarry.
“Come on Lentis, let’s see some of your fancy shooting,” Nerla said to the WATO.
“Coming right up, ma’am,” Lentis Bulvass replied anticipating the delights of blowing these last remaining upstart Traing vessels to oblivion.
On the View Screen the shapes of the three Traing vessels were becoming clearer as Skull deftly guided the pursuing Lionheart.
The largest of the Traing vessels was of a saucer design, but with two large fins that stretched above and below the sides of the circular fuselage. The cockpit of the vessel was located to the front, where a large semi-circular window allowed the crew to view the happenings of the flight. To the rear of the vessel stood two turrets, which housed some obsolete primitive laser weaponry that was, perhaps, a danger to Alliance Eagles, but posed no threat to the newly battle-shielded Crusaders.
The sec
ond ship of the trio was a more streamlined affair. The basic outline was of two sharp ovals, almost cigar-shaped; one slightly larger than the other set on two separate deck levels, the smaller level set above the larger one. However, the nose of the vessel was shaped into a sharp almost hammer-head configuration which linked the two levels of the ship, pointed at each side. To the rear, the vessel carried two long engine casings; one on each side of the fuselage between the two levels.
The third vessel, the smallest of the three, was a single-seat dart-shaped vessel with not two delta-wings, but four; set at right angles to each other. The pilot sat in a clear, spherical, bubble at the front of the vessel; clearly visible to anyone who viewed the ship. There had been six of these dart-shaped vessels escorting the hammer-headed ship. Five of the darts had already fallen prey to the Alliance guns or run out of fuel and been abandoned to their fate. They had been the personal bodyguards to a powerful Traing warlord, who was now running scared for the Badlands.
The fear of falling into the hands of the Maltorians drove him and his crew to more and more desperate actions in order to escape. Many years of ruthless extortion, murder and robbery had made him more than a few deadly enemies amongst the Maltorians. Now, he was fleeing for his life. It took a few moments for the Lionheart to catch up to the fleeing Traing warlord and his escorts, during which time Lentis Bulvass expended several volleys of pulsar-cannon fire.
The first volley, at relatively long range, had missed and alerted the Traing to the presence of the Alliance Crusader in pursuit of them. With that realisation, the three vessels began to weave violently in their courses in an attempt to distract and confuse the crew of the Alliance vessel. Within the jinking pattern, the two smaller vessels would cross and re-cross their paths close to the larger third vessel to distract the Alliance gunner even further.
Lentis Bulvass was having quite a difficult time of it. The crossing over of the Traing vessels was being compounded by the violent manoeuvres Skull had to undertake to keep pace with the fleeing Traing ships. Taking a steady aim was almost impossible in the situation, and the WATO’s best guess anticipations were not quite accurate enough. The only consolation for the Corrollian WATO was that the swift moves of the Traing ships meant that the laser weapons of the saucer would be equally ineffective.
“Stand still!!” The Weapons and Tactical Officer cursed loudly as the three Traing vessels jagged speedily across his Targeting Screen.
Once again, his well aimed pulsar-bolts sped past their hulls by only a few feet. He cursed them and challenged them to stay still for him to blow them out of space. The Traing captains, unfortunately for the Lionheart’s WATO, were unable to hear him or to accommodate his deadly request. Like houseflies pursued by a swatter they zigged and zagged over each other’s paths. This distracted the WATO from acquiring a target long enough to draw a bead and make the killing stroke.
Skull, the Lionheart’s Navigator was having an equally difficult time throwing the Crusader around to match direction and speed with the fleeing Traing. Nerla Daelstar seated in the Lionheart’s Command Chair, tried to look as composed as possible. Unfortunately, she found herself being flung around the over sized chair like a small rag doll in the hands of a petulant child.
The heady cocktail of excitement and anxiety had set her on the edge of her Command Chair. Silently, she urged her crew to hunt these three vessels down.
She quickly suppressed the urge to extend the arm of her chair over to the Weapons and Tactical console and take over herself. Again and again, the pulsar-bolts sped agonisingly close to the hulls of the scampering Traing vessels that were drawing closer to the asteroid strewn safety of the Badlands; onwards the pursuit raged.
The Traing vessels and the Lionheart dodging at high speed across the space that Nerla had led them through only a few brief minutes before.
“Come on, don’t lose them Navigator,” she hissed hanging onto the arms of the high-backed Command Chair for dear life and limb, “the First Admiral is not going to be pleased if we let them escape!” she reminded her crew.
“Keep your hair on, skipper,” Skull smiled, “if our resident marksman can’t hit them from here, I’ll step outside and hold them for him!”
Then, with a great animal roar of sheer frustration and anger the WATO jabbed his fingers onto the firing buttons for all six pulsar-cannons - and held them there. The six medium-yield pulsar-cannons of the Lionheart spat death again and again in a great scything arc of yellow flashes of light that cut across the flight path of the fleeing Traing ships. More by luck than by intent, one of the vessels, the hammer head, was struck by a pulsar-bolt causing it to explode in a great yellow and orange fireball. One of his companion ships, the dart, in the process of executing a cross-over manoeuvre, ran straight into the exploding inferno and was also destroyed.
“YESSS!!! Got you!” the WATO shouted with triumph and kept firing at the one remaining Traing vessel, hoping for another similar success.
He was, unfortunately, to be out of luck. The pursuit was brought to a conclusion a few moments later by what the First Admiral had correctly calculated would happen. As the sole surviving Traing vessel looked like it would just make it to the safety of the Badlands, the flame from the engine cowling began to flicker and the vessel lurched to a halt.
“Lentis, cease fire!” Nerla shouted across the Command Cabin.
With a slam of his fist against the side of his Action Station, a frustrated and angry Lentis Bulvass complied. Nerla smiled at her frustration-enraged WATO, and gave him a thumbs-up as the Lionheart swept past the now stalling Traing vessel. Still hyped up on the excitement of the chase, the WATO responded resignedly with his own thumb- up.
“Round him up, Skull,” Nerla ordered as the Navigator swung the Lionheart round to block any further progress, were it at all possible, by the last remaining Traing vessel.
With a sigh of relief Nerla sank back into her Command Chair. She had done it. Just when she thought she had blown the chance, the Traing ship had run out of fuel. “Have a little more faith in yourself,” Nerla, she silently chided herself. Already, the rest of the crew were applauding and cheering her, and themselves, on another victory drawn from the jaws of apparent disaster. However, as Nerla quietly congratulated herself, her crew and then her flotilla, the Comms technician broke in.
“Alliance vessels, hundreds of them, exiting the Trionic Web, ten thousand kilometres from here ma’am,” he announced to a stunned and silent Lionheart crew.
“Come for a share of the glory?” Skull mocked the newcomers to the battlefield from The Pit, “too late boys, the real soldiers already dealt with it.”
But, Nerla Daelstar knew who they were, and why they had been sent. They had been the First Admiral’s fallback position. If Nerla and her flotilla had failed to contain the Traing escape then this new group from the other Fleets, scouring the Traing Badlands, would have plugged the gap.
“Yes, I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you,” she smiled to herself and threw a mental salute to the First Admiral.
On the Main Tactical View Screen, Nerla could see the new force in its two-dimensional glory. Two Star Destroyers, a dozen Supercarriers, hundreds of Star-Cruisers and thousands upon thousands of Eagles and Crusaders being launched from their bays. Any Traing that had gotten past Nerla Daelstar would have been held by this new force.
“You devious, crafty old fox,” she said softly to the distant Supreme Commander.
Chapter 9
There was cheering, applause and celebration in the War Room of the Aquarius, which was repeated throughout the entire Alliance Fleet. Initial reports concluded that there had been significant Alliance casualties, mainly amongst the Eagle pilots incurred in the dog-fights with the Traing. This was part of the price that had to be paid for success.
The First Admiral had made the Devil’s Bargain that all senior commanders made. He had traded the lives of the Eagle pilots for the time it took the Traing to burn off their fuel
reserves in the battle in front of the main Alliance formation. Nearly one thousand Alliance Eagle pilots had been lost in the battle, almost one fifth of his original Eagle fighter strength. On the other hand, the Traing would never again be a force in the Badlands and Maltorian sector. Their power was broken forever. The Pritern Republic had been defeated with the loss of over twenty thousand of their finest pilots. This crushing victory would finally bring peace and stability to the sector.
The First Admiral, seated with his elbows on the War Table, ran his fingers through his sandy hair and let out a quiet sigh of relief. All of his nightmares and personal dreads had come to nothing. Once again, he had won. Rising slowly from his seat, he tapped the War Table with his knuckles, bringing the celebrations to a temporary halt.
“Excellent work, everyone, well done,” he praised the entire Alliance Fleet, “My compliments and congratulations to everyone in The Fleet. Celebration for Senior Officers and commendation winners at twenty-one hundred hours on the Main Observation Deck,” he added “no ranks!”
There had been a long-standing tradition in the Universal Alliance Fleet that victory celebrations after a major campaign required that badges of rank and other insignia be removed from Dress Uniforms. Everyone had played their part equally in the victory, and, hence, there would be no distinction of rank or deference in the celebrations. The First Admiral had always insisted that this tradition be observed, despite the annoyance and objections of the senior officers. As far as the First Admiral was concerned they could complain all they wanted to. Sometimes these lesser Admirals needed to be reminded that the Universe or the Universal Alliance did not revolve around them.
“Situation and Status Reports from Fleet Admirals at twenty hundred hours, in here,” he added jabbing his fingertip onto the top of the War Table.
To the inevitable staccato of snapping heels, he made his way quickly to the sparse living-quarters he maintained adjacent to the War Room.
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