The Last Praetorian (7 page)

“Arm your missiles,” he ordered.  “Let’s give the fleet
something else to aim at…” While Jon knew perfectly well he could not shoot at
the fleet, nothing was stopping him shooting at where the fleet would be!  The
navigational computer plotted the intercept co-ordinates based on the fleet’s
current speed and heading uploading the target co-ordinates to the rest of the
squadron. Jon waited until they were less than 50 kilometres from the fleet
before ordering… “Fire!”

The squadron was momentarily blinded as one after another,
wave after wave; the squadron released their missiles in the direction of the
oncoming fleet.  Upon launch the missiles accelerated away from the squadron
until no missiles remained.  Within the space of a few moments 120 high
explosive missiles were racing towards their target. 

Then suddenly the strangest thing started to happen.  Almost
as if the missiles started to run out of energy they began to slow, first one,
then another, until all the missiles velocity had dramatically decreased.  Inch
by inch, meter by meter the squadron started to catch-up with the missiles!

Reviewing the ships sensors carefully Jon confirmed that all
the missiles were following the correct flight profile, the squadron began to
disperse, to avoid bunching up and giving the fleet an easy target, soon they
would be within range of the fleets guns.    

*****

“God damn it!” Harkov raged, pacing up and down the command
deck like a caged tiger.  Turning on the tactical officer he demanded. “So we
cannot launch missiles at them, but they can at us?  Would you like to explain
this?” 

The tactical officer just shrugged helplessly and uttered,
“They’re Praetorians…” Having only recently graduated from the fleet naval academy,
the young officer had been surrounded by the rumours of the enigmatic and
mysterious Praetorians.

Praetorians swords could slice through anything…

Praetorians could tell when you were lying…

Praetorians were invincible…

Pretty much everybody in his graduation class was in awe of
the Praetorians and he could not believe his luck when he was assigned to the
Imperial
Star
, the flagship of the Imperial Fleet, home to the Praetorians. 
However, reality has a bad habit of setting you down with a bump.  The first
Praetorian he encountered was cold and arrogant!  The second, worse!  Within
the span of a week his dreams of meeting and becoming one of these mythical
warriors was dashed on the rocks of reality. 

The Commodore made a lot of sense when he explained how the
Empire had become rotten at the core.  The Emperor surrounded by his
Praetorians had become decadent and corrupt, leading the Imperium to ruin! 
They had to be replaced, so that the Empire could still be saved.

However, Commodore Harkov’s speech seemed a world away now,
and the stories of the legendary Praetorians suddenly became far more
frightening when facing them.  Having just watched them miraculously avoid the
ambush cleverly devised for them, how they were immune to the fleet’s weapons
but could use their own.  For a moment he wondered what the hollow feeling in
the pit of his stomach was, before finally recognising - that it was fear. 
Fear of these invulnerable warriors that had never been beaten, fear that he
had made a dreadful mistake siding with Harkov… 

“Guns!” The word filtered through the young officers thought
process, interrupting his contemplation of the Praetorians. 

“Excuse me, sir?”  The young tactical officer stammered,
glancing in the direction of Pendleton who was still collapsed in his chair and
where the exclamation had originated.

“The ships guns are tied into our own targeting system, is
that not correct?”  Pendleton insisted.

“Yes, sir,” the tactical officer confirmed, “All the ship’s
guns are tied into the ship’s central targeting system…” his voice trailed off
as he finally got what his commanding officer was thinking.  “…And we can
reprogram our system to mark the fighters as hostile,” he confirmed excitedly. 

So much easier to reprogram one system, than hundreds of
smaller ones spread throughout the missiles in the fleet

“We would have to rely upon the smaller, point defence
weapons; they have less range but would be able to better target the incoming
fighters,” he exclaimed aloud confidently. 

Pendleton just nodded in agreement, before snapping his
fingers. “Quickly, reprogram the targeting computer and bring the guns on-line,
before the fighters get within range.”  With a quick flourish of his fingers
the tactical officer made the changes and held his breath…

“Guns are on-line and tracking the incoming targets, sir,”
he exclaimed in relief.  It was only when he double-checked the tracking
sensors however, that the realised that the guns were tracking all the incoming
targets – both missiles and fighters.

Uh Oh.

*****

As the squadron came within range of the fleet’s guns they
continued to disperse and started jinking, up, down, left, right all in random
patterns to help confound the aim of the fleet’s guns.  However, as they got
closer and closer to the fleet the gunfire became more and more accurate
until…first one missile then another started to explode in a huge pyrotechnic
display!

The missiles launched from the squadron minutes earlier were
weapons designed to target fighters.  These targets were small, agile and quick
to escape.  Hence these weapons were designed to fragment prior to exploding, scattering
dozens of deadly bomblets throughout the area.  Of the original squadron of twelve
fighters, this had grown to over 130 targets for the fleet computers to track
following the launch of the missiles, as each missile began to explode
showering the area with bomblets the number of targets that the ships gun began
to track increased exponentially, first 200 targets, then 400, then 800.  As
the Praetorians blasted through the fleet, sensors were tracking over a
thousand individual targets.  Unable to track so many, finally the guns just
fell silent, their targeting computers stuck in an infinite loop – and then the
squadron was through the fleet and escaping towards the FTL entry point.

Jon breathed a sigh of relief as the squadron finally
escaped from the far side of the fleet.  However, checking the sensors their
squadron had not come out unscathed.  They had lost two fighters to gunfire
from the fleet before their guns had fallen silent.  Jon allowed himself a
momentary pang of grief; he knew all the Praetorians personally.  Both of them
had loved ones and family back at home.  Knowing that it was his actions, his
decisions that had resulted in their loss made it no easier.  He pushed the
guilt and blame aside for a short while to focus on the problem at hand.  Meanwhile
Jon noticed that the speed of the
Eternal Light
had suddenly started to
fall dramatically. 

Quickly he ran a full diagnostic of the shuttle and cursed
vehemently upon seeing the results.  Slower and bigger than the surrounding
fighters the shuttle had taken a beating passing through the fleet.  Jon had
hoped that the heavier armour surround the shuttle would protect them, but it
had not.  The flight computer reported catastrophic damage to the port engine,
which the computer had shut down, the shuttle was continuing to limp forward on
the remaining engine but their velocity had fallen by half.  Jon had no need to
check the aft sensors to know that the fleet’s fighters were now gaining
rapidly on the Praetorians.

*****

Commodore Harkov sub-consciously ducked as the Praetorian
fighters scattered around the
Imperial Star,
at times seeming to pass mere
feet from the command deck – and then in a blink they were gone.

“Report!” Harkov roared across the command deck.

“Two targets destroyed, Commodore!”  The tactical officer
reported, who felt, unfairly, to be on the receiving end of most of the Commodore’s
short temper.  “Remaining squadron is setting a straight course for the FTL
jump point,” he said in a calmer voice.  At least the Praetorians were no
longer heading in their direction!  Suddenly the tactical computer updated with
the latest squadron heading and velocity and the young tactical officer had to
blink a couple of times to ensure that he was not imagining things.  “Sir,” the
officer replied cautiously, “the shuttle is losing speed.  I think we managed
to damage it.  The squadron is now also reducing velocity to keep in escort
formation.

In a flash the Commodore was at his side.  “How close are
our fighters?” he asked directly.  Running both trajectories through the
computer, it seemed an eternity before the computer spat out the numbers.  The
fleet’s recalled fighters would intercept the Praetorians in a little over two
minutes at present velocity; five minutes before the Praetorians could escape
into FTL.

“I’ve got you now, you bastard!”  Harkov gloated in glee.

*****

At almost the same instant as the computer on the
Imperial
Star
, the flight computer on the
Eternal Light
was reporting exactly
the same result.  They were all going to die.  Three minutes and a little less
than 170 kilometres from escape.

The communication from Elsie was not unexpected but for the
first time in his life Jon felt the weight of command bearing down on him.

“Lieutenant…  Elsie,” he acknowledged his second-in-command
reluctantly.

“What is your situation?” she inquired brusquely avoiding
his gaze.

“Damage-control computer reports that the port engine is
damaged beyond repair and it has been shut down.”

“Tactical computer reports that the fleet’s fighters will
intercept us in a little under two minutes,” Elsie reported matter-of-factly.

Jon had no response.  The squadron continued to fly onwards
in tandem, in silence for a few moments more until Elsie shifted her gaze to
Sofia and uttered the words that Jon had been expecting, but dreading to hear.

“We all swore an oath.”

Jon closed his eyes in despair; they had all sworn the same
oath.  To protect the Emperor and his family, at all costs, at any cost.  Jon
was not a man to take such an oath lightly, and neither were his squadron, his
friends… his family.  Refusing to open his eyes and stare into the face of his
second-in-command, refusing to order their deaths he just whispered.  “I cannot
order you to do this.”  Finally opening his eyes he stared at Elsie who offered
him a soft smile.

“I would never ask you to make such an order, Jon.”  Finally
looking across at Sofia, who seemed frozen in shock.  She added, “Princess,
it’s been… fun.”  Sofia looked up, surprised at the kind words from the
Praetorian.

“Sofia, you can call me Sofia… anytime,” she replied.

“Sofia,” Elsie replied seeming to try out the name before
she nodded in thanks.  For a moment it seemed to Jon that an unspoken
communication passed between the two women, then after a small nod from Sofia,
Elsie once again turned her gaze towards Jon.

“Good luck, Commander! I think it’s time that the
Praetorians taught this bunch of idiots how to fly.  I’m amazed that they
haven’t collided with each other by now…” She laughed as the communication
ended and Jon watched on the sensors as one by one the Praetorians flipped
their fighters and accelerated back towards the incoming fighters; leaving the
Eternal
Light
to finish her journey… alone.           

*****

As a young boy, the tactical officer on the
Imperial Star
remembered sitting on his grandfather’s knee being recounted endless stories of
acts of great heroism and bravery.  Of soldiers refusing to surrender, to fight
to the last man and woman because they knew that their cause was just and
right.  Of parents standing between their children and those that would harm
then, of many selfless acts of heroism and courage.  Never in his life did he
think he would observe such an act until he watched on the sensors as
one-by-one the Praetorian fighters reversed course to engage the on-coming
fighters.  Sacrificing their lives to allow the lone shuttle to escape.

“The 58
^th
squadron is reversing course to
intercept the approaching fighters.  The
Eternal Light
is remaining on a
direct course for the FTL jump point,” the officer reported humbly.  If the
Praetorians were prepared to sacrifice their lives for the occupants of the
shuttle, the tactical officer was going to damn well show them some respect for
their decision.  The announcement stunned everybody on the command deck, which
fell silent for a moment, as if also in respect for their sacrifice.   

“That’s suicide,” Pendleton uttered in disbelief. “They are
outnumbered at least 9-1.”

“They lost two fighters passing through the fleet,” the
tactical officer reminded the Captain.  “The odds are closer to 12-1.  They are
going to sacrifice themselves to buy enough time to allow the shuttle to reach
the FTL jump point.”

Nobody on the command deck had a response to that statement.

*****

Most fleet engagements of the past few hundred years had
been determined in the first minutes of battle with the opposing forces still
many hundreds of kilometres apart.  Modern engagements were usually determine
by who had the initiative, the most missiles and the best positioning. 
However, for the first time in most of the pilot’s memories this engagement was
going to be determined ship-to-ship, pilot-vs-pilot.  The Praetorians had long
since expended all their missiles and the missiles carried by the fleet
fighters were useless as they would not lock onto what the missiles considered
friendly fighters.  Hence this engagement was going to be determined by pilot
skill.  The Praetorian pilots were the pinnacle of pilot skill, each one
considered an ace on his or her own merit, a veteran of dozens of combat
engagements, never been beaten.  Therefore as the Praetorian squadron dived
into the flank of the approaching fighters it was like a hot knife slicing through
butter and within an instant the fleet’s formation descended into complete
chaos and a free-for-all ensued.