NationStates Jolt Archive

"The last Alliance carrier group was just destroyed," Kulov said quietly. "Victory."

He sat in a blackened room on the Europa base. Or, what was left of it. With all buildings exposed to the outside atmosphere, environmental suits were required by all who were there.

He rubbed the visor of his helmet clean with one of his gloves as he stood up and walked to the glass-less window overlooking the fighter landing bays.

"Victory," he repeated quietly. He looked out over the devastated base. Wreckage of fighters littered the parts that weren't buried in rubble or corpses. There were no lights. No power. Nothing but wreckage.

"At what cost?" Admiral Rominov asked. He stood in a doorway at the back of the room, the door mechanism long since jammed open. "This seems like a hollow victory to me, Admiral."

"We achieved our objective," Kulov said. "The Alliance is gone. We defeated them. No longer will they dictate their self-righteous policies to us. Our sovereignty is restored. This is a victory indeed."

"7 billion people died for that sovereignty, Admiral," Rominov snapped. "7 billion people, dead, just like... that. This war only lasted for five years, yet more people died than have ever lived! The few millions that are left are not likely to last long. 7... billion... people!"

"Repeating it will not bring them back, Admiral," Kulov said calmly.

"The death toll is still inconceivable," Rominov continued, ignoring him. "There are no words for what we have done. We have destroyed the human race! We, Admiral, you and I. Would you have proceeded with this conflict had you known then what you know now?"

Kulov pondered the question. An interesting one. Absolute power over a few, or no power at all over many? Which was more important? Which would have benefited the Coalition more?

"Yes," he said, finally. "Acceptable losses."

"Acceptable losses?" Rominov exclaimed. He actually laughed at that, but it was more of a laugh of bewilderment than anything else. "7 billion is not an acceptable number under any circumstances."

"So you are saying that 7 billion people died for nothing?" Kulov asked, turning around to look at him.

"No..." Rominov shook his head. "I am saying that when we proposed to sign the Balma Treaty... we should have gone ahead with it. No tricks. No wars. Peace. 7 billion people is too high of a toll for any cause..."

"When I proposed the strategy, Admiral, you agreed with me," Kulov said.

"I had no idea that the Alliance would start crashing their carriers into colonies!" Rominov shouted. "Even we would not have stooped so low!"

"Wouldn't we?" Kulov asked, raising an eyebrow. "It was your order that destroyed the civilian colony on Mars."

"7 billion people, Admiral, 7 billion people!" Rominov continued shouting. "Their blood is on our hands, Admiral. Our hands! Dripping like acid into my very soul... I cannot live with it. I do not deserve to live at all. I... goodbye, Admiral."

At that, Rominov pulled a pulse pistol from his belt, put it under his chin and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. A red pulse blast popped from the top of his head and blood splashed onto the black ceiling. Romivov fell to the floor with a blank expression on his face, air hissing from the hole in his suit.

Kulov looked down at the corpse, and snorted. He gave it a small kick for good measure.

"Pathetic," he grunted, and turned back to the window.

"Victory," he said once again, after staring at the bleak landscape for a while.

OOC: Don't worry. I don't really believe that I've managed to destroy humanity. That could be the greatest godmod ever conceived of, even Sephrioth couldn't come up with better. No. This is an alternate reality, set a hundred or two years into the future. An alternate Sol System, if you want, albeit somewhere in the same galaxy. Explain it with cross-dimensional super-duper magical paradoxical anomalies if you want.
If you recognised what it's based on, it will be easier to understand why it's necessary to do so -- the war with the Alliance didn't take a hundred years after all. Just five. The huge death toll is partly required to accommodate this new nation's low population. Destroy industry, kill billions, and it actually ends up worse off than a brand new nation not devastated by war...

OCC: This is from Star Trek isn't it?

OCC: This is from Star Trek isn't it?

OOC: Nope.

[TAG] Interesting, I'll look foreward for more...

The holographic display flickered a great deal, but it was stable enough. He'd cross-wired it after some damage they'd received when they left their exploding convoy. Rather run than die; and all this small ship could do against a full attack bomber wing is die.

The sparks that flew from the cables that hung above his console added to the distraction, but he had a clear duty to focus on. Find supplies. Take supplies. Simple, but surprisingly difficult. All of the colonies they'd visited were devastated, with no survivors. And they hadn't heard so much as a whisper from Alliance Naval Command since well before they'd left their convoy.

Smithfield shook himself out of his musings as he saw a red blip appear on the holographic display, between flickers. A large red blip. Red was always bad.

"Captain!" he called, pushing his chair over to another console. The Captain's name was Ben Richards, although his rank wasn't captain it was commander. Smithfield stuck with naval tradition to buck his spirits, though. A Prowler had a crew of more than 20, but Smithfield and the 'Captain' were the only two who survived. Smithfield often found himself manning the whole control centre on his own.

"What is it?" Richards called as he pulled the broken slidedoor open and stepped onto their mini-bridge. He looked out of the window, and his mouth dropped. "Oh my god..."



In the distance there was a small convoy of ships. It wasn't an Alliance convoy though. The longest vessel in that convoy was the CS Pukov, the Coalition's flagship. Surrounding it was a squadron of Basilisk fighters, Kurgen gunships, two class-2 cruisers and, flying along just behind, a Berijev Command Ship.

None of them looked healthy though. The Pukov herself, once a grand, mighty vessel with a streamlined design, was pockmarked with scorches and craters. It looked like their entire forward hull had been evacuated due to decompression. The clean grey was now a mixture of grey, black and white, and nearly all of the smooth hull plates had crumpled in some way or another. They'd probably been replaced and repaired so many times that they no longer had their original shapes. It left a trail of sparks and gasses; one of its engines appeared to be damaged.

The Berijev wasn't in good shape either, but it was infinitely more space worthy than the Pukov. A few weapons turrets had obviously been removed through direct hits, but otherwise it had no apparent hull breaches. One of the cruisers looked undamaged, but the other was almost as badly damaged as the Puvok, with atmosphere leaks visible from hull breaches and whole chunks missing from her hull.
The fighters that flew alongside were a mixed bunch. Some of them seemed relatively in-tact, some of them had burn scars, some of them were missing entire wings and, thus, missile hardpoints. It appeared the Pukov was no longer in any condition to maintain her fighters, and one by one, they were falling to pieces.
The Kurgens were the only intact ships there. But they were about the same size as a Prowler and wouldn't have been able to defend the entire convoy against a full-on attack.

The entire fleet was crawling very slowly, in the direction of Europa. They were retreating.

Why was the Pukov making such a lengthy run when it quite clearly couldn't jump? thought Smithfield. Why didn't they just abandon her and come back to find her later?
He decided that it was probably the only ship large enough to house any survivors they may be carrying. That, and even if she could no longer repair/construct any fighters, she could at least refuel and re-arm them.

"What are you thinking sir?" Smithfield asked.

"I'm thinking they need to feed their crews," Richards said. "And to do that, they must have emergency rations. We're out here to find supplies, if the colonies don't have any then this ship is our next best bet."

"That is a Class 1 Strike Carrier," Smithfield protested. "Even considering how damaged it is, we wouldn't get near enough to dock, let alone run around onboard stealing supplies. Not to mention the other ships..."

"Not if we just ran right up to them screaming and shouting, no," Richards shook his head. "Have they seen us yet?"

"Not yet," Smithfield said. "The moment I saw them I scrambled our transponder signal and masked our energy and life signatures. Unless we get too close, they won't see us."

"Good," Richards nodded. "What works?"

"On this ship?" Smithfield snorted. "Jump drive and life support is about all we have left. One of the two forward laser turrets. I can get the shield up on minimal power."

"How minimal?"

"It'll resist lasers," Smithfield said. "But not your full-on flaks."

"That will do," Richards nodded. "This baby's got some life in her yet; we can dodge the main flak cannons, if they even work on that ship. Now, how do you think the Pukov would respond if she saw a Prowler within jump range?"

"They'd send a couple of fighters, maybe a bomber," Smithfield shrugged.

"What if they saw two Prowlers?"

"Just a few more fighters."

"Two Prowlers and a class four carrier?"

"A full fighter squadron and a bomber squad," Smithfield nodded.

"Two class one carriers, both launching full attack wings?"

"I think I see where you're going with this..." Smithfield said.

"They would send as many fighters and bombers over there as they could, possibly a few Kurgens if not all, a cruiser for support, and maybe even the Berijev as a distraction," Richards said, smiling. "The Pukov won't sustain a single torp hit in her present condition; they'll do everything possible to avoid even the possibility of one being launched. Even if it means leaving herself open to attack from other angles. Because the Pukov is incapable of jumping out, she'd have to destroy the enemy, or be destroyed herself!"

"I'll see if I can re-create the sensor image of our convoy on the far side of this sector," Smithfield nodded enthusiastically. "This might just work..."

OOC: Is this something your doing by yourself, or do you plan on having someone else jump in at some point.

OOC: These particular humans have ne'er left their solar system, so it's planned as being wholly internal. If you can think of a way of someone getting involved in a wholly internal event, though, TG me and I'll consider it.

The inside of the Pukov was typically Coalition; dull, almost-black greys, bare metal walls and mesh-plate flooring. Most of the lights were offline, flickering, or emergency red, with only one or two areas on the whole ship lit normally.
Once in a while, exposed circuits would blast some sparks outward, illuminating the corridors once in a while.

The air was stale. Some corridors were filled with people slumped against the walls of the narrow passageways; the sweat on their skin suggested the air was also warm. Combined with the thin mist of smoke that hung in the air, it was not a pleasant environment.

The survivors were a mixture of civilians, and battered-looking military officers. Their black and red uniforms torn and scorched, they'd probably been rescued from escape pods, disabled ships, or defeated Coalition outposts. Most survivors were holding up in quarters or cargo bays, but some of them had spilled over into the upper-level corridors.



The Command Centre was not much better. The commander of the vessel was slumped in his chair, asleep. Several officers loyally manned their stations, despite the fact that some of the consoles were wrecked and inactive. Repair teams kept checking up on the sheet of metal that had been welded to the wall near the back of the room; a patch, to cover a hole in the wall. The dim white lights flickered a little, but they were providing illumination -- just about.

The Tactical Lieutenant at one of the forward stations suddenly sat upright, no longer slumping over his console. Some red dots appeared on the holographic radar screen, just within their jump range. He reached up and touched them, and the yellow-green screen magnified them. The dots were replaced with two class one Alliance strike carriers; the Victorious and the Bremen. They had been thought to have been destroyed, but apparently reports were mistaken. Fighters were streaming from their hangars, bomber squads launching soon afterwards.

"Captain Petrov!" the lieutenant shouted, spinning on his chair in a panic. The captain awoke with a start and looked around, focussing on the lieutenant.

"What is it lieutenant?" Petrov mumbled. "I am too tired for games. The oxygen is to thin."

"No games sir!" he said. "Two Alliance carriers just came within our sensor range; they are launching fighter and bomber squadrons!"

"What?!" Petrov exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Coalition High Command stressed to me that the last Alliance carrier group had been destroyed several hours ago! Launch all Black Guard fighters; instruct all Kamov torpedo bombers to reload and prepare for an attack run!"

"Sir, those carriers look remarkably intact," the lieutenant protested. "We are in no condition to mount an assault against them..."

"Lieutenant, either we destroy them, or they destroy us," the Captain said. "We have no jump drive, remember? We are sitting ducks! Launch all fighters! And patch me through to the convoy."

"You are connected, sir," the lieutenant nodded after pressing a few virtual buttons on his holodisplay.

"This is Captain Petrov," he began. "Two Alliance strike carriers have been detected within jump range; they are already launching attack wings. We are mobilising all fighters and bombers for an immediate strike; they must not reach the Pukov! CS Yevstafiy, wait for five minutes after the attack wings have jumped out, then join them. All Kurgen captains, jump in along with the fighters. Berijev commander; position your ship between the Alliance carriers and the Pukov; if any bombers get through, the torpedos must not hit the Pukov. CS Morzov; jump to a position flanking the Alliance carriers. Once the battle begins, jump into the fray and launch your torpedoes. Get to it!"

"Sir, I hate to be a pessimist, but two class-2 cruisers are not going to be particularly effective against two class-1 strike carriers," the lieutenant said. "Even with bomber support, they will not be destroyed easily."

"We have no choice, lieutenant," Petrov snapped. "I would ordinarily move the Pukov in and engage them directly, but we cannot take any more damage. It's going to take a year of refit time just to stop her from falling apart as it is..."



Smithfield pointed. Fighters had started spewing from the Pukov. Bombers joined them shortly afterwards, and they all jumped out in formation. All of the Kurgens followed them. Only three of the more damaged fighters remained. One of the cruisers jumped out in another direction, probably to flank the fleet. The Berijev started moving to put itself between the sensor image and the Pukov; a shield. Shortly afterwards, the second cruiser jumped out. Only the Pukov and the Berijev remained.

"Look!" Smithfield said. "The sensor ghost is working!"

"Yeah," Richards nodded. "Now jump in, quickly; we won't have long before they realise what's going on and jump back in to defend the Pukov. I'd give them 30 minutes."



"All ships are on their way to their positions," the lieutenant said. "And the... Sir! A single gunship has just jumped in; it's an Alliance Prowler!"

"What?" Petrov stepped forwards and looked at the screen. "Why didn't you see that before?"

"Alliance Prowlers have extensive stealth systems at long range," the lieutenant said. "They must have been in stealth mode!"

"All turrets, fire on that target," the Captain shouted.



The Prowler was tiny compared to the Pukov's enormous figure. This was a bonus, as it dodged the huge flak blasts. It's hull rippled blue as laser blasts impacted with its shield as it manoeuvred close to the side of the Pukov. With a clang, the Prowler locked some magnetic clamps against the hull of the carrier and extended what was probably an air-tight walkway, which locked onto the hull.



"Sir, the Alliance vessel has attached itself to our hull!" the lieutenant shouted.

"Destroy them," Petrov snorted.

"We can't, sir," the lieutenant shook his head. "An explosion there would seriously jeaprodise the hull integrity of the entire ship."

"Gah!" the Captain growled. "Commando teams, report to deck twelve, section thirty-two; security breach in progress."



Sparks flew as someone started cutting through the inner-hull. A square formed in the wall and ultimately fell to the floor with a loud clang. Commandos stood at a corner on the other side of the corridor, cautiously making their way towards the hole, their rifles ready.

A figure stepped through the hole. Over his tattered Alliance uniform, he was wearing a long leather coat, which reached almost down to his feet. He pulled it apart and pulled out two pulse pistols. The Commandos started to back towards cover again as the figure raised his arms. Red bolts of light began streaking through the smoke-filled corridor, lighting everything up before they impacted with Coalition troops. The loud sounds of the pulse blasts and the falling bodies filled the previously-silent corridor, reverberating around until it reached the panicking survivors on the upper levels.
The figure started walking casually towards the remaining troops. The two pistols fired relentlessly, not giving the Commandos a chance to emerge from their cover and fire at him. One tried to put his rifle around the corner and fire blind, but the rifle itself took a hit and fell to the ground, smoking.
The man rounded the corner and gunned down the Coalition solders before they could get to more cover. He stopped firing, twirled the pistols and slotted them back into rigid holsters on his legs. He held up a radio.

"It's clear," he said calmly.

Back in the corridor, another figure stepped out of the hole, clutching a rifle and cautiously looking around. It was Richards. He saw Smithfield and jogged over to him, looking down at the pile of smoking bodies.

"Cool," he said simply. "Come on, I know the layout of these Coalition carriers; it's this way." He pointed and started running down the corridor, clanging his feet against the metal floor as he ran. Smithfield pulled a single pistol out and followed him, checking each turn-off and doorway as he went.

Ten minutes later, they returned to the hole, each towing two anti-grav trolleys over-loaded with crates of rations and medical supplies. While Richards started carrying the individual crates into the Prowler, Smithfield stood watch. He held a pistol in each, outstretched arm, and blasted the occassional soldier that emerged from either end of the corridor.

"Done, let's get out of here," Richards said at last. He kicked the trolleys out of the way and stepped into the hole, into the Prowler. Smithfield backed up after him.



The Prowler pulled away from the tiny hole they had made in the hull, and pushed fowards. The hole started venting air and people as it was suddenly exposed to vacuum. The Prowler jumped out just as the Pukov started firing at them again, and several fighters jumped in.



"They are away, sir," the lieutenant sighed. "Security detail reports that they stole a fifth of our emergency rations, and half of our medical supplies. They've also exposed that entire section to vacuum. Should I send fighters to pursue?"

"Negative, lieutenant," Petrov said. He clenched his fists and bit his lip until it bled, but retained control of his immense anger. "The Yevstafiy; she still has jump drive, does she not?"

"Yes Captain," the lieutenant nodded.

"Instruct the Yevstafiy to begin jumping towards Europa," Petrov said. "Once she is within communications range, she is to inform the General that there are still Alliance ships causing trouble. In the meantime, have a cloaked Basilisk follow that Prowler; if they have a base, we need to find and destroy it before it becomes a problem."

"Yes sir," the lieutenant nodded. "I will do so immediately."

"How did we miss an Alliance battlegroup?" Kulov grumbled. He leaned on an illuminated conference table, in one of the officer's decks of the CS Krashnaya, a class-2 carrier. The conference room was dark, with only a single light working in the far corner. The table itself was a giant, white light, however, its entire surface illuminated. Otherwise, the room would have been nearly totally dark. Several officers sat around the table, each seemingly weary from a devastating war.

Only four Coalition strike carriers and a handful of cruisers from a fleet of hundreds had survived the war, and two of them were heavily damaged, possibly beyond repair. The CS Pukov was still travelling towards Europa for shut-down. The CS Krashnaya was relatively undamaged, and was arguably the most successful carrier of the war. The CS Krasny, a class 3 carrier, was also heavily damaged. It had been shut down and stowed away until enough resources and facilities could be established to analyse and, if possible, repair it. Finally, the CS Ramases, a small class 2 carrier, had been on a scientific mission just outside of Sol, and had spent most of the war travelling back to assist. By the time the fresh carrier arrived, nearly three-quarters of both sides had been annihilated.

The CS Krashnaya held orbit around Europa. A handful of fighters patrolled her perimeter, but she was otherwise alone. In the distance, the CS Yevstafiy could be seen taking on supplies from a nearby Shavrov cargo ship. She would be taking the supplies back to the Pukov before the survivors there ran out of rations.

"I do not know, Admiral," Captain Madiz said. "With what is left of the fleet spread so thinly, it is hard to detect each other, let alone ships that do not wish to be found."

"How did we miss an entire Alliance battlegroup?" Kulov shouted, jumping to his feet. He slammed his fist down onto the table so hard that the glass cracked. "It is not good enough, it is not good enough! You are officers of the Coalition and you have failed! Do you know what the penalty for failure is?!"

"Admiral," Ivan Petrov began. Ivan was the son of the captain of the Pukov. Ordinarily he would have been stationed there, with his father, as lead pilot of the Black Guard squadron. But war had taken its course and Petrov had ended up here. "It is possible that there is no battlegroup. It could be a lone ship."

"No Prowler has ever been sent on a lone mission," Kulov snorted. "They are like Kurgens; support craft only."

"Admiral, when the fleet you are supporting is exploding around your ears," Petrov smiled. "It is hard not to resist the urge to cut your losses and jump out. That Prowler could be alone through our doing, not the Alliance's."

"Why would a lone Prowler steal so many supplies?" Kulov asked. "To store somewhere, so they do not run out? We must find where they store them, if we wish to find them."

"I believe it more likely that the Prowler is stealing large quantities of supplies for a greater purpose than selfish purposes," Petrov said, stepping out of the shadows and into the light of the table. "The Prowler is likely supporting some form of base or colony we did not know about. Possibly a mining base in the outer edge of the asteroid belt. There are many of those we did not know of. Those we destroyed we stumbled upon by accident."

"Assumptions," Kulov said, glaring at Petrov for a second. "But... good assumptions all the same. Either way, they are taking supplies to a central source, and they will be making every effort to hide it. We need to force them to increase those efforts. Ideas?"

"Leave the Pukov open," one of the officers said. "Try and entice them to come and get some more supplies from a remote, vulnerable source."

"Lightning never strikes the same place twice," Petrov shook his head. "No. These Alliance officers are smart; they have survived and remained hidden. I think we will need something better than that to attract their attention..."

Petrov turned and looked out of the window. The black of space was only interrupted by the massive Shavrov freighter train, hanging next to the Yevstafiy as supplies were towed across the void between them by Ripper cargo crate movers.

"A more tempting target is needed," Petrov smiled.

OOC: This is based on Starlancer isn't it?

At any rate, #Tag# for great writing and general uniqueness of subject.

OOC: Yes it is :D. And thanks. I had to change some of the characters around and the course of the war, obviously, but otherwise... yep.

IC:

The colony on Titan was quite a few jumps away from Europa. A lone freighter would be very vulnerable to enemy or pirate attacks; such a journey would be suicide without an escort.
So the huge Shavrov train had an escort. A Kurgen and three Sabres flew in formation around it, a loose defensive triangle. Not much but then, 7 billion people had just recently died -- there wasn't an abundance of ships or pilots. Plus, it wouldn't be much of a lure if it were two heavily guarded.

The Shavrov was fully laden with large cargo containers, each filled with rations or medical supplies. Two at the rear of the 'crate rack' were even filled with light arms. There were no living people on-board, though. It was controlled by one of the Kurgens. In itself, this was not unusual -- after all, the Kurgen needed a crew, the Shavrov obviously didn't, so why waste a pilot when you don't need one? The real reason was, of course, just in case the ship was destroyed.

The small convoy was between jumps. Massive freighter trains couldn't use their jump drives repeatedly without overheating, so they always had to take a half-hour pause between jumps. They were only half-way to their destination, so there was nothing to see but the empty expanse of interplanetary space.

"If the Prowler jumps in, try not to destroy it," Admiral Kulov had said to the convoy leader. "If you do it won't be so bad, as it may be the only ship any alliance survivors have. They will perish without it. But, by the same token, if we find their base, we find our missing supplies. So try not to destroy it."

Easier said than done, Commander Mirovich thought. Kurgens were tight little ships, their crew of a couple of dozen packed in like sardines. As with most Coalition ships, it was spartan -- no plush wall decorations, no bright lights, just bare metal and energy-efficient minimal lighting.
The view from the windows at the front of the bridge was not much better either. Stars. Lots of stars. On black. And that was it. It was strange, how space could cause both claustrophobic and agoraphobic feelings at the same time.

"Commander," the officer at the helm called back. "Incoming target. It just came out of power-down stealth mode and is moving against the freighter. Target identity confirmed; it is an Alliance Prowler."

"Put up a fight," Mirovich commanded. "But, do not put up much of a fight. Lower our power output levels and decompress section 4, deck 2. Make them think we're limping."

"Yes, commander," the officer nodded, and followed his orders. The lights dimmed slightly, and two of the laser turrets started to fire in the rough direction of the enemy. The booming blast sounds that reverberated throughout the ship reminded Mirovich that he'd had a headache for at least a month.

*****

"Can we take them?" Richards asked, looking at the sensor image.

"Kurgens are roughly equal to Prowlers in terms of combat capabilities," Smithfield said. "That one's operating at 50% efficiency, though. It shouldn't pose too much of a threat. It's those three fighters we need to worry about."

"You say the techs at the base got all the turrets working?" Richards asked.

"That's right," Smithfield nodded. "It was just a damaged power line, so they said."

"Well in that case, use them," Richards said. "We're going in."



An Alliance Prowler streaked into range of the convoy, its engines leaving blue streamers of light as it slowed to normal thrust. It immediately started heading for the Shavrov freighter.
The three Coalition fighters veered off from their steady escort pace and elegantly turned to fly towards the new threat. Their lasers opened up, orange bolts of light flying at the Prowler at a high rate of fire. Most of them missed though. Faulty systems? Rookie pilots? Deliberate?
The Prowler didn't seem to care what the reason was. She fired her own laser turrets at the fighters, blasting through their shields and forcing them to back away. As she approached the Shavrov, her turrets turned and started pounding the Kurgen, forcing that too to get out of range.

Positioning herself above the Shavrov, the Prowler used her lower turrets to literally sheer the cargo containers off the frame of the freighter. As they spiralled away, thin green tractor beams shot out and grabbed them, pulling them into a small cargo hatch between the engines.
Just as the fighters turned to move back in again, the Prowler had taken several of the cargo containers and immediately jumped out.

*****

"Power up all systems!" Mirovich said as he watched the Prowler streak off and disappear. "Ramases control, this is Kurgen Beta 6; mission is go. Jump in at your convenience."

"This is Ramases control," a voice said through a speaker. "Your signal is acknowledged, Kurgen Beta 6; initiating jump."

"Fighters? How are they?" Mirovich asked one of the officers.

"Minor shield damage," the officer said. "Though it looked a lot worse to the Alliance Prowler. They are fully operational."

"Good," Mirovich nodded. "Track them; as soon as the Ramases arrives, we will follow."

The Alliance Prowler finally reached the asteroid field after a number of jumps. They had taken several loop-the-loops to try to confuse any Coalition sensors.

Little did they realise that they had been followed the whole way. A very faint blue glow could be seen flying behind them. Close up, it looked like the ghost of a ship; totally translucent with hints of blue. It was actually a cloaked Basilisk fighter, the most powerful fighter in the Coalition arsenal. And with Ivan Petrov in the cockpit, this fighter could quite easily destroy the Prowler on its own.

But that wasn't what Petrov wanted. He was not following any orders, this was all of his own accord. He just had a feeling that the Ramases would mess things up. And he was right; they were still nowhere to be seen. They had probably been thrown off the scent in one of the loop-the-loops executed by the Prowler. He'd been leaving time-delayed comms buoys for them to follow, instead. They should be arriving soon.

The Prowler slowed to a crawl as it entered the asteroid field, carefully dodging the larger chunks of rock. Petrov followed it in, finding it fairly easy to navigate. With huge asteroids colliding and smaller ones flying around at hull-breaching speeds, the asteroid belt of Sol was not a safe place to be.

Regardless, if a Prowler could fit through, a Basilisk could easily fit through, and he wasn't an ace pilot for nothing.

The Prowler broke through into a clearing in the field. A particularly large asteroid hung there, probably a base using a gravity field to hold the asteroids away. It wasn't the asteroid base that interested him, though. He had expected to find that.

It was the class 1 strike carrier that held position just beneath it. The dual, parallel runways and the squat command tower were unmistakable features; this was either the ANS Victorious or the ANS Washington. And Petrov had been the lead fighter of the squad that helped destroy the Victorious.

The engines of this carrier seemed damaged, severely. Small shuttles worked on repairing them, though. How the massive Washington had managed to navigate so far into the belt Petrov had no idea; in another world he might wish to commend her pilot. His primary concern was that it appeared to have full combat capabilities, full fighter squads patrolling the perimeter of the clearing, and other than the engines, it seemed totally undamaged.

This made the Washington the most powerful carrier left in Sol.

I have to call in a Kamov wing, Petrov thought, gazing at the huge carrier in awe. If she gets repaired and gets out, she could defeat the Coalition all by herself... and if the Ramases gets here unprepared, we'll lose another carrier.

The ghost ship span around and headed back out of the asteroid belt, noting the location in its navigational computer. Petrov had to intercept the incoming strike force before they walked into a situation they were completely unprepared for.

tag

Petrov's fighter was half-way through a jump away from the asteroid field when, for a split second, he saw the large hulk of the CS Ramases jumping past him -- towards the asteroid field. It was too late to get them clear, then. The Alliance ship would easily detect them even if they didn't enter the field. He needed a new plan.

***

The CS Ramases slowed down just beside the large asteroid field. A full fighter squadron of Sabres was in formation around it as well as a Kurgen.



"The trail leads in there," the tactical officer said. He pointed out of the window at the edge of the vast asteroid belt and gulped.

"Then we go in there" the captain said. "Shields to maximum, damage control teams on standby. Order the fighters to go in ahead of us."

"Aye, sir!" the tactical officer nodded.



The Sabres started to accelerate forwards, immediately falling out of formation as they entered the belt and started dodging asteroids. The Ramases slowly followed them in, once in a while blasting some larger asteroids with her laser turrets. They ploughed their way through the rocky mess ahead of them, until they broke through into a clearing.

Immediately, the massive ANS Washington flickered with energy as her own shields went up and her turrets began blasting at the smaller Coalition carrier. Fighters streamed from her two forward air strips, turning to fly towards the Coalition ship. The Prowler they had been chasing was docked peacefully just out of range, near the asteroid base itself.

The Coalition fighters immediately notched up to full speed and curved through space to meet the superior Alliance force. Blue and orange lasers tore through space in both directions, fighters were consumed by their own fuel explosions, and missiles streaked all over the battlefield, marking the area with white streamers as they impacted with their victims.

The Coalition Kurgen pressed forwards, firing its powerful turrets at the fighters as it passed by the clashed fighters. A few Alliance fighters broke off to pursue it, but Coalition fighters managed to tease them back into the fray.
The Kurgen sped towards the ANS Washington with its shields flaring as the laser fire splashed against its hardened 'nose'. It was on a collision course; Kurgens had specifically reinforced space frames for just such a tactic, and they were hard to destroy as they went about it.

The Washington brought her massive flak turrets to bear, though. The bursts of glowing blue energy crawled across space, right into the path of the speeding Kurgen. She was going too fast to dodge, and the huge blast tore through her forward section, causing a chain reaction that ripped right through to her aft section. Little more than a cloud of debris impacted harmlessly with the Alliance carrier.
The Washington then turned her attention on the Coalition carrier. An entire torpedo wing could be seen departing from the forward take-off bays, turning to fly towards the unguarded Ramases. The Washington made life that little bit harder by firing flak at the smaller ship, and adding her own torpedoes to the mix.

From the asteroid base, even more Alliance fighters burst into the battle scene, opening fresh weapons batteries up onto the out-numbered Coalition fighters.



When Petrov arrived, he thought he'd gone back in time to the Battle for Mars. Explosions popped up everywhere, laser fire continuously spraying around a central point in the centre of the clearing. Two large carriers exchanging powerful volleys of weapons over vast distances. Only this time, the Alliance was winning.

He swooped into the battlefield, taking down every Alliance fighter that got in front of him. He elegantly dodged weapons fire, and burst out of the other side of the clash completely untouched. He was headed for the wing of Hades torpedo bombers that were sneaking around towards the Ramases. The Alliance hadn't seen Petrov's fighter yet; he was still cloaked. They thought that all the Coalition fighters were busy dealing with their own fighters in that central battle. So far as they were concerned, the Ramases was completely open to attack. The Washington's torpedoes had to travel too far; they were repeatedly shot down. But at close range, the Ramases wouldn't stand a chance.

"Black Guard, engage them," Petrov commanded. He flicked a switch on the roof of his cockpit and in a ripple of blue light, his powerful fighter appeared in space, flying at high speed straight at the five torpedo bombers. Behind him, four more Basilisks decloaked, flying in a triangular formation.

Their orange lasers exploded to life, cutting through the shields of the Hades, cracking their hulls open like eggs. They swooped right across their line, blasting them to pieces one after the other. As soon as the last ship exploded harmlessly, they turned around and cloaked again.

"We need to disable the Washington's defences," Petrov said. "Now that we are here, we may as well finish the job rather than run away. Ramases control, are you reading me?"

"Affirmative," a voice said, over the sounds of explosions. The Ramases was taking enough damage from the flak fire, let alone torpedoes. "Commander Petrov?"

"Yes," Petrov nodded. "I am here with a wing of the Black Guard. We are going to take on the defences of the Washington; get ready to launch a Kamov wing on my signal."

"We will hold on as long as possible," the voice confirmed.



The five cloaked Basilisks pushed forwards towards the massive Alliance carrier. Her laser turrets were inactive again now that they had no immediate targets; only the flak turrets send projectiles hurtling across the void to explode on the Ramases' hull.


"On my signal," Petrov whispered. "3... 2... 1... now!"

The five fighters decloaked and broke formation, each going for separate targets on the ship. Petrov's fighter launched several missiles and fired its lasers at the shield generator. The only way to finish this without taking the Ramases along with it would be to finish it quickly, and the only way to do that was hit it unshielded.
The laser turrets took their time, probably shocked to see a Black Guard wing appear out of nowhere, but they finally began shooting at the five fighters. The Black Guard were skilled pilots, and could evade the unguided shots fairly easily. Even so, at this range, their shields would light up once in a while.

Petrov cut his engines and turned the ship, blasting the shield generator relentlessly with his forward weapons as he sped backwards. He switched them on again and grunted as he instantly started moving forwards, launching several more unguided torpedoes. To destroy the shield generator, he had to punch through the shields first.

As the last missile hit, he cheered as an explosion shook his ship. When the flames subsided, there was nothing left of the shield generator but a crater. The hull of the vast ship sparked and flickered as its shields vanished and the fighters finished off their targets.

Petrov ordered his wing to pull up and cloak just as one of the Basilisks exploded into a ball of flames, slamming down into the hull of the carrier. The four remaining fighters rippled and disappeared from view again.

"Ramases, launch Kamov wing now" Petrov commanded. "Black Guard; let's give those fighters something to think about."



The four Basilisks decloaked once again as they ploughed into the battlefield. Petrol immediately began using the powerful laser gattling guns on the front of his ship to pulverise the Alliance opposition, sending fighter after fighter spinning into space with flames consuming them. He smiled as he saw four torpedo bombers fly discretely past the carnage, headed for the Alliance carrier with no signs of opposition.

Another one of his wingmen died as he collided with an Alliance fighter, killing them both. Petrov snorted as he fired several missiles at the Alliance squadron leader, sending his fighter spinning out of control into the asteroid belt.

"This is Kamov 1; starting our run," a voice called to them through the radio.
The four torpedo bombers began launching their large torpedoes at point blank range before turning and retreating; four torpedoes each, each leaving a white streamer as though wanting people to watch what they were capable off. As the sixteen devastatingly powerful warheads simultaneously exploded on multiple points of the Washington's hull, there was a cheer from all the fighter pilots as a white light blinded them for a split second; the Washington exploded, sending debris for miles around her and leaving nothing but a mangled skeleton. The blastwave was so powerful that all the computer screens in the ships nearby flickered, some even shorting out.

"This is Kamov 1," the voice said smugly. "Our work is done; returning to base."

"Finish these fighters!" Petrov roared. "We still have that base to deal with yet."

"Attack formation," Petrov commanded the other fighters. It had been a bloody battle, but the Alliance fighters had all been dealt with. Two reloaded and refuelled Kamov torp bombers were nestled safely in the middle of the diamond formation; just over twenty Coalition fighters, including the remaining Basilisks.

The fighters shifted into two separate clusters, side-by-side. They were going to hit the base from two angles, while the torpedo bombers went with the middle-ground. It would be quick and brutal. Those Alliance scum were going to die.

The asteroid base started firing weapons at them. Weak lasers, more for tackling stray asteroids than for tacking powerful fighters. They splashed harmlessly against their shields, and they continued on regardless.

"Wait for it," Petrov said, his finger hovering above his trigger. "Wait for it..."

The fighters parted ways, swooping around and then turning once again, heading straight for the base from opposite sides.

"NOW!"

Their orange lasers suddenly exploded all at once, rapidly punching through the shields of the base and eating into the rocky superstructure. Meanwhile, the torpedo bombers deployed eight torpedoes before turning around and speeding back to their base ship.

The torpedoes hit perfectly. The first few punched through the shields on that side, whilst the rest blasted huge craters out of the base. The explosions tore right through, blasting out from the other side. The base collapsed in on itself, and then started to drift to pieces.

The fighters turned and headed home calmly. Unseen by them, a lone Alliance Prowler escaped the explosion, heading deep into the asteroid belt.

Petrov's boots slammed down onto the dull mesh-plating of the huge hangar bay. The Rameses had never been a prestigious ship; it was a small, brown monster. The smallest class 2 carrier ever created, it lacked weapons and had a smaller fighter compliment than some larger cruisers. That was one of the reasons why the Ramases had been sent on an extra-solar scientific expedition.

So it was not the most luxurious ship either. Most of the metal wasn't even painted, and any that was simply had a coat of dull brown anti-corrosion paint. The lighting was equally spartan.

Nevertheless, as Ivan stepped down down his trusted, steaming Basilisk, he felt like a king. The pilots who called Ramases their home base flocked around him and lifted him from the ground, cheering his name.

They finally put him down on the deck after taking him on a tour of the crowded hangar, and each paid compliments to him before moving away to compliment their friends, or continue with their duties.

Captain Rahman stepped forwards after the majority of the fighter pilots had finished their victorious cheers, and shook Petrov's hand.

"Commander Ivan Petrov, it is an honour to meet you," Rahman said, bowing his head. "But I was not aware that the Pukov was operating in this sector."

"It is an honour to fight alongside the crew of a fine ship such as this," Petrov said. He was lying a little, but it was good natured. "The Black Guard and the Saracens together, leave nothing but corpses and mutilated metal in their wake! And no, the Pukov is not operating in this sector. I have not been aboard my home base for many months now, though I am eager to be reunited with my father. No, I decided to assist with this mission of my own accord, just in case something went wrong."

"Well we are most certainly glad that you did, Commander," Rahman said, smiling. "We would have been dead for sure if not for your assistance. We may not even have found the base if not for your communications buoys!"

"Just doing my duty to the people of the Coalition," Petrov said, patting the elderly captain on the shoulder. "This should be the last of the Alliance scum. We must head for Europa at best speed, and deliver our respective reports."

"Ah yes," Rahman nodded. "Please, pass along my thanks to your Black Guard wingmen. Our crew owes you a debt of gratitude."

"I will be sure to," Petrov nodded. He looked around the hangar, at the various Sabre fighters that were beng worked on. "And Captain, please store our Basilisks away from... those. And I would appreciate it if any maintenance was left to the Pukov mechanics."

"I... yes, of course," Rahman nodded, taken aback. He looked Petrov over with suspicion, and then turned to leave the hangar through the large blast doors.



The Ramases slowly turned around and started to leave the asteroid belt. Black scorch marks scarred its hull from the battle with the Washington, but there was no lasting damage.

They left behind nothing but debris and floating corpses. Huge chunks of smashed rock resided where the asteroid base had been. The Alliance was all but gone, except for one lone Prowler.