“The fleet has assumed a semi-circular formation,” Torrhen reported. “Extending along the positive and negative y-axes as planned. Furthermore, our position is within one planetary diameter of the Federation capital planet.”
“And the status of the Fifth Battlegroup?” I asked.
“They have successfully conducted a tactical withdrawal,” Torrhen replied. “And have assumed position to our right flank, between our First Battlegroup and the adjacent Sixth Battlegroup. Though I must point out, admiral: given their role as the fleet’s vanguard, the Fifth Battlegroup is depleted and represents a weak point in our lines which the enemy may take advantage of.”
“I certainly hope they do.” I said. “It’d just as certainly give us the chance to give their Home Fleet a very bloody nose.”
“As you say, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod, well-aware of the alternative course the third phase of Operation Yellow might take.
“Now then,” I said, drawing myself up and holding my gloved hands to my back. “Signal the fleet: Star Destroyers are to hold back, and concentrate on long-range bombardment. No need to be too aggressive, just destroy each and every enemy ship in range. Other ships are to engage frontally in sequential rotation, advancing by flotilla to deliver a full barrage before withdrawing, covered by the next flotilla on rotation. Rinse and repeat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod, and moving to relay my orders.
“Simple and elegant, ma’am.” Sara remarked on my other side.
“I suppose it gives that impression, doesn’t it?” I asked. “But at the end of the day, we’re just playing to our strengths. And we’re able to handle a battle of attrition better than they are, to say nothing of gunnery duels.”
“As you say, ma’am.” Sara agreed.
I nodded, and then narrowed my eyes. “Once the fleet engagement is proceeding as planned,” I began as Torrhen returned. “Give the word: pave the road.”
The older man gave a wolf-like smile. “Opening the door wider for the Special Attack Force, yes?” he asked.
“That’s the idea.” I said.
“Understood, admiral.” He said with a nod. “Given the usual chaos of the battlefield, I’d say it’ll take between ten to fifteen minutes before we give the word.”
“Good…very good…” I said with a smile, glancing at the tactical display and at the large number of Venators in the fleet, and the unpleasant surprise (for the enemy) that they represented.
TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers were cheap, fast, and easy to mass-produce, but both the Imperial Navy and the galaxy were very big places. Even now, four years after the end of the Clone Wars, there were still plenty of older (and more capable) attack craft still in service. And too many Imperial commanders were all too eager to replace those veteran designs and their pilots and crews with newer TIE series attack craft and green pilots, aiming to distance themselves from the memory of the Galactic Republic, all to curry favor with the sycophants infesting the Imperial Court on Imperial Center.
Idiots…their flattery of the Emperor and his New Order might buy them favor in the short-term, but in the long-term?
It won’t do them much good against the Emperor’s displeasure when they get sent to do something and fail miserably at it. Or more likely, the Emperor would palm them off to Lord Vader, who’d then strangle them en masse for being a bunch of incompetent bootlickers who kissed asses all the way to command rank.
I’m not particularly sadistic, but having encountered all too many of the new breed of officers rising through the ranks these days…
…I can’t really say I don’t share the Emperor’s amusement at the thought of those morons choking to death at a gesture from Lord Vader.
Anyway…
…much like with the Venators, if other officers were all too eager to send veteran pilots and crews with their older attack craft to reserve lists or force them into early retirement, I was also just as eager to get them assigned under my command. Now, here’s to hoping they teach the new bunch piloting TIEs more than a few lessons.
No need to hope they do well. They’re veterans, after all.
That they’d do well should go without saying.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Attention, attention, all pilots to their attack craft. This is a combat alert. Attention, attention, all pilots to their attack craft. This is a combat alert. Attention, attention…”
Pilots rushed from their ready rooms to the nearest elevators, which then carried them to the main hangar, where their attack craft were waiting. It was a bit of a wait, which the pilots endured with an air of relaxed stoicism, mixed with an undercurrent of cautious excitement and anticipation.
After all, it’d been years since they’d flown in actual battle, for all that they’d kept their skills sharp as best they could in that amount of time.
“So,” Sub-Lieutenant UF-5153, nicknamed ‘Cable’ by his brothers, spoke up. “We finally get to see some action after so long. Glad to see not everyone’s forgotten about us.”
“It’s the new breed, Cable.” Lieutenant FK-8290, nicknamed ‘Incident’ by his brothers, replied. “Those who fought back in the war haven’t forgotten us. And from what I know, just about everyone at the top on this theater are men and women like us.”
“Hmm…guess this is our chance to show the new breed that without us they wouldn’t be sitting in their comfortable little spaces right now.” Cable mused.
“If you want to think like that, by all means.” Incident replied. “Just remember: when you’re out there in space, make sure to get the job done, and get back safe.”
“Thanks for the reminder, LT.” Sub-Lieutenant QG-9225, nicknamed ‘Clue’, quipped, and a ripple of laughter went through the clone pilots. Then the doors opened, and they rushed out, pulling their helmets on and attaching it to their personal life support units.
Jogging down the vast length of the Star Destroyer’s hanger, they split as they reached their assigned berths, climbing up and into the cockpits of their ARC-170 Starfighters. Technicians finished final diagnostics, before disconnecting power cables and fuel lines. Equipment was stowed, safeties withdrawn, and then technicians and droids were clearing away.
Then the whole hangar shook, as the bay doors slid open, exposing the starlit void above, and the blue orb of the nearby planet. Engines ignited across the length and width of the hanger, ARC-170 Starfighters and Y-Wing Bombers launching in sequence one after another.
“Wolf-Three,” the flight operator spoke through the speaker in Cable’s helmet. “You are clear to launch.”
“Acknowledged, Delta-One.” Cable said, before guiding his ARC-170 out of its berth with practiced ease. And then opening up on the throttle, rocketed out of the hangar, picking up speed and falling into formation with the rest of the squadron.
“Wolf Leader to all squadrons.” Wing Commander LE-7183, nicknamed ‘Burner’, began over the wing frequency. “I won’t repeat our orders, because I know you lot know enough to listen during the briefing. So let’s go out there and win this one for everyone who fought in the Clone Wars, alright?”
“Kote, mhi vode!” the war cry roared from all members of the wing. Then all wings banked hard, swinging out to a new course that would take them around the battlefield, and to their true targets, to the enemy’s rear and flanks.
“Delta-One to Wolf Wing.” The scratchy transmission came several minutes later. “Com-Scan has detected multiple small craft on an intercept course, assumed to be enemy fighters.”
“Acknowledged, Delta-One.” Burner replied. “Wolf Leader to all squadrons, you heard the man. This wouldn’t be fun without a proper dogfight, so lock S-Foils in attack position, and standby to engage.”
“Acknowledged, Wolf Leader.” Cable said while locking his S-Foils in attack position. “You heard that, Chemistry, Agent?”
“Just make sure you fly us straight, Cable.” Cable’s rear gunner, Sub-Lieutenant CM-7433, nicknamed ‘Chemistry’, replied. “I’ll watch our backs like I always have.”
“Hear, hear.” Sub-Lieutenant KO-4249, nicknamed ‘Agent’ and Cable’s forward gunner, added while bringing up the targeting computer.
“I’ll leave it to two you then.”
“Likewise.” The other clones chorused.
Lines and numbers flickered over the screen, before locking onto multiple targets. “Package armed, standing by.” Cable said.
“Package armed, standing by.”
“Package armed, standing by.”
“Package armed, standing by.”
Clone pilots reported in near-simultaneously, moments before Burner gave the order. “Engage!” he barked.
Red lights flared across the battlefield as Imperial attack wings launched a mass proton torpedo volley at range. “Incoming torpedoes!” a clone shouted.
“Looks like they’ve got the same ideas we do.” Burner hissed. “Break formation, and reverse acceleration! It’s a dogfight! OYA! OYA!”
The Imperial attack wings did as they were ordered, breaking formation into groups of three and scattering to throw off the enemy torpedoes’ guidance systems. Green light flashed across space as tail gunners opened up, aiming to shoot down torpedoes even as fighters danced and rolled across the battlefield.
“So much for the initial volley.” Cable growled as he and his wingmen pounced on the tail of a Federation fighter, which began weaving back and forth to throw them off. “…not bad…not bad…but not good enough!”
Agent intuitively pulled the trigger an instant before the targeting computer locked on. Green lances speared across space from the wingtip cannons, pulsing out strobe-like into space. The first few pulses flew vainly into the void, but the rest hit true, splattering against the Federation fighter’s shields repeatedly before they collapsed.
Then the laser blasts smashed into the fighter’s rear hull, melting through before following blasts tore the fighter up. “One down!” Cable cheered.
“And dozens more to go.” Chemistry hissed, opening up with the tail gun as Federation fighters closed on their tail.
Hissing himself, Cable barrel-rolled, causing phaser blasts to miss repeatedly. Twice they struck true, their fighter kept from being destroyed only by their shields. Growling at the hits, Cable wove back and forth across the battlefield, mindful of the orange beams lancing out at them from the Federation fighters behind.
Then one of the fighters was blown up by one of Cable’s wingmen, and reversing acceleration, while rolling to one side, Cable allowed the remaining fighter to overshoot. “Got you, you bastard!” Agent hissed while opening fire.
Amazingly, the Federation fighter evaded Agent’s fire, before trying to pull the same stunt Cable just did. Then a pair of proton torpedoes turned the fighter into space trash, and Cable was grinning.
“Thanks, Gate.” He said.
“No problem.” Sub-Lieutenant XS-6707, nicknamed ‘Gate’, replied. “Just watching my brothers’ backs, that’s all.”
“Hey,” Cable’s other wingman, Sub-Lieutenant ET-7130, nicknamed ‘Chance’, protested. “No thanks for me?”
Cable launched before banking to the side, his wingmen following. “No worries,” he said. “Drinks are on me later! OYA! OYA!”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Fusion-powered laser beams lanced from defense satellites in staggered intervals, onboard computers ensuring there were always satellites firing even when others were recharging their weapons array. Imperial Y-Wings rolled and banked across the battlefield, avoiding the energy blasts before firing off a salvo of proton torpedoes.
Secondary weapons on the satellites came online, point-defense lasers lancing out at incredible rates. Torpedoes exploded before they could come close, but the Y-Wings pressed the assault, laser cannons blazing.
Satellites exploded as lasers met their mark, before stricken Y-Wings plummeted off-course, smoke, plasma, and debris trailing from wrecked engines. “I’m losing it…AAAAAAAAA-!” Sub-Lieutenant CT-9401, nicknamed ‘Hammer’ screamed before another satellite turned his Y-Wing into burning scrap flying through space.
“Hammer…!” Sub-Lieutenant YT-4640, nicknamed ‘Midnight’, shouted before his moment of inattention allowed a defense satellite to land a solid hit.
Imperial Y-Wing squadrons were taking serious losses as they assaulted Earth’s orbital defense grid, but the grid itself was taking heavy losses. Enough so that only an hour after the fighter launch, Y-Wings broke through the defense satellites towards the orbital defense stations responsible for providing cover to an area that included a portion of the West Coast of the United States.
Phaser beams and point-defense weapons blazed from the stations’ defenses, unlucky Y-Wings taking hits and reduced to drifting scrap. “Double power to forward deflectors!” Lieutenant-Commander AF-9107, nicknamed ‘Laughter’ barked into his helmet’s mouthpiece. “Stay on target, and standby on proton torpedoes!”
As acknowledgements came in, Laughter brought up his targeting computer, watching the reticule narrowing in as the distance closed. Several times his Y-Wing shook as point-defense fire slammed into its deflectors, but they and the fighter held firm, until finally the targeting computer locked in.
“I have a lock!” he barked. “Torpedoes away!”
Laughter banked away as he fired off a volley of proton torpedoes, the surviving members of his squadron doing likewise. Point-defense guns blazed away, but while they managed to shoot a few of the torpedoes down, most struck true, exploding with enough force against the station’s shields to shake it.
“Did we get them?” Sub-Lieutenant SH-2863, nicknamed ‘Major’, asked.
“No,” Laughter growled. “It’s shields are barely holding, but they’re holding. We need to come around for…”
Laughter was unable to finish the sentence, as a group of fighters backed by a Defiant Class ship swung around and opened fire, destroying the entire squadron in less than ten seconds. But while this station was safe (for now), the other stations were having less luck dealing with the Imperial bombers.
The nearest one shuddered as its shields collapsed, the squadron which took it down soaring away to engage approaching Federation reinforcements. In their wake, another Y-Wing squadron roared in, proton bombs flashing as they were magnetically-launched from bomb bays and against the now-exposed defense station.
Explosions rippled across the station, even as ion cannon strikes disabled primary and secondary systems alike. Backup systems were too well-hardened to be taken down by bomber-grade ion cannons, but with power cut to the orbital systems and the emitters destroyed by torpedo strikes, the backup systems could only ensure surviving crew had the time to evacuate the station before it fell from orbit and into Earth’s atmosphere.
And still the assault continued.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I stared at the tactical display on the Courageous’ bridge, jaw set as I divided my attention between the orbital defenses and the Home Fleet. No doubt, the only reason the former hadn’t fired on us was due to the risk of friendly fire, our fleet’s heavy jamming keeping Starfleet from using their (usually) absurdly-precise sensors to deploy extremely-precise fire against us.
“…the orbital satellites are easy enough to take down,” Torrhen was saying. “But the defense stations are much more formidable. Less so compared to a Golan-II, but our Y-Wings are still taking quite a beating.”
I nodded slowly, and made a small smile of satisfaction as one of the remaining stations began to explode. “It seems we underestimated the enemy’s orbital defenses to a considerable degree.” I said. “We’ll have to keep that in mind in the future. Also…those new fighters of theirs…an unpleasant surprise…”
Especially in my case, as I’d assumed the Federation would depend largely on shuttlecraft plus a small amount of custom designs like Voyager’s Delta Flyer or that special runabout the Enterprise-E (and probably other Sovereign Class Starships) carried. Enough to match the TIE Fighter or even the V-Wings some Venators still carried, but less so ARC-170s or Y-Wings.
Those new fighters though…
…hmm…I think this called for quick thinking, or things would start going south pretty fast from here on out.
“When the fourth phase begins,” I began. “I want the Special Attack Force to capture at least one of those fighters. They represent a…variable, in our operational planning that we’ll need to take a closer look into.”
“I’ll give the order, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod.
I nodded back. “…only twenty minutes left until the third phase begins.” I said after a few moments. “The fleet battle is going well, but it’s ultimately a distraction.”
“Should we redeploy fleet elements to reinforce the attack on the enemy orbital defenses?” Torrhen asked.
I considered it for a few moments, and then shook my head. “No,” I said. “We’ll continue as planned. Our flyboys are doing well all things considered, so let’s trust in them until the very end.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod.
I continued to stare at the tactical display for several minutes, and then poked a finger into the hologram. “Those corvettes of theirs are pretty effective.” I remarked. “More agile than the CR90, and potentially-equal if they ever got their hands on more-effective beam weaponry.”
“Should we attempt to capture one of them as well?” Torrhen asked.
“…in the future, but not at present.” I said after a moment’s thought. “It’s much too risky right now, what with everyone on edge with the fleet battle. Not to mention the Special Attack Force essentially being asked to take a leap of faith. They might be too…unnerved, that they might make mistakes storming and securing even a corvette-sized vessel, and cost us a Star Destroyer by the Federation pulling a self-destruct in the hangar bay.”
“I see your point, ma’am.” Torrhen agreed.
I narrowed my eyes though. Those corvettes assisting in the defense of Earth orbit…
…they reminded me of…
…no, that couldn’t be right. The Defiant was a one-of-a-kind vessel, something they could never mass-produce, if only because it was built around a Romulan cloaking device. A cloaking device given to the Federation by the Romulans on the conditions that a) the Defiant would not be allowed to cruise in the Alpha Quadrant, b) use of the cloaking device was largely-restricted to reconnaissance operations, c) combat use of the cloaking device was limited to only against the Dominion and in the Gamma Quadrant, and d) any reconnaissance data would be shared freely and without restrictions with the Romulan Star Empire.
Any violation of those conditions would be considered an abrogation of the Treaty of Algeron, and a cassus belli for the Romulan Star Empire against the United Federation of Planets.
Ergo, they couldn’t be Defiant Class Starships, given the Federation’s asinine obsession with treaties to the left and right. They were even worse than the historical British Empire in that light.
Unless of course…
…the Treaty of Algeron was already null and void. That, or she was misremembering or misinterpreting her memories of her past life.
“…admiral?” I began, in an effort to shake my mind of out of its worry over the unexpected variable that a mass-production of the Defiant Class Starship represented.
“Yes, admiral?” Torrhen replied.
“…make sure the Special Attack Force is careful when they capture one of the Federation fighters.” I said. “Even if it’s only a fighter, a self-destruction is still going to cause a lot of damage.”
“I understand, ma’am.” Torrhen said. “I’ll be sure to inform Admiral Daala of that particular detail.”
“…good…very good…”
