by Will Crudge
Now centuries of plotting and scheming were finally going to allow him to find justice. His own mother had been abandoned by her lover. The War Master. The one who’d given his triplets his divine gifts, but yet abandoned them all before he could be a father figure. His own mother was forced to raise three boys in the shadows of poverty.
But soon, the adopted center of power of his sworn enemies was within his grasp. He would destroy their state-of-the-art heavy fleet of unknown mega-warships, and then crush their flotillas of fragile security cutters. Once he’d bombarded the planetoid out of existence, he would set his sights on the UAHC.
Soon, the vengeance that he and his brothers had shared for centuries would be complete! Their equally shared hatred for the War Master Guild and, by extension, Unum, had been their secret means by which to balance their abilities to harness great strength. After hundreds of years of hunting down the fragmented remains of the War Master Guild, they’d discovered that multiple births within their shared bloodline were often a disaster. Generally the eldest sibling would rob their younger sibling(s) of their life force via their natural mental link from the womb.
He and his brothers had persevered against odds. They were all equal in their close-knit bond, as well as their mutual drive for revenge.
“Commodore?” Lieutenant Hicks asked. The thinly build man stood in anticipation while Zedd continued to view the screen.
“What is it, LT?” Zedd responded but didn’t move a muscle.
“We’ve hit the trigger point for phase one. CIC is awaiting the order, Sir.”
Zedd just slightly turned his head, but not so far as Hicks could see his face. “I’ll be in the CIC in just a moment. Have the landing teams start their approach.”
“Aye, sir.” The Lieutenant nodded, and then left the viewing room.
It’s finally here, Zedd thought. He allowed a thin crease of a smile to spread across his face. He knew he was being manipulated by his former captors. He knew they’d try and bet that their scheme would make Zedd double-cross them and return to the system.
But they would have no idea that he wouldn’t attack via standard Crimson doctrine. It wasn’t any secret that Crimson commanders, at any level, weren’t trusted enough to be instilled with much tactical latitude. They either followed strict doctrine, or they’d be court-marshaled… and likely executed as a result. However, he had leveraged his façade of success into being granted an inordinate amount of digression. He was confident that the Unum’s grand defensive strategy would fail.
Even a strategic novice could tell that the Unum scheme was to divert Crimson Fleet resources away from the main invasion effort. This would, in theory, make the UAHC’s slim hopes of staving off an invasion that much more hopeful. However, he surmised, that no amount of divergence could make up for the fact that the majority of the UAHC Fleet Forces were too scattered across the vast cosmos to respond to any concentrated incursion.
Victory would be at hand. No amount of back-handed manipulation would save them from total defeat.
Zedd watched the drops ships flood the space between his taskforce, and the shipyards that were hidden behind the gravitational force of the binary black holes. Truthfully, he admired Unum’s choice of location to build secret ship hulls. The gravitational fields generated by the binary black holes would be a naturally occurring cloaking devise on a grand scale. It would be difficult for any entity to mathematically find the perfect point in space, whereby a man-made structure of any significant mass could be safely constructed so close to a pair of rogue singularities. Therefore no one would bother to devote any significant measure of diligence to even look for one. The gravity produced by the black holes could warp enough space-time to alter the paths of photons, or any other particles that would be picked up on an energy scan.
He smiled in admiration for their achievement. However, his smile became more pronounced when he relished in his impending destruction of it. No powerful capital ships would be left to turn the tide of war. Zedd figured his impending victory would all but ensure at least one more star on his lapel. But why relish in the table scraps of an empire, when I can become the emperor!
He made his way from the room and eventually entered the CIC/Bridge facility. There was a bustle of activity, as his officers were relaying orders and monitoring the constant streams of data that were pouring in. This crew was new to him. He intentionally reassigned the entire complement of men and women that had previously been on board the Cerberus. They had been dispersed throughout his fleet, and many were on their way to lead the demolition teams to the shipyard. He certainly didn’t want them consolidated by any measure. They would, he supposed, inevitable compare their own experiences during the capture of the cruiser, and soon rumors would begin to spread.
He also insisted his base of power remain aboard the Cerberus. A medium cruiser was never conceived of as being a flagship of any force. Especially when he had thirty heavy cruisers, and a dreadnaught under his command. But it had a twofold purpose. Not only could he ensure that nobody could have the opportunity to dissect the ship’s altered digital log files, but also to prevent the enemy from killing him by targeting the larger ships. The head of the snake cannot be cut, if they don’t know where the head is, he supposed.
“Demo teams are within two minutes of their final approach, sir,” Hicks reported.
“Very well.” He nodded. “Are all fighters launched?” Zedd’s plan was to not allow the ground teams to be vulnerable against a surprise counterattack from Unum’s beloved fleet of cutters. The modified Mark-4’s would wipe them clean from the cosmos. Then his heavier ships could bypass the shipyards and begin their heavy bombardment of the small planetoid.
If all was timed correctly, then the planetoid and the shipyard would meet their end simultaneously. Then once the ground teams returned to their assigned motherships, the taskforce would use the commercial shipping hyper gates to link up with the main fleet in Sol.
“Yes, Sir.” The LT nodded. “We have two reserve squadrons on call, as per your plan. They are on standby, and the squadron commanders have reported that they’re prepared to launch on order.”
“Excellent. Give the order to set vector to our secondary target. Once all ships have acknowledged, then execute the first burn.” Zedd said while crossing his arms. He didn’t bother making eye contact with Hicks. He kept his eyes glued to the main tactical display instead.
Hicks did as he was told, and then after several moments he confirmed all ships were ready.
“Initiate burn in thirty seconds,” Zedd ordered casually.
“Sir!” Zedd heard the anonymous voice bellow out. The man that spoke was a petty officer and was addressing Lt Hicks. Zedd didn’t bat an eye but listened in on the exchange.
“What is it, petty officer?” Hicks replied.
“Massive energy readings from the docks,” The man replied nervously. Zedd raised an eyebrow and leaned over to the display on the nearby command console. Shit!
“That’s impossible! The energy scans showed cold reactors a minute ago! This has to be a glitch!” Hicks reprimanded the petty officer.
“Full burn, NOW!” Zedd shouted with a steely tone of self-confidence.
“Wha-what’s that, Sir?” Hicks replied.
“I said now!” Zedd scolded. But it was too late. The visual feeds of the shipyard filled the main screen. Landing teams were already docking their shuttles on the layered platforms. At least a thousand ships of some unknown type were resting in their berthing’s, but the energy overlay display shown something was powering up on an extreme scale.
Zedd quickly realized that there was no time to synchronize their evasive burn with the main bulk of his taskforce. He was right.
The entire platform exploded in a brilliant flash. The energy readings spiked to well beyond measurable levels, and a tremendous shockwave hit them. The lights flickered in the CIC, and half of the crew were knocked to the decking below. Curses from a dozen rattled men and women f
illed the air, but the dimly lit room was illuminated only by backup emergency lighting, and hundreds of blinking warning indicators.
After several moments, the lights flickered back on, and the visual feeds returned. But before Zedd could even pick himself up from the deck, a proximity warning erupted.
“Incoming debris! Brace for impact!” An anonymous voice shouted. But the Cerberus was rocked with a sudden impact, and the crew was knocked around once more.
That was no debris! Zedd said to himself. He knew a heavy missile strike when he felt one. Three centuries of space-faring gave him that much insight at least.
“Shield status!” Zedd shouted, and then pulled himself up to his feet once more.
“Shield’s at eighty-five percent and climbing, sir,” Hicks replied.
“Where the hell did that missile come from? There were no deep space launching platforms on scan!” Zedd shouted. His command crew all gave expressions of confusion. Hicks just tilted his head and froze.
“Answer me!” He growled.
“Missile?” Hicks replied.
“Yes! Missile!” He replied in a sarcastic voice. “Debris doesn’t detonate on impact, moron!”
But before the Lt could even begin to dissect the situation, a visual hail request hit the command console display. Zedd looked at the data header and saw a UAHC IDENT packet. He settled himself into his command console seat and accepted the hail.
The image of a UACH Soldier with a rough face filled the screen. Zedd could see the rank insignia with three stars, and a Fleet Forces stylized icon with downward facing wingtips. Fleet Admiral.
But the Fleet Admiral’s image was partially eclipsed by another figure standing behind him… War master.
Zedd berated himself in his own mind for not anticipating some kind of absurd scenario like this one. But instead, he steeled himself, and initiated the dialogue.
“What can I do for you, Fleet Admiral?” Zedd said with no shortage of sarcasm.
“You can start by surrendering.” The man said.
“At least give me the curtesy of knowing who I am expected to surrender to,” Zedd replied.
“I am Fleet Admiral Zeff. Commander of the Ghost Fleet.”
“That’s an absurd name.” Zedd came up with the only response he could. He had to keep them talking as long as possible. He had to keep his forearms out of plain sight, and punch in the FTL coordinates manually. His left forearm bore the same manual interface pad that his brothers wore, and his intended destination wasn’t already in the ships preformatted FTL database. He wasn’t entirely sure if the coordinates were coming from his own mind, or if his brother was reaching beyond time and space with his intentions. Either way, he had to flee.
“Says the man named Zedd.” Zeff gave out a huff or fake laughter. “Zedd versus Zeff! Oh the irony!”
Keep talking moron. The more you waste your ship’s oxygen reserves, the less time you’ll have to take a second shot at this ship before I punch into the slipstream.
“What makes you so sure you’ll be victorious? For all I know you’re aboard an Unum cutter, and pose no threat to my fleet!” Zedd retorted.
“Fleet? Ha! Look at your data. Half of your fleet, if that’s what that was, has been taken out by the Juggernaut’s jump through space-time!” Zeff sneered. Zedd paused from his data entry task and checked his displays to see if he was speaking the truth.
The entire shipyard was gone. Nothing was left but scattered debris. Space-time? Zedd asked himself. He didn’t quite know what that meant, he didn’t see any, so-called, juggernauts on screen. Energy scans came back negative as well. Only ripples of some kind of high-energy shockwave could be detected. It was apparent that he’d lost at least half of his ships to either the explosion of energy, or the megatons of metal from the shipyard structure being flung across the stars.
His dreadnaught was unaccounted for. Likely vaporized, he supposed. Only a handful of heavy cruisers remained, but nearly all of them had varying degrees of damage. The Cerberus was the only cruiser that wasn’t venting atmosphere, or that wasn’t undergoing ship-wide damage control procedures. He fought the urge to show anger.
He wouldn’t give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him be rattled. By that measure, he decided, he would not be defeated.
He sent a private text to Hicks via his manual interface. Initiate a blind jump at the attached coordinates. Transmit the order to any flight worthy ship we have that has a functional FTL drive. Don’t wait for my order! Dump ion field disruptors to hide our escape vector and execute the jump as soon as you can.
Hicks send an acknowledgment icon in reply, and Zedd turned his attention back to his enemy.
“So, tell me about your Ghost Fleet. I see nothing on scan that should make me decide I want to surrender.”
“See for yourself!” Zeff replied. The Commodore’s eyes went wide with shock. Nearly a thousand ships of every configuration imaginable began to materialize on the visual scan. They were less than one hundred kilometers out from the Cerberus’ position.
“Multiple contacts! On screen…” Hicks’ announcement was interrupted.
“Shut up!” Zedd scolded. “Just make the jump!”
Shit! The enemy heard me! But there was no response from the Fleet Admiral. Not even the batting of an eyelid. Zedd instantly recognized that the enemy fleet wanted them to flee… or at least didn’t care if they did. Either outcome would solidify their successful defense of Unum space.
“Ion dampeners away! Transitioning to slip-space in three… two…” Hicks announced. The visual image of stars disappearing into smudges of warped light filled the displays. All external coms went dead.
The Cerberus was gone.
Battleship Uncaged
Location: UAHC Battleship, Hailstorm, CIC, Hiding In Plain Sight
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/04/4201 2200 UAHC Standard Zulu
System: Sol, Mid Region
“Skull, get me a KEPL shot spun up.” Rear Admiral John said calmly. Major General Gordon just smiled. Darius just stood there waiting to see what would happen.
Skull? Kara’s NAV system? Darius had no clue what had been done to the Hailstorm, or how. Cloaking tech wasn’t uncommon, but it had never been made so effective on a ship with the tonnage of a battlecruiser. He never thought to take the time to enquire about it. But now he figured he would find out by mere emersion.
“I’ve had it locked and loaded for two hours, Admiral,” Skull responded as if he were annoyed that it had taken so long to receive the order. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like to take it from here.”
Darius just gave a sly smile. He realized he’d missed the irreverent banter of the LRF NAV. He could see John was taken back by Skull’s request, and Darius just turned to meet the man’s eyes.
“It’s not my ship to fight, Admiral. However, Skull has more combat experience than the mighty Kaylen himself. You can trust his judgment, if you’re comfortable with that,” Darius said. The Fleet Admiral had to choose his words carefully. It was professionally inappropriate to micro-manage junior officers to begin with, but more so in the presence of their subordinates.
John just nodded at Darius, and then replied. “You have TACON, Skull. Don’t make me regret my decision!”
Darius wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Skull was intimately familiar with UAHC terminology, and stood poised to explain that TACON was short for ‘Tactical Control’. But Skull didn’t skip a beat.
“Eyes on screen, gentlemen,” Skull responded. “The show will begin shortly.”
John’s face flushed with redness. Darius supposed that he was having immediate regrets with giving the NAV full control of his ship. However, the Admiral couldn’t lose face, or appear indecisive by retracting his authorization without cause.
***
The Ensign sat perfectly still at his station in the Hailstorm’s CIC. He was filled with dread, and his body had stiffened into that of a statue. He may not have feared battle, or t
he squadron’s dire circumstances from years of intense training. But he was afraid of dogs. Big, mean looking dogs. And this dog happened to weigh approximately half a metric ton at least.
Growl was lazily splayed out on his side, and his gigantic furry shoulders were slightly bumping the base of the Ensign’s seat. Ensign Fin was petrified to say the least. He had always been so scared of any dog, and he knew very little about them. He didn’t care if it was a pit-bull, or a Yorkie. He didn’t ever care enough to learn the difference. Thus, he had no clue that the massive K-9 was actually a genetically enhance grey wolf.
The nervous Ensign just slowly turned his head towards the oddly armored man with a massive sword. He knew the man was decked out in some kind of War Master Costume, which seemed highly strange to him. War Master’s in this day and age were known to be historical figures, or just embellished characters in cinema. All he knew, was this costume wearing old man, with a ponytail and pseudo-samurai armor was this ‘dogs’ owner.
“S-sir?” Fin’s voice stuttered. He hardly felt like the highly efficient killer he had been trained to be at all. Jep’s eyes scanned over to the young man.
“Yes, Ensign?” Jep replied. Well, at least this costume freak knowns his rank insignias.
“Can you move your dog, please?” Fin said, and then he gestured with his head towards the sleeping hulk of fur and fangs.
Jep just gave an empathetic smile. “I don’t have a dog, young man.” Jep laughed.
“Well, your – whatever it is – then?”
“You mean, my War Master’s Mount?” Jep’s face feigned honest inquisitiveness. “He’s a wolf… a grey wolf, to be exact. And he’s not my possession to boss around. We fight side-by-side, and we maintain mutual respect on equal terms.”
This asshole really thinks he’s a War Master! And this wolf… Fin didn’t finish his thought. He merely repeated the man’s word in his own mind. Grey wolf! Ensign Fin was grateful that his suit could capture and recycle urine. Otherwise, he’d have to change his sub armor.