by Mike Smith
*****
Meanwhile on the bridge of the Imperial Star, Harkov took his seat in the middle of the command deck, observing the eager young officer at this side. Over the years he had come to the conclusion that he much preferred to remain seated and be giving orders, let the others scurry around following his command, much better to remain seated… in charge.
“Any thoughts Captain?” he addressed the young officer at his side who was standing ramrod straight next to his seat.
“No Admiral,” the young captain replied, his expression unwavering.
“Excellent, then carry on.” Harkov glanced around the bridge with quiet confidence. Over the years he had replaced many of the older officers, with younger, more compliant, members of crew. Looking fondly at his new captain, a big improvement over Captain Pendleton, whom he had dismissed for his gross incompetence, over the escape of Commander Radec and Princess Aurelius years previously. The Admiral could not tolerate such failure on his flagship. Following the change in command, Harkov had promoted himself back to fleet Admiral, to recognise his superior experience and tactical knowledge. A well deserved reward in recognition of my achievements, Harkov thought to himself.
“Once the shuttles are at a safe distance from the station, order the fighters to close and destroy them,” Harkov ordered coldly.
“Sir?” Captain Maxwell asked surprised.
“I gave an order, Captain, I expect it to be followed unquestioningly. There are to be no survivors from this engagement,” he went on more quietly. “Anyway, I want Radec to feel some pain and anguish before he dies. Hopefully watching the death of the people that he cares about will compensate for the fact that I won’t be able to have his head delivered to me.”
“Sir,” Maxwell replied, turning and barking orders to the flight controllers.
Leaning back in his chair, Harkov sighed contently. He had been looking forward to this day for a long time…
*****
“Sir, gravimetric sensors are picking up additional ships exiting FTL,” Lieutenant Patterson reported from the tactical station.
Jon looked up in surprise, as he was just about to leave the C&C for the Eternal Light. “More reinforcements?” he asked incredulously. “I know we have a certain reputation, but this is ridiculous. We must be out gunned at least 50-1, and Harkov has called in additional reinforcements? Frankly this is getting silly.”
“Looks like a reinforced squadron, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “I am counting one destroyer, two light cruisers and half a dozen frigates.”
“Well this is turning into a fairly sizable, skirmish,” Paul exclaimed.
“We’re being hailed by the captain of the destroyer, sir.”
“We are?” Jon replied surprised. “Then by all means; perhaps he wants his turn to gloat before blowing us to kingdom come too?”
However, as soon as the Captain appeared on the view-screen it was immediately apparent to all that blowing them to kingdom come was the last thing on his mind, after all the Captain was wearing the uniform of the Confederation Navy…
“Sir,” the Captain started saluting Jon formally.
“Sir?” Paul mouthed silently towards Jon, who just shook his head in equal surprise.
“Captain, I must confess that you are an unexpected sight.”
“I’m here under direct orders from Fleet Admiral Sterling,” the captain replied uncomfortably. “His orders come directly from the President.”
“Sofia?” Paul asked leaping in quickly. “How did she know about events taking place here?” he asked in an outraged tone of voice.
“A very interesting question,” Jon replied staring intently at his friend for a long moment, before turning his gaze back on the Captain Maxwell. “One I don’t suppose that you could enlighten us on?”
“My orders dictate that I am to inform you that following a declaration of emergency, in this system, you have received a battlefield commission back to your original rank of Commander.” Jon looked at the Captain, stunned, not sure what to say. However, before he could reply the Captain continued in a strangled tone of voice. “In addition, I am ordered to immediately place my forces under your command. Sir.”
Jon could tell exactly what the Captain thought of those orders, to travel to a remote system, inform some civilian that he now outranked him and then to give him command of his forces. Jon had no idea of how Sofia knew about events taking place at Terra Nova. In another time and place he might have been outraged at her impulsive intrusion back into this life. However, this was not the time or the place to look such a gift-horse in the mouth. He would deal with Sofia another day, probably by pushing her against a bulkhead, professing his thanks and then kissing her senseless… assuming he lived through today. “Understood Captain, please hold your forces there and await further orders. You are expressly not to engage the Imperial forces until so ordered.” With a nod of understanding the channel closed, leaving the stunned occupants in the C&C on Terra Nova.
“How in hell did the President get the Senate to approve those fleet orders?” Lieutenant Patterson asked aloud in amazement.
Stroking his day’s stubble thoughtfully, Jon replied. “I would hazard a guess that she did not, you notice how Captain Maxwell insisted that a state of emergency had been declared in this system? With a state of emergency the President can bypass Senate approval for fleet deployments, it’s written directly into the Confederation Charter. It should be… I wrote that paragraph.”
“But who determines if a state of emergency exists?” Miranda asked, confused.
“Not a clue,” Jon replied. “I guess that it is at the discretion of the Confederation President,” he said with a laugh. “Paul, update the poor Captain on the order of battle and make sure that he completely understands that he is not to engage the Imperial Fleet. They still significantly outgun is, even with the Confederation squadron now on our side…”
“Sir,” Patterson interrupted. “Imperial fighters are peeling away from the body of the fleet, they are on a direct intercept course with the shuttles.”
“What a surprise,” Jon replied, obviously unsurprised. “Paul, once the Imperial forces are committed engaging the shuttles, position the Confederation squadron between our shuttles and the body of the Imperial forces, we wouldn’t want any of their fighters escaping now would we? Miranda, are you coming?”
Tearing her eyes from the tactical display, that showed the Imperial fighters fast approaching the fleeing shuttles, like a pack of jackals descending on their defenceless prey. “But what about that?” she asked in an anxious tone of voice, motioning towards the tactical display. “It’s going to be a massacre!”
“Not my problem,” Jon replied unconcerned, not even looking back at the unfolding tactical disaster. Instead he took Miranda by the arm, escorting her to the exit. “After all,” he continued, “you would have thought that after five years, Harkov would have learnt to be somewhat less predictable.”
*****
Strapped tightly into the seat of his Tiger interceptor, Lieutenant-Commander Stanford observed the fleeing shuttles through his tactical scopes with a wolfish grin. The fleeing shuttles had obviously just spotted the Imperial fighters as they suddenly broke formation, accelerating away. However, it was a futile gesture of last resort, as the rapidly approaching fighters had a far greater intercept speed than the slower, sluggish shuttles. There would be no escape for any of the shuttles, their fate had been determined the minute that Imperial fighters were ordered to engage.
“Continue at maximum thrust, prepare to engage,” Stanford ordered the other fighters in his squadron, noticing the other squadrons, like his own rushing forward. Stanford increased the power to his engines a further notch, at this rate it was possible none of the shuttles would still be intact by the time his squadron was in weapons range.
Once again checking his tactical scopes, Stanford was surprised to observe that what he had originally taken as the shuttles’ desperate last attempt at
escape, he now observed that the shuttles had now regained a tight formation, but this time on a direct intercept course! Stanford had to blink twice, to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him! However, by then his combat computer was already desperately warbling a warning that his fighter was being targeted. An instant later the warble turned to a frantic alarm, missiles incoming!
As one of the lead fighters, Stanford was still desperately trying to alter the heading for his Tiger interceptor, when the first missile impacted his right engine, which instantly disintegrated into a lethal ball of shrapnel, tearing through his frail fighter. Fortunately the second missile scored a direct hit, vaporising both ship and pilot, long before the shrapnel could have reached the cockpit.
In similar fashion, dozens of additional fireballs illuminated the intervening space as more and more missiles found their targets. Barely seconds later the squadron of shuttles shot through the rapidly expanding debris fields, missiles and high speed rail guns splitting their deadly payload. The tight formation of shuttles, combined with their overlapping fields of fire shredded any Imperial fighter unwise enough to stray within a few hundred meters. The fighters that turned to flee fared little better against the battery of missiles launched every few seconds. Within a few minutes the bulk of the Imperial fighter forces lay in ruins, while those still alive found their avenue of escape now blocked by a Confederation task force that was only just launching fighters of their own…
*****
For the second time in his long, undistinguished career Harkov was forced to watch as a much inferior force tore his fleet’s fighter complement to shreds. Pounding his fist in frustration, Harkov cursed the day that Radec was born! This was the second time, the second time! That Radec had made him look like a fool. Looking at the unfolding tactical disaster on his display, a bead of sweat broke out on Harkov’s forehead that he was quick to brush aside. While the tactical situation now looked far less promising, with the bulk of his fleet’s fighter complement now destroyed or in complete retreat, cut of from his own forces by that damn Confederation task force, and where had they suddenly appeared from? Harkov had the sudden uncomfortable thought that his trap, was starting to backfire badly. He needed to make a decision and quickly, but what to do? Ultimately the decision was made for him…
“Sir, we have unidentified ships departing from the station, on a direct intercept course with the fleet, what are your orders?” the young Captain at his side interrupted his thoughts.
“How many?”
“Sensors are reporting three ships, in a close formation. We cannot detect any external weapon mounts. Tactical have tentatively identified them as freighters. What are your orders?”
Well that’s an easy enough decision to make, Harkov thought. “Destroy them!” he growled.
“Flank speed!” the Captain ordered the fellow bridge officers. “Bring the fleet into weapons range of the advancing ships. Weapons are free when within range.”
“’Belay that order!” Harkov shouted, examining the tactical display. Radec would never send three unarmed ships to take-on the bulk of his fleet; he was obviously up to something, but what? Licking his lips nervously Harkov ordered. “The picket line is to advance and engage the approaching ships. Remaining ships of the fleet are to hold position here and await further orders.”
His captain looked surprised at the change of orders for an instant, before nodding sharply acknowledging the new orders. He quickly relayed the orders to his bridge officers. A few moments later, the fleet’s picket line, the dozen or so smaller frigates, currently the fleet’s outer-ring of defence, accelerated away from the bulk of the fleet, weapons orientating in the direction of the oncoming freighters.
As Harkov observed his picket line accelerating towards the oncoming freighters, something jogged his memory. A similar scene he had observed recently, but where? The thought suddenly hit him like a thunderbolt. The attack on the Syndicate outpost a few weeks back! Harkov had reviewed the tactical recordings from the station; near the end of the battle Syndicate ships had approached to engage a fleeing freighter, but the freighter hadn’t been so defenceless after all… Suddenly Harkov realised what was happening! Just like the shuttles, this was just a ruse to draw out his forces, and to use the element of surprise to engage them, but this time Harkov would not make the same mistake!
“Captain!” he ordered. “Picket forces are to expect hidden gun and missile batteries on the approaching ships. The ships are to be engaged and destroyed at maximum range.”
“Sir!” the captain saluted, acknowledging the new orders hurrying to pass them on to the rest of the fleet.
Harkov leaned back in his chair, with a confident expression, observing on his tactical display as the two groups of ships approached one another. Radec was not going to be able to pull the same stunt twice, this time they would be ready for them. After this Harkov was going to deploy his remaining ships to tear the station apart, compartment-by-compartment if necessary.
*****
“Where are we going?” Miranda finally asked exasperated by Jon’s sudden silence. She had initially assumed that Jon simply wanted a co-pilot for the Eternal Light, but they were going in the wrong direction, as she knew that the ship was docked on the outer docking ring…
“Keep your panties on!” Jon replied with a roguish smile. Rolling her eyes, Miranda would swear that Jon was actually skipping down the corridor! “Are you abusing some illegal substance or something?” she asked suspiciously, seriously she had never seen Jon look and act so…energised!
“Not at all!” Jon insisted with an innocent, who me? Look. “But don’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Miranda continued to look at him suspiciously.
“How crisp the air is? How bright the lights are! How good it feels to simply be alive!” he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with delight. “There is a fleet out there, dozens and dozens of ships, tens of thousands of people, all with a single purpose, to end our lives, abruptly. Doesn’t that make you feel…anything?” he inquired curiously.
“Terrified?” Miranda replied, unsure if it was a statement or a question, but even as she said it she questioned if that was true. Having been on the station for almost six months, having worked with these people, eaten with them, laughed with them and cried with them, something inside her had changed.
Sure, when she had first been told of the fleet’s arrival she had been terrified, but upon seeing the reaction of those around her: determination, confidence, belief in themselves, their training and most importantly in Jon and Paul, the stories that she had been told over the past few days! Impossible situations! Suicide missions! Hopeless last stands, but always, every single time, Jon or Paul had pulled them though. Everybody she had talked to had at least one story of how Jon or Paul had saved his or her life, usually more than once! She began to understand the confidence, no, the belief that this crew had in their leaders and even she had started to think that maybe, just maybe they would make it through this.
Finally arriving at their destination, one of the many pressurised docking bays that literally littered the station, Jon turned back to face her with a knowing smile. “Then perhaps this will help you change your mind.” With that the door slid quietly open to reveal a dark unlit hangar, Jon motioned with his hand for her to enter. “After all what is a pilot without a ship?”
Frowning at the strange question, Miranda entered the large hangar, letting her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Something was inside the hangar, a large patch of darkness, a shadow darker than the surrounding air. As Jon slowly raised the light level, Miranda stopped breathing as she began to make out more and more details. A hooked nose, above which sat a raised cockpit, resting above a pair of massive sub-light engines. As the light level continued to increase Miranda could make out wide, swept back wings. Slung underneath these wings were large weapons mounts; missile pods, pulse cannons, rail guns… Suddenly something clicked in Miranda’s head. “It’s a Wraith!” sh
e breathed out in stunned delight.
“An Imperial heavy attack fighter,” Jon clarified, but at a glance from Miranda he added. “Yes, a Wraith. When ownership of the station was transferred to us, we found the ship here, abandoned, in need of major repairs… I have no idea why we did repair it; we had no plans for her. Perhaps we repaired her simply because we couldn’t bear for such a thing of beauty to sit in such a state of disrepair…” Jon let his voice trail off as he gently ran his fingers along one of the now pristine flight control surfaces. “Anyway she belongs to you now,” Jon added addressing Miranda.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. And I don’t mean temporarily or as a loan. She has been registered with the central ship registry on Eden Prime, as having one owner - Miranda Sun of Zeta Aquilae. You.”
“You finally learned my last name?” Miranda replied with a pleased smile.
“Yep, it took Jason long enough, but he finally found it. I don’t know why you didn’t just put the poor boy out of his misery and tell him…” he laughed.
“A girl needs to have some secrets…” she replied, laughter dancing in her eyes. “By the way what is her name?”
“Her name?” Jon asked momentarily confused.
“The ship.”
“Oh, we haven’t given her a name, just her registry number. As her owner it’s up to you to name her…”
With a distant expression in her eyes, Miranda turned her back on the ship and approached Jon, who was still looking at her with a grin on his lips. Stepping well into his private space, almost touching him, eyes dark with emotion she looked up into his deep grey eyes.
“You like it?” Jon inquired, his lips quirking up, eyes dancing with mirth.
“I like it,” she replied, catching his jacket in her hands, to pull his lips to hers. She swallowed a moan as his warm tongue caressed her sensitive flesh. He took his time, teasing her with a half kiss that made her legs shake.
If this was what he did to the women he liked, she was astonished that he seemed to spend so much of his time alone. “I think I’ll name her The Praetorian,” Miranda murmured, her breath mingling with his. “No,” Miranda changed her mind, “The Last Praetorian.”