This may have to go on hiatus for a while. Aside from getting involved in the RP thread here, I have a couple of other literary responsibilities now elsewhere.
And, to be honest, I'm almost out of ideas as far as Siege goes.
Yes, while I could simply tie up the existing story arcs (Trent and Naeva's escape, Cova's habit of getting into trouble EVERYWHERE, Parker, Alkad, Director/Terrorist conspiracy, enemy fleet attack), I have no idea where I want the story to go afterwards, and simply bringing all those plotlines to their respective conclusions wouldn't be much of an ending.
I'll try and brainstorm some possible ideas for the story, but it's likely to be a while.
I'm really sorry, guys. I thought I'd have the momentum to finish this.
Hey there!
I'm pretty sure I read the first chapter of this a LOOOONG time ago - I remember the description on Tyrell - it was cool. But after that I just lost track of this story. I think I had a couple of my own mid-flow around the time this came out. Anyway, it's good to re-discover it, and good to see it's grown into something damn good!
Shame to hear it's going on hold for a while. Hope you get some inspiration for an ending. I had the opposite problem with my main story: I knew my ending from the start, it was just a case of getting there! Anyway good work so far, you've got a strong writing style. And good luck, eh!
ps.
One thought on the ending: you seem to be strongest at writing villains; maybe some trait of the villains could undermine their efforts. Maybe the battle(s) could turn, and the hard-fighting heroes think they won the day, but it's actually the arch-plot of a key villain. Perhaps someone we haven't even spotted as a villain yet! Something like that. Just throwing out ideas for you.
Good work, good luck, and good studies!
pps. It is indeed VERY good fun to re-read those Parker scenes imagining it's the driver from Thunderbirds! Big s to whoever it was who suggested that!!
Thanks for the kind words and suggestions, Zig! I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far - worry not, for I emphatically *WILL* give it the ending it deserves. Or try to
I've heard lots of good things about your story(ies, I'm not sure lol), but I haven't yet gone to read it It's on my to-do list, though. I'll tell you what I think of it when I'm done.
@PS- The 'villain we haven't spotted yet' was originally just the Director, but there's another one, now, too. Just picking the right moment for them to declare their true intentions, is all. That's about as in-depth as my plans get, the rest of it is all spit and prayers. Which is probably the root of my problem lol.
@PPS- Yeah, so long as you haven't watched the movie. Imagining the puppet doing it is so much funnier!
Cova cast about himself. Where were they? They went into this hangar, he was sure of it. Empty shuttle, empty escort, empty shuttle, another empty shuttle, empty freighter, empty-
"Psst! Cova!"
He spun, spying Naeva hanging out of the side of a TP. "Over here." Cova did as suggested, and saw her a little clearer in the gloom for being close. "You made it, then?"
"No, I died. I'm just a ghost, and-"
"Oh, shut up; Trent's getting the ship prepped. Come in, we'll-"
"NAEVA." Alkad's voice boomed in the hangar, over the drumming of the rain on the roof and the bass rolling of thunder.
Naeva stared at Cova. "You didn't kill him?"
"Apparently not," he replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Seriously, you try killing him... Move, let me in. Or we're both dead."
She disappeared into the hatch, and Cova hurriedly stepped through and cycled the airlock. "Trent! Get the shields up."
"I'm working on it," came the muffled reply from the cockpit.
"TRENT." Cova started. Alkad's voice was astonishingly loud in this insulated space. In fact, he was surprised he could hear it at all. He turned to look at the door, the little viewport set into the metal at eye-height. Alkad's face glared angrily back. "COVA."
"Trent, shields...!" Cova warned. He backed away from the hatch.
"THAT. IS THE ORDER. IN WHICH. YOU ARE GOING. TO DIE."
"Got it!" There was a brief crackle of static electricity as the energy barrier ionised the wet air, and Alkad took half a step backward as the field pushed him away from the vessel. Cova jogged up to the flight deck. "Now would be a good time to leave," he recommended.
There was a dull thud that reverberated through the hull. "What was that?" Naeva asked, a frown of confusion on her face.
"I'm not sure, but I'm not sticking around to find out. The engines are warmed up," Trent replied, and eased the throttles forward.
--------
The turret warmed, glowing orange, yellow, white, and finally searing blue as Castro dove towards it. Not good. Not good. Not good not good not good. She pirouetted aside as it fired, and watched the energy bolt slam into an enemy destroyer, pounding its shields.
Her shield monitors blared as she took a hit from a trio of fighters. "Warning: shields at ten percent."
"Oh, feth off... MacKinnan!"
"On it, Boss."
She barrelled to port, dropped a few of her dwindling supply of missiles and corkscrewed to draw a bead on the foe on the left. MacKinnan nailed the right one as it overshot them. The missiles struck the middle one, atomising it.
"Fleet, Elite Two," she called. "Status on friendly fighter forces?"
There was a long pause. Castro was on the verge of repeating her request when her comm crackled into life. "Elite Two, Fleet. Interceptor squadrons at roughly 75%, interdictor squadrons at roughly 60%, gunship squadrons at fewer than 40%."
"Possibility of refuel, rearm and recharge?"
"Negative, Elite Two. You stay in the black. Fleet, out."
Well, that was just fantastic. She cried out in surprise as a thick orange beam sliced past her ship, causing spots to explode across her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear it. "Stupid, purple, fething fethers..." She regained her full powers of vision in time to see the tail end of the beam impact an Argon destroyer, finally overloading its port shields and gouging into the port forward quarter of the ship. It began to list.
"Mayday, mayday! ANS Tryphon suffering massive damage! Fires uncontrollable... Secondary explosions nearing the main missile magazine. Fleet, we need to pull out, and we need support."
Castro overheard no reply.
"Fleet!"
--------
"Dexter, where the merry hell is that trader?"
"Not a clue, sir. He hasn't been responding to my hails. He could be anywhere in the Universe."
"Weapons," Duvall looked across to the other side of the bridge. "Are the supplies we requested absolutely essential?"
"If you're asking if we can do without them, sir, then yes, I believe we can. Most of the gun batteries are at full strength, and the missile magazine is well enough stocked to last a good quazura or so's sustained fire."
"Fine. Clarke, status on the battle, then the storm planetside."
"The Tryphon has suffered a critical hit and is attempting to withdraw. I can't give you a reasonable estimate on the fightercraft battle, I don't have the resolution at this range. All the enemy capital craft are still active, though. Reading some fluctuations in the shield matrices of a couple of the ships, they could be on the point of collapse. I'm not sure."
"And the storm?"
"Abating - but still too thick to see or hear through. I'll keep you informed."
"Please do," Duvall shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being out of contact with his exec. Trent had been a friend and ally for a very long time - Duvall had signed him on barely a wozura after the man had achieved the rank of 'commander' on an independent TL. The transition from that to a military vessel hadn't been too difficult.
Although, Duvall had had his suspicions about Trent - and the rest of the crew, to some degree - since he'd got back from the Department's holding cell. There was just something... strange about them. He'd figure it out later.
He couldn't think who could've sent word of the tender's descent ahead to the planet, through the storm, yet there was no other way they could have lost it. He had no choice but to suspect everyone.
--------
The ship rumbled, then steadied to a background hum as the main plasma toroid warmed. There was a brief shudder as the main engines ignited.
"Got it!" Trent punched the air as the panel in front of him illuminated fully. "Okay... out of the hangar now..."
The TP edged forward, towards the open hangar doors. Alkad was nowhere to be seen. As the nose of the ship entered the outside storm, the cockpit windows were immediately drenched and blurred by the heavy rain. An alarm klaxon rang through the cockpit.
"Ship under attack."
"It's Alkad... that damn autocannon. The shields are taking it."
The transport hummed forward, its main engines ticking over, to the launch pad. Alkad pounded the shields all the way, heedless of the rain, and the lightning grounding through the buildings and conductor rods around him. He roared in fury, screaming at the shuttle to come back.
It lifted slowly, almost nonchalantly, as if it were ignoring him deliberately, then the main engines ignitied and it boosted into orbit. As the shuttle cleared the cloud cover, their sensors regained their proper resolution.
"By the High Towers of Terra... I think we'd be better off downstairs," Naeva said.
"What is it?" Trent asked, concentrating on his instruments.
"Look up, you numbnut."
He looked up.
He looked back at his console.
He double-took, and looked back ahead of the ship. There was a brilliant cloud of light in the far distance, far outside Argon Prime's orbit around its parent star. "Is that what I think it is?"
"The Argon Navy is engaging those purple ships you told me so much about. And some big ones you didn't."
"Feth. Naeva, find the Myrmidon. We need to get over there."
"Got it. But there's some kind of power surge in this shuttle... I don't know what's causing it."
The consoles in the cockpit flickered and sparked, then died. The engines sputtered and failed, quiet descending over the vessel as its generators whined down. Even the polarising filters over the cockpit viewport crystal ceased to function. The three squinted in the suddenly harsh light from the star and the battle in the distance.
Naeva poked and prodded at her console. "I still have sensors, for some reason... the Myrmidon has seen us and is changing course to intercept. Whoa... there's a massive ship... huge energy spike... what-"
Naeva chose a very bad time to look up. Trent was still looking down, trying to get the ship to start working again, and Cova had gone back aft to see what he could do manually. At that moment, the huge new ship fired an orange beam as thick as the shuttle and brighter than the system's sun. The light, unfiltered by the cockpit windows, seared her retinas and blinded her. She screamed and covered her eyes, thrashing around in her seat.
"I can't see! I can't see! I CAN'T SEE!"
Trent blinked, clearning the lines across his vision. "Naeva! Naeva, it's okay... it's okay, I'm right here. We're gonna get you to the Myrmidon and they're gonna fix it, it's gonna be okay..."
It wasn't. The beam had struck one of Argon Prime's moons. The massive, uneven heating had shattered the crust, melted the mantle, and forced the core to explode. The moon broke up into several million fragments, most on a decaying orbit. They would strike the planet two or three tazuras from now.
--------
"One mizura twenty to intercept, sir."
"Clarke, what happened?"
"Minor EMP pulse ran through the shuttle. The sensor suite survived due to the fact that it has to filter EM noise all the time, but the rest of the ship is without power."
"No," Duvall sighed. "The giant orange beam."
"Right, sorry, sir. It hit the innermost moon, which subsequently shattered. There is no immediate danger to the planet, only the smallest fragments were pushed in the direction of it, they'll burn up on re-entry; the rest is still in orbit. But they won't stay there, they're curving down towards the planet. Two tazuras, four at the outside, before it's rendered uninhabitable."
Duvall absorbed this for a while.
"Sir," called the Ops man. "TP on final approach. Our computers are guiding it in, its astrogation processors are shot."
--------
Trent slapped the airlock controls. "Medical assistance! There's a casualty in the shuttle! Now!"
"Aye, sir."
A gurney escorted by two medicos appeared from the nearest aid station, and dashed over to the shuttle.
"Cova," Trent called, "you're coming with me. The captain will need to know what Alkad has done. Goodness only knows what the mercenaries will do now..."
"You don't want me to stay with Naeva?"
Naeva, strapped to the stretcher and screaming, was ferried past by the paramedics. "No," he replied. "She's in good enough hands."
"Sir," one of the medics shouted from across the docking hall. "We'll keep her in the aid station here, it's well enough equipped."
Trent nodded and led the way to the nearest pellerator. Inside, he motioned Cova to a seat. "Bridge."
As the capsule moved off, Cova leaned forward. "Why do you need me there, to talk to the captain?"
"I'm not convinced he trusts me. Ever since he was incarcerated by the Department-"
"The who?"
"Under the Director-"
"Alkad mentioned him."
"What?"
"The Director. He said he knew where his family was. So he was working for Duvall while it was convenient, but the Director overrode any authority Duvall had over him."
Trent absorbed this.
The computer's voice sounded over the cabin speakers. "Bridge."
They stepped out, behind a blast door leading to the bridge proper. Trent keyed the actuator code, and the doors hissed apart. "Commander Trent, reporting for duty, sir."
"Good to see you back. What took you so long? And where is Alkad?" Duvall asked from his seat.
"Those two answers are related, sir. Alkad is no longer part of this crew. He killed his second when we landed, and then tried to kill Naeva and myself. He works for the Director. The capital has been taken over by terrorists; they wiped out an entire battalion of the Marines."
"That's it in a nutshell? Why is Cova back?"
"Yes, sir. He's here because he was the one to find out about Alkad's connection with the Director. Naeva is currently in one of the aft aid stations, she was blinded by the beam that destroyed the moon."
"What exactly is this connection?"
"His family," Cova answered. "He said that the Director knew where his family was."
"I thought his family were killed in the Xenon war." Cova just spread his hands.
"Never mind. Helmsman, bring me that battle with all possible haste. All hands, general quarters. Raise shields and charge weapons. Full combat readiness; evacuate and decompress all unessential compartments. Get rid of those refugees as well. Offload them on our remaining tenders. Down to the planet, to the other stations, I don't care. But get them off my ship."
A ragged chorus of 'Aye, sir,'s was followed by blips and confirmatory tones from the various consoles on the bridge. Duvall didn't buy it. Could Trent be lying? But then, why would Trent betray his own location, and put his own life in danger? The thoughts whirled around Duvall's head.
"Hm. You may go," he directed at Cova. The policeman nodded and left the bridge. Duvall straightened. "Helm, how long until battle insertion?"
"Half a quazura or so, sir. The overall drift of the engagement is taking it further towards the edge of the system."
"Plot a parabola upwards relative to the ecliptic. I want to be able to dive through the enemy formation, see if we can't scatter them for the Navy boys."
There was a brief pause. "Parabolic curve plotted, aye."
"Weapons, order all gunnery crews to perform final checks and drills."
"Gunnery acknowledges."
"Helm," Duvall said, looping his feet through graphoops in the deck and standing, "Engage."
--------
"Shields, failing."
"MacKinnan!" Castro screamed. "Get these motherfething hullhumping purple bastards off me now!"
"I'm workin' on it, Boss! Just-"
A blast rocked the fighter's stern, sending it into a messy spin.
"Shields, offline."
"MacKinnan."
"Engines, offline."
"MacKinnan?"
"Secondary plasma torus, offline."
"MacKinnan, are you there?"
"Weapons control, offline."
"MacKinnan goddamnit, answer me!"
"Life support, failing."
"Damnit... Fleet, Castro. I need retrieval."
"Main power, failing."
"Fleet?"
"Communications suite, offline."
Last edited by SOTS on Wed, 1. Apr 09, 21:42, edited 1 time in total.
Naeva opened her eyes, and blinked. She blinked again. Then she closed them, rubbed them with the heels of her palms, and opened them again. She couldn't see.
Then she remembered. She'd been sedated as soon as the medicos had hold of her panicked, thrashing form.
"Hello?" she tested. She heard footsteps on the deck; the ship must be accelerating.
"And how are we, Ms Naeva? I'm Dorden."
"Good to see you," she remarked drily. He chuckled.
"Good to hear you've kept your sense of humour." He checked her over and asked if she needed anything, once he was satisfied her condition hadn't worsened in the last twenty mizuras.
"No, I'm okay. What's happening?"
"Well, we should hit the enemy in the next couple of mizuras..." she heard the rustle of cloth as he checked his wristwatch, "... so you won't be allowed to get up and stretch, I'm afraid. In fact, we should probably get you strapped in." She heard the restraints unspool, then the metallic click of the clasp, and finally felt the straps tighten across her chest, abdomen and legs.
"Comfy?"
"More or less."
"Good... I'll have to get Mr Calvert here all buckled up, one moment. He's in the next bed and waking up, if you fancy trying to chat with him."
More clicks and rustling, then Dorden wandered off somewhere. 'Mr Calvert' groaned.
"Ugh. Still alive then, I see..." he tried to sit up, and encountered the straps. "Oh. Uh, Doc?"
Now was as good a time as any, Naeva reasoned. "Apparently we'll be in a fight soon, so they strapped us in."
"Oh! A fellow inmate," he remarked darkly. "So, what brings you here?"
"Oh, this and that. Girl loses her vision, gets locked up, the usual. What's your excuse?"
"You're blind? I'm sorry to hear that. I'm here for being a mass murderer."
Naeva paused. "You can't be serious."
"Well, not directly. My ship docked to a high-orbit hub and there was a bomb aboard. It exploded inside and, ultimately, destroyed the station. I knew I shouldn't have taken on that job..." She heard him thump his head back onto his headrest and heave a sigh, trying to control is breathing. She didn't know what to say. She fell back on etiquette.
"We were never properly introduced, Mr Calvert. I'm Naeva."
"Please, call me Joshua." His voice held none of the humour it had at the start of the conversation.
Naeva lay back for a while, trying to think of a way to get him talking again, to pass the time. Then she held her head up again.
"Can you feel that?" she asked.
"Feel what? There's nothing."
Naeva tilted her head, as if listening for something, the muscles in her neck standing out with the effort of holding her head at such an awkward angle. "We're turning. I think we're about to-"
The ship shuddered, rocked by a massive blast to the aft. Tools and medical equipment rattled in their housings. Some were even shaken loose, dropping to the deck and skittering off to the corners of the compartment. Another blast flicked the fallen implements into the air. One of them, a diamond-blade scalpel, arced across the room and sliced across Naeva's neck, severing an artery. Her head slumped back, her eyes wide with pain, dulling as her life ebbed away. The knife carried on and embedded itself in the frame of Joshua's bed, quivering.
Joshua began to scream as her blood showered her bed. Another person dead.
"Dorden! Dorden! Dorden!"
--------
"Damage assessment!"
"Two direct hits, Captain. Aft quarter. Minimal structural damage reported. Only one fatality, two minor injuries. Aft shields at fifteen percent."
"Weapons free. Return fire."
The gunnery crews happily obliged, training the cannon on the nearest enemy destroyer. Spears of light stabbed at the alien shields, while arcing contrails began to form around the Myrmidon as the missile racks discharged.
The alien attack faltered, as it was struck upon this new flank. The Argon Navy wasted no time in pressing the advantage; they were already a ship down, and in no mood to lose more.
"Sir!" called Clarke. "The ANS Thunder Child is breaking formation and mirroring our attack. They're going under the enemy sir, to come up through them as we go down."
"No..." Trent whispered. "Comms, hail them. Tell them to desist!"
"They're not responding, sir."
The bridge crew watched in silence as the Thunder Child began accelerating on its new course. It wasn't going quickly enough, having started from a much lower relative velocity. The enemy locked on to this slow, solitary ship, and mercilessly pounded it. It gave as good as it got, spewing cannon fire and missiles. There were just too many enemies. One enemy destroyer detonated, the plasma cloud buffeting the Argon destroyer, weakening the shields. They faltered and collapsed, leaving the hull bared to the enemy onslaught. Breaches were inflicted everwhere by orange beams, as explosive decompressions and secondary explosions ripped through the superstructure.
The Myrmidon, much faster and harder to hit, streamed through the enemy formation, taking a couple of hits.
"Ventral shields down to forty percent, Captain! Port shields at sixty, dorsal fifty-five."
"Power to aft shields."
"Power to aft shields, aye."
Auxiliary generators thrummed to life, boosting the protection afforded to the rear quarter as it was fully exposed to the enemy.
"Sir, the Thunder Child is launching escape pods. They are on an intercept course for us."
"Leave them," Duvall growled.
"What?" Trent said, astonished.
"Leave them."
"But Captain! We're not being attacked on that quarter, we can partially lower the shields and-"
"We. Are. Leaving them. I will not risk my ship to these... creatures again."
"There would be no risk!"
The bridge brightened as the Thunder Child streamed by half a kilometre away, trailing fire and shattered hull panels. Escape pods were visible as darker specks against the massive vessel.
"Helm, plot this course," Duvall tapped on his chair-arm console, unmoved by the sobering vision of the once-proud ship. "Clarke, find me the Argon One. Weapons, prepare another missile volley."
A subdued collection of "Aye aye"'s followed his order. Trent looked over the course Duvall had outlined. It would bring them up under the Argon formation, within a mere kilometre of the Argon One. Then he clicked the rest of what Duvall had said together. "Sir, that is an attack vector."
"Yes."
"What are you doing?"
"The order for that ship to break formation must have come from somewhere, Trent."
"Sir," called Dexter. "I respectfully disagree. They were answering no hails from the Fleet, either."
"Quiet. Weapons, full broadside on my order."
"Belay that order!" shouted Trent. "I will not allow it!"
"You are under my command," Duvall remarked icily. "You do not have a choice."
"The hell I do," Trent growled, "I am hereby removing you from command. Sir."
Duvall just glanced over his shoulder at him. He snorted. Trent became incandescent with fury. "Security! Get the provosts up here and arrest Captain Duvall. I am relieving him of his duty under charge of madness and illegal action."
"Sir?" came the crackled reply over the comm.
"Do it!" he screamed.
When he looked up, Duvall was right in front of him, with his feet looped through the grab hoops in the deck, and murder in his eyes. The bridge crew turned back to their stations as another blast rocked the Myrmidon. Before Trent could say a word, Duvall's hands were around his throat in an iron grip that he couldn't loosen, for all his trying. The bridge crew were oblivious.
"We... will... win... this day..." he whispered, inches from Trent's nose. The deck bucked underfoot as the Myrmidon took another hit, but it didn't shake Duvall's hold. Trent found it hard to see colour, his vision narrowing. He couldn't make a sound.
He was saved by the hiss of the blast doors as they opened to allow the provosts entry to the bridge. They levelled their shotcannons at Duvall's chest. "Come with us, sir."
"I will not!"
Trent could only watch as Duvall dived towards the provosts across the bridge, tackling one to the deck. He watched as half a dozen others expertly restrained him and removed him from the bridge, kicking and shouting all the way. Slowly, his sight regained normality, and strength returned to his limbs.
He cleared his throat, took a shuddering breath, and addressed the bridge crew. "Weapons, hold fire for the moment. Helm, bring us about. Occupy the place in the formation that the Thunder Child vacated. Comms, hail the Argon One. Let them know we wish to assist."
"Aye aye, captain," came the simultaneous replies.
Last edited by SOTS on Wed, 1. Apr 09, 21:56, edited 1 time in total.
Excellant just read the story from the start to the last chapter.The multiple sub stories all slowly coming togather into a whole and we still have no idea what the ending will be .Will the Khaak triumph ? or will the Argon navy save the day.And what about the DIRECTOR and ground forces .With the Colonel dead the Marshal engaged in a major space action and the Director a Kha ak ? theres only the IMPERATOR left of the commitee to save the Argon homeworld.Not to mention its looks like the other races are being attacked aswell on there homeworlds .how do you manage to keep all the sub plots and twists organised .JUST KEEP IT GOING THIS STORY DESERVES A SPECTACULAR ENDING.
In lieu of a full update, I've instead elected to proofread the entire story up to this point and edit things to make the whole affair rather more polished and easier to read. I addressed some plot holes as well, which had been annoying me ever since I noticed them a month or so ago.
If you fancy re-reading the story, I think you'll agree it's certainly (though subtly) better than before. It's not necessary, really, but work on the next chapter is, as always, progressing slowly.
Cova had ducked out after Duvall's dismissal of his report, heading abaft to see if he could help Dorden again in the sickbay. Since the Myrmidon was now in the thick of the fighting - a point demonstrated as the deck shuddered and Cova stumbled into the bulkhead - casualties would no doubt start appearing in the medical facilities on the ship.
A whistle sounded over the tannoy. "Attention all hands. This is Acting Captain Trent."
Acting Captain? What the hell?
"I have relieved Captain Duvall of his command for dereliction of duty, treason, and assaulting a fellow officer. I will command the Myrmidon until a suitable replacement can be found. Any formal objections will be noted and addressed after the battle. As you were."
Cova stood stunned for a moment. He toyed with the idea of visiting the brig, to find out what had happened, or going straight to Dorden's aid station. 'Brig' won out, and he hung a right to find the nearest pellerator. While he waited for the capsule to arrive, he wondered exactly how the charges against Duvall had come about. According to Trent, he'd always been a stand-up sort of guy.
The capsule arrived, and Cova embarked.
"Destination."
Cova realised he didn't actually know where the ship's brig was. He hoped it was on the pellerator network.
"Destination."
"Uh, the brig."
"Please be seated and engage the seat restraints." As soon as he was strapped in, the pellerator departed for the brig with a whirring jolt.
On arrival at the relevant section, the hatch opened with a muted hiss. As he stepped out, the destroyer was shaken as the shields took another hit. The sound of the gun batteries' returning fire rang through the superstructure. A solitary provost eyed Cova warily.
"No access to the brig without the permission of either the Acting Captain or the commander of the provosts."
"I'm here because Trent asked me to look in on Duvall," Cova lied smoothly.
"I wasn't forewarned..."
"There's a battle going on, corporal. Captain's busy." To underline his point, the ship shook harder than ever before, and the sharp sound of an explosion pounded the air. The aliens had forced a hole in the shields. Cova did his best to appear unconcerned.
"Okay. In you go." The provost shifted his position, unnerved by the sound of the hull breach. He couldn't hear the rushing of escaping air, though, so the bulkheads surrounding the hit had held. "Biggest ship I ever served on..." he muttered.
The door hissed closed behind Cova.
---------
"Ops, that didn't feel like a shield hit," Trent said.
"No, sir. Partial shield collapse in the starboard bow. Beam strike to one of our missile magazines; thankfully expended already. The emergency seals are holding. Damage control teams are tackling fires in the surrounding compartments."
"All stations, report."
"All shield quadrants less than twenty percent, sir. Missile magazine at ten percent. Energy weapon capacitors hovering at forty percent. Auxiliary shield generators are only barely still operational."
"The fleet has responded to our offer of assistance. They welcome anything they can get."
"Engines running hot. Coolant replacement necessary in six mizuras. If I pull out of this ridiculous Navy formation I can reduce some of the damage incoming," Helm reported.
Trent considered for a sezura. "Proceed. Sensors, tell me the big picture."
"Argon fleet is down by two destroyers, and more than half its fighter squadrons. This 'ridiculous formation' is falling apart on its own. Enemy fleet's capitals are all operational, but one of them is showing signs of structural weakness. Their fighter swarms are faring only slightly better than our strike craft. I can't give you exact numbers, it's too hot out there," Clarke relayed.
The weakened enemy capital ship fired all its weapon batteries at once before rents and fissures in its hull finally spewed a torrent of superheated gases, forming a purple and blue halo as the hull crumpled and imploded, making the colossal vessel appear to twitch in its death throes. A cheer went up on the bridge of the Myrmidon, echoed over the comm as every transmitting ship in the defending Argon fleet joined in.
--------
The Marshall didn't join in with the celebration of those under his command. While the loss of that destroyer would hurt them, yes, the Argon were still a long way from winning. The Tryphon and the Thunder Child were hard losses for the Navy fleet, although only the Thunder Child had been outright destroyed. The Tryphon was currently limping back in the direction of Argon Prime and its shipyards.
"Marshall, sir!" called the sensor station. "We have the planet-killer in range to scan."
"Do it. Tell me everything you can!"
"Not much. All I can tell you is physical size - huge, it's a good five kilometres from one end to the other - and its power output. Must be hiding half a star in there, sir. It's off the charts."
The Marshall didn't have time to digest this information before he was hailed again, this time by communications.
"Message from Argon Prime for you, sir. Anonymous, highest clearance. Text only."
"Give it to me."
Marshall,
I have ordered the Senate to organise a complete evacuation of Argon Prime. More than a third of that moon the aliens destroyed is going to impact the planet in less than two tazuras. The refugee fleet is going to need protection on its way to its new home, wherever that ends up being. I want you to order the Expeditionary Fleet to return home and protect our ships.
The Colonel is dead, the Director is alive but unresponsive. I suspect something, but I can't tell you now. Paranoia has kicked in. The capital city is still under the custody of our terrorist keepers, though they do appear to have stopped slaughtering civilians for now. Maybe they know it doesn't matter how many die by their hand any more.
Order the EF home, cover the exodus.
Imperator.
Marvellous. Indulging in a little mystery-mongering with the Imperator would have to wait for later. "Communications, send a communiqué to Admiral Kolhammer. Tell him to bring his fleet home to Argon Prime."
"Reinforcements, sir?"
"No," though he wouldn't mind having some, "I don't think we'll need it for this rabble. They are to defend the refugees from the planet." Glossing over the fact that this 'rabble' had already killed thousands of well-disciplined and competent Navy personnel in this one battle alone. The crew morale was already at a pretty deep low, so he was doing all he could to keep them upbeat and active, and most importantly not sink into the frankly dangerous mindset of 'What's the point?'
"Aye, sir."
The Marshall took the opportunity to survey the battle with his own eyes rather than his instruments while the message was sent and confirmation was awaited. A pair of fighters streaked past the bridge pursued by another pair of alien vessels, even as the AA battery just afore of the carrier's bridge opened fire on them with a hail of plasma. They disappeared from view, revealing a corvette, the Pantheon, finally succumb to its attackers as explosions ripped across the hull.
"Sir! Direct comm link to Admiral Kolhammer established."
The Marshall was surprised. A simple text message confirming the receipt of their orders should have been enough. "Show me."
Kolhammer appeared over the gravidar display, hashed with static and hazed with smoke. A cut above his left eye left a red smear across half his face. "Marshall! The Expeditionary is under attack by unknown alien forces! We are unable to assist at this time, repeat we are-" the display whited out completely for an instant as something exploded in the background, then Kolhammer reappeared. This time, the baleful orange glow of fire was visible behind the injured admiral. "- damn it, they've overrun us. We have no fighters left, our gunships are dropping like flies and our point defences can't handle the sheer number of strike craft we're facing. We're lost, Marshall. I have failed in my duty."
"Admiral, break off and return to Argon Prime immediately! Save what ships you can and escape."
Kolhammer lurched to the side briefly as his ship shuddered again, then steadied himself. "It is pointless. Withdrawal is impossible now. We will destroy as many of them as we can, sir. Captain! Target that..." the signal was deteriorating. More explosions were heard, along with the dull thumps of explosive decompressions in nearby compartments. "If... today, it has... honour, sir." Another hash of static obscured the image. It didn't clear.
"That's it, Marshall. Signal lost."
The Marshall was furious with himself. He had allowed a single battle in a single system to assimilate his consciousness, and hadn't checked with the other fleets. The tactical had become more important to him than the strategic. Not that there was much strategy left to be had, he reflected. It was win-or-die, now.
"All units, disengage formation. Skirmish tactics. Coordinate, separate, and destroy." The Marshall retook his seat and engaged the five-point harness. "Helmsman, bring me that mothership."
"Sir? Aye, sir. Coming about."
--------
"Get up! Get back up! We need to keep firing!"
"God damn it Sarge I can barely see, let alone get to the gun..."
The last hit had burned through the shields and blasted a hole in the armoured shell of the Myrmidon not thirty metres away from the starboard prow gun battery. It had sent gunnery sergeant McCoy and his gunners to the deck, bouncing around the bunker compartment in the null-g. The glare from the beam had sliced through the viewport polarisation like it wasn't even there, bathing the room in the brightest orange light McCoy had ever seen.
"Updated targeting data from Weapons Control. Aim point; coaxial beam weapon on ship designated Foe Three Alpha."
"Coaxial beam, aye." One gunner traversed the turret, bringing the muzzle to bear, while the other charged the release capacitor.
"Ready to fire in five sezuras. Four. Three."
"Adjust aim for relative motion."
"Adjusting, aye."
"Ready to fire."
"Fire!" McCoy barked. A burst of three blue-white bolts discharged from the five-metre long barrel of the PPC, producing a huge hiss from the recoil baffles heard over the whine of the capacitor as it recharged. As the hiss subsided, the constant staccato crack of the triple-A batteries could be heard again.
McCoy watched the salvo slam into the alien ship, waiting for the photonic overspill to clear so he could see the target area. He needn't have bothered. A sezura later, a blinding orange beam stabbed out at the foredecks of the next nearest destroyer, the ANS Tally-Ho.
"Readjust aim-point, ready to fire again."
"Adjusting, aye."
Didn't these invading little buggers know when to give in and be defeated? McCoy shook his head as he keyed in the next set of data.
Last edited by SOTS on Tue, 30. Jun 09, 13:18, edited 1 time in total.
I just read this start-to-current (can't say finish!) and I'm lost for words. Well, obviously not otherwise there'd just be a blank post. But...
Awe-inspiring. Wish I could turn my story into something this complex. It all just feels right - though I did have the good fortune to only read it after your subtle changes in April. Your 'avid reader' count just went up by one.
s to whoever it was who suggested that!!
![[ external image ]](http://requiem.seraph-inn.com/links/banner468.jpg){kind=link}
![[ external image ]](http://img824.imageshack.us/img824/1369/argonliscjargyleb.jpg){kind=link}