"Request support from the Hawks, Diehl. We need to stop those aircraft
before they destroy our transports. How far away are the Spartans?"
Commander Diehl sighed, and from his position on the right of Deirdre he spoke quietly.
"Five minutes, my lady."
"And the Hawks?"
"Ten. They had to land to refuel."
Deirdre bit her lips.
"So we have five minutes in which we are completely defenceless against Santiago's aircraft. By Planet, I thought the Admiral was supposed to think of these things. Where is she now?"
Diehl said.
"Down there with the Hawks. Lisa did think of it, my lady, but she thought the Spartans would not notice a five-minute gap. Otherwise, she would have had to pull aircraft from the bombing missions over Bunker 118. It was a gamble that failed, lady."
Deirdre groaned. "A costly gamble, Diehl. A gamble that could cost us the war."
Zakharov cursed.
"Can we not launch chaff grenades, Commander? That would disrupt them at the very least, perhaps long enough for the Hawks to arrive."
Deirdre glanced at Diehl. "Would that work?"
Diehl paused, his youthful face creased with a frown. He smoothed his deep black hair away from his forehead, and then shrugged.
"It should do, my lady, but there is a high risk that it could disrupt many of our transports in the process."
Zakharov stared closely at him.
"Is it worth the risk, Commander, or not?"
Diehl looked back at Deirdre.
"I believe it is worth the risk, lady."
Deirdre nodded.
"Have it done then, slow down our transports, and activate tachyon fields."
Diehl stood, walking over to the comm-link. A few barked commands later, and the shuttles around them slowed, and faintly glowing fields surrounded the ships. Deirdre waited another minute, and then the Spartans appeared.
Their glossy grey armour seemed to shine. Vengeful angels, thought Deirdre, soaring towards her faction to pronounce their dark judgment. They were angels with a terrible, singular purpose. To kill. It was funny how nearly everything in war had connotations of peace. Doves carrying war, angels killing, the links were endless. Perhaps there was no difference? After all, her faction were the pacifists of Planet, yet were now flying to deal death to Santiago.
Deirdre shuddered. She made no sense. War made no sense. In fact, nothing in her life made sense anymore. She blinked, shutting away the doubts that wormed within her mind. At the wrong time, doubts could kill. She needed to concentrate.
The Spartans were drawing nearer, faster than Deirdre could have imagined. Everything was happening so fast. An icy sheet passed through her.
"Release the chaff grenades."
Diehl's calm voice was the complete opposite of the turmoil churning through Deirdre. She would have begun shivering in her seat had it not been for the complete, overwhelming fear. She was, in fact, too fearful to shiver.
From every transport, grenades were released. Thousands of tiny black flies swarmed out of small holes in the shuttles. They descended down towards the earth, but before they could fall too far, they exploded.
Deirdre's mouth dropped open. It was so beautiful! Every sort of colour imaginable played across the sky, like fireworks. They were more beautiful than the New Year celebrations at Gaia's Landing, for these seemed to hum with an innate music that permeated through even the silksteel chassis.
A short sob escaped her lips, as the light flashed blue, then green, then a brilliantly vivid purple. Spartan aircraft plummeted towards the ground, even their comm-links dead. A shudder ran up her back, and tickled her shoulders. Many of the aircraft were down, but enough had flown through the chaff field created by the grenades, and were now wreaking havoc with their laser fire.
Her heart pumping in her chest, Deirdre closed her eyes, saying a quick and quiet prayer to Planet in order to calm herself. She had been close to battle before. Hell, she had been in the shooting with Santiago's Death Patrol, but this air battle terrified her more than anything else. The Spartan craft weaved around the shuttles, striking the weaker armour underneath the craft. The air came alive with flashing red laser fire, and the shrieks as they tore through engines soon came to replace the resonant hum.
Zakharov was standing now, obviously agitated.
"De-activate the chaff fields, we must take evasive action!"
Deirdre nodded. It was sound advice.
"Have it done, Diehl. The Hawks will be here in five minutes, we must conserve as many of our shuttles as possible before then."
Diehl licked his lips. "My lady, if we do this then we may-"
Deirdre yelled.
"Then we may have a chance of escaping. If not, we must sit here, while Spartan tigers prowl outside our nest. The chaff field which stopped a lot of Spartan aircraft will stop the Hawks as well, Diehl. Do it!"
Diehl nodded, and once again, barked commands crossed the comm-links. The flickering multi-coloured lights disappeared, and Deirdre leaned back in her seat. Taking a breath, she turned to Zakharov.
"Provost, please, sit. If we get hit, you are more likely to survive sitting down."
Zakharov raised an eyebrow.
"The odds are not that different, Deirdre. Experiments have been done about these situations. The likelihood of sitting down making a difference is the same likelihood as escaping from this situation."
Deirdre closed her eyes.
"And the odds?"
"Abysmally low."
Three minutes passed, and they seemed to Deirdre to be some of the longest minutes in her life. Spartan aircraft tore through hundreds of University and Gaian shuttles. When her shuttles plummeted, Deirdre could almost feel the people within dying, the sudden change in the balance of nature, the affront to Gaia, Mother Nature- whatever you called the sense of a living planet, Deirdre knew it felt those deaths. Thousands dead from one laser shot.
The equations, the maths of it that only someone like Zakharov could pinpoint still evaded her. All Deirdre knew was that her people, and the people of her friend and ally, were dying all around her, in the thousands.
Twice they nearly came close to death, but the skilful manoeuvring of her pilots always managed to evade the dogfights, steering with commendable speed and efficiency away from the main bulk of the Spartan squadrons.
Two more minutes.
Three more shuttles exploded, and this time Deirdre saw hundreds of people falling out of the wreckage, their arms flapping frantically. Many were burning, other were just falling, falling to their inevitable death.
One more minute.
The scene had taken on a surreal, almost blurred edge. Shuttles which were slow and fat were attempting to evade destruction from the faster, more adept Spartan pilots. In all directions, noted Deirdre, something was burning. Above, the shuttles burned, to the sides, the shuttles burned, but below? The xenofungus and the forests burned. The land between Bunker 118 and New Glasgow had become a living hell. Flames reached high into the sky, and from the way heat waves shifted every single image, Deirdre could tell the temperature was phenomenal.
The Hawks had come!
Lean ebony machines, they plunged into the chaotic, shifting hell of milling Spartan aircraft, and lumbering shuttles. Saviours, thought Deirdre. They had come. Now the Spartans fled, yet the superior Gaian aircraft caught every one of them. Every wreck fell below, and Deirdre began to weep.
Thirty miles of Planet was in flame.
Commander Diehl sighed, and from his position on the right of Deirdre he spoke quietly.
"Five minutes, my lady."
"And the Hawks?"
"Ten. They had to land to refuel."
Deirdre bit her lips.
"So we have five minutes in which we are completely defenceless against Santiago's aircraft. By Planet, I thought the Admiral was supposed to think of these things. Where is she now?"
Diehl said.
"Down there with the Hawks. Lisa did think of it, my lady, but she thought the Spartans would not notice a five-minute gap. Otherwise, she would have had to pull aircraft from the bombing missions over Bunker 118. It was a gamble that failed, lady."
Deirdre groaned. "A costly gamble, Diehl. A gamble that could cost us the war."
Zakharov cursed.
"Can we not launch chaff grenades, Commander? That would disrupt them at the very least, perhaps long enough for the Hawks to arrive."
Deirdre glanced at Diehl. "Would that work?"
Diehl paused, his youthful face creased with a frown. He smoothed his deep black hair away from his forehead, and then shrugged.
"It should do, my lady, but there is a high risk that it could disrupt many of our transports in the process."
Zakharov stared closely at him.
"Is it worth the risk, Commander, or not?"
Diehl looked back at Deirdre.
"I believe it is worth the risk, lady."
Deirdre nodded.
"Have it done then, slow down our transports, and activate tachyon fields."
Diehl stood, walking over to the comm-link. A few barked commands later, and the shuttles around them slowed, and faintly glowing fields surrounded the ships. Deirdre waited another minute, and then the Spartans appeared.
Their glossy grey armour seemed to shine. Vengeful angels, thought Deirdre, soaring towards her faction to pronounce their dark judgment. They were angels with a terrible, singular purpose. To kill. It was funny how nearly everything in war had connotations of peace. Doves carrying war, angels killing, the links were endless. Perhaps there was no difference? After all, her faction were the pacifists of Planet, yet were now flying to deal death to Santiago.
Deirdre shuddered. She made no sense. War made no sense. In fact, nothing in her life made sense anymore. She blinked, shutting away the doubts that wormed within her mind. At the wrong time, doubts could kill. She needed to concentrate.
The Spartans were drawing nearer, faster than Deirdre could have imagined. Everything was happening so fast. An icy sheet passed through her.
"Release the chaff grenades."
Diehl's calm voice was the complete opposite of the turmoil churning through Deirdre. She would have begun shivering in her seat had it not been for the complete, overwhelming fear. She was, in fact, too fearful to shiver.
From every transport, grenades were released. Thousands of tiny black flies swarmed out of small holes in the shuttles. They descended down towards the earth, but before they could fall too far, they exploded.
Deirdre's mouth dropped open. It was so beautiful! Every sort of colour imaginable played across the sky, like fireworks. They were more beautiful than the New Year celebrations at Gaia's Landing, for these seemed to hum with an innate music that permeated through even the silksteel chassis.
A short sob escaped her lips, as the light flashed blue, then green, then a brilliantly vivid purple. Spartan aircraft plummeted towards the ground, even their comm-links dead. A shudder ran up her back, and tickled her shoulders. Many of the aircraft were down, but enough had flown through the chaff field created by the grenades, and were now wreaking havoc with their laser fire.
Her heart pumping in her chest, Deirdre closed her eyes, saying a quick and quiet prayer to Planet in order to calm herself. She had been close to battle before. Hell, she had been in the shooting with Santiago's Death Patrol, but this air battle terrified her more than anything else. The Spartan craft weaved around the shuttles, striking the weaker armour underneath the craft. The air came alive with flashing red laser fire, and the shrieks as they tore through engines soon came to replace the resonant hum.
Zakharov was standing now, obviously agitated.
"De-activate the chaff fields, we must take evasive action!"
Deirdre nodded. It was sound advice.
"Have it done, Diehl. The Hawks will be here in five minutes, we must conserve as many of our shuttles as possible before then."
Diehl licked his lips. "My lady, if we do this then we may-"
Deirdre yelled.
"Then we may have a chance of escaping. If not, we must sit here, while Spartan tigers prowl outside our nest. The chaff field which stopped a lot of Spartan aircraft will stop the Hawks as well, Diehl. Do it!"
Diehl nodded, and once again, barked commands crossed the comm-links. The flickering multi-coloured lights disappeared, and Deirdre leaned back in her seat. Taking a breath, she turned to Zakharov.
"Provost, please, sit. If we get hit, you are more likely to survive sitting down."
Zakharov raised an eyebrow.
"The odds are not that different, Deirdre. Experiments have been done about these situations. The likelihood of sitting down making a difference is the same likelihood as escaping from this situation."
Deirdre closed her eyes.
"And the odds?"
"Abysmally low."
Three minutes passed, and they seemed to Deirdre to be some of the longest minutes in her life. Spartan aircraft tore through hundreds of University and Gaian shuttles. When her shuttles plummeted, Deirdre could almost feel the people within dying, the sudden change in the balance of nature, the affront to Gaia, Mother Nature- whatever you called the sense of a living planet, Deirdre knew it felt those deaths. Thousands dead from one laser shot.
The equations, the maths of it that only someone like Zakharov could pinpoint still evaded her. All Deirdre knew was that her people, and the people of her friend and ally, were dying all around her, in the thousands.
Twice they nearly came close to death, but the skilful manoeuvring of her pilots always managed to evade the dogfights, steering with commendable speed and efficiency away from the main bulk of the Spartan squadrons.
Two more minutes.
Three more shuttles exploded, and this time Deirdre saw hundreds of people falling out of the wreckage, their arms flapping frantically. Many were burning, other were just falling, falling to their inevitable death.
One more minute.
The scene had taken on a surreal, almost blurred edge. Shuttles which were slow and fat were attempting to evade destruction from the faster, more adept Spartan pilots. In all directions, noted Deirdre, something was burning. Above, the shuttles burned, to the sides, the shuttles burned, but below? The xenofungus and the forests burned. The land between Bunker 118 and New Glasgow had become a living hell. Flames reached high into the sky, and from the way heat waves shifted every single image, Deirdre could tell the temperature was phenomenal.
The Hawks had come!
Lean ebony machines, they plunged into the chaotic, shifting hell of milling Spartan aircraft, and lumbering shuttles. Saviours, thought Deirdre. They had come. Now the Spartans fled, yet the superior Gaian aircraft caught every one of them. Every wreck fell below, and Deirdre began to weep.
Thirty miles of Planet was in flame.
