Phase-02: All In The Valley Of Death Rode The Six Hundred…
Bridge, Lunar Union Navy Battleship Intrepid, Two Thousand Kilometres From Resource Asteroid L4-A03.
June 13, SCE 144. 0950 Hours LST.
Admiral Milberger was furious. The level of interference around the resource asteroid was so intense that the only way to confirm that their own fleet's flanks even existed was by visual confirmation or infra-red sensors. Getting a signal to them was like trying to swim through treacle, the Intrepid's radar operator had quipped, in light of the intense jamming. Something was going on, something that would no doubt piss him off when it happened.
"Send the battleship Interceptor ahead with the escorts Bradford and Barnsley. I want to know exactly what's going on out there." Ordered the admiral. He looked ready to punch through a titanium bulkhead or three.
With great difficulty, the communications officer sent out the message. To starboard of the Intrepid, a trio of ships moved out toward the huge rock in front of the fleet. They bore a vague resemblance to the old-fashioned kind of ship that sailed across Earth's oceans, the design kept as a concession to humanity's continued lack of adaptation to space.
The two long, sleek warships sailed forward, quickly closing the gap between the main fleet and the rock ahead of them. The captain of the Interceptor resented the duty; if there was nothing there, he'd have to find out why there was so much ECM – electronic countermeasures – in the region, and if there was something, he'd be a sitting duck. Wisely, he deployed the dozen cosmofighters from his ship, signalling the escorts to send out the three carried on each ship.
Milberger watched events unfold impatiently, gripping the arms of his plush chair as the ships and their fighters moved around the asteroid to face whatever was on the other side.
As the trio moved past the asteroid, what little radio communication was available was blocked out entirely. For a few minutes, it seemed nothing was happening. Nobody on the Intrepid's bridge said a word, for fear of shattering the eerie calm that had overcome those watching events.
Someone finally broke the silence, the young man at the radar station: "Sirs, we have something on visual, still no radar confirmation."
Milberger pounced on it. "Zoom in, put it on the main screen."
With a few keystrokes, the radar operator did just that. On the inside of the transparent aluminium bridge glass there was a thin computer monitor layer; on this, a red box formed roughly in the centre, expanding to show the object that had attracted their attention.
It was the Interceptor. Most of the Interceptor at least. The sharp prow of the ship was missing, as was the bridge tower near the stern. It had been mauled, its carcass pushed back towards the main fleet. But by whom, and why?
The admiral threw caution to the wind. "All ships advance! We're going to tear apart whoever destroyed that ship!"
"No need sir, the enemy is coming to us!" exclaimed the helmsman, who had noticed the thruster flares of a fleet heading their way.
"Seven ships heading our way! One appears to be of battleship size, the rest of destroyer size!"
"Launch all cosmofighters now! Rip them to shreds!" yelled the Intrepid's captain.
On the cosmofighter deck, all twelve members of the Elephantine Team were assembled, wearing their trademark red and black pilot suits, ready to jump into their fighters on a moment's notice; Lauser hated keeping them cooped up in cockpits longer than necessary, it seemed pointless. Behind the visor of his helmet, Lauser looked impatient, until the order to launch came through.
"Let's go! Get to your fighters now!" he exclaimed, as he did just that. Standing at the front centre of the hangar, six fighters lined up either side of him in their bays, launching arms above the front two, to "push" them out of hatches on either side of the ship.
The Typhoon's design owed a lot to ancient aerospace fighters, as was a trend with cosmofighters. A single tailfin – for apogee motors rather than air control – and a broad delta wing made the Typhoon stand out in a battlefield. Its armament of two anti-armour cannons, two smaller multi-barrel cannons, and a dozen missiles of various sizes would give it a superb combat capacity.
All twelve pilots scurried up the ladders into their cockpits. As soon as they were in the canopies slid forward to close, completely sealing the pilots off from the outside world; modern cosmofighters used a panoramic virtual-reality monitor to provide a superb view around and above the craft, rather than the transparent canopy of old-style aircraft.
"Once you're in space, form up ahead of this ship, below the line of its guns. We'll proceed to launch our attack after the first wave barrage." A simple order, one the Elephantine Team had practiced to death. "Intrepid, please transmit the order to all teams."
"Roger that, Elephantine Zero-One."
"Thank you, control. Elephantine Team, launch!"
Hangar Deck, SCAT Armada Battleship Ibuki; Advancing From Rendezvous Point Alpha, Near Resource Asteroid L4-A03.
June 13, SCE 144. 1025 Hours LST.
"That was a bit much…" commented Julius, watching the destruction of the Union advance force on his monitor via the hangar umbilical cable's communications links. The carnage had been caused by the Brandon Squadron, who had not only crushed the cruisers and butchered the battleship, but physically pushed the ruined hulk of the lead ship back towards its fleet.
"They'll know not to mess with us now but they will anyway, so now the real party can get started and we can kick Moon arses!" exclaimed the ever-excitable Becks Klein. Her enthusiastic face was framed by shoulder-length blonde hair, genuine desire to go into battle in her green eyes. This was typical of her in a battle situation, an extension of her usual, somewhat hyperactive personality outside of combat.
Julius sighed. Sometimes, sanity isn't as overrated as I say it is…
"Van Steenvoort Squadron, we are entering combat. Following first-wave missile and plasma barrage, launch mobile suit forces!" ordered a female operator on the Ibuki's bridge. Her voice was… calming, despite the severity of the situation.
"Roger that, control. Squadron ready to launch," He replied, before switching to the squad channel. "Okay squad, put your match faces on, we're about to go into battle. I want no screw-ups, you hear me? All units report in."
"Zero-two, roger that."
"Zero-three, yes sir!"
"Zero-four, confirmed."
"Zero-five; gotcha, commander!"
"Zero-six, will do!"
"Zero-seven: sir, yes sir!"
"Zero-eight, order confirmed."
That was it. Squadron ready, pilots prepared… battle joined. And soon, mobile suits would head into open battle for the first time.
Ibuki opened its two hangar deck hatches, preparing its linear catapults to deploy four mobile suits each. The Ibuki class of battleship, of which Ibuki herself was the first – and at present only – were shaped roughly like the points of a trident or a fork; the widest central point had the two catapults on either side, to fire mobile suits out between the points of the triple hull. The bridge was placed at the aft of this central point, with the main engines and weapons in the outer points; each outer point mounted a dual-barrel plasma cannon on the upper and lower sides, three missile launchers, and the majority of the ship's dual-barrel CIWS lasers; the remaining CIWS lasers were mounted on the central point, as were two single-barrel plasma cannons, again on the upper and lower sides.
The mighty ship, almost three hundred and seventy metres long, was leading the fleet, six smaller Ocean destroyers surrounding it, with their quartet of mobile suits and reduced plasma armaments. Ocean class ships mounted eight missile launchers, however, and the same quantity of CIWS lasers.
Inside the hangar, the squadron prepared to launch. Julius and Cyril stood at the beginning of the launch tracks; the catapults were essentially railguns, firing out mobile suits at high speeds using a quartet of powerful electromagnetic strips which telescoped out from all four sides of the hatch. Each catapult had a display screen on the outer wall; the upper half listed the mobile suit and pilot, whilst the lower half comprised four boxes: a row of three could light up as "CLEAR" or "STOP", and the final one, taking up the whole lower quarter, would indicate "LAUNCH" if it was all-clear, or "ABORT" if any of the three showed a stop warning. The upper half currently read:
SMAF-CMS03DL Dauntless Leader
Julius Van Steenvoort
"Commander Van Steenvoort, Cyril Cheshire; prepare for launch!" exclaimed the controller.
"Roger that!" exclaimed Van Steenvoort, no nerves evident in his voice, "Julius Van Steenvoort, Dauntless Leader… launch!"
"Confirmed! Cyril Cheshire, Dauntless Spartan, let's go!" cried Cyril, sounding little more excited than calling for a taxi.
Julius braced himself for launch.
CLEAR.
Cyril took a breath.
CLEAR.
Julius gazed out at space, where he knew the Union awaited.
CLEAR.
Cyril tensed.
LAUNCH!
Moments later, the two mobile suits shot out as gray blurs from the Ibuki, hurtling a kilometre away from their mothership in seconds. They were quickly joined by two more, and two more, and finally two more. The complete team of a Dauntless Leader, three Dauntless Spartan Type-As, and four Dauntless Spartan Type-Bs, all ready to go, advancing in two waves, Julius' team leading, Cyril's close behind.
Julius took a deep breath, trying to calm his rising nerves, wondering how everyone else in the squadron felt; he was curious about the other squadron commanders, too, if they felt the nerves he felt.
"My team, ready to engage cosmofighters; Cyril's team, hit the ships! Report in with team leaders; Cyril, you're clear to go once your team is ready!"
A round of confirmations later, the Van Steenvoort Team joined the battle.
Space Battle Zone, Near Resource Asteroid L4-A03.
June 13, SCE 144. 1040 Hours LST.
"All units stay together. Once you detect the enemy, fire at them. If they have cosmofighters, stick with your wingman during the dogfight as far as possible." Lauser's orders were simple, but surely effective.
The Elephantine team, flying in a delta formation, cruised towards their opponents. The electronic jamming was so thick as they got closer to the enemy that radar was becoming useless; the scan lines on the screen were static, the only objects on the screen those nearby. Lauser wondered if any of his weapons – predominantly Space Interceptor Missiles – would be of any use; the SIM-26 medium-range and SIM-34 long-range missiles were radar-lock weapons, and given the uselessness of his radar, the missiles would surely follow suit. Only the SIM-7 short-range missile, with its infra-red targeting system, might be of use.
The quartet of "ship busters" in his team would have a slightly easier task. Their weapons – Space Assault Torpedo 12s – were unguided, simply requiring "point and fire" aiming; however, their defence against fighters was a battery of SIM-9 short-range missiles, and those were radar guided. Given the effectiveness of their SIM and SAT weapons, few Union Force pilots were truly adept at using their armour-blaster cannons or their multi-barrel guns. The two fixed weapons, of 115mm and 36mm calibres respectively on Typhoons, weren't too difficult to use, but required a decent pilot to bring out their full effectiveness. Lauser doubted many could make best use of them.
As they swept forward, it was Lucy Boyd who first detected the enemy craft. Her transmission was garbled by the interference, but it was clear enough:
"…humanoid… massive rifles! What… orders… ?"
Lauser saw them too, the grainy zoomed images on his forward display definitely shaped like humans. Massive humans, with massive weapons. The shape of their gray bodies managed an eerily beautiful compromise between rounded organic and mechanical angular shapes, but the single "eye" in their heads reminded Lauser of the mythical Cyclopes, beasts feared for their power.
"All units, shoot them down!" he exclaimed.
The mobile suits of the Van Steenvoort Squadron encountered the Elephantine Team's cosmofighters at 1046 Lunar Standard Time.
With a nod – literally – from Julius' machine, Cyril's team of Type-B units raced ahead, towards the Union Force's ships. To either side of the "Cheshire Cat" quartet, many more Dauntless Spartans did the same, racing forward on almost two hundred thousand kilograms of nuclear-powered thrust, all with similar targets; battleships, escort cruisers, light cruisers. Whatever they could destroy would be destroyed. Cyril found himself appalled but also amused by the Union's tactics; virtually no cosmofighters were left defending the fleet.
A few older model Hurricanes shot out towards Cyril's group. In a hail of fire from Cyril's heavy 100mm machinegun the lead fighter erupted in flames, scattering debris across its comrades. Mia, Stuart and Yalchin chimed in with their machineguns, blasting at the fighters between them and the enemy ships.
Valentina Yalchin found herself with a fighter straight ahead; a pair of missiles reached across space towards her mobile suit. Arms at her sides, she opened fire with the CIWS guns on the collar of her machine, the volley making quick work of the missiles. A burst from the thrusters in her shins brought the Spartan above the fighter, surprising its pilot. Valentina used the pilot's slow reaction time to keep her machine facing the fighter, whilst raising her own machinegun. Just before the fighter pilot had chance to squeeze the trigger to launch a heavy missile into the giant human machine, a massive shell tore through his cockpit, killing him instantly.
Philippe Mia was duelling with a Hurricane he found particularly irritating. Several decoys from the launchers in his Dauntless' dual head fins had already been used to distract the missiles from the little swept-wing fighter, and it was taking some fancy manoeuvring to dodge random blasts of heavy armour-blaster shells. As wasteful as it was, Philippe found himself forced to fire one of the two rounds of ammunition from the triple-barrel missile launcher on his right shin.
The pilot of the Hurricane was good, evading two missiles. However, the third missile struck the cosmofighter's wing, knocking it of course and dazing its pilot. The colonial Marine quickly took advantage of this. As the cosmofighter hurtled towards his machine, a quick thruster burst positioned him "above" the fighter, using the magnets in the mobile suit's feet to stand atop the craft. Raising its left leg, closer to the fighter's nose, Mia drove the foot into the cosmofighter's cockpit, brutally ending the pilot's life, before disengaging the magnets and rushing off towards the Union fleet.
"Bloody fighter… I better not miss out on a battleship because of you!" he exclaimed, trying to squeeze out as much thrust from his machine as possible.
"I'll share one if you like, Phil, I'm not greedy!" chimed in Laurence Stuart. He hadn't had to face any of the cosmofighters, so it only seemed fair.
"Whoever gets there first gets credit, Laurence!"
"You're on!"
The two blasted forward with their comrades. It looked as if the contingent from Van Steenvoort's force would get their first, the Richmond Squadron – all four in Type-Bs – a distant second, having launched later from the destroyer Pacific. Technically, the Van Steenvoort Squadron should have been two separate forces, one led by Van Steenvoort, the other by Cheshire, but it worked out easier to combine them.
Meanwhile, the main battle between mobile suits and cosmofighters was kicking off, and going very badly for the cosmofighters…
Anna Pilkington was frustrated.
She had narrowly avoided being blasted by a Typhoon, a quick automatic reaction by her shoulder shields the only thing saving her cockpit. The heavy armour-blaster rounds from a Typhoon, powerful as they were intended to be, had nothing on the kinetic-deflector circuitry in the shields, which could – and had – altered the path of the shells to go around the Dauntless.
It still bothered her to have to rely on fancy tricks, though. Turning her mobile suit's waist, Anna fired a quick burst from her assault rifle, spraying 75mm shells toward the offending cosmofighter, whose attack run had pushed it past the mobile suit, making a beeline for a nearby cruiser. Her bullets failed to connect, but did have one positive aspect.
The fighter, in its evasion, moved right into the path of the destroyer Atlantic's upper plasma cannon, just as it was commencing a barrage against the Union fleet. Pilot and machine were turned to scattered atoms in the blink of an eye, even as the purple beam scorched across the hull of a light cruiser.
In the light of the explosion, Anna moved on to the next fighter. This one fired a pair of SIM-7 missiles at her Dauntless. Depressing one of the triggers on her left joystick, Pilkington fired decoys from the fins on the sides of her mobile suit's head. The infra-red missiles quickly broke their lock to go for the more intense heat source, now the multipurpose decoys racing away from the mobile suit; with their superb speed and mobility, the missiles quickly caught the decoys, destroying themselves and the false targets in a burst of blue light.
Meanwhile, the offending cosmofighter soon found itself using its own decoys, as Anna fired a full volley from the pair of 15-barrel micromissile launchers on her mobile suit's shields. The unguided rockets all missed their mark, but drove the fighter into the line of her 75mm rifle, which this time scored fatal hits in the cosmofighter's engines; the red and black Elephantine Team fighter was quickly consumed in a nuclear fireball.
Turning her mobile suit's head, she spotted Barry having fun with a fighter, before returning to the battle.
Barry was having less fun than it seemed. The fighter he was engaging had a surprisingly good pilot, whose abilities were almost neutralising the inherent inferiority of the cosmofighter. As a man trained on the humanoid machines, it bothered him that a fly could be so difficult to swat. Still, its pilot clearly lacked confidence in his own sniping abilities; all Rowse had dealt with so far was missiles and a few 36mm volleys, no shots from the armour-blaster cannons.
As the fighter accelerated straight towards him, Barry had an idea. As the fighter came in for a killer attack, this time with the armour-blasters, he used his suit's apogee motors to rotate ninety degrees backwards; to the fighter, it would appear he had gone from standing to laying down. As he reoriented himself upside-down relative to his original orientation, Barry unhooked the 230mm bazooka from his machine's rear skirt, firing a rocket right into the centre of the fighter as it attempted to loop around for another missile attack. The explosion was quite beautiful, Rowse thought.
Garth Lauser was furious.
Another explosion lit up his virtual-display monitors; a small caption box indicated another of his team shot down. "SHAW!" he exclaimed, as he realised who had been killed. They had already lost Thomas and Carroll, now Shaw too! "These humanoid machines are monsters!"
Finally, Lauser spotted what appeared to be the unit leader. Its design wasn't too much different, but a large "horn" protruded from the head, and the shoulders were painted differently. No force can fight without its head! Charging in, Lauser launched a pair of SIM-34 heavy missiles; though they were meant for long-range engagements, their radar guidance had no chance in this battlefield, so they were put to best use as close as possible. Besides which, he had already observed direct body hits by SIM-9s leave barely a scratch on a humanoid's body, though it did seem to bleed…
The missiles streaking toward his newfound opponent were picked off before they were even halfway there, but not by the horned leader. It was another humanoid, marked as "05", ripping the missiles out of space with its rifle. An assault rifle as big an armour-blaster, whose rate of fire was positively glacial in comparison. Missile-killing "05" didn't hang around, though, instead heading for Dale and Evans' units. Lauser went back to the leader, hoping – praying, even – the horn didn't indicate a far superior fighting power.
With superb aim, Lauser unleashed his armour-blasters, letting off three shots from each cannon as he closed the gap on the enemy. Powerful or not, this humanoid surely couldn't withstand six armour-blaster rounds.
It didn't withstand them. Instead, the humanoid's shields deflected the heavy rounds past its body, leaving it unscathed. Furious, Lauser squeezed and held the trigger for his 36mm cannons, aiming to take the humanoid's head. Sadly, its superb agility allowed it to keep strafing out of the firing line, no matter how many times he fired. In seconds, Lauser found he had emptied over four hundred bullets from the dual cannons, yet left not a pockmark on his enemy. His enemy hadn't yet fired.
"What's going on! I'm wasting ammunition, and this… thing is superbly conserving its own! I've got to kill it, for my own pride!"
Letting out a furious battle cry, he charged again.
Julius found himself in what was proving to be a harder-than-expected battle. Even though the enemy was wasting ammunition trying to hurt a Dauntless with the cannons it had, the marksmanship it displayed was impressive. Unfortunately for this enemy, kinetic-deflectors would continue making all the marksmanship in space entirely irrelevant.
With the violet-hued Earth below his mobile suit's feet, Julius began his counterattack.
The fighter, not expecting this, came to a sudden stop. Van Steenvoort recognised it as having the dagger insignia of a commander on its nose. "Commander versus commander, eh?" he mused. It was a curious observation. He recalled the fact it was considered honourable for noble leaders in ancient times to be executed with swords, rather than the axe given to most. With this in mind, he latched his rifle onto the Dauntless' rear skirt, drawing the hyper-vibration sword from its sheath on his left hip armour, intending to let its moving blade do the job.
Swordplay in a mobile suit was easily learned but difficult to master; Julius Van Steenvoort was a master with the sword. As he approached the enemy, now attempting to evade, Julius easily matched its almost-random changes of direction. Sword in hand, he took a swing, severing the fighter's right wing.
"Oh, damn. Missed him." Julius decided to let the fighter live, as it had survived his fatal blow. He had seven kills already, and wasn't greedy. Until, that was, another cosmofighter, this one in painted a salmon red, moved in to intercept him at incredible speed, like a red comet. Easily evading its cannon attacks, Julius positioned himself below the fighter as he drew a combat knife from his suit's left knee armour sheath, and drove the knife into the bottom of the cockpit. No more "red comet".
Becks was on her fourth or fifth kill; she'd lost track, but the combat computer would have recorded it. Number five – or six – was to be a blue-winged Mustang. Klein's rifle was stored on her suit's rear skirt armour. Rather than employ it in combat, she was putting her own superb marksmanship to good use, carrying a pair of 140mm pistols instead. Fighter number five – or six – attempted to fire missiles then break away, but found its cockpit reduced to slag by two perfectly-placed shots from gigantic pistols. It had, however, fired a medium missile.
Becks, still dazzled by the fighter's death, didn't notice the incoming missile until it was too late. A SIM-26 medium missile caught her machine just below its cockpit, exploding with considerable force. A fighter would be dead and gone.
Not a Dauntless, though.
Even as its outer titanium armour was melted, the liquid armour gel beneath the point of impact went into action, instantly solidifying in the "wound". A small trickle, however, had released before the freeze went into effect, and dribbled onto the armour. To an observer, it would appear the gigantic robot was bleeding metallic blue blood…
Becks dove right back into the fight.
"Okay, people, make chaos amongst them!" exclaimed Cyril Cheshire to his team.
And chaos they made.
Cyril began things, placing a rocket from his gigantic bazooka right through the bridge of the battleship Murdock with glee. One rocket down, two to go. With his free left hand, Cyril grabbed the hyper-vibration tomahawk from inside his right shoulder shield, and moved on. Dancing through fire from a nearby cruiser – the C171 Ebor according to its hull – Cyril continued to make his merry way through, choosing to cut into its bridge tower, vertically chopping the bridge in two.
Two ships down, and two rockets left. Game on.
Philippe got his battleship. His giant bazooka ripped through the nuclear engines of the battleship Oveur, consuming the ship in a spectacular fireball. Philippe found himself breathing heavily as the realisation of his actions hit.
"All those people… all dead…" he muttered in the cockpit. "They were Lunar soldiers though! They deserved it!"
Satisfied with this conclusion, he moved on.
Nearby, Valentina was blasting away at a cruiser. Her machinegun was gouging holes in the ship's hull, picking apart its cannons and anti-air turrets. All in all, it was an impressive show display of accuracy rather than brute force, quite representative of what mobile suits were about compared to the cosmofighters they evolved from.
Eventually, the thrill of precision lost its appeal. Her mobile suit positioned at the portside of the cruiser's bridge, Valentina put a bullet through its window panels, leaving an identical hole on the starboard side. The bridge crew were spaced in moments, the precaution of wearing normal suits having not seemed necessary as the ship had entered combat.
Laurence also made his mark on the Union fleet. An escort cruiser filled his vision; he could see every detail on its hull, the seams in its armour plates like a network of miniature trenches. As the rockets unloaded into its engines, the trenches expanded, widened, until the ship's hull burst open, torn apart by the power of the atom, as yet unmatched by humankind.
In the glow of the explosion, Laurence barely noticed the other cruiser's main cannon. As it was, he pushed "up" just in time to keep himself alive, but the Dauntless' legs were blasted clear off; particles on the beam's periphery interacted with energy lines within the severed legs, causing a set of explosions which ripped through the machine's lower torso. This was a fatal blow, even for a Dauntless.
Laurence was aware of how close he was to death, of course. In one last act of defiance against the Union, he pushed his thrusters to the full, on a collision course for his assailant's bridge. Even with anti-air shells clawing at his suit's armour Laurence Stuart pressed on, metre by metre. As metal hit metal, the fragile mobile suit finally gave in to its fate, its body cracking open like an eggshell, albeit an eggshell containing a nuclear bomb. The cruiser had no chance, its bridge tower vaporising almost instantly, the hull battered by the explosion and fragments of mobile suit.
In another part of space, Andy Richmond and his squadron were encountering far fiercer resistance. One Dauntless had already retreated back to their mothership with a severed right leg, another had taken a hit that disabled the right elbow, and all were running low on propellant and ammunition. Adding to their problems, a formation of cosmofighters had broken off from the main battle and were setting their sights on the Dauntless' assaulting their main fleet. Swallowing his pride, Richmond launched a blue flare from his machine's head launchers; blue flares meant HELP.
The first person to see the flares, Mary Brandon of the Brandon Squadron, found herself unable to do anything; her and the other three machines of her unit had become engaged in battle with a team of pure white cosmofighters, whose pilots were proving to be almost predatory, despite their horrifyingly inferior hardware. An encoded laser-burst transmission, however, passed the message on to another squadron leader.
Julius Van Steenvoort received the text message via laser-transmission just after receiving word from Cyril that his team – sans one member – were on their way back to ship for resupply. With the voice-transcription system in his cockpit, Julius sent text messages ordering the Type-B team to reequip as Type-As and maintain fleet guard, before bringing his team into formation to support the Richmond Squadron.
They were running on just under half-full propellant, were low on ammunition, and with more than a few battle scars across their fresh paint. But the Van Steenvoort Squadron wouldn't back down. Not when they were still in the fight. Especially not when comrades' lives were at stake.
Besides which, Andy owed Julius a drink from the last multi-squadron drinking night.
"Alright, let's go! I hate unpaid debts!"
White-hot thruster trails in their wake, Julius' team sallied forth.
As Lauser docked his damaged fighter, he glanced around, looking to see who else had come back. Lucy was standing next to her own craft, marvelling at how it had survived. There was barely anything left of it, and violent gashes attested to how close what was left had come to being scattered across space.
More important, Lucy Boyd was definitely alive.
Why do I care so much? She's a member of my squadron, true, but still…
Garth Lauser, whilst not unattractive, wasn't much of a relationship man, his strictly business attitude and overbearing perfectionism being rather off-putting to most of the men and women who might consider him a worthy partner. As such, he was somewhat naïve when it came to attraction, and even his own reactions to those he found attractive.
As such, it was quite surprising to all around when the Lieutenant Commander kissed Lucy so passionately.
On the bridge of the Intrepid, Admiral Milberger raged. His fleet was being torn to pieces by those giant toy robots, and it seemed the combined might of his forces could do nothing to stop them.
The admiral was, it had to be said, pretty pissed off.
"Do we have any other ships?" he demanded of the bridge crew.
"No sir! All other ships are in battle, we can't pull them out."
"Dammit all! Well, we have a few fighters aboard… eject a few Santa nuclear missiles behind us as mines, this ship will retreat back to Morpheus!"
The ship's captain, a coward in the face of the enemy's power, was quick to agree. "Turn this ship! Drop six Santa torpedoes, rig them to detonate if any enemies pursue us. We are retreating from this combat zone!"
Tail firmly between legs, the flagship of the Hallam Fleet retreated.
"Becks, hold the line dammit!" exclaimed Julius. His team's most hyperactive member was really testing the nigh-infinite patience of her commander, breaking formation at inopportune moments to blast away at any cosmofighters that came nearby.
There was a reason to hold formation when shepherding the remainder of the Richmond Squadron back, that being not getting anyone else killed. Julius was aware of four Dauntless losses in the battle so far, a team's worth of pilots downed; a terrible waste. His own actions were nothing to be proud of, abandoning his shoot-to-disable tactics for shoot-to-kill. Necessary as it was, it left a bad taste in the commander's mouth, he felt sick.
"I can finish them!" replied Becks, eager to dive back into battle.
Good to her word, Klein threw her mobile suit back into combat, homing in on the retreating enemy flagship. As she approached, a fighter swooped towards her from behind, aiming for a deadly blow to the Spartan's backpack.
Ever resourceful, Becks shifted the giant robot to one side, out of the firing line, before delivering a fearsome punch to its underbelly. The fighter, out of control, spun right into one of the SANT-A – or "Santa" – nuclear torpedoes in the Intrepid's hastily deployed minefield.
Despite the fact that her monitor practically shut down to reduce the intensity, Becks still had to put a hand in front of her helmet's visor and close her eyes to avoid the glare.
"A nuclear weapon…"
The explosion lit up the battlefield, leaving a few combatants momentarily blinded as their exposure filters failed to react quickly enough. Several pilots sat awestruck at the sight of the nuclear explosion seemingly in the middle of nowhere; SANT-A torpedoes packed a massive punch, and seeing one used as a mine – or seeing one at all – was quite a sight.
Twin flares launched from the Ibuki, bright red. The entire Marine force knew exactly what it meant: Follow the flares, we're about to fire the big guns. Taking potshots at the cosmofighters foolish enough to pursue, the surviving Dauntless force threw themselves to the relative "above" and "below" of the fleet, in preparation for the onslaught.
Becks Klein, who had been ahead of the main pockets of Dauntless troops, was the last to check in "below" the force, luckily avoiding a date with a Starburst missile…
On the bridge of the Ibuki, Demry was raging. Again.
"Nuclear weapons! My god, those bastards!" one deep breath later, he continued, calmer, "Communications, fire red flares from dorsal and ventral launchers on my mark. Signal the fleet with our attack orders. Weapons, prepare a three-wave Starburst missile attack, followed by plasma attack, thirty seconds from the mark."
"Sir! Transmitting orders to the fleet. Receipt bursts confirmed from all ships."
"Weapon solutions ready, all missile banks and cannons ready."
"Okay then. Mark."
A thirty second countdown began on the large display above the main bridge windows, and on a weapons monitor in front of Olivia Fisher, seconds rushing away as allied mobile suits fled the firing line. A few small explosions, highlighted by yellow boxes on the main display's monitor layer, lit up the battlefield, presumably unlucky Lunar fighters giving chase to the Marines.
Three…
All eyes on the forward display.
Two…
All mouths take a breath.
One…
All muscles tense.
Zero!
The deck vibrated as missiles tore out of the ship's launchers, the rest of the fleet chiming in moments later. The weapons were homing in on the last confirmed positions of the Union vessels, tagged with red squares on the Ibuki's displays, the best that could be done with the titanic amount of electronic interference in the battle zone.
Another wave of missiles shot out moments later. A few heartbeats later the third wave streaked out to meet the enemy, white plumes of thruster exhaust trailing behind them. If they didn't give away the positions of the Armada vessels, the plasma attack surely would.
Each SCAT ship had an assigned "zone" to attack in; they were to aim at as many ships in that "zone" as was possible. Ibuki had tags for two Union warships in its own, and so Olivia divided the cannons evenly; two dual cannons and a single cannon each. Purple plasma fire streaked across space, through the afterglow of missile warheads which had released their deadly payloads. Though they could barely see it, almost every beam set forth by the Armada ships had struck an enemy ship, doing varying degrees of damage.
With the barrage over, the Marine teams whose machines had been resupplied moved out to finish the job. The teams who hadn't had their fuel or ammo replenished returned to their motherships, their battles over.
The carnage was incredible. Fuelled by the same fury as Ibuki Captain Demry at the shameless use of nuclear weapons, a dozen Dauntless units carved their way through the remainder of the enemy fleet, mercilessly laying waste to their enemies. There wasn't much to do, the leftover enemies having been pretty well diced by the plasma attack. The few surviving ships were quickly pulled apart under an unrestrained hail of bullets and rockets, however, a testament to the Marines' rage.
With their opponents either dead or running for their lives, the SCAT fleet regrouped and returned home.
The sole Union ship headed for home, not sure what reception would await…
Downtown Woodthorpe, Blenheim Colony, Churchill Prefecture, Lagrange Point Four.
June 15, SCE 144. 2045 Hours LST.
While one end of the Blenheim Colony was a military facility, the other half contained the vibrant, lively town of Woodthorpe… at least according to the tourist guide.
According to SCAT personnel, it was home to a lot of good bars.
One of these, and a favourite of the Marines, was My Name's Jim, a small but cosy place in Downtown's trendy Hilton Point area. Amid the casually-dressed and deep in conversation mobile suit pilots were Julius and Donna, sitting at a table with two half-empty bottles of beer – and several other fully empty ones – chatting away as an old Andy Wallace ballad played in the background.
"I still say it shouldn't have happened…" muttered Alex, smiling slightly.
"Well, what did you expect?" Donna replied, sticking her tongue out to emphasise her point.
"True enough," the smile turned sheepish. "But I can't believe you managed to do that."
"You didn't think a sweet and innocent little girl like me could manage it?"
"I didn't think a 'sweet and innocent little girl' like you knew how to…"
"Are you kidding? I have two older brothers! Of course I down beers in one, you daft flyboy!"
"Fair point. Another round?"
Donna nodded happily. "Of course. After all, you're paying tonight!"
With a grin, Julius ambled over to the bar. Tonight was an enjoyable night. Yes, people had died. Yes, there'd be a war, for sure. But for tonight, if only for tonight, the world could wait.
Garth Lauser's Apartment, Ostia, Arno City, Medici Federation, Luna.
June 17, SCE 144. 0730 Hours LST.
A shrill alarm awoke Lieutenant Commander Lauser. It had been a long time since he had heard it regularly, having been at the Tiberius Barracks since his last leave several months ago. He enjoyed spending time in his apartment. Ostia wasn't the richest or most prestigious suburb of Arno City, but it was affordable for a cosmofighter pilot, and a few of his close friends had their own places nearby.
Grunting slightly, Garth turned, only to find Lucy Boyd next to him.
Memories came back… the horrific defeat at Churchill, the admiral's irrational fury at everything on the return trip, and the meeting with Admiral Peters at space fortress Morpheus at L1. Peters, one of the top officers in the Cosmofighter Corps, had personally informed Lauser he would have to report to a special inquest to be held by the Supreme Command in Arno. Rumour had it even Chairman Vecchio would be there.
The Union hated to lose, and any defeat that cost almost an entire fleet required someone to be punished. Garth dearly hoped it would be Admiral Milberger.
Still, glancing at Lucy's nude form, he quietly voiced his thoughts.
"If only things could stay like this… "
Phase-02 End
