The Battle of Kurtzenheim #1

Episode One: Blitzkrieg

"Ob's stürmt oder schneit, ob die Sonne uns lacht,
Der Tag glühend heiß, oder eiskalt die Nacht,
Bestaubt sind die Gesichter, doch froh ist unser Sinn - ja unser Sinn:
Es braust unser Panzer im Sturmwind dahin!"

(In blizzard or storm, or in sun warm and bright,
The day hot as hell or bone-chilling be the night,
Our faces may with dust be laid, But spirits never fade - no, never fade;
Relentless, our tank thunders out on a raid.)

-First Stanza, der Panzerlied-

0528 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

"Red alert! Red alert! All pilots man your exos! All pilots man your exos!" The mournful blast of sound that followed was strident enough to rouse even the deepest of sleepers from their slumber.

"Aw, shit . . ."  Hauptmann Peter Tan, Executive Officer of the Twelfth Sturmobergrupen, Martian BundesArmee spilled out of his warm bed and onto the floor as the raucously overpowering siren tore through any haze of drowsiness that had lingered in his brain.

Scrabbling off the icy cold floor, he tore open the door to his equipment locker and reached for his combat environmental suit that hung inside. Months of combat experience had seen to it that he was now able to change out of his sleeping clothes and into his combat suit in less than thirty seconds.

Outside his quarters, the others in his unit were already streaming down the corridors of the Officer's Barracks and out towards the exo-armor hangars. He pulled on his helmet, ensured that he had a proper seal and started for the doorway.

Major Hessler, the Sturmobergrupen kommander came running up the corridor towards him, his helmet already on.

"What's going on, sir?"

"The capital is coming under attack by those damned Republicans!" Hessler said, pushing Peter along as he came up.

"Kurtzenheim?" The Hauptmann looked over as his commander in surprise. "I thought the reports last night indicated only sporadic probing actions in the vicinities of Dreyfuss and Hell Station?"

"Well, those reports were wrong, Hauptmann." Hessler retorted as they bolted into the thin Martian atmosphere, sprinting across the tarmac towards the exo-armor hangars that lay no more than a hundred meters away. Despite the mournful tones of the base siren system and the protective helmets that they wore over their heads, they could still make out the warning buzzers as the various hangars cleared for action. "Now we know that they are coming in force and they're headed right for the capital in unknown strength. From what I'm told, we've got dozens of breaks in the line between Dreyfuss and Hell Station!"

And to think that we were told that the Free Republic was on the ropes. Peter did not verbalize that sentiment as they reached the hangars. He had learnt a long time ago that one could not always trust what the government told them. The months spent fighting the Republic had only served to show him just how right his opinions were of his homeland.

Born as a Fachleute, or the specialist caste, his education had been different from the Verbundeten or Federates who made up the bulk of the Federation's population. With better education had come enlightenment and Peter was not one to consider himself blind to the oppressive regime of his parent state.

He was sick of fighting the Martian Free Republic. To him, they were just fellow Martians like him, choosing a different lifestyle from that of the Federation. It didn't help that the reasons for this war had been so 'convincingly' presented to them by the Ministry of Truth and a heavy propaganda campaign had been waged prior to the commencement of hostilities.

Thoughts like those were dangerous in the Federation. People had been called up for 'questioning' for expressing far less. And being in the BundesArmee made such opinions all the more dangerous since he fell under the jurisdiction of military law.

"Hauptmann! Are you listening to me?"

Peter shook himself and looked over at his commander. The other grupen commanders were gathered around in a circle now. Not many of the original faces were left. Countless ambushes by the ever-efficient Republican guerilla-like Martian Free Rangers had seen to that.

"Jawohl, Herr Major!" He answered automatically, snapping out of his reverie.

"We will be heading into an unknown situation here." Hessler said to all of them. "So far, it appears that it's an all-out offensive aimed at reaching Kurtzenheim. It's not their typical guerilla action so I want you all to be careful out there."

We've always been . . .  At least I've always been . . . Peter wanted to say but he chose instead to remain silent. His mind was already whirling. The enemy was advancing in force. Perhaps this was his opportunity. There would be a great battle, much confusion. A single exo-pilot can simply disappear without anyone noticing . . .

"We'll be heading west to reinforce the 51st Panzerobergrupen. Tell your people to stay sharp." Hessler continued. "There have been reports of the enemy deploying some new type of hovertank in the area so keep your eyes open. If there are no questions, suit up and follow me."

No one spoke and as soon as Hessler turned, the others made off to their waiting exo-armors. Peter's MEAM-01 Defender Camel was a variant of the original Jovian design which had been considered state-of-the-art in its heyday.

Now, this 16.9-meter-tall war machine was one of the most advanced pieces of Federation combat equipment. The Camel variant gave up its space-going capabilities and replaced the original beam cannon with a mass driver rifle and had filters built to make the whole exo-armor more durable in Martian surface combat.

His maintenance crew said nothing as he approached. The base siren was still wailing and by now, it seemed like every light on the base was blazing and every soul was up and moving. Exchanging a curt nod with his maintenance chief, Hauptmann Peter Tan scrambled up the access ladder and into the chest cavity of his bulky, humanoid war machine.

Even as he settled into the exo's linear frame which would allow the exo-armor to replicate his every move, he found the words of an ancient poem coming to mind. Those I fight, I do not hate. Those I defend, I do not love . . .

Well, not exactly, he corrected himself as the cockpit closed up around him and the various instrument panels came on. His love for the Federation had died a long time ago. The Republic seemed like the only place for him to go now. But Kurtzenheim was still his birthplace and home to hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians. And I will defend my home first . . . even if I don't believe in my country anymore.

Moments later, his Defender Camel took its first tentative step forward, the tarmac absorbing the impact of his 51-ton monster. All across the base, the rest of the 12th Sturmobergrupen was beginning to stir, armor-shod feet pounding in rhythm as exo after exo set course for the war front . . . wherever that was now.

1036 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

Mars. The Red Planet. For centuries, it had been a place of awe and mystery to scientist and writer alike. Always imagined as the one place in the Solar System where signs of life would be found, the Martians of today were a far cry from the variety that pervaded popular fiction so many years ago.

But that didn't make the present Martians any less bloodthirsty than the aliens of yesteryear's imagination. Captain Andy Ho, commanding officer of the JSS Falchion grimaced at the thought. His Forge-class patrol carrier had been one of the many that made up the Jovian peacekeeping force that hung idyllically in space, watching the planetary civil war from afar.

It had been almost thirty years since the Martians fought their last war. And he had only been a teenager when the Olympian War was finally brought to a close with the help of Jovian peace brokers, something that he remained incredibly proud off. Today, I provide the big stick which powers interplanetary diplomacy, he smiled as he looked around the bridge of his carrier. Strange . . . there was an ancient Earth term . . . gunboat diplomacy . . . maintaining the peace through the show of force.

"Skipper, it's looks like we've got a situation developing here." The sensor operator on duty said suddenly. There was a pause as the sensor operator manipulated the controls at his workstation. "Yes, they're definitely going at each other again."

Captain Ho looked at the sensor repeater window that was display against the domed ceiling of the carrier's bridge. Several clusters of blips were swarming up from the planet. Green represented Republican exos, yellow was reserved for the Federation's craft. Further off, almost on the other edge of the screen were the first red blips of the CEGA's peacekeeping force.

It was strange seeing them in red. After all, it was always a color used to denote enemy craft. The Jovian Confederation and the CEGA weren't exactly enemies despite the numerous shooting incidents between the two nations. But they weren't exactly friends either. Especially after what had happened in the Battle of Elysée There had been more cases of brinkmanship that he would have liked since the two large fleets took up position in the vicinity of Mars.

"Looks like they're fighting over the orbitals again. Republicans attacking the Feds, from the looks of it?" Andy looked at the sensor operator for confirmation.

"That's an affirmative. Looks like twenty or so Republican exos with support against twenty-five Feds. Mostly Explorers and Defenders out there." There was a pause. "I'm picking up fighters too. Forty plus from both sides in all."

Andy felt his hands balling up into fists. Once again the Martians were taking their fight up into space. Both fleets had orders to keep the fighting limited to the ground, but without authorization to shoot first, there was very little any one could do to really separate the two belligerents. And besides, the space combats have always been small and inconclusive, with negligible collateral damage.

But today's battle seemed a little larger and it was the first time the Republic was attacking. Word from Mars had it that the Republic was also on the move in the Pavonia Principality, where the Federation capital was located. Maybe it would do to watch this battle a little closer . . .

"Captain," It was the comm operator who spoke now. "Orders from the Admiral Sullivan."

Admiral Gordo Sullivan was the overall commander of the Jovian force, 'flying his lights' off the Gilgamesh which served as his flagship and mobile command post.

"Yes, Corporal?"

"Captain, message reads: 'The fleet will advance on the battle zone.'"

So Sullivan was thinking the same thing, Andy nodded. "Very well. Acknowledge our receipt of the message. Helm, standby to maneuver on the flagship's command."

"Aye, Skipper."

Captain Andy Ho leaned back and waited. It would take time to coordinate a move with a fleet this large. Disturbingly, he noticed the white blip of a Solar Cross vessel drifting uncomfortably close to the battle zone.

Then the call to move was given and the entire Jovian peacekeeping force lit its thrusters as one and began crawling towards the raging space battle. Minutes later, the CEGA fleet was doing the same thing.

1043 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

"Lancelot, Lancelot, this is Camelot."

Warrant Officer (O) Adelene Chan had almost dozed in the cockpit of her fighter when the comm specialist aboard the JSS Vigilant called out to her, so boring had been her patrol thus far.

Blinking the drowsiness out of her eyes, she keyed the 'transmit' stud on her throttle lever and replied, hoping that she didn't sound too bored. "Camelot, this is Lancelot One. Standing by."

"Copy that, Lancelot One. We have new instructions for you," the comm spec's tone was a little too crisp and lively for Adelene's liking. "Uploading new coordinates to your navigation computer now."

"Roger that." She glanced at her instruments and saw the new navigational data being updated to her nav comp. "What gives, Camelot?"

"Looks like the Martians are having quite a scrap around the orbital platforms again," came the seemingly overly-cheerful reply. "A pretty big one this time from the looks of it. The fleet is closing in to keep tabs on the situation."

"And so they want us up close where the action is to keep an eye on things?"

"That's ah-firmative, Lancelot One," the comm spec drawled. Then he added as if it was of no consequence at all. "Ah, be advised that the CEGA fleet is also closing in on the conflict zone. It might get a little crowded when you get there."

"Copy that." Terrific . . .Adelene groaned. She had tangled with CEGA exo armors and fighters before, even shot a couple down in the past. But the higher-ups had been very apt in driving into their minds that the CEGA was not their enemy this time. Not in Martian orbit. Not when the inhabitants of the Red Planet were trying to eradicate one another. This time, the JAF was here to keep the peace.

What kind of peacekeeping mission is this? Adelene had found herself asking that question very often and it bothered her that she had not found the answer after so many weeks on station. She had never been on any other peacekeeping mission prior to this one but if the current one was anything to go by, then the term was an oxymoron.

In the time that she had spent flying her Intruder fighter in the space around Mars, she had found herself going head to head more often with CEGA 'peacekeepers' than actually helping to preserve the peace in the orbital facilities around the Red Planet.

What few opportunities they had to 'preserve the peace' were often lost due to restrictive rules of engagement and tactical indecision by her superiors. Today looked like it would be no different.

They would be ordered into position to observe the battle between the Federates and the Republicans, forming a 'security cordon', which they had no real power to enforce. If either side tried to break out, they could do so and even take potshots at the Jovians if they wanted. And in the meantime, the orbitals would probably take another pounding and more innocents would die while she and her fellow peacekeepers would watch from a useless distance once more.

"Ah, Lancelot One, be advised that we have multiple patrols vectoring into the area to monitor the situation. Martian forces are estimated at about forty-plus exo armors with maybe another forty-plus fighters. No sign of warships from either side yet."

Adelene blew a low whistle at those figures. Now that was what she would call a really big battle. The Martians had never thrown so much hardware into space in all the time that the peacekeeping fleets were in orbit. Something was definitely up.

"Two, you with me?" Adelene said to her wingman.

"Roger, One." Corporal Winters, her wingman for the day's patrol, answered excitedly. "Lead the way, ma'am!"

Adelene did not reply. Instead, she rolled her fighter onto the new course projected by her nav computer and kicked in with her thrusters, accelerating towards the trouble spot. On her radar screen, she could see that several other patrol pairs comprising of fighters and exo armors alike were beginning to head in the same direction.

1050 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

Plodding along at thirty-six kilometers per hour, Peter had grown increasingly edgy. There had been no sign of war when the sun rose over them. He had half-expected to be ambushed at dawn but nothing had happened and hour after hour of monotonous trekking had followed.

For all its speed and maneuverability in space, the exo armor was nothing more than a lumbering humanoid robot on the ground. The radio communications from the front had grown fewer and fewer in between as they had gotten closer. And most of the reports didn't make sense, painting a very confused picture of the situation in the area between the Republican border and the 12th Strumobergrupen.

Less than an hour ago, they had spotted the first palls of smoke in the distance. And they had spent the intervening time moving ever closer to the war zone. The smoke had been a grim reminder that despite the isolation of the red plains, there was still a war going on.

There was a chiming alert in his headset and Peter's eyes flashed to his pop up radar display. "Major, I'm picking up several sensor contacts ahead."

"I have them too, Hauptmann," his commander replied. "All units, this is Hessler. Incoming bogeys on radar. Standby for action. Hold your fire until I give the order!"

Peter felt his heart pounding away as the unknown blips crawled across the circular radar display, moving towards the center point, which represented his exo. Should be in visual range any moment now. He toggled on his telescopic sights and a pop-up window appeared on his HUD, showing him the ridgeline ahead in magnified detail. The smoke and dust clouds had gotten more intense now.

"I have them!" Someone exclaimed excitedly over the radio. "They're ours!"

Peter scanned the ridgeline again and picked up the barely recognizable shapes that were spilling over the ridge and speeding towards them. Abdiel hovertanks. Perhaps barely enough to form three grupen. Many of them in bad shape; some missing turrets, others simply holed like a sieve. He zoomed in on the unit insignia painted onto the turret of one of the more intact tanks. They had found the 51st Panzerobergrupen.

"Confirmed, Herr Major. Incoming tanks are friendly."

As they got closer, the extent of the damage was fully apparent. Some of the tanks shouldn't have even been mobile at all. And these were Abdiel tanks he was looking at, the pride of the BundesArmee's Panzergrupen. What could the Republicans possibly have that can smash so many of our tanks?

The retreating tanks were passing by now, not even stopping to communicate. Peter knew panic when he saw it and the erratic way in which several tanks were fleeing the ridge was a clear indication. Just what the hell do we have ahead? Peter felt a chill running down his spine. The enemy had to be very close now.

"More incoming bogeys!" Someone shouted excitedly. "Moving very fast!"

Peter stared at his radar display and felt his blood run cold. His sensors were registering an approach speed in access of four hundred kilometers per hour, flying nape of the earth. Air strike . . . He felt himself going weak in the knees. Though few in numbers, the Republican Ranger Air Service was very adept at ground support missions. He raised his Defender's railgun tentatively, hoping that he was wrong, but not ready to just rely on that hope.

"Incoming . . . visual range . . ." someone chanted.

Now! Peter swung his exo at where he expected to see the incoming craft appear.

"Mein gott!" Another exo-pilot exclaimed in surprise.

Gliding . . .no, flying over the ridgeline and at them were the thin, deadly wedge-shaped vehicles that were akin to flying saucers, except more angular . . . and with turrets sporting what looked very much like railguns. Peter's jaw dropped open in surprise. He wanted to believe that he was staring at hovertanks. But no hovertank could move at four hundred kilometers an hour and move the way they were moving now.

Railgun slugs were slashing towards the Federate exo armors, whose pilots stood gaping at the newcomers now. Then the 'hovertanks' were clawing for altitude, rising further off the Martian surface and literally taking to the skies. He could hardly believe his eyes as he saw one 'tank' heading towards him, tiny doors opening from its belly. A pair of deadly shapes popped out and there was a flash as each one ignited.

"Weapons free! Weapons free! All units engage the tanks!" their commander was speaking now, sounding as if he was waking from a bad dream.

"That's if you can even call them tanks!" somebody jibed.

"Cut the chatter! All units, defensive formation. Peter, take your grupen. You are our left flank!" Hessler snapped. "Walter, you have the ri . . ."

Major Hessler's voice was cut off with sickening abruptness and Peter turned his Defender instinctively to face the commander's exo. Hessler's Defender was hardly recognizable now. Its back was tore open and on fire, large chunks of armor peeling off. Peter winced as another missile buried itself into the burning exo. Several other exo armors had been hit and were going down as well.

"All units, all units. This is the XO. The Major is down." Peter said, fighting the growing lump in his throat. "Pull back! Pull back! All units withdraw! Head for cover and return fire!"

The Republicans had caught them in an open plain and were flying rings around them. Peter picked out one of the blindingly fast flying tanks. Working his linear frame, he brought up his railgun, adjusted the targeting reticule, waited for it to go red and fired.

A ten-kilogram metal slug crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and impacted spectacularly against the tank's side, sending shards of armor splashing in every direction. A moment later, the tank had spiraled out of control and into the ground.

So you guys can be beaten . . .Peter thought to himself, smiling grimly. But he knew the odds certainly weren't in his favor today.

1109 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

"Federate exos are withdrawing in disarray, Captain."

Captain Andy Ho didn't really need to be told that since he could see the action the sensor repeated display projected before him. He had watched the battle raging before him, represented only by light symbols. Several of the orbital platforms had taken some hits in the fighting. Andy had watched as green and yellow blips had vanished from the display, each one marking the passing of an exo or fighter and quite likely the pilot as well.

And now the Federates had been beaten by the Republican force and it had disintegrated into smaller groups which were fleeing from the victors. His attention was drawn to a small group of yellow blips.

"Are those exos headed where I think they're headed?" Ho asked, highlighting the group of blips from his console.

There was a pause as the navigator did the geometry based on the data received from the sensor operator. "Captain, those Federates are headed for the Solar Cross ship."

"God, get them out of there!" Ho gasped. The Solar Cross (which was the modern day equivalent of the now defunct Red Cross) vessel, Nightingale had been hovering at the edge of the battle ever since it started, apparently waiting for the dust to settle before moving in to conduct search and rescue operations.

"Federate exos now entering safe zone." The sensor operator's report told Andy that it was too late to warn the Nightingale off. The Federate exo armors had entered the 100-km safe zone that was a standard for all Solar Cross vessels. While it wasn't wrong to take refuge in this zone, it hadn't been done in a major conflict before so even now her neutral status was pretty much in doubt. The captain of the Falchion stared at the radar repeater window. If the Republicans pursue . . .

"Captain, the Republican exos are entering the safe zone in pursuit of the Federate craft."

"Damn it! What the hell are they doing?" Andy leaned forward against the restraints of his command chair. "It's a bloody safe zone! What are they thinking?"

He felt his stomach twisting into an icy knot. A hundred kilometers was not a great distance in space. If the exos from either side were to fire within the safe zone, disaster would be inevitable . . .

1114 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

 "Damn! What do the think they're doing?" Adelene said aloud as she watched the action unfolding ahead of her. A trio of Federate Defenders were trying to escape from a quintet of Republican Explorer exos. And they were doing it all practically right next to a Solar Cross vessel.

She noticed that a pair of CEGA Wraith fighters were showing an equal interest in the drama playing out before them. The Federate exos were dancing around the Solar Cross ship which sat serenely in the middle of it all, seemingly oblivious to the danger.

"Ma'am, the Republicans . . .!" Corporal Winters cried out.

"No, shit!" Adelene gasped as the saw missiles separating, their fiery trails unraveling as they curled after their targets. The three damaged Defenders wove and dodged but it wasn't enough.

Two of the Defenders died before they could shake the missiles unleashed against them. The last Federate craft manage to avoid the initial salvo but as follow up missiles screamed in, its pilot threw the machine into an intricate series of maneuvers around the Nightingale.

The Republicans closed in, engaging with their railguns. The lone Defender returned fire with its missiles. Dozens of explosions boiled in the deathly cold silence of space, the blasts obscuring even the massive Nightingale for several heartbeats.

"Oh, God . . ." Winters gasped as soon as the explosions had dissipated. One Republican Explorer was gone, as was the last Federate Defender.

But those were not the only casualties in this latest exchange of fire. Nightingale was rolling awkwardly onto its side, leaking atmosphere and shedding debris from a quartet of jagged punctures in its thin hull.

1122 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213

Captain Alvin Ng was young for his rank. It had been earned in numerous combat actions, which included the Battle of Elysée and the Europa Incident where he fought opponents ranging from Seraphim terrorists to regular CEGA Navy Forces.

Now, the commander of the famed 'Deathwing' exo squadron propelled himself off the deck and floated up to the open cockpit of his Retaliator CT in the hangar bay's microgravity, using the occasional handhold to propel himself further up towards his exo's cockpit. The deckhands were floating about his war machine, performing last minute checks even as he reached the gaping maw that served as his entry point to his command variant of the EAM-03 Retaliator exo.

He saw an ordnance specialist standing on the right shoulder of his exo armor, pulling out the arming pins for each one of his missiles. Another deckhand was sealing the loading hatch for his exo's railgun ammunition feed. To him, the deckhands aboard the JSS Facilitator were always something special. They moved with cat-like grace in the null-gravity of the hangar deck, never taking a wrong step, never showing confusion even under chaotic situations.

How many times have I done this since coming to Mars? He didn't know the answer. The order had simply come down for all pilots to suit up and stand by for launch and that was exactly what he was doing now. Gripping a conveniently place handgrip, he hauled himself up the last part of the way, rotating himself in midair and sliding into the cockpit cavity of his exo.

Slipping himself legs-first into the body-encompassing linear frame took less than ten seconds. He had done it so many times in the past that he could do it in his sleep. Since it was his personal exo armor, there was no need to readjust the frame once he put his feet in the restraints. Pulling the yellow and black striped bar, the hydraulics closed the cockpit hatch over him, sealing him beneath a layer of thick armor.

"This is Deathwing Leader," he began, as the screens and displays all flashed to life before his eyes. "All set and ready to launch."

"Copy that, Deathwing Leader, hold." Facilitator's Tactical Officer replied. "We have a situation developing. The Solar Cross vessel, Nightingale was hit when Republican and Federate forces were fighting in within its safe zone."

"Damn . . ." was all he could say.

"We have forces on hand attempting to defuse the situation now. Fleet command has ordered additional units into the area," the Tactical Officer went on. "We're putting your squadron on standby just in case you're needed, sir. Stand by for additional."

"I copy that, Tac. Keep me posted." And then Captain Alvin Ng, commander of the Deathwings aboard the JSS Facilitator leaned back into his linear frame and waited.

1128 HOURS – AUGUST 30, 2213

Adelene wasn't sure what had happened that August morning. And even after it was all over, she was afraid she'd never be certain even with the benefit of hindsight.

There had been a lot of shouting over the airwaves as Jovian, Earth and Martian squadron leaders had hurled angry accusations at one another. Both Jovian and Earth forces were maneuvering constantly in order to prevent the Republican forces from fleeing and Adelene knew they were going to keep doing it until guilt for attacking the Nightingale could be ascertained. Guilt that she knew was unfortunately the Republicans' to bear.

But more Republican exos and fighter were closing in now, as were several Federate craft. The space around the Solar Cross vessel was already unbelievably congested. The Republican exo pilots who had opened fire and hit the Nightingale were hurling expletives at the peacekeepers for obstructing their way now and the situation was really breaking down.

And it was about then when tempers reached the boiling point and the unthinkable happened. One moment, Adelene had been looking over her shoulder, giving a pair of CEGA Wraiths a wider berth while trying to keep a Republican Explorer boxed in. But when she looked forward again, the radio erupted with a cacophony of excited shouts and she saw lasers, particle beams, missiles and railgun slugs slashing in all every direction.

"What the . . .?" She didn't manage to complete the sentence as she instinctively rolled out of the way of a stream of particle accelerator beams. A quick look back at the source of the incoming shots told her that the CEGA Wraiths that she had been trying to avoid were attacking her. But why . . .?

"Damn it, they're engaging us!" someone shouted

"Weapons free! Weapons free! Let's go get them!"

"No, wait! Hold your fire, damn it!"

Chaos! Adelene thought as she maneuvered her fighter wildly to dodge another barrage that was being directed at her. Someone had opened fire first, but she had no idea who. All that she knew was that some squadron leaders were calling for their pilots to cease fire while many others were ordering their pilots to engage. But engage who?  

"Two!"

"Yes, ma'am?" Winters replied almost instantly.

"Stick to me like glue! We're getting out of this mess!"

"Roger, I'm . . ." That sentence was never completed. Instead, a harsh burst of static filled Adelene's ears. Looking over her shoulder at where he wingman was supposed to be, all she could see was an expanding sphere of incandescent gases and debris.

"Two!"

1130 HOURS – AUGUST 30, 2213

Chaos! Captain Andy Ho knew he wasn't the only one to harbor that thought as he watched the situation degenerate before his very eyes. There was a good-sized melee taking place around the Nightingale now. And everyone was shooting at everybody.

Good Lord, has the universe gone insane? Andy gasped as he saw several blips vanishing from the screen. Some were the yellow and green of the Martian forces. Others were red – CEGA craft. But inevitably, some of the vanishing symbols were in the blue of the Jovian Armed Forces.

He knew he could not possibly hesitate now. There were no orders coming from above, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from using his initiative now.

"Sound General Quarters." He told his bridge crew. "Red alert. Launch all exos! Go!"

A heartbeat later, every overhead speaker aboard the JSS Falchion was blaring the same message: "Red Alert! Red Alert! General Quarters, General Quarters! All crew to Battle Stations!"

1132 HOURS – AUGUST 30, 2213

"Deathwings! You are go for launch!" The deck commander of the Facilitator was saying as the airlock door to the launch bay began to crack open.

Looking straight up, Captain Alvin Ng could see the star-filled void beckoning invitingly to him. He wriggled slightly in his linear frame to make sure he was comfortable but there wasn't any need since the frame had already been calibrated to his body shape and size.

"This is Deathwing Leader, standing by."

"Copy that, Deathwing Leader. Stand by for launch."

The exo pilot stared intently at the launch bay exit. His reactor had been up and running ever since he had climbed into his machine and his thrusters were on standby now. With his hands, he gripped the twin joysticks that would give him flight and weapons control braced himself for the impact that was sure to come.

The doors were fully open now and all his systems were still showing green. He nudged his throttles forward and felt the mechanical whine sounding in his ears and the mild throb of power as his thrusters flared. Pleased at what he saw on his status displays, he called up the Deck Commander again. "All systems green. Ready to go."

"Affirmative, Deathwing Leader. Good luck and goodbye."

The light atop the airlock exit went from red to green and Alvin felt a tremendous kick in his rear as the magnetic catapult fired, shoving his forty-two-ton exo armor towards the launch bay exit. He waited until the walls of the launch bay and slipped past him before he fired up the main thrusters, which delivered a kick of some 80,000 kilograms of thrust combined.

He let out a grunt as the force of acceleration threatened to force him back through the linear frame. Then, satisfied that he was clear of the Facilitator, he looked around and noted that the rest of the squadron was already coming up rapidly to join him.

"Deathwing Leader, your callsign for this mission is Excalibur. Facilitator will be Scabbard. Acknowledge, please." The Tactical Officer said.

"Roger. Excalibur One acknowledges, Scabbard."

"Mission profile is as follows: You are to join other exo squadrons in forming a defensive cordon between the Nightingale and the CEGA fleet. Your mission will be to prevent any additional CEGA forces to entering the area around the Nightingale until we are able to restore the situation there."

"Rules of engagement?"

"Same as before. Do not fire until fired upon."

"Roger that, Scabbard. The Deathwings are on the way."

1134 HOURS – AUGUST 30, 2213

All across the Jovian peacekeeping force, crews were rushing to their stations. Weapons emplacements were manned and point defense systems were turned to standby while live ammunition was loaded in anticipation of hostilities.

Bulkheads were sealed and non-essential sections were depressurized to minimize the damage in the event of a hull breach. Medics stood by with their kits, ready to go into action should they be required while damage control teams waited at their stations with their wide range of repair gear.

As the ships of the fleet prepare themselves for combat, everyone who could see watched with bated breath as the armada of exo-armors and fighters crossed the distance between the fleets.

1140 HOURS – AUGUST 30, 2213

 How the hell are we supposed to stop the CEGA from sending reinforcements into the combat zone? Alvin frowned as they closed in on the CEGA fleet. It was the largest formation he had ever flown in with dozens upon dozens of exo armors and fighters flying shoulder-to-shoulder and wingtip-to-wingtip with one another.

The battle was still raging around the Solar Cross vessel and he had found it very hard to restrain himself from flying in to lend a hand to his beleaguered comrades. Indeed, at least two squadrons had already broken off to lend their assistance. Adding fuel to the fire more likely, Alvin thought grimly as he passed the battle raging 'below' him.

He could see CEGA exos rising up to meet them now. Unlike the Jovian fleet, the Earth fleet was splitting up into smaller groups now. It was a CEGA textbook tactic against massed exo strikes. Sure, that meant that whichever got hit by the massed strike was as good as dead, but there was also the chance that the Jovian commanders might get greedy and order strikes against each group, diluting the firepower of such a massive attack.

But that was all based on the assumption that the Jovians were committed to attacking. Which they weren't. And their reaction disturbed Alvin somewhat. But then, we're heading towards them with the largest formation of exos ever assembled. How can I expect them to react normally?

He tried to count the CEGA exos on his sensors. They weren't advancing at the moment. Instead, they hovered near their motherships in gaggles, apparently waiting for further instructions. Glancing at his navigational display, he noted that he was fast approaching the imaginary line which the Jovian exos had been ordered not to cross. He felt somewhat uncomfortable about that since it was very close to the edge of the CEGA weapons envelopes.

They were just seconds away from stopping when the first shots came. Lasers and KKC rounds mostly. At such range, there was almost no chance of a hit and most of the shots were going over or under them. Warning shots, he thought to himself. Coming up on the 'border' now . . .

"CEGA vessels are advancing." Someone reported and true enough, the scattered task forces of the CEGA fleet were beginning to advance as one.

"All Deathwings standby to decelerate . . ." Alvin told his pilots over the comm channel. "Now!"

Then something very strange happened. Almost half the exos hit their reverse thrusters in an effort to decelerate. But the others ploughed on, accelerating through the 'warning shots' that were getting closer and closer.

No . . . Alvin gasped in horror. Apparently, several squadron leaders were none to happy about the CEGA ships taking potshots at them and were beginning to accelerate towards the warships at overthrust. They've got to be faking a lightning strike . . . Alvin told himself, referring to the common exo tactic of rushing a target head-on at maximum acceleration and cutting loose with all weapons in a single devastating salvo during a very narrow window of opportunity. But they won't know if we're faking or not, a voice in the back of his head told him quietly.

The first exo squadron made it through the defenses of one of the task forces without damage to itself, their craft screaming down the lengths of the CEGA ships' hulls before peeling off. Other squadrons were moving in now, cutting through gaps in CEGA exo formations to get at the ships despite the warning shots.

And then someone must have panicked since the warning shots were no longer fired deliberately to miss. Alvin saw a flash, his optical magnification told him that it was a Pathfinder Alpha. And then every gun and exo in the CEGA fleet was firing at the incoming exos.

"Oh, God, no . . ." Alvin gasped as laser beams stabbed out towards him and his squadronmates. A stream of KKC rounds perforated a Retaliator from another squadron flying near to him and it tumbled away, streaming air from its mangled cockpit.

Others were opening fire now and space became a maelstrom of weapons fire as the lines of exos collided into one another. As much as Alvin wanted to take control of the situation, things had spiraled completely out of hand now.

About a minute later, both fleets were beginning to exchange long-range salvos with one another as they applied thrust to close with one another. The Battle of Kurtzenheim had just flared beyond what its Martian planners had foreseen.