Drixen walked into the conference room and took a seat next to Cowgirl, also known as Kaihla. Her strawberry blonde hair was put up in a thick braid, and her green eyes twinkled with the excitement of receiving a mission. She greeted him with a smile. Admiral Jasken, who had called the meeting for the fighter pilot squadrons, walked in just after.
“Greetings all,” he said, earning instant silence from the group. “As you know, our satellite network is not yet complete. However, while we do not yet have a comprehensive view of the planet’s surface, we have found something of great interest in orbit around Hittania. Namely, the Ramshackle fleet responsible for the attacks on our fleet and our ground crew.”
The screen behind him flickered to life and showed a fleet of five Ramshackle vessels: the two gunships from the original attack, two additional, larger gunships, and the lead destroyer, the infamous Reaper.
“As many of you already noted, this is Admiral Grim’s command, the Scythe Fleet. Your mission will be a straightforward assault. Your primary target will be the guns on these larger ships. The others are already crippled and, though repairs are doubtless underway, they are still sure to be in poor condition. Don’t get bogged down in dogfights. Hit these targets and run. Our fighters are faster and more maneuverable. The Arrowhead will be following behind you and hiding just over the horizon, calling out any stealth missiles or other tricks it can detect. Good look out there. Progenitor watch over you.”
The pilots all saluted and jogged to their fighters.
“No getting shot down this time,” said Cowgirl as she skirted past Drixen to get to her bomber. Drixen sighed. He’d never hear the end of that one.
***
Over on the Ferryman, Reclan was getting used to crutches. She had spent too much time in a hospital bed and was spending most of her time down in the fabrication workshop now. She was happily tinkering when Vanbrook called. She answered the call and kept working.
“Van, what’s going on?”
“Aw,” he replied, “just bored down here without my budd- hey, watch it!”
Reclan chuckled. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” sighed Vanbrook, “Jasken sent a bunch of soldiers down here to establish a more permanent base and they’re, y’know, getting in the way. Looks like our little ol’ basecamp is now going by Fort Bog Iron. But I just wanted to see how you were.”
“Well,” said Reclan, “I’ve been better. The docs all say it’ll take time to adjust and that standard procedure is to send me home for three months. I said no way, and I had to sign, like, thirty forms to waive my right to said vacation.”
“You sure you want to stick around here?”
“That’s just it. There aren’t any outbound ships, so I’m supposed to just… hang out on the Ferryman.”
“Oh, forget that.”
“Exactly.”
Reclan heard a knock at the door and looked up to see Admiral Jasken.
“Oh,” she said, “I gotta go Van. Say hi to the others; I’ll see you soon.” She ended the call.
“Admiral,” she said, warmly as possible.
“Reclan,” he answered, “how are you?”
Reclan sighed internally. ‘Pretty sick of answering that question’ probably wasn’t the right answer to give the Admiral.
“Alright. I’m losing myself in my work,” she gestured to the messy work table she was standing at.
“Good. Heard you waived your leave of absence.”
“Well,” she said, trying to maintain a respectful tone, “it wasn’t so much a ‘leave of absence’ as a ‘stay of boredom.’ Pretty soon I’ll be ready for action again.”
“Ready for action?” Jasken frowned.
“Gimme another day. I’m close. I’ll pass any psych or phys eval you throw at me.”
Jasken appreciated her dedication. If she could indeed pass a few evals, he could certainly use her. If she couldn’t, he’d be able to force her to rest the way the doctors wanted her to.
“You’re on, Reclan. There are going to be some missions coming up for Talon Squad. You’ve got two days. Exams on the third.”
The Dromean beamed a smile like only a Dromean could, her pointed teeth glistening in the glow of the workshop lights.
***
Crush sat in her quarters, staring at the platinum bar. She should be thanking her lucky stars. She could get an oil change once a week for a year, even spring for the all-natural fossil-derived stuff. She could update her armor, get something a little stronger and lighter. She could take a trip to the other side of the galaxy and forget where this wretched bar came from. She could do all that and still have a bit left over.
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But her whole life, ever since she was awakened, she’d been part of the Ramshackle Collective. She had always taken pride in that, always thought of herself as an important part of the machine. Now she felt like her whole life had been a lie, or, worse yet, a joke. Killing Spatter was supposed to be a good move for the Collective as a whole, but that logic fell apart now that she saw what the Collective actually meant to those at the top.
Her ponderings were interrupted as an alarm siren blared. The Republic. It had to be. She looked out her window to see eighteen pin pricks of light on the horizon. Fighters, and they’d be here soon. She ran to the Admiral’s quarters to help direct their own fighters.
***
Textbook was watching the activity around the Scythe Fleet intently, knowing they were going to be facing enemy fighters before they got their bombing run in. They had clung close to the planet, helping them avoid detection until they were as close as possible, but he had no doubt they’d been spotted now.
“Okay, everyone, you heard the Admiral. Hit the guns, get back out. Cowgirl and I will take the further of the two large gunships. Viper, you and your bomber take the closer. Third squad’s bomber is going to pick up any slack. Everybody keep your eyes open and fire at any enemies in range. Let’s go!”
This time he opted for a loop-the-loop rather than a barrel roll, but it earned him the same chorus of cheers. His grin widened and he opened fire. The shots were unpredictable at this range but if a few peppered the decks of the enemy it was worth it.
Enemy fighters zeroed in, forcing them to take evasive maneuvers and fire on the immediate threat. The first wave of enemies consisted of their fastest, lightest and least-armored fighters, so the Republic fighters shrugged them off. Drixen knew some tougher, meaner fighters would be on the way, but he focused on the job and let the other fighters work that out while he escorted Cowgirl.
He easily wove his way through the clumsy defensive fire coming from the ships and closed in quickly on his target.
"Bombs away!" shouted Cowgirl.
The missile hit the target directly, but when the smoke cleared the guns still looked pristine.
From the cabin, Crush watched with enjoyment as the shields held. After the gunships had been so easily crippled, she had seen to it that the ballistic shielding was refurbished and upgraded.
"Oi, what gives?!" shouted Viper over the comms. Second squad was having a similar issue with their target.
"Alright," said Drixen, "new strategy. First and Second Squads, all fighters sweep the larger gunships with energy weapons only. All bombers follow up on the same target. If we can crack the shields and take out a couple guns they'll remember our little visit.”
***
Crush watched with alarm as she saw an organized swarm of laser fire hammering the shields on the Sepulchre, the fleet’s largest gunship after the Reaper. "Admiral, all fighters should focus on interrupting that pattern!"
Grim looked where she was pointing.
"They learn quick, eh?” he said nonchalantly. “Fighters, focus on the enemies strafing the ships."
***
It was too late, though. Third Squad nimbly harassed the Ramshackle fighters, allowing First and Second Squads to execute the plan flawlessly. One, two, three missiles blasted into the weakened shielding, blowing the guns to smithereens.
"Well done, folks!" exclaimed Drixen. "let's head home."
All three squads cheered and turned to exit the battle.
"Don't pursue," growled Grim. "Repeat, don't pursue."
He turned to face the porthole overlooking the retreating fighters. No doubt a gunship waited beyond the horizon to watch their backs. "You win this round, Jasken."
***
Jasken was exhausted. Eight brutal hours and counting of answering politician's tangential questions, and all with an annoying, if slight, delay as the faster-than-light messages still took a few seconds to travel from where the Wingspan orbited Hittania to the capital city of Kerucester on Griffonia.
The questions were endless. Expansionists wanted to know why Hittania was taking so long to settle. So-called Staticists wanted to know why we needed another planet. A representative of a system including two asteroid belts, and the mining companies that operated there, wanted to know why we were focusing on Hittania when iron was available elsewhere already. It seemed everything except the tensions with the Astralbian Kingdom was being discussed, and thoroughly.
Finally, Prime Minister Skritka stood up, saying, "That concludes our time for questions from the floor."
A disgruntled rumble worked its way through the auditorium that made up the Major House’s chambers. It was a very large room, but most of the chairs had the headrests flipped down to reveal a screen and camera for remote attendance. The Major House consisted of one representative from each settled world, asteroid belt, or nation that belonged to the Republic. Jasken was speaking to these representatives from a large screen in the front of the room.
“Admiral Jasken,” Skritka continued. “Please give us the bottom line here. Can we avoid war with the Astralbian Kingdom over Hittania or not?”
“Prime Minister,” answered Jasken, “if we plan to keep our claim on Hittania, armed conflict with the Astralbians is a near-certainty.”
“Why take the risk?” shouted Trekna, a representative from an iron-rich belt. He was a short, squat Raki, with strong limbs and tough armored plates covering a leathery hide.
“I did NOT flee the tyranny of the Kingdom to bow to their wishes!” retorted an Astralbian female. Her sapphire eyes blazed with indignity. One of the small number of refugees to leave the Astralbian Kingdom and its associated planets, she had earned the trust of her new people enough that she now represented a small, recently settled planet known for its fisheries.
“Order in the house!” shouted Skritka. “We will have order in the house!” Skritka was an imposing figure, despite his short stature. The Prime Minister was appointed by the Minor House, a larger body with a representative from each region or district that was part of the Republic. It did not have the authority of the Major House, but it was a more direct reflection of the people’s will, and they appointed one member as Prime Minister, to keep the more powerful body in check. Skritka had managed to get the appointment, but some days he wondered why he’d wanted it.
“Admiral,” he continued, “you are the one directly at risk. What is your recommendation?”
“Thank you, Prime Minister. My recommendation is that we stay, we repel the Ramshackle Collective, and we stand our ground against the Astralbians. Our allies will be more sympathetic to our cause if we do what we can to maintain peace, and they know theAstralbians are the aggressors here.
“Additionally, even if the Kingdom is willing to resume armed conflict with the Republic after all these years they are not likely to attack our settled worlds.
“Conflict on frontier planets is status quo; they won’t risk an alliance forming against them by attempting to take settled, sovereign territory.
“As was mentioned at the outset, there are reasons to be interested in Hittania that go beyond iron, but much of that information is classified.”
“Yes,” said the Prime Minister, “so it will not be discussed at this public meeting. Admiral, thank you for your time and for your service to this great Republic. Providence shine on you.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister. Providence shine on you as well.”