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Saber in the Sky by mplacki
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Saber in the Sky - Part I
Date: 12 July 2005, 10:58 pm
0500 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)
UNSC Leviathan, military staging area around Sigma Octanus IV
Admiral Stanforth surveyed the wreckage around Sigma Octanus and shook his head. Around him in orbit lay dozens of shattered UNSC and Covenant vessels, lifeless shells floating in lazy circles around the plant. Plumes of smoke rose from the planet itself, marking what had once been the city of Cote d'Azur. All that was left of the city was a radioactive crater, courtesy of the nuclear bomb that had detonated there.
Nevertheless, it was a victory. In a war that had yielded only a tiny handful of victories for the UNSC, this had clearly been their most decisive one yet. And it was a victory the UNSC desperately needed. Morale had been sinking for months, as the UNSC forces suffered defeat after defeat after defeat.
Now, Sigma Octanus and its 13 million inhabitants were safe. UNSC forces had obliterated the Covenant armada, and the Marines on the ground – aided by the enhanced abilities of the SPARTAN II soldiers – had been able to hold off the groundside Covenant forces. Even better, they had managed to capture some Covenant technology – including plasma weapons and energy shields. And both the Marines on the ground and the crews of the ships in the fleet were feeling great.
"Great" didn't even begin to describe the change the victory had brought to the UNSC forces. Admiral Stanforth had seen thousands of cases of problems come up in the ranks – insubordination, dereliction of duty, deserting, to name but a few. In nearly every case, the problems were the result of soldiers who had seen one battle too many, who had simply given up after seeing planet after planet reduced to a ball of broken glass and watching comrade after comrade fall under the fire of Covenant troops. Now, he had seen troops doing the most boring and routine tasks snap to attention with a firmness and crispness that was heartening and refreshing. Crews were alert and ready for anything, confident in carrying out their various orders. The results of the battle of Sigma Octanus were one of the only bright spots on a horizon that had never been darker.
There was one other bright spot on the horizon, the only thing that had kept the forces moving on so far. The SPARTAN IIs had completely and utterly defeated any Covenant ground forces they encountered. Fast, deadly, and seemingly unstoppable, the mere knowledge that they were working alongside the other UNSC forces on a mission was sufficient to give people the confidence they needed to fight. Their achievements were broadcast throughout Earth and her colonies, giving people hope for the future,
Unfortunately, there was a major problem with the Spartans. As tough as they were, and as good as they were, they couldn't carry their battles into orbit. For every major victory they had on the ground, they suffered an even larger defeat in orbit as Covenant forces glassed the planet they had fought on. Their superhuman skills and MJOLNIR armor were useless in space combat.
Admiral Stanforth had a plan to change all that.
It was, in essence, very simple. There was only one problem the UNSC faced in orbit – they lacked the technological superiority of the Covenant. The MAC guns on the UNSC ships packed a major punch, but the Covenant ships had energy shields that limited their effectiveness. At the same time, the UNSC ships had no shielding systems to soften the blows of the Covenant forces. Any hit by a Covenant weapon instantly damaged or destroyed a significant portion of any UNSC ship – and there were very few misses.
It was often felt that energy shields were the biggest problem the UNSC faced. If UNSC ships had the shielding technology of their Covenant counterparts, they would be on an even playing field. However, while shields had been developed for the MJOLNIR armor, adapting them to ships had proven to be very difficult. So far, all attempts had ended up with either shields that were so weak that they served no useful purpose, or shields that were strong enough but drained a ship's power to the point where the ship didn't have enough power to fire their MAC guns or missiles.
And so, while the tests of shielding systems for capital ships continued, hope on those systems had been given up. And the UNSC was back at the same problem – how could they hold their own in space combat?
As if a light bulb had suddenly flipped on, they realized that there was a simple solution. A painfully obvious one. One that didn't rely on shielding the UNSC capital ships, one that could be implemented immediately, and one that could turn the tide of the war. All that was needed was 12 ships – and 12 of the finest pilots in the UNSC armed forces.
Saber in the Sky - Part II
Date: 21 July 2005, 10:52 pm
0530 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Sequoia, military staging area above Sigma Octanus IV
Commander Jordan McKell yawned and stretched as his alarm clock beeped insistently. He slapped the "Off" button on the clock and slowly crawled out of bed.
"Five thirty is much too early in the morning," he muttered to no one in particular.
After taking a brief shower and changing into his uniform, McKell made his way to the mess hall for breakfast. He was surprisingly hungry, even though the ship's meals often left a great deal to be desired.
"What'll it be this morning, Commander?" asked the crewman on duty.
"Scrambled eggs and toast will be great. And an orange juice."
"Coming right up, sir."
McKell grabbed his tray and his carton of juice and sat down at one of the tables in the far corner of the mess hall. Around him, various crewmembers, Marines, and ODSTs chatted over morning cups of coffee or checked their PDAs for updates on the local situation. Following suit, McKell pulled his PDA out of the side pocket of his pants and punched in his name and password. The screen flashed red for a few seconds, and McKell frowned as he read the message that had suddenly popped up:
United Nations Space Command Priority Order 69824M-37
Encryption Code: Red
Public Key: file/kappa one/
From: Admiral Michael Stanforth, UNSC Leviathan
To: Commander Jordan McKell, UNSC Sequoia
Subject: New Assignment ("Project Saber")
Classification: RESTRICTED
/start file/
Commander McKell:
You have been reassigned to a new Longsword squadron. A shuttle has been sent to the Sequoia to collect you and your belongings, and will transport you here to the Leviathan. Upon your arrival, you are to report to Conference Room 314A on Deck 12 ASAP for your briefing. You will receive a detailed explanation of the reasons behind your reassignment there.
Lieutenant Foster has already been briefed on the situation and will be taking over as the commander of your current squadron. Feel free to make any farewells to your old squadron mates, then get over here. We have a great deal to discuss.
Admiral Michael Stanforth
Commanding Officer, UNSC Leviathan
/end file/
Jordan ground his teeth together, no longer hungry. While squadron reassignments were generally rare in the UNSC forces, McKell had been reassigned more than once, usually to help a squadron that the Navy brass thought needed him more than his current one. He understood that it was all for a good purpose, but he still hated the idea of leaving his people behind as he moved on, and he had never gotten used to doing so.
With a resigned sigh, Jordan finished his breakfast, and headed off to his quarters to pack.
Three hours later, McKell walked into the conference room, and was surprised to find that it was empty. Casting a puzzled look around, he took a seat at the table in the center of the room and waited.
A few minutes later, a man walked into the room, and hesitated when he saw Jordan. It was immediately obvious that it wasn't Admiral Stanforth.
"This is room 314A, right?" the man asked.
"Yeah. Were you reassigned, too?"
"Yep. Kind of odd, but it's happened before." The man held out his hand and smiled warmly. "I'm Commander David O'Brien."
Jordan shook his hand and replied, "Commander Jordan McKell. I don't suppose you know what's going on?"
David frowned. "Actually, I was going to ask you. I've heard of one person being reassigned to a different squadron, but not two." He chuckled. "Especially not two Commanders."
Jordan laughed, and looked up as a woman walked in, wearing the badge of a First Lieutenant. She looked uncertain for a moment, then promptly saluted.
"Lieutenant Kelly Harper, reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease, Lieutenant," replied David. "I don't think you're supposed to be reporting to us, anyway." He smirked at Jordan. "At least, not yet."
Kelly smiled weakly and took a seat across from the two men. She brushed a few strands of brown hair out her eyes, then asked, "Do you know why I was reassigned here?"
"Wait a second… you were reassigned from another squadron, too?" asked Jordan, glancing at David.
"Yes… I've been reassigned once before, but it was still a bit odd…"
"We were reassigned here, too," said David. "Must be a new squadron. But I've never heard of a squadron having so many high-ranking pilots in it."
"Yeah, I was just going to say that," replied Jordan, "especially considering that most of the squadrons in the fleet are being led by Lieutenants. The fact that there are two Commanders in here… " he trailed off as another man stopped in the doorway and glanced around. "Come on in, Lieutenant, you're in the right place."
"Lieutenant Bobby Gordon, reporting, sir," he said, saluting.
"At ease," said David, "and take a seat. As of right now, we're not really bothering with rank formalities anyway," he added, winking at Bobby.
"Lemme guess," said Jordan, "You got reassigned here from another squadron, right?"
"Yeah, I did," said Bobby, looking slightly surprised.
"So did the rest of us. We're just waiting for the big cheese to show up and tell us why."
Over the next fifteen minutes, seven more people streamed into the room. Everyone compared notes, but the only thing they could come up with was that everyone in the room was an ace pilot, and that everyone had been reassigned from another squadron in the fleet.
"So, we have eleven pilots for our squadron," said Jordan. "Where's number twelve?"
As if on cue, a man in a Navy Captain's uniform walked in, followed closely by Admiral Stanforth himself.
"Perfect," grinned Jordan, as the eleven pilots around the table stood and saluted. "Time to get some answers."
Saber in the Sky - Part III
Date: 26 July 2005, 10:42 pm
0900 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Leviathan, military staging area above Sigma Octanus IV
Admiral Stanforth smiled at the eleven men and women standing at attention around the conference table and returned their salutes. "At ease," he said, gesturing for them to take a seat. "I'm sure you all want to know exactly why you're here and why you were pulled here from your respective squadrons." He saw several people around the table nod their heads in agreement.
"As I'm sure you all know, we are not doing very well against the Covenant. Their technology is light-years ahead of ours, and they can hold their own against us even when they're outnumbered three to one. To add to the problem, surrender is an unacceptable alternative to them, and even when they don't have a prayer of a chance of winning they fight to the death."
"The Spartans and the Marines can beat them in any engagement on the ground. But those split-lipped cowards run into orbit every time they get beaten, and glass the planet." He stopped to let the bitterness that had suddenly filled his voice subside before continuing. "And there's nothing we can do to stop them. Don't let the victory here at Sigma Octanus fool you – if they really wanted, they could glass this planet just as easily as any other planet they've hit."
"We think we've found a way to stop them. At the very least, we have a way to slow them down. And it relies on you."
Stanforth paused, and was pleased to see several of the pilots sit up a bit straighter, listening with interest. He glanced around the room, and looked at Jordan.
"What do you know about project Mjolnir, Commander?" he asked.
"Mjolnir was the code name for the armor developed for the Spartan II soldiers," Jordan answered. "It was designed to be able to withstand an extreme amount of punishment, and had shielding systems built in to protect the wearer."
"Correct," replied Stanforth. "I am sure that everyone in this room is aware that we have tried very hard to adapt the Mjolnir shielding to our capital ships. Unfortunately, the ships are just too big, and we don't have a sufficient understanding of the technology involved to be able to design effective shielding systems for them."
"However," continued Stanforth, emphasizing the word, "we do have some good news." He pushed a button on the edge of the table, and a holographic projector lit up in the middle of it, showing a revolving three-dimensional image of a C-709 Longsword interceptor. "The big cruisers might be too big to fit shields on, but the same doesn't apply to something as small as a Longsword."
There was an audible gasp from several people around the table, followed by a stunned silence. Bobby spoke up first.
"You mean that we're going to be issued shielded Longsword fighters?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes. And that's not the only improvement they have," Stanforth answered smugly. "There has been a minor breakthrough in Slipspace technology – we've been able to build Shaw-Fujikawa Slipspace drives that can work on a Longsword, despite their low mass. The fusion drive engines have also been custom-designed for these particular Longswords. Each drive can provide up to 150 percent of its rated power capacity for a ninety-second period without sustaining damage. In addition, each ship has been equipped with a standard military-grade AI, so you don't need an additional navigation officer. By removing all of the different parts usually needed for your co-pilots, such as the control stations and whatnot, we've managed to make these Longswords 100 kilograms lighter than their standard counterparts."
Stanforth paused to let those words sink in. "Those upgrades, combined with the virtually unlimited combinations of armaments that can be mounted on the Longswords, mean that you will be able to function as a stand-alone unit, without need for heavier backup from a capital ship. Each one of you has been handpicked based on the leadership qualities, piloting expertise, and strategic skills you possess. By putting you together, our goal is to have an operational Longsword squadron that is just as effective and versatile in space as the Spartan IIs are on the ground."
"Any questions?"
Jordan raised his hand. "I was just curious, sir; how much power can these shields deflect, and how long do they take to recharge in a combat situation?"
"The shields take roughly 90 seconds to reach their full charge," Stanforth replied. "According to the tests we've run, they're capable of holding up against several salvos from the standard-issue plasma cannons on the Seraph-class starfighters. They're not nearly powerful enough to withstand a direct hit from a plasma torpedo, however, so you still need to be careful around Covenant cruisers." He paused. "Anything else?"
Nobody raised their hand.
"Very well," continued Stanforth. "Now, may I introduce your squadron leader and commanding officer, Captain Richard Deckard."
Everyone rose and saluted as Deckard stepped forward. He looked to be about forty, with grizzled brown hair and equally hard brown eyes. He returned the pilots salutes, and nodded at them to sit down.
"First of all, I would like to congratulate you all on being here. You are all here because you have shown yourselves to be the finest pilots the UNSC has to offer. You have every right to be extremely proud of your accomplishments so far."
"Having said that, you are all in a very dangerous position. Your missions will be the most deadly assignments ever given to a fighter squadron in the UNSC. They will also be among the most important. Many of them will qualify as suicide missions – although I will do my utmost to ensure that they do not turn out that way. You will be expected to complete those missions, because if you don't, there is nobody else out there who can."
He looked at the pilots before him, waiting to see if any of them had anything to say. Nobody did, so he continued on.
"Now, I'd like to get down to squadron business. First of all, our squadron callsign is "Saber", and we'll be known as Saber Squadron among the UNSC armed forces."
"Second are your wingman assignments. I've paired everyone in the squadron up by seniority, so that less experienced pilots have someone to learn from and rely on. Obviously, I'll be Saber one; Lieutenant Gordon, you'll be flying with me." Bobby nodded. "Saber three will be Lieutenant Harper, and your wingman will be Lieutenant Sander." Kelly smiled and shook hands with the woman sitting next to her, Aliesha Sander. "The four of us will make up One Flight. Commander O'Brien, you'll be leading Two Flight – your wingman will be Mr. Hendrick, and Ms. Lovell and Ms. Hall will round out the rest of your group." David shook hands with the other three pilots, who introduced themselves as Kevin Hendrick, Kat Lovell, and Jennifer Hall. "Commander McKell, you have Three Flight – that will consist of you, Mr. Marshal, Mr. Parker, and Mr. Cormack." Jordan nodded at his three pilots – Travis Marshal, Greg Parker, and Tony Cormack.
"Next up is what you've all been waiting for; follow me, and I'll show you to your ships, and introduce you to your new co-pilots."
The pilots fell into step behind Captain Deckard, each wearing an identical grin of anticipation as they headed toward the hangars.
Jordan examined the Longsword in front of him closely. At first glance, it looked just like any other Longsword fighter in the fleet, with the small exception of the red stripes painted along the fuselage; on closer inspection, however, he noticed several small but significant changes. The cooling ducts for the engines were much larger, for a start; a surprisingly slim version of a Shaw-Fujikawa Slipspace drive was slung underneath.
"Commander McKell!" called Deckard.
"Yes, sir?"
Captain Deckard passed him a plastic card. "Temporary key for your Longsword," he explained. "This is only to be used until you set a password for it and have it hardwired into the ship's systems by the techs."
Jordan nodded. "Thank you, sir." He turned back to the boarding ramp on his Longsword and immediately spotted a slot with a flashing green LED nearby. He slid the card into it, then stepped back as the ramp lowered for him.
"Sir?"
Jordan turned around and saw one of the ship's techs standing behind him. "I'm supposed to give you a tour of the ship and rundown of the upgrades and features on it. Captain Deckard mentioned that, right?"
"Yeah, he did." Gesturing inside, Jordan added, "Lead the way."
'Tour' was a slight over-exaggeration; considering that the entire Longsword was originally designed for only two people, there wasn't very much that needed to be introduced. After an obligatory (but thankfully brief) tutorial on activating the shielding systems and using the Slipspace drives, Jordan followed the tech up to a console where his co-pilot would usually sit. The tech punched a button, and a holo-projector swirled to life. With it came a blue-green image of a man. He looked well-built, with short hair cut military-style; he looked very much like a Marine.
"This is Revs," said the tech. "He'll be your new co-pilot."
"Nice to meet you, Commander," said Revs, with an energetic nod. "I've read your record, and I'm impressed. I've been looking forward to working with you."
"Thanks," replied Jordan. "I'll hope I'll enjoy flying with you."
Just then, the radio in the Longsword squawked; a few seconds later, Captain Deckard's voice came through.
"O.K. Sabers, by now you should be almost through getting to know your new ships. Get comfortable, and make sure the techs get clear; we're going to be taking these birds out for a test flight."
"Is this going to be a live-fire exercise, sir?" asked David.
"Negative – this is just for you to get a feel for them on a real flight. We will be splitting into teams for a mock-up dogfight later on, though."
"Copy that."
The tech who had been helping Jordan tossed him a salute and jogged off the ramp, closing it behind him.
A few seconds later, Deckard's voice came through the radio again. "Control, this is Saber Lead, requesting permission for liftoff."
"Permission granted, Saber lead; lift in five minutes. Commence warm-up procedures and await further instructions."
"Roger that, awaiting further instructions. Commencing warm-up procedures."
Jordan flicked the engine-prestart switches and sat back to wait. He glanced at the control panels, looking for anything that might be out of place or could signal a potential problem.
"Saber squadron, this is Control. Lift in two, hangar is clear. Bring all main systems online now."
"Copy that, Control," replied Deckard. "Bringing main systems online."
Jordan flicked the engine starters and heard a deep, reassuring hum as the engines came online. He double-checked and triple-checked the gauges, and watched the different needles climb to their respective zones.
"Excited?" asked Revs.
Jordon threw him a skeptical look. "Wouldn't you be?"
"Of course. I'm looking forward to this as much as you are."
"Thirty seconds to lift, Saber squadron; release docking clamps, prepare to fire maneuvering jets."
The ship shuddered slightly as the docking clamps released; a few seconds later, the Longsword's belly jets lifted it off the deck.
"Roger that, docking clamps released. Maneuvering jets ready."
"Five to lift. Venting hangar atmosphere, prepare to exit the hanger."
"Copy, Control."
Jordan gently pulled his control stick to the left, and the Longsword swiveled around to face the hangar doors.
"Saber lead, your squadron is clear. Proceed out of the hangar at will. Have a good flight, and come back safe."
"Will do, Control; see you in a bit."
The Longsword's engines flared to life; Jordan glanced at the eleven fighters alongside him, then pushed the throttle forward. The starfighter zoomed gracefully out of the hangar and arced up toward the stars.
Saber in the Sky - Part IV
Date: 3 August 2005, 12:29 am
1100 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Longsword Fighter, planetary orbit around Sigma Octanus IV
Jordan rolled his Longsword to the left to avoid a chunk of debris, then straightened it out. The mere sight of so many destroyed ships was sickening. God, I don't even want to know how many bodies are out here, he thought. A piece of twisted metal flashed on his right – a few seconds later, he recognized with a jolt that it was the starboard wing of a Longsword. He shuddered, wondering if he had known the pilot, and if he had managed to eject in time.
The radio squawked, bringing his attention back to the task at hand.
"All right, people, here's what we're doing right now. Separate into your respective flights – we're going to be searching the rubble. Have your AIs make a note of the location of any piece of Covenant technology that looks remotely salvageable, and look for any survivors – preferable UNSC survivors, but Covenant survivors might be able to give us useful data too. I'm sending each flight the section you've been assigned as we speak."
Jordan glanced at Revs. "So what part are we doing?"
The AI gestured at the red navigation marker that had popped up on the main screen.
"Quite a few Covenant ships out there," he commented. "Not many UNSC ones, though. I would gently suggest to power up your weapons systems – it would be rather uncomfortable to be ambushed by a pack of Seraphs looking to go out in a blaze of glory."
Jordan felt this was a rather fair analysis.
"All right Three Flight, you heard the Captain," he said. "I want everyone to power up all weapon and shielding systems, just as a precaution – there might be enemy contacts out there trying to hide among the bigger wrecks. Spread out, about three klicks* apart from each other, and keep an eye on your wingman. Report anything that looks suspicious."
"Copy that, sir," replied Greg. Jordan watched Greg and Tony peel away, then turned his attention to the debris he was supposed to be scanning.
"Revs, check the debris for any electrical fields. That should give us an idea of what's worth looking at and what's not."
"Way ahead of you, Commander," he said. "And I'm searching all fields on the Covenant ships, not just electrical ones. Some of their stuff might not work on electricity."
"Show-off."
"That may be so, but at least I'm good at what I do," replied Revs, smirking.
"Oh, shut up already," scoffed Jordan. "I bet I can do my job better than you do yours."
"You're on."
Jordan settled back in his chair and sighed. It was going to be a long flight.
Three hours later, he was still sitting, trying not to fall asleep from boredom. There had been a few interesting finds on some of the Covenant ships, but for the most part they were things that had already been seen. Plasma turrets had been found before, there was nothing exciting about that; it was the code that controlled them that was the real key toward getting them to work. Considering that these ships had been blasted with MAC guns, Archer missiles, and God alone knew what else, there was a depressingly low probability that there would be anything resembling retrievable code somewhere in the ships' databases. Just then, David's voice crackled over the radio.
"Captain Deckard, this is five."
"Go ahead, Commander."
"Sir, we've found some sort of strong electrical field here. It could be originating from one of the ships, but it could just as easily be a group of Seraphs or Covenant dropships. Can we get the rest of the squadron over here as backup, just in case?"
"That's affirmative, Commander; stand by. Three flight, get over there and give them a hand. We'll join you if you need the backup – I want to finish inspecting this cruiser first."
"Roger that."
Jordan and Travis broke off and headed toward the destroyer David had been scanning; Greg and Tony took up defensive escort positions behind them.
"See anything, Revs?"
"Considering that I don't actually have eyes…"
"Just answer the question," said Jordan, rolling his eyes.
"There's certainly a strong electrical field there; there's also some minor radiation. Could be a coolant leak, or it could be a group of Covenant fighters."
"I already knew that," he said exasperatedly. "Do you see anything that poses an immediate threat?"
"Nope; if there are Covenant fighters hiding there, they're keeping well out of sight. Given the Covenant's record of dashing out to fight any enemy that comes their way, I think it's reasonable to assume that they are either damaged, empty, or non-existent."
Jordan keyed the radio. "What do you think, Dave?"
"I think that if there's any fighters here, they're damaged and aren't interested in coming out to play just now."
"That's what I think; you want to take a closer look?"
"Probably should. I'm going to take a flyby; watch my six."
"Copy that, Dave. If you find 'em, leave some for me."
David laughed. "No problem, Jordan; help yourself."
David's Longsword rolled onto its starboard wing and skimmed the surface of the destroyer; a second later his wingman, Kevin Hendrick, followed him.
"What do you see, Dave?"
"Nothing interesting; looks like a few Covenant dropships had geared up, but never made it out of the hanger. Might be useful to the ONI spooks, but there's nothing for us in there."
"Shame. I was just getting excited, too. Anything else that needs to be covered in your sector?"
"Nope. I was saving this for last; everything else has already been tagged. How about yours?"
Jordan shook his head. "Everything's clear there, too. I was just double-checking a Covenant frigate for stuff I might have missed on the first pass."
"Captain Deckard, this is five. We're all done here."
"Affirmative, Commander; wrap it up and head home. Two and Three flight, have your AIs send me a record of the different anomalies you've found, then consider yourselves at liberty for the rest of the day. We should be back within a half hour as well"
"Aye-aye, sir," replied David. "Two and Three flight, heading home."
"Hey Travis," said Jordan, "you want to stop by the simulators when we get back?"
"Sound fine to me."
"How about you, Dave? Greg? Tony?"
"Haven't you sat in a Longsword enough for today, Jordan?" asked David.
"Maybe," he said, smiling mischievously, "but we never got around to that dogfight the Captain promised."
2000 Hours, July 18th, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
UNSC Leviathan, planetary orbit above Sigma Octanus IV
Captain Deckard pressed the door chime outside Admiral Stanforth's office and waited. A few seconds later, he heard the lock click, and the door opened.
"Ah, good evening, Captain."
Captain Deckard saluted. "Reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease. Come on in and take a seat."
Deckard took a seat and looked around. There was a window on one side of the room, through which Sigma Octanus could clearly be seen; against the other wall was a cabinet, which held the various awards and medals Stanforth had received.
"Let's get right to business." Stanforth motioned to a plasma screen embedded in the desk, which was displaying a map of the local solar systems. "This is the path the Covenant have taken to invade human space," he said, drawing a red line on the screen with a stylus. "Judging by this, we're expecting Kappa Epsilon to be attacked relatively soon." He drew a red circle around one of the systems. "The Covenant won't be happy about their defeat here at Sigma Octanus, and their going to want to make us pay. Kappa Epsilon is home to just under twenty million people; I'm sure you'll agree that it's an inviting target."
Captain Deckard nodded. "What forces do we currently have in the vicinity?"
"The Amazon and the Mississippi are both just outside of the system. Unfortunately, you know just as well as I do that a destroyer and a frigate won't even make the Covenant blink."
"You want to send in Saber Squadron."
"Only if they're ready," corrected Stanforth. "They might be the best pilots in the fleet, but if they need more time to train with the new ships, I'm not going to send them on a mission that could get them all killed."
Deckard shook his head. "They all headed right to the simulators after their clean-up job was over," he said. "The ships might be new, but they're still Longswords, and the pilots know how to use the new technology. They'll obviously be able to come up with new strategies and tactics with more experience, but they're ready to take on a mission right now. In fact, I think they would welcome one."
"You think they're ready?"
"Absolutely. They already work together very well, and their teamwork will only improve as they spend more time flying missions. If you need Saber Squadron, we're ready."
Stanforth smiled. "Glad to hear it, Captain. Have the techs get your ships ready to fly, and brief your people first thing in the morning. There's going to be a big party over in the Kappa Epsilon system, and I want your people to be right in the middle of it."
* - For those who don't know, a "klick" is slang for a kilometer.
Saber in the Sky: Part V
Date: 7 September 2005, 8:07 pm
0832 Hours, July 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) /
Planetary orbit above Kappa Epsilon
Jordan's first view of Kappa Epsilon revealed a planet that looked to be an even blend of Mars and Earth. It had fluffy white clouds, plenty of vegetation, and several large, blue-green oceans; the rest of the land, however, seemed to be entirely made up of dirt and rock in varying shades of red. It was slightly larger than Earth, with a denser but breathable atmosphere.
The squadron had traveled to the system using the new Slipspace drives on their Longswords. Jordan had been more than a little leery of this; it was difficult to shake off the knowledge that, until now, nothing much smaller than an ONI Prowler could make it in and out of Slipspace without being blown into its separate molecules. The techs back on the Leviathan had assured the squadron that the ships had been tested many times before being given to them, and that there shouldn't be any problems with the ships at all.
True to their word, none of the ships had been blown to smithereens; the shielding systems and reinforced Titanium-A armor had seen to that. The techs had, however, conveniently left out the fact that the ride through Slipspace was extremely uncomfortable. Jordan's Longsword had bucked, rattled, shaken, jerked, shuddered, and generally made life miserable for its occupant for the entire twelve and a half hour flight. Meanwhile, Revs had sat there laughing the entire time, constantly pointing out the advantages of not having a physical body, and the fact that he could shut down and go to sleep anytime he wanted. While Jordan's crash seat, which was designed to withstand high G-forces and help pilots cope with them, had helped out quite a bit, it had by no means cancelled out all the jerks the ship was going through. All in all, it was a great relief to be back in normal space.
Just then, Jordan spotted the Amazon. Like the Iroquois, the hero of the battle at Sigma Octanus, the Amazon was a UNSC destroyer; it bristled with dozens of Archer missiles, a MAC gun, and several Shiva nuclear warheads, and was surrounded by nearly two solid meters of Titanium-A armor plating. By all rights a formidable ship, but not one that could win a battle with a heavy Covenant ship on its own. But then, that's why we're here, thought Jordan with a smirk.
"Saber lead, this is Amazon. It's good to see you."
"And the same to you, Amazon. What's the situation?"
"Everything's clear right now. You squadron is slated to get down to the planet for some R & R while they can still get it."
"Roger that, Amazon. Saber lead out."
Jordan followed the rest of the squadron in a smooth dive toward the planet's surface. As he neared the surface, he could see tall, snow-capped mountains. Rivers fed by the melting snow had gouged deep canyons into the areas around them, revealing a bewildering array of reds and oranges. Rushing waterfalls and a lush carpet of blue-green vegetation completed the awe-inspiring scene.
David whistled over the radio. "Sure is pretty."
"You've got that right," replied Jordan.
"And it's our job to keep it that way, gentlemen," cut in Deckard. "So cut the chatter and get to the LZ double-time; you're going to need some rest if you want to have a hope of defending it."
"Copy that, sir." Jordan glanced at the canyon one more time, and noticed that the deepest parts were obscured by a thick, blue mist. Frowning, and momentarily forgetting his annoyance at his AI, he asked, "What is that, Revs?"
For once the AI didn't have an immediate response to give. "The atmosphere is unusually dense in that section, and it doesn't appear to have much oxygen," he said at last. "I don't think you can live down there, if you were wondering."
"Any idea how deep it is?"
"None. Could be a few dozen meters, or a few thousand. Sensors can't penetrate anything more than the first meter or so; the air is so dense that it absorbs the signals and doesn't reflect them back."
"Keep it's location handy," said Jordan. "Might be a useful place to hide if things get nasty."
"Surely," said Revs, with an air of total disdain, "you weren't planning on running?"
Jordan glowered at him. "What I meant was a place to hide for evac shuttles and whatnot. Not me. Now make yourself useful and bring up a NAV marker for the LZ."
Instantly, a red arrow appeared on Jordan's HUD, showing that the base was just under twelve hundred kilometers away. That equated to about another ten minutes of flight at this speed. Jordan smothered a yawn and blinked his eyes a few times. He hadn't been able to sleep all night with the ship shaking the way it was, but even so he was surprised how tired he was now. Exhaustion, he knew, led to mistakes, and he made an effort to sit up straighter at his console. It would be quite embarrassing to have the second-highest ranking officer in the squadron crash into the LZ because of some careless mistake.
When Jordan finally did land a few minutes later and got his bunk assignment from the sergeant on duty, the long flight had really hit home. Mumbling his thanks to the officer, he stumbled off to his room, crashed onto the bed, and passed out.
Jordan was woken up six hours later as his comlink began to chirp loudly. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he picked up the comlink and flicked it on.
"McKell here."
"Commander McKell, this is Deckard. I need you in briefing room 327G as soon as possible."
Jordan snapped fully awake. "Covenant forces?"
"Not yet, son. But close. Get over here as soon as you can, and we'll explain it all to you."
"Aye aye, sir. On my way."
Jordan splashed some water on his face, snagged two candy bars from a vending machine, and wolfed them down on his way to the briefing room. Most of the squadron, as well as heads of all of the other forces around the planet, were already present. Jordan took a seat next to Bobby and waited for the remaining people to show up.
Once everyone had been seated, a man wearing a General's uniform walked to the front of the room and took the podium. The whispers around the room were quickly silenced.
"Good afternoon, everyone; for those of you who don't know, I'm General Bertone, commanding officer of the Amazon. I'm going to be going over the general strategy we're going to be using to defend Kappa Epsilon." He motioned to the screen at the front of the room, which resolved itself into an image of the Kappa Epsilon system. "About an hour ago, our long-range sensors picked up readings on an extremely large object moving through Slipspace. The profile of the object is very similar to the profile that the Covenant ships at Sigma Octanus took when moving through Slipspace. Both objects resolve as a single mass to our sensors; it's a fair assumption that the Covenant are on their way here."
"Admiral Stanforth has informed me that the Leviathan has completed repairs and is making best speed to the system as we speak. He estimates to be in-system in three hours. The frigate Sunset Glory and the destroyer Indomitable are also on their way here; Sunset Glory reports that they will be here within the hour, and the Indomitable should be getting here at roughly the same time as the Leviathan. Many other ships are also coming, but they will not be here for at least another six hours, and will most likely arrive too late to help out in the coming battle."
"We estimate that the Covenant fleet will reach the outskirts of Kappa Epsilon in five hours time; from the mass readings we've taken, they appear to have a flagship, three frigates, and a destroyer." There was an outbreak of nervous muttering at these words, and not without reason: the only times the UNSC won battles in orbit was when they outnumbered the Covenant ships three to one, not one to one.
General Bertone glared at the people in the room, and the whispers subsided. "I have no doubt that we can defeat the Covenant here; if you'll recall, Captain Keyes was outnumbered four to one by the Covenant and disabled three of the ships while keeping his own crew alive. There is no reason why we can't stand up against the Covenant here as well."
The screen at the front of the room changed to show a real-time image of the planet. "The capital ships will form a defensive line above the planet. We will be holding position directly in the Covenant's line of flight, with MAC guns charged and all weapons hot. When the Covenant appear, we will be giving them a full salvo of everything we can; then all ships will immediately begin evasive maneuvers. The Indomitable, the Amazon, and the Leviathan all carry complements of Longswords; these will be tasked with point defense, and will keep Seraphs, dropships, and boarding craft away from the larger ships."
"We also have two squadrons of Longswords on the ground. These include Talon squadron, which has been based on the planet, and Saber squadron, which has been sent here to assist us. Both squadrons will be tasked with helping to neutralize the Covenant capital ships. Saber squadron has been provided with AMX-12 antimatter missiles; they will be moving into position once the Covenant's shields are down. Talon squadron will be acting as cover for them, and will be making sure than enemy fighters can't interfere with their mission."
"Any questions?"
Nobody spoke up.
"Very well then. Check in with your commanding officers, and prepare yourselves and your ships for the upcoming battle. Dismissed."
Jordan and Bobby stood up, and filed out of the room. Bobby whistled appreciatively.
"AMX-12s, huh? I've heard of them before, but I thought they were still under development or research or something by ONI."
"Guess not," replied Jordan. "Or maybe they are still in development, but someone's pulled some strings to make sure we have them. Won't help against the shields, but they'll pack a major punch against the ships themselves."
"You got that right," said Bobby. "I'm looking forward to it."
"Bet I'll have more kills than you."
"Yeah, well, you're the second ranking officer in the squadron. It'd be embarrassing if you didn't." He smirked. "As such, I'll do my best to embarrass you."
"You're on."
"Hey, no one told me there was a bet on!" called a voice from behind them. Jordan turned to see David coming up behind him.
"Of course not, Dave; I felt sorry for you," winked Jordan. "It'd be a shame for you to owe me another hundred credits."
"Hey, I don't care what you say, that was a lucky shot in the simulator. You know I would've beat you."
"Fat chance."
"Tell you what: if you can get more kills than me, dinner's on me."
"Where at?"
"Oh, we'll find a nice place groundside later," replied Dave. "Assuming we get to stay here that long, of course."
"Sure. You wanna come to the simulator room with me? You can practice losing there."
David laughed. "Sure, why not. My ship's ready to fly, all I need to do is hop in. I have time to burn."
"I'm gonna grab a bite to eat," said Bobby, "I'll catch up with you guys later."
"Sure thing, Bobby. See you in a bit."
David watched Bobby take off toward the mess hall, then turned back to Jordan.
"Hey, Jordan?"
"Yeah?"
"In all seriousness… are you worried at all?"
Jordan nodded. "I'd have to be crazy not to be. One blast from those ships, one mistake and we're gone. Vaporized. Yeah, I think we have reason to worry. But we're gonna pull through anyway."
David looked at him. "How are you so sure?"
"Because we're the best," Jordan answered simply. "If we don't do it, who will?"
Saber in the Sky - Part VI
Date: 6 October 2005, 5:00 am
1914 Hours, July 20, 2552 (Military Calendar)
Military staging area above Kappa Epsilon
Jordan's Longsword cruised silently among the larger ships of Kappa Epsilon. Under Captain Deckard's orders, Saber Squadron was keeping their ships under minimal power, both to conserve fuel and to ensure that the squadron didn't attract any undue attention until it was absolutely necessary. The AMX-12 missiles the Longswords were carrying would only be effective if the Covenant ships' shields could be brought down. If the shields stayed up, the anti-matter missiles would be useless; since energy shields didn't contain any matter, the missiles had no effect against them. A UNSC victory would rely on the MAC guns of the bigger ships to take out the Covenant shields, followed by Saber Squadron's AMX-12s to rip them apart.
On the other hand, if the Covenant managed to destroy the MAC guns, things would get ugly. Quickly.
Jordan cracked his knuckles nervously and tried to banish the feeling that he had eaten something extremely wiggly. The Covenant ships were going to arrive any minute – and when they did, there was going to be one hell of a fireworks display.
The real question, mused Jordan, is which side gets to be the fireworks. If it turned out to be the UNSC… well, then he'd make sure the Covenant paid through their nose to watch.
He glanced over toward the right-hand side of his control panel. Bolted firmly to the ship's frame was a small four-by-six inch picture frame, showing a field of tall grass. Partly hidden among the stalks was a crouching young boy, wearing combat fatigues emblazoned with the UNSC logo and aiming at the camera with a toy MA5B assault rifle. The boy had light brown hair cut military-style, with piercing brown eyes, and the disarming, innocent grin of a six-year old.
Jordan held his son's gaze for a moment and felt some of his tension fade away. His wife, Mia, had sent him the picture from Earth a few months ago on Brian's birthday. Jordan wished that he could have been there, even for one day, and had tried to make up for it by sending Brian the assault rifle, but he knew it wouldn't be the same. Still, Brian had been thrilled with his present and spent an entire half-hour the next day recounting all the adventures and misadventures he and his friends had had with it over the holo-vid.
"We're fighting for you, kiddo," he murmured softly. "We're fighting for you."
Captain Deckard's voice jerked him back to the current situation.
"Enemy contact! Sabers, prepare to engage."
Bright white pinpoints of light had appeared a few hundred kilometers in front of the UNSC armed forced. In the space of a second they grew into rippling waves of energy, then faded as the smooth hulls of the Covenant ships emerged from Slipspace. Admiral Stanforth's voice crackled from the Leviathan.
"All ships, fire at will!"
Archer missiles raced over a dozen MAC rounds toward the Covenant ships. Jordan watched as thousands of tons of destructive power streaked ahead. Slowly, the enemy ships began to veer out of the way, intense blue-purple glows appearing as their engines were ramped up to full power at maximum speed. The first missiles impacted the Covenant flagship –
Too late.
Jordan smashed a fist angrily on his fighter's control panel as he saw the first MAC round crumple and several missiles detonate harmlessly against the flagship's energy shield. One of the frigates veered out of the way of the MAC rounds just in time; one round managed to land a glancing blow on its side, sending it spinning away, but with little actual damage. Another MAC round slammed into the destroyer's shields, which sparked and flared but remained up.
The other ships, however, were not so lucky. One of the frigates took a MAC round through the nose; Jordan actually saw its shield go up for a split second after the projectile started to drill a hole down the length of the ship. The round blew through its rear end, igniting its engines and detonating them in a spectacular ultra-violet explosion. The other frigate managed to move partially out of the way, but one of the MAC rounds aimed at it still managed to carve a near-perfect semicircular trench down the ship's lateral line. A second round completely missed the front half of the ship, but made up for it by smashing into its right-rear decks and emerging from its starboard engine. The engine went supercritical, and the resulting explosion ripped the rear half of the ship clear off. A second later, two dozen Archer missiles impacted against its bow, punching multiple holes through the ship's armor and detonating inside. What was left of the frigate's now-lifeless shell drifted away slowly, venting atmosphere, equipment, and personnel.
"All ships, break and attack! Take down those shields!" roared Stanforth.
The Leviathan's massive bulk moved slowly away, rotating smoothly to keep its MAC systems trained on the Covenant flagship. The Amazon and the Indomitable swiveled toward the destroyer, which was busily disgorging Seraphs and dropships. Meanwhile, the Sunset Glory and the Mississippi began to move to flanking positions around the surviving frigate.
A new voice, strong and steady, crackled over the radio: the head flight controller on the Leviathan. In a dogfight, the controllers on the capital ships acted as an extra pair of eyes and ears to watch the pilots' backs.
"All fighters, this is Control. Be advised: we have eighty-four, repeat, eight-four contacts inbound. Scanners read fifty-six, five-six Seraphs and twenty-eight dropships. ETA three minutes. Saber and Talon squadrons, until those shields are down you are to escort the Mississippi and the Sunset Glory and provide them with fighter defense."
"That's affirmative," replied Deckard coolly. "Saber Squadron, moving to escort positions."
"Talons moving to escort."
Twenty-four starfighters cruised almost lazily toward the smallest two capital ships in the fight. Talon Squadron moved to cover the Mississippi; the Sabers formed into their separate flights around the Sunset Glory.
Hundreds of kilometers ahead, bright red highlights began to form along the sides of the surviving Covenant ships. As if on cue, the approaching Seraphs and dropships broke off their attack vector sharply, giving the larger ships a clear field of fire. Plasma torpedoes rocketed toward the UNSC ships, weaving from side to side to match their evasive maneuvers.
One torpedo homed in on the Leviathan's bridge. Jordan watched in horror as one of the ships' Longswords – Cobra two – banked sharply in front of the torpedo, shielding the Leviathan from its deadly energy. Superheated gas burned into the fighter, vaporizing most of its armor plating and melting the rest of its superstructure. The Longsword's sharp lines blurred as the heat caused its frame to sag in on itself. What was now a molten blob of metal hurtled along its last trajectory, tumbling slowly as the remaining oxygen in it leaked into the vacuum of space.
Nearby, the Indomitable fired its emergency thrusters, snapping the ship out of the path of the incoming torpedoes. Its frame shuddered as it launched a MAC round toward the Covenant destroyer; the Amazon fired another one directly after it. The first round slammed harmlessly into the destroyer's shields. The second punched through the hole that had briefly opened in them and buried itself deep in the ship's midsection – the destroyer's bridge.
The ship went abruptly out of control; the engines were still at full power, but the impact from the MAC round and the explosive decompression from the breached hull pushed the ship far off-course. It veered drunkenly toward the remaining frigate, slamming into and through the smaller ship's shields and impaling itself in its hull. The two ships twisted wildly though space as the frigate fought valiantly to regain control.
The two UNSC destroyers now turned their attention to the plasma torpedoes, which had turned around and were now racing doggedly back toward the fleet. Several Archer missiles lanced toward the oncoming torpedoes, timed to detonate just in front of them. The ensuing explosions would, in theory, dissipate the plasma, rendering it harmless.
Unfortunately, three of the missiles started to go off a split second to late. The roiling plasma vaporized the missiles and continued on toward the ships. One torpedo burned into the Leviathan, melting an enormous hole in its recently-repaired hull. The other two tore into the Amazon's lower decks, compromising its structural integrity and disabling its MAC system.
"Concentrate fire on the flagship," called Stanforth over the radio. "Saber and Talon squadrons, move into position to begin your attack."
"Roger that, moving into position," replied Deckard.
Unfortunately, 'moving into position' involved going past the rapidly approaching Seraphs and dropships.
Jordan centered his targeting reticle on the lead Seraph and waited for a dead shot. It came closer…closer…
Jordan squeezed the trigger, spraying 110mm rounds at the fighter. Its shields flickered blue as the rounds hit but did no damage; a moment later, it returned the favor by spitting out bright purple plasma blots. Jordan snapped the Longsword into a tight barrel roll and dove under the incoming fire. He yanked back on the control stick, bringing the ship's nose up to point at the Seraphs belly. More rounds ricocheted off its shield as he opened fire, then the Seraph broke left and dove as the shield failed. A tight loop brought the Longsword back onto the Seraph's tail. The Covenant ship rolled onto its port wing and climbed, desperately trying to avoid his fire, but Jordan was in no mind to lose it. He flipped the ship onto its back and tore after the Seraph, only to jerk back in surprise as the ship suddenly exploded.
"Chalk one up for me, Jordan!" called David.
"Hey, he was mine! Find your own kill!"
David's Longsword waggled its wings and soared off toward the flagship. One of the Seraphs twisted around and shot after him.
"Dave, you picked up a bogey. Break right, I'll cover you."
David pulled sharply to the right, then shot upwards. The Seraph tried to follow him, but its trajectory pulled it right into Jordan's line of fire. Yellow tracer fire chased molten lead into the fighter's shields, which flared angrily. The pilot inverted his ship and dove sharply, trying to loop around onto Jordan tail. Jordan calmly pulled back on his control stick, then killed the engines.
"Commander, what are you doing?" demanded Revs.
Jordan ignored him. With no other forces acting on the Longsword, his ship slowly continued to flip end for end, bringing his weapons to bear on the Seraph.
The Seraph's pilot clearly hadn't expected to come up face to face with Jordan's rotary cannons; the pilot tried to pull out of it loop, but did so in vain. 110mm rounds ripped into the fighter, shattering its viewports and tearing straight through to the engines. The ship exploded spectacularly, spraying Jordan's fighter with shrapnel and causing his shields to spark briefly.
"Thanks for the save, Jordan."
"Thanks for playing bait, Dave."
The two squadrons broke out of the fray and moved off toward the Covenant flagship. Nearly two dozen of the Seraphs flew after them, but most of them concentrated on the bulk of the UNSC fleet.
"Admiral Stanforth, we are in position," announced Deckard.
"Fire at will."
Jordan jerked his Longsword to the left to avoid a plasma blast from one of the Seraphs and saw three MAC rounds crumple, one after another, against the flagship's shields. A fourth round slammed into the ship's bow; the shields took the brunt of the blow, but failed, and the round buried itself twenty feet inside its hull.
"Sabers, open fire! Launch those missiles!"
Jordan slammed the throttle forward and lanced toward the flagship's bow. Beside him, he saw Bobby weave frantically to avoid a flurry of plasma bolts from one of the Seraphs.
"I've got one on my tail!" he called. "A little help here would be hot!"
"Saber Two, break left, I'll cover you," replied Talon Four.
Bobby's Longsword slashed to the side just as an alarm blared over Jordan's cockpit speakers.
"Missile lock," warned Revs. "Recommend you break off, Commander."
Jordan snap-rolled onto his port side and dove, but didn't break the lock.
"Any way you can fool it?" grunted Jordan as he threw the ship into another high-G maneuver. "Hack into the Seraph's computer or something?"
"Sorry, can't do that. A 'smart' AI might, but I can't."
"See, I knew you weren't smart." Jordan grimaced as he sent the fighter spinning through yet another barrel roll.
"I'm smarter than you."
"Last I checked, people made AIs, not the other way around."
"Well, sure, the people who made me must have been smart. But you're not one of them."
"Yeah? Let's see how long they survive in a dogfight."
The alarm quit suddenly; bits of metal that looked suspiciously like pieces of a Seraph flashed past the cockpit. Jordan looked at his HUD, puzzled.
"What happened?"
Revs grinned at him. "Well, I couldn't hack into the computer, but I was able to spoof the guidance signature it was using to track your Longsword and stick it on the back of the Seraph."
Jordan stared. "You are a sneaky bastard, aren't you?"
"You bet."
Jordan brought his fighter back around to face the flagship just in time to see Sabers Three, Four, Eleven, and Twelve – Kelly, Aliesha, Greg, and Tony - launch their first missiles at the flagship. Immediately all four pilots rocketed up and away from the ship, breaking up into pairs and heading in opposite directions. On Jordan's tactical display, four small dots raced toward the flagship, which was angrily spitting out hundreds of pulse laser bursts at the offending Longswords. The missiles moved closer… closer…
There was a sudden, brilliant flash of light as the first missile impacted the flagship's hull. Jordan watched in awe as the every element of the ship the missile touched was destroyed, as every atom in the antimatter touch was ripped apart. Nanoseconds later, three more missiles buried themselves in the vessel, tearing through bulkheads and armor plating and eating through the superstructure. Secondary explosions spewed the ship's innards out into space and snapped it in half. The bow, propelled by the force of the explosions, flipped lifelessly through space toward the UNSC fleet, its running lights still flickering. The rear half disintegrated under the force of its own engines and spewed a trail of scattered debris through the system.
"Excellent work, Saber squadron!" announced Stanforth over the comm. "The flagship has been neutralized."
Jordan watched in disbelief as the Indomitable moved forward to intercept the ex-flagship's bow.
"Those were not AMX-12s," he said slowly. "I don't know what they were, but they're not what they say they are. Revs, what the hell are we carrying?"
Revs looked puzzled. "Everything checks out," he replied doubtfully. "Missile size, weight, launch speed – everything matches the operational parameters of an AMX-12 antimatter missile."
"The yield doesn't match," argued Jordan, pointing at the flagship's bow. "I used the prototypes of those missiles once, Revs – they do not pack that kind of power. A Marathon-class cruiser doesn't pack that kind of power, not in one hit. That ship was more than a klick long. There's barely a hundred meters left of it."
"Chain reaction?" suggested Revs. "Remember, there were all kinds of secondary explosions. Maybe –"
His speculation was cut short as another Seraph swooped down on Jordan's fighter, plasma cannons blasting away. With the destruction of the main invasion fleet, the remaining Covenant ships were firing wildly at anything and everything that moved, each trying to outdo the other in wreaking as much havoc as possible before they were destroyed.
Jordan pushed the craft into a classic Immelman, a half-loop and that would point the ship in the opposite direction followed by a 180° roll to keep it right-side up. The Seraph flashed past, but on his tactical display Jordan saw it pull an impossibly sharp turn and come back after him.
"This is Saber Nine, I could use a hand here."
Captain Deckard's reply was strained. "We all could, Commander. Deal with him as best you can, and we'll try to get over there."
The Longsword jerked sharply as plasma blasts struck home but didn't penetrate the shield. The indicator bar dropped a quarter before Jordan managed to twist out of the alien's line of fire. Jordan stomped the rudder, swinging the rear of the ship around and giving him a clear shot at his opponent. He pushed the throttle forward and tore after the fighter.
The Seraph's shields sparked, flared, and died as 110mm rounds peppered the craft's underside. In an act of final desperation, the pilot twisted the Seraph to point at Jordan's fighter and lit up the engines. Jordan snap-rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision but still squeezing the trigger. Molten lead ripped the ship's starboard wing off and sent it into a ferocious spin; a few moments later, the centrifugal force tore the craft apart.
"I'm clear, lead."
"Good to hear, Commander."
"Bogey on my six," called Travis.
"Hang tight, I'm on my way," answered Jordan. "Revs, get me a targeting lock on the Seraph."
"Commander, an antimatter missile will be useless against the Seraph's shields."
"I'm aware of that. Just do it."
"Lock acquired," said Revs in a bored voice.
Jordan's finger hovered over the trigger as he neared the offending Seraph.
"Travis, dive, maximum thrust. Get the hell out of there."
Jordan squeezed the trigger just as Travis pulled into a full-throttle nosedive. An AMX-12 – if that's what it was – tore after the Seraph.
The smaller ship, still focused on trying to hit Travis, failed to notice the incoming projectile. The missile impacted –
And did nothing.
"God damn it!" roared Jordan in frustration.
"I told you," said Revs, sounding slightly irritated. "An antimatter missile won't hurt something that isn't matter – namely, energy shields."
"Thank you, I am aware of that," snarled Jordan in reply. "I just thought they might not really be antimatter missiles."
Revs rolled his eyes.
"I'm hit! I'm hit!" Travis yelled, now sounding slightly panicky. "I need backup now!"
"Travis, break hard port," ordered David. Jordan watched as he streaked down toward the Seraph, rotary cannons blazing. The pilot's only response was to intensify its efforts at bringing Travis down. David's fighter twisted nimbly, keeping the Seraph in its sights and hammering it mercilessly until it detonated in a ball of purple shrapnel.
"Nice one, Dave."
"Thanks for the save, sir," said Travis shakily.
WHAM!
Something slammed into Jordan's fighter, spinning it off course and causing several alarms to beep frantically in the cockpit. Jordan fought desperately for control for a few seconds before he managed to straighten the ship out. He dove sharply, inverted and twisted into a sharp roll to throw off his attacker.
"What the hell just hit us?" he demanded.
"I can't tell, the sensors are all scrambled," replied Revs. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Shields are down."
Jordan swore under his breath and yanked the fighter into another turn.
Ship Master Yara 'Ortamee staggered to his feet in what was left of the bridge of his frigate. After the destroyer had crashed into it, the humans had completely ignored his ship, which gave his time to stabilize its trajectory and mount an offensive.
There was no point rushing out to meet the humans head on, he knew. It would be a glorious death, but ultimately futile. With the ship as damaged as it was, a retreat was also out of the question – although, even had he been able to, he would die before he fled from battle.
"'Mantomee," he said to the red-clad Sangheili next to him. "Can we communicate with High Charity?"
'Mantomee tapped at the holopad before him for a moment. "Yes, Excellency. Our equipment is damaged but working."
"Very good," said 'Ortamee slowly. A plan was already forming in his mind. He would call for reinforcements, and in the meantime he would enact repairs on the ship and gather as much information about the humans' forces as he could. In fact…
'Ortamee watched the viewscreens intently. The humans had fought well, there was no doubt of that, but there was something more than that here. He watched as a Seraph dove after one of their fighter. Plasma bolts that should have destroyed the fighter slammed into it, but instead of exploding, yellow sparks flashed over its hull.
"Heresy," hissed 'Ortamee vehemently. He watched in fury as the fighter spun around and fired into the Seraph. The Seraph's shields failed, and the pilot twisted and tried to ram the human craft. Instead, its wing was ripped off, and the subsequent spin tore the Seraph apart. 'Ortamee bowed his head in respect.
"May the Gods accept your sacrifice, and may the Great Journey bring you peace and sustenance," he murmured solemnly. Then, to 'Mantomee, he said, "Attach a tracker on that ship. I want to know where it goes, what it does, everything."
"Of course, Excellency," replied 'Mantomee smoothly. "It seems that there are twelve of those craft –"
"One will be enough for our purposes, 'Mantomee. I merely need to know about this new devilry these humans have developed. Even with these inferior humans, it is essential to know their habits and abilities." He gestured to the bow of the flagship, drifting slowly through space. "To win against an enemy, you must know them, know them better than you know your allies. If you don't, the results are plain to see."
"Yes, Excellency. Sending the tracker now. However, I believe that if the humans have placed an energy shield around the ship, the tracker will be unable to get through."
"Have a Seraph collide with it to bring down the shields. Make sure the pilot keeps his weapons powered down so as not to alert this human."
"It will be done, Excellency."
"Thirty seconds until the shields come back online," announced Revs.
"Good," growled Jordan. He still hadn't been able to find out what had hit him.
Just then, there was a dull thump against the hull. Jordan frowned.
"What was that?"
"Probably just debris." Revs paused. "Shields are charging."
Jordan sighed and focused back on the fight at hand. There was still a lot of clean-up to do.
"The tracker has latched onto the human ship, Excellency," announced 'Mantomee.
"Excellent work. Move us into the shadow of the fifth planet of this system – we can remain there to begin repairs and contact the hierarchs."
He pushed a button on his control pas and brought up a camera broadcast from the tracker. 'Ortamee watched as the human ship moved to intercept another Seraph.
"Enjoy your victory for today," he hissed. "I am the instrument of the Gods, and I will assure your destruction tomorrow."
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