High above Hittania, Admiral Jasken walked onto the Wingspan's bridge, his mag-boots clicking as they kept him anchored to the floor. His command, the Blue Griffon Fleet, consisted of the carrier Wingspan, the gunship Arrowhead and the support ship Ferryman.

One thousand feet in length, the heavily armored Wingspan resembled a massive flying barge, with much of the space dedicated to hangars for the complement of sixty-five fighter craft it carried. Though much of the main deck and the deck below were dedicated to the fighters that rose up onto the deck from hangars below, they also housed most of the crew, the rocket-propelled drive and the faster-than-light “ripmed” drive and other utilities. A command tower rose from the starboard side of the ship. It was ten stories tall, encased in a heavily shielded clear polymer dome and housed the officer’s quarters and communications utilities. The bridge was in the uppermost story, overlooking the rest of the ship and able to keep a 360-degree visual of the area around the vessel. In addition to housing flight controls, the bridge could direct an array of heavy ballistic and energy cannons located along the sides of the ship.

The destroyer class gunship Arrowhead was a humbler five hundred feet long, but had a sleeker, more agile design. The bridge emerged towards the pointed nose of the vessel, facing in the same direction as the ship but with viewports that swept back towards the tail for maximum visibility. Though smaller than the Wingspan, the Arrowhead boasted an array of guns that rivaled its fellow, along with its own rocket-propelled and ripmed drives.

The Ferryman reassembled a space station more so than a ship. It was essentially a three hundred foot tall tower with a massive spoked wheel encircling it roughly halfway up the structure. The wheel offered a number of docks for fighters and shuttles, and the spokes were hallways into the main structure for crew and supplies. It housed spare parts for the other ships as well as a dedicated hospital wing to complement the smaller medical facilities aboard the other vessels. While it had its own rocket-propelled drive, it had to dock onto the Wingspan for faster-than-light ripmed jumps.

"Captain Hunt,” said Jasken, standing on the bridge of the Wingspan and addressing his second-in-command. “How soon can we get our satellite network fully established?"

“It's going to take a couple weeks, sir,” said Hunt, shaking his head. He was a young Human male with close cropped dark hair and thoughtful, intelligent eyes. Jasken had been grooming him to lead his own fleet some day, but, despite his promising talents, it would be some time before the youth was ready for the job. “We can cut that down some but not without sacrificing other projects."

"Cut back what you can. We're sharing the planet with the Ramshackle Collective now, so we need to find their base and/or fleet ASAP."

"Understood, sir."

"Excellent. I'll be making an announcement concerning the Collective's presence shor-" Jasken was suddenly interrupted by an explosion that shook the ship.

"Sooner than I thought!" He finished his interrupted thought and turned to the communications officer.

"Officer Mairen, what are we looking at?"

A kindly-looking gray-haired woman studied a complex array of screens and readouts, tapping her console as she studied the information it was feeding her.

"Two Ramshackle gunships just popped up over the horizon,” she said. “They must have launched a guided stealth missile to hit us before we saw them - yes. Anti-stealth scanners show two more headed our way. They're targeting the Wingspan in particular. Deploying countermeasures."

In addition to handling the basics of communication, Mairen oversaw the sensors that fed the fleet information on their surroundings and had some autonomy to operate defensive measures.

"Good! Scramble fighters."

All over the ship, spacers of all stripes ran for their battle stations. Commander Drixen, better known to many by his callsign, Textbook, was among them, already headed for the hangar before the call came on the general intercom to scramble fighters.

Without pausing, he admired the sleek lines of his fighter. From the rounded fenders above the foreguns to the rear fins that housed the thrusters she was a thing of beauty. He dashed up the steps and jumped into the cockpit, donning his goggles and grinning widely. A technician removed the steps and hurried off with practiced efficiency.

The technicians cleared the hangar and the roof began to split. The ceiling opened to the vacuum of space, which greedily sucked the air from the room. The lights in the hangar flashed green and fighters lifted from their bays and shot into the aether.

A cool energy settled over Drixen as he wheeled his craft to make his first run on the enemy. He lived for this. He activated his comm.

"All squads, the Ramshackle gunboats are headed straight for the prow of the Wingspan, but we're going to intercept before they get there. Standard fighters, engage enemy fighters when necessary. Bomber units, hang behind the fighters and focus your ordinance on the gunships. I'll call it when we get closer. Let's roll."

On the bridge, Admiral Jasken was looking at a real-time digital display of the battle. Two large Ramshackle gunships were headed towards the fleet.

"Get the Wingspan and Arrowhead broadside and on the same plane as those gunships. Get the Ferryman behind them. Good job intercepting those stealth missiles, keep your eyes peeled for more. Fighters are on their way?" he asked. The best way to ensure minimum damage to the fleet was to have the fighters blunt the attack from the gunships. If they could put the Collective on the defensive early on, they'd have a shot at driving them back to their main fleet. Jasken was sure they'd have at least one carrier or destroyer skulking around the planet somewhere.

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"Yes, sir," answered Drixen over the intercom. "We expect contact with enemy fighters imminently."

Drixen looked out at the Ramshackle gunboats, now just a few miles away. With their decks opened to the aether and the massive solar panels mounted above them, they resembled ancient sailing vessels, only they were made of scrap and steel instead of wood and cloth.

Suddenly, rusted red skiffs started rising from either side of the ships. The Ramshackle Collective was scrambling their fighters.

"Cowgirl,” said Drixen, “I'm your escort for this run. I'll draw fire and get you where you can bomb the tar out of their primary gunship. Hit the guns first, then go for the panels."

"Yahoo!” replied Cowgirl, the fleet’s most accomplished bomber pilot. “Sounds like a date, Textbook."

Drixen smirked.

"The rest of First Squad, I want you distracting those fighters. Second Squad, follow that same pattern and target the second gunship. Third Squad, form a holding pattern between us the Wingspan and pick off any stragglers that get past us.

"Everybody stay up above the gunships' main line of fire and dive in for your attack. Nobody needs to be taking a full broadside blast today.

"That said, Ramshackle ships tend to be glass cannons. Expect heavy incoming but stay alert; place your shots right and we'll have 'em running back home shortly."

Drixen executed a barrel roll as he banked towards his target, the maneuver earning him a chorus of whoops and hollers from the three squads.

Opening up the foreguns, Drixen sprayed the oncoming wave of fighters, damaging several. Ignoring the instinct to chase each one down and finish what he started, he continued towards the gunship.

"Alright, Cowgirl,” said Drixen as they closed in on their target, “looks like they're swinging into position to fire their broadsides at our fleet."

"Sounds like they're rolling out the red carpet for me,” said Cowgirl wryly. “I'll put a missile between their eyes, that'll straighten 'em out."

"Sounds good, I'll deal with these guys," said Drixen. He peeled off and swooped around, flanking two Ramshackle fighters who were focused on Cowgirl's bomber.

Opting for the more precise laser cannon over the foreguns, Drixen fired at a fuel conduit on the side of the closest fighter. The conduit exploded, tearing the fighter apart and sending a vicious barrage of shrapnel towards its wingman. The second fighter banked, obscuring its fuel conduit. Drixen was closer now and reverted to the foreguns, sending dozens of rounds into the bottom of the hull and shredding it like tissue paper. One of two engines tore off and the fighter spun violently, firing its laser weapon recklessly. One shot connected with Drixen's fighter, glancing off the thin energy barrier that protected it.

"Lucky shot," murmured Drixen.

"Textbook, this is Cowgirl. Thanks for clearing the way. Mind softening those guns up for me?"

"Not a problem, Cowgirl." Turning back to face the broadside of the gunship, he started his dive and blasted away at the guns, which were already firing blast after blast at the Wingspan and company. Just as Drixen peeled off, Cowgirl launched her payload and followed him to set up for another run.

"That's a confirmed hit, Textbook. A few more like that and they'll be about as dangerous as a party barge."

"Excellent," replied Drixen. "Second Squad, this is Textbook, check in."

"This is Viper for Second Squad, we hit our target but we, uh- we lost Desert and our bomber took a bad hit. No way we'll make a second run of it."

"Understood, Viper, please escort your bomber back to the Ferryman and get her space worthy again. We'll drink one for Desert when we get back. Good luck out there."

"You too, Textbook. Make 'em hurt- for Desert."

"Will do."

***

Back on the Wingspan, Admiral Jasken smoothed his mustache and stared searchingly at the screen.

"Looks like the guns on the larger gunship are about useless. Arrowhead, fire on the smaller ship. Energy weapons are the best bet for disabling the guns, so keep your focus there," he commanded.

"This seems too easy, sir, what are they up to?" asked Captain Hunt. Jasken nodded thoughtfully as he considered the young captain’s question.

"The Ramshackle Collective isn't shy about sacrificing troops. They'd rather send an exploratory force to probe for weak points and radio back intel than overcommit in the opening of a campaign. Chances are they retreat before long."

Right on cue, the gunships began to turn from the battle. Drixen had made another successful run with Cowgirl and between that and the incoming from the Arrowhead the gunships were crippled. There were far fewer Ramshackle fighters flying around now, as well.

"Wingspan, I'd like to take First Squad to harass these guys and try to find where they're coming from," said Drixen.

"Permission granted," replied Jasken. "Keep a safe distance and stay alert."

"Yes, sir,” answered Drixen. “Cowgirl, head back. We shouldn't need a bomber on this run."

"Fine, but don't have too much fun without me, alright?"

"Fair enough," chuckled Drixen. "I'll find you something to blow up real soon, I promise."

The gunships had completely turned and fired their thrusters, which flickered strangely for a second. Drixen took note but didn't think much of it.

"Evasive action! Now!" Jasken barked the order out just in time for Drixen to jerk back on the steering and take a glancing blow from a stealth missile. Two other First Squad fighters hesitated and paid the highest price for it.

"First Squad, get back here immediately," Jasken said firmly. "We don't need to lose any more fighters."

"Understood, sir," Drixen answered. "First Squad, get back to the Wingspan. I lost thrusters when I got hit. Looks like gravity's going to do its thing, but I'll try for a soft landing."

"Textbook, we will get to you as soon as possible. Keep in contact and stay safe down there." Jasken grimaced. Drixen was a proven pilot but his chances were not great.

In his fighter, Drixen silenced the alarms that were blaring in his ears and opened the atmo-mode stabilizing fins. A fall like this would take some time, but the end result was inevitable. He was going to crash; he just had to hope providence and skill would make it survivable.

There was a strange pause in his thinking as he took in the gorgeous purples, greens and oranges of Hittania. He thanked the Progenitor for the view, even as he prayed for his survival. It’s funny the things that come to mind when you’re spiraling to your death.

As the ground approached he saw an open field with some kind of pit off to one side. It looked like a better spot to land than the volcanic mountains and low lying forests that surrounded it, so he gritted his teeth and spiraled in towards it. The fighter was shaking too badly to know if he was going to hit his target, but he reasoned he'd find out soon enough. The practiced calm he was forcing on himself stayed steady until a storm of noise, dirt, and adrenaline indicated that, for better or worse, his fall had ended.