The Battle for Arc
#1 of The Odds Against
Okay, here it is, the new, rewritten edition of the battle for arc. I hope you enjoy it. As always, comments are appreciated.
09-06-3015
Time Index: 0313 hours GST
Terran Federation Battleship Endeavor
Noid system, Contested space
I stood on the cold metallic deck in silence, staring out at the star field before me. I was here despite the early morning hour because I had had the same nightmare that had been plaguing me for half a year or more. I rarely got more than a few hours of sleep a night anymore. If it wasn't some problem in the maintenance bays, or some supply snafu, it was the nightmares. I sighed and looked out at the swirls of color that glowed and shifted a great distance away, in the opposite arm of the galaxy. As I stood there, the swirls of dust painting my grey armor with swirls of bright blue and red, I thought back to the first time I had seen the Star Angel's Nebulae. The blue and green orb that slowly turned below the battle group's command ship was the world of my birth, but I hadn't seen it in a very long time. My father had taken me up to Arc Station when I was six years old and he had used his influence to allow me to have a space walk with him. I could remember just how quiet it was out there, and how beautiful the dancing colors of the nebulae had been. I had stayed there for an hour, just watching the colors, with only the sound of my heart beating to accompany me. It had only lasted an hour before I had to come in, but for that hour, I was filled with a wonder known only to so few people.
From that day forward, I knew I wanted to have a career in space. My father, a wealthy businessman from Terra, knew the draw of space and he was all too happy to encourage the love of it in his children. He had done the same thing for my older half brother when he had been my age. He had gone into the business with my dad and he had already been moving up the ranks of management by his own merit. I had seen him only rarely because, by the time I was born, he was already going to Harvard, a thousand year old business school that was still the most prestigious school in the galaxy. Almost immediately after the space walk, I had enrolled in a prep school for Harvard on Arc. I closed my eyes and sighed, looking away from the view as the frozen mass of melted metal that had been Arc Station came into view.
I had originally intended to go into the business with my father and brother, but something happened that changed that. Soon after I arrived at the school, a group of military recruiters came. When they arrived I found myself drawn to the world they offered. They were more than happy to give me all the information I was looking for. Afterwards, I got into video game networks that used real time holographic video games that were as realistic as possible. They were originally intended to be a training simulation for the military, but they were deemed to be perfect for entertainment instead when the military turned it down. Of all the games that were available, the one I liked best was a war simulation on old earth. By the time I was eight years old, I had shown a wonderful flare for battlefield tactics and I was the commanding officer of an unstoppable army in the game. I made my decision and told my father that I wanted to serve in the military, specifically the Terran Federation Marine Corps, the most elite fighting service in the galaxy.
My father, being the understanding sort, supported my decision and allowed me to enter a Marine martial training school on the planet of Silver Moon. The school was renowned all over the galaxy for being extremely tough, both physically and academically, not to mention militarily. Most who entered the school failed to qualify for the advanced training program and entered the Marines at the basic rank after completing the basic training program. I was very eager to start and joined a class that was full of people my own age. In four short years, I went from being just one of the numerous beginners at the school to being one of the most advanced students. I excelled at hand to hand combat, tactics and marksmanship. My grades soared high too; I just didn't care as much about school as I once did. I loved all things military, and I put everything I had into it. I very quickly became one of the school's most respected fighters, winning tournament after tournament.
But it was odd, in my classes, I often knew all the answers without thinking or studying. I showed such an incredible skill with all things instinctually, that I was soon tested for psychic powers. Psychic powers were a rarity that few possessed, and much research was being done as to why they had manifested themselves in the last century. The scientists who were researching it could not explain why they were appearing now and there were many theories for it. I personally believed that they were the next step in human evolution and I counted myself lucky to be a part of it. It wasn't a bad belief, after all, humans were not the only species that had developed them. Most of the species of the Merxian Alliance had also developed them as well.
The Merxian Alliance. Just thinking about them would make many a soldier angry. Not me though. I hadn't felt an emotion like that in years. Merxians and humans were remarkably alike, sharing a lot of physiology. It had been theorized that our evolutionary paths were very similar as well. However, even though we were similar, we were bitter enemies. I shook my head, my mind was wandering from topic to topic again, as it always did when I was tired.
But, the fact remained, after many tests at the academy, it was found that I was what they call a class four psychic, meaning that I was one of the most powerful psychics to come through the school. Class fours were anomalies within the pyschic race. Class one through class three psychics had pretty predictable levels of ability and power, with easily defined limits. But class fours were different; their power levels were immense, and as far as anyone knew, they did not have limits. Class fours were easy to identify because when they began to mature, their powers developed rapidly, which led to accidents when they couldn't control them. These, thankfully were few for me, but they did happen. However, because I was so powerful, I was soon well into the advanced training courses. My family had come to visit me when I was twelve and they had found that they hardly recognized me. I had grown tall and broad shouldered from the rigors of the physical training at the school, and had grown heavily muscled from the combat training. My mind was the equal of any college graduate and I wasn't yet the age of most secondary school students. Even then I was smart, fast, strong and tougher than steel. My parents were impressed with how much I had learned as swiftly as I had.
The school had a very organized hierarchy that all cadets started in at the lowest level. Everyone starts with no rank at all, and then, once we passed the three month basic training course, we were given ranks and we could progress if we showed leadership potential. In four years at the academy, I had gone from having no rank, to the rank of cadet Master Gunnery Sergeant, the highest rank that a cadet could achieve without being a cadet officer. Most of the time that rank was only awarded to cadets who had been at the school for six years, but no one doubted I had earned it.
My family was amazed at all the friends I had made at the school and they complemented me like they had my brother when he had gotten a degree. I expected to see them all again after graduation, but it was not to be. Not long after their visit, I received a call from the corporation my dad owned. I happened to be in class at the time, studying advanced astronautics when I got the call. I could still remember how the news reached me...
***
"Master Gunnery Sergeant." The professor called out as we were sitting, doing our class work. I looked up at the mention of my rank and he continued. "You have a com message flagged as emergency priority. Take it in the communication room down the hall."
"Yes sir." I said, putting down my pen on the pad and picking up my uniform cap. I had been wearing my dress uniform that day, and I still remembered with perfect clarity the feel of the crisply pressed cotton of my uniform as I walked down the hall with a martial cadence, my polished dress shoes echoing in the silent halls. I hadn't expected a call from my father or brother since I had just seen them...
***
The quick thud of heavy combat boots on metal sounded behind me and I remained standing at ease, still looking out at the astral tableau, lost in thought. The footsteps stopped and I closed my eyes, taking my mind back to the present. I heard the soldier behind me clear his throat and I still did not turn. Whatever it was he wanted, he could wait while I thought. Senior officers have that right at least. But whatever it was that he wanted, it must have been important, because four of the battle group's escort ships came into view, two frigates, a destroyer and a picket cruiser. They were shifting positions within the formation, which was odd because the last order I had heard given was to hold position.
"Colonel Cramer? Sir?" The soldier said and I turned around. He was a marine, and by the looks of him, he was not more than Nineteen. Quickly reading his ranks, I spoke up.
"What is it Sergeant?" I asked, looking at him expectantly.
He saluted me and I returned it. "Sir, I was sent to bring you to Admiral Tack's office."
"Lead the way soldier." I ordered, and he turned on his heel, executing a perfect about face. I shook my head and followed after him, making no sound as I walked, despite the heavy armor that covered my frame. Interceptor pilots were often mistaken for Elite Spec ops troops because of the heavy armor we were equipped with. The armor had a system powered by a power cell contained on the armor's belt that reduced the force of any impact, protecting the wearer. That, combined with the armor's metal-ceramic composite plating, made someone wearing the armor almost totally immune to small arms fire. A coating of energy-absorbing liquid crystal allowed it to withstand plasma and other energy discharges as well. Almost every marine was envious of pilots the first time they saw us going out because of it. Their view soon changed, however, when they saw how few of us actually returned from sorties.
The walk to the Admiral's office was a long one, as the battleship was one of the largest ships in the fleet. Only the new Super carriers were larger. The battleship was a vessel that was designed to handle as many situations as possible, making it a hybrid between a pocket carrier, a troopship and a war fighter. They were the most powerful ships in the galaxy, with a full fighter wing, two battalions of troops and enough guns and armor to obliterate an entire battle group by itself. But it did have one major weakness. It was slow and not very maneuverable. Still though, I was glad to be aboard. There were only a dozen such ships in the galaxy, and not one had been destroyed in their thirty years of service. Our walk was leading us through the part of the ship that was known among fleet personal as "Trooper country." It was the section in the heart of the ship that was populated entirely by the two battalions of marines that were aboard. I kept my head straight ahead as we walked through one of the spacious armories aboard ship. I did not belong here any longer. There had been a time, once, that I did belong here, but that was years ago.
As we strode through the armory, soldiers looked up from their tasks to taunt the "High and Mighty air corps". They always made such comments because this was their territory, and pilots, no matter their rank, were not welcome. But, when they noticed the ancient and highly revered globe and anchor insignia of the Marine Corps on my armor, most of their comments were made pointless. The solidarity of marines to each other was enough to kill most of the insults. But not all. However, the new taunts about marine pilots suddenly died on their lips when they saw a distinctive unit insignia under the globe and anchor. It was an insignia that was very rare to find, but instantly recognized. It had been made famous by the terrible sacrifices made by the unit in the war. It didn't even exist any longer for, in one 48 hour battle, the unit had lost over 99% of its strength. The wolf constellation on the royal blue background graced the uniforms of only thirteen living Marines, the only survivors of the 5th Marine Special Forces battalion, better known as the Starwolf Legion. Because we had survived that battle and the unit had not, we were allowed to keep the insignia, and it meant more to me than any medal. Taunts turned to words of wonder at the strange insignia. I was used to it by now. I had been the only surviving officer of the Starwolves during that battle, more out of luck than anything else and that battle had been my first autonomous command.
I easily ignored the whispers and words of amazement that a pilot could have once been a Starwolf; after all, most officers went the other way, pilot corps to Special Forces; being a commando was far less dangerous than being a pilot. Finally, after five long minutes, we passed out of 'trooper country' and back into the fleet section of the ship. I still did not relax, for this was still foreign territory as far as pilots were concerned. Shaking off the feeling of not belonging, I remembered to return the salutes of lower ranking personal that I passed. Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, we arrived at the Admiral's office and the Sergeant knocked on the door frame.
When the Admiral bid us to enter, we walked in and saluted. The admiral returned it crisply and spoke.
"You are dismissed, Sergeant." He said and the young soldier saluted before walking out. "Welcome Colonel, can I offer you a drink?"
"No thank you sir, I don't drink" I stated, standing at ease.
Nodding slightly, he poured himself two fingers of scotch and picked it up before speaking. "I like that about you. No vices. Anyway Colonel, what I am about to tell you, must not be spoken off outside this room." He said, activating an anti-surveillance module set into his desk. When I nodded, he continued. "As the commander of the Starfighter group of my fleet, it is only right that you know this. Our mission in this system is to wait for an enemy fleet to arrive, shielded from their detection by the Third moon's magnetic field. Scanning details are to be relayed by an intel satellite to us. It would seem to be a good plan, but I have my doubts."
"What would they be, sir?" I asked, looking at the senior officer. He removed his service cap and ran a hand through his silver hair. He was an old soldier, having served in the navy his whole life. He had been fighting wars for more years than I had been alive, and he was the most respected naval officer in the fleet. He bore five stars on his uniform, the rank of fleet admiral, as high as one could go in the navy without being in the high command. The only reason that he wasn't behind a desk was the navy's need for good fleet commanders, a need which was keeping him in the field long past the time he would have been normally been desk bound at command. The fact that he was so worried about the mission made me worried in turn and he continued.
"This whole battle plan was created in response to an intercepted message on the enemy's com nets that stated Arc as a target for their counter offensive. We have known that something has been in the works for a long time. Fleets disappearing from the front lines, troops massing at ground bases and the like; but we have not known where they will strike. I am worried about this because, in the course of my career, twice have I fought in battles caused from interpreted data, and both times have my ship and every other member of my crew been lucky to escape with our lives." He explained, downing the scotch all at once and sitting heavily in the chair behind his mahogany desk. Looking up at me, he looked me right in the eye and spoke with conviction. "Now Colonel, you are a class four psychic. I have learned to trust your intuition over the years we have served together. So I want you to skip the bullshit I hear from my planning staff and give me the straight skinny on the mission. Do you sense trouble on the way?"
"Well sir, I always sense trouble when battle is about to begin, but nothing as bad as what I feel now." I said, resting my hands on the desktop and leaning slightly forward. "There are about a hundred things that could go wrong that I can name off the top of my head, and most of them have to do with that damn intel satellite we have to rely on. I have not trusted satellites since the debacle on Sigma Mu, and I don't like having to rely on only one of them."
"I agree Colonel," he said, leaning back from the desk in his chair. "I don't have a choice in the matter. My orders are clear on that point. I have to use that damned satellite because it looks like a regular relay satellite from planetary communications, and its output will look like routine communications that those satellites are prone to sending out after the receivers are destroyed."
"Maybe you are locked into using it sir, but I think I have a way to get around it." I said, standing back up fully, "If you give me written orders to deploy my fighters as I see fit, which, I will remind you, is within your operational authority to order, then I will dispatch advanced warning flights that will prevent the enemy sneaking up on us."
"Very well then Colonel," he said, smiling wanly, "Send out your flights, the official orders will be logged into the computer later."
I saluted him and he returned the salute. As I turned to leave, he spoke up once more.
"There is something else I wanted to discuss with you Colonel." He said. I stopped and turned back to him. "The medics tell me that you have been up at all hours of the night, when you should be sleeping. No soldier can fight when they haven't been resting. What is it that keeps you up?"
"I have been having dreams sir." I said and he regarded me evenly.
"Dreams, Colonel?" He asked. "Dreams don't keep people from sleep."
"These aren't normal dreams sir." I said, sighing. "I have been having them since before I discovered my powers. They are always about the same person. She is a Merxian, a vixen, and for as long as I can remember, she has haunted my dreams. Every night, I see different events in her life. It is as if I am watching her life unfold as I sleep. I don't know why, but they have been getting more and more like nightmares lately, and they are always waking me up. I feel as if she is danger of death. And as odd as it sounds, I don't want her to die." What I left out of my explanation, was that I thought she was very pretty. I had never told that to anyone because it was a very inappropriate thought; setting aside the fact that the woman I was dreaming about wasn't human, the Merxians were the mortal enemies of humanity.
"Have you considered speaking to the docs about this?" He asked, but I shook my head. "If there is some sort of connection between you and a Merxian, no matter how involuntary or fleeting it is, you should talk to the medics. It could be a security risk."
"No sir." I said, shaking my head. "It is no one's problem but mine sir."
"Alright, well, as you say Colonel." He said. "You may go. Good luck Colonel."
"You too sir." I replied, saluting. When he returned the gesture, I walked out into the hall once more, headed for the communication's room. At least now I had work to do.
***
09-06-3015
Time Index: 0300 hours GST
Merxian Alliance Battlecruiser Stilian
Enroute to Noid system, Contested space
Katy woke from a sound sleep, shocked awake by the dream. She was panting for breath, the dream scaring her awake. It was the same sort of dream she had been having for a while now. She had been following the human soldier again, watching him walk around the ship, meeting with his admiral. She didn't know why she kept dreaming about him, but she had been for as long as she could remember. And in the dreams, she could sense his sorrow, sense the hopelessness that followed him, matching the feeling inside her. It was the feeling of one who did not care whether he lived or died. And she always feared for him in the dreams, feared that he would die. It was an emotion that she couldn't feel anymore in her life. She sighed and looked at the chronometer set into the wall beside her. It was three in the morning, and she knew she wouldn't get back to sleep that night. Grumbling slightly, she rose from her bed, headed for the bathroom attached to her quarters. Once inside, she stripped off her undergarments and stepped into the chemical shower.
Tapping the control on the wall, she stood still, yawning tiredly as the chemical vapors filled the stall. The vapors were odorless, and non-toxic, and they cleaned just as well as water did. But, despite this, the chemical showers were wholly unsatisfying in the morning. She yawned again, and thought about the dreams. She wondered, once again, why she was dreaming about a human of all things. Humans were the enemy, and the only dreams she should have been having about them were those of her killing them. But she secretly liked the dreams, and she often felt that they were the only thing that was keeping her alive. Of course, humans hadn't always been the enemy. When the newly formed Terran Federation and the Merxian Alliance had made contact nearly two hundred years ago, it had been a friendly meeting. An exchange of cultural information had taken place, and soon after, trade had been established. It had taken about twenty years of dedicated effort, but a common language had been created, named Galactic Common, and soon after, everyone on both sides had been required to become bilingual. But then, the war had started, and both sides had been at each other's throats ever since. She sighed when the vapors cleared, leaving her red-orange fur sleek and shiny.
At the beginning of the war, both sides had treated each other fairly, but now, after thirteen years of war, the conflict had grown extremely bitter. It had become as brutal as the ancient conflicts that had been waged on both Merxia and Terra, when armies slaughtered each other on medieval battlefields. Prisoners were rarely being taken anymore. Most of the time, both sides granted no quarter. It had become almost treason to help your foes. Sighing, she stepped out before the mirror, taking up the brush she had left there.
She started running the brush through her fur absently, staring off into the distance. This was an exercise that she had done every day for years, but not one of beautification like it was for some of the other woman in the fleet. It was more out of a desire to keep her fur from tangling in her armor than a desire to look good. She looked at herself in the mirror once more and sighed. She was a vixen, a female member of one of the dozens of species that made up the Merxian Alliance. These races were all from Merxia, a planet much like the human's ancient home world. Much of its climate conditions were the same except that evolution had carried several species into prominence, except for one. They looked like what one might get if you crossed a human with one of the animals from their home world. And yet, for all their similarities, they had still been at war for many years. She shook her head and looked down, her eye resting on the lower corner of the mirror. Stuck in the corner of the mirror was a small flat hologram. It looked like a unit of soldiers, but there was something remarkable about it. The dozen soldiers that stood in the picture were all too young to be active duty soldiers and wearing the uniforms of cadets from Regulos, the Merxian Alliance's Marine academy. The most remarkable thing was that everyone in the picture, save the young red furred woman in the middle, was dead now.
When she looked back up at the mirror, she shrugged her shoulders. Once, that reflection had given her confidence. She had been told often by other marines that she was beautiful, but she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter to her; she had given up caring whether she lived or died. She set the brush down on the sink, then turned and walked into the rest of her quarters. She slipped her underwear and bra on then put on a flight suit over it. Zipping it up, she reached over to the armor stand and dressed in the black battle armor she had worn for the last few years. Just as she clipped the helmet to her belt, the com unit set into her armor cheeped for attention. She tapped the activation button and spoke.
"Colonel Jes'ic, go ahead." She said, hefting her web gear and clipping the belt to her armor.
"Colonel we will be reverting to real space in an hour." The bridge controller stated.
"Thank you control." She said and picked up her plasma carbine from the rack on the wall. Sighing once more in frustration, she left her quarters and began her walk towards the fighter bay. Being the commander of a fleet's fighter group was a difficult job, but she didn't care. It often meant that she was in the forefront of the most dangerous job in the military. It meant she had the most chances to get herself killed. 'Maybe this battle will be the one where everything will change.' She thought as she walked. 'Maybe this will be the end. Maybe...'
***
09-06-3015
Time Index: 1113 hours GST
TFV Battleship Endeavor
Noid system, Contested space
The loud siren of the scramble klaxons shattered the quiet of the daily shipboard routine. The loud thud of pilot's boots echoed in the corridors of the ship as pilots rushed to the launching bays. I rushed through the corridor at the head of the line of armored pilots from my squadron. I smiled under my polarized visor as fleet personal and marine combat teams scattered out of our path. They may disrespect us when off duty, but when we are going into battle, everyone got out of our way. The Endeavor carried three squadrons of interceptors, including the one that I commanded personally, as well as a like number of fighter squadrons. I had hand picked the pilots of my squadron and I knew that the Merxians could not beat us.
Fighter pilots were a valuable commodity, so the military had gone to great lengths to protect us. Most pilots were issued body armor that was at least Special Forces grade. However, veteran interceptor pilots, like me, who had survived ten or more sorties were considered almost godly by the rest of the fighter corps and were given special armor that was on par with Elite Naval Special Ops armor. Also, all pilots were issued a plasma side arm and a plasma carbine, both weapons with continuously regenerating power cells, not to mention a second power cell in case the first got damaged. However, they had poor shot power and could not penetrate the enemy's new reactive body armor, so many Marine pilots swapped the plasma weapons for assault weapons. Navy pilots, who in my considered opinion were unjustifiably arrogant, very rarely disobeyed tradition, using the plasma weapons without a second thought. I reflected briefly as I loaded a clip into the assault carbine I carried on the reason why veteran interceptor pilots were so highly regarded. Volunteering to be an interceptor pilot was considered just this side of suicide. Interceptors, with their powerful engines, were the first to engage the enemy and the last to return to their ships, hence we always had a high casualty rate. Yet the draw of the glory associated with being an interceptor pilot always attracted more recruits from the ranks of the fighter corps, not to mention that interceptor pilots were the highest paid personal in the military.
I rushed into the launch bay a moment later at a dead run, ahead of every other pilot on the ship. It was one of the reasons that every pilot in the fleet wanted to serve under me. Many other wing commanders took their time getting to the pilot bay, launching as one of the last pilots out so that they would live long enough to retire. I was of the opinion that only by leading your warriors out at the "head of the charge" so to speak, would they follow you anywhere. Besides, with the war on, it wasn't like anyone was retiring now anyway.
When I reached the hanger, I ran straight past the waiting lines of fighters to where the Scorpion class interceptors waited. My interceptor bore a simple insignia where the pilot's name was supposed to be painted, within the royal blue stripe that covered the center of my fighter from nose to tail, for a meter on either side of the cockpit. The blue stripe indicated that I was a senior wing commander. A coat of arms that was far older than the Federation, or indeed even the conception of a united humanity, occupied the location under my cockpit where most pilots painted their callsign. Swiftly climbing the ladder into the cockpit, I brushed an armored glove over the insignia. My callsign was Knight because I had proven that I adhered to a strict code of ethics, no matter what it cost me. That thought brought to mind my old roommate, a Japanese boy from Kyoto on Terra. He was named Yasamura Takeo, and it had been him who had given me that name. And, then I remembered the battle based on planted intel that had cost him his life, but I didn't feel sorrow as I should have, instead, all I felt was the cold emptiness that had filled me for years.
As soon as I settled into the cockpit, I tapped the close control for the canopy and hit the start up controls. The interceptor roared to life and I pushed the throttle forward a little way, bringing the engines on line. As I did so, I got a strange disquieting feeling that this mission would end up being very different from those that I had completed before. Pushing the feeling aside, I keyed the com system on.
"Control, this is Samurai leader. Requesting permission to launch." I said, my hands itching to push the throttle and launch.
"Samurai Leader, this is Control, you are go for launch. Good hunting." The female controller replied, and I smiled a feral grin in anticipation of the battle. I pushed the throttles forward, and the engines responded a moment later, pushing me back in the seat with the acceleration. I focused my eyes on the endless star field outside the hanger bay and rocketed out of the hanger. When the cross hairs blinked to life on my HUD, indicating that my weapons were on line, I scanned the rapidly filling sensor display. Hundreds of dots now filled the screen, and I spoke up.
"All craft form up into squadron formations. Squadron leaders, report readiness." I commanded, my psychic abilities already reaching out and touching the minds of the pilots under my command. I sensed fear, excitement, apprehension and eagerness from all the pilots, but from so very few, I sensed the calm that only came from experience. I listened to the squadron commanders as they reported the readiness of their flights, and when the final leader reported, I spoke over the com once more. "Control, this is Samurai Leader, all squadrons accounted for. What do we have?"
"Samurai Lead, a flight from the Reliant has communicated the location of a Merxian battle group in system. We have an unknown number of targets on the border of our detection radius, bearing 315 mark 45." The controller said, and I oriented my craft in that direction.
"Daedalas wing, form up and escort the bombers in. Interceptor squadrons, form up at my position. The rest of you form up behind us, prepare to engage." I ordered and the rest of the ships spread out. Suddenly, a new message came over the com.
"Control to all fighters," the controller said, her voice even despite the excitement. "Three groups of fighters are breaking off from the main group and accelerating towards your position."
"Acknowledged control." I said, then switched frequencies so that all the fighters could hear my orders. "That will be their Viper Interceptors, trying to cut us off. All interceptors, form up and accelerate to attack speed."
With that, I pushed the engines to full throttle once more and roared off towards the enemy fighters. Before long, I could see the small, dagger shaped fighters ahead of me on the HUD and I unconsciously picked one in the middle of the formation. Flicking my weapons selector over to long range missiles, I settled the crosshairs over my target. When the targeting computer started to beep, I spoke.
"We are clear for long range missile launch. Fire as you lock." I said and with that, I waited until a single solid tone sounded in my headset and pulled the trigger. The missile shot off into the intervening space between the two formations with a tail of iridescent fire. Dozens of other missiles also launched from the formation behind me and I switched to the four plasma cannons in the wings of my fighter. The enemy formation answered with their own missile volley a moment later and the two groups crossed in mid-flight. Many other pilots would now be trying for medium range or short range missile locks, but I knew that they would never get another missile off before we closed to cannon range. I waited and suddenly, my target flared into nonexistence as my missile found its hull. Quickly settling the crosshairs over another target, I waited as we closed into range. On instinct, I squeezed off a volley of four shots before the enemy reached target range.
The enemy under my guns suddenly exploded as he entered firing range and once again I switched targets, all the while jinking my fighter around to prevent the enemy's return shots from hitting me. Before I could get another shot off, the two formations merged. From my calculations, we would have four minutes before the fighter formations joined the fight, and I, like all interceptor pilots, was going to use every second of it.
In the dogfight, kills happened quickly and many pilots died without even seeing their opponents. Two minutes later, I had slain four more enemies and I was looking for another to engage. Suddenly, watching my radar display, I saw two, then five, then seven friendlies vanish from the screen and I suddenly saw the red targets triple in number. I realized with a start what the enemy had done. They had kept two thirds of their interceptors going the same speed of the fighters, hiding them in anonymity. Swearing, I activated the com unit once more.
"Heads up, new target groups entering the fight, watch your tails." I said, jack knifing my ship back towards the new contacts. Locking on to one of the lead fighters, I flicked my thumb and let fly the second of my two long range missiles. Quickly switching targets, I flicked control over to medium range missiles and hit the control for multiple targets. I waited a few precious seconds as multiple cross hairs searched across my HUD for targets. Smiling to myself as the crosshairs stopped moving and pulsed red, I counted to three and pulled the trigger. My fighter shuddered slightly as all four missiles launched at once. Pushing the throttle forward again, I switched to plasma cannons and shot towards the enemy formation...
***
Inside a viper interceptor in the first wave, the Merxian fighter force commander shook her head. 'This human certainly has courage.' Katy thought as she watched the single human Interceptor engage nearly a hundred and fifty fighters by itself. She had to wonder about that pilot's sanity, but when she focused her psychic powers on the gutsy pilot, she could sense only the strange calm of a pilot completely confident in his victory; an emotionless void like the vacuum that her fighter roared through. It surprised her that this human would feel nothing approaching such a formation and she wondered about him for a moment. A sudden riot of voices came over the com unit as seven fighters evaporated as the lone interceptor's missiles reached their targets. In the densely packed formation, the explosive warheads easily took out more than one fighter, damaging several more. The pilot was a genius, she decided. By performing such an insane, unexpected move, he shook up the pilots in the formation, buying him just enough time to get among them.
Twitching the joystick of her fighter, she booted the throttle and shot off after the Scorpion. She knew that even with the speed advantage of her fighter, she wouldn't catch him until he had gotten into the formation. She watched as the red blip indicating the human interceptor vanished into the mass of Vipers. She could see the formation imploding as the fighter cut its way through it. Explosions registered on her HUD as Vipers evaporated under the lone Interceptor's cannons. She swore to herself as she realized the fighter's extreme advantages in that situation. Despite the Scorpion's larger size and slower speed, the fighter was heavier armed and armored than the Viper, allowing the fighter to excel in target rich environments. Because he was alone, the interceptor pilot could fire without worrying that his shots would hit his target or not, while the Vipers had to watch their fire for fear of hitting friendlies. She spoke over the com net quickly, giving the only order that could have been given in that situation.
"Amber wing, ignore the target and get to the main combat zone." She said, and the fighters turned and swarmed towards the main fight. Quickly scanning the sensor read out, she felt grudging admiration for the lone interceptor pilot. He had taken out a squadron and a half in his insane charge. Shaking her head, she aimed to intercept him before he took out any more of her fighters. As she brought her interceptor around, she caught a flash of royal blue on the fighter and she realized that this pilot was a ranking officer, probably an ace. She grinned; at last, a challenge...
***
I braced against the restraints of my harness as inertia pushed me back into the seat as the fighter swapped ends in a unique maneuver that only Scorpions were able to pull off, a near instantaneous 180. Even then it put a lot of strain on the pilot. However, as I came around to face the formation of advancing interceptors, instinct twitched my hand to the left, forcing my fighter into a violent left bank, forcing me to fight against the redness encroaching on my sight. Through the reddish haze, I barely saw a pair of plasma bolts shooting through the space my interceptor had occupied a moment before. Twisting the fighter again, I saw a Viper Interceptor with a bright orange paint job with red stripes on it shoot past, immediately banking into a tight turn, attempting to duplicate my swapping move. 'Blood stripes.' I thought as I remembered the briefing we had gotten a few months ago from Intelligence. 'Its an ace.' I knew I would have my hands full if I let the game continue, so I banked again and tried to locate the enemy fighter. I put my fighter into a spiral just as the plasma rocketed past my cockpit.
"Shit." I said to myself, knowing that the pilot was very good, better than any other ace I had faced. I had personally eliminated seven aces in my career as a fighter pilot. But none had given me this much trouble. I snap rolled out to the right, then cut level and rolled suddenly right again, then vertical. I grinned as the fighter shot beneath me and I reoriented without turning using maneuvering thrusters and squeezed the trigger. My own plasma bolts shot past the fighter as it dove suddenly, turning sideways swiftly. At that point, I knew this enemy ace was a psychic, at least a class three, but judging by the speed of its responses, it was probably a class four. Our dogfight carried on for a full two minutes, an eternity in space combat, neither of us able to gain the advantage over each other for long enough to land a hit. Our battle gradually came closer and closer to the fourth moon of Arc. Arc Four was the only moon of Arc that had not been colonized. I tried to remember the reason for that, but the plasma rounds shooting past my hull reminded me that I had more pressing concerns. Suddenly with the enemy pilot right behind me, I prepared for a risky move.
'Closer, closer,' I urged in my head, waiting for the right moment. My hand found the breaking thrusting control as I felt my craft shudder with a hit. Damage reports flashed onto my HUD. That shot had come very close to the weak point on my fighter; ten centimeters to the left and I would have been free floating hydrogen. Reaching out with my mind, I felt the triumph of my opponent as it carefully lined up the weak point in its sights once again. I smiled and engaged the thrusters. I felt the harness bruise my chest as they cut in, slowing my fighter suddenly and making my opponent soar past. I fired, and even as I did, I saw the fighter roll suddenly, but I also saw a single bolt strike the fighter, and something exploded. My unexpected maneuver had taken even the ace by surprise. 'Gotcha.' I said to myself as I saw one of the engines explode, kicking the fighter forward into the atmosphere of Arc 4. 'Well, that's that.' I tried to pull my fighter back towards the fight, but it would not answer my control.
A moment later an alarm sounded in the cockpit, notifying me that I was in trouble. I scanned the HUD and found that the enemy had managed to land a single shot on the weak point formed by an electronic control relay system at the last moment. My fighter, caught by gravity, soared into the atmosphere of the moon and it looked like I might be able to land it safely, which would allow me to make repairs and then get back to the fleet. A second warning alarm said otherwise.
My fuel line had ruptured. Normally that wouldn't be too much of a problem, but with six unexploded missiles on board, an iridium fuel explosion would be very bad, enough to destroy the whole fighter and everything within fifty meters. Acting quickly, I punched the ejection control and felt the sudden kick of the escape pod jettisoning. But, before I had cleared the danger radius, the fighter exploded. The pod shuddered with the impact of the explosion and a moment later, I felt the wings deploy safely. I sighed, thinking I was out of danger and guided the mini-fighter towards a safe landing spot. Unfortunately, the breaking thrusters, damaged by the explosion, fired too late and I saw the ground coming up awfully quick. I gritted my teeth and held on, trusting my armor to protect me. Suddenly, there was a jolt and I felt my head hit something hard before everything went dark...
***
The door of the com room opened at my approach and the lights flickered on. The crisp blue sleeves of my uniform rustled as I typed the activation key. I was surprised to see the face, not of my father or older brother, but of my father's partner and co-owner of the business. His name was Jack MacArthur, and I knew him fairly well from my childhood. I thought of him as a good and honorable man who was an old friend of my father's from his childhood. He insisted that I call him Jack, not Mr. MacArthur.
"Jack. It is good to see you." I said, standing straight.
"Devin, I wish I could contact you with better news, but the Merxian alliance has destroyed our colony on Arc." He said looking down for a moment. "Your family is dead."
"Dead?" I said, looking up at him with tears starting to well up in my eyes. "Why did they attack?"
"We don't know. All we know is that they showed up out of nowhere and razed the colony to the ground. By the time reinforcements got there, all they found were bodies." He confided. "If I hadn't had a meeting off planet at the time, I would have died too."
I turned away from the screen just as shouts could be heard throughout the school. The sound of dress shoes on the hard stone floors echoed through the halls and I walked out of the room. Students and professors were running past, down the halls towards a central broadcasting screen. Hundreds gathered and I joined the throng of blue uniforms. Takeo caught my arm and shouted over the tumult.
"Devin?" he said, seeing my tears. "I guess you heard."
I nodded mutely and looked up when the crowd fell silent. I stared up at the screen as the news castor came on.
"...The colony on the planet of Arc was brutally destroyed one day ago by the armies of the Merxian alliance. These scenes of carnage are all that our valiant defenders, who arrived too late to avert the disaster, found. There were no survivors of the brutal and unprovoked attack. Immediately after being informed of the attack, the Terran ruling council met in a special emergency session and voted unanimously on a proclamation against the Merxian Alliance's despicable act. As of seven a.m. this morning, we are officially at war..."
***
"Samurai one...Samurai one, come in." A voice echoed in my helmet. I couldn't see anything but blackness, and it took me a moment to remember why my head hurt so much. Shaking my sore head caused bright spots of green and blue to appear before my eyes. I managed to force a deep breath into my lungs and the spots and darkness cleared. Looking around, I found that wind whistled into the cockpit through the broken view screen. A sizeable dent in the cockpit wall told of where my head had hit, but the pod had been designed to protect the pilot and it had crumpled, rather than flatten my head. I gave thanks that I had been wearing my spec ops armor. If I had had only the normal armor on, the impact probably would probably have killed me. Even with the armor, it still hurt like hell. A quick check ensured that my head wasn't seriously injured. Shaking my head once more, I activated my armor's com unit.
"This is Samurai one." I managed to say, my voice a little shaky.
"Thank goodness." The voice said. "Leader this is Two. What's your status?"
"I seem to be alright." I said, quickly examining the rest of my body, "I am going to get out of here and search for a safe location to make camp. Get back to the fight and notify command."
"Will do." He said, "Be advised lead, my sensors indicate that your armor's transponder is non-operational."
"Understood Two, good luck." I said, pushing the cockpit canopy up and looking up at the rapidly vanishing black dot that was my wingman. Looking around the clearing and finding it clear, I drew my carbine from its place behind me and then grabbed the equipment bag from the panel under my seat. Making sure the clearing was clear once more, I opened the control panel in front of me and quickly extracted a tiny crystalline chip from the com system and slipped it into a pocket on the backpack. Hopping from the cockpit, I looked around, carbine in hand. I swept the clearing with the weapon's muzzle, and, finding nothing dangerous in sight, quickly extracted the Special Forces web gear from the survival pack. Once I had clipped it over my armor, I examined my crashed escape pod and decided that it was a complete loss. Without access to a machine shop and a complete parts inventory, I couldn't fix it. I sighed and headed out the clearing. That fighter had served me well, lasting for years. It had sustained plenty of damage over the years, and I had probably replaced every part on it at least once.
Fifteen minutes later, I paused at the edge of a stream bed and crouched, placing a hand lightly on the strange footprint. Three points forward and one back, each with great gouges in the mud indicating large boney claws. Now I remembered the reason why we had left Arc Four alone. The native population consisted of several hundred thousand semi-sentient reptiles, each over six feet tall and much stronger than humans. Many of them wore armor crafted from metallic ores that absorbed energy, making them immune to many weapons. They, on the other hand were strong enough and their claws sharp enough to tear right through the standard combat armor. Every moment I spent exposed increased the chances that they would catch my scent. Looking around carefully, I turned and could see a cliff in the distance. However, off in the distance, I could see the smoke of another crash.
If I could get to the cliff, I could find a cave to camp in, but, if the crash was another human fighter, I had a duty to find the pilot. I sighed to myself and adjusted my pack before moving off towards the smoke. A half hour later, I came over the slight rise in the earth to find a smoking fighter crashed nose first into the ground, digging a furrow in the soft earth. It was too mangled for me to identify what kind of fighter it was, but when I got closer, I brushed some of the dirt from the fighter and raised my eyebrows. The removed dirt revealed orange paint and part of a red stripe. This was my enemy's fighter. I started to move away, but I stopped. Looking around once more, I walked forward to the cockpit and glanced down. I could see the imprint of thick soled boots on the ground leading away from the crash site and, kneeling closer to them, I saw that the one of the pilot's legs was injured from the way it dragged on the ground with every step.
Looking in the direction of the pilot's tracks, I suddenly noticed the prints of reptiles following the warrior. I really had no incentive to help an enemy, as they often did not help us. I would have enough trouble surviving on this wild moon without the added hassle of a wounded prisoner. On the other hand, an enemy ace would be a valuable prize for Intel... Besides that, there was something else. My psychic instincts were pulling me in the direction the pilot had gone, like a hook in my subconscious. It was almost a physical pull it was so strong. I had long since stopped questioning my psychic senses, so I sighed, hefting my pack and carbine once more. Then I started walking after the pilot. Increasing speed, I ran through the trees swiftly, tracking the pilot and faintly hoping that I would not be too late. No one deserved a death at the hands of the cruel reptiles, who often times ate their slain enemies. No one deserved that, even if they were an enemy. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a plasma weapon firing and I sprinted forward towards the bright flashes ahead of me in the woods...