Briefing on UNE Naval Doctrine
For many years the UNE Navy has focused its tactics on set piece battles involving engagements between enemy cruiser formations escorted by frigates and supported by carriers. This focus was derived from the simple lack of comparable opponents to the UNE and that wargames the navy conducted was based on its own line of battle. This lack of imagination was to have severe consequences when the Colonial Independence Navy was formed.
Due to this emphasis on overwhelming power, UNE captains early in the war were often reluctant to engage enemy formations unless they held an obvious advantage in numbers and tonnage. This tendency to hesitate worked greatly to the advantage of our own fleet commanders, allowing them to employ bait and switch tactics to either engage or discourage enemy taskforces. That the UNE Navy also tended to keep its fleets concentrated and only doled out light craft squadron for patrol purposes also helped significantly. While UNE light craft squadrons are on average more skilled and experienced than our own pilots, our tendency to use corvettes on raids and patrols have meant that such small skirmishes tend to end in our favor.
Since the Purge however, a new generation of more aggressive UNE officers have come forward and UNE doctrine has evolved considerably. Taking the lessons they learned in the field, these officers have become far more willing to engage our formations even when force levels are at parity or even disadvantageous. The deployment of frigates for routine patrols has also reduced our ability to operate in UNE controlled sectors short of significantly reinforcing our own forces. Curiously the UNE Navy continues to hold the majority of its cruisers and carriers in reserve, likely in preparation for a major strike. When this strike happens, the enemy that we face will be considerably tougher than what we faced at the start of the war, ironically because of the lessons we inflicted upon them.
Rear Admiral Ricardo Manning
Director of CIN Training
Colonial Independence Navy
Chapter 8: Swords Cast Aside
The Black Fleet's reputation was well deserved, of that Reynolds did not doubt for a moment. But today they had met their match and would finally be consigned to the history books. The first nail in their coffin was being hammered in now as her squadron came crashing down on the lone cruiser and its escorts.
Each fighter let off a single missile before peeling off, splitting the attention of the cruiser's guns. Right behind them however the strike suit roared in, locking onto the now distracted point defenses and letting loose.
"Guns down, Boomer, your turn."
"Aye ma'am, bombers beginning run now!"
Traditionally bombers tried to approach a cruiser from below or the rear to avoid the heavy concentration of guns along the topside. Today however the bombers dove straight down from above, unloading pairs of torpedoes the entire way. The dozen or so torpedoes that made it through was a severe case of overkill and snapped the warship in half before its overloading reactor finished the job.
"Enemy warship got off a transmission before it blew," Khaldi reported.
The fighter fleeing Reynolds survived a few seconds more as Reynolds processed her subordinate's statement. Then it too was nothing but plasma vapors.
"Can you trace it?"
"Control's already got coordinates for us ma'am. They match the vector the runners folded out to. This might be it."
Reynolds nodded though no one could see it. "Alright, lock in coordinates and be prepared for a fight the moment we fold in. Boomer, hold station until we confirm."
"Roger that ma'am. Good luck."
"At this point it's the Cindies that need it, not us," Reynolds said.
That was certainly true enough. The fighters joined up and as a single unit disappeared. They reappeared moments later and were greeted by a massive barrage of plasma and missiles.
"Shit, they were expecting us," McBride said.
"You think? Break their formation and corral them!"
The order was easier given than obeyed. The UNE fighters opened fire, scoring no kills but succeeding in stalling the enemy charge. The Colonials pressed in, not wishing to give them any breathing room. For what seemed an eternity both sides seemed deadlocked but it was Reynolds' squadron that was feeling the heat now. It was only a matter of time before something broke and the sudden loss of a signal was all Reynolds needed to confirm the worst.
"Shit, Piper just bought it!"
"Stay focused, watch your wingman and don't get reckless!" Reynolds ordered.
That again was easier said than done when her own wingman was plowing through the Colonial formations with all the subtlety as a bulldozer. There was a method to his madness however as a flare of fold energy erupted in the midst of the Colonial light craft and explosions tore through their numbers. At this range Adams did not even need his fancy missiles to down large numbers of enemies at once, the fold cannons were more than adequate.
Call in the cavalry.
Reynolds needed no encouragement and the moment her own fighter was out of the melee she fired off a transmission.
"This is Reynolds, Petrushka located with two frigates as escorts. Captain McCallum, we could use some bombers here."
"This is McCallum, I'm bringing in Arcadia and the rest of the wing. Hang tight, we'll be there momentarily."
"Cavalry's on its way," Reynolds said. "Let's make sure their welcome is nicer than ours."
Another wave of fighters and interceptors was nearly upon the UNE squadron but Adams' outburst had given them enough time to regroup. This time both sides entered the fray with targets in their sights and the Colonial pilots got a first-hand lesson in the ferocity the 207 was capable of.
The first target that strayed into Reynolds' sights was a heavy fighter, tough bastards that mounted both better weapons and armor than a standard APEX fighter. The upgrade to a 1500ep evened the odds with respect to firepower however and the heavy warhead her current missiles mounted meant the enemy's armor was not nearly as thick as it used to be. The trick of course was getting a lock on her would be victim.
Bullets sprayed about in front of Reynolds as she systematically stripped away her opponent's shields. Not surprisingly, the heavy fighter braked hard in an attempt to get Reynolds to overshoot him. The move had been expected however and while Reynolds did fly past her target, her own fighter flipped around and once more had her target in her sights.
The two fighters were now on a collision course and both rolled, trying to avoid the other's fire while angling for the killing shot. Here and there bursts of plasma burned red against Reynolds' shield even as she managed nothing more than glancing hits. Those hits were however enough to keep the enemy fighter from regenerating its shield, leaving it wide open as Reynolds finally let loose her missile. At this range the enemy pilot probably barely registered what was happening before a massive explosion consumed the heavy fighter.
As Reynolds searched for her next victim, a bright flash erupted as Arcadia emerged on the battlefield accompanied by her bombers and interceptors. The two Colonial frigates immediately moved to engage, drawing away from the carrier they were supposed to protect.
At the same time, this meant the enemy was moving into range of Arcadia's own guns and the results of the carrier opening fire was not surprising. Frigates were never intended to engage in a stand up fight against larger warships and Colonial frigates were in many ways an ad hoc design that barely qualified as warships. The opening broadside from the carrier's cannons sliced through the enemy's hull with almost contemptuous ease, wrecking the forward hammerhead and more importantly the torpedo tubes mounted there.
"Alpha flight, we're going in. I want those frigates crippled before they can hammer Arcadia."
The three ships broke off from the tangled mass and accelerated towards their new targets. A few enemy fighters attempted to pursue, but now reinforced Reynolds' squadron made any attempt to disengage a very bad idea. Momentarily clear of further interference, alpha flight was free to wreck more havoc.
"Ma'am, we've got more heavy fighters coming to meet us," McBride said. "We'll only have time for one pass before they're on us."
"Alright, Reaper, you got a charge?"
Click.
"Good, focus on the beam and heavy plasma turrets. Brigit and I'll fly interference. After that, you break and make a run for the other frigate."
Another click. At least Adams was not arguing with her about the orders or insisting that he stay and help.
The approach was starting to get bumpy as the frigate opened fire on them, throwing flak and plasma into their path. A missile here and there locked on, but expertly timed EM pulses just as quickly threw them off. Locking on, Reynolds let off two missiles and watched in satisfaction as they blew apart a forward plasma cannon. She then hit her thrusters once more, skipping over the frigate to meet the incoming heavy fighters.
Suddenly, a storm of missiles blew past her and smashed into the incoming wave. Reynolds had just enough time to realize what had happened before opening fire herself, quickly nailing two fighters that had been crippled by the sudden onslaught. Turning about, Reynolds watched as the strike suit reverted to flight mode and charged toward the second frigate.
"Idiot," Reynolds muttered.
It appeared that while Adams would not openly debate an order he disagreed with, he was perfectly willing to bend that order into a shape he preferred. While this frigate's heavy weapons were indeed smoking craters, she had intended for Adams to conserve the suit's charge to do the same to the second frigate. Now though it was something of an open question whether he had enough firepower to accomplish that task.
"Change of plans, we're going after him," Reynolds said.
"Aye ma'am," McBride said, a tinge of the same wiry exasperation in her response.
One frigate was now effectively out of the fight, its remaining point defenses not even enough to save it from the fighters and bombers homing in for the kill. The other still spewed fire even with its torpedo tubes completely trashed. That lasted only a bit longer as the strike suit came into range.
"At least he's following orders this time," Reynolds muttered as she watched a salvo of missiles smash into the frigate.
"Main cannons are offline, I'd say we're done here," McBride said.
Reynolds' HUD beeped. "Think again, other frigate just launched torpedoes."
"What, how'd it get them off?"
It was a valid point as the frigate in question was busy breaking apart from Arcadia's bombardment. Yet somehow it had managed to get off one last quartet of torpedoes which were speeding towards the carrier. Then they too vanished in balls of fire as the strike suit skimmed past them.
"What is he, a teleporter!?" McBride said in disbelief.
"No, he just has a really fast ship, which we'll all get after this is over," Reynolds said. "Alright, 207, form up. Time to go burn a straw doll-Reaper, stop charging ahead!"
The warning went unheeded as the strike suit flew towards the enemy carrier. Or rather, the unheeding lasted until a wall of flak and plasma erupted in Adams' path and he was forced to divert. Fortunately there were plenty of other targets as a force of interceptors and heavy fighters were making a run at Arcadia's bombers. Adams settled in behind them before shifting to strike mode and methodically slaughtered as many as he could.
"Enemy attack waves have been routed," McCallum said. "All ships, priority target is the Petrushka."
The UNE light craft needed no further urging and all began converging on the Black Fleet carrier. To her commander's credit, Petrushka did not go quietly. She dipped, bringing all of her guns to bear on the incoming bombers and savaged their ranks. The few torpedoes that were actually launched fell well short of their target. The honor of first blood instead fell to Arcadia as her beam cannons lashed out at the enemy carrier.
"Angel, enemy fighters are dispersing!" Khaldi reported.
"Let them run, focus on Petrushka."
"It's probably trying to spin up its fold drive," McBride said.
Not if I can help it.
Adams' declaration was all the notification they got as the strike suit unloaded on the carrier's guns. Immediately after, he dove behind the carrier and spat out a steady stream of rockets into the carrier's engines.
I'm out, Adams declared.
"Fold energy levels dropping," Khaldi said. "I think that did it."
"All ships clear firing lanes," McCallum ordered.
Moments later, Arcadia unleashed the full fury of its beam cannons.
"Holy crap, I think they just nailed the bridge!" McBride exclaimed.
That would have at least been a quick death, Reynolds noted somberly.
"It's breaking apart!"
The Black Fleet flagship seemed to struggle, doing all it could to delay the inevitable. Even to the end the few remaining turrets continued to fire, but at this point the rest of the wing was hanging back and letting Arcadia deal the finishing blow. Finally, the hull cracked and splintered with explosions erupting from the seams. Somehow Petrushka's engineers managed to keep her reactors from going critical but the carrier died nonetheless, with a whimper instead of a bang.
As the last of the Colonial light craft folded out, a hushed silence fell upon the battlefield. Reynolds eased off the thrusters and let her fighter drift a bit as she took in the broken hull of the carrier. Petrushka's destruction still seemed an illusion and she waited, almost expecting the shattered hulk to suddenly reassemble itself and resume firing. But the wreck continued floating there, the faint glow of melted armor slowly cooling into darkness.
A beep shook her out of her daze and Reynolds watched as the strike suit began arcing back towards Arcadia.
"Reaper, we did it," she said over the radio.
Silence answered her and Reynolds' frown grew wider with every passing second.
"Adams?"
Again nothing came back and Reynolds pulled up the readout from Adams' ship. Her eyes widened and she immediately punched up Arcadia.
"Arcadia control, this is Reynolds. Adams is unconscious. Do you have a lock on his ship?"
Her voice was cool and composed but a slight tremble was working its way to the surface.
"We copy, commander. The strike suit is locked on an automated return approach. He must have activated it before he lost consciousness."
"Acknowledged. I'm coming in right behind him."
Banking her fighter hard, Reynolds shot after her wingman. Her heart was pounding and she could feel every thud. They had been through so much together, not just since meeting up again after all those years but also back during the academy days. Now, to lose him just when they had triumphed over the invincible Black Fleet was unthinkable. She needed to see him, to know that he would rise again no matter what had knocked him down now. Until that happened, Reynolds knew she could not be at ease.
Her fighter glided to a halt and Reynolds shut down its systems, her hands going through the motions purely on muscle memory. Once done, Reynolds vaulted out and rushed towards the strike suit. Adams had already been extracted from the ship and was lying on a gurney.
"What happened!?"
One of the medics glanced back at Reynolds. "Not sure yet ma'am, it looks like he's in shock but we won't know for certain until we can image him."
With that they began rolling him out of the hanger. Reynolds stuck straight behind, her mind focused entirely on Adams. She had to know if he was going to make it or not. Everything else seemed to disappear into the background.
The briefing taking place was as impromptu as it was rushed. There was less than an hour before the taskforce would be back in Sol but the issue at hand needed to be dealt with before then for it involved what many considered their trump card.
"Internal bleeding?"
The man that nodded was seated to McCallum's right and was the chief medical officer for the carrier. That also made Moyanta the one responsible for treating Adams after his return to Arcadia unconscious.
"As far as we can tell, it seems to be coming from the strain of piloting the strike suit."
McCallum glared at the display projecting the AI. "Control, I thought you said the strike suit's inertial dampeners were up to the task."
"The required limits were based on projections derived from current generation craft plus a 20% buffer," Control replied. "Lieutenant Adams appears to have managed to push the strike suit well beyond its designed operational limits. A most impressive achievement."
"Impressive or not, it's killing him," Moyanta said. "He can't keep going at this rate. I'm sorry to say this but as the senior medical officer, I have to declare him unfit for duty. You'll need to find someone else to pilot that ship."
"That is unacceptable," Control stated.
This time it was Moyanta's turn to glare. "It's also not your call to make. Adams is going to die if he keeps pushing himself like this. As the ranking physician, it is my judgment that he be grounded."
"The final call isn't yours to make either," McCallum said.
Moyanta blinked. "Sir, you can't be serious. Adams WILL die if we send him out again. As it is, he's lucky to be breathing! If you absolutely need the strike suit, there are other pilots that can handle it for a mission or two. Reynolds for example."
McCallum's eyes shifted over Reynolds, who was standing at attention in his office listening to the exchange.
"Well Reynolds, do you think you could handle the strike suit?"
Every instinct shouted at Reynolds to say yes. She knew she was as good a pilot as Adams, probably. But if she grounded Adams, Reynolds knew he would never forgive her. Not just for not trusting him, but also for putting them, him, before Earth. And so she could not say yes.
"Not as well as Adams, sir."
Moyanta shook his head. "It might not be my call sir, and you all may be right about needing Adams. If you give the order, I will do everything possible to get him back into the cockpit. Just don't be surprised if I can't get him out alive."
"Your concern is noted, lieutenant," McCallum said. "In any other situation, I would probably accept your judgment and ground him. But what's at stake here isn't just the life of a single pilot or even the lives of everyone in this task force. It's the lives of the billions of people on Earth. If I need to sacrifice everyone here to safeguard that, I can and I will, no matter how much it may haunt me."
Moyanta nodded, unhappily but he nodded nonetheless. McCallum accepted that and turned to face Reynolds, his words taking on a more formal stance.
"Lieutenant Commander, please speak with Lieutenant Adams. Ask him if he feels up to piloting the strike suit."
"He's going to say yes sir," Reynolds pointed out.
"You're probably right. Hell, no probably, you're definitely right. But I don't want to send someone out there that doesn't feel up to the task. If we're going to put Adams back in that cockpit, I need him to believe that he'll get out as well."
At that Reynolds nodded. With a click of her heels, she left the conference room and proceeded to the infirmary with one more duty to attend to.
When Reynolds entered the infirmary, Adams was already sitting up and waved cheerfully, almost enthusiastically, at her. Reynolds' pace slowed and uncertainty surfaced once more. She thought she had decided to pass the news to him, to inform him of the captain's request. But seeing him now, attached to the tubes and medical instruments, she was reminded with brutal clarity his mortality. Her own as well, but somehow seeing Adams like this hurt more. As she approached his bedside, Reynolds was still trying to put words to her thoughts. Adams however had something to say first.
Get me out of here.
The firmness, even urgency, with which he signed took Reynolds by surprise before she burst out laughing.
"Going stir crazy, huh?"
Adams nodded, his head bobbing up and down so many times Reynolds thought it would fall off. As her laughter subsided, her face turned solemn.
"The doctor, he talk to you yet?"
A nod and a sign.
Internal wounds.
"Then you know he wants to ground you?"
Adams snorted.
"Hey, I'm serious here. You don't need to get in that ship again. I can take care of it."
Adams started rolling his eyes but his expression stiffened immediately as Reynolds took his hand. He looked her in the eye and blinked. But then he smiled, a small one, but a smile nevertheless. Raising his free hand, he responded and the last sign ended with two fingers straight out with the others folded in.
My choice. For Earth, for you.
This time Reynolds nearly did lose her composure. But she fought back the tears and kept her face as stiff as possible. It hurt and the twinkle in Adams' eyes told her he knew exactly what she was trying not to do, but it hardly mattered. She simply squeezed harder.
"Alright, you stubborn idiot. Let's get you suited up."
As if on cue, one of the nurses walked in with Adams' flight suit. It took a few minutes for the lieutenant to change and he was on his feet, albeit a bit shaky. That shakiness was enough for Reynolds to grab hold of his arm and she nodded to the nurse to grab the other.
"Chief, I need you to get the strike suit ready for Reaper," Reynolds radioed ahead, "we're coming down now."
"Aye ma'am."
"Steady as you go," Reynolds said as she supported him.
Despite the fact that both his arms were being used by other people to support him, Adams still managed to sign.
Not crippled.
This time it was Reynolds' turn to snort. "Oh please, if you're not an invalid at this point, then I'm eating my helmet."
The scratched rustle that served as Adams' chuckle sounded from his throat but he made no further protestations. It took another couple of minutes for them to reach the hanger and Reynolds was so focused on keeping her wingman up that she did not immediately take notice. And then the footsteps echoed and Reynolds realized that the only sound she could hear were of herself, Adams, and the nurse walking. Looking up, her eyes widened.
Instead of the cacophony of men and women prepping ships for launch, there was a solemn silence awaiting them. Arrayed across the hanger standing in neat rows was every surviving pilot of Arcadia's wing along with the munitions techs, mechanics, and every other support tech that kept all those light craft running. As the trio entered the hanger, the click of boots sounded in unison as they saluted.
"Lieutenant Adams," Watson cried out. "Yours is the honor!"
Adams pulled his right arm free and raised it, returning the salute to the hundred or so men and women before him. Then as he lowered it, his hand flickered toward Reynolds. Understanding immediately, she stepped forward.
"To your stations, and let's give them hell!"
"Sir!"
The response thundered through the hanger and the next moment a scramble of boots sounded against the floor. As she turned to help Adams once more, Reynolds saw a brightness shining from his eyes. They gazed out at the hanger, at the men and women he was about to fly with once more, and they showed not one measure of hesitation or doubt.
End of Chapter 8
Almost finished uploading, one more chapter and then the epilogue.