-G.A.C. Durgon, 5:30 Turo Standard Time-
The call came about as early as expected.
"All pilots are required to report to their squadrons immediately for battle! This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill!"
Hearing it, 626 wasted no time in throwing on his uniform and waking up Lilo.
She was quite groggy. "Huh? Whussat sound?"
"I have to go now and fight. Remember – stay. here. Don't leave, for anything. Promise me."
Still tired, she held up a finger. "Pinky swear."
626 nodded. "Good. With any luck, I'll be seeing you before the end of the day." The experiment grabbed a protein bar and exited, sprinting as fast as he could, eating as he went.
As fortune would have it, when he had found out his assigned squadron a few days before, it had contained a few familiar faces: all of the other cadets he'd taken the combat test with back in the academy were present, along with a couple faces from Gapra, and, absurdly –
626 blinked. "Adon?" What in space was a Staff Sergeant doing in a flight squadron? And as a regular pilot, no less?
She smiled at him. "626. Congratulations on the promotion." She noticed the confused look on his face. "There's not much usage for a data analyst, so I thought it better to go somewhere that I won't just be dead weight." She nodded in a general upwards direction, towards the bridge. "Besides, this way I can make sure that none of the idiots above chuck your lives away. What's your callsign?"
"Black Eight."
"I'm Black Two. Melia's black Ten."
626 made to wake over to his craft, but before he could get far, he felt a tap on the shoulder.
It was Melia. "Nice to see you again."
"You too. Think this'll be a fairly clean victory like Gapra?"
"I hope so." Her tone suggested I highly doubt it.
626 changed the subject. "So, I see that a certain assface Raptrian is with us as well." He gestured in the vague direction of Dixon, who was gamely pretending not to notice him. "Not sure that's the best sign, personally."
Melia sighed. "For God's sake, 626, don't start something."
"I won't if he doesn't."
She gave him a dirty look. "Stop. Just stop. You're both adults, so act like it." She turned back to her own craft, dismissing him.
626 shook his head, took a quick look over at his old rival, and hurried over.
Soon they were ready to take off. With one final klaxon the doors opened, and all the squadrons lifted off at once. When they were out in space, the twelve pilots of black squadron thumbed on their comms.
"Black One, standing by." Their commander was, from the sound of it, an old man; 626 wondered if he was up to the task.
"Black Two, standing by." Adon sounded, almost, at ease. Wonder if she's done this before.
"Black Three, standing by."
"Black Four, standing by." It was whichever of the two cadets during the combat test had pulled off that nigh-suicidal distraction for him.
"Black Five, standing by."
"Black Six, standing by."
"Black Seven, standing by."
"Black Eight, standing by." 626 took a breath to calm himself.
"Black Nine, standing by." It was Dixon. 626 had to resist the urge to throw out some sort of comment. See, Melia, I'm playing nice.
"Black Ten, standing by." Melia sounded just as focused as she had on Gapra.
"Black Eleven, standing by." It was the other cadet.
"Black Twelve, standing by." "Black Thirteen, standing by." And on and on it went until all twenty pilots had called in.
Black One spoke again. "Roger. Command, all are present. Repeat, all are present. Moving to engage the enemy, over."
"Copy that." It was Gantu. "Godspeed, Black Squadron."
They flew out in a V-formation alongside nine other squadrons, making their way towards Saiccano and the enemy fleet. Their target, Gantu had appraised them the night before, was the corvette known as the Winter War, and a quick look made it clear that the ship was both heavily armed on its own and heavily guarded by other spaceships. Still, the Federation outnumbered the other ships by at least two-to-one, and with any luck these numbers would be enough to overwhelm their enemies.
As Black Squadron zipped forwards, so did the Jitos. 626 thought to himself, engaging the enemy in three…two…one…
Then space around him erupted in blasterfire and confusion began to seep its way into their battle order. Keep formation, he prayed as explosions lit up in front of him, keep formation. If they broke now, their foes would swarm over them like ants and annihilate all the squadrons before they could even so much as fire a shot at the cruiser.
He fired a shot at one of the Jitos, sending the craft spiraling downwards towards the planet, and at the same time veered left in order to avoid a blast that would have sent him down. There was another cruiser in his sights, 626 noticed, and it was facing away from him. 626 shot down that one as well. Great. Two down, more than fifty to go. Still, if I can get two by myself, maybe if we act in concert we can -
Another Federation craft streaked overhead, painted yellow, and was almost immediately shot from above, careening towards the planet while 626 frantically put on the brakes. Ok, maybe not.
Gantu stood up on the bridge and watched the battle unfold, issuing orders to his subordinates and hearing their reports in turn.
"Captain, we've some trouble with the first, second, and third sections."
"What's going on?"
"The squadrons in section one are facing stiffer resistance than anticipated. They're fighting, but yellow and red squadrons are already decimated to the point that their majors are retreating." Gatco turned to look at him. "Sir, they haven't even reached the Winter War yet. Even if they break through, from how things are going they'll be shot to pieces!"
Blitznak. Gantu made a fist. The ten squadrons contained a comparatively small amount of their overall force, but still. "How is section four holding?"
"They've pressed the enemy cruisers into a rout and are holding steady."
"Good. Ombit, patch me through to Commodore Rikke."
"Aye aye, sir."
Soon the image of Commodore Rikke gazed at Gantu from the large viewscreen in front of him. "Captain? What's going on?"
"Commodore, I need you to take as many squadrons as you can spare over to section one. They're getting massacred over there."
She nodded. "I'll see who I can round up."
Gantu turned his attention back to the battle, suddenly aware that a cold sweat was trickling down his back.
"I'm hit! I'm hit! Aiiiieeeeee!" One of the other cadets from training screamed as his fighter exploded. Partrick, 626 remembered as he watched the debris scatter into space, that was it. His name was Partrick. Why did he only remember now, when the person in question was gone? No time to think about that. He spun to starboard. Just survive!
That was going to be a tall order. They'd had the advantage in numbers, true, but apparently their enemies had acquired ships that were both faster and carried a bigger punch, and although the Federation pilots were good their opponents were no slouches either.
Suddenly Melia was besides him, having shot a fighter coming directly for him that he had missed. 626 took a millisecond to glance over at his friend; she gazed forwards, hands on the steering yoke, jaw tight with concentration. For a fraction of a heartbeat she glanced back at him, then nodded upwards.
The two fighters immediately turned sixty-five degrees and shot upwards. 626 and Melia then snap-rolled back inwards and, once their nozzles pointed back at the confused mass of combatants, pushed back into the fray, guns blazing. Together they managed to punch a hole through the chaos, a hole which was quickly filled by a ship that looked to carry at least twice the firepower of a normal fighter –
– And which was almost immediately blasted out of existence by one of their rescuees. Having made her kill Adon swooped towards them, falling into place to 626's port.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life on the open frequency. "Friendlies incoming! Four squadrons!" It was Dixon.
626 looked around and spotted what the Raptrian had seen. It was help, alright. The four squadrons, each made up of twenty cruisers, swarmed in and immediately began working the outskirts of the battle. Someone on the comms gave a whoop of joy, and almost as one all the cruisers that could moved to join them.
Trapped in a pincer movement, the enemy squadrons gradually fell. Once it was over and there was nothing left between them and the battleship the comm flared to life once again.
"Alright, back to business! The Winter War's unguarded now, so let's waste 'er!" Black One had survived, it seemed, and 626 was amazed to note that he actually sounded younger, as though the battle had woken something in him.
The squadrons jetted forwards. Once the corvette opened fire 626 broke off the direct advance with the rest of his squadron, hoping to flank the ship alongside the remnants of Red Squadron, while others flew head-on in an attempt to distract the Winter War and others flanked from the opposite side. The ruse worked, and Black Squadron was able to rake the side of the corvette in blasterfire unmolested.
Still, the ship refused to budge, even after the squadrons on either side finished their flanking run and met up behind it. What are they, crazy?
A great blast caught his attention: it was a turbolaser, and from the looks of it a fair few cruisers had gotten caught up in it from the front. The survivors scattered to portside, regrouping.
"Another run!" Black One commanded.
They made it back to the front, and then back to the back from there, with 626 narrowly managing to avoid a turbolaser blast that took out four of the remaining Red Squadron ships, but still the Winter War refused to budge.
"The hell does it take to sink this bastard?" Dixon shouted.
"Everyone, make for the stern!" 626 had no idea who this voice was; probably one of the other squadron leaders. "Get the thrusters!"
"But we'll be sitting ducks for a blast if they've got something back there back there!"
"We have to try! What we're doing now's going nowhere."
So back they all shot, concentrating fire on the thrusters like no tomorrow. 626 realized, to his horror, that there was in fact a massive laser back there.
And it was charging.
It was a race: take out it and the thrusters or die.
"Everyone, fire! FIRE!"
626 fired. He was sweating, from nervousness or from heat, or both. He swore he could feel the heat from the turbolaser as it charged up, feel the blaze that would soon engulf his craft if they didn't shoot the corvette down.
At what seemed like the last second, they did. With a great scream the immense vehicle began to spin downwards, slowly, inexorably, as the thrusters sputtered out of existence and the laser discharged a meager payload into empty space.
In shock and almost numb, 626 thumbed the comm and paged the mothership of Section One.
"Major?" He asked the question casually, as though it was no different than asking what one's favorite movie was. "What happens when a fifteen-hundred-foot ship hits a planetary shield?"
The voice on the other end was confused. "I…have no idea."
"Well, we're about to find out."
The answer to that question, as it turned out, was a massive explosion that completely ripped the shield open, sending the support crafts scrambling to patch the hole while the entire Armada cheered as one.
626 looked around the battle. Of the twenty sections the Armada had sent into battle it looked like they were the fourth to accomplish their goal, with another five seeming to be well on their way to joining them. Elsewhere things seemed to be evenly matched, save Sections Two and Three, which were struggling almost as much as they had.
Melia spoke for all of them when she asked "alright, what now? We've gotten our ship down – should we go for the shield?"
"Negative." The Major replied. "Move to aid Section Two. If we can blast their targets out of the sky as well, we stand a good chance of weakening the entire shield."
"Roger." All the squadron leaders replied before ordering everyone forwards. 626 gunned his engine and jetted forwards, grinning, morale high. Section Two looked to be along the lines of what they had just survived, only with a freighter instead of a corvette. For the second time that day, 626 thought engaging the targets in three…two…one…
The survivors of Section One fell on their opponents in a hail of blasterfire that completely the Jitos in two. Three-quarters of the pilots then swung around and took one half, while the last quarter moved to trap the other half between them and the pilots from Section Two. 626 blasted another two cruisers out of the sky for his part. Wonder if this makes my a flying ace?
After only a few minutes' combat their enemies scattered and flew towards the center, leaving the Armada pilots to regroup.
"That was too easy." Adon muttered over the comms. "I don't like it."
"Oh? Something the matter, Black Two?"
"You saw how they were picking us apart earlier, Black One. Yet here it's like they fled the moment we pounced on them."
"Maybe they just panicked?"
"Maybe, but you'd think that if they felt they were in any serious danger they'd at least try and call backup before completely giving up. So why would they…oh. Oh."
As Adon spoke a massive laser, bigger than anything 626 had ever seen before, arced out from the dreadnaught at the center of the opposing battle line. It sailed through space, cutting through friend and foe alike, until it reached its target: the Durgon.
"Oh, kriffing hell." Dixon swore.
The Durgon realized it was under attack almost as soon as the laser had fired, that much was sure, and had moved to evade, but for a ship like that such a maneuver was nigh-on impossible to accomplish in the few seconds it had, although it was clear that whoever was steering the massive behemoth was putting in one hell of an effort. In the end they almost made it completely clear, but not quite, and the laser struck home, fast and hard, shearing off one of the fins on the bottom and instantly vaporizing a good tenth of the entire Armada.
All any of them could do was watch, powerless, as the great ship faltered.