Though the tactical display in a Raptor’s cockpit paled in comparison to those on a proper bridge, its console remained flexible enough to show Sinn any data he desired. He studied the map while seated within his Raptor’s cockpit, mulling over potential strategies for the Wraiths to reclaim Spectre. Having no distinct radar contacts, each grouping of heat sources was labeled with temporary designations hovering within the asteroid belt.
Aero’s original plan opened with a large-scale torpedo strike from their capital ships to mitigate their numeric disadvantage. However, the Suns’ positions in the asteroids shielded them from the damage such an attack had.
“So, what’s the plan, Aero?” Sinn asked. “They didn’t exactly contest our traversal as we were expecting.”
“Just like that?” Sinn glanced back his tactical map. Given the respective numbers and ship classes in each side, it was a logical approach. However, that raised other concerns. “Seems too predictable, and maybe a bit too conservative.”
Well that’s not wrong, but the Suns must have something in mind. Among all the orgs in Parallax Gate, Sinn ranked the Crimson Suns highest in their execution of textbook strategies and tactics. However, the proper approach when facing a battlecruiser and destroyer with only frigates was to retreat – the literal opposite of the Suns’ digging in. “Then, what would you do on their position?”
“Wouldn’t that plan have worked better if they contested our traversal? What are their odds of success that way now?”
“Okay. Sounds good. Let’s do it.”
Sinn nudged his Raptor above the Prominence to watch. Despite being in a different ship altogether, he was now closer to the positron cannon than the battlecruiser’s own bridge. The ship’s forward turret, a unit the size of a large frigate, rumbled to life. As it turned its gun toward the asteroids, Sinn could hear the whir of its motors still fresh from his time in the command seat. Sinn shuddered in anticipation. “Think they know we can see them?”
“Wait, FUCK!”
A blinding light overwhelmed Sinn’s vision.
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Marshall drifted inches off his seat, watching as the battlecruiser rained beams of antimatter into the asteroid belt. Though his group remained stationed well beyond the capital ship’s range, its weapons still illuminated his cockpit every five seconds. And with every five seconds, several blue points vanished from his radar screen.
The hard way? That’s all you have to say? Marshall resisted every urge to charge at their enemy. “Come on Rico! Those fucking Temps called us a bunch of practice targets! I know we have a plan, but you’re just going along with them right now!”
“I know! It’s the only reason I haven’t moved yet!”
Marshall had to admit that he’d feel the same, had the Temple Wraiths not landed on his bad side. Half his frustrations stemmed from their adversarial status. The fact that they possessed a battlecruiser despite their small org size made it all the worse.
“Affirmative, counterclockwise from one.”
Rico confirmed. The three officers all agreed on the enemy's expected approach.
<*bzzt*– three frigates!>
“Group two, we’re messengers.” Marshall confirmed. He had to give Rico credit. Their plan assumed the Temple Wraiths would adopt the safest strategy, followed by flawless execution from the Suns. To this point, Rico foresaw the enemy’s actions to perfection. Marshall felt sorry for Fayco and his group, but every moment they acted as bait improved their overall odds.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Marshall pushed himself back into the cockpit seat and strapped in. He then switched to his own group’s channel and relayed instructions to them. “Ringer, set up those comm relays. We’ve got five minutes at best before that battlecruiser gets here.”
“Yes, I know,” Marshall replied. “You don’t need to remind me of that.”
Thanks to their regular use of jamming chaff during anti-pirate ops, the Crimson Suns’ carried relays on their frigates to improve long-distance communication between groups. However, the short time between action left their fleet without enough units to execute Rico’s plan, forcing them to assemble some improvised units from spare parts. As luck would have it, Marshall’s group only had those improvised units.
The group watched in silence as their frigate shifted closer to the nearest asteroid. A side hatch opened, and three NPC crewmen rode the ship’s dinghy to the asteroid surface. With flashes from the distant bombardment drawing closer, two men secured the crate with antennas onto the rock before returning. With the seconds ticking away, and each flash a little brighter than the last, the process repeated at another asteroid.
Marshall relayed their progress to command. “This is Group two, comm relays deployed.”
“Roger, Group two moving to Uniform Hotel,” Marshall confirmed. Then, to his subordinates, he said, “Group two, follow me.”
“Nah,” Marshall retorted. “We’re first in line to see that battlecruiser sinking.”
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Aero tapped his fingers against the armrest of his seat, waiting for something to happen. They haven’t been fighting back at all. What are they planning?
After nearly ten minutes of continued bombardment, groups of the Suns’ forces had taken losses, repositioned behind other asteroids, and had taken further losses. All the while, not a single attempt came to bridge the gap between their respective weapons’ range.
On the other hand, casual chatter crept into the Wraiths’ comms in the absence of any major action. After his fighter recovered from an electromagnetic surge, Sinn informed the org that a hundred meters was not a safe distance from a positron beam. Jake and Alf had even asked if they could charge into the asteroids.
“Could they be waiting for reinforcements, Myles?” Aero asked.
“What about allied orgs?”
Aero also felt tempted to rush the Suns’ positions. However, without time pressure, he stuck with the safer plan. “Sensors, what is the enemy fleet status?”
“Enemy fleet is now estimated at eighty-five percent strength,” the NPC replied.
And we haven’t needed a single missile or torpedo yet. Aero leaned forward in thought. At their current rate of progress, the Suns would be swept from the system within an hour without a single loss on the Wraiths’ side. If the Suns didn’t act soon, the Wraiths’ advantages in firepower would become insurmountable. “Stay alert guys, they should act soon.”
“Well if they don’t do something within the next two or three minutes, they might as well not fight at all.”
“Sir!” Sensors turned to face him. “Incoming torpedoes! Forty-five of them!”
Finally. Aero sat up. “Incoming torpedoes. Intercept them. We can handle –”
A wall of metallic clouds appeared, obstructing his view of the retreating Suns. Though Aero looked, it seemed that not a single torpedo carried anything besides chaff.
So there’s an ambush waiting for when we pass through? Having used the tactic against the Suns during their prior encounter, Aero would be the first to have a counter-strategy prepared. “Too obvious, it has to be something else.”
Though he didn’t expect the ambush, Aero proceeded with caution. “Nova, take your flight north over the chaff. Mayto, take your flight south. Make sure they’re not charging in under cover.”
In the meantime, Aero prepared the org their next move. “If they actually come out charging, we’ll fall back toward the gate,” he instructed. “That’ll help us cut down their numbers before they close the distance. Otherwise –“
“Contact. Wraith six, flight of four,” Sensors reported the first flight returning.
“Got it. In that case, all ships advance through the chaff. Cruising speed.” As the ship proceeded, his sensor displays became noisier and noisier until static filled their entirety. Aero watched to the forward view screen and waited for the image to clear. Du to the small relative size of the Suns’ torpedoes, the Phantasm soon crossed the zone of interference, and his instruments regained their normal function.
“Uh… sir?” Sensors looked toward him. “We’re detecting a radio source in the asteroids beneath us.”
A radio source? Aero walked to the sensors station. “Is there a radar contact or heat signature?”
“Negative,” the NPC replied. “Whatever it is, it’s not a ship and it doesn’t contain any large heat sources. Might be a comm relay.”
A comm relay? Aero thought. Why would there be –
An alarm sounded. Dozens of red points popped onto the radar and thermal displays. The NPC pointed to the radar. “Torpedoes! They’re behind us!”
“How– FUCK!” Aero spun toward the other stations. “Gunner! Comms! All ships intercept!”
“Yes sir! Countermeasures active!”
“Orders relayed, sir!”
“Helm, come about!” Aero rushed back to his command console. “Engineering! Keep those shields up! Raise generator output as needed!”
“Yes Captain!” the helmsman replied.
“Raising generator output! Capacitors charging to max, two minutes to overheat!”
By the time Aero returned his attention toward the fleet, a storm of plasma filled the bridge view screens. Except for the sluggish Prominence, every friendly ship had turned to ward off the oncoming assault. Torpedoes continued to pierce through the chaff cloud, and throughout the space before them, bursts of fire appeared each second as a Wraith found their mark.
Their response wasn’t enough.
One torpedo slipped past their screen. Then another.
“Kill engines!” Aero ordered. “Divert power to shields!”
With their sheer numbers, torpedoes penetrated the Wraith’s interception screen. Warheads slammed against the Phantasm’s shields. Aero’s view screens glowed blue from the regular impacts. Warning lights flashed and alarms rang from every bridge console. The ship’s systems whined under the heavy load.
After a seeming eternity, the bombardment subsided, and Aero took stock of the battlefield situation. “Comms, give me a fleet status report.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Engineering. How are we doing?”
“Generator output reverted to normal, no overheat risk. Shields dropped down to two percent, but it looks like we managed to avoid any heavy damage.”
“Comms, status?”
“All friendlies accounted for, but the Prominence is reporting some major damage.”
Major? Fuck. Aero realized the need to reassess his plans. “Sensors, get me a visual.”
The main view screen switched to a telescopic view of the Prominence. The hull appeared intact, but scorch marks painted its exterior. Electricity arced over its aft section, and gasses vented from its main engines. Several sections glowed with heat.
“Legs, what’s your status?” Aero asked.
Well shit, Aero thought. It seemed most the torpedoes targeted the Prominence. As the battlecruiser could not turn quickly, damage accumulated on its aft, further throttling the ship’s maneuverability. Against an enemy fleet of frigates and bombers, it may as well be an immobile space station with light armament on one side.
“What about weapons and shields?”
“Anyone else have damage?” Aero asked.
To his relief, no other Wraith reported issues.
“Those torpedoes? The Suns left them behind while they retreated,” Aero replied. “Set them up to activate remotely. They had comm relays to bypass the chaff jamming and transmit targeting data.”
Mayto whistled.
Is that supposed to be a good thing? Aero sighed and turned their attention back to the battle. “Alright everyone, form up on Prominence. Repeat, form up on Prominence.”
“Sir. The enemy fleet is moving,” Sensors reported. From the asteroids, swarms of ships emerged from their prior cover, giving the Wraiths their first accurate count of the enemy fleet. “Observed fleet composition is fifty-three frigates, one-five-two fighters, and six-zero bombers.”
So the numbers are more than last time. Aero thought. Only difference on our side is that our station now has bigger guns.
The bridge comm screen blinked on to reveal Sinn wearing a massive grin.