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New World Order
Start of a HUGE Alternate Universe story
by The Nice Guy |
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Einstein, Deep Periphery
Copernicus Caldera
Battle’s Bane had landed at the site Frank and Descartin had pointed out as one of two possible locations for the hidden base. The Arch Lancer’s departure from Drop Zone Phi in the morning had been a bittersweet one, as they knew in all likelihood that some of their friends in the Warriors would be dead before noon.
That prediction was all too accurate. Karen Winslet had died in her Cyclops when its engine went critical after being pierced by a concentrated volley of autocannon and PPC fire. The Warriors had lost four more mechwarriors, but they had repulsed the Falcons.
The Warriors are now led by a Robert Feehan, a new recruit they had picked up on Outreach. The name sounded familiar to Ian, but that was just about the last thing on his mind as he grieved over Karen’s death in his office. Leaning against a wall with one hand while he read the after action report, he could barely process the information on it.
The other Lancers had been deployed to look for traces of the alien base, equipped with topographic scanners and Geiger counters to detect trace radiation. The place had been nicknamed Copernicus Caldera by a dropship engineer, and the name stuck for convenience’s sake. All this left him in his office, supposedly to coordinate his units. He was not doing that though.
Do I love her? This question resounded in his mind over and over again as he replayed the times they had together. He knew that she loved him, but was it just childish adoration, or the love of a mature woman? He had never treated her like a lover until the night before, and even then it was more out of sympathy. In the past, he had simply regarded her as a close friend, and an important ally. There had been numerous opportunities for him to show reciprocate, but he had never felt the urge to.
And now, it was too late. He could feel the gaping hole in his heart, and it was even worse than when Sachin had died. Logically, he knew it was no fault of his that she died, that she knew the risks of combat. But he could not help feeling sorry for never returning her love. It was sadness tinged with regret.
He punched the wall in front of him, his fists hitting with such force that a picture hung on the same wall was shook loose from its place and clattered to the floor. He wanted, no, needed the release.
Love cannot be made to order . Clichéd, certainly, but no less true even in the 31st century. Karen had offered her love without reservation, without really expecting anything from Ian in return. Ian, on the other hand, had never been obligated to love her back in return.
Correction . He did love her, but not in the romantic sense. It was the type of love between friends, nothing more, and nothing less. That did not make it meaningless, however.
As he straightened up, he straightened out his thoughts as well. He need not feel ashamed that he did not take Karen to be his lover, but his sadness was genuine and proper, for she had been his close friend. She would have wanted him to avenge her, and to make the best out of the rest of his life.
That was her strong hint the previous night, when she had hinted at his true identity. As they shared their bodies, she had told him her dreams, her hopes for the future. She had also expressed her wishes concerning him, that he would stop wasting time running his merc unit and return to his homeland. She had said he was too good to spend his whole life fighting for every House and minor faction that needed a merc.
Very well, Karen. If that is your last wish, I will try my best to accomplish it . A look of determination appeared in his eyes as he set out his goals for the future. I never liked Grover Shraplen anyway .
As Ian walked out of the Fortress dropship, he could feel a certain apprehension in the air, as though whole armies were about to descend upon the small camp. Almost everyone was hard at work combing the area for clues, the mechwarriors on over watch in their huge mounts, the tankers zipping through the perimeter in their light, nimble tanks, and the infantry using their eyes and handheld sensors to look for anomalies.
Nobody had any idea what the entrance might look like, but from previous accounts of discovery of lostech caches in hidden bases, a cave or a flat wall was always involved.
Ian was more skeptical, however. They were looking at this from a human perspective. Who knows what the aliens might have thought? And they might even be advanced enough to put up holographic screens or something similar that the mercs are unable to think of, and thus detect.
The signs were encouraging, however. The background radiation was a bit higher than usual, which lends credence to the idea that nuclear weapons had been used in the area before, probably as a can opener.
The single huge peak in the middle of the caldera had its summit at about 5000 meters above sea level, while its base and the caldera floor was two thousand meters below sea level. Off to the north was the sea, about three clicks away from the edge of the caldera, which was about fifty kilometers across in diameter. The mountain in the middle, which they had dubbed Galileo’s Tower, was about ten kilometers across.
Ian had never seen such a weird geographic arrangement, and this was one further sign that they were looking in the right place. Thinking about it just gave him the shivers. The aliens actually had the ability to construct entire landscapes, and even terraform a planet such that it was still a paradise after the terraforming was long done. This was in direct contrast to humanity’s efforts to terraform Venus, and countless other worlds in the Inner Sphere, which all collapsed when the technology to maintain the terraformed climate failed, which resulted in the planets reverting back to their pre-terraformed condition.
They had two days to find the base before the next challenge comes. Rho Galaxy had agreed to allow them that much time to repair their mechs, which the techs were doing. The mechs going on the search were either not heavily damaged, or placed later in the queue. Ian had ordered Pascal to concentrate efforts on one or two mechs at a time, which would allow the other mechs to participate in the search.
He would have liked to join a search party himself, but it was more important that he coordinate the overall effort. With the Battle’s Bane nestled in the shadow of Galileo’s Tower, the search was widening out gradually as they expanded the radius.
Ian looked over the grassy plains of the caldera, marveling at the sheer beauty of the place. The air was tinged with the fragrant scent of wild flowers in bloom, raising the spirits of the mercs, while the tall walls of the caldera gave them a strong sense of security.
It will not last long . Ian thought to himself. Once the Falcons attack, the place will turn into just another battlefield, with the inerasable scars of war etched onto the land. The husks of dead mechs, the muddy ground churned up by the footsteps of the massive machines, the disposed shells of unexploded missiles and autocannon casings, will mark the land forever as mankind’s, a testament to their urge for conflict.
Corporal Tom Huckley was a native of Andurien, a world rich in resources, but fought over so often by Houses Liao and Marik that its former beauty was a thing of the past. The present sight of the caldera reminded him so much of his homeworld’s former glory that it threatened to bring tears to his eyes.
He had left his home when he was eighteen, the third son who had next to no prospects in the small town he had grown up in. He enlisted in a private militia for two years, before scraping up enough money to get to Outreach, the Mercenary’s Star. It was not long before he managed to get hired by the Arch Lancers, an up-and-coming merc unit fast gaining a reputation in the hotbed of the Chaos March. He had fought in quite a few campaigns since then, but the present one, for all its brevity, was the most brutal yet.
Captain Sachin was dead, along with more than half the number of ground-pounders they had. By dint of his rank, Tom, who normally commanded a subsection of three men, was now in charge of a full section since there were many gaping holes in their TO&E.
He shook his head vigorously, and got back to his task of searching for the entrance to the hidden base. The higher ups had not told them much, only that the Star League had one more base somewhere in the mountains.
Even the infantrymen, as kept out of the loop as they were, knew that was a piece of crock. If the Star League really had a base here, they would have picked the base’s fusion plant signature with their neutrino sensors.
Some eavesdropping and rumor-mongering had long revealed to the troopers the incredible truth, that there were aliens on the planet once. Of course, those aliens were all dead, or Tom was sure they would have sent the meddling humans packing long before.
Similarly, it did not take them long to realize that the base they were looking for belonged to the aliens. If Star League devices could make them rich, then surely the alien artifacts within the base will make them wealthy beyond belief!
Best of all, Major Ian might even have enough money to outfit the infantry with battlearmor. In their battles with the Falcons, Tom had seen enough of the powerful elementals to appreciate the edge it might give them. Lieutenant Drenner, who had been promoted to the rank by a grateful Ian for their part in the previous battle, had even allowed some select troopers to try out the elemental suits. While they had all come out exhausted, Tom could see that they had all fallen in love with the idea of armored suits.
Tom was so engrossed in his thoughts while mechanically sweeping his handheld neutrino sensor from side to side, that he failed to notice an obstacle on the ground.
“What the heck?” He suddenly found the grass rushing up to meet his face, as he tripped over something on the ground. Flinging out his hands desperately to prevent his head from going splat, he knew he had succeeded when his forearms slammed into the ground just before his own face hit the arms, the double impact numbing his arms.
“Damn!” He yelled as he lifted his head. “What the fuck was that?”
Shaking off the pain, he pulled up his feet from whatever had tripped him, and stood up. He turned around to look for the offending obstacle, only to see a thin plastic wire on the ground.
A plastic wire? Crouching down for a closer look, he could see that the plastic was heavily marked and scratched from years of exposure to the elements. He decided to follow the wire to see where it led. This could be important.
It was not long before the wire split into several more wires, each leading to a ruined device, which Tom was able to identify as a camera. He walked around the area for a while, noting the locations of each camera and what they might have been filming. It was not long before he managed to determine the direction they were pointing at.
They were pointing at a jagged piece of wall, with a single long vertical line running right down the middle from the top.
Ian was checking his the dispositions of his far flung unit when the call came in.
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Wick. One of my men has found something. Come check it out! The location is at 3547. I’m gathering my platoon at the area ASAP.” There was a short pause. “I think we’ve found it sir.”
There was no need for Wick to tell Ian what ‘it’ was. It was what they had been searching for the past few hours, what the Star League had spent centuries trying to open.
And quite possibly what killed the researchers on the planet as well.
Twenty minutes after a hellishly fast ride on a Regulator hovertank, Ian found himself staring at the Door.
It was simply called the Door, the mercs surprisingly short of nicknames at the moment. Covering one side of Galileo’s Tower, it hardly stood out in orbital scans and cursory visual tracking. On the ground though, at fifty meters away, it was plain obvious that there was an entrance of some sort in the side of the mountain.
The Door was about four hundred meters high, large enough for even their dropships to enter should they manage to open it. Its width was more debatable, but Ian guessed that it was probably very, very wide.
Several warriors and infantrymen with demolitions training were examining the site, trying to find a place to place their explosives. It took Ian several stern orders before they relented.
The Star League had tried everything from naval bombardment to nuclear assault to open up the place, and these attempts had all failed. What could the mercs do to surpass that? No, what was required were the six key machines, two with the Lancers and four with the Raiders.
A transmission had already been sent to the Raiders, who will be joining them in the caldera once their mechs had been fixed up. Estimates were about two days, more than ample time for the Lancers to get their own gear into top condition.
Quickly assessing the situation, Ian ordered the Battle’s Bane to land near the Door. He did not want his men cut off from their transport if anything went wrong, and it also allowed fire support for his mobile elements.
Despite its age, the Fortress class dropship deserved its designation for being a solid fort on the ground. The Long Tom it carried further enhanced its combat ability, supplying artillery fire against unsuspecting enemies. Ian had held off using the Long Tom in his battles against the Falcons because he knew it would have been a gross bid violation and could have incurred the wrath of clan aerospace units. He did not want to sacrifice their ride home for a chance to damage some clan omnimechs!
All they can do now is wait for the Raiders and hope that they had found out how to use the key machines.
Dropship Nile,
In atmospheric transit,
After two days of brainstorming, Frank and Lorik had come up with a variety of programs to activate the machines. There were preplanned sequences, with one machine transmitting after the next, two machines linked together transmitting simultaneously, and so on.
Despite all this, Frank and Lorik knew there was something they were missing, something they had not thought of. Something completely out of the box.
No time to think too much of this now, Frank thought, as he sat in the cockpit of his patched up Night Gyr. The techs had managed to scrape up enough endo-steel from the carcasses of the other scrapped clan mechs to build a new leg for his mech. The Marauder leg was not needed at all.
Most of the mechs were fixed up, including the reserve mechs. Their battles had made the scratch unit wealthy in Battlemechs, still the most secure form of currency in the Inner Sphere. Frank wondered how they are going to split the mechs when the Dragoons return to Outreach.
He pushed that thought out of the way. That was the least of his problems. Better to take care of the immediate ones.
Several other merc units were also heading towards the site of the base entrance. Two infantry companies, and three armor units. They had yet to be challenged by the Falcons, but at the rate the Falcons were ripping through the mercenaries, they would not be far behind.
One encouraging sign was an almost imperceptible slowdown of the Falcon attacks. While there were as many as eight challenges at the very start, it had dwindled down to an average of 6 challenges now, and many of them against the really small units, like two mech lances and the sort. Frank estimated that the Falcons must have already lost the equivalent of one cluster in material, and about one and a half trinaries in personnel.
The Jade Falcons seemed to be on the comeback, however. The previous day, reports were coming in of Inner Sphere mechs fighting on the side of the clanners, retrofitted with clan technology. While not as deadly as clan omnimechs, they still posed a significant threat. Frank did not doubt that with the new mechs, the Falcons would be able to recover their original mech strength very soon.
For the mercs, there were about five regiments of them left. In detail, there are two regiments of mechs, another two of vehicles, and one of infantry. They had lost almost all their aerospace assets, the surviving pilots all bondsmen to Clan Jade Falcon. Only about four fighters belonging to the Warriors, and another six attached to a tank company that had yet to be challenged remained. Both units were heading for the caldera.
That left the mercs in the caldera with a great deal of combat strength, almost approaching a full regiment, in fact. Frank was wondering if the Falcons would simply send a full cluster to wipe them out, which would be very convenient to them.
Ian had said over his last transmission that it was actually a good idea. He proposed setting up one huge trap, complete with mines, artillery, and hidden infantry, to lure the Falcons into. Frank had his doubts about the idea, but his first priority was not the destruction of the clanners, but rather gaining entry into the alien stronghold.
Over the past few days, the former Nova Cats were repeatedly complaining of nightmares in their sleep. The dreams were vivid, but often they could not remember anything about it when they woke up, just a general sense of dread. Only Deserk was able to describe what he saw, which was the same dream he had been having ever since they arrived in system.
Even Jean Posavatz was having weird visions, especially after every ingestion of necrosia. She seemed to be getting more and more addicted to the substance as the visions got clearer and clearer, something which had Descartin Winters very worried. He did not want one of his best mechwarriors to suddenly go off the edge or into a coma due to an overdose of the stuff.
The dreams and visions were not confined to the clanners. Some of the tech crew and the warriors were also reporting strange visions and portents. Frank himself had an episode so far, but his memories of the dream were too hazy.
Lorik was trying to calm the slowly panicking warriors and techs, through slow and deliberate explanations that convinced many that they were not going mad. Although the results seemed to bear out the general hypothesis of psi, Lorik did not want to pile any more pressure on the mercs than he already had.
Frank knew better. It was also a good sign, in a way. It showed that perhaps an important psi event is approaching, probably the activation of the key machines. That also indicated that they would have figured out the proper configuration, and that the alien base has been opened.
He could not forget, however, Deserk’s dreams of black mechs storming all over the planet. Could the Door be a poisoned chalice, a doorway to hell?
Einstein, Deep Periphery
Copernicus Caldera,
The Door
“What the heck are we waiting for?” Dravid Rajenan of the heavy tank company Death Dancers yelled. “Let’s just bust into the base ASAP!”
Thirty minutes ago, the mercs proceeding towards the alien site had all landed almost simultaneously. Ian Dorlacen had quickly called for a war council, to discuss their next moves. All the merc leaders were now in attendance, while their troops formed a makeshift perimeter around the Door and the dropships.
The council was held under a large tent, with battered crates set up as makeshift tables. Datapads, computers, and laptops were scattered all over the crates.
“We simply don’t know what might happen when we activate the machines.” Frank repeated for the third time. “I want everybody to be sure of the risks involved. The Star League bases here were all wiped out when the Door was opened. We could suffer the same fate if we’re not prepared.” Deserk’s dreams were weighing heavily on his mind as he said this.
“Come on. You must know the Falcons have info on all our movements. They’ll be dropping on our heads like a ton of bricks soon if we don’t find a way inside.” Lieutenant Robert Feehan, new commander of the Warriors after Karen Winslet was killed in action, stood up to give his view. “The risks are worth it. Just get all our troops and the dropships ready, and I can assure you that short of a clan cluster, nothing can stop us from getting safely into the base.”
As the other commanders discussed their deployment and tactics, Ian finally recalled where he had heard of Robert Feehan. The man was once a Colonel, commander of Wolverton Highlanders. After his regiment was bought out by the Blackstone Highlanders, he somehow got his unit embroiled in the Fed-Com civil war. His unit was torn apart by Snord’s Irregulars and Archer’s Avengers. Robert was shipped to Outreach, where he was jailed for a year for using questionable tactics, although his claim that he did not willingly participate in the planning was a strong mitigating factor.
Karen had signed him up as her second in command recently when he was released and looking for a job. Ian had met the man a few times, but those few times he had failed to connect the man’s name with the unscrupulous merc mentioned in the merc newscasts.
Robert Feehan seemed decent enough, and his time in jail must have sobered him. In any case, Ian was glad to see that most of the mercs had put aside any animosity due to past conflicts and differences to work together. The sole exception was Hamirah Rasouf, who still bore Frank Meronac a serious grudge for past events on Bromhead.
The appearance of the Goliath Scorpion Descartin Winters was a bit of a shock to most of the merc commanders, but his easy smile and friendly demeanor quickly put them to ease. They were still a bit shocked at seeing a clanner who was not out to kill them, and this was reflected in their slight hesitation whenever Descartin spoke to one of them.
Ian shook himself from his thoughts, and glanced at the data screen in front of him. While he had been woolgathering, they had come up with a workable plan.
Frank Meronac and the huge clan scientist Lorik were demonstrating how they were going to activate the machines. Six volunteers would be hooked up to the machines’ input helmets, which seemed a lot similar to the neurohelmets mechwarriors use. A central processor would coordinate the psi output from the machines.
Meanwhile, the mechs and vehicles of the mercs would stand guard around the Door in a crescent in two ranks. One facing outwards, one facing inwards in case of a force emerging from the base. The dropships would hold the center of the crescent with their firepower, while the infantry would stand around near where they guessed the edge of the Door to be, ready to rush in once the inner line had cleared the Door. The key machines would be placed outside, near the dropships, to be transported inside once the Doors and the immediate area within the base was cleared by their groundpounders, led by Drenner and his elemental abtakha warriors.
Nobody had any idea of what to expect from the base interior once the Door was opened, so all personnel were instructed to be at full readiness.
Kety of the Raiders was speaking. “If we are to maintain cohesion in battle, someone must be overall commander. That way, we won’t be picked apart piecemeal when things fall apart.”
Solemn nods were seen among the mercs as they all knew the value of unity, especially in such a situation.
“Therefore,” Kety continued, “I nominate Frank as temp Colonel.” Frank nearly choked on his drink as he heard this, sputtering liquid from his mouth.
Benny Greaves responded almost immediately. “How about Des Winters?”
Drenner spoke up next. “Major Ian ranks the highest among us all. He should be overall commander.”
Name after name was thrown out by the mercs, before Ian banged the table once to indicate silence. Almost immediately, everyone quieted down.
“I’m honored to be suggested, but how about someone who has been a real Colonel before?” He looked at Robert Feehan, who had yet to respond, and whose name had not even been brought up.
Feehan stood up, and shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, but I cannot do this. I caused the ruin of my unit years ago. I have no confidence to do this again. I’m scared that I’ll just drag us all down to defeat. I would suggest Major Ian Dorlacen and Frank Meronac as your best choices. Major Ian has proved his worth in combat many times, and Frank Meronac is a quick thinker on his feet. Both are suitable choices.”
Des also refused the job. “I am a clanner. Do you not think there might be a conflict of interest here? My apologies, but I cannot be commander. I will still be willing to work with whomever you select.”
My turn to speak , Ian thought. “It’s better that I coordinate the frontlines, while Frank coordinates the whole thing. The fact is, I’m a better fighter, and my skills are better used on the field. Frank can keep us together, and he’s been doing a good job of leading the Raiders so far. Another point in his favor is that he is a scientist, and probably better than us in dealing with any unexpected situation when inside the base. So how about it?”
Ian could see Frank’s eyes nearly bulging out, the young commander hardly believing what he was hearing.
Personally, Ian did not want overall command. He felt his fighting ability was too useful to be left behind the lines. Frank Meronac, though not academy trained, had a quick mind that could make him a good commander.
“Since even Major Ian thinks Frank should be the commander, so shall it be.” Drenner grinned, and gave Frank a quick salute, which the stupefied doctor sloppily returned.
All around the place, mercs yelled out their approval, with Hamirah Rasouf one obvious exception. She did not say anything though. Frank sighed, then nodded his head in reluctant acceptance. He looked up, and determination could be seen in his eyes as he gave his first orders.
“Ok, I’m still learning, but I’ll do my best. I want all units to be at their standby points in twenty minutes. We might have very little time before the Falcons issue another challenge and come in with guns blazing. Lorik, get your volunteers hooked up, and get the code programs running ASAP.” He clapped his hands. “Get to it people! Time’s a wasting here!”
Almost immediately, the entire area quickly became a throng of running warriors and technicians as they prepared for the opening of the Door. Mechwarriors ran over final systems diagnostics with their techs, while the tanker inspected their vehicles one last time. Infantrymen checked their weapons for problems one last time, while dropship crewmen quickly manned their guns, ready to provide supporting fire.
The six volunteers from the tech crews strapped themselves into the key machines, trying to stay calm amidst all the hustle near the Door. Lorik ran last minute simulations of the codes, ensuring that the code sequences were all in order. Tina got ready to assist the medtechs in handling the wounded in case of battle. Harbingers were trained in the healing arts as well, a boon to more than one reckless Seeker in the past.
Forsen Mandela stayed on the bridge of the Nile, wringing his hands nervously in anticipation.
Einstein, Deep Periphery
Site Upsilon
“Faster, you stravag dogs! Before I take out my neural whip!”
Galaxy Commander Lizabet Danforth roared at the techs to hurry loading up the Overlord-C dropship Sword of Buhallin. Most of the mechs of Star Captain Daniela Mattlov’s Supernova Trinary had been locked into their metal cribs within the massive transport, with only a few more to go..
Just two hours ago, when the White Aerie had arrived to take up station in orbit around the planet, Valten Folkner had reported to her of a massive mercenary gathering in a huge caldera. All six key machines were reported to be present there.
Lizabet knew what that meant, and immediately set out on the Sword of Buhallin to gather up her best troops for the assault to capture the last hidden base on the planet. The mercenaries must have found the hidden base, and were planning to open it. Lizabet wanted to hit them just before they succeeded, and that was why she was anxious for the techs to complete the loading process.
One other trinary had been collected from the various battle sites around the planet, all from the elite 124th Striker Cluster. With her elite Galaxy Command Trinary added to the force, she knew she had sufficient strength to defeat the mercenaries.
Star Colonel Colbert Icaza had been humiliated during his failure in his battle with the mercenaries, and today he had been chosen, along with his command trinary, to accompany Galaxy Commander Danforth in her moment of glory. Lizabet had granted him this opportunity to erase the stain on his honour by defeating Descartin Winters. After all, she was the one who ordered him to lose in the first place, so as to let the mercenaries to get the last key machine.
Her plan had worked to perfection, but she feared that if she did not move fast enough, the chance to destroy the mercs and claim the hidden base would be lost.
All the mechs were being equipped with hover-drop jump packs, disposable jump boosters that enabled mechs to disembark from their dropship while it was still several hundred meters above the ground. The jump packs would enable the mechs to land safely.
The hoverdrop technique was extremely risky, but was also one of the most effective manoeuvres for fast offensives. And Lizabet was renowned for using unorthodox, but highly effective tactics. This would enable her troops a good chance of overwhelming the defenders before they could get themselves organized.
“Galaxy Commander.” Daniela Mattloc walked up, a notepad in her hand. “Are you sure we have enough strength to defeat the mercenaries? Some of them are very skilled.”
Lizabet turned to the younger warrior. “Yes, I am sure. Remember, we are the clans. They are only dezgra mercenaries. I tire of this game. I will destroy them once and for all, and claim the hidden base for the glory of the clan. Now go back to your mech, and prepare it for drop.”
A tech walked up. “Galaxy Commander, we have finished loading up all our equipment. We are now ready for lift.”
“Aff.” She acknowledged the report. “We have no time to waste. Let us depart immediately.”
Minutes later, the Sword of Buhallin was streaking through the sky, accompanied by a star of aerospace fighters.
Einstein, Deep Periphery
Copernicus Caldera,
The Door
High up in the cockpit of his Night Gyr, Frank Meronac looked over his status screens one more time.
Come on, hurry up . He silently willed the key machines to succeed in their task, as a frustrated Lorik paced around the machines, which were placed in the shadow of one of the dropships.
They had tried more than sixty combinations in the past ten minutes, but nothing seemed to be working. The volunteers were all calmly sitting in their crouches, while some medtechs hovered around, ready to render assistance should anything untoward happen.
Lorik had already assured Frank that the volunteers were not the problem, as there was a definite low level psi output by the machines. But Frank could not think of any other reason for the lack of results so far.
The other mercs had been arranged according to their plan, all waiting for the Door to open. It was proving highly stubborn however, mocking Frank every time he looked at it, imploring it to grant some mercy on the poor humans for once.
Another ten minutes passed. Frank used the time to check in with his units, ensuring that everybody knew their roles. Ian was stationed on the outer line facing away from the Door, ready to engage enemies entering the caldera.
Descartin and the rest of the Raiders were lined up on the inner line, ready to rush into the base once the Door opens. The dropships had also been prepared for lift, in case they needed a quick getaway. Forsen seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown when Frank contacted him.
Not that Frank was feeling any better. The air was taut with tension, the sort of feeling one gets when expecting a storm to appear any moment. More than one trooper had joked that the hairs on the back of their necks were standing up so rigidly from the tension that they were going to pop out.
If anyone had told him when they had just landed on the planet that he would be in charge of an entire regiment in slightly more than a week, Frank would have called the person delusional. Yet here he was, a Colonel, albeit temporary, of a mixed arms regiment.
I wonder if I could somehow turn this into my own regiment. If so, I can take this back to the Fed-Com and maybe wrangle a barony for myself. And then I can ask the Duke for Clarice! He shook off the thought. It was just a pipe dream, and he doubted that he could even keep the Raiders together after the campaign.
After waiting for another five minutes, Frank lost his patience. The hell with it, Frank thought. “Lancer One, this is Raider Lead. I’m going EVA to check on the can-openers. You’re in command until I get back.”
“Wilco. Get back soon.”
Lancer One was Ian Dorlacen’s call sign for the day. Frank was Raider Lead, while the others were all assigned their codes according to their parent units.
Unclasping his safety harness, he opened his hatch and climbed down to the ground, where the key machines were. He ran up to Lorik.
“Any new ideas?” He directed the question at Lorik, who was staring helplessly at his display.
“Neg. I am cleaned out of inspiration.” Lorik shrugged his massive shoulders. “I cannot accept that we have come so far only to be fail at this very last trial.”
“How about some music then? Perhaps that will restore your spirits?” Tina offered, her harp held in one hand, obviously waiting for another opportunity to demonstrate her skill.
“Hear, hear!” The bored volunteers on the crouches gave her their approval. They were feeling bored just sitting on the crouches, and trying hard to stay awake. Frank glanced at Lorik, who simply got back to his work.
Frank started walking to his mech, knowing that there was nothing he could do.
Within seconds, the beautiful sounds of the harp was being produced by the Harbinger.
“How do you make such beautiful sounds? I’ve heard harps before, but those harps don’t sound anything near what yours sound like.” Commented one of the volunteers, Pascal Thome.
Tina smiled. “You’re right. I got the strings for the harp specially manufactured by a scientists friend. He was a materials scientist, and he managed to siphon enough time and resources from his usual projects to help me. We tested out many materials for their overtone properties, and I chose the one with the richest sound.”
Frank stopped in his tracks, just as he was about to ascend the ladder on the side of the mech. Overtone ? He turned and looked at Tina’s harp. Lorik had stopped his work as well, and was also staring at Tina’s harp. Frank tore his gaze away from the musical instrument and looked at Lorik, who was staring right back at Frank.
Tina and the medtech were surprised at the reactions of the two, and were wondering if they had gone mad from the stress.
“Eureka!” Frank and Lorik yelled at the same time. Lorik quickly turned to his computer, hammering new commands into it as Frank ran up, offering suggestions and corrections as Lorik quickly reprogrammed in the new commands. The puzzled onlookers were trying to decide whether to put the two into straightjackets. Thankfully, one look at Lorik was enough to convince them of the virtues of wait and see.
Overtones. The timbre and quality of music, and indeed of any sound, depends on the higher order waveforms that are imposed on the basic frequency. The overtones are what makes one instrument sound different from another instrument, though they might be playing the same pitch.
If they were not so hard pressed by time, Lorik would have taken some time to bang his head against mech armor. As a physicist, he was supposed to understand all aspects of the science, not just the most common fields. The clans do not put much emphasis on the arts, however, and Lorik was lucky to even have an idea of what overtones meant. Still, that was no excuse for his oversight.
Frank, who have had quite a wide range of scientific training before becoming a doctor, had learnt quite a bit about the subject. With everything that had been going on, it had slipped his mind.
They were both feeling more than a bit sheepish that it was probably a Harbinger’s mundane harp that saved the day.
Lorik programmed the overtones into the machines, using the basic psi wave output of the volunteers as a template for further overtone production, all of which differ slightly to mimic the production of music with different instruments. He hoped the modified output would not have any adverse effects.
Frank got back to his Night Gyr after Lorik had finished. He was absolutely sure that the key machines would work correctly this time. Though they had not tried it yet, Frank knew from his very guts that they were on the right track this time.
“Lancer One, this is Raider Lead. I’m back in my mech, anything special going on?”
“Negative.” Ian’s confident voice came in. “How about the can-openers?”
“Doing good. Look sharp, people. Lorik has figured it out, and he’s going to transmit in a minute’s time. Bottom line, be prepared for anything.”
“Raider Lead, this is Nest One.” Nest One was the call sign for the Battle’s Bane, designated as the command dropship. “We’re picking up atmospheric contacts on radar. One large dropship, and some fighters. Seems like the Falcons are joining the party! ETA 7 minutes!”
“Got it.” Frank switched to his loudspeakers. “Lorik, just activate the whole damn thing. The Falcons are on the way. We don’t have much time left.”
He saw Lorik give him a wave to signal his acceptance of the order. Then the big scientist pressed firmly on a button.
Deserk did not know what was happening. One moment he was in his Black Hawk, checking his radar for enemy contacts.
The next he was staring at a scene from his deepest hopes. His wife, Reena, was playing with a young girl in a beautiful garden. The girl had her mother’s looks, but her eyes were clearly Deserk’s.
Flash.
A scene he had witnessed a dozen times. A huge mass of black machines swarming towards a few mechs. This time, he saw his own Black Hawk and Des’ Nova Cat leading the way against the enemy, tearing into the ranks of the black machines with a frightening single mindedness.
Flash.
A cavernous throne room, resplendent with banners and decoration. The flags of all the successor states, the clans, and the various nations of the periphery could be seen flying proudly in the room. At one end was a throne. Above and behind it was the symbol of the Star League, a Cameron Star. A man was sitting on the throne.
It was Frank.
To Star Captain Descartin Winters, visions were supposed to be part and parcel of life as a Goliath Scorpion and a former Nova Cat. Still, he had not expected such scenes to appear.
A huge open plain, where hordes of black machines were advancing, suddenly filled with glaring light as a bolt of light descended from the heavens.
Flash .
A ruined city, where a desperate battle was taking place. Des could not recognize the insignia on the mechs, but he did understand he was looking at a purple eagle on some of them. An Urbanmech, against all odds, was facing off against an assault lance, and incredibly, everything being thrown at it missed the can shaped mech. The Urbie returned fire, savaging the advancing enemies.
Flash.
A room full of splendidly dressed people. Nobles, he guessed. A beautiful brown-haired woman sat on an exquisite chair at one end of the room. Her presence exuded regal dignity and composure. Des saw a tall man standing near the woman. The woman stood, and took a sword from a nearby courtier. She offered the sword hilt first to the man, her eyes pleading. The man did not reply. He gave her a slow, sad smile, shook his head, turned around, and walked away out of the room, past the shocked nobles.
With a start, Des realized that he was the tall man.
Ian Dorlacen watched pensively as the images passed him by, fearing what he might glimpse of the past and the future.
A view of a battlefield, filled with smoke and the mangled remains of destroyed mechs. A familiar Masakari staggered into view, looking like a worm-ridden corpse. Two swift looking black mechs descended on the once-powerful omni like vultures, tearing into its internal components with wild laser blasts. An Awesome strode into view, and helped the clan mech fend off its enemies.
Flash .
A city he recognized. The city he had grown up in. A fierce battle was taking place in its streets, waged by mechs and tanks and men. He stared in disbelief. His home, the place he grew up in, destroyed by war.
Flash .
He saw a wedding in progression next, looking from one end of the aisle, behind the bride who was walking towards the altar. He could recognize many of the faces in the crowd. A lot of them belonged to his merc unit, and the friends he had made over the years. He saw the groom.
It was himself.
Frank knew what he was seeing right now were glimpses of the future, and perhaps the past as well. The psi generated from the key machines were wrecking havoc on the natural order of the universe, causing such visions across time possible.
He saw a vast space factory, the size of a moon. Nestled within its cradles are dozens of shining ships, gleaming with bright lights and new paint. On each ship, he could see the symbol of the Star League.
Flash.
A bloated, reddish star hung in space, while a battle of almost unimaginable proportions was occurring around it. Even from his vantage point, Frank could see only a wild melee. Gigantic Warships tore at each other, while swarms of fighters charged at each other.
Suddenly, the star started shrinking, collapsing onto itself. Even more frightening to Frank was the fact that no light could be seen from the collapsed areas. Ships were there one moment, the next the space was only occupied by an intensely dark vacuum.
A black hole was born.
Flash.
As impossible as it may seem, a hooded man was standing in front of him. The man drew back his hood, revealing the face of a handsome clean shaven man with blond hair. He stepped right up to Frank, and held out his hand as if offering Frank something. Frank looked down at the mans outstretched hand, and in the palm, he saw a circlet, studded with barbs.
He looked back to the man’s face, astonished that this was happening in a vision! The man smiled grimly, and said, “The ability to wield power demands a price. For you, it is a crown of thorns. Will you take it, and fulfill your destiny?”
Frank wanted to reply, he wanted to know more about the cryptic offer, but his throat refused to work, constricted by fear.
Flash.
Frank found himself back at the controls of his mech, the green lights on his console reassuring him of his mech’s status. A deep rumbling sound could be heard in the distance.
The Door was slowly opening.
“Open sesame.” Someone muttered over the comms.
Its chance had arrived! The machine intelligence had already sent its units creeping slowly towards the surface once the machines had started transmitting. When the doors had started opening, it finally gave the orders for an all out advance towards the doors.
It was not going to blow this precious opportunity. Huge saucers rose up through the depths of the oceans, ready to disgorge their cargo once they neared the target area.
According to the AI, they should take only three minutes to reach the doors. That should be enough to destroy all opposition and get into the base interior. The previous effort had been foiled when it did not deploy its units quickly enough. This time was going to be different.
It had learnt from its mistakes.
Einstein, Deep Periphery
Copernicus Caldera,
The Door
Contrary to the expectations of the assembled mercs, honed by years of indoctrination by holovid movies and Immortal Warrior episodes, the doors did not just creep open slowly, like some ancient dinosaur that had not moved its body for centuries.
The initial opening was slow, but the Door suddenly accelerated, the two huge sections sliding into hidden grooves on either side. There was hardly a sound after the initial rumbling.
One moment they were staring at a widening crack in the side of the mountain, the next they were looking into a vast tunnel, illuminated by bright lighting from an incredibly tall ceiling.
Must be some really great door lubricant. Score one for alien tech , Frank thought distractedly. He did not move, as did everybody else, their tasks forgotten by the abruptness of the event. Somehow, when opening doors, especially those for long lost bases, such situations practically guaranteed a slow gradual revelation of the entrance, thus giving the discoverers some sort of mental preparation.
They did not have that luxury. The huge opening remained where it was, beckoning them into its cavernous interior. Finally coming to his senses, Frank started issuing his orders.
“All units, this is Raider Lead. Raider Nine, move in. Lancer Toad, cover their rear. Everybody else prepare to follow in. The Falcons are burning in fast, so we gotta step it…”
“Uh, Raider Lead, this is Nest One.” The comms operator sounded very nervous, unlike his earlier report. “We’ve picked up more contacts, and they seem to be from the sea, sir.”
“Nest One, repeat all after more contacts.” Frank couldn’t believe his ears.
“Frank, this is Nest Two.” It was the Nile. “We are definitely picking up a large paint from the ocean heading here fast! We better get moving. Forsen says he doesn’t want to find out who the newcomers are!”
“Affirmative. We’re moving as fast as we can.” Frank checked his scanners. Bryan’s team had moved into the base, with Drenner and his elementals right behind them. The rest of the merc infantry were advancing into the base, along the walls of the corridor. The tanks and Kety’s lance were getting ready to follow, while Ian had collapsed his lines, falling back to amongst the dropships, ready to follow the others into the safe sanctuary.
A call came in from the Battle’s Bane barely thirty seconds later. “Raider Lead, the new contacts have engaged the Falcons! It’s a real mess out there!”
Star Captain Daniela Mattlov stared intently at the information flowing over on her screens, transmitted to her mech from cable feeds from the dropship while it was still nestled within the mechbay. She wanted to keep appraised of the dropship status, the status of her trinary, as well as a radar feed from the dropship sensors to check for any surprises.
Ten aerospace fighters were accompanying the Sword of Buhallin, commanded by one Star Commander Galietra Binetti. Composed by a mix of heavy and assault fighters, they were tasked to destroy the remaining mercenary fighters.
Out of nowhere, a huge spot suddenly appeared on the radar feed screen, directly under their dropship’s present position. She did not even have time to react before there was a sudden lurch from the dropship.
She was flung forward, and only the tight safety straps prevented her head from a skull jarring collision with her control panel.
“What happened…” She barely had time to finish her question before the frantic call came in from the bridge.
“Galaxy Commander, there’s several large vessels emerging from the sea below us. They appeared without warning and started firing at us! We have sustained several hits, and damage is moderate. Galietra Binneti is engaging, but the vessels are launching fighters as well, dozens of them! Prepare to drop once we’re over land! I don’t know how long I can keep the dropship in the air!” The use of contractions by the Star Captain further reinforced the urgency of the situation. The sounds of desperately shouted orders could be heard in the background.
Daniela heard Lizabet Danforth’s reply. “Inform the Star Commodore immediately. Any idea who the enemies are?” The ship shook again, probably from the impact of weapons fire.
“Neg. We’ll be approaching land in 20 seconds, get ready to drop!”
All around the bay, Daniela could see mechs slowly being pushed in their cradles by huge movers to the dropship doors. She checked the status of her attached jump packs, not wishing to end up splattered on the ground due to the jump pack failure.
A hover drop maneuver was already tough enough in the best of circumstances. Now they were being asked to drop right in the middle of a dogfight, with a damaged dropship and Kerensky knows how many enemy fighters swarming over them. Daniela shuddered. The whole thing was turning out to be a fiasco.
The shaking from enemy fire had not paused in those twenty seconds. If the extent of the shaking was any indication, the dropship was getting pummeled.
As the counter on her HUD counted down to zero, the bay doors opened, revealing a sight of a huge caldera below the ship, while numerous black fighters swarmed the air.
There were far too few green painted fighters in comparison for her to feel comfortable. This was no longer just a fight to destroy the mercs. It had turned into a fight for sheer survival.
“Good luck!” The dropship captain yelled as he cut them loose.
Her Masakari was shoved out of the bay door, into the fiery skies, into the storm.
The terrifying visage of a Scytha assault fighter slashed through the skies, its ER PPCs blazing particles of vengeance at its enemies, the hordes of black fighters that had boiled out of the huge saucers that had emerged from the oceans.
Its pilot, Star Commander Galietra Binneti of Clan Jade Falcon, was normally a calm and assured officer who had proven his skill and worth in dozens of border skirmishes since the Coventry campaign, where he had his first taste of combat.
His calm had failed him this time. His fighters had been accompanying the dropship when their radar had picked up contacts below them.
Galietra had an uncanny sense for detecting danger, and the present situation had certainly looked threatening. Before he even realized it, however, he had suddenly ordered his Star to break and roll away. The movement saved his command, as hundreds of laser beams and missiles pierced the air where they would have been if they had not carried out Galietra’s order.
The sight of several huge saucers rising from the sea came next, as they disgorged a mass of black fighters. Each saucer was five hundred meters across, almost half the length of their Jade Falcon Warships! They rose with amazing speed, heading towards the caldera, while the black fighters appeared as almost a solid wall, filling up the sky with fire and steel as they attacked his pilots.
That had nearly sent him mad. While he had kept a shaky hold on his mind, half of his Star was not as fortunate. They had gone berserk, disregarding their heat levels as they attacked the enemy with wild abandon, firing at anything that moved in the skies. While this might have been a real problem in a normal fight, Gal had since decided that the sheer number of enemy ships gave them plenty to shoot at, so it was not exactly a bad idea.
After downing three bogeys in one minute since the start of the action, Gal had managed to claw his sanity back from the brink. While there are a lot of enemies, they were poorly armed in comparison even to Inner Sphere fighters and seemed to be poorly piloted. That had helped him regain a great deal of his confidence.
The drop of the mechs had also helped to some extent. He had been involved in defending the dropship while it was still making its way to the drop zone, so that had forced him to forgo certain kills to concentrate on his mission. With the omnimechs safely out, he felt they could defend themselves now, and he could finally fight unrestrained by mission orders. The Sword of Buhallin had likewise turned its direction of attack decisively towards one of the giant saucers, scattering the numerous black fighters before it as it burned forward the enemy at full speed, its weapons blazing at its tormentors.
He glanced at his rear camera screen, triggering his small pulse laser at a black fighter on his tail before going into an Immelman that brought him firmly on his former pursuer’s six. Two Gauss slugs slammed into his target, literally punching through the enemy fighter.
Two more enemies swung in on his flank and above him. He did not flinch, cutting his speed and going into a wild scissors with the other two fighters before he emerged with both bogeys on his targeting cursors. He fired as soon as he had lined up his shots, one PPC at each target as he shifted the nose of his Scytha through each opponent. Both ships exploded in air.
He ignited his afterburners, the sudden burst of speed throwing off more enemy shots. He knew that against such odds, to stay in a straight line at a fixed speed for more than two seconds was akin to a death sentence. Maneuver was the only way to survive for long. There was no way for them to fight in formation, his wingman having left long ago, being pursued by at least four other enemies. It was one desperate free for all in the crowded skies.
“Arghhh! My fighter is on fire! Going down!” A help call for help over the comms, as Pilot Triwer’s Visigoth careened into a saucer at incredible speeds. There was a tremendous explosion from the collision, and the saucer shuddered once, but managed to recover its progress towards the mountain peak.
Gal did not know about who his enemies were, or what they were after. He only knew that they shot at him, and therefore are his enemies, and by extension enemies of the clan. He would attempt to stop whatever they were trying to do, regardless of whether he knew their actual objectives or not. And since they were going to the mountain peak, then by the Kerenskys he was going to stop them! All thoughts of the mercenaries had by now been thrown out the cockpit.
Maintaining his acceleration as he gained on the slightly damaged saucer, he opened up at extreme range with all his forward weapons. Electron bolts and iron nickel slugs raced from his wings to the enemy ship, all the shots hitting precisely on the same point, a flat area of blackened and scorched armor, where Triwer’s fighter had crashed into. The heavy attack eagerly devoured all the protection on the hull.
The saucer listed again, seemingly losing power to whatever was keeping it aloft. Gal had no idea what its propulsion systems are, and one corner of his mind was inquiring curiously about that very subject. There was no obvious exhaust port, nor was there a long tongue of fusion flame that indicated a fusion power plant. And very interestingly, there was not even a single weapon visible on the saucers. He shoved them back into he recesses of his mind. There would be time for such thoughts later. It was do or die right now.
They were still over the sea, although he judged that the saucer would be passing over land in another thirty seconds. It did not matter to him where it was. All he wanted now was to bring it down.
Dancing his Scytha from side to side, he dodged the numerous shots from the fighters on his rear sizzling past his fighter as he tried to get another fix on the same location he had struck before. The reaction of the saucer to the previous attacks, and especially Triwer’s crash, had given him some hope that the giant unidentified flying object could be brought down.
A shot from his many pursuers finally connected, pulverizing armor over his left wing surface. The suddenly sluggish controls and the damage sensors told him the rest of the story, that one of the ailerons had been hit, and that maneuvering was going to be a real problem.
Ignoring the shots that are passing ever closer to his fighter, Gal sighted at his target once again. He had approached to almost close range for his guns now, and he was virtually assured of a hit. As soon as he got a steady tone, he fired his guns again.
All four main guns blasted into the same spot again, this time completely bypassing the ruined armor into the saucer’s inner components. Galietra did not know it, but his shots had been extremely lucky; they had hit the location containing the main power feed for the anti-gravity generators keeping the ship in the air.
The saucer suddenly lost all propulsion, plummeting towards the tiny strip of beach. Before Gal could congratulate himself on the kill, a flurry of shots slammed into his fighter, stripping most of the armor off. Cursing intently, he pushed the Scytha into a dive, jinking erratically all the way.
He glance at his damage screens once, and what they told him was bad. He was losing fuel fast, and the engine’s had been hit. He realized belatedly that the Scytha was actually flying faster than it ever had. The engines must had been on overload.
That was a godsend in disguise for him, because it had allowed him to momentarily outdistance his pursuers. It was not going to last though. Either the engines would blow up from the stress, or the fuel would be completely consumed by the runaway engines or lost through the numerous holes in the fuselage.
Firing his rear mounted pulse laser to discourage close pursuit, Gal tried to move his stick, but the wing surfaces seem to be stuck fast, fused and locked into place by the melted armor which had re-solidified, the bane of aerospace pilots everywhere. The only thing he could control was his pitch. Yaw and roll were out of the question. Even his speed was at the mercy of his engines and fuel.
Refusing to panic, he simply dived even lower, almost touching the ground with the belly of his fighter. Two black fighters failed to compensate sufficiently as they were flying so closely behind the Scytha in low atmosphere that they crashed into the ground.
Gal could feel the fighter begin to shake violently, a clear sign that the engine was going to blow any moment soon. He persisted, knowing that every second he remained in the air meant that there would be five less fighters in the main battle.
“This is the Sword of Buhallin.” A transmission broke in. “We are too damaged to stay afloat, and are going down! We’ll still take one of those motherships with us! For the clan!” A final roar of defiance. It broke up into static.
Gal paid the message little heed. He had his own problems. He was headed straight for the mountain, and in about thirty seconds he was about to crash right into it. He could not shift left nor right to avoid the huge peak. He quickly thought of a plan to wipe out the fighters behind him, which were gaining distance again. It would probably not work, but that was all he had at the moment, other than the small pulse laser.
Pushing the fighter for all it was worth, Galietra lifted up its nose and headed for a point about a kilometer above the ground. He noted the presence of the mercenaries scattered below him, but he could not give them a damn after what he had been through. All he wanted now was war against the black fighters which had started the battle in such a dishonorable manner. He only hoped that they would not shoot at him.
He held his nerve, as the crippled Scytha neared the massive wall of stone and rock. The black fighters stayed closely on his tail, leading him to suspect that their pilots must be incredibly brave or stupid to do so.
The mercenaries began to throw up anti-aircraft fire, a pattern of laser and PPC beams rising up before him from the mechs, tanks, and dropships. His Scytha passed through the pattern unscathed, but three of his pursuers were hit and exploded in midair.
At the very last moment, about two seconds before the Scytha hit the mountain, Galietra punched out. With his fighter in a slightly tilted upwards direction, he was flung back away from the explosion of his fighter. He was still able to see the effects of his gambit, as the following black fighters plowed into the mountain one after another, leaving a huge crater in the mountain slope.
What sort of fools would fly their fighters into a mountain? He stared in disbelief. He had fully expected his last gamble to fail, not succeed so outrageously!
As his parachute opened up above him, he took out his pistol from his G-suit and checked its ammo. He would be dropping into the midst of the dezgra mercenaries.
System Einstein, Deep Periphery
In Orbit
Warship Blue Aerie
Seated snugly in his command console, Star Commodore Valten Folkner barked at his crew, exhorting them to speed up the fighter launch. The entire bridge had gone on red alert the minute the massive armada appeared on their scopes. The order to launch all available fighters had been given even before they had received the distress call from the planet below.
Each Black Lion class battlecruiser carried twenty fighters in their bays. Valten Folkner had managed to wrangle another star of fighters for each of his precious ships, as he had wanted more fighter support for the warships, traditionally deficient against fighter attack.
His precautions had been well founded. They had picked up more than 500 airborne signatures engaged in a furious dogfight with the remaining fighter escorts for the Sword of Buhallin. One by one, the IFF readings from the overwhelmed fighters blinked out on a nearby panel, signs of a dead, dying, or ejected pilot and one scrapped omnifighter.
The sixty fighters from the warships were flung into space, followed by another sixty fighters that were assigned to Rho Galaxy. Valten took the decision to override Lizabet Danforth’s authority, due to the urgency of the situation. They would be heavily outnumbered, and even though the indications from the initial contact showed that the newcomers had paid a high price for killing the Falcon escorts, Valten did not favor his warriors’ chances when outnumbered almost five to one. He sought to =even the odds as much as possible.
“Star Commodore!” The sensor tech called for his attention. “We have lost all our fighters near the caldera! The enemy fighters are entering the upper atmosphere! I think they are going to attack us!”
Valten punched in several buttons on his console, bringing him into communications with his fighter commander. “Star Captain Rocaz, enemy fighters are heading towards the warships. Keep them away as much as possible. I am releasing the Turkina’s Fury to assist. Enemy numbers are estimated at about six to seven hundred fighters. Conserve your ammo.”
“Aff, Star Commodore!”
Turkina’s Fury was one of the relatively new Noruff class assault dropships, heavily armed and even more maneuverable than many omnifighters. Its addition to the fighter screen was easily worth another thirty fighters.
Looking out at the forward view with his enhanced eyesight, Valten could pick out tiny specks in the planet’s atmosphere, flying up amongst the clouds. His fighters advanced in a smaller wave, but no less potent.
Within seconds, the two forces slammed into each other, the initial exchange completely in favor of the Falcons as their heavier armor and weapons took a heavy toll on the black fighters.
The initial headlong charge had dissolved into a swirling melee, on a scale not seen since the liberation of Terra by the armies of Kerensky, three centuries ago.
Valten had refused to think about the implications of this latest development. He did not want to admit that the mercenaries might be correct after all; there was indeed extraterrestrial presence on the world below, of which the black fighters were simply a manifestation.
In any case, he was assured by his warriors’ continuing success. The black fighters had numbers on their side, nothing more. In terms of skill, daring, armor, and weapons, they were completely outclassed by the human fighters.
“Sir?” The tech manning the system-wide probes, different from the one surveying the planetary atmosphere, spoke up. “I am receiving weird readings from a probe stationed at the fourth planet, the gas giant. It is… Savrashi! We have lost the probe!”
“How?” Valten asked.
“Checking now… By the Kerenskys… This is not possible, this is not possible.” The tech started stammering, muttering to herself in shock as she sat back in her seat, terrified.
“What is it?” Valten roared.
“Another… warship. She croaked out. “Hidden in the gas giant. But… but that’s impossible, isn’t it?”
Valten jumped up from his seat, and stalked to the tech’s console. He snarled once at the petrified tech, hoping that she would oblige him by showing the visual image from the destroyed probe. Seeing no reaction, he hammered in the commands himself, to replay the last transmission from the probe.
Only to confront an image of an ugly black monstrosity with bulging weapons ports and numerous bulbous structures all over. The image showed the unknown ship approaching the probe, then one of its guns flashed once. The image broke up into static.
Well, he thought to himself darkly, he had asked for a warship battle. It looks like his wish would be granted soon. The fourth planet was still pretty far away, so they would have quite enough time to mop up the enemy fighters and prepare for the warship battle.
As he turned back to his seat, there was a sudden rocking of the |
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