by Will Crudge
“Hold your current course and vector.” The War Master said as he cut the feed. Melvin had no time to argue or acknowledge.
“You heard him, Simon!” Melvin sounded off. “Alert all CIC’s accordingly.”
“Yes, Sir.” Simon responded.
“Sir, you’re not going to believe this!” Clemens shouted. Melvin blinked in confusion, and then put his eyes on the screen before him.
“What the hell is going on, Chief?” Melvin spouted, but there was no response. He figured Clemens wouldn’t know either. The LRGS-110 shot out ahead of the Unum formation, and was projecting some kind of cone-shaped energy field that Melvin had never seen before. It appeared to be a brilliant stream of golden translucent light that stemmed from the prow of the oddly shaped LRGS.
Melvin zoomed in the visual feed and couldn’t believe his eyes. The LRGS-110 appeared to be a hulking version of the legendary LRF-90 series of super fighters, but with fixed weapons pods under each of its sweptback wings. The oddity of a starship that had wings puzzled Melvin. But he had no time to let himself be distracted by speculation.
He focus on the prow of the LRGS-110, and saw a tiny spec of a device with no clear shape. The blinding light at the apex of the cone obscured much of the fore section of the warship, but the view of what the energy field was doing was all too clear. Almost like a bulldozer, the seemingly repulsive characteristics of the energy shield was pushing away the massive debris field, and forcing the wreckage towards the station’s main taxiway.
The mothership of the wrecked fighters was too slow to respond. Melvin watched as the main thrusters of the bulbous fighter carrier began to initiate a full burn… but it was too late.
The debris field of wreckage was now being thrust towards the massive Crimson ship with the same relative velocity as the LRGS that was pushing it.
“Simon?” Melvin asked calmly with one eyebrow cocked upward.
“Sir?” Simon replied.
“Isn’t there some kind of law of physics being violated here?”
“I don’t understand the question, General.”
“That LRGS-thing just shoved two squadrons worth of fighter hulls without even slowing down… Isn’t there some thingy in physics about mass and acceleration… or something?” Melvin said as he shrugged.
“Of all things to get distracted over… It’s simple really…” Simon began to explain, but Melvin waved him off with a single hand gesture.
“You’re right, Simon.” Melvin said as he forced out a nervous sigh. “My visual feed has gone to crap at this angle… What’s going on down station-side?”
“Apparently the energy shielding on the Crimson carrier was powered down to below combat readiness levels…. The wreckage is grinding up the carrier’s port-side hull like a cheese grater.”
Melvin quickly toggled the scan filters until he could clear up the image. The battle carrier was largely intact, but the side facing the Unum forces was a mangled wall of ruined metal. It began to list to starboard, and drifted into a part of the equatorial ring of the station.
Flames and venting atmosphere began to spew out of the massive ship. Melvin could see a handful of fighters and escape pods trying to evacuate… But it would all be for naught.
The escape pods were never designed for nimble flight, and were slow to maneuver their way clear of the carrier. The fighters were launching from their tubes, but their exit velocities were too high. The small craft had to decelerate immediately after launch, lest they collide with the taxiway shielding that formed the inner circular corridor of the station’s taxiways. This meant they had to abruptly change vector while trying to accelerate from a near dead stop… but there was no time.
The heavens lit up like a thousand suns as the battle carrier exploded. The intense heat and subsequent shockwave was so violent that the stations inner taxiway shielding flared out of array in an instant.
Ripples from the shock wave travelled down the same tubular taxiway tunnel that the Unum forces were trying to battle their way through. When the ripples hit the ring-shaped hyper-gate itself, the shield generators flared out entirely.
“Simon… Relay to all CIC’s… get the hell away from the hyper-gate!” Melvin shouted.
“No need, Sir.” Simon responded. “Every single one of our ships – that can still fly – are accelerating station-side at full burn!”
“Now’s our chance! The other battle carriers will be caught off guard, and their shields are still powered down. Screw the link-up! All CIC’s, pound these behemoths into space dust, now!”
All Fun and Games Until the Grunts Show Up!
Location: UAHC Dropship, DS-187, Cockpit
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2042HRS Unum Standard Zulu
System: Forge Controlled Space
“Holy mother of titties!” Lieutenant Vega spit out his gum as he shouted. General Estrada watched the slimy pink chunk shoot out and stick to the canopy of the cockpit.
“At ease, LT!” Estrada laughed as he held his cigar in place with his thumb and forefinger. “I saw it too. I guess either our Unum friends are giving the Crimson one hell of a fight, or they’re making a desperate last stand with nukes.”
“I don’t know, Sir.” Vega said over his shoulder while he struggled to keep his attention to the flight controls. His hands shook against the stick as the gravitational fluctuations began to effect the dropships inertial dampening system. “I’m not registering any signatures of radiation… well, at least not weapons grade.”
“Stay on task, young man!” Estrada asserted as he spat out a build-up of tobacco infused saliva. “The fact that two hundred troop carrying dropships are flying towards an enemy controlled base undetected is its own miracle. Don’t go fucking up our good fortune by losing focus!”
“Yes, Sir.” Vega nodded while keeping his eyes on the controls. “But this – explosion – or whatever, seems to have made some of the taxiway shielding collapse on the far-side from us. At least we should avoid any real scrutiny from the STC.”
Estrada glared right at Vega with a furrowed brow, and a semi-frown. “What the hell makes you so sure the STC isn’t tracking us right now, Mr. Fucking-Clairvoyant!”
Vega turned to look at the general with, what Estrada could only describe as, as shit-eating grin. “Because, Sir… These ancient-ass Alpha Site dropships have Crimson IDENT codes! If you’re going to train like you fight, then you’d better make it realistic!”
“I’ll be damned, LT!” Estrada slapped the pilot on the back of the shoulder with a loud thud. Vega lurched forward and made an ‘oof!’ before rocking back into his pilot’s seat. “Sorry, about that… I’ve got my armor in combat mode. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Estrada didn’t give the young pilot the opportunity to accept the apology. Instead, he walked aft into the main hold. The dim lighting of the hold made his men and women look even more formidable then the human battle-tanks that they actually were.
The standard matte silver finish of UAHC infantry armor would not do for this mission. The two parallel rows of Soldiers resembled a formation of mega-robot-ninja-things, as their armored plating had a layered pattern of dark grey and black rippled camouflage paint. The non-reflective coating seemed to absorb, rather than reflect, any ambient light sources. Estrada knew that it was by design, which is why he had hand-picked the pattern himself.
He walked down the center aisle between the Soldiers, and smiled at each and every one of them as he went. He clutched his semi-soggy cigar in-between his teeth as offered the occasional nod.
When he reached the aft section, he pivoted back to face the men and women as they sat with their weapons at the ready. “As far as these Crimson prairie-dog-fucking-inbred-suns-bitches are concerned, this is a space battle. Ship on ship…” He paused to spit a piece of shredded tobacco leaf that broke off onto the tip of his tongue.
“They have no idea we’re coming… and since you all have been cooped up in the back of this flying
bucket, you probably don’t know that some kind of explosion has taken down the taxiway energy shielding on the far-side of the station from where we’re heading…” He stopped as he noticed several full-faced helmets begin to share glances and shrugs.
“We have a tight window of opportunity to capitalize on the confusion, so I want you all to kill anything that isn’t happy to see you, got it?”
The answer came as one collective response “Yes, Sir!”
“On your feet!” Estrada shouted as he gestured for the Soldier to stand by raising his open palms upward three times. The Soldiers all responded as ordered. “Face forward!”
Once again the Soldiers complied as they pivoted to face the aft door of the dropship. He spat out his cigar, and it skidded across the floor of the dropship. “Highest ranking captive earns a four day pass!”
The Soldiers let out a roar of cheers and fists in the air in response. Estrada’s exposed head and neck were covered up in a split-second, as his full-face helmet assembled itself automatically. He turned to face the aft door, and as his HUD counter hit zero he slapped the release lever. The door dropped away to form a ramp, and Estrada broke into a full sprint.
The LZ was nothing more than an external maintenance platform for the station. It was in open space, but still boasted conventional railing that skirted the edges of the flat platform. Estrada skidded to a halt. He pivoted as he dropped to one knee, and he faced back to the dropship.
The Soldiers had all cleared the first few dropships, and were already forming up into their own respective squads and teams. As each dropship emptied its occupants, it would dust off as another touched down in its place.
Estrada couldn’t help but grin ear to ear as he was commanding the largest combat drop of UAHC troops in over two centuries… It was his happy place.
***
Door after door was breached without incident. This section of the station was mainly dedicated to civil engineering activities, and Estrada hadn’t expected to encounter anyone until after they penetrated deeper into the bowels of the station. Intel assessments had suggested that the Crimson agents had corralled all non-essential civilian personnel into designated internment areas within the civilian population sector.
The relatively sparse engineering area was the perfect choice of for insertion. Estrada knew that by the time they were detected, they would have penetrated too far into the station to be pushed back easily… Not that he expected the Crimson forces to be capable of pushing back five thousand UAHC Soldiers at all.
After several more breaches, he and the platoon he was accompanying had made it to the edge of the engineering section, and were one breach away from the base of the control tower.
“Lieutenant Foster!” Estrada called out for the platoon leader.
“Yes, Sir!” Foster answered up and then approached Estrada with his plasma rifle at the ready.
“If I was a moronic Crimson uncle-fucker, then the other side of this bulkhead door is where I would have emplaced some sort of defensive position. Let’s get a cloud of nano-bots in there first.” Estrada said.
“On it, Sir!” Foster nodded as he turned to relay the order to a nearby corporal. The corporal slung his rifle onto his back, and approached the steel door. There were two squads of Soldiers stacked with weapons at the ready on either side of it. He knelt down while he opened his right palm. With his fingers fully extended, and palm facing upward, the corporal touched the locking mechanism on the center of the door.
Estrada changed his visual filter to be able to see what the naked eye could not. Millions of miniscule energy signatures seemed to pour out of the corporal’s palm, and flow outward to his fingertips. The tiny nano-bots made their way into the door’s mechanical latch, and effortlessly penetrated into the space beyond.
A moment later, the corporal looked up at the Lieutenant and shook his head. Foster turned to face Estrada to report. “Sir, looks like they have an ion field generator nearby. We can only verify that there are no humans within ten meters of the door on the other side… but we’re blind past that.”
Fucking ion fields! Estrada thought as he spat in disgust. “Alright, LT. Let’s do it the old fashioned way!”
Foster didn’t waste a word. He turned to relay the command to the squad leaders. Both Estrada and the Lieutenant backed away to either side of the door to allow space for the Soldiers to do what they did best.
The door breaching charge was placed by the point-man on the right flank. But Estrada wondered if the term point-man was still valid in this case. The female PFC was a tough as any man, but her distinct curves betrayed her biological gender.
The next few moments happened in total silence as the countdown was done by hand-gesture alone. When the PFC dropped her forefinger, she set off the charge, and the door blew wide open and outward from their position.
The flawlessly executed maneuver went off without incident, and after a few seconds, both columns of troops had made it through the doorway. Estrada followed the platoon leader through the door and into an empty corridor. The sparsely adorned space was nondescript, and resembled the same utilitarian ambiance as they rest of the station thus far.
Foster was already directing a team of Soldiers to secure the base of a nearby stairwell by the time Estrada even noticed it was there. Where the fuck are all the red-armored dick-lickers? Estrada wondered.
But the answer came soon enough… and it came in the form of a fragmentation grenade.
Ninety Nine Problems, But a Rail Gun Ain’t One
Location: UDF Gunship, Slugger, CIC, Forge Station
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2042HRS Unum Standard Zulu
System: Forge Controlled Space
Melvin watched the holographic display from the Slugger’s CIC. He couldn’t help but stretch his lips into a crooked grin as he noticed the tables had turned in Unum’s favor.
Only four Crimson battle carriers survived the cascade of destruction that was triggered by the taxiway shielding collapse. After the first carrier was destroyed, the other carriers attempted to clear the area and head out into open space… but they made the wrong tactical call.
Melvin equated their folly to basic infantry tactic gone wrong. In a rifle platoon, you always turn towards the enemy fire when contact is made. You can’t outrun bullets or plasma, but you can force the enemy to stop sending them your way.
The remaining carriers failed to heed this sage advice as they elected to recall their fighters, rather than launch more. The recall, Melvin supposed, was to avoid the carriers from leaving their deployed fighters exposed to enemy fire. Once the fighters broke off their attack runs on the Unum vessels, they did nothing more than give up their initiative.
With newly acquired freedom of maneuver, the Unum cutters were able to finally engage in mass. Without the hindrance of taxiway shielding, they fanned out into a broad arc which encapsulate the carriers. The five inch rail cannons on the U-boat shaped vessels may have been designed for small skirmishes, but when over eight hundred of them coordinate their firing solutions, at close range, then the results were devastating.
Within minutes two more carriers were rendered non-combat effective, and after another five minutes, all but two out of the ten total carriers were completely destroyed.
Melvin ordered the Gunships into deeper space around the station. His intention was to create an impassible barrier for smaller vessels to escape the onslaught. He knew the Unum gunships were smaller than most combat vessels, but they had a superior fire power to hull-tonnage ratio than most. At no more than five kilometers out from the equatorial region of the station, the gunships had the perfect interlaced sector of fire for the task.
“Simon?” Melvin spoke.
“Sir?” The AI replied.
“Send a data-b
urst to the Broadsword. Give them an update on our situation, and request assistance to take down the last two carriers. They are too close to the Tangine taxiway for comfort, and time is not on our side!”
“Sending now, Sir.”
Melvin rocked back into his seat, interlaced his hands in front of his chest, and crinkled his eyebrows. A new thought entered his awareness, and he had to see if it was feasible. “Tell me, Simon… Does this old bucket still have an eight inch rail gun in moth-ball?”
“Sir?” Simon’s response had a hint of astonishment in it.
“Eight incher… Do we have one? Do I need to draw you a diagram?” Melvin said sarcastically.
“Uh, Yes. Yes, Sir. But they’ve been moth-balled for a reason. Their energy usage is immense, and the only reason some gunships still have them is for dire emergencies!”
“I believe this qualifies.” Melvin scowled.
“Shouldn’t we wait for a response from the Broadsword?”
“No, we shouldn’t!” Clemens chimed in. Melvin raised his eyebrows and nodded at Clemens in agreeance.
“It will take several minutes to install it… even with the auto-crane. Then the weapons control will be down for a solid twenty three seconds as the eight inch ballistics packets are decompressed.” Simon reported.
“Then you have five minutes.” Melvin said with a raspy voice.
Broadsword’s Revenge
Location: UAHC Drone Dreadnaught, Broadsword, CIC
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2124HRS UAHC Standard Zulu
System: Forge Controlled Space
Wilkins could see the destroyers as if he were close enough to touch them. But he had no time to enjoy the view. They were being flanked in full force. A fixing force of cruisers in their hexagonal defensive formation loomed before the four UAHC ships, and now a dozen enemy destroyers threatened to broad-side them with everything they had.