After the success and conquer of the Verbus system, the 7th fleet made their way to the next system. It was logged in their archives and all ships present had their star maps updated with the information taken from the Sellians. Razor found himself in the latest brief prior to exiting slip-space along with other fellow pilots.
“Alright, listen up you pansies,” the man before them stated as a round table in the center of the room lit up with several orbs of light and differently colored objects that were then identified as stations or satellites.
“We'll be exiting slip space soon, so here's the rundown. Squadron 111 will have the support of this collection of frigates to take out their communications and Squadron 416…”
Razor sat in a mid-section of the circular seating as the officer conducted the strategy meeting which was most likely relayed to him from the vice admiral.
But their mission was simple. The Trill system was a system that was heavy on industrialization with fuel processing. In fact, it was said that it was the main export of the system. Upon investigation of the types of fuel they utilized, it was hydrogen-based, similar to what the Terrans use in their ships. It was later found that their mixture for the fuel had better purity and efficiency.
“Then, Minerva, do you have any word to pass?” Razor came to from his thought and a transparent figure stood on the table that stood at around twelve inches.
“Yes, as you are now aware, Trill System is plentiful in fuel production with fuel that exceeds our own by a large margin. Your tasks will be to secure the airspace of these stations for a raider or marine force to take the station. That is the essence of your mission.”
She gave a bow and dissipated while the officer took charge.
“You have your orders, get to your ships, and set for an alert launch.”
The pilots departed the ready room and made their way to their ships. They were already in their gear and most decided to wait beside their ships. With only an hour left of slip space, it was best just to wait beside the ship. So, Razor made his way to his ship and sat by a bench on the closest bulkhead to his ship.
Razor, like many pilots in the Stellar Fleet, had their names overtaken by a serialization upon entering cadet training. There are several designations of pilots followed by a string of personal identification numbers unique to the individual. Razor looked at a dog tag he had on him. Instead of his name, it was stamped “MFP-1404-9904” and below it was his nickname, Razor. His blood type was the only other information present.
Razor was designated as a Medium Fighter Pilot, and he was tied to the latest in technology with the F7 Super Saber, Alpha Variant. It had guns to boast, and its speed was above average. It was recently equipped with a pair of disruptors that were designed to short-circuit shields. Paired with that were a dual set of ballistic repeaters and a single slow-firing canon. There were also a series of missile racks that allowed for four total missiles with eight smaller missiles in a hidden missile bay. It was armed to the teeth and ready to bear its fangs.
As he was mentally preparing for the fight ahead, Razor was approached by two of his fellow squad members, Torch and Gearbox.
“Your shit all prepped, Razor?” Torch called out. His helmet was gray with a depiction of fire on the face of the helmet that lead to the rear.
“Yea, I'm pinned in, and my racks are inventoried. You?” Razor replied.
“Better than ever. We just spent the last twenty minutes trying to troubleshoot Gearbox's missile racks. Damn things wouldn't load,” Torch said with a shrug.
“Eh, but we got it fixed. Had to give it some love,” Gearbox added, nudging torch and delivered a wink.
The three shared mild conversation when the alarm came that they were less than twenty minutes from exiting slip space and all three returned to their ships. They were all part of Squadron 416 and were each other's wingmen. They got in their cockpit and promptly readied their ships to idle status as the countdown was announced.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6…4, 3, 2, 1.
On the launch deck, several hundred fighters began their sequence to launch. The hum of engines rang throughout the deck as interceptors and heavy fighters readied themselves on the catapults to be the first to engage the enemy.
The alarm sounded and the announcement to launch all alert aircraft was relayed. In a systematic manner, the ships departed in their formations. While they departed to their mission areas, Razor and his squadron set out for the fuel processing station over the main planet, Trillo.
Information from the carrier, Sword of Reckoning, relayed and updated their IFF information, and a series of blips shown in red popped up around the station and friendlies were shown in green. The squadrons flew in formations of three, and Razor found himself flanked by Torch and Gearbox in a triangle formation.
“This is Control, Comms check,” said the voice and all ships accounted for their formations and all were present, “416, Secure the airspace around the station and maintain superiority.”
“Copy,” sounded the team lead, “All teams, engage Slip-Stream to the station. Weapons free.” Razor switched to their team's chat, which only consisted of the three wingmen.
“Engage Stream to the station and unlock weapons. You're free to engage once we're out of the jump,' Razor ordered.
All fighters began their sequence, including the larger ships accompanying them. They had entered through the edge of the system, and they would use the sub-light function to travel to their destination.
They had apparently jumped to just outside their scanners, and they were ensured that they had been jammed, so they took it at face value and turned their sole focus to the fight ahead.
When jumping with slip-stream, fighters were able to get within tens of kilometers of a station, but larger ships of a corvette and larger, they were limited to slip-streaming to just beyond a hundred kilometers from any station. This was to prevent any mishaps of unwarranted acceleration.
All ships had entered Slip-Stream and the trip was timed at just around 10 minutes and the scene from Razor's cockpit always felt surreal. It was like a separate space moving around the craft and particles of light were generated at the nose of the ship, adhering to the aerodynamics of the craft. It looked like he was breaking the sound barrier in space, but the scene was constant.
He checked his systems and did any last-minute checks. Weapons; armed. Missiles; armed. Shields; 100%. Coolant, fuel, stream fuel, all green. He would have enough for the battle, especially if they were going to have support from the frigates and corvettes. Luckily, some corvettes were designated as resupply ships for fuel and munitions.
Seconds before they exited slip-stream, a call came from the leader of Squadron 416,
“Attention all teams. Be vigilant and trust your training. We have several more systems after this so don't die. Target only marked craft. As soon as you exit, weapons free!”
Roars of acknowledgment came through the radio. As soon as they dropped out of stream space, all fighters engaged full thrust toward the target. Razor cycled his targeting system as blips of the enemy popped on his HUD as he approached closer to the station. The total members of Squadron 416 numbered in the tens, but they weren't the only ones. With some other squadrons, they had a total force of around one hundred and fifty. The total enemy force numbered just below two hundred.
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The enemy noticed their approach and charted their course for interception. Seconds passed that felt like minutes, but in the next moment, hundreds of shots littered the void. Razor commanded his team with a route that would take them below the main enemy force and targeted the few of the enemies that overextended. A line of rounds from his disruptors pelted the lead ship and after several shots, their shields were rendered useless. It was a small ship, and he landed countless shots of his main canon into the dorsal side of the ship, and it went up in a fiery explosion.
Chaos now reigned and no semblance of order was present. The battlefield just a mass of ships in a deadly game of cat and mouse. From a distance, one would only be able to see the traces of light and smoke generated from the munitions fired from both sides.
One pair of light fighters began a chase on a lone Sellian medium fighter, which was currently tailing a friendly fighter of the same class. Although small, the F4/B – Stingray was fast and agile. It was also the bulk of Light Fighters housed by the Stellar Fleet and are used en masse for any operation that requires a large and quick attack force.
As such, The two ships maintained their zero on the ship and fired a set of their own guns into the rear of the chasing ship. The shields of the alien ship lasted longer than they wanted as they continued their dance, the alien ship now running from its attackers and abandoned its previous target.
With a sudden flash, the shields died. This was seen when orange sparks flew from the contact made by the Stingray. After noticing the change in status of the enemy, one locked their missiles onto the ship as it tried to flee into a nearby group Sellian fighters. Their targeting systems began to lock onto other ships with a higher signature. In the split second it took for a solid lock, the pilots fired two missiles toward the retreating enemy.
Before they could confirm the hit, they turned towards their comrades, making a horizontal 90-degree turn with full after-burner. However, from a notice of the ship’s notification system, the picture of the alien ship that was on an offset display showed a grayed out outline of the ship, signifying that their missiles made contact.
“Splash one and two! Bad Guy down!” one reported in their open field communications. The enemy was wilting and their numerical advantage was greatly diminishing.
Razor then assisted Torch who reported an enemy was on his tail and he broke off their formation to the left. Razor and Gearbox followed with a loop and met Torch's attacker with a rain of ballistic fire. The process repeated like a tug of war. Pilots pushed their frames to the limit and the sound of cracking could be heard from within their cockpit, and they did advanced maneuvers to counter their enemy. This persisted for several minutes as their goal was to buy time for their support ships to arrive.
Unlike in atmospheric flight of the past, ships in the modern era were a marvel. Each ship started with a gravity core module which was responsible for reducing the ship's overall weight that would be affected by any gravity generating body but maintained the mass. Next, was the addition of a three-dimensional vectoring system which, in conjunction to the Gravity Module, allowed for ships of nearly all sizes to maintain any axis they chose to hover in, in addition to acting as inertia dampeners.
But, should any pilot find themselves without their 3D-VS, and within an atmospheric planet, then ships built aerodynamically would return to their ancient origin of a single rear vector of thrust and lift.
Returning to the field of combat, there was no presence of larger Sellian ships and when the Terran ships were in range, supported the ships in combat with accurate and effective fire. The addition of the frigates and corvettes helped whittle down the enemy severely.
A set of enemy frigates jumped in during the fight and had taken down some friendly fighters. The Terran frigates were quick to engage and did so with a mixture of rapid ballistic fire and missiles. Missiles were first to engage the enemy warships, but a shield deflected them. The smaller ships were not so lucky. After being pelted by the large caliber of the repeater turrets, their shields were either weakened or depleted, and a series of Mk. 3 Anti-Fighter missiles would contact the fleeing ships.
Each ship was expertly neutralized by the ship’s weapons dumb AI. The artificial programs were essential for targeting solutions in space and their final orders came from their higher programmed counterpart, the Ship-Born Simple AI, that usually took the form of a simple shape with simplistic eyes. They were the overseers of the other programs aboard the warships and essential for everyday function.
The Terran ships ceased fire and turned their bows toward the enemy as they continued with a lackluster display of broadside fire and point defense. Several shots rang out from the frigates and a magnetically accelerated mass was launched toward the enemy. It hit slightly off to the side, but its effect was enough to shatter the shield. The Terran frigate then moved in closer to the enemy and fired a full volley of broadside.
The center of the ship was targeted with calculated precision and a large hole of molten metal vented into the void. The continual fire was sustained, and the enemy ships were defeated. However, in their final efforts, they had managed to dispatch some Terran corvettes that offered support for the fighters.
Upon their defeat and with the whittling enemy fighters, they turned opposite of the battlefield and began to flee. Razor and his three-man team were chasing some remnants trying to flee the battle.
“Razor, do we take 'em out? I have a lock and their shields are down.” Torch said over the radio. He thought for what seemed like moments but was really just fractions of a second. Normally, if they were fleeing from battle, they would be let go, but this wasn't a skirmish or a pirate crackdown. They were engaged in war and their enemy was a combatant that could warn their comrades. Letting them go would jeopardize the attack group.
Before he issued his command, a light from the engine of the Sellian ship began to glow, “It's about to jump! Missiles won't make it!” Gearbox reported. Thoughts ran through his mind as he led his targeting pip. Shields were still down but were slowly regenerating. He had to act quickly.
“Fire on my mark!” Razor ordered. He lined his pip and fired a volley of disruptor, repeater, and canon. A trail of orange flew through the void as it came short, but Razor began to lead it further and the shots that continued beyond the ship found its mark. A small explosion burst in the contrast of the deep black, but sensors indicated it was still alive. He tried for the trigger but all that was sounded was a click with no other feedback.
Within the time it took for him to disable the ship, Torch fired two of his smaller SIM-30 IR Missiles; a missile capable of targeting enemy missiles and aircraft alike. Moments after Razor's shots made contact, the two missiles found their mark. With no enemy in their vicinity, They returned to the battle group by the station. With a quick scan over a battleground display, there were no red blips visible. They had captured the sector.
As they were returning, Torch spoke, alluding to their final kill, “You know what missiles say about where they are…”
“What?” replied Gearbox.
“It knows where it is because of where it isn't. And it just found the ass end of a Sellian!” The two shared a laugh so intoxicating that it only made Razor rub his head in frustration.
“Please…shut up, It’s not that funny,” replied Razor. He felt second hand embarrassment at the tasteless joke, but allowed for his team to share in the post combat celebration.
The three conducted their patrols around the station as well as the planet after a refuel and resupply. They would continue flying alongside the warships in a sweep across the system. At times, they would be engaged with holdouts trying to reorganize, and efforts to have them surrender were met with stark refusal and, as such, they were destroyed.
Razor spoke into his command line and the three set their course for the carrier, “Tower, This is Razor of Sierra 4-1-6, permission to land.”
“Wait one,” the voice said, “Permission granted. Maintain return pattern, and welcome back.”
After some time, his team was finally able to land. After exiting the cockpit, he inspected his ship before returning to the ready room for a debrief. The damage was minimal and when his ship was secured, the maintainer crew began their work to patch the burn marks and missing panels sustained from the fight. When all was said and done, Razor and his team left to their rooms for a much-needed rest in preparation for the next system; Villo.
Razor had now found himself in an after action briefing, a brief that detailed their actions during combat as well as provided some insight to the larger picture. In this case, what would happen to the planets and stations they took control?
“Squadrons 416, 799, and 872, you were all successful in taking control of the Trillo Fuel Processing station,” spoke the Operations Officer. “With this, we now have a direct line to the surplus stores for our ships.” Several pilots of the aforementioned squadrons shared muffled celebratory hand gestures and hand shakes.
The officer then turned her attention to the other half of the squadrons who also partook, “Squadrons 111, 509, and 662, you were also successful in the destruction of their Comms relay throughout the system. As far as we know, they didn’t have time to request reinforcements, ultimately leaving them in the dark.” The officer continued, noting 7th Fleet’s mission of searching for any surviving enemy ships.
Many who were found were hailed, as per protocol, and were given an opportunity to surrender. If they refused, well, they were executed. As for the facilities themselves, Athena’s drones conducted sweeps of facilities, allowing for ground troops access, resulting in a wealth of prisoners and research.
The officer then neared the ending of her brief, “We have paved the way for the Orbital Guard to assume control of station and planet alike. Great work, and you’re dismissed. Be ready for your next assignment.”
Razor did as he said, making his way to his ship, as did many others. Repairs were being made, and system checks were run. It wouldn’t be long before their next sortie, and who knew how many would return. All he focused on was his ship performing at its best.