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Black Sky - Prologue
🕑 Added 2020-02-28 15:01:04 +0000 UTC
“Launch in 3…” a voice echoed in my mind, making me run through a literally last-second check if everything around me was as it should be. The computer in my head, engaged by my thoughts, queried the machine I was in and, before the countdown had reached one, I had received confirmation that every expected indicator was green. Just as they should be.
A second later, the familiar full-body punch of a rail-launch system pushed me into the back of my seat, overcoming the inertial dampening that kept the forces acting on me at a merely uncomfortable level, instead of powerful enough to squish me like a grape. It was one of those experiences unique to the Federation Star-Fighter Command, getting strapped into a system that would make for a adequate weapons system.
“Hoplite Squadron, form up on me.” the voice of Hoplite Leader called over the com-system. I quickly located my wingman, Hoplite 6, better known as Hootch, and maneuvered my Raptor into follower-position, slightly below and behind his left wing.tip. That way, I’d be able to cover him without getting into the way. Around me, the other Hoplites, all sixteen of them, split in similar pairs, the pairs forming into wings of four and the four wings, all forming up behind Hoplite Leader, ready for anything the Universe wanted to throw at us this nice day.
Behind us, FNS Thermopylae, the cruiser we just had been launched from, was maneuvering as well, getting into position to defend the three freighters we were tasked to escort. We had exited hyperspace right on schedule, only for a pulse-mine to go off, causing the convoy’s hyperdrives to go into forced shut-down. It would take some time for them to be back online and that was time we would have to earn. One way or the other.
“Unidentified Contact, no IFF, get ready to intercept.” a voice from the cruiser’s combat information center warned us, sending the vector and distance to us via tight-beam laser. They were still almost a thousand clicks out, outside of range for everything but classic ballistic weapons, but the sensors had picked them up and queried them. Obviously, without getting the required identification-signal back, which meant that the pulse-mine was likely placed by them. Apparently, the CIC agreed with my mental assessment and the ‘unidentified contacts’ were reassigned their classification as bogies one through eight, with a ninth further back.
“Okay, Hoplites, there are eight of them and sixteen of us. Stay in formation for the first pass, Wing three and four, break after the first pass and hunt the remaining bogies, Wing one and two, we continue to take on bogie nine.” Hoplite Leader ordered and the whole formation vectored towards the contacts in the distance. We kept our acceleration down, no need to accumulate too much speed, which the third and fourth wing would have to shed to engage our targets.
New information came via tightbeam from the Thermopylae, their better scanners having identified the bogies as Tellurian Scythes, marking them as formidable foes. But what caused my breath to catch was the re-classification of bogie nine, it was now marked as a Tellurian Heavy Cruiser, easily twice the tonnage of the Thermopylae. And carrying more than eight starfighters, according to the database, they had space for twenty-four fighters, two squadrons of twelve, as the Tellurians organised those things.
I deliberately stilled for a moment, taking a deep breath before letting go of the notion that I had a physical body, letting the chips in my head fully connect me to my Raptor, becoming one with the fighter. If the fighter had lips, it would have smiled as I felt the power of its engine, pushing us along the fabric of space, the humming of its plasma-blasters, ready to deliver their deadly payload to my targets, the maneuvering thrusters placed at the tip of the wings, allowing me to let the fighter dance in the emptiness of space and, most importantly, the six antimatter torpedos, the most powerful weapon humanity had been able to mount on a starfighter. They were what turned a thirty-meter starfighter from a minor irritant to most capital ships into a deadly threat.
“I don’t like this.” Hootch’s voice came over our wingpair-channel.
“You mean that they’ll most likely have sixteen Scythes back there and Limerick wants to take them and their cruiser on with a half-squadron?” I asked back, referring to Hoplite Leader with his call-sign.
“Not just that, even if that’s bad enough Twitch.” he answered and I could hear a bit of amusement in his voice.
“Nothing to be done. Strap in and I’ll watch your back.” I retorted, knowing that we were almost in range of the Scythes.
Moments later, the computer started to give the soft warning-ping of enemy-scanners. I instantly switched on the electronic counter measures while using the thrusters to let my fighter dance in a small area of space, never leaving my position but never quite staying in the same spot. No need to make it easier for the Tellurians to get a bead on me. Their systems were a little better than ours, giving them a higher range, which hardly mattered given the speeds we were moving.
Hootch’s Plasma-blasters started to send fire into the void, targeting the one Scythe we had been assigned and I added my own fire while focusing on staying in wing-position without making myself and easy target. I let myself jink and juke, reacting purely on instinct in an attempt to play this deadly game of dodgeball, trying to keep my fighter in one piece while introducing our target to death by burning plasma.
I felt the targeting-computer flicker and for a moment, I had a clear target, the enemy jamming defeated. And I took the shot, letting both blasters throw fire at the distant Scythe. To my delight, both blasts hit right in the middle, causing the enemy fighter to explode in a ball of plasma.
And then our velocity had carried us past their formation and the third and fourth wing instantly flipped, pushing their acceleration to the maximum, in an attempt to get them in a pincher. Well, what was left of them and what was left of the third and fourth wing, neither formation had come out of the short but vicious furball without damage. My computer informed me that, while we had destroyed three of the Scythes and damaged the rest, they had managed to get two of us and damaged eight more, including Hootch. His fighter had taken a glancing blow, enough to scratch the paint and take out one of his thrusters.
We had a few moments of peace while we crossed the remaining distance and I hoped for additional orders but none came. Limerick had to know that the Heavy Cruiser wouldn’t just let us roll up and drop our torpedos on it, not unless they were suicidal.
“Hootch, want me to take the lead?” I asked over our private channel.
“No, I’ve got this. Keep them off my back and I’ll take care of the front.” he declined and I felt my body frown in annoyance. Prideful fool. But, unless I was willing to ignore orders, there was nothing to be done.
Just as I thought that, the computer updated with new information, now gained from our own scanners and I wanted to curse. Not only were there the remaining four Scythes waiting for us, but also a full squadron of twelve Reapers, the fastest Tellurian Interceptor. Instead of being a multi-purpose fighter like the Scythes and our Raptors, able to threaten both Starfighters and capital ships, the Raptors were designed to do one thing, and one thing only. Destroy enemy starfighters. And they were damned good at it.
“Second Wing, after the first pass, you go for the Heavy Cruiser.” Hoplite Leader ordered, splitting our outnumbered forces even further. I wanted to retort but there was just no time, as the Scythes were moving towards us, with the twelve Reapers spread out behind them.
Again, I let my Raptor dance, riding the void, as lethal plasma-bolts flew around me, some coming close enough to scorch the paint on my wings, but not quite close enough to cause damage. At the same time, I let my own blasters belch fire whenever my computer told me that there was a chance to hit, even firing without a clear lock. It was, as some people said, a target-rich environment, the enemy Reapers having waited for us to try breaking through to their cruiser.
One of them tried to get behind Hootch and me, forcing me to let my raptor get carried by my velocity, flipping it over and using the thrusters to keep position while trying to keep it off our tail with my plasma-blasters. I was either very lucky or the opposing pilot had missed me flipping over, one of the first blasts I had send his way struck right between the fighter’s main body and the wing. It wasn’t as satisfying as the fiery explosion my earlier shots had caused but it was good enough, the wing was spiraling off into the void and the fighter was out of the battle for good.
Flipping back, I had to suppress a curse when a mixed pair of Reaper and Scythe managed to bait Hootch into following a straight line, as he tried to get the Scythe, only for the Reaper to scatter him and his fighter over the void. There was nothing I could have done, but still, it felt like failure.
Now on my own, I decided to follow earlier orders, hoping that a direct threat to their home would give us a chance in this fight, uneven as it was. Pulling as much energy from the shields, life-support and even the recharge of my plasma-blasters, I put on a burst of speed, pumping every bit of power my fighter had into acceleration. I felt myself getting pushed into the seat and the computer notified me that my engine would overheat within thirty-eight seconds, but I doubted I would life that long.
In a burst of optimism, I added a micro-jump calculation that would allow me to take a split-second hyperspace jump in an attempt to get back to the Thermopylae. Such jumps were normally a very bad idea but I had little to lose. But before I could try to bug out, I had something to deliver to the Heavy Cruiser.
Without the need to follow a wing-man, I could jink and juke all over space, which turned out to be necessary when the Reapers realised just what I was planning and eight of them decided to teach me a lesson. Somehow, the thirty-six remaining seconds before my engine would overheat seemed to be optimistic.
Using the thrusters, I caused my fighter to spin and randomly pushed one or the other to slide through space, as my computer was now constantly screaming at me that the enemy scanners were in weapon’s lock-mode, bolts of hot plasma turning the blackness of space around me into a beautiful light-show.
When another update from the CIC came, part of me wanted to laugh, the plot now showed that the first eight Scythes had destroyed the rest of Hoplite-Squadron but ultimately perished thanks to the cross-fire between Thermopylae and them. That were the good news. The bad news? A second Heavy Cruiser had come out of hyperspace and was currently deploying fighters.
One of the many plasma-bolts ripped through my left wing, causing my erratic flying to get even more chaotic but, sadly, slower. Without the left thruster, my time was running out. That I had also lost one of my blaster-cannons was almost irrelevant, they weren’t what I wanted to use anyway.
In front of me, the Heavy Cruiser started to demonstrate that it wasn’t just a carrier for fighter-squadrons, it was a warship in its own right. Plasma-bolts, large enough to destroy me even with a stray shot, solid projectiles and even point-defense missiles were launched, all to get rid of little old me. But I was in range for my torpedoes, close enough to give them a realistic chance to hit. Quickly picking a spot on the enemy cruiser, I activated both launchers and, without fully thinking, twisted my Raptor in a maneuver that almost managed to break the tortured machine, aimed myself back towards Thermopylae, engaging the hyperdrive, for just that split-second.
For a moment, the world around me turned white, the computer unable to fully cope before landing back in real-space. Right behind the second heavy cruiser.
Still not fully thinking, I activated both of my torpedo-launchers again, giving them the command to shoot as soon as their cycle was completed.
But before they could, my fighter started to violently shake, damage-warnings scrolling through my mind as fast as I could read them. And then, the world turned black.
