Rick guessed Command's new orders for Skull Team long before Roy appeared on the screen with them: The VTs were to attack the destroyer.
Fokker led them in, searching for soft spots in the forest-green hull. Battlepods continued to exit the ship through semicircular topside portals, so the Skull Leader directed the attack along the underside of the destroyer, using everything his fighter was prepared to deliver.
Rick had completed one pass, discharging half his remaining Stilettos. He was preparing for a second run now, coming in across the nose of the destroyer this time, zeroing in on two massive cannons set close to the central ridge. Suddenly a Battlepod streaked in front of him with a VT in close pursuit; the mecha let loose a flock of heat-seekers which caught up with the pod directly over Rick's fighter. He dropped the VT into a nose dive, expecting concussion where there was none, then executed two rollovers but still couldn't manage to pull the mecha out of its collision course with the destroyer. Desperately, he reached out for the mode levers and reconfigured to Guardian. This would at least enable him to extend the "legs" of the mecha and utilize the foot thrusters to brake his speed. But the angle of his approach was too critical. With the nose beginning to dip and the energized foot thrusters threatening to throw him into a roll, Rick again switched modes, this time to Battloid configuration. Regardless, he was committed to completing the front flip, and the Battloid came down with a silent crash, face first on the armored hull.
As on the SDF-1's shell, there was artificial gravity here, but Rick had no time to be impressed: two Battlepods were on him, coming in fast now for strafing runs. He thought the mecha to a kneeling position and brought the gatling cannon out front. Blue bolts from the pods were striking the hull around him, fusing metals and blowing slag into the void. It didn't seem to bother the enemy pilots any that they were firing on their own ship; they were intent on finishing him off, homing in now, bipedal legs dangling and plastron cannons firing like spheroid kamikazes.
Rick was backing away from blue lightning, returning continuous fire.
The big gun was dangerously close to overheating in the Battloid's hands.
Then, suddenly, the hull seemed to give way under him. Instantly Rick realized that he had stumbled the Battloid through one of the topside
semicircular ports.
The mecha landed on its butt, twenty-five meters below the action on the floor of a loading bay. Rick worked the foot pedals frantically, raising the Battloid to its feet in time to see the overhead hatch close-a shot from one of the pods had probably activated the external control circuitry. There was a second hatch in the bay which undoubtedly led to the innards of the destroyer.
Rick began to approach this second hatch cautiously, studying the air lock entry controls and feeling strangely secure in the sealed chamber. Just then the air lock door slid open. On the other side of the threshold stood an enemy soldier who had apparently heard Rick's fall to the floor. He was easily as tall as the Battloid and massively built; but although he was armored, his head was bare and he was weaponless.
The alien goliath and the small human in the cockpit of the mecha had taken each other by surprise. As dissimilar as these potential combatants were, their frightened reactions were the same. The defenseless soldier's eyes darted left and right, desperately seeking an escape route as Rick's did the same. The alien warrior then stepped back, body language betraying his thoughts.
It was all that was needed to break the stalemate: Rick raised the muzzle of the Battloid's gatling, metalshod fingers poised on the trigger.
The enemy destroyer was bearing down on the SDF-1, peppering her with hundreds of missiles. Radar scanners located throughout the body of the fortress relayed course headings of the incoming projectiles to inboard computers, which in turn translated the data into colored graphics. These displays were flashed to monitors in the barrier control room, where three young female techs worked feverishly to bring photon disc cover to projected impact points, the spherical gyros of the pin-point barrier system spinning wildly under the palms of their hands.
On the bridge Captain Gloval feared the worst. The main gun was still inoperable, and despite the effectiveness of the shields, the ship was
sustaining damage on all sides. Skull Team was counterattacking the destroyer, but it was unlikely they'd be able to inflict enough damage to incapacitate it. Was there ever in Earth's history a commander who had more than 50,000 civilian lives at stake in one battle? For all these long months Gloval had never once contemplated surrender. Now, however, he found that possibility edging into his thoughts, draining him of strength and will.
As if reading Gloval's thoughts, Lisa suddenly came up with an inspired plan. But first she needed to know if it was possible to concentrate and direct the pin-point barrier energy to the front of the Daedalus-the supercarrier that formed the right arm of the SDF-1.
Gloval immediately contacted Dr. Lang, and the reply came swiftly: Yes, it could be done.
Gloval ordered him to begin the energy transfer at once and quickly set in motion phase two of the plan. This required that all available Destroids, Spartans, and Gladiators-the "ground" support weapons mecha-be gathered together at the bow of the Daedalus. The final phase would be handled by the Captain himself; he reassumed the command chair, his strength and confidence renewed.
"Ramming speed," he ordered. "We're going to push the Daedalus right down their throat!"
Members of the Skull Team who took part in Operation Blitzkrieg would later report on the spectacle they witnessed that day in Saturn space. How the SDF-1, gleaming blue, red, and white, engulfed in explosions and locked on a collision course with the enemy, had executed a backward body twist, followed by a full-forward thrust of its right arm that brought the bow of the Daedalus like a battering ram squarely into the forward section of the destroyer.
One can only imagine the scene from Commander Zeril's point of view: the impact; the sight of the front of his ship being splintered apart, cables and conduits rupturing as the destroyer impaled itself on the arm of the fortress; stressed metal groaning and giving way, crossties and girders
ripped from their lodgings; the mad rush of precious air being sucked from the ship.
Perhaps Zeril and his second were alive long enough to see the forward ramp of the Daedalus drop open, revealing row after row of deadly Destroids, thick with guns, missile tubes, and cannons. Perhaps the two Zentraedi even saw the initial launch of the five thousand projectiles fired into the heart of the destroyer, the first series of explosions against the hull and bulkheads of the bridge.
Rick couldn't bring himself to waste the enemy soldier. His mind and trigger finger were paralyzed, not out of fear but forgiveness. This was no Battlepod he was face to face with in the airlock but a living, breathing creature, caught up just as Rick in the madness of war. Remember what they did to us at Macross Island, Roy had drilled into him. Remember! Remember!...humankind's war cry for how many millenia now? And when would it end-with this war? the next? the one after that?
Suddenly the soldier turned his head sharply to the right, as though he had heard something unreported by the Battloid's sensors. Rick saw the soldier's face drain of color, his eyes go wide with even greater fear.
In the next instant a conflagration swept through the corridor. The soldier was vaporized before Rick's eyes, and the Battloid was thrown back into the loading bay by the explosive force of the firestorm. The air lock was sealed, but the chamber walls were already beginning to melt.
Rick brought the Battloid's top-mounted lasers into action to melt through the overhead latch controls, and soon enough the semicircular hatch slid open. Foot thrusters blazing, the mecha rose from the floor and clambered out onto the destroyer's outer skin.
The ship was convulsing beneath Rick, disgorging a death rattle roar from its holds. Forward, he could see the SDF-1 propelling itself away from the crippled enemy, its pectoral boosters blowtorching and its Daedalus right arm flayed of metal and superstr
ucture.
Rick returned the mecha to Guardian for his takeoff, then well into the
launch he reconfigured to Fighter mode, kicking in the afterburners to carry him away from the destroyer.
A series of enormous blisters was forming along the outer shell of the ship as explosive fire launched by the Destroids was funneled front to stern. But the hull could contain it for only so long; the pustules began to burst, loosing coronas and prominences of radiant energy into the void. A violent interior explosion then blasted the destroyer's skin from its framework. At last there was nothing left but a self-consuming glowing cloud, a war of gases bent on mutual annihilation. The energy flourished wildly and dispersed, leaving in the end no trace of itself nor its brief struggle.
CHAPTER FOUR
Several historians of the Robotech Wars-Rawlins, Daily, Gordon, and Turno, to name but a few-have advanced the claim that it was Breetai's decision [to call up Khyron's troops as reinforcements] that placed the Zentraedi squarely on the road to defeat. Rawlins, in his two volume study, Zentraedi Triumvirate: Dolza, Breetai, Khyron, states: "It was more than a tactical blunder...Khyron's use of the dried leaves of the Invid Flower of Life had drastically affected his Zentraedi conditioning. Subsequent research clearly demonstrated that alkaloids present in the leaves had a direct effect on the limbic system of the brain. The Flower had the power to stimulate a resurgence of archaic patterns of behavior. In the case of the Zentraedi, ironically enough, those behavior patterns were the ones which most clearly defined the human condition...So in this sense it may be said that Khyron was the most human of them all."
History of the First Robotech War, Vol. XXXIV
Breetai was now beginning to enjoy this micronian battle game. "'Cat and mouse' did you call it?"
"Yes, my lord. Apparently it refers to a game the stronger animal plays with the weaker before the final kill."
"Excellent. You must teach me their language, Exedore." "Of course, sir. It is most primitive, easy to absorb.
Our three operatives from surveillance are making rapid progress." "Yes...I may want to talk to these Micronians soon."
The flagship and several of the fleet's scout and recon ships had made a hyperspace jump along the projected course of the SDF-1. Breetai had left behind several cruisers and destroyers, along with plenty of Battlepods, to keep the Micronians busy while he plotted his next move in the game.
The Zentraedi commander smiled wryly as he viewed the traps-vids of Zeril's destruction. Enhanced-motion playback had captured the giant
ship's final few moments splendidly. He had to credit the Micronians for the unorthodox nature of their counterattack. Instead of further depleting their power by firing the main gun, they had used one of their oceangoing vessels to ram Zeril's destroyer headlong. Once inside, a sufficient amount of firepower must have been unleashed to destroy it. The ship blistered, glowed, became a veritable tunnel of trapped photon energy, and exploded.
Yes, Breetai was amused by the challenge of illogical behavior; it forced him to step outside his own conditioning and search for novel approaches to destruction.
His thoughts were now interrupted by a communiqu?from astrogation.
Exedore relayed the message.
"Sir, emerging from hyperspace-fold."
The composite projecbeam disassembled itself. Exedore called for an exterior view of local space. Cameras panned across the unbroken blackness and locked on a small red planet, arid and angry-looking. For Breetai it brought to mind memories of Fantoma, and the mining worlds he had worked and patrolled long ago. A schematic appeared on one of the side screens of the command bowl showing the planetary system of this yellow star the Micronians referred to as their "sun."
"Mars," said Exedore, "the fourth planet." Breetai turned to his adviser.
"Has the recon vessel been deployed?"
"As you ordered, sir. The Cyclops transmissions are coming in now."
The projecbeam revealed an abandoned Micronian base that showed signs of an earlier battle: craters from explosions covered with the fine red swirling dust of the planet's deserts, a shuttlecraft disabled and still in its launch bay, the shells of buildings and fractured domes.
"Our scanners reveal no life readings, no energy levels of any form save minimal low-level background radiation, Commander."
Breetai put his massive hand to his head and unconsciously stroked the metal plate there. The plate concealed scar tissue that had overgrown the wounds received while protecting Zor from the Invid; now, it seemed, each
time he came close to fulfilling his imperative-to capture the fortress-the original pain returned.
"It would appear that the Earth people abandoned this installation."
Exedore studied the data screen. "Long-range surface scanners indicate that a military conflict took place here and at a neighboring installation. Nevertheless, the Micronians' reflex power furnaces are still operative, and we've managed to tap into their computer banks and access some of the information. It seems that most of the inhabitants, sir, were destroyed in a battle with their allied forces, and the few that survived were unable to escape the harshness of the planet itself."
Breetai continued to stroke his faceplate. "Hmmm...see to it that one of the computers is activated and the contents of its memory transmitted on a hailing frequency."
One of Exedore's eyebrow's arched. "Certainly, my lord, but why?" "Because this abandoned post will make a perfect trap. I have ordered
the Seventh Mechanized Division of the Botoru Battalion to assemble here immediately."
The Seventh had a reputation for ground-based savagery and more. "Impossible," said Exedore with alarm. "Surely, sir, this cannot be; you
haven't ordered up Khyron's division?"
Breetai smiled bemusedly at his companion. "Indeed I have, and why not?"
"You're familiar with his battle record, his reputation." "What of it?"
"During the Mona Operation, he was intoxicated and ended up killing some of his own men." Exedore pressed his point. "And in the Isyris battle zone he almost wiped out two divisions of friendly forces-"
"While successfully destroying the enemy."
"True, sir, but because of that his own troops have named him the 'Backstabber.'"
Breetai was about to respond, when without warning the bridge went on alert. Lights began to flash, and warning klaxons were sounding general
quarters. Exedore had already positioned himself at the control pads of one of the monitors, trying to ascertain the cause. Breetai stood over him now as data began to flash across the screens.
"What is it?" the commander demanded.
"Armed ships emerging from hyperspace in the midst of our battle group. A collision appears imminent!"
Breetai turned to the forward projecbeam. "Some of the Micronians' unorthodoxy!"
A card player at a show of hands, Breetai readied himself, fully expecting the materialization of a squadron of Micronian mecha. But what appeared instead were the ragtag ships of the Botoru Battalion.
Visual distortions in local space preceded their crazed arrival, shimmerings and oscillations in the fabric of real time. Several vessels of Khyron's battle group collided with ships of the main fleet, spreading shock waves throughout the field. Even the flagship itself was rocked by debris, the force of the impact strong enough to knock Exedore off his feet. Damage reports were pouring in to the bridge; debris appeared in the projecbeam field.
Exedore picked himself up; his voice was full of anger when he spoke. "This is happening just as I expected! Khyron, sir, is totally without
discipline!"
Was this an oversight, Breetai asked himself, or just a demonstration of Khyron's recklessness?
The Backstabber's face suddenly appeared on the forward screen. Khyron, long steel-blue hair falling over the collar of a uniform of his own design, saluted. His face was a curious mixture of boyish innocence and brooding anger, Prince Valiant's devilish shadow with a fire in his
eyes that was not quite Zentraedi.
"Commander of the Seventh Mechanized Space Division reporting as ordered." His lowered salute turned into a mock wave. "Good to see you again, Commander Breetai." He finished off with a laugh.
"The sheer audacity-" Exedore started to say.
A square jawed battle-scarred warrior had appeared by Khyron's side in the projecbeam field, sharing some sort of joke with him. "Ha! Just as I thought, Khyron. We crashed into four ships total."
Khyron tried to silence him, but it was too late.
"You thought it would be three at best. I win the bet."
"Be quiet, you fool," ordered Khyron finally. "Our conversation is being broadcast."
Breetai fixed him with his one eye. "Khyron, don't trifle with me if you value your command. I'm willing to give you a chance to make up for your past mistakes, but I have no time for your games. Is that understood?"
Khyron straightened his smile, but the laughter remained in his eyes. "Yes, Commander, what is it you want me to do?"
"There's an abandoned base on the fourth planet of this star system. We intend to lure Zor's ship there, and I want you to see to it that it doesn't leave. Trap it with gravity mines if you have to, but understand this: Your Seventh will blockade the ship without damaging it unduly. You will then await my further instructions. Is that clear? You are to await my instructions before engaging the enemy."
"Perfectly clear, Breetai. I would naturally prefer you to have the honor and glory of the capture. Commander-in-Chief Dolza expects nothing less of you, I'm sure."
"That will be enough, Khyron," said Exedore.
Breetai gestured to his adviser. "Send out a recall order to our Battlepods. Let's give the Micronians enough breathing room to take the bait we're going to lay out for them."
Battle Cry Page 4