by Lee Guo
Senior Captain Jacobs of the Juggernaut Western Star? Senior Captain Raynor of Juggeranut Heaven's Descent? Captain Shuemacher of the Heavy-cruiser Pincer Claw?
Prion decided on an answer. She picked Captain Raynor. Yes, if she died, Captain Raynor would command the fleet from his bridge onboard the Heaven's Descent. Prion pressed a button linking her voice to the fleetwide command net. As she spoke, "Fellow captains, the fleet command fortress is coming to an end. The next commander will be—"
Simultaneously, to her announcement, from very close inside the fortress, an intense explosion erupted from her left. Before she could even turn to look, a gigantic room-sized fireball blew metal and gas into the room, sending spasms of heat and metallic splinters ricocheting off every surface of the fortress's flag bridge. Below, fast-moving metal objects cut men and women to pieces like a randomly aimed machine gun. Prion saw it in a blink of an eye, as shockwaves of heat exploded from her left. Instantly, she found herself flying at extreme speeds across the room. Her body smashed into the right wall. The padding of her uniform took most of the blow. She found herself, miraculously, still conscious as she fell off the wall. The floor greeted her with a ‘oomph.’
"Admiral Kirkeis!" she yelled. Kirkeis was nowhere to be found. Instead, the table where he’d sat became broken splinters. She turned to look at the flag captain. "Captain Grisham, what happened? Where did that explosion come from?"
Captain Grisham yelled back, "Must have been one of the port fusion reactors nearby. An enemy beam must have scored a direct hit!" Then, as he turned and gazed at Prion. His eyes widened. "My stars, medic! The admiral needs help!"
Prion shook her head. "You must tell the fleet who is command! Our flag bridge is compromised! We can no longer command the fleet!"
"Who is it?"
"Captain Raynor of the Heaven's Descent. He is temporary commander!"
"Gotcha. I'll—" Another blast shook the bridge. Heat and raw explosions threw Captain Grisham's body like a doll.
The sound of metal tearing and the hull buckling instantaneously told Prion the station had very little life left."Captain Grisham?" Prion crawled her way closer. She had no feelings in her legs. When she looked behind her, she saw nothing there. Her legs were broken stumps, bleeding a trail of blood.
This is not how it's supposed to end! Prion crawled. She was supposed to win…her destiny. From day one, when she stepped onto that campus, to year ten, when she became captain of a starship, to year fifteen, when she was made a rear admiral, it was hers to win. Her gamble was supposed to pay off. Not this. Not like this...
Blood continued pouring out from those holes that had been her legs. Prion suddenly felt so tired. As she crawled with her arms, the metal ground greeted her in icy comfort. Sleep. She stared ahead. More explosions tossed men, women and body parts in every direction, like splashed water.
Sleep. Broken body parts spewed across the bridge. Someone's arm landed right in front of her.
Sleep. My stars, so much blood everywhere. There was little she could do, now. Maybe if I close my eyes, everything will become better. It was all up to Captain Raynor of the Heaven's Descent. He'll know what to do. Maybe when I wake up, I'll be in an infirmary and the battle will be won...
I'll just close my eyes a bit...
Sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Light-cruiser Harrington
Bridge
Elise de Manchu's state of mind couldn't be described in words.
Chaos reigned everywhere. Burning metal. Retching infernos and exploding cinders. The sight of death and moaning crewmen abounded.
If she’d known being a captain would be like this, she wouldn't have joined the officer's academy on Gregor.
During the snakes' missile attack, Elise witnessed a neighboring ship cut from inside out by snake laser warheads from the rear. Hundreds upon hundreds of nuke-pumped grazer beams smashed into the starship beside her. Elise felt glad it wasn't hers, that it was someone else's problem.
For several seconds, she felt safe—she wasn't targeted, being too far from the fleet's borders to be targeted. Then, when that poor starship exploded from the inside out, Elise realized she was in real trouble.
There were still many laser missiles left, and they veered towards her. Then, one by-one, they exploded, lasering her rear with dozens of fortress-sized energy payloads.
The following explosions inside her ship, a cacophony of death and loss, occurred because she could not turn to face those remaining laser warheads.
No one could. as It was a strategic necessity.
So…she patiently took the hits, and the losses within her ship surmounted. Ahead of her, the snake battle wall continued raining down on her fleet—and her ship.
Then the order came. "All ships, ahead full!" said a voice on the fleet net. Admiral Prion's voice had never sounded so confident.
Elise felt a surge of relief when she heard that voice. So charming. So lucid and simple. "You heard the old lady!" Elise yelled to her bridge crew. She then charged her light-cruiser right into the snake fleet, right along with every other human ship.
The world of grazer fire opened up on her from all sides. Enemy warships from every direction fired in every direction—a cacophony—a massacre.
Orders from the admiral kept coming in, telling Elise what to do. Who to shoot. Where to turn. How much to accelerate.
Then, the orders stopped.
For the longest pause, she waited. "What happened to the flagship?"
One of the lieutenants, Debries, changed the holomap so it centered on the battle station . Across the bridge, officers gasped.
The mobile fortress, the Admiral's flagship, loitered as crumbling wreckage. Explosions blew out from its gigantic 80 kilometer hull. Shieldless, it succumbed to concentrated snake grazer fire, which destroyed its numerous fusion reactors. It was so large even several reactor detonations didn't break it into pieces—neutralized, a wreck of its previous power.
Then—Elise succumbed to the fear. From the back of Elise's mind, the gigantic pillar of confidence which came from a chain of command—completely collapsed.
Distraught, confused, uncoordinated, it seemed the entire fleet also lost that vital entity which made it a fighting force.
Fleet net babbled with a mix of voices. "Who is in command?" "What do we do?" "Should we withdraw?" the voices rippled and echoed.
The lack of coordination meant the human fleet suffered more losses than it could bear, and it dealt less damage than it should have. No one knew what to do. No one took charge.
Elise then ordered the helmsman to accelerate backwards, out of the battlefield.
Seeing her retreat, the snake starships targeted her.
Firepower from four snakes overwhelmed her forward armor. The insides of the Harrington became a burning, charred mess. Her new crew, freshly replenished from space dock since the last battle, suffered overwhelming fatalities.
The incoming grazer fire caused so much damage the power fluctuations sent the bridge into darkness. Elise couldn't see. She didn't know what happened to her ship. She didn't know what might be occurring outside in the overall battle. All she could see, hear, and feel was sparkling fire, fire that came from exploding cinders on the walls and panels.
Elise once again, had no choice but to pray.
Help me.
"Someone help me," she beseeched to the gods that controlled the stars.
Gamma Wing
Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’
Wing Commander's Cockpit
Disarray. Total disarray.
"Fighter command? Admiral Gilbert, you there?" shouted Bobbi into the fleet's command net.
No response.
There were no more orders from Fighter Command. Rear Admiral Gilbert no longer responded on the net. Why?
A new voice sounded on the net, "This is Colonel Jennings. I'm Beta Wing's commander! Everyone, withdraw! Retreat back to the carriers! The battle is lost! The Admiral's
Battle Fortress has collapsed! It's over!"
The Admiral's fortress collapsed? What did that mean? Was the admiral's ship dead? Had it exploded?
Bobbi entered instructions into her computers to check. She searched for the admiral's fortress. There! No, it hadn't exploded. It was still there. Wrecked, but still in one piece. It wasn't shooting, anymore and now, the snake battleships avoided it.
This meant the admiral wasn't dead, but if she wasn't dead or incapacitated—why didn't she respond?
"You heard the colonel! I'm out of here!" said a member of Bobbi's Wing.
"I'm out, too. Fighting is futile!" another added.
Bobbi instantaneously shouted into her Wing's net, "No! Get back into the fight. Don't disengage! The battle is not lost!"
"How can you be sure?" someone asked.
Dammit. You just didn't question your commander like that. "The admiral's ship may be silent, but that doesn't mean we've lost the battle! Surely, someone will take charge! Someone high up!"
"What if nobody takes charge? What if the admiral didn't give orders to anyone before she died?"
"She's not dead!" shouted Bobbi, "Damn it. We are professional soldiers. Just because our leader doesn't talk doesn't mean we turn and run. That's what the enemy wants. That's why they targeted our admiral. We can't give in!"
Agreement crossed over the net.
"So, what do we do? Do we keep targeting the grazer mounts?" asked the voice.
Bobbi promised herself she would have a talk with him if she survived the battle. "Yes, we keep targeting the grazer mounts. Every disabled grazer gun helps our remaining battleships."
"So, when do we stop?"
"When—no, we keep fighting!"
Bobbi stared at the battle map. Other wings were running. They disengaged from their attacks on the enemy battleships and, in hind view, were being shot to pieces by snake point defense lasers.
Then, she looked the situation with her battleships.
Her battleships. Bobbi laughed. Of course, they weren't her ships. She held no command. If anyone would be the new fleet commander, it would have to be one of the senior captains in command of a juggernaut.
Then as she scanned the battlefield, she realized the situation with the human battleships was grim. Now, when the Battle Fortress appeared to be dead, an awesome amount of firepower for the humans was lost.
21 human battleships against 29 snake battleships. Over two-thirds of the human fleet—gone.
Now, the snakes turned their attention back on the human warships, and instead of the wreckage which had been the Battle Fortress, things looked bleak, again.
So much death. And who would take charge?
Bobbi punched a button, which turned on her feed to the fleet's net.
There was utter confusion. Many discordant voices jumbled together.
"Who is in charge?" Bobbi asked into the net.
"I—don't know! Who is this?"
"Zeta Wing Commander Bobbi Duke."
"Zeta Wing? Glad you're still here. All the other wings have left."And so should we, the voice was implying. Leave while we can.
"It's important that we get a leadership chain straight. Who did the admiral designate as fleet commander if she—became incommunicable?" Bobbi asked.
"She didn't say anyone," answered the voice. "It was naturally assumed that Admiral Kirkeis would be second in line."
"But Admiral Kirkeis is on the same ship."
"I know."
"Anyone else?" Bobbi asked.
"No one."
"How many senior captains do we have left?"
"Four of our juggernauts are still operational. That's the Heaven's Descent, the Western Star, the Archduke, and the Nicopater."
"Whose is the most senior?"
"Well, the most senior captain would be Aarons on the Nicopater."
"Get him online!"
"He's not responding."
Stars, we don't have time for this... "This is Wing Commander Bobbi Duke to the whole fleet! Does anybody want to lead the fleet? If not, I will lead!"
A long pause. "This is Captain Jacobs onboard the Western Star. I will lead the fleet if there is no disagreement."
"Hell!" said Bobbi. "It's about time! We need you to tell the fleet what to do, immediately! Time is of essence!"
"Thank you. I will do so, now."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Human Juggernaut Western Star
Temporary Flag Bridge
The bridge of the juggernaut Western Star looked like a mission control theater. Rows of displays paired with officers manning them. Dozens of officers on each of the five rows. Captain Jacobs stood above and behind the last row, watching everything below and ahead of him, which also included a main holographic tank that hovered above the room's center.
The situation with the snakes looked like a big puzzle. The humans were simply outnumbered. Now, with the Battle Fortress gone, the humans lost their biggest weapon—this didn't mean they didn't possessed technology that gave them an advantage.
Human starships were generally quicker, and they could move backwards. Their laser armament was weaker, but they did have shields. The longer the battle lasted, the more their shields could replenish.
There has to be a way... Captain Jacobs surmised. But whatever he did, he’d better do it fast, because the humans were losing ships by the minute.
True, the admiral could be dead, but what about the snake commander? What if we kill him? But we don't know where he is.
The white-bearded Captain Jacobs shook his head. This wasn't the way to go. He couldn't hinge the entire battle on being able to destroy someone whose location he didn't know.
Only one thing left to do, he must coordinate his fleet's attacks on certain vulnerable enemy units. He needed to concentrate his firepower, all the while, avoid being shot in the rear and sides by the enemy fleet. The second objective would be damn difficult. Starships, both allied and enemy, scattered everywhere, with vulnerable sides pointed to enemies on every direction.
The battlefield contained fifty arrows designating ships. Each arrow pointed in random directions. At least, this is how it felt to Jacobs when he gazed at the human battleships.
Ah, what to do? What to do? To a bystander, it looked impossible. But Captain Jacobs wasn't clueless. He’d graduated from Gregor Academy and had been taught how to fight fleet battles.
One simple algorithm decided whether you should move or turn a ship. If, by turning or moving, will you get into a new position where you can damage the enemy, more than they can damage you?
Captain Jacobs studied the puzzle that was the 3D battlemap. Yes, there were. Immediately, he could see some adjustments he could make to the human fleet. He didn't have the control interface the Admiral had in her flag bridge, he would make the adjustments by messaging the captains of the ships he wanted to move, using the fleet's net, of course.
He pushed a button. "Captain Dajax, this is the temporary fleet commander. Please move the Ragnorak a thousand kilometers to starboard and face the battle's center."
"Yes, sir," came the crisp reply.
Jacobs pushed another button, this time to another ship. "Captain Fernandez? This is the fleet commander. Please turn the Battleaxe seventy degrees to starboard and shoot snake juggernaut A9."
"Yes, sir," the voice on the link replied.
Now, that wasn't so hard…Jacobs held onto the microphone and pushed another button.
Gamma Wing
Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’
Wing Commander's Cockpit
There were only fifty pilots left in her wing. Snake point defense lasers killed the rest. In a period of ten minutes, she sacrificed one hundred lives—to do what? To knock out one hundred and twenty or so grazer mounts from that snake cruiser she’d been harassing for so long?
Pilots who would never see home, again, or the carrier which had been their home away from home. Pilots with lives, families and friends.
Bobbi fe
lt she may be going insane. She giggled. She supposed she should be happy—happy, the little odds of surviving had been enough to keep her alive. One thousand pilots existed in her wing at the beginning. Now, only fifty remained, including her. The survivors were numeric miracles. If they got out of this alive, they would surely be rewarded for their sacrifice, if not their bravery and perseverance.
She must get them out alive. She spoke into the wing's net. "Okay guys, time to retreat! Break off! Zigzag the way back to the carriers! We can do no more damage here. Not anything significant with our numbers. Good luck, crew. God speed."
"Roger!" came the elated replies.
Bobbi tilted her fighter at a point in space away from the snake warship, away from the battle. Then, she punched her gravity emitters into max acceleration.
Inside that dark cockpit, she heard a Clunk!
Something happened. A shock rang throughout her cockpit.
What the stars could it be now?
She punched up a diagnostic window on her screen. Instantaneously, her onboard computer displayed the damage report. Her forward gravity emitter damaged by snake point defense laser fire.
Damn!
Bobbi tried to analyze the extent of the damage, and realized she would never get main propulsion online unless she got to a carrier. A carrier! Sort of like how to become a chicken without first being an egg.
Perspiration dripped down into the insides of her helmet.
If she couldn't accelerate her way out of here, her remaining velocity would bring her trajectory into the point defense envelope of that—snake juggernaut!
Desperation. So afraid. Fear crawled up her spine and filled her head. She felt like exploding with fear.
If she couldn't fix it and get her grav drive online, she would be killed by point defense lasers.
What do I do? What do I do? I can't move. I can't hide.
Wait! I can!
Snake sensor technology must be a lot like human tech. For objects 50,000 kilometers away, the snakes probably used gravity-wave scanners. After all, no one could detect a twenty-meter object 50,000 kilometers away by using light refractions or radar...at least not in an immediate timeframe. So, if the snakes relied on grav wave scanning to target small enemy craft—she had a hunch. If they truly relied on it above all else, she could simply turn off her grav emitters and the snakes might think she got hit by PD laser fire.