SAW 1: Stars at War (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire

Flag Bridge, Juggernaut VSF
Asterix

Arriving… Outer
perimeter of the system’s gravity well

T
he atmosphere
inside the flag bridge seemed very edgy. All the junior officers looked so
nervous. Prancort’s entire fleet just left warp space. Sensor pings showed
enemy contacts already in system, accelerating away from them. Worse, their
gravity waves showed kinetic particles being launched. Prancort could see it on
the holotank.

“Shit, Admiral. We’re too late!” Captain Donovan exclaimed,
standing beside him.

Prancort nodded. He felt sad, but at the same time… “There’s
nothing we could have done to prevent it.”

“But all those people…We’re talking about at least five
million people dead from kinetic kill bombardment.”

“I know, but think of the greater gain. We’ve finally
trapped the snakes.”

“Yes—sir.” Captain Donovan visibly winced.

Prancort patted Donovan’s back. The padding both of them
wore made a dull sound. “We’ve got them right where we want them. It’s only a
matter of time.”

“I hope you’re right, Admiral.”

“I am.” Prancort gazed at the holotank. It couldn’t be more
perfect. The snakes were accelerating inward at the system’s second planet.
True, they launched kinetic bombs at the planet, but Prancort had the snakes
right where he wanted them. Also, with their current velocity, it would be
impossible for the snake ships to escape the missile trap.

Prancort raised his mic and spoke to the fleet through the
command net, “All hidden missile ships, release your missiles! Position the
missiles at the assigned coordinates for their attack runs!”

Fifteen human missile carriers, sporadically placed on the
outskirts of human space, suddenly cracked open. Each missile carrier looked
like a stacked egg carton. Upon opening up, missiles ejected out of all holding
spots and using grav technology, they sped towards their destinations in
preparation for a concentrated strike on the snake fleet.

Hiveship
Roro Cro-Drignon
, Fleet Command Nexus

Diving inward…

15,497 miniature grav signatures appeared on Roro’s sensors.

Roro immediately knew what they were.
Missiles!
Gut
instinct told him they were indeed missiles. This is the human missile trap,
the humans had delayed for all along.

The missile squadrons surrounded his fleet from all sides.
They were like locusts, ready to swarm into Roro’s twenty-ship fleet.

Nearby, in the command nexus, one of the sensor techs
crawled into a ball out of fear. Surrounding Roro, other centipedes looked like
they would give up at their stations.

“Do not be afraid!” Roro shouted into the spherical room.
“We have the perfect solution!”

They gaped at their master in awe. “What is the solution,
commander?” one asked.

“It is this!” Roro spoke into the command link, “All fighter
carriers, launch all fighters! Targets and destinations will be designated,
now!”

Using the gel interface, Roro immediately began assigning
human missile squadrons for his fighters to shoot.

Flag Bridge, Juggernaut VSF
Asterix

On Prancort’s holotank, 17200 miniature snake grav dots
appeared.

“Holy stars!” Donovan gasped. “What are they? Missiles or
fighters?”

It was impossible to tell what they were. Light from the new
grav dots wouldn’t arrive for another hour. Only the grav signatures
themselves, detected instantaneously could be seen.

They were too small for warships. Then, as Prancort gazed at
their velocities, he realized all 17200 snake dots were moving to intercept his
15497 missiles!

Holy stars, those aren’t missile freighters, they’re
fighter carriers!
Prancort slammed his fist onto his armrest.

Nearby, lower ranking officers stared at the holotank in
shock.

“They’re actually snake fighters! Not missiles! They have to
be in order to be intercepting our missiles like that. Damn it! The snake
commander knew I set this trap all along!”

Nearby, lower ranking officers murmured to each other. “What
do we do?” said one woman in uniform.

Prancort remained silent for a long time. “I don’t know.”

The bridge officers all glanced at each other in surprise.
Their commanding officer—and he didn’t know? They were doomed, they must have
thought.

Were they doomed?

“Is there a way to abort the missile attack? Before our
missiles get taken out by their fighters?” Donovan asked.

“No,” answered Prancort, “I can’t order the missiles to
return to the missile ships. It would take a long time for them to pack
together meticulously into each missile ship. By the time that happens, all our
missiles would be taken out by the snake fighters. No, we must attack using our
missiles right now…even while we know most of those missiles will never reach
their target.”

“But it’s a waste of missiles,” Donovan argued.

“There’s no other choice!”Prancort exclaimed. He picked up
the mic, “All missile commanders, abort your assigned destinations and head
directly towards the snake fleet. Do not waste time! Not being picked off by
snake fighters is paramount!”

He then gazed at the holotank and wondered just how many of
his missiles would make it through the waves of snake fighters and reach their
destination. In addition, there would be snake countermeasures like ECMs, flak,
PD lasers and antimissiles. He guessed only about 1000 of his original 15,900
would reach their target…it was one-fifteenth the total amount, but still
something—perhaps if he attacked in a synchronized way, he could be less sniped
off by PD lasers—but no—if he did that, he would have more sniped off by snake
fighters.

Prancort shook his head and gazed clueless at all the tens
of thousands of dots. How did it come to this? How did the snake commander know
he would try to take missiles from other systems and combine them at this
specific core world in order to spring a missile trap with an overwhelming number
of missiles? “My, my, you cold blooded bastard. You truly are a genius,” he
stated aloud to no one in particular.

“Sir?” Donovan asked.

“Nothing, captain.” Prancort gazed silently at the holomap.

Meanwhile, tens of thousands of dots on the main holotank
continued to dance in unison.
Dots and lines…that’s what this war came down
to…
that’s how he would be defeated—if he couldn’t take out enough snake
starships, the snakes would ravage through humanity’s core worlds and cause
unprecedented destruction.
H
e couldn’t win,
because the snake commander prepared for this eventuality by carrying an
overwhelming number of fighters!

Prancort stared relentlessly at those dots and lines, at the
cold-hearted play of talent and tactics—he felt lost in them. This close to
victory, only to be snatched away into defeat!

If only, he could just wish new units could appear…

Suddenly, the holotank showed new grav signatures appearing
on the outskirts of the system, from the direction of the galactic center.

Prancort glanced at the sensor tech.
Is this some type of
trick?

The sensor tech gazed back at her admiral. “Sir! I didn’t do
anything! Those new units are really there! And—they’re friendlies!”

Prancort’s eyes opened up in shock and disbelief. Happiness
surged through him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, sir! They truly are!”

A dozen other officers on the flag bridge roared with sudden
flurry. “Who are they?” someone shouted.

The sensor tech responded, “Viron IDs register them as the
carrier battle group which sortied out with Admiral Prion two weeks ago!”

Prancort stood up. He couldn’t control his sudden
excitement. “Comm, tie them into the command net! Let me speak with the
leader!”

“Absolutely, sir!” said Comm.

Prancort picked up his mic, “New friendlies, new friendlies,
please give me the status of your armaments and all available assets.”

A feminine voice through the speakers filled the room, “This
Fighter Colonel Bobbi Duke, temporary Air Group Commander, to Fleet Admiral
Prancort. Our anti-fighter missile supplies are very low. We have 7000 of all
remaining fighters from the battle of Hephaestus. Captain Jacobs sent us back,
because we were no more use to him since the enemy had no more missiles. I hope
we can be of use to you, sir!”

“You sure can!” Prancort exclaimed. “Welcome back! I will
assign you targeting orders immediately! Time is of essence, colonel, so I hope
you don’t mind that you rush through things! You arrived in the nick of time! I
want you to defend our missiles while they get in position! Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir!” Bobbi confirmed. “We’ll do exactly what you
say!”

When the line ended, Prancort felt a rush of energy rising
through his backbone. My stars, we’re saved. Everything was saved. He now had
7000 additional fighters to screen his missiles and intercept the enemy
fighters. If he could just position the new fighters perfectly to intercept the
snake fighters, his missiles could hit their targets with minimal losses. If he
could get it to happen, he would win!

Prancort raised a fist in the air, and like all other
officers on the bridge, he cheered. Then he stopped cheering and gazed at the
battle before him. “It’s not over yet,” he stated to his bridge crew. “The
snakes can still win this, if we screw up.” Then, to himself, he said,
Focus!
Focus, Prancort! Finish the endgame properly. The future of humanity depends on
your next orders.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire

Mark Four Space Fighter ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

Air Group Commander's Cockpit

Arriving…Outer
perimeter of the system’s gravity well…

I
nside the
single-fighter cockpit, Bobbi saw the new targeting orders from Admiral
Prancort. Intercept snake fighter squadron A5, it read on her instruments.

Exactly what I will do.
Since she was now
CAG…commander-air-group…it  would be literally up to her to give each of her
fighter wings their orders.

“Alright! All wings, let’s eject from the carriers ASAP.
Let’s do this, people! We’ve had five days of rest and recuperation. We’ve
refueled our energy supplies and restocked on the leftover anti-fighter
missiles. It’s time to get back into the action. You have your targets! When
you eject, I want everyone to form up with your wing and boost straight at the
enemy!”

“Yes, ma’am!” her wing commanders replied back.

Slowly, her carrier opened up like a multi-layered egg
carton, exposing space to each of her wing’s 1000 fighters. This type of
ejection mechanism allowed almost instantaneous deployment of all fighters into
space within a period of five minutes.

When the green light clicked on, she nudged her fighter out
of its slot on the carrier, using maneuvering thrusters…And out, she went.

Then, slowly, like everyone else, she thrust away from the
hundreds of other fighters that also launched.

When she saw enough separation between herself and all other
fighters, she jammed the gravity emitters to full and accelerated towards her
Wing’s accretion point.

There were one thousand fighters in her wing already there.

After she reunited with her wing, she said, “Alright Alpha
Wing, let’s do this! Boost!”

“Yes, ma’am!” all members of Alpha Wing replied.

Five hundred Gs of acceleration sped her and all 1000
fighters of her wing into the deep darkness below…towards another dogfight with
the snakes.
Alright team, back into the fray once more.

Hiveship Roro Cro-Drignon, Fleet Command Nexus

Roro couldn’t believe it. Human fighters just appeared on
his sensors. True, they were relatively few in number…approximately half his
fighter numbers, but Roro didn’t know how well human fighters compared with
Cell fighters in a dogfight.

His instinct told him human fighters were superior
dogfighters compared to his own specie’s fighters. Why? Because there was a
good chance these human fighters fought in the diversionary force Roro had sent
to distract the enemy into sending all their forces…if they  survived, meaning
they wiped out Sector Command Gro-Bok’s fighters, then these fighters were
superior.

There could be no other alternate explanation.

So…Roro’s fighters were indeed fighting an uphill battle
against human fighters. His fighters were at a disadvantage. His goal had been
to kill as many human missiles as he could. The fighter battle only being a
means to an end. Though, if he could, winning the fighter battle would have
long-term advantages, so he couldn’t discard the possibility. If he could, he
would win.

Roro knew the situation seemed very bleak for all Cell
forces within the system, with a good chance he’d lose everything. Including
himself. For a moment, Roro paused in his gel tank. Fear spread through his
body—momentary, then it was gone. As a tactician, he couldn’t be interrupted by
basic emotions. He needed to concentrate on doing what’s best for his species.

Using his tactical mindlink, he told his fighters to
continue on course towards the human missiles. If the human fighters wanted to
dogfight, they would have to intercept his fighters.

Mark Four Space Fighter  ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

Air Group Commander's Cockpit

They were the elites. The ones who survived and will
continue to survive.

Bobbi Duke’s Alpha Wing, comprised of the scattered
survivors of numerous battles, they were the most skilled fighters to
accumulate together into one wing. They truly were the best. Now, they gave a
stone cold stare at the snake fighter onslaught of fresh greenies.

Bobbi Duke commanded the 1000 fighters of Alpha Wing, but
she also commanded the entire human fighter force of 7000 fighters within the
system. On her command link, she shouted to all 7000 fighters, “Alright men,
you’ve been through the worst. Now, you’re facing snake greenies who probably
never fought a real battle before. You have the advantage in skill and in
equipment. Confidence and experience is on your side! Get ready! Go! Fight for
the preservation of our species! Good luck!”

She closed the link.

Bobbi then eyed the enemy wing ahead.

1700 snake fighters at 100,000 kilometers.

90,000 kilometers…

60,000 kilometers…

“Alpha Wing, launch mini-missiles! Let loose!”

Missiles separated from Alpha Wing and sped towards the
snake fighters 60,000 kilometers ahead. At the same time, the snakes launched
their missiles. Within minutes, both sides’ missile intertwined with each
other. Some of them detonated prematurely, taking out enemy missiles, but the
vast majority headed towards their targets—the opposing wing’s fighters.

"Fire sand canisters!" Bobbi ordered.

Soon, in the same time it took for the two missile groups to
intersect, snake nukes exploded all around her. Some of them clinked against
her shields. On her fighter count display, Bobbi watched as hundreds of Alpha
Wing’s fighters blinked off.

Dead. Killed by thermo-nukes or stray projectiles.

Then…came dogfighting range.

“All fighters of Alpha Wing,” she announced, “Ready lasers!
Fire!”

Laser means etched through space, striking the enemy fighter
force with glee. Dozens of enemy fighters fell to the furious human energy beam
onslaught. The snakes fired back, but without the accuracy and consistency the
human pilots showed. The remaining 700 human pilots were truly the elite of the
survivors. Their accuracy was total.

On Bobbi’s gravity map, she saw the snake fighter numbers
drop from 1400 down to 1350, and then 1300 within
seconds
.

Soon, as the distances closed to 10,000 kilometers, the
snake fighter numbers became only twice the human fighter numbers…1200 snakes
compared to 600 humans.

It became a massacre. The snake fighter numbers continued to
drop without doing significant damage to human numbers.

Then, it came time to reverse and boost. Bobbi gave the
signal. “All fighters, turn and burn! Let’s keep the range with the enemy low,
so we can keep shooting!”

“Yes, ma’am!” alpha wing replied.

Flag Bridge, Juggernaut VSF
Asterix

Prancort's strategy worked. By putting one layer of fighters
300,000 kilometers in front of the human missiles, and then another layer
200,000 kilometers in front, then a third layer 100,000 kilometers ahead of the
human missiles, Prancort realized Bobbi Duke’s strategy forced the snake
fighter groups into sustained battle, depleting their numbers. By the time the
first wave of snake fighters reached the human missiles, the enemy’s first wave
sustained over 90% causalities. It then would be up to the last human fighter
layer to mop up the survivors.

However, the stratified strategy failed in certain locations
where the human fighters couldn't arrive on time to defend the human missiles.
On those occasions, the snake fighters completely wiped out a large percentage
of human missiles.

For the most part however, it truly ended up being a battle
of annihilation. Very few snake fighters survived the stratified layer
strategy.

As of result, an hour later, Prancort was able to position a
large portion of his surviving missiles to simultaneously attack the snake
fleet of eight starships… from all sides.

With victory in his eyes, Prancort whispered to himself,
“I’ve finally done it, with a piece of luck and a piece of wit.
Checkmate
.”

Mark Four Space Fighter  ‘Zeta-1’, Alpha Wing

Air Group Commander's Cockpit

Dogfight! Dogfight! Dogfight!

Bobbi remained in a fight for her life.

Happiness and excitement pulsed through her. She’d been born
just for this. She enjoyed the challenge. Every time a snake fighter blew up in
front of her, a wave of adrenaline sped through her brain and she would
concentrate on the next and the next. She kept pushing herself to the limit, as
did every member of her elite Alpha Wing.

The results…the kills and the losses…were staggering.

Since Alpha Wing entered the dogfight, there’d been 1300
kills and…150 losses.

Twist! Turn! Aim! Shoot! Dive! Twist! Dive! Shoot!

Bobbi Duke became a monster.

With such ferocity, she would never die! How could she, when
she was the best trained and most experienced fighter pilot out there—a victor
of over a dozen individual battles?

“You’re all doing good!” she shouted into the Wing’s command
net,” Keep fighting—”

Something slammed into her fighter from the side. Her damage
control sensors went ablaze. Inside her cockpit, red lights blared everywhere.
DANGER. DANGER, they read.

While her fighter lost its gravity-inertia compensators,
Bobbi Duke was forced to stop accelerating or else she would be smashed into
mush. It meant she could no longer dodge enemy laser shots at the last moment.

What a way to go,
thought Bobbi Duke. To be taken out
when the battle is nearly won…no—when the battle
has
been won.

For a long moment, well approximately 16 seconds, a near
eternity for a fighter pilot in a dogfight—she sat there inside her cockpit,
warning lights flashing from all sides, casting a crimson glow on her face. She
waited for her fighter’s nanites to repair the inertia compensators—if, and
when, it happened.

For now however—she was a sitting duck.

“CAG, you alright?” a familiar voice came on….Tomly’s voice.

“I’m fine,” Bobbi answered, “You worry about your own—”
Something struck her oval-shaped fighter from the aft. The force of the impact
and the subsequent explosion slammed Bobbi Duke against her seat straps, nearly
choking her as her head came within inches of slamming against her monitors,
while blasting shrapnel throughout her cockpit. One fragment spliced her knee
and shattered bone. Another fragment cut her face, despite the protection of
her padded armor.

A third fragment ripped her arm from her body.

Blood squirted and poured out of multiple holes on her body.
Her suit’s medivac damage control unit went into overdrive, shooting drugs into
her body, and closing wounds.

Holy stars, is this what it’s like to die?
Bobbi Duke
wondered, before her consciousness faded.

While her suit worked to keep her alive, Bobbi Duke felt so
tired, despite all the adrenaline. The blackness took her.

Hiveship Roro Cro-Drignon, Fleet Command Nexus

Roro’s fighters lost. Roro now stared down at the barrel of
death.

He’d failed. He killed some human missiles, but for the most
part his fighters failed to kill enough missiles, and now the human missiles
organized into proper position for their simultaneous attack runs.

With nothing Roro could do about it. He could not evade the
missile trap. By the time he decelerated his fleet and accelerated out of the
system’s gravity well, the missiles would have finished their attack runs.

Everything he’d achieved would die, including Roro himself.

The Prey has become the Predator.

The Prey is wicked.

Roro, in the jaws of defeat, suddenly felt newfound respect
for the Prey. Somehow, he—it managed the scrap together a fighter force,
despite all of Roro’s planning, and… right at the perfect time to counter
Roro’s fighters. Was it luck? Or did the Prey plan it all along?

Now and forever, Roro would never know, because he was going
to die.

Roro existed as a communal organism, but no matter how
mindful he’d evolved to he was of the communal state, but he still feared
death. He could feel fear's tangle spreading through his three-meter long body.
He knew if he felt afraid, all the lesser commanders in his fleet also felt it.

He felt okay with it. He’d done everything he could do to
advance his specie’s wellbeing. He had failed, but he’d tried and he nearly
won.

In this light, Roro felt comfortable knowing, he would meet
the Great Maker.

While the seconds ticked slowly by, the 14000 missiles crept
closer and closer—with each step, they accelerated to faster kinetic
velocities, Roro watched the battle map silently within his mind. Soon, the
missiles would deliver the killing blow, both in kinetic energy and in their
fusion payload.

For a moment before the missiles reached counter-missile
range, Roro deactivated his connection to the command net and stared at all his
subordinates who surrounded his central gel tank. He saw them as they stared
down at their leader in confusion, fear and uncertainty.

Roro spoke to his comrades, “Do not be afraid. The war is
not lost. Our deaths will not be meaningless.”

Together, the lesser centipedes clicked in agreement.

“Let us fight with all we have,” Roro urged, “Let us fight
to the last Cell. To the Cell Empire!”

“To the cell empire!” they clicked.

He supposed that if the humans were in this spot, they would
abandon their ships. But there was no such thing in the Cell Empire. The ship
was Roro’s home….Roro’s life. With no such act as abandoning the ship, or
‘escape pods.’

No—Roro would go down with the vessel that carried his name…