Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (38 page)

The enemy’s proximity to the satellite field was a problem. The general didn’t want to lose any more ITF2’s, so he was keeping them out of there for the time being. Brandon could hardly blame him, even with the other three crafts now carrying the remaining nineteen satellite-rigged smart mines. When Brandon’s hobbling unit had arrived back at the hangar, they docked along with Brandon’s in order to receive the transfer. Quasar took seven and the other two six each. But they were currently being held back, drifting among the debris in the minefield acting as bait. Unfortunately, the enemy was aware of the trap and no longer coming after them, save for the odd stray.

Part of the enemy’s maneuvering tactics included dagging in and out in coordinated movements. This was effective because it threw the allied forces out of harmony when several squadrons suddenly materialized above or below their positions. But the allies were getting better at reacting to it, speeding over to aide whichever ships got caught by the sudden dag-ins. Also, the ITF1’s were becoming adept at using the same tactic and would sometimes out-dag the enemy squadrons, showing up on their flank and scoring several kills before dispersing their formations. From a big picture view, the enemy’s force was dissipating at a much more rapid pace than the allies’.

“Why do they continue?” Milon4 asked. “They’re being decimated now.”

Brandon stepped over to Milon4’s station.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? It must be important for them to see to the destruction of Dirg. They’re doing that, I’m sorry to see—although at a tremendous cost.”

“Destroying one world can’t be worth this,” the captain said from behind. “Unless the enemy is so vast in numbers they consider whole fleets expendable.”

Brandon turned around. “There’s a frightening thought. In which case it’s also possible they’re expecting a major advent of reinfor—”

“Commander, ships arriving directly above us!” The navigator shouted. “Big ones. Lots of them!”

Brandon looked up to the above-view screen on the ceiling of the bridge. A huge explosion momentarily whited out the center area. When it cleared, a new fleet of transport ships was directly above them, in a perpendicular position. They all began thrusting towards the Torian transport vessels before their dags had even cooled.

“Extat!” Brandon said. “Identification!”

“Working on it, Commander.”

Brandon was afraid of something like this. He noticed the general hadn’t left enough fighters with the transport ship fleet to adequately guard them after the Torian commitment began. Was this an attack from above? In space, there were two extra directions you could get flanked from. But the new fleet wasn’t launching any fighters.

“Getting a broadcast from command,” Milon4 said. “The transport ships above us are Latian. Expected to be hostile.”

“Latian?” The captain asked. “They don’t have anywhere near this big of a fleet left, do they Commander?”

“No.” Brandon kept his eyes on the above screen. “Unless…”

Milon4 spoke again. “Command is ordering all Torian transport ships to dag out to the far side of Dirg. They suspect a ramming attack. Sending a coordinated plot. Feeding it in now.”

Brandon turned to the captain. “Go the second it’s loaded.” He looked back up.

Large orange segments of light appeared in the space between them and the oncoming transport fleet.

“Missiles!” Brandon said. “Get us out of here!”

He lowered his eyes to the forward screen in time to see Dirg stretch out across the top screen, then squish back together again on the rear screen. They made it out.

“Turn us around, Captain.”

“Turning, Commander.”

Torian transport ships dagged in all around them. They were on the far side of Dirg, well away from orbital range. Some of the killer satellites were in view over the planet on this side. Brandon looked back across the space they just distorted and saw one Torian transport ship burning.

“Extat,” Milon4 said. “They got one.”

“We must have gotten one of theirs, too,” the navigator said. “When they first appeared above us, it seemed that one of them blew up. Somebody must have recognized them and gotten a quick shot off or something. Unless they collided.”

Three squadrons of ITF1’s dagged in close by on the forward screen. From the left side of the planet, dozens of Torian regular fighters now streaked toward the fleet’s new position. Most of them were being chased by enemy fighters.

Brandon shook his head. “A direct attack by transport ships, using defensive weapons. Now I’ve seen everything.”

“The fighters are being called in to protect us,” the captain said. “They won’t get away with that again.”

“So you say, Captain. It was an audacious move. Anyone crazy enough to try that is probably crazy enough to try it again. Their best chance is to dag over to us right now, before all our fighters get here.”

Brandon had no sooner spoke than the Latian fleet in the distance lit their dags and vanished.

The captain looked at Brandon. “I’m starting to see why they call you a prophet.”

“Stay ready, Captain. Don’t wait for another coordinated plot from command. As soon as they’ close enough to fire weapons, get us out of here. Away from the war. I don’t care where.”

The navigator shouted. “On top of us again, Commander! Coming down at a 75 degree arc. Wait!”

Brandon looked up to the top screen just in time to be blinded again by explosions. Big ones, everywhere. The crew all shielded their eyes as the top screen was whited out for a moment. It even spread to parts of the forward screen.

The explosions cleared and then there was nothing but debris.

“Latian fleet destroyed,” Milon4 said. “Somehow.”

“Was it the minefield?” The Captain asked.

“No,” Brandon answered. “Not a technical possibility. And they weren’t in its range, anyway. It must have been the security systems we installed on those ships. Perry said it was impossible to circumvent. Guess he was right.”

Brandon looked to the forward screen to watch the plight of the fighters who were called over. Many of them now took evasive maneuvers and turned back around. The ITF1’s moved out to help them. The tailing enemy fighters were scattered.

Shortly, command ordered the transport ship fleet to dag out again. The new coordinates placed them in an area not far from their original position to the right of the Azaarian transport ships, but a little farther out. When they arrived, Brandon was happy to see rescue efforts commencing on the partially destroyed transport vessel. Escape pods were being gathered around it, and some activity was taking place in the hangar—which still seemed to be working.

Three ITF1 squadrons and three times as many regular fighters now stayed with the fleet to protect it. Brandon settled into the empty seat on his bridge to watch the rest of the fight.

It didn’t last much longer. The Azaarians put more pressure on the enemy by committing most of their fighters. The thought crossed Brandon’s mind that this was a smart way for them to finish. They would have to attend a post-battle conference and explain their actions, and would be in a much better position for doing that if the battle ended while they were fully engaged against the common enemy.

The enemy’s maneuvers became less effective as the Dirgs, Torians, and Azaarians alike became more accustomed to them. The dark fighters were simply surrounded now, everywhere they went. They could no longer do what they wanted. Brandon had no idea how much of their force had been lost, but he estimated it to be at least 60%. Finally, they all dagged out and didn’t return.

But they left their satellites behind. By this time, the drones had all made more than one complete orbit around Dirg and were continuing to fire those devastating light missiles. The three remaining ITF2’s now moved in to engage them, supported by a swarm of Dirg and Torian fighter craft. Brandon ordered the captain to dag back to the far side of Dirg, where most of them now were, so he could watch the operation. He didn’t bother asking permission from the command ship.

The ITF2’s had an easier time avoiding the satellites’ defense lasers with all this cover fire. Unfortunately, those defense lasers still scored hits on the supporting fighters, most of them Dirg. It was a fitting sacrifice those crews were making in protecting the civilians below. The ITF2 pilots didn’t make the same erratic approach Lut5 had. It was safer underneath the hulls with the satellite defenses concentrating on so many fighters above them. The ITF2’s simply came below them, dropped a moving mine, and cleared out. The fighters would then also clear out, allowing the satellite to focus on the ground targets. When the satellite would take another shot, it would be its last.

The ITF2 crews didn’t get to all of them. They took out seven of the remaining active units before all of them quit firing. Brandon figured they simply depleted their ordinance supply. The four still-active units then promptly exploded. They evidently had been rigged with self-destruct mechanisms to prevent them from being taken apart and studied. With eleven left intact, however, there were now more than enough for military scientists to play with—if they could do so without blowing themselves up in the process.

But the damage on Dirg was certainly done. Those enemy satellites were nothing less than planetary destruction delivered in capsule form. The allies needed to find a more efficient way of dealing with them, and fast. Brandon didn’t want to think about what the surface of Dirg must look like. He was too tired now and needed to get some sleep—him and his entire flight crew.

*

Six hours later, Brandon awoke. He couldn’t shake the images of Admiral Hochob and Bleear from his mind as he slept. Did they survive the attack? Brandon decided to get up.

He found a skeleton crew working when he arrived on the bridge. The captain was still sleeping, but Milon4 was back on duty. Brandon checked out the screens.

“This looks like a different place,” Brandon said.

Milon4 smiled. “Glad to see you up, Commander. Your presence has been requested at a conference on the ground.”

“On the ground?”

“Yes, Commander. Two hours from now. Shall I have your shuttle readied?”

“Not sure I want to see Dirg from a ground view right now.” Brandon took another look at the forward screen. “Where is everyone?”

“Most of our fleet has dagged out to an undisclosed location. An Azaarian delegation stayed behind to attend the conference—the rest of them went home. The Dirg forces are grounded, except for regular patrols and a few specialty crews working on the disabled enemy satellites. Commander, I think you should attend. This is a historic occasion, and you had much to do with its outcome.”

“Well, if I have to go down there you’re coming with me, Milon4.”

“Commander?”

“You heard me. Have one of your cohorts cover for you. You’re interested in history? Come be a part of it.”

“Yes Commander!”

One hour later, Brandon’s shuttle was on the ground at the same Dirg military base Brandon visited—how long ago was that? Five or six days, maybe? Brandon was both relieved and astounded to find it undamaged. It wasn’t nearly as busy as before, and Brandon shuddered to realize why, but it was still completely intact. How could those satellites have missed such an important target? Come to think of it, Brandon hadn’t noticed any destruction at all as the shuttle approached over a medium-sized Dirg city.

Brandon and Milon4 were taken to a different conference room than the one Brandon had been to the last time. His Dirg escorts twice tried to deposit Milon4 in a lounge, but Brandon insisted he had security clearance and wanted him along. That ploy didn’t work at the conference room doors. Milon4 seemed nervous and repeatedly volunteered to go back to one of the lounges and wait, but Brandon refused to enter without Milon4. General Islog8 himself ended up coming out of the room and calling his command ship to do an inconclusive background check on Milon4 before surrendering and allowing him admittance.

This conference room was swanky; large and round with a half-dozen levels positioned above a center floor. The levels all had desks with chairs and microphones. Everyone could see everyone because of the room’s circular construction. It looked like the kind of place a senate would meet, perhaps with lower-level government officials coming in to make supplications from the humility of the floor where Brandon and his communications officer now stood.

The attendees were sitting in groups by race. An assortment of important-looking Dirg officials occupied a full third of one of the upper levels. Brandon was happy to see Admiral Hochob among them.

Everyone else was one level below. There were five Azaarians present, including the general Brandon had met with on Azaar. The two of them exchanged slight nods as Brandon and Milon4 were led up the stairs to their own stations. Their seats were slightly separated from those of the other Torians in attendance—Brandon counted seven of them besides General Islog8.

Brandon and Milon4 sat down. Several additional Dirgs came in before the doors were shut. A green light glowed from underneath the frosty glass desktops and a low humming sound buzzed overhead. The sound then faded, probably signifying that the audio system was now on.

One of the Dirgs wore a distinguished uniform. He leaned forward in his seat towards the microphone. At the same time, the lighting dimmed and the floor became a video screen with a frozen image of a galactic map. Brandon thought it looked familiar. A hush fell upon the room as the important-looking Dirg spoke.

“I am Prime Minister Delchib of the Republic of Dirg. I wish to thank our friends and allies, Tora and Azaar, for their great sacrifice in helping us today, and also for their attendance to this council of war. The casualty numbers from today’s battle will be available momentarily. Of greatest importance, of course, is deciding what our future policies will be regarding the current threat. To that end, so we may all become aware of exactly what we are up against, we gratefully present this intelligence video brought to us today by Azaar.” The Prime Minister was careful with his words, speaking slowly. At his references to casualties and the enemy his voiced hissed slightly.