Broadsword
Page 7
Then Wilkins sense the adjusted maneuvering guidance come through from Admiral Olaf. In the virtual space that Wilkins was occupying, he could read the data in microseconds. He applied the amended data, and immediately set out to take action.
He routed the override command to the Broadsword’s thruster array, and applied a one hundred and thirty eight percent burn. He instantly felt the ship respond as if it were as nimble as a single seat fighter. The dreadnaught was now outpacing the cruisers, and by extension, the enemy destroyers by a wide margin.
When he saw the three cruisers transition to FTL, he couldn’t help but smile in his own mind… since he currently had no motor control of his physical body.
There was a brief pause as the destroyers seemed to hesitate in response. Their missiles and beams were now attacking four vacant points in space, and it would take a moment for them to regroup.
He kept tabs on the defensive posture of ships ahead of them, and to his dismay, they starting to get smart. Word of how the original Broadsword had defeated the advanced body of an entire Crimson fleet must have spread. Although they were less mediocre than the current enemy, the Crimson vessels that the previous engagement had destroyed had assumed a not-too dissimilar defensive posture.
The bulk of the enemy cruisers were rotating in seemingly random vectors, and the energy scan indicated that their main thrusters were spooling up for a burn. Too late, morons!
His assertion was correct. The Crimson cruisers were effectively stationary, and had no inertial energy to aid them in escape. Their thruster arrays would take several moments to make a burn at safe level, lest they trigger a catastrophic failure.
Wilkins saw the destroyers come alive and begin to form an arc behind the Broadsword. He realized the two groups of enemy vessels either had poor communications, or their skills at exercising real-time command and control systems were lacking. The destroyers were doing nothing more than pressing the Broadsword into the midst of an enemy that was trying to flee. Idiots! Useful idiots, but still idiots! He surmised.
At the precise time, and in accordance with the Admirals adjusted plan, the Broadsword went from burning its thrusters at a dangerously high rate, to executing a one hundred eighty degree DECEL maneuver. The sudden change in g-forces was almost more than the inertial dampening system could compensate for, and Wilkins could sense every object within the ship shift in protest.
The sudden loss of velocity allowed for the destroyers, now at full burn, to gain several kilometers of distance on the mighty dreadnaught. Now beam fire and rail slugs were punishing the forward shielding. But this was ideal.
Now within less than a thousand meters from the closest Crimson hull, Wilkins executed his plan.
The command went directly to the shielding systems in nanoseconds. The polarity of the energy shielding began to allow for the unhindered passage of solid mass to travel outward from the ship, while still repulsing incoming mass. Wilkins had to maintain a delicate balance of energy resources to pull this off, as the polarity applied would weaken the shield by nearly thirty percent.
But he only needed a split second to unleash hell…
The follow up command went straight to the outer layer of reactive armored plating. The entire hull of the ancient ship turned itself into a megaton fragmentation device. Hundreds of thousands of armored plating were jettisoned all at once. The explosive plating spread through the vacuum of space in every direction like an exploding shell of a fireworks display… but on a cosmic scale.
The moment the plates cleared the energy shield’s perimeter, Wilkins snapped the field into full power, and engaged the FTL.
He would only see a glimpse of the enemy ships being torn apart in utter violence before time and space melted away.
Priapism
Location: Forge Station, 100 Meters below STC Tower
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2042HRS Unum Standard Zulu
System: Forge Controlled Space
The grenade detonated in mid-air as Estrada dove into a roll as if by instinct. He felt the deck plating warp under the impact of a half-metric ton object impacting it. He immediately rolled to his feet as his HUD filled up with warning of weapons fire and enemy signatures.
He didn’t have to spout out any orders, but he had to fight the urge to do so. He had a full platoon of ground-pounders with competent leadership, and he didn’t want to undermine anyone’s authority.
He decided he was just another grunt for the moment, and brought his heavy ballistic rifle to bear. He scanned at least thirty armored enemy combatants. Eighteen of them wore standard Crimson infantry armor, and the rest had Crimson spec-ops armor.
He side stepped as he fired controlled bursts into the wide corridor ahead. The staircase to the tower was on the left flank of their own position, so Estrada shuffled that way as he fired.
He lined up his sights on an enemy infantry helmet, and dropped the combatant with a single round. He scanned for another target, but the enemy had already gotten wise, and were fighting from behind cover.
By the time Estrada reached the relative safety of the left flank, he hugged the inner bulkhead with his shoulder, and began to scan his surroundings. The platoon had wisely broken down into its smallest fire-team elements, and were already beginning to pre-position for a direct assault.
Estrada looked over towards the staircase, now behind him from where he was crouched, and a thought entered his mind. Booby-trapped!
It was the only thing that made any sense. The foyer-like room they were fighting from would have been highly defensible for a force that the Crimson had brought to bear on them. So, why leave such a sensitive asset so vulnerable… unless it wasn’t.
The Crimson troops were at a relative safe distance from any explosive charges that may be set within the stairwell itself. It had to be the only reason they would defend this position with such idiocy, he figured. But still, there was no safe way to test his theory… Not while the ion field generators were prohibiting the use of nano-bots.
He linked to the platoon leader’s neural interface.
Foster replied with an acknowledgement icon, and proceeded to filter down their new task to every Soldier in the platoon.
Meanwhile, Estrada thought it prudent to reach out to any nearby companies, and take stock in the main push to take the station…. Nothing happened.
It was quickly apparent to him that the ion field was disrupting all but line of sight communications. It would have to be taken out in order to coordinate with the thousands of UAHC marines and ground-pounders that were fighting their way into the bowels of the station. Even the finest warriors the human race had ever seen were vulnerable if they could communicate. The ion field would have to go… and go quickly.
Moments later, the first two fire-teams assaulted forward. Two more formed a skirmish line behind the others, and within seconds the entire platoon was fighting a close-quarters battle with the enemy. Estrada wasn’t going to miss it for the world…
He hurdled over a fallen wall locker that was riddled with holes, and landed in the midst of three enemy soldiers. They wore standard infantry armor, and their un-tinted helmet visors revealed the shock in their eyes. Towering over the enemy conscripts, Estrada was at least ten centimeters taller than any of them. His hulking form caused them to hesitate long enough for the ballistic rifle stock to slam into the first enemy. Estrada reached out with a single arm, and prevented the limp body from falling completely. Using his powered armor and augmented strength, the hurled the limp body into the other two, knocking them back. Bothe of the remaining soldiers lost their footing from the
impact, and they found themselves on their backs.
In a desperate attempt to surrender, each of them released their grips on their weapons and put their hands in the air frantically. But before Estrada could even think about offering them any form of quarter, a pair of quick bursts from a plasma rifle hit them square in the head. They were no more.
Enraged by the murderous act, Estrada wheeled around to see a Crimson spec-ops commando standing with a plasma rifle. The commando scanned the barrel over to line up a shot on Estrada, but he wasn’t in the mood to comply.
With a primal roar from deep in his chest, Estrada side-stepped into a quick zig-zag, and using his superior speed, closed the gap on the enemy shooter. Plasma bolts traced mere centimeters to either side of Estrada’s helmet as he evaded the shots, and reached out to grasp the enemy plasma weapon.
With a single heave, Estrada stripped the weapon from the enemy combatant, and followed up with a down-ward elbow to the collarbone area.
The superior quality of the UAHC armored plating one the day, as the armored elbow punched a parabolic indentation into the enemy’s armor. Estrada pointed hi closed fist at the unconscious commando and fired an EM spike into an exposed data port on the enemies shoulder plate. I want this one alive to stand trial for war crimes!
But his thought was short-lived as a pulse energy blasts rocked his helmet, and sent him to the floor. A pulse blast against most grades of armor was less than lethal, but the concussive effect was still a viable form of suppressive fire… And Estrada felt very suppressed.
An arm came into his field of view as soon as he began to gather his senses. Without hesitation, he grasped it, and the faceless UAHC Soldier pulled him back onto his feet. He barely noticed the intense fire-fight happening all around him, as he tried focusing in on the Soldier’s right arm. On the status display, he saw a single upward facing chevron with a rocker attached at the bottom. In a flash of clarity, he realized it was the female PFC from the door breach, and he gave her an appreciative nod.
Before he could focus on anything else, Estrada’s internal HUD lit up with messages from a dozen other nearby platoons. The sudden flood of data took him off guard for a moment, but he soon realized the ion field generator must have been located and destroyed.
Without hesitation, he signaled for the PFC to follow him. They bolted back towards the stairwell while grabbing more Soldiers along the way.
At the base of the stairs, Estrada sent up a cloud of nano-bots, and instructed them to seek out any potential acts of sabotage. Surrounded by six Soldiers that formed a hasty outward-facing perimeter, he patiently waited for any signal from the nano-cloud.
The signal came back a few agonizing second later, and several charges had been identified. He let out a long breath he forgot he was holding, and then instructed the nano-bots to disable the charges. That could have been bad! He thought to himself. Although he figured there was a strong chance of this, he still had been tempted to take his chances and lead the Soldiers up to the tower regardless. He was pleased with his own sense of restraint.
The nano-bots sent a signal to confirm the charges were clear, and he subsequently ordered the Soldiers up the staircase. He watched them filter up the thirty two story staircase, and he decided to follow them up as well. His HUD showed the reports from the other companies and platoons as they pounded their way into the inner spaces of the station.
Dozens of small skirmishes had broken out, and nothing more than minor injuries had been reported. Most of the ion field generators were already taken off line, and many of the key strategic objectives had already been achieved. Estrada sent authorization to all field commanders to have more autonomy in regards to selecting their next objectives. Satisfied that the battle was going in their favor, and that his commanders had things under control, he refocused on breaching the tower above.
Take the tower… take the station!
Big Gun Go Boom!
Location: UDF Gunship, Slugger, CIC, Forge Station
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2042HRS Unum Standard Zulu
System: Forge Controlled Space
“Holy mother of biscuits and gravy!” Clemens shouted as he jumped out of his seat and nervously paced back and forth. His hands were up grasping his soiled hair, and he let out a series of gasps while he kept his eyes glued to the scan suite display.
“What the fuck, Chief!” Melvin responded at full volume. Clemens planted his feet and pointed at the display. “The Broadsword just took out over twenty ships… at one time!”
“I know that, Chief. I’m just shocked at your apparent lack of profanity! ‘Mother of biscuits’? Seriously?” Melvin said as he followed up with a hardy laugh. The Chief just cocked his head, and shrugged. Melvin figured the older man wasn’t as salty a soldier as he initially thought.
“Sir, your eight inches of safety hazard is ready!” Simon chimed in with a sarcastic tone.
“Out-stuckin-franding, Simon!” Melvin exclaimed as he began clapping his hands in applause.
“What did you just say?” Simon asked.
“It would seem Chief Clemens is on an anti-profanity kick, so I wanted to instill a nurturing environment for him.” Melvin said as he chuckled. He instantly realized that his adrenaline levels were making him somewhat high, and his escalating sense of humor was symptomatic of it.
“I see.” Simon said plainly. “Firing solution, Sir?”
“Yes.” Melvin said as he straightened his face. “Position us further out in space, and get us an escort of any cutters with missiles in reserve. I want to take out the main thrusters on the lead carrier.”
“Aye, Sir.” Simon replied with a monotone voice. Melvin wondered if the AI was being passive aggressive, or just focused on the task at hand. He concluded that it was likely a little both.
The minutes ticked by, and the Slugger was now in position. Four Unum cutters were taking over-watch positions with two on each side, at about five hundred meters aft.
The cutters were there to use their missiles to defend the gunship, should it encounter a catastrophic reactor failure. The eight inch rail gun was exponentially more powerful than the commonly used five inchers, but it had been designed for a larger class of warships.
Melvin had often wondered why the eight inchers were ever outfitted on gunships in the first place. It wasn’t like Unum engineers to deploy weapons without thoroughly vetting their capabilities and limitations. But that was a train of thought for another time. Now, he decided, was the time for action.
“Simon, once the optimal shot window climbs above ninety percent, I want eight inches of girth to pound that ol’ gal’s ass!” Melvin said dead-panned.
“Sexually charged orders received and understood, Sir.” Simon replied with an unexpectedly professional tone. “But if I may…”
“You may, Simon.” Melvin responded.
“That was a well-conceived choice of dialect.”
“For what it’s worth, Simon.” Melvin said with a smile. “You’re a pretty well conceived digital entity!”
“Round out!” Clemens sounded off.
Melvin quickly laid eyes on the screen, and switched from the overlay view, to a traditional visual one. The lead carrier was attempting to cut velocity with retro-thrusters while simultaneously trying to adjust its attitude to line up with the taxiway for the hyper gate to Tangine. He added a single filter that traced the line of the railgun’s round, but it was too fast for the filter to populate. The round had already impacted as blinding flash of light denoted the point of impact. Melvin’s optimism drained away in a flash. He felt nauseous in the pit of his stomach as he saw the round had gone wide. Instead of a direct hit on the main thruster array, the round just clipped the starboard edge of the ship’s hull.
Melvin recognized that the damage was not only superficial, but had actually added momentum to the ship’s current maneuver. I didn’t just fail my mission… I just helped the enemy accomplish theirs!
He buried his f
ace into his palms and was prepared to concede to failure. The tertiary reactor had been brought online just to build up the needed charge for a single shot while the gun was being emplaced. It would now be several minutes before they could fire again without making the small gunship a lifeless derelict in the vacuum of space.
He raised his head for a moment, and looked over to Clemens. The chief warrant officer’s face was difficult to read behind the thick layer of carbon, but he could read the man’s eyes like a book. Clemens didn’t use words, but with a steely-eyed look, and a solemn nod, the message was clear. We sacrifice ourselves for one last shot! He seemed to say.
“Simon!” Melvin said with a scratchy voice. He paused a moment to clear his throat and collect himself. “Fire one more volley. It’s all or nothing.”
A few seconds passed before the AI responded. Melvin figured the AI was assessing his resolve. “Understood, Sir. Plotting second volley now.”
Several wordless moments passed as the two men, and the single AI stayed on task. Melvin couldn’t help but feel his fear of death begin to fade. He was finding peace with his decision. At first he was conflicted about unilaterally ordering the certain deaths of his entire crew, but he quickly dismissed the guilt.
The multiple hull breaches were being patched up, but the physical damage was too extensive to avoid rapid decompression. Surely they could be rescued, but that would be pipe dream. Both escape pods had been damaged beyond repair, and the cutters weren’t equipped to cut through the armor of a gunship fast enough. The EV suits relied on a burst charge from the now-dormant tertiary reactor to function, and they didn’t have time to rig them for charge elsewhere. Charging the suits ahead of time would have been prudent, but the Unum military had been nationalized only days prior. There had been no time to refocus training from a mere security force on patrol, to a combat ready force in combat. Their crew drills and SOP’s weren’t geared towards all out combat conditions on this scale.