At the main Grugell rally point

Fleet Commander Tillistik IX was in personal command of the mission. 

He watched the holographic display as it showed the Fleet assembling as ordered; in less than one Grugell day, the last stragglers from the initial subspace jump into the Confederacy would be back in formation, and the Fleet would jump to the human’s home world.  The cruisers were heavily loaded with atomic bombardment canisters.  “The human home world will be reduced to radioactive dust,” he whispered to himself.

“Fleet Commander,” a technician’s voice intruded on his thoughts.  “There is a disturbance in the center of the formation.”

“What?  What kind of disturbance?”

Task Group One

The trajectory plot was perfect.  Six Confederate frigates dropped out of subspace in the middle of the Grugell formation, and before the Grugell could react, the Confederates had radar lock to engage with particle beam fire and missiles.  Lances of barely visible, shimmering force shot through space, and three Grugell frigates and two heavy cruisers boiled into expanding clouds of gas and rubble.

A radio command barked from the lead Confederate frigate, issued by the Task Group Commander, Rear Admiral Igor Perchik.  “Hitchhikers away!  Engage at will.  Weapons free, all ships maneuver as necessary.  Watch for cloaking enemy frigates!”

The Hitchhikers were A-66 attack fighters from VS-66, VS-42 and VS-90, attached to the Confederate frigates with magnetic grapples, four to each frigate.  On a command from Captain Andrea Crider, they released their grapples and engaged their main drives, darting away from their host ships.  Twenty-four fast, agile, and heavily armed strike craft were now loose in the middle of the still stunned Grugell fleet.  They immediately began engaging with anti-ship missiles and cannon fire.

Captain Andrea Crider drove her fighter head-on at the largest of the Grugell ships, presumably the flagship.  “Hunter Three, this is Hunter Lead.  Follow me in, Horse.  We’re going for the flag.” 

“Got your six, Angel,” her wingman called back.  As one, they kicked their strike fighters to full throttle, diving after the Grugell ship.  Bolts of green flame shot out at them, narrowing the gap as they raced closer.

“That’s getting close, Angel,” Horse called.  His voice sounded nervous.  “That’s a lot of damn fire coming up.”

“Hang on, Horse.  Six kilometers to Shrike range.  Go to Evasive Pattern Three.”  Both fighters began looping, spinning, dodging as they continued to close the Grugell ship.  “Three kilometers. Two.  Arm your Shrikes, Horse.”

“Armed and ready, Lead.”

“Hunter Lead, Hunter Lead, be advised, enemy fighters launching, enemy fighters launching, sixty kilometers to your left rear.”  The call from one of the attacking frigates made Andrea glance at her tactical display for an instant; a Grugell cruiser was launching a wave of fighters.  They’re too far away to stop us, she thought.  The Grugell flagship swelled in her front viewer.

“Range!  Fox One, Fox One!  Evade!  Follow me out, Horse!”  She pickled off her four Shrikes, breaking for open space as Horse launched his Shrikes and turned to follow.

Her wingman didn’t make the turn.  An emerald bolt from the Grugell flagship shattered his fighter into a thousand pieces seconds before all eight Shrike missiles struck, smashing through the ship’s shields and obliterating the massive silver form.  With the Grugell flagship died Fleet Commander Tillistik IX, and any hope the Grugell had of regaining control of the situation.  Captain Crider, though, noted only the loss of her wingman. 

“Horse!”  There was no time for grief; at least ten Grugell fighters were arcing towards her on an intercept course.  She glanced at her tactical display, frowning to see no friendly fighters within a hundred kilometers.  The rest of the wing had struck forward into the Grugell fleet’s leading elements.

“Hunter Flight, this is Hunter Lead, I could use some help here.”

“Tied up, Hunter Lead.”

“I’m engaged, Hunter Lead.”

“I’ve got three of my own, Angel.”

Several terse replies amounted to everyone’s already busy.

She twisted the stick, swinging the fighter to drive directly at the oncoming Grugell fighters.  I’m faster than they are, but they’re tougher.  I can turn tighter.  If I can dodge through them, I’ll be out of range and headed back towards the rest of the Flight before they can turn and get a lock on me.

Or, I can turn and get on their sixes.

Well, let’s see how these skinny bastards like playing chicken.

A touch of her thumb to the right contact on the stick armed her 30mm rotary cannon.  A blast of green shot past her cockpit, making her flinch.  “Come on, you bastards,” she muttered.  She hit the emergency boost, punching up every bit of speed the fighter had.  She stole another quick look at her tactical display.

A hundred and twenty-one kilometers away, a Confederate frigate wallowed, trailing sparks and gas from three hull ruptures.  A Grugell cruiser stalked it from the rear, closing slowly, peppering the ship with anti-proton fire.  The frigate was about ten degrees off her present course.

Close enough.

She hit the ranging button on her stick.  The lead Grugell fighter was within a thousand meters.  She hit the cannon button on the stick, sending a thirty-round burst of 30mm shells at the darting silver shape.  She missed narrowly as the Grugell yanked his fighter hard right, but the shells tagged another fighter fifty or sixty meters farther back.  That ship puffed into a cloud of flying parts and gas.

Two green bolts, three, shot past Commander Crider’s A-66 jinked hard, back and forth, spiraling and rolling to throw off the Grugell’s firing solutions. She yanked the stick right, then left.  The red circle in her heads-up display flashed from red to green for a moment, and she triggered another burst to disintegrate another Grugell fighter.  And then she was past them, two of the cigar-shaped silver craft flashing by almost close enough to touch.  A bolt of green smashed into her starboard stub wing as she broke through.

Her onboard computer’s flat metallic voice sounded in her earpieces.  “WARNING.  YOUR STARBOARD STUB WING IS DAMAGED.”

“I know,” she growled.  “I didn’t need it anyway.  My missiles are gone.”

Behind her, the eight remaining Grugell fighters arced across space, dropping towards pursuit positions.  Crider arced towards the Grugell cruiser, using her speed advantage to stay well ahead of the pursuing fighters.  Her cannon would be no more effective than spitballs against the cruiser.  She reached across the stick with her thumb to arm her one remaining weapon attached to the underside of the fighter’s fuselage.

The Grugell fighters were still shooting.  A green bolt clipped her fighter on the port side.  “WARNING.  YOU ARE LOSING CABIN PRESSURE.  ACTIVATE EMERGENCY SUIT SEALS AT ONCE.”  She pulled down her helmet’s face shield, activated her suit’s environmental system, shut down the cabin air system.  “YOU ARE LOSING POWER.  YOU ARE LOSING POWER.  ESTIMATE THREE MINUTES UNTIL MAIN DRIVE FAILURE,” the computer reported belatedly. 

Another bolt clipped the fighter.  “Damn.  Their shooting is improving.” 

“YOUR AFT MANEUVERING THRUSTERS ARE DAMAGED.  NAVIGATION FUNCTIONAL WITH GYROS ONLY.”

“Shit.”  The Grugell cruiser was just ahead now.  The enemy fighters stopped shooting, probably for fear of hitting their cruiser.  “Perfect,” Captain Crider muttered.  “Follow me in, boys!”

“ESTIMATE TWO MINUTES UNTIL MAIN DRIVE FAILURE,” the computer commented.  The fighter was starting to feel a little sluggish.  The Grugell cruiser had taken notice of her; a gunner on the enemy ship’s silver humpback was trying to engage her with an anti-proton projector.  Too slow, she thought.  She flashed past the cruiser, touching a contact on the stick as she passed fifty meters from the enemy ship, trailing a half-dozen Grugell fighters a few hundred meters in her wake – and a thermonuclear magnetic mine. 

The mine, attracted to the largest ferrous mass in the area, fired tiny maneuvering jets, looping around in space, following and finally catching the Grugell cruiser.  In her fighter, Captain Crider closed her eyes tight, pulling the fighter for clear space, wringing every bit of speed she could out of her failing main drive.

A new sun blossomed briefly in space behind her.  The Grugell fighters vanished in puffs of flame, swallowed in the nuclear fireball.  The cruiser was obliterated.

“WARNING, SHIP HAS SUFFERED ELECTROMAGNETIC DAMAGE.  MAIN DRIVE SHUTDOWN IN FIFTEEN SECONDS.  FOURTEEN.  THIRTEEN.” 

Crider stabbed a contact, silencing the computer.  She shut down her main drive manually and used her gyro on battery power to align the ship so she could see ‘ahead’ – in the direction of travel.  No Confederate or Grugell ships were in view.  She touched the radio button.

“Strike Commander, this is Hunter Lead.  Main drive is out, maneuvering is out.  Rescue beacon is activated.  Request SAR.”

“Hunter Lead, this is Hunter Base.  Stand by for tractor beam pickup.”

Andrea Crider snapped her head around, searching space for the source of the new voice – and there it was, the carrier Mountain View, accompanied by two cruisers and three frigates, popping out of subspace even as she watched to take the Grugell fleet in the rear.  Her fighter rattled momentarily as the tractor beam took hold, yanking her fighter roughly into the ship’s hangar – there was no time to be gentle.  Four minutes later she was climbing out of the smoking, battered fighter in the familiar hangar deck, feeling like she’d just come home.  No less than Fleet Admiral Gauss himself stood at the base of her crew ladder.

“That was some pretty impressive flying, Captain.”

Andrea dropped off the ladder, came to attention, saluted.  “Thanks, sir, but my flight’s still out there, and…”

“I understand.”  Gauss turned to shout an order.  “Someone get the Captain to another fighter!”  He watched as the petite form of Captain Crider raced to follow a Chief Petty Officer to a freshly armed and fueled A-66.  “There’s a Medal of Honor in the works there, Jerry,” he commented to his aide.  “That’s the second Grugell flagship she’s taken out.”

“Sir,” Captain Jensen reported, reading a message pad he held in one hand. “The Arcadia group just dropped out of subspace, just as planned, five hundred kilometers in front of the Grugell lead elements.  They’re engaging now.”

“Well, let’s get back to CIC.  Hard pounding, this,” he said, quoting the Duke of Wellington.  “Let’s see who pounds longest.”

They arrived in CIC to find that the Arcadia task group had dropped out of subspace neatly in front of the Grugell fleet.

The massive Confederate dreadnoughts Arcadia and Ranger dove majestically into the midst of the shocked Grugell ships.  Particle beam and Hawk missile fire poured from the great ships at an incredible rate, while Grugell torpedoes and anti-proton fire slammed into their shields with little or no effect.

“Have you got any proxies towards the front of the Grugell battle group?”  Gauss’ barked words brought quick results, as a Senior Chief Petty Officer quickly switched a large scanner tank to receive the take of a proxy overseeing the forward edge of the battle.

The Ranger had taken two torpedo hits, but showed no signs of ill effect other than a slight scorching of her hull plates near the outlet of her massive Gellar tunnel.  A flight of Grugell fighters dove towards the vast ship, launching torpedoes as they went, but particle beam projectors on the Ranger’s hull engaged them with computer-controlled precision, playing arcs of fire across space, shattering torpedoes and fighters alike.  A Grugell battle cruiser tried to engage the mighty ship, but failed utterly as particle beams from the dreadnought shattered its drive pods seconds before six Hawk missiles arrived to swallow the Grugell ship in a sun-bright burst of atomic flame.

Eighteen hundred meters away, the Arcadia had less luck, as a Grugell light cruiser rammed her amidships.  Trailing gases and sparks, the second Confederate dreadnought turned slowly away from the main battle area, still firing away with main particle beam batteries as she went.  A frigate attempting a repeat of the ramming maneuver met with crossed particle beam fire and was exploded only a hundred meters from the dreadnought, causing fragment and electromagnetic damage to the massive ship.  With her shields down to minimum and weapons power reduced dramatically, the Arcadia went to full power and arced north to leave the area.

To the rear of the enemy formation, the carrier Mountain View launched another wave of fighters while the frigates and cruisers redeployed.  The Grugell flagship was destroyed, and the lack of leadership made the Grugell ships easy targets as they tried in vain to evade, and the Confederate ships split up to hunt individual targets in what was rapidly degenerating into a shooting gallery.

Within the hour it was all but over.

Admiral Gauss stood looking at the huge tactical display in the Mountain View’s Combat Information Center.  Three Confederate cruisers, six frigates and the dreadnought Ranger pursued the remnants of the Grugell Fleet, now obviously in a panicked withdrawal.  Proxies from the Mountain View followed them until they jumped into subspace.  Only one light cruiser and three frigates, out of the bulk of the Grugell attack force, made it to subspace.  Gauss imagined that, once they got back to their home planet, there would be hell to pay.

“Captain Jensen,” he called across the CIC.  “Remember old Wellington after Waterloo?”

“Sir?”  Jensen looked puzzled.  He wasn’t a student of military history.

“They came in the same old way, and you know, we beat them, in the same old way,” the Admiral quoted.  “We kicked their asses, Jerry.  We kicked their skinny asses.  Come on, let’s head down to Signals.  I’ve got a hyperphone message to send.”

To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.