League of Species High Council, Messier 18 Cluster, Carina-Sagittarius Arm
“I believe that wraps up these proceedings of War,” said the Bonthan Admiral. She was an imposing hexapod, towering 4 meters tall, and her carapace displayed a dozen medals stapled into her bony exoskeleton, a record of military victories a permanent fixture of her body. She was tired of this meeting. Another upstart species on the fringe of League space, and another interminable meeting about which member species ships would be selected in the line of battle to put the upstarts in their place. She surveyed the long, raised table in front of her, flanked on each side by the ranking members of the League Galactic’s Security Council. Below the table, the delegations of lesser council species and junior members stood, perched, sat or coiled depending on their respective physiologies. Admiral Nuryaw sat at the head of the table, flanked by her species’ ambassador’s to the League, befitting her position as the leader of the most powerful military in the security council, and therefore its chair-being.
Her medals clanked at her chest carapace as she raised her gavel-stone in her grasping-hoof to dismiss the council, seeing the colored holograms that signaled [approval] blink into existence above the various delegations at the table and the council floor as they keyed in their assent on their speaking stones. She was about to rap the gavel-stone on the table’s surface, when a blinking hologram with the symbols of [dissent] and [request to speak] caught her gaze near the corner of the room, hovering over a delegation far back in the crowd. Some minor race looking to score political points during security proceedings, most likely. As far away from the table as they were, they must have been one of the most junior species present. However, protocol was protocol, and member species were allotted speaking time, after all.
“The War-Council recognizes Ambassador Nesh of the ...” Nuryaw paused at the unfamiliar species name, “Dreeden people. You may speak.”
On large holo-screens floating high-above the council chamber, the view switched from the decorated admiral to a small, bipedal creature with what looked to be huge compound eyes on either side of its bulbous head and upper limbs that ended in a myriad of short, writhing tentacles.
The Dreeden Ambassador only stood one meter in height, but his voice reached the entire war-council without the need for amplification. “If it may please the security council, the Dreeden Republic would yield it’s time to a non-voting member species.”
This caused a stir on the council floor, as delegations whispered to each other. A junior council species yielding what little time the council allotted them on the floor to a non-voting species? This breach of protocol was unheard of. What could a species so new or so minor that they had not achieved voting status in the league have to add to a council of war? Delegations that had a neck to crane now did so, looking at the holo-screens to try to get a better look at the Dreeden Ambassador.
Nuryaw motioned the delegations to silence with a wave of her fore-hoof. “If only to sate the council’s curiosity, the request is granted. The Ambassador from Dreeden may yield his time.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” The ambassador passed his speaking stone to a delegation directly to their right. “The Dreeden yield their time to representatives of the Terran People. May I introduce to you Ambassador Baden Woods and Admiral Patricia Davies of the Associated Republics of Terra.”
Another bipedal figure accepted the Dreedle’s speaking stone. This “Terran” stood twice the height of Ambassador Dreeden. Other than the species possessing two limbs for locomotion and two arms for grasping, not much else was discernible to Nuryaw, as the entire Terran delegation seemed to be wearing full environmental suits with entirely opaque helmets. Nonetheless, there was something about their appearance that made Admiral Nuryaw uneasy, as if these Terrans tickled a half-forgotten memory.
Nuryaw saw that she wasn’t the only one to be discomfited by the appearance of these Terrans. To her left, the Arkone ambassador had partially withdrawn into his shell, while the Queel Admiral at the foot of the table flicked its mandibles in agitation. What horrors must lurk under that mask! Nuryaw was under no illusions that species found each other pleasing to the eye, but these Terrans must be hideous indeed to elicit such a reaction! Her discomfort was quickly replaced by amusement by the thought and turned to listen to what this Terran delegation could hope to add to the proceedings, while idly calling up information on the species on her holo-screen.
“Honorable Species of the League, Admiral Nuryaw, we thank you for your time. You do our young species honor to have our words heard by species as wise and as powerful as yours. You have fought many wars, and won many victories.” The human ambassador took a long pause. “Unfortunately, we do not believe this strike against the Rashan will be one of them.”
If the spectacle unfolding on the security council chamber floor didn’t have every delegation’s attention before, it certainly did now. Nuryaw’s hackle-spines raised along her back. “You presume too much, calfling.” While the information about the Terrans she had been able to pull up on her screen was surprisingly sparse, with remarkably little about the physiology of the creatures beneath their environmental suits, the entry about how recently they became a space-faring species told her enough. “The Bonth were fighting interstellar war while your species was using stone tools. You jeopardize your future membership in the league by presuming you have a superior military analysis of the situation.” Around the Security Council chambers, [assent] was signaled by most of the delegations.
“You are correct, of course, Admiral, with the Bonth leading its fleets, the League has prospered for millennia. We do not assume to question your tactical analysis, but only to suggest that it was made with incomplete information.” Ambassador Woods replied. “We have reason to believe that the Rashan will not wage war in the manner that you expect. We believe that they are a predator species.”
Nuryaw stifled a laugh. “A predator species? A sentient, space-faring predator species? Don’t waste our time with that horror story.” Other security council members were not as successful at containing their laughter. “Simple calfing,” Nuryaw sighed, “Three thousand years this League has policed this corner of the Galaxy. Over a thousand sentient species under its protection,” she gestured over the gathered delegations with her fore-hoof. “And never has any of them encountered a sentient - or even close to sentient - predator.”
“Surely you have access to the League’s database. It is the struggle against simple predators that evolves sentience! That forces species to use tools! It was our ancestral struggle as prey that was the crucible that forged every species in this League. Predators? Flesh eaters? Capable of space travel? I’m afraid you are mistaken, Terran.” Nuryaw moved once more to adjourn the session, only to hear the Terran speak once more. Her hackle-spines rose again in agitation, but Ambassador Woods didn’t seem to notice.
“As implausible as it may seem, it is the truth Admiral. Our intelligence sources managed to find visual records of Rashans outside of their combat armor during one of their recent incursions into league space. Those records show that the Rashans have forward-facing eyes, and we believe teeth-analogs that indicate a carnivorous diet. They are predators, and they will wage war like them. Admiral Davies can elaborate, but their tactics will be nothing like those you have fought against before, and if you use the battle plan proposed today, your fleet will not survive.”
Despite the Terran Ambassador’s opaque helmet, Nuryaw felt his gaze on her and again repressed a feeling of unease. What was it about this creature that created that reaction? She brushed the thought aside. “Enough! This council will not be distracted by scientific impossibilities!” Nuryaw once again raised the gavel-stone to adjourn, and grunted with frustration as the symbol for [dissent] blinked insistently above Ambassador Nesh’s head. “You and your pets are trying my patience, Ambassador Nesh.” Nuryaw’s hackle-spines were now fully raised.
“If it may please the security council, we would like to suggest an addendum to the battle plans. It is obvious that our Terran friends are terribly ignorant in the ways of war-making, and have let superstition guide their analysis. Surely they have misinterpreted the data. We believe that this could be a learning experience for such a young species, however. What better way for the Terrans to see that there is nothing to fear than to see the League in action?”, the Dreeden Ambassador implored. “Let the Dreeden military escort a small contingent of Terran ships to observe the battle to see for themselves that the mighty League fleet led by the Bothian vanguard will easily route the Rashan from the field.”
Nuryaw waved a fore-hoof in exasperation. “If that is what it will take for the Dreeden to quit interrupting these proceedings, then so be it. I will not have their ships interfering with my line of battle, however.”
“Of course not, Admiral,” Nesh bowed in the direction of the table. “We would only ask that our escorts and Terran calflings be allowed to engage any targets of opportunity, so that we may have the honor in fighting alongside a League battlefleet.”
“You ask for much, but I see no reason to deny your request. How votes the council?”
[Assent] appeared across the council chambers, and finally, Nuryaw was able to bring the gavel-stone down. As the delegations filtered out of the meeting hall, however, Nuryaw pondered her screen. Of course, the Terran’s claims were preposterous, but what was it about their appearance that bothered her so much, and why wasn’t she able to find any information on what they looked like under those suits?
---
“Calflings?” Ambassador Baden Woods protested as he poured the much smaller Dreeden ambassador a finger of whiskey from a cut crystal decanter into a rocks glass wrapped in Nesh’s tentacles. The room was well appointed, with paintings of landscapes from Earth and its colonies on the walls. Comfortable looking chairs sat facing a massive walnut desk. It was a cosmological and biological fluke that humans and the Dreeden had analogous enough chemistry to enjoy ethanol in a similar manner It made interspecies negotiations and state-dinners much more enjoyable however, and being able to hash out policy issues over a glass of scotch or Pilak was one of the many reasons that the Dreeden and humans were so close as species.
Ambassador Nesh looked somewhat comical sitting in the overstuffed leather lounge chair in Ambassador Baden’s study, feet dangling off the ground. “It worked, didn’t it Baden? You can now get your ships in and have tactical freedom in the battlespace. Isn’t that what Admiral Davies wanted?”
“What I wanted was to have this attack called off in the first place,” a statuesque woman with close-cropped salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes said as she entered the room, taking the decanter from Baden’s hands and helping herself to a rock glass. “Gods it’s good to be out of that contact suit. I swear my environmental system was set ten degrees too high.”
“We knew that changing their plan wasn’t going to happen, Admiral. The security council and Nuryaw have done things the same way for millennia, and they feel, to borrow a human phrase: if it is not damaged, then why repair it?”
“You’re right Ambassador, changing Nuryaw’s mind was probably out of the question,” Baden said, sipping from his glass as he leaned back on to his desk. “But Admiral Davies is right as well. This battle will be a disaster, and a lot of sentients will die because we weren’t able to convince the security council today. Now it’s up to Patricia and your commanders to figure out a way to save as many of them as possible.”
The two Ambassadors and the Admiral stared into their glasses.
“I can’t help wonder if it would have helped for us to take our helmets off, to show them what we were,” Patricia mused, taking a slow sip.
Nesh shook his head sadly. “We’ve been over this Admiral Davies. You know the reaction that my species had when you made contact with us. Predators in space! You’re the very things that our science-fiction authors have used for imaginary villains for centuries, and that swarm-mothers frighten their hatchlings with. I’m not sure if you can ever understand the instinctual reaction that we experienced when we encountered your species. We killed the last predator that preyed on our kind thousands of years ago, but still, we felt nothing but fear when we first saw you.
“If you had taken off your helmet in that council session, the only thing you would have accomplished was to start a stampede that would have killed delegates, which isn’t a good opening argument. Gods knows where our relations would be if it weren't for the Vert slavers posing a common threat. Even then, after your fleet rescued our people held captive by the Vert when the League wouldn’t lift a finger, we still had those among us who wondered if you had eaten a few Dreeden on the way back.” Nesh sighed. “No, they are not ready for the Terran's secret yet, and even if they were, it would not have swayed them from their plan.”
Nesh’s wide-set compound eyes glinted in the dim light of the study. “Are you still planning on leading the mitigation force yourself Patricia? I’ll owe you a bottle of single-malt Pilak when this is all over.”
---
“Line of Battle transit complete Admiral Nuryaw!”
Nuryaw nodded to the over-enthusiastic Vice-Admiral. “Status report please.” It felt good to be away from the security council chamber and back on the bridge of her flagship, Flashing Hooves. Three million tons of warship vibrated beneath her, and it was hers to command. The battle-couch conformed to her carapace as she leaned toward her tactical screens, watching the other ships in her fleet pop into existence as light from their arrival reached the Hooves. 14 other Bothian dreadnaughts like her own made up the vanguard of the fleet, while the rest of the primary security council species contributed their own dreadnaught contingents. Less dominant species contributed battleship squadrons, while the least powerful among them made up the fleet train of tenders and supply ships.
“Fleet is reporting in at 99.5% Admiral. It looks like we lost two Queel battleships in a transit interpolation.”
Nuryaw’s hackle-spines rose in frustration. An interpolation was just bad luck writ large and was considered a bad omen before a battle. No matter how accurate the jump plotting, a transit jump from star-system to star system invariably scattered the vessels making the leap across millions of miles upon re-entry into real-space. That scattering made interpolations incredibly rare, but they did sometimes happen, and when two ships tried to re-enter normal space in the same place, the laws of physics objected strenuously, generally in the form of an explosion.
“Tactical report Vice-Admiral?.”
“System is as scans reported it before the jump Admiral. As far as we can tell this is a Rashan manufacturing colony that they’ve been using as a base for their expeditions into league space. Four planets, one gas giant in the outer orbit, two small rocky planets, and one large rocky planet closest to the sun in the Goldilocks zone with multiple moons, all with infrastructure.”
“I read the briefing packet as well,” Nuryaw said icily. “What is the disposition of Rashan forces in the system?”
“We’re showing a large Rashan fleet between the orbits of the third and fourth planets. Direct line intercept takes us within 2 million miles of the gas giant.”
“Make it so.” Nuryaw pointed a grasping-hoof forward, toward the waiting Rashan Fleet.
The ships of the League crawled forward, moving into a wall of battle as they did. Behind the fleet, more vessels blinked into existence.
“Admiral, fleet train is arriving, as well as civilian observation ships.”
“Very well, have them hang well back, we don’t want one them getting a stray laser through their hull.”
“Yes Admiral. Fleet train and civilians will maintain distance from the engagement.”
A new mass of ships blinked into existence on Nuryaw’s holo-screen. “That’s not the fleet train.”
“No Admiral, it appears to be the Dreeden contingent with their human observers.” The vice-admiral squinted at a tactical screen. “Their jump spacing is surprisingly tight.”
Nuryaw grunted. She had noticed how tightly packed the ships were as well, exiting jump-space in neat formation, rather than scattered over several million kilometers like the rest of the Security Council joint fleet. “It could be the Dreeden kept some of their jump technology from us when they joined the League - make a note for an investigation committee once we return.”
The Dreeden-Human fleet was an odd composition. Instead of battleships and dreadnaughts, the force was comprised of many smaller ships, not fit for the League battle-line. There were two larger vessels, but they appeared to be support vessels rather than warships, with few weapons visible to Naryaw’s dreadnaught’s powerful scanners. Lighter spacecraft that appeared to Nuryaw to be only frigates and destroyers, some with Dreeden ID codes, screened the two support ships. Near the center of the formation, two cruiser-sized ships joined the massive support craft.
“Hmmph,” Naryaw flicked a grasping hoof dismissively. “It is no wonder the humans thought this battle was lost. They don’t even know how to form a proper wall of battle. Vice-Admiral, it’s time to show them and the Rashan why the Bonthan battle-fleet has not been bested in millennia. Plot an intercept with the Rashan fleet and take us in.”
---
“There’s still time for you to leave before the battle, Ambassador Nesh.“
“We’ve been over this before, Admiral Davies, and I feel that it’s only right that I see this through.” Nesh tried and failed to inject more confidence into his words than he was feeling. He stood in front of a Dreeden-sized acceleration couch on the flag bridge of the fleet carrier ARTS Helena, to the side of Admiral Patricia Davies in her command chair. The flag bridge hummed with activity, as enlisted personnel and officers leaned over banks of terminals, monitoring communications and scanners, updating the tac-plot that dominated the center of the bridge, and coordinating the thirty-two ships that made up the small joint-fleet.
“I’m the one that suggested that you bring your fleet to a battle that you expect to lose. I can’t expect thousands of humans and my people to put their lives at risk without doing the same. Besides, the bureaucrats at the League wouldn’t let this observation fleet exist unless it was accompanied by an official council representative, and as humans aren’t a member species yet….”
“You’re right, Ambassador. And I have to say, if more human politicians were like you, putting themselves on the front lines of a battle because they supported it, we probably would have had fewer wars through the years.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the Admiral’s flag-lieutenant. “Ma’am, the League fleet has begun to accelerate well-ward. Estimates show that they will cross the orbit of the gas giant in 13 hours.”
“Thank you, lieutenant.” Admiral Davies manipulated her console, patching her through to the captains of her small fleet. “All ships, set condition three. Maintain current relative position. No flight ops from any ships without my direct orders.”
In the flag bridge, the red lights that had bathed the room were replaced with standard lighting as the ship stood down from condition one.
“Why not launch the fighters Admiral? In every operation I’ve observed before, your carrier's launch their CAP as soon as they exit their jump.” Nesh asked.
“Currently, the Rashan don’t know we use small craft. I’d like to keep it that way as long as we can.” The admiral ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “Get some rest Ambassador. I just hope that we’ll be able to save some of them.”
Nesh nodded and turned to leave the flag bridge. “So do I, Admiral. So do I.”
----
The battle-wall of the League fleet closed with the Rashan forces arrayed to face them. From Naryaw’s view-screens, a small, orange disk came into view, the outermost planet of the system.
“Has there been any changes in the disposition of the Rashan fleet Vice-Admiral?”
“No admiral Naryaw, they are still arrayed in a small wall of battle, facing our approach.” The vice-admiral switched the main view screen to a representation of the Rashan fleet. "We count five dreadnaughts and 18 battleships, plus a surprisingly large amount of cruiser and destroyer sized vessels.”
“Re-broadcast our demand to surrender, vice-admiral. While I’m impressed such a minor species can field that many dreadnaughts, if they fight, it will be a short engagement.”
Naryaw hoped they didn’t surrender. It had been too long since she had led the Flashing Hooves in battle. She also took some satisfaction in knowing that she would be showing those impertinent Dreeden and Humans how a league battle-fleet waged war.
“Admiral, we’re receiving a transmission from the Dreeden-Human joint fleet.”
Naryaw turned to the communications officer. “Well, what is it?”
“It’s from the human Admiral. It’s is a warning. They believe that there is a second Rashan fleet hidden in the gas giant. They advise that we adjust course to veer away from the planet, and then re-approach so that our wall of battle faces both the Rashan fleet and the planet.”
Naryaw snorted angrily. “Remind the human admiral,” Naryaw chewed out each world, “That they are here as observers, not tactical advisors. If they offer any more unsolicited advice, their participation in this battle even in observer capacity will be terminated.” The gall! Naryaw realized that her hackle-spines were nearly fully extended, and made a conscious effort to retract them. It wasn’t seemly for her to seem agitated in front of the crew. “And ask what possible reason the human admiral would have to suspect there to be another Rashan force hidden in the gas giant.”
Naryaw fumed as they waited for a reply. Without FTL communication, the delay was maddening.
“Admiral Naryaw, the humans conveyed their apologies, and have said that they will not make further tactical suggestions.” The comm officer paused, as the remainder of the message was received. “As to why they suspect a second Rashan fleet, the human admiral has replied with “Because that is what I would do.””
“And that is why they are with the supply ships, and we are with the battlefleet.” The vice-admiral chuckled.
“They are cowards,” Naryaw scoffed. “Tell them to watch the fleet carefully. We will show them what honor looks like.”
__
Five hours later, the League wall of battle made contact with the Rashan fleet.
At the center of the battle-wall, Flashing Hooves fired the first salvo, wide-beam lasers reaching out across the void to the Rashan ships. The lasers themselves were invisible, but this near to a gravity well, the interplanetary medium had a density of 5 atoms per cubic centimeter, enough to create sparkling trails of excited hydrogen in the wake of each beam.
Moments later, the rest of the fleet joined in. Scores of dreadnaughts and over a hundred battleships joined their fire to the Flashing Hooves, and the space between the fleets was awash with deadly laser fire.
“Good hits on Rashan dreadnaughts,” The vice-admiral reported. “Damage estimates are lower than expected, however. It seems their forward armor is thicker than anticipated.”
“No matter,” Naryaw replied. “Continue to close range and have the fleet narrow their beam focus for better armor penetration.” Naryaw blinked as one of the view screens flashed white as a ship in the Rashan formation exploded in a shower of fire.
“That was one of their battleships, Admiral. The first kill is ours.”
“And their response?”
“None yet admiral, they are holding their position and have not yet returned fire.”
“Strange,” muttered Naryaw. “If they can’t match our weapons range, I would expect them to attempt to close the range as quickly as possible. Are we close enough for a visual of a Rashan ship? Put it on screen. It’s time we see what we’re dealing with.”
The main holo-screen flared to life, with an image of one of the Rashan dreadnaughts. Naryaw felt a chill go through her bones, and her hackle-spines began to extend unconsciously. She was not the only one on the Flashing Hooves’ bridge with that reaction, she noticed. The Rashan ship was shaped like a blunted wedge, with numerous forward facing weapon placements. The rear of the wedge tapered slightly until the taper reversed as it met huge engine cowlings at the anterior of the ship. Where League ships were almost always shaped like half-spheres, presenting a hedgehog-like array of defenses and weaponry to the enemy while the flat portion of the flat sphere contained their engines, the Rashan ship appeared to be designed for pursuit.
Unbidden, the memory of the council meeting flashed in Naryaw’s mind: We believe they are a predator species.
Naryaw shook herself, metals ratting on her carapace. She was a Bonthan! Leader of the combined fleet! She would not let herself be unnerved by this opponent, especially one that had not even drawn blood. Still, she didn’t want to look at the ship on screen any longer. “That’s enough, vice-admiral.”
----
“They’re just sitting there.” If Nesh had eyelids, he would have squinted at the tac-plot. As it was, he leaned forward in his acceleration couch. “And no return fire? What are the Rashan doing?”
Icons on the holographic tac-plot showed the League fleet closing with the Rashan battle-wall, which held its position.
Admiral Davies sighed. “It’s as I feared. They’re letting the League fleet come to them, drawing them core-ward. Once they League fleet is fully committed, they’ll make their move.”
“Isn’t there something we can do Admiral?”
Admiral Davies shook her head. “I don’t think there is, Ambassador. Every attempt at warning Admiral Naryaw has been rebuffed. I’m afraid if we press the issue we’ll be ordered to jump out of the system. All we can do now is try and ensure that some of the League fleet lives through the day.”
Suddenly, the tac-plot shifted. The Rashan battle-wall dissolved in space, reforming into arrow-shaped formations that began to accelerate toward the League ships. From each Rashan battleship and dreadnought, more icons emerged, hundreds of tiny contacts on the tac-plot.
“They’ve released skirmishers, Admiral.” Davie’s flag-lieutenant reported.
“I want full power to our scanners, launch recon drones,” the Admiral replied. “I want as much data from this engagement as possible. Set condition two throughout the fleet.”
Davies turned back to Nesh, seated at her side. “It’s begun. I’ll have to ask you to hold your questions for the time being, Ambassador Nesh.”
“Of course, Admiral,” Nesh nodded. “Flight your fleet, and good luck to you.”
----
Aboard the Flashing Hooves, Admiral Naryaw was at a loss to explain the Rashan’s behavior. Their entire wall of battle had disintegrated and reformed, and now instead of facing a traditional battle-wall, the League fleet instead was closing with five Rashan formations that were angling to the sides of the League battle wall, each formation lead by one of the Rashan’s dreadnaughts. What’s more, the Rashan’s cruisers and destroyers had formed up into these formations, and hundreds of tiny craft had emerged from the Rashan capital ships.
“Vice Admiral, report!”
“Yes Admiral.” The vice admiral's voice strained as he struggled to keep up with the new flood of data coming in. “It seems like the Rashan fleet is comprised of five squadrons of one dreadnaught and 3-4 battleships each, with approximately twenty cruisers and destroyers. They also have launched hundreds of what appear to be parasite craft. Each Rashsan squadron is headed spinward on a different heading.”
“Could they be running?”
“Unlikely, vice-admiral. The Rashan squadrons are estimated to meet the edges of our wall of battle. If they wished to run, they would have avoided us all together.’
“Noted.” Naryaw was perplexed. Space battle was fought by bringing your wall of battle to the enemy, locking horns with them to determine the stronger force. The weaker fleet then surrendered. That was the way every space battle the League had fought in its history. These Rashans, they were doing something different, and Naryaw didn’t like it. “All ships, divide fire by sectors, bring them down before they close. Vice Admiral, divide our wall of battle into five smaller units - each one will maneuver to face one of the Rashan thrusts.” Naryaw tried to exude as much calm as possible, but inside, she was nervous. She hadn’t been nervous since her first command.
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“Yes Admiral Naryaw. Re-forming fleet now.”
In space, the million-mile wide formation of the League fleet clumsily fractured into five square planes, each one attempting to angle their mushroom-cap shaped vessels toward the approaching Rashan. The reorganization was clumsy, ship captains reacting slowly to the unfamiliar orders. Some of the squares were larger than others, with individual League species choosing to keep their ships together rather than splitting them between multiple battle-walls.
“Admiral, we’re beginning to take fire. Lasers, and particle beams.” The view-screens flashed white. “That was one of the Queel battleships. It appears that the each Rashan squadron is focus firing on one of their targets at a time. The Queel ship’s shields were overwhelmed.
Naryaw clenched her grasping hooves in frustration. “Continue maneuvers; we still outgun them by a significant margin.” As if on cue, a Rashan battleship winked off the display, victim to Bonthan lasers.
“Admiral, the Rashan are accelerating. Two of our five battle-lines will not reform before the Rashans reach them. Readings show that Rashan ships can accelerate nearly twice as fast as ours.”
The five Rashan squadrons poured on the speed, lancing toward the League battle-walls. Re-formed League formations met three of them, raining laser fire onto the approaching ships. Two of the Rashan squadrons, however, reached the League vessels before they could turn and face them. Racing along the edge of the League formations, they picked off ship after ship as they brought their entire squadrons firepower to bear on one ship at a time, while the League ships struggled to keep their rounded half-spheres faced toward the Rashan.
Then, unthinkably, the Rashan cruisers and destroyers separated from the rest of their squadrons and penetrated the wall of battle itself.
The League wall of battle was designed to face other similarly arrayed formations; trading blows across space. Victory went to the fleet that blinked last. For thousands of years, this was how the League joined battle. For thousands of years, it’s crews and ships had been trained and designed for this kind of fighting. No one, it appeared, had informed the Rashans that this is how things were done.
As the smaller Rashan vessels raced through the heart of the League formations, the battle-walls disintegrated. Each ship struggled to keep its armored facing pointed toward the Rashan cruisers and destroyers that sliced through their ranks. What’s worse, hundreds of Rashan skirmisher craft joined the battle, weaving and corkscrewing between the League capital ships. The League fleet was caught completely unprepared. With their massive, well-armored capital ships designed for engagements against other capital sized combatants, none of them possessed significant point defense, allowing the Rashan skirmishers to make strafing runs all but unmolested.
Individually, these small craft were nothing but an annoyance, but in numbers they were deadly. There were too many and too fast to keep the armored mushroom-caps of the League ships pointed toward them, and the small Rashan craft exploited this mercilessly, raking fire across the vulnerable anterior of the League ships, where their armored half-sphere shell did not protect. As a ship was damaged and fell out of formation, the Rashan fighters swarmed the disabled vessel, like so many piranhas that smelled blood.
---
Admiral Naryaw gaped as her command fell apart around her. Sirens sounded through her ship as it rocked from explosions and particle beam impacts. Acrid smoke from fried circuitry filled the bridge as the air handlers struggled to keep up. On her holo-screen, she watched helplessly as more and more League ships winked out. Closing her eyes, she uttered words that had not been said by a Bonthan admiral in living memory. “All ships, retreat.”
----
Aboard the Helena, Admiral Davies watched grimly as the tac-plot showed the battle occurring several million miles away. “Naryaw was smart to divide her forces; they managed to do some damage before the Rashan closed.”
On the tac-plot, the icons of the League fleet began to reverse course, heading back to the edge of the system and the fleet train, which included the Helena and the rest of the Dreeden-Human fleet.
“Fleet, prepare for full-burn to these coordinates. Set condition one.” The admiral touched a symbol on her station, and a blinking icon appeared on the tac-plot, several millions of miles from the fleet’s current position. Acceleration warnings sounded throughout the ship, as crew members strapped themselves into grav couches. Inertial dampeners would compensate for most of the g-forces, but after a point, they could not suppress all acceleration effects. The flag-bridge’s lights dimmed, replaced by red emergency lighting. Admiral Davies took a deep breath. “Mark.”
Helena shuddered as its engines roared to life, and its crew was pressed back into their acceleration couches. At 120 gravities, the inertial compensator negated all but 3gs, but that was enough to make the experience uncomfortable at best. The rest of the combined Dreeden-Human fleet followed suit, burning hard for a point in space at an angle from the League fleet’s retreat path.
The protective cushion of his acceleration couch almost enveloped Ambassador Nesh as the gravities mounted. Supplemental oxygen flowed through a tube in his nasal cavity, as breathing became difficult. Nesh knew, however, what he was experiencing at only a third the weight of a human, was not nearly as uncomfortable as what the Admiral and Human crew were feeling. “Why are we not meeting the League fleet along their retreat path?” He managed to squeeze out between labored breaths.
“I thought I said no questions.” Admiral Davies wheezed in reply. A moment later, she relented. “That won’t be able to retreat that way. Any moment now, they will pass near the gas giant, and when they do…”
“Admiral, we’re receiving a full spectrum transmission, it appears to be originating from the fourth planet. Audio and visual.” It was a testament to the communication tech’s high-g training that they were able to get the strained report out through clenched abdominal muscles.
“Patch it through.”
“Oh my gods.” Nesh gasped. An image of a Rashan replaced the tac-plot on the bridge's holo-screen. Its appearance was vaguely vulpine, but with smooth, hairless skin and four, forward facing eyes. Even with the creature's mouth closed, Nesh could see sharp, serrated teeth. Its head sat upon a long, lean bipedal body. Two powerful arms ended three mandibles, each tipped with a thick claw. From the creature’s chest, two smaller arms emerged, each ending in six delicate manipulators. It wore a uniform of iridescent purple, with what appeared to be rank insignia or awards across the breast. Nesh quivered in his acceleration couch. It felt like its eyes were looking directly at him, and age-old instincts screamed at Nesh to do what his people had done when a predator looked at you for millions of years. You run. Nesh glanced over at Admiral Davies, who appeared unphased.
“I have to say,” the Rashan spoke in galactic basic. “It is... convenient when prey comes to us. You have more fight than most, and it seems that you have many systems. We look forward to our new hunting grounds.” The broadcast cut off, and the flag-bridge was silent for a moment.
“Admiral Davies! Contacts reported rising from the atmosphere of the gas giant. It’s a second Rashan fleet.”
---
Naryaw could not believe her eyes. Hundreds more Rashan ships rose from the surface of the gas giant, moving to cut off their retreat to the edge of the system where they could jump to safety.
The broadcast replayed in her mind, those four, forward-facing eyes that seemed to look directly at her, paralyzing her with fear. The eyes of a predator. She had dismissed the humans so easily in council, so sure of her success, but now...
Her vice-admiral was reduced a blubbering wreck, eyes rolling in terror. The rest of the bridge crew were no better, all of their hackle spines fully extended in agitation and fear. From the smell, at least one of them had wet themselves.
Around the Flashing Hooves, ships were dying, each one taking thousands of crew-members with them, and now their escape to the jump point was cut off. Throughout the fleet, the transmission from the Rashan had dissolved all semblance of fleet discipline. Some ships sat still in space, paralyzed by their captains fear. Others fled the battle in random directions, as Rashan ships followed them and picked them apart one by one. Naryaw felt the eyes of her bridge crew on her, waiting for her leadership, waiting for her to save them, waiting for an order. Naryaw had never felt like this, paralyzed by fear, incapable of thinking clearly. For the first time she could remember, she did not know what to do.
“Ma’am, incoming transmission from the Dreeden-Human fleet, audio only.” Her comm officer at least had managed to maintain his discipline. “It’s the human admiral again. She says that she has moved their combined fleet to these coordinates,” an icon flashed on the holo-screen, showing the location. “She urges you to rendezvous with her fleet, where she can cover our escape. She says if you don’t move to do so in the next five minutes, you’ll be trapped between the Rashan fleets.”
Taking a series of deep breaths, Naryaw steadied herself. The humans had no chance of actually covering their escape; she knew that. They were doomed. But at least she could direct her fleet with purpose; she could allow the tens of thousands of crew she was responsible for to die as warriors, not cowards. And she knew that sometimes in battle, it was more important to make a poor decision than none at all.
“All ships, follow our heading. Regroup to sphere formation, damaged ships to the center. Rendevouz with the Dreeden-Human contingent at these coordinates. Helm! Set a course, max burn. Tactical, set up a battle-net with the nearby Bonthan ships to coordinate our fire against their cruisers and destroyers.”
On the holo-screen, Naryaw watched as her fleet’s forces hesitated, then began to form into a sphere. First just a few, then more and more of her remaining forces. Still, many remained dead in space or fled, chased by the faster Rashan ships.
----
“They listened this time Admiral Davies.” Jim Wexler, flag lieutenant, reported. “League fleet is headed our way. Estimated time to intercept is one hour.
“Alright, it’s time to get to work.” Admiral Davies said grimly. “Turn us to face the pursuers. Launch all squadrons. I want interceptors and strike fighters to go after their skirmishers. Bombers, go after their cruisers and battleships. Destroyer squadrons one and two, rendezvous with the League fleet, try to give them some cover. Rochambeau and Lafayette, you are clear to engage when in range.”
Ambassador Nesh watched as the flag bridge exploded in activity. Enlisted ratings spoke quietly in their headsets as orders were relayed to the fleet and updated. Tactical officers went about the intricate work of networking the fleet’s point defense systems and gunnery control. His stomach tightened, and he was glad he hadn’t eaten yet today. He had never been in combat, and here it was, only minutes away. He watched as the tac-plot showed loose sphere of League ships approach their location, while two destroyer squadrons peeled away to meet them.
Not far behind the destroyers were the fighter squadrons from their two fleet carriers. Each Columbia class fleet carrier carried an air-wing of 180, and Nesh was amazed by just how quickly all of the fighters and bombers launched from their bays and formed up into their respective squadrons.
Time seemed to move at a crawl as Nesh's segmented eyes were fixed on the tac plot, and he found himself grasping the arms of his grav couch with his tentacles. Behind the League fleet, the Rashan fleet from the gas-giant closed with them, joining the first Rashan fleet that was already engaged. With a sense of dread, he realized that the Rashan’s from the gas giant would reach Naryaw’s beleaguered fleet well before the League ships would be able to make their hyperspace jump.
“Admiral Naryaw’s not a bad commander when she doesn’t have her head up her ass,” Admiral Davies remarked to Nesh. “She’s managed to reform her command and has created a three-dimensional formation, which is going to make it harder for the Rashan to pick apart. It also looks like they’re finally putting together some effective fire against those Rashan cruisers and destroyers.
“If she manages to hold things together for the next ten minutes, we might get out of this alive.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring, Admiral.”
“I know.” Admiral Davies grimaced. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
---
Aboard the Flashing Hooves, Admiral Naryaw struggled to keep the tattered remains of what was once the largest fleet in the known galaxy intact.
“Have those Arkone dreadnaughts fill that hole in the formation! They’ll last longer there than those battleships.I want those Qizer battleships networked! Their lasers have a faster traverse than ours, we can use them to augment our point defense, and maybe take out some of those cruisers. All ships, concentrate your main batteries on the Rashan battleships. Their dreadnaughts forward shields are too strong, and we can’t hit those cruisers that are inside our formation without risking friendly fire.” Naryaw winced as yet another ship in her command exploded.
“It was the Charging Gallop Admiral. I’m showing all hands lost.” Her vice-admiral reported. He had at least recovered enough to read battle reports.
Behind their path of travel, the holo-screens showed a trail of dead or dying ships, some venting atmosphere, some on fire. It pained Naryaw to leave them and their crews behind.
“Admiral! Human ships are approaching! Their IFF identifies them as destroyers. They’re followed by what looks to be approximately 300 of what they call “fighters”. They appear to be about a third of the size of the Rashan skirmishers. The destroyers are requesting permission to join the battle-network.”
“Make it so.” The connection made, a torrent of new data flooded the bridge's holo screens. Human sensors, it seemed, were very, very good. It also answered where all of the tiny human ships had come from. The two large ships that Naryaw had thought were support ships were instead labeled as “CV Helena” and “CV Columbia”. A computer query translated CV to “Fleet Carrier”. Naryaw had never heard of such a ship, but if the tiny vessels it carried, which seemed only to have a crew of one or two, were effective against the Rashan skirmishers, she didn’t care.
“The human destroyers are slowing Admiral. Did they change their minds?”
“No vice-admiral, they’ve reversed their thrust to match our velocity. If destroyers didn’t, they would interpolate with our formation. It looks like they mean to join our formation instead.”
The comm-officer spoke up again. “We have a message from the human destroyers. They claim to have full point-defense suites and have requested to be placed in the formation where they can be the most combat effective.”
“Very good. Have those destroyers take position just inside our outer shell of ships - we don’t want them exposed to heavy laser fire from those Rashan dreadnaughts. Hopefully, they can take care of some of these skirmishers.”
The human destroyers took up station within the League fleet. From each ship, Gatling point-defense lasers sprung to life, firing thousands of individual laser beams per second. Box-launchers ripple-fired small, maneuverable missiles that tracked the Rashan parasite skirmishers. Meanwhile, double-barreled plasma cannons swiveled to follow the Rashan destroyers and cruisers that still played havoc within the League formation. On Naryaw’s holo-screen, she noticed two Rashan destroyers blink off the plot.
From three of the human destroyers, 12 larger missiles sprang from internal missile tubes, all targeting one Rashan cruiser that had just finished mauling a League battleship, forcing it to fall out of formation. The Rashan cruiser tried to corkscrew away from the missiles and took one out with its secondary batteries, but the other 11 anti-shipping missiles struck true, enveloping the Rashan cruiser in fire.
The Rashan reacted quickly to this new threat. Their pursuing battleships and dreadnaughts began to concentrate fire on the destroyers, while the Rashan skirmishers made mass attacks on them. The human vessels' point defense was deadly against them, but even so, some made it through. One, then two more human destroyers were overwhelmed by the combined fire of the Rashan dreadnaughts and their hordes of skirmishers.
“All Bonthan dreadnaughts,” Admiral Naryaw ordered, “Mark a human destroyer. I want you to physically insert yourself between that destroyer and guns of those Rashan dreadnaughts. Those destroyers are the only ships we have that are effective against those cruisers and destroyers.”
Naryaw felt the Flashing Hooves shudder as it took another blow as it interposed itself in front of the destroyer Boyington. Naryaw could not believe how much firepower the little ship was putting out. Missiles, point defense lasers, plasma cannons, even what looked to be kinetics of all things seemed to fire from every point on the ship.
Even with the added protection of the massive Bonthan dreadnaughts acting as additional armor for the human destroyers, there were just too many small Rashan ships for them to handle. Naryaw pounded a grasping-hoof in frustration as more Rashan skirmishers made an attack run on the Boyington, faster than the Flashing Hooves lasers could track. The Boyington’s point defense system and missiles destroyed two, then four, then seven skirmishers, but still 18 came on, weaving to avoid the destroyer’s defenses. Naryaw was sure that the Boyington was done for, when suddenly, a swarm of missiles appeared behind the Rashan skirmishers, tearing their formation apart with scores of explosions as each warhead found its target. Juking through the expanding plasma, two tiny human 1-crew craft emerged, doubtlessly the source of the missiles that finished off the squadron of skirmishers.
The human… what did they call them… Fighters had arrived.
---
“It’s about time you got here,” Lieutenant Quet ‘Bug’ Yous recognized the voice of the captain of the Boyington, Sally Marshall, broadcasting in the clear.
“No one likes to be early for a party,” replied Quet’s wingman, Steve ‘Jester’ Hendricks.
Quet whipped her F-7 Bearcat space-superiority fighter around the nose of the DD Pappy Boyington, following her wingman’s lead to a new group of hostiles. Hundreds of red icons dotted Quet’s tac screen on her HUD, and she mentally sent a signal to her flight computer to zoom the screen to a smaller, more manageable piece of the battlefield. Her helmet fed vid screens in front of each of her compound eyes, giving her the equivalent of binocular vision. It’s bulbous appearance, with a bulge around each of her eyes gave her an insect-like appearance with it on, hence her call sign.
Quet was one of the few Dreeden that possessed the innate aggression to make her suitable as a fighter pilot and was proud to be one of a handful of Dreeden candidates to graduate from combat flight school. Despite her un-Dreeden like aggressiveness, Quet knew that she didn’t have the savage instincts that a human fighter pilot did, and let herself follow her wingman's lead.
“You with me Bug?”
“Right with you Jester,” Quet formed up her fighter with her wingman as they pursued another group of Rashan skirmishers that were on an intercept course with a League dreadnaught. Each skirmisher was about three times the size of a Bearcat, with two forward particle cannons and a gimballed laser cannon. They were fast, but not nearly as maneuverable as the human-made fighters.
It was the gimballed laser that made things tricky, Quet thought, juking her fighter laterally with a quick tap of her rudder pedals to avoid laser fire that impacted on her shields.
Quet’s targeting indicator chimed, and with a press of a tentacle, her last two Kestrel missiles detached themselves from pylon mountings on the side of Quet’s fighter. Each one flew true, and the trailing two skirmishers disintegrated in a blinding flash. “Scratch two.”
Four more missiles detached from her wingman’s Bearcat, with three of them finding targets. “Scratch three,” replied Jester.
Two more skirmishers remained in front of them, still doggedly making their attack run.
“I’m dry on Kestrels Jester, going guns,” she keyed her com.
“I’m dry as well; I’ll take the right, you take the left.”
“Roger that.”
Quet rolled her fighter around a stream of laser fire from the lead skirmisher as one of her tentacles selected “GUNS” on her joystick toggle. As the skirmisher banked up and to the left, attempting to evade Quet’s fighter. Quet slammed her foot down on the rudder while yanking the flightstick the opposite direction, rotating her spacecraft so that she was perpendicular to its direction of travel, and lined up the lead indicator on her HUD. Quet took some satisfaction in knowing that her small size and differences in physiology compared to the humans made her more able to withstand higher g-forces.
She squeezed the trigger once, then twice, as 30mm depleted uranium rounds exited her fighter at thousands of miles per hour. The craft vibrated with each shot, and Quet watched in satisfaction as the first burst grazed the skirmisher and the second one hit dead center, coring the ship and sending it cartwheeling away in fire. “Scratch one.”
“Scratch one here as well, but I’ve been tagged by their damn laser, I’ve lost port maneuvering thrusters,” Jester’s voice sounded strained over the com.
“Hang on Jester, coming close for a visual.”
Quet brought her Bearcat in close to her wingman’s. The entire port side of Jester’s fighter looked like it had been chewed up and spit out. “You’re out of the fight for today friend, get back to the Helena.”
“Roger that Bug, good hunting.”
Quet watched as her wingman began burning away. For a moment she felt very alone among the swirling backdrop of explosions, laser fire and thousands of Rashan intent on destroying her and the fleet. Her instincts screamed for her to leave this place, to run from the predatory Rashan, to abandon her friends. Then, taking a deep breath, she keyed her mic to the squadron channel. “This is Bug. I’m in need of another dance partner.”
“Roger that Bug, this is Archer,” her squadron leader replied. “I’m short a wingman and could use some help at the Preddy, her aft point defense is down, and she needs some cover.”
“Roger that Archer, on my way.” Fuck her instincts; her squadron needed her.
---
Cheers erupted on the bridge of the Flashing Hooves as three hundred human fighters weaved between the warships of the League fleet, engaging the Rashan skirmishers. Scores of skirmishers were destroyed in the first thirty seconds of engagement, as the human fighters emptied their missile racks of payload.
Behind the fighters, human bombers followed. Instead of going after the skirmishers, the strike craft targeted the Rashan cruisers. The human bombers were larger targets than the Bearcats and less maneuverable. Several were destroyed before they could make their attack runs. Those that survived, however, fired anti-ship missiles similar to the ones fired from the human destroyer’s missile tubes. A single warhead wasn’t enough to break a Rashan cruiser’s shields, but when each bomber carried four and attacked each warship in a group of four, the sixteen fusion warheads were more than enough to turn each cruiser into so much space dust.
Still, the League’s losses mounted. The fresh battleships and dreadnaughts that had laid in wait in the atmosphere of the gas-giant continued to pour withering fire into the League formation. Naryaw watched in horror as a Queel battleship; it’s drive-core punctured, spiraled out of control into an Arkone dreadnaught. Naryaw thought the dreadnaught might survive the collision, but then the battleship’s drive-core went critical, and a second later, an expanding cloud of superheated plasma was all that was left of either ship.
The humans were taking losses too. Another human destroyer, the Yeager, fell out of formation as it took multiple hits on its flank from a Rashan cruiser at point-blank range. Once out of the protection of the fleet, it was cored lengthwise by particle beams that lanced from a Rashan dreadnaught, leaving nothing but a hollow, burning husk.
The human fighters were faring better, but had expended their armament of missiles and were forced to engage Rashan skirmishers one by one at close range. Rashan laser turrets destroyed them by the score.
“Admiral, it’s the humans again. They advise us to hold all ships in current formation. They will be,” the communication officer paused as he re-read the message, “firing kinetics through our current formation.”
“Acknowledge receipt of message,” Naryaw responded, “And pass the message on to the fleet, they’re to hold current heading and formation.” She was suddenly exhausted. Half her fleet gone, fucking predators in space, and now the godsdamn humans wanted to fire kinetics through her fleet formation? This day could not be over soon enough.
---
Two million kilometers away, with the joint Human-Dreeden fleet, the Heavy Cruisers Lafayette and Rochambeau were finally in range of the Rashan fleet. The concept of range itself was a bit of a misnomer when dealing with the rail guns fielded by the human cruisers, as once they fired their 12kg slug, it would keep going forever unless it impacted an unfortunate ship, star or planetoid. However, there was an effective range of the weapons, as at long distances, nothing stopped a spacecraft from merely firing their maneuvering thrusters and sliding out of the way of the projectile, or burning it to plasma with a high-powered laser. Because of this reason, most species had opted only to use energy weapons, either particle beams or lasers, both of which could not be detected before they hit.
However, the weaknesses of a rail gun depend on the kinetic slug being detected in time to avoid or intercept it. And, it turns out that a piece of iron only six inches across coated with energy-absorbent polymer two million kilometers away is very hard to detect indeed. Detection is further complicated when there is a massive space battle directly between your sensor cluster and the incoming projectile.
It took about six minutes for the first railgun volley to travel 2 million kilometers across space. Its target, a Rashan dreadnought, detected the first railgun round after five minutes and 42 seconds elapsed. The Rashan dreadnought heaved to the side, maneuvering thrusters firing at full power, slowly sliding out of the path of the railgun slug. The slug passed harmlessly by, as did 28 more slugs from the bracketing volley fired by the human cruisers, passing above, below, or to the side of the dreadnaught. That left three slugs of the 32 round volley to crash against the shields of the dreadnaught. At 20 million kph, each 12kg slug impacted with the equivalent energy of 44 kilotons of TNT. The dreadnaught's shields absorbed two. The third made it through, striking the bottom of the dreadnaught’s wedge. The dreadnaught staggered, venting atmosphere.
Another volley approached, and once again the Rashan dreadnaught attempted to evade. This time five slugs hit. With the dreadnaught’s shields already down, the results were catastrophic. Each impact threw huge gouts of molten metal and superstructure into space. The dreadnaught listed and dropped from the pursuit.
With the dreadnaught knocked out of the fight, gunners of the Lafayette and the Rochambeau moved on to the next target.
----
Aboard the Helena, Admiral Davies allowed herself a smile as the damage reports came in on the Rashan dreadnaught. While not destroyed, it showed that the enormous, wedge-shaped ships could be hurt. On the tac plot, one of the Rashan dreadnought icons changed from red to blinking yellow, indicating an incapacitated foe. The Lafayette and Rochambeau were now peppering a Rashan battleship with their railgun rounds, and in moments it disappeared from the tac-plot altogether.
“Ma’am, it looks like the Rashan are getting wise to our railgun bombardment,” Lieutenant Wexler remarked. The icons for the Rashan capital ships began sliding to either side of the League fleet, instead of directly behind it. “They’re going to be able to spot our rail shots much easier now.”
“And open up our cruisers for counterfire.” Admiral Davies turned to her tac officer. “Have the Lafayette and Rochambeau begin evasive thrusting and ensure their shields are angled toward those Rochambeau dreadnaughts. Tell them to expect particle beam fire.” She then turned to another officer on the flag deck. “CAG, what’s the status on our space wing.”
“We’ve lost 30% of our bomber group, Ma’am, they were un-escorted heading back to the carriers to re-arm.”
Davies ignored the unspoken accusation in his voice - he had advocated that some of the fighter groups stay with the bombers to provide cover, but Davies had wanted as many fighters as possible to protect the League’s capital ships. She hoped that she had made the right decision - a lot of bomber crews were dead right now for nothing if she hadn’t. “And the fighters?”
“We’ve lost 20% of our fighters, but they’re holding their own. Losses are mounting though, all fighters are dry on missiles, and some are bingo on canon rounds as well. I recommend we rotate some of our squadrons out to re-arm. We’ll lose some combat effectiveness in the short term, but having fully-armed fighters back in the fray will make a big difference.”
Davies nodded. “Make it happen, two squadrons at a time.”
---
As the Rashan capital ships peeled off from their direct pursuit of the League fleet, Naryaw allowed herself to hope the first time in hours. She had winced as the Flashing Hooves’ sensors had picked up those insane humans kinetic rounds flashing through her fleet, but she couldn’t argue with the results. With the Rashan vessels to either side, they could no longer bring all of their forward-facing weaponry to bear on the League fleet. Her command might survive after all.
The battle seemed to go on for days, though Naryaw knew it was only hours. The Rashan fleet still chased them from the battlefield, and even with their sub-optimal firing positions, they managed to pick off the League’s ships one by one.
“Admiral, the Proud Hackle is falling behind, they won’t be able to maintain their position in the outer shell.”
The report snapped Nuryaw out of her reverie. Scanning her holo-screen, she stared numbly at the number of League icons missing from the display. The once proud League fleet, now running and outnumbered by the Rashan that dogged their ships. How many had they lost? A hundred? Two hundred? The humans, as much as they had done, could not change the outcome. She looked down at the medals that adorned her carapace. She was so proud of them once. Why did they seem so meaningless now?
Naryaw sighed. “Order the support fleet to jump out. There will be no recovery operations today. Move the Flashing Hooves to take the Proud Hackle’s position in the outer shell. Navigation, how soon until we can jump?”
“Twenty minutes until we reach the human fleet and jump range, Admiral.”
Naryaw nodded.”Alert the fleet and the Dreeden-Human contingent; we will be making an immediate jump as soon as we’re clear of the grav-well.” She felt a familiar thrum as the massive jump drives spooled up, ready to fold space itself once they were far enough away from the system’s star and the influence of its gravity was weak enough.
Looking over her bridge crew, she smiled. They were disheveled, terrified and some were sitting in their own waste, but they were still doing their jobs. She would have to try and ensure that the court-martial that she knew would follow this battle didn't implicate any of them her failure. She wondered if she would be executed. Right now, as long as she could get the remainder of the League fleet to safety, she wasn’t sure if she cared.
--
“All wings, return to the carriers. You are authorized for combat landings, minimum spacing. We’re jumping in 15, so move your ass.”
Quet wasn’t sure if the last part of the Helena’s air wing commander’s orders were entirely by the book, but she took them in the spirit that they were intended.
Flipping her fighter on its end, she shoved her throttle to full military thrust and grunted as she was slammed back into her seat. She keyed her mic to her squadron’s channel. “Let’s head for the barn. Last one in is buying drinks.”
---
“Space wing recovery at 72%, we should be able to get the rest aboard before the jump, but the flight decks are going to be a bit of a mess.” The CAG grimaced as another Bearcat made a hard combat landing, throwing up sparks as it slid across the deck.
“Don’t worry about the mess. We can clean that up in hyper. Bring our pilots home.” Admiral Davies grimaced as the Helena shook with impact. “Tactical, how are we holding up?”
“We’ve lost Caldwell and the Beurling. Our frigates are evading most of the fire so far. Rochambeau is taking heavy fire and has multiple decks open to atmosphere. Helena and Columbia have taken minimal damage thus far; it doesn’t seem that the Rashan recognize their value.”
“Five minutes to jump,” navigation reported.
“Commence final jump preparations. We’ll jump when the League fleet is clear.”
“Admiral,” her tactical officer signaled her. We have a problem. It’s the Flashing Hooves. It’s falling out of formation with the rest of the League fleet.”
---
Aboard the Flashing Hooves, Admiral Naryaw fumbled for her emergency helmet. It had been years since she had used it, and her movements were clumsy. She choked and gasped as acrid smoke filled her lungs, but finally managed to seal it to her carapace. She had to take several gasping breaths of the oxygen-rich mixture piped in by her helmet before she could speak. “Report!”
“It’s the primary engine, we took a laser hit through the engine cowling, destroying it. Secondary explosions have taken out engineering decks 34 through 43 as well.” It was the vice-admiral reporting, his voice thick with fear. “We can’t maintain acceleration with the rest of the fleet. We’re dropping out of formation.”
“What about the jump drive?” Naryaw asked.
“Still functional and spooling up, but we’ll be significantly behind the rest of the fleet by the time we can jump.”
Naryaw pounded her grasping mandibles on her console. They had been so close to escaping! At least the remainder of the fleet would survive.
On her holo-screen, she saw a Rashan dreadnaught and three battleships move to intercept the Flashing Hooves as it lagged behind the fleet. Her ship’s screens buckled as laser fire overloaded shield capacitors.
“All power to shields and weapons, ready self-destruct,” Naryaw heard herself saying. “Let’s take a few of these bastards with us. Ready maneuvering thrusters, we’ll head straight for them, give the rest of the fleet a little more breathing room.
“Admiral, we have a message from one of the Terran cruisers, audio and visual” her comm officer reported.
Naryaw considered ignoring it. What could they possibly want? Her curiosity got the better of her “On screen.”
The image showed what seemed to be a Terran bridge, but full of smoke and fire. In the center sat a human, with their odd utterly opaque visor. For not the first time during the battle, Naryaw wondered what her fleet’s saviors actually looked like. “We’ll cover your jump, Flashing Hooves. Save your heroics for another battle. Our jump drive was knocked off-line, it looks like yours is still active. Godspeed. Rochambeau out.” The human figure saluted, and the transmission blinked out.
Naryaw raised a grasping hoof and returned the salute. “We may get out of this yet. Helm, belay my maneuver orders and go full evasive. Tactical, re-route all weapon power to shields. Navigation, the second we can jump, I want us in hyper.”
“Admiral, human cruiser off the port bow!”
Naryaw gaped as the Rochambeau interposed itself between the Flashing Hooves and it’s pursuers, just kilometers away. The entire ship trailed fire, and it’s atmosphere spilling out of uncontained hull breaches. One of its rail-gun turrets was a mangled wreck, and it looked like the top half of the conning tower had been destroyed as well.
Nonetheless, the Rochambeau’s remaining railguns were firing non-stop, their barrels glowing red, then blue, then white with heat. The Rashan battleships were far too close to dodge the incoming railgun rounds, and two exploded almost simultaneously as kinetic projectiles impacted their drive core. A third was forced to withdraw, venting atmosphere.
“Admiral, the rest of the fleet is jumping out. We have 25 seconds before we’re clear of the grav well.”
“Thank you navigation,” Naryaw said softly.
On the screen, Naryaw watched as the Rochambeau accelerated toward the Rashan dreadnaught, all of its rail guns firing. “Watch,” she commanded her bridge crew. “This is what honor looks like.”
The Rashan dreadnaught realized the human cruiser’s intentions too late. It fired it’s maneuvering thrusters in vain, trying to move from the Rochambeau’s path. Somehow Rochambeau matched the maneuver. In an instant, the cruiser and the dreadnaught disappeared in blinding light.
For a moment, the Flashing Hooves was alone. No one dared breathe on the bridge as the Rashan fleet converged on their position. No one but the navigation officer. “Jumping in five, four, three, two, one…..”
----
Later
“Besides our apologies, and our thanks, Admiral Davies and Ambassador Nesh, I wanted you to know that I will be recommending the captain of the Rochambeau for the Bonthan fleet’s highest honor. We were all humbled by his crew's sacrifice.”
On the holo-screen, Admiral Davies nodded slowly, face obscured by an opaque contact helmet. “He was a good man. They all were.”
“I have one question for you, Admiral Davies.” Naryaw leaned forward toward the screen. “How did you know?
“How did you know the Rashan had the second fleet? Or that they would try and trap us in the first place? And you brought carriers to the battle, not capital ships. How did you know that the Rashan would utilize these small craft, so you could deploy your fighters to counter them? How did you even know that a space-faring predator species was possible?” Naryaw stopped herself, taking a deep breath, and retracting her hackle-spines with a conscious effort.
Admiral Davies turned to the Dreeden ambassador, Nesh, who looked thoughtful. After a long pause, he nodded.
“I already told you, Admiral Nuryaw, when you asked the first time how I knew the Rashan fleet was lying in wait. It was what I would have done. You see, Admiral,” Davies reached for the release latch on her helmet, which unsealed from her neck with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing her white omnivore teeth in a smile and two forward facing icy-blue eyes.
Naryaw gaped as she looked at the face of a human for the first time. As she looked at the face of a predator.
“As to knowing how a space-faring species of predators were possible Admiral? Let’s just say that we Terrans and the Rashan have a lot in common.”
fin