The model showed the shapes of the two Alliance groups that were now almost at their destination. With a quick movement of his hand, two more shapes appeared.
"And here is the problem."
The first group was not far from the planet, yet the numbers suggested they were travelling relatively slowly.
"This is what remains of the force that the Admiral engaged over Ararrh III. They are mainly civilian ships, requisitioned military vessels, and captured warships. Fifty plus, and they are well motivated."
The next group flashed behind Relentless.
"And this group is a wildcard. A single large battleship sized warship that we are classing a supercarrier. It's of a similar mass to ANS Warlord and leading a formation of five Star Empire ships, and these are unfamiliar to us."
Dotted lines showed their courses, and to everyone's surprise, they had changed in the last few hours. It was common knowledge that the combined forces of the enemy were ignoring any discernible strategy or tactics, and simply focussing on chasing the Alliance ships as they withdrew. This new information suggested a completely different path.
"Both formations of ships are heading for an area thirty thousand kilometres from our cordon."
He paused and then nodded. The imagery vanished and was replaced by a static figure of a full armoured figure in grand armour. The individual was closer in proportion to a human, yet clearly alien.
"In the last fifteen minutes, we've been contact by this individual."
Nate's eyes widened as he examined this new foe. Most of the figure's shape was hidden behind robes and thin armour, yet he carried himself well and looked the part of a leader.
"He claims to be the captain of the supercarrier, as well as commander of the Deadlands Fleet."
The Captain looked at his Secpad to check some of his notes.
"According to Intelligence, this is part of a grand fleet led by the Legate of the Interior. The Legate is a senior commander in the Star Empire military, and as best as we can discern, one of the top three commanders in the Empire below their so-called, Princeps."
His hand lifted and ran across his chin, a gesture that seemed to happen whenever he was giving thought before speaking.
"In this briefing, we will run over unit dispositions for the third and final time. There are some subtle changes, due to the change in the enemy deployment. The basics remain the same, though. Every available ship and fighter is to be called up by the order of Admiral Churchill, and we will hold until every ship makes it out of here in one piece."
The map changed as it scrolled upwards and away from the Rift. It finally reached the Naval facility they had so recently been fighting on board. Next to it was the Rift leading back inside the old Byotai territories, and to all their surprise many ships were moving through.
"This is the problem. In the last hour we've seen a major build up, and we suspect it is the rest of the Deadlands Fleet, perhaps even units led by this Legate, and they are growing in size."
A column on the right of the display showed a list of identified ships, and as the seconds ticked by, so did the length of the list. Some were immediately recognised and tagged by the computer, but many remained as little more than outlines.
"Twenty-two ships have now come through since we left, and more are coming."
He looked away from the imagery and to the audience.
"Alliance frigates are already mining the Rift to Fiorr Veej to make passage slow for any pursuing ships. But the mobilisation in this sector is a sign of things to come. It puts a time limit on our operation here."
One pilot lifted his hand, but the Captain shook his head.
"I know the question, Son, and here it is."
The icons on the map began to move as those new arrivals accelerated away from the station and towards the bottom of the screen at a much higher speed than should have been possible.
"These new arrivals came through the Rift at interstellar travel speeds and are already in their deceleration phase."
Hawkins tapped Nate on the shoulder.
"They aren't coming for the sector. They're coming for us."
He leaned back just as the Captain pointed to the destination point for the new arrivals.
"Clearly, they were already planning on hitting the Fiorr Veej Rift, and Admiral Churchill suspects the plan all along was to trap us and the civilians in this system. If we'd arrived six hours later, they would be able to seize both Rifts, and we would be in serious, and I mean, serious trouble."
Nate's heart began to pound as he realised the gravity of their situation. This was no longer a skirmish, or even a conventional battle. They were outnumbered and operating on a strict timetable. He could feel the stress filling his body and panted involuntarily. Captain Cornwallis heard him, and they shared a look for the briefest of moments.
"We will stay until the mission is complete. And that means we must deal with the enemy's primary fleet in less than an hour. Two hours after that, the first ships of their reserve will arrive, and as best as any of us can tell, they are still sending more through the Rift that will continue to increase their forces until the battle will become untenable."
The audience remained silent, and the Captain knew they understood.
"The Admiral has issued his orders. The fleet will stand and hold back the enemy vanguard, and then as many of their reinforcements as we can, until the civilians leave. This is not a battle we can win. It is merely a battle we must survive."
Billy's breathing changed, and Nate placed a hand on his friend's arm.
"You okay?"
Billy tried to look calm, but Nate could see the nerves were hitting all of them.
"I will begin with the capital ship deployment, then to squadron positions and CAP patrols. First, the destroyers."
As the Captain pointed out the careful position of the ships, Nate caught Matilda’s attention.
"Hey, Matilda."
She looked back at him, her eyes seeming to burrow into his mind.
"Yes?"
"Can we win this?"
Matilda shook her head.
"They outnumber us three to one. With every hour we stay, the odds of our defeat increase exponentially."
"Yeah, we know that," said Rex.
He seemed back to his grumpy self, and Nate found that almost relaxing.
"But how long until we will lose the fight?"
Matilda's face remained neutral. Nate was sure he could see fear in her eyes.
"Forty minutes before the last civilian ships can leave."
If it had been anybody else, Nate might have laughed this off. But not Matilda, she was the closest thing to a living computer. If that was what she said, then that was the way it was. Matilda would have included calculations from the first minutes, and then on to every arrival.
We're going to lose?
* * *
"The Alliance expects every man and woman in the fleet to do their duty. You must be quick, decisive, and aggressive. Listen to your officers, and remember your training. Take advantage of the enemy's mistakes, and punish them hard. Good hunting, and remember, every minute we hold here saves live."
The voice echoed through the deck as the pilots and crew listened to the final words of the Admiral. They had already gone through their position in the fleet, and the phases of the fight a dozen times. But as the minutes ticked down, the reality became clear to them all. Ensign Hawkins signalled for the Squadron to move to him, and one by one, without a single grumble, they did just that. The mood as the pilots moved into an informal circle was unlike anything Nate had ever experienced. They'd gone into missions before, but they were down to eight effective pilots, and the mission left none of them in doubt as to its outcome. Success would mean nothing more than escape. Failure would mean death. All of them were there apart from Billy and Cassandra, both of whom were in the Fighter Control Suite, along with those in Thunder Squadron who were unable to pilot spacecraft. Ensign Hawkins spoke first, once all eight of
them were ready.
"Okay, this is it. Eight of us, two gunships and four fighters to join the CAP around ANS Warlord, are we ready?"
Two of the pilots answered in a low-pitched tone, much to his disappointment.
"Come on!" said Hawkins, "This is the greatest battle of our generation. An entire Alliance armada up against these militia and their lackeys from the Empire."
Rex shook his head.
"Hawkins. We know the mission, and we know it's gonna be tough out there. We know, believe me."
Ensign Travis Foss nodded as he listened.
"Rex is right. This ain't no simulation, Hawkins. We've taken a beating already, and now we're down to just eight of us. We need to survive this one, not go out in a blaze of glory."
Hawkins was rewarded by silence, and it lasted several more seconds before Matilda intervened.
"Exactly. A gun blazing assault will end all of us in minutes."
All eyes turned towards her. Though not technically the oldest, at twenty-one, she still came across as something close to the grown-up amongst them.
"If we stay calm and work as a team, we can get through this. Statistically, if we play for time and space, we can drag out a fight in our favour. As long as the capital ships can protect themselves from the bulk of the gunfire."
Nate smiled as he listened. Until today it had always been them and us for the members of the Squadron. Now with a deadly threat coming towards them, and after having taken painful losses, they were finally one unit. A squadron of veterans, perhaps even equals.
"We need to repeat the New Carlos simulation," said Nate.
The Foss brothers gave him a bewildered glance.
"New Carlos?" Hawkins asked.
"Yeah, he's right," said Rex, "Pairs are not going to work, not this time. The only chance we've got is by using the gunships to do the work. It will give us the edge. We've only got six craft in the air, plus the drone."
Hawkins shook his head and lifted his hands up in surprise.
"What do you mean, Rex?"
Matilda used her hands to try and explain.
"We put the gunships in the middle and form up two fighters as permanent escort. We then stay in formation and use the increased combat power to hunt down and overwhelm small groups of enemy fighters."
"Right," said Artur, "Like the combat landing we did on Kerberos. In the rain, right?"
"Exactly," said Nate, "But this time it won't be a simulation, it will be for real."
Hawkins pointed off to where the lone drone gunship sat like an angry bug.
"And what about that one?"
This time Nate gave them a smirk.
"We use it for bait. When they go for it, we punish them."
"Yeah!" Artur said.
Several of the others muttered in agreement, and Ensign Hawkins nodded to himself, satisfied with what they were about to do.
"Right then. Hands together."
Each of the eight pilots pushed out their hands so that they all touched in a circle.
"Knighthawks!" Hawkins called out; the rest followed up with their chorus.
"Let's do this!"
They separated as each of them ran to their spacecraft. The Foss brothers took one of the gunships, Matilda and Ensign Fletcher the second. The other four moved to the ladders that led up into the cockpits of their Kerberos Pattern Lightning IIA Fighter Bombers. Small pools of vapour accumulated underneath them as the final amounts of coolant were pumped aboard. Like most Alliance spacecraft, multiple reservoirs of the liquid were used to help cool integral systems to keep the heat signature to a minimum.
"Sir, she's all ready for you. We've made the control adjustments you requested."
Nate nodded politely.
"Thank you."
He started to climb the ladder, then stopped and looked back at the crewman. With his right hand, he extended it and shook hands.
"I appreciate the work you've put into her. They are all exceptional spacecraft. I won't let you down."
Once he reached the top of the ladder the man called up to him.
"Just try and bring this one back in one piece, Sir."
His face widened into a grin, and Nat clambered inside, chuckling to himself. The canopy was already moving down as he pulled his straps on around his body, and then waited as they self adjusted to the optimum setting. He closed his eyes for a second and tried to imagine his current position in the ship, and then in the fleet. It was something he often did before a simulation, a way to ensure he had full situational awareness before entering the maelstrom of violence that a space battle could be. So many times, he'd launched in the Star Crusader game and run directly into the guns of an approaching ship.
Stay calm. You can do this. All of you can.
"Okay, people, you know the drill," said Ensign Hawkins, "Run your checks and get ready."
Nate opened his eyes and checked to his left and right. All six spacecraft for the Squadron were now in position and waiting for their launch orders. To his left Matilda, and on his right, Rex. All of their fighters had been given a new lick of paint in the last few hours, as well as bold Knighthawk symbols where they'd been worn off or damaged in combat. The familiar voice of Commander Higgins returned to his ears, and Nate found himself wishing it was back to the way they'd first started, with him and his friends inside the carrier and controlling the drones from the same room. This might be reality for a pilot, but it was also one of the loneliest things Nate had ever done.
"Knighthawks, prepare to launch. The enemy fleet is on the move, ETA, twenty-five minutes. Fifty-five warships and they are preparing to launch fighters."
Nate licked his lips nervously as one by one they ran through their checks. It didn't take long before the locks were off, and his fighter had been pushed out through the inner airlock and to the final launch position. Now only a single door kept him from outer space, and in a few more seconds it was open, and he could see the vastness of space. This flank was facing away from the enemy forces and directly at the great Rift. Though it was fifty thousand kilometres from the ships, it still looked like swirling eyes, a whirlpool of energy that flickered and flashed as each civilian ship travelled through. He watched his scanners mark the departure of a single civilian heavy transport, and for the briefest moment wished he was aboard it.
Not today, we've got work to do.
"Launching in ten."
Nate swallowed, took a long breath, and then smiled.
Here we go again.
"Launch!"
* * *
15 Minutes Later
The first ten minutes of the space battle at the Fiorr Veej Rift were the most terrifying minutes in Nate's life. Before the ships were even close enough to see, they had already fired a dozen salvos. The entire region between the two fleets was a maelstrom of carnage. Projectiles moved back and forth as they exchanged fire at almost a thousand kilometres. The great streaks of gunfire flashed from both sides while the fighters did their best to stay well out of the way. All the Alliance ships were now surrounded by the dreaded flak corridor; imaginary areas of space that were now filled with exploding projectiles and shrapnel.
"Knighthawks, Corsairs, form up on Warlord’s starboard bow. You've got incoming," said Commander Higgins, "Enemy fighters are coming our way."
"Affirmative," replied Ensign Hawkins, "On the way."
The two formations rolled to the right and activated their burners. Hawkins led the first formation, and Nate the second. Next to the hulking warships they seemed so puny and insignificant, yet Nate and his friends knew the damage they could inflict as a unit. As they moved away, a massive volley of kinetic projectiles slammed against ANS Warlord's hull. For a second, the side of the ship vanished in a cloud of fire and shards of metal. As the flames subsided, Nate grinned at what he could see.
Those defence turrets are kicking serious butt!
His smile vanished as a second volley struck the same area. This time a handful of the high-speed slugs penet
rated the outer hull and left black holes along the flank of the ship. It took less than three minutes to reach the designated point.
"All units in formation," said Ensign Hawkins.
Where are they?
Nate looked ahead at the cloud of enemy ships. They were now seven hundred kilometres away, and the computer had marked out multiple ships with red icons. Nate was tempted to open fire, but from this distance only his missiles had a chance, and a small one at that.
"Hold fire, Knighthawks. Wait for my word."
The shapes moved closer and closer, but Nate's eyes were on one ship, and one ship only.
"What are they doing?" Ensign Fletcher asked.
Nate's eyes narrowed, but from the forward display it was hard to tell. A quick glance at the tactical display almost made him choke.
"I...I can't believe it."
Nate had assumed this enemy Admiral would form up his superior numbers in formation, and then use overwhelming fire to batter the Alliance forces. Instead, they had formed up in a wedge formation, with the civilian vessels at the front and the heavy ships behind them. On the map it looked like a spearhead, and it was aimed directly at the Rift.
"Why don't they close the Rift?" asked Ensign Fletcher.
"Cut the chatter, Knighthawk Seven. The Spacebridge is permanent, like all internal Byotai Spacebridges."
The Ensign’s voice faded to be replaced by the grim sound of Admiral Churchill. His low-pitched booming voice filled Nate with both confidence and dread.
"This is the Admiral. All ships concentrate on their forward warships. Burn them!"
New waypoints and targets appeared on Nate's overlay. Commander Higgins’ voice returned.
"Hit their ships hard, then turn on their fighters. Good hunting."
Ensign Hawkins gave the order, and as one they accelerated away from the fleet. Corsair Squadron did the same, as well as the multiple squadrons launched from the other ships in the fleet. Nate looked to his right and observed the other fighters heading in the same direction. He began to smile, only to see a Lightning fighter vanish in a fireball. That snapped his attention back to what lay in front. Hundreds of white and yellow dots formed in front of the fighters and then screamed past them, like a waterfall of death.
Operation Hellfire Page 21