Stargate: Immortal

by Seraphin2011

Book III: The Ori gone, Aschen imprisoned, Wraith changed and pacified, yet the Alliance is threatened once more. The Vargas are coming and no one knows how they are going to survive an enemy that spans throughout the known universe and had done so for billions of years. By closing the anomalies, they have postponed the invasion by more than two years, but will that be enough?

21. Foothold

Author's note: Ah, what to say. After writing the next chapter on and off for eight months while swamped with work, I finally managed to finish it. It wasn't easy though. Often ideas would turn forgotten, sometimes forcing me to invent new ones, only for work to stop me from fully putting them on paper. It is quite difficult to write one single chapter when it is spread over such a long period.

The fact that it had been so long, also had prompted me to write a much longer chapter. So, at least you have enough for an hour or two to read.

I hope I replied to anyone through PM, but it's been so long so, who knows.

As for those with guest account...

Random Norwegian - the Terrans are not retiring any ship that is serviceable, but there are still more stars than they have ships, new and old.

Orentheus - I would like to say that my posting will follow a consistent schedule, but unfortunately, I can't. Work is piling up, and after being glued on my monitor the whole day, I simply don't have the will to spend more in front of it and write for another hour or two. Sorry, don't know how much it will take me to finish this story.

Jonathan - I'm glad you like it so much. Yes, it does sound positive, but not as much because the good guys are not losing but because I don't write about it so much. I mean, the Earth had taken heavy damage and there were a lot of losses, well, I just don't like to focus on that too much.

Eaglestorm27 - It does seem like the story could go on for thousands of years, right. I mean, we are talking about a war that spans across the whole universe and it involves even different planes of existence. Well, what I can say here is that it all depends on how you perceive an ending. Not everything needs to be solved in Liam's Saga.

Guest - I'm glad you like the Destiny arc. Although I must say, that's the one I know what to write the least.

I hope you'll enjoy reading this latest chapter. Also, thanks to my beta for checking up on my writing.

---

While running, Sheppard took a sharp turn into another corridor. He had a lot on his mind and, supposedly, jogging helps. He needed to clear his mind of all the clutter before the day began. As he turned into another corridor, he found a crewmember walking right in front of him. Hastily, he performed a swift evasion that turned into a beautiful triple axel, finishing with a graceful landing three meters away. Or at least that was how he envisioned it in his mind. Instead, what he did wasn't a triple axel at all. What he did—and barely at that—was three-quarters of a single axel. And the smooth landing that he had imagined wasn't smooth at all. The landing almost turned into a graceless fall that could have awarded him an unflattering nickname—one to be spoken behind his back for years to come.

Only the ascended knew how he managed to escape such an undesirable future.

"I'm so sorry, Admiral!" Lieutenant Commander Chekov shouted.

"No need to be sorry, Commander. I'm the one who was running through the hall with my mind elsewhere." Sheppard straightened himself up. Natalia Chekov was the ship's Chief Engineer. She was the person who made the Bellerophon run efficiently, far above the stipulated guidelines. Something not easy to accomplish. "How's the ship doing, Ms. Chekov?"

"The ship's doing fine, sir. I had to change a few shield emitters, that's all. For some reason, they were constantly draining our energy reserves. Nothing alarming, but still something that needed to be addressed," Chekov explained.

"Draining our energy? We haven't been that long in space for faults to appear." It's only been three months since Caldwell took command of the Bellerophon. "So, what's the problem?"

"Not sure, sir," Chekov replied. "Not yet anyway."

She appeared to know more. "Come on, spill it! What're your guts tellin' ya?"

"That the problem lies somewhere in the manufacturing process. It shouldn't be happening, but a crucial piece of the component deteriorates faster than the rest. Also, the auto-repair can't fix it on its own," Chekov answered.

The majestic battlecruiser had a nanite-based auto-repair system capable of fixing the damage a ship of war would sustain during its service. But that wasn't all that it could do. It also performed regular maintenance on many of the ship's components, which deteriorate due to daily wear-and-tear unrelated to battle damage. However, it could not repair everything, far from it. Sometimes, a qualified engineer needed to intervene, mostly when a complex piece needed to be swapped with a fresh one.

"Do you have anything solid? Something I can send back?" Sheppard asked. He would have to send it higher up the chain of command, and the sooner he did, the better it would be. But he still needed to get hard data that proves there's a problem in the manufacturing process.

"I'm still waiting for a few more tests to finish. When complete, I'll know more. That's one of the reasons why I didn't want to say anything, sir, not until I had all the facts. But, if my hunch is correct, we should inform the people back home we might have a serious problem on our hands—one that could affect all our capital ships that have similar components installed."

"They are not going to like it, I can tell you that much," Sheppard said, suddenly feeling more tired than he should, especially after the light jogging that he just had. It should have reinvigorated him.

He would have to send a report that held terrible news, and he knew already that Jack wouldn't like receiving it, let alone having to read it. Paul, the council member responsible for everything the Terran Federation produced these days, would enjoy it even less. The scientists who worked on the part would also start complaining that there must be a mistake because they had tested everything, and it worked fine. Chekov was right to wait for all the facts first. He wished the test would show the Chief were mistaken, but somehow, he felt it wouldn't be the case.

"I'm sure they won't. I'll put everything relevant in the report so that those who worked on it cannot complain. I'll also include a workaround I thought of that can mitigate the problem, and maybe even point them in the right direction to find a permanent solution."

"You already have a way to solve the problem?" he asked, unsure if to accept the engineer's bold statement so easily.

"I can't be sure because additional testing is still needed, and I don't have the time and the resources to do them here. Especially not during a mission that often puts us in combat. We would have to shut down various systems, something that we cannot do," Chekhov explained.

"No, we are fighting in a war one billion light-years away from Earth. The scientists back home will have to do the testing. But I would be glad if you could solve our problem here so that there are no mishaps during combat," he said.

He wasn't that worried about the drain to deplete the ship's energy reserves. Frankly, that was impossible. What bothered him was what happened to the drained energy. Where did it go? Although not a scientist, he heard Rodney point out on several occasions how energy couldn't vanish into thin air. The scientist-slash-friend had mentioned it often enough. It must mean that it had to keep building inside the faulty part, eventually causing overheating.

"No need to worry, sir. The patch I'm working on is for that reason," Chekov said.

It meant she wouldn't allow any accidents during combat due to faulty parts.

He was an Admiral. Therefore, it wasn't his job to know about the ship's regular goings. The Captain and XO were responsible for that. However, he liked to know things. Not just about the Bellerophon, but about all the ships in the task force and their onboard personnel. The flagship, three heavy cruisers, fifteen Defiants, two assault carriers, and a massive support ship, with a total of two thousand sailors under his command, was the extent of his modest task force. The Navy had tasked him to bring chaos to the Vargas allies, to those who had joined the wrong side willingly.

"I think I've taken enough of your time, Commander. It's about time for me to go to the Bridge," he said.

"Yes, sir. I'll be on my way then." Natalia Chekov gave a short salute before continuing with her earlier walk.

Sheppard continued with his jogging at a faster pace. Speeding through many corridors, careful not to bump into someone else, he eventually reached his cabin. After a quick shower and speedy dressing to recuperate the lost time, he proceeded to the Bridge. Thankfully, his destination was only a single teleporter away.

With a barely perceptible hissing sound, the door parted way, allowing him to enter.

The Captain came to meet him. "Good morning, Admiral."

"Good morning, Captain. Is there any news?" he asked.

"Nothing worth mentioning. The enemy let us sleep tonight," Caldwell informed while frowning. He didn't know why the enemy didn't attack yet.

"Not sure they know it's our night cycle," he said.

They. It was how the Captain addressed them. It was mostly because their race had an exceedingly tricky name to pronounce, so much so that it could damage one's vocal cords by merely trying to put together the various syllables. But it was also because Caldwell disliked them—bordering to despising them. The aliens very much resembled dinosaurs and not some evolved type that turned humanoid. They were just like the velociraptors from Earth's distant past, only bigger. However, unlike the little dinos from back on Earth, the ones here were intelligent. He didn't know if it happened naturally or if the Vargas played with their brains to make them that way. It wasn't like he never saw it done to another race. He recalled what the Vanir did to the Green aliens.

These dino-aliens were quite the belligerent type. 'They like shooting at us,' Sheppard thought. "How long has it been since their last attempt?"

Caldwell glanced at his watch before answering. "Close to nine hours."

It was behavior outside of the norm. Usually, they would attack every six hours like clockwork. He sighed, not sure what it meant, or if it meant anything. The truth was that they were out of their element. At least, he and his task force were. When they first arrived in the IC1001 galaxy—the most massive known galaxy that spans across three million light-years—they started harassing races that had willingly sided with the Vargas. It was guerilla warfare on a massive scale. Go in fast and furious against poorly defended targets, cause mayhem of epic proportions before the defenders could understand what is going on, and then scatter like the wind before they could mount a defense. Then, choose another target and repeat the process.

And they had an abundance of targets from which to choose.

It went well in the beginning. Sheppard almost thought his new command would turn out to be a breeze—a task he could perform in his sleep yet, still have the satisfaction they were accomplishing something. But the situation soon changed. The information came that a single race was responsible for the bad guys' entire logistics.

The story behind it wasn't new. The Vargas subjugated that race half a million years ago. They implanted them with a neural interface under the guise of a neural enhancer capable of making their lives better. Instead, it enslaved the Minians just as it did with the Senari. However, the two species' brain was different, and the Minians, for better or worse, were able to cope with the implant much better than the Senari. In time, many Minians overcame the subliminal messages the implant would broadcast into their minds. It should have been the first step towards achieving freedom.

Unfortunately, it didn't go that way.

When the Vargas learned of it, they increased the implant's strength, which turned the Minians into walking zombies. It became hard even to form thoughts of their own, much less confront their oppressor. For all intent and purpose, they were trapped inside their bodies.

It was making Sheppard shudder at the mere thought of having to live like that. He didn't know If he should even call that living.

After the Second Great Alliance reached the IC1001 galaxy, they quickly learned of the Minians' plight and promptly decided to assist them. The fact that stripping the Vargas of the Minians would cause considerable damage would be a well-received bonus; that was what the top brass thought. However, saving the Minians wasn't going to be easy or come at no cost. First, from a guerilla type warfare—one in which they dictated where and when they would strike—they would instead have to defend the Minians and their worlds.

Looking at his task force's composition, he knew they were badly equipped for such a mission. He knew it would be hard to protect a whole planet.

"Admiral, did you find a way to deal with the enemy?" Caldwell asked.

Sheppard shrugged. "Let's go to the CIC. We can discuss it better in front of a 3D hologram."

Once inside, Sheppard paced while deep in thought. After a while, he stopped and faced Caldwell. "I got nothing. Not even a hint."

In truth, he didn't want the rest of the crew to hear his pathetic reply. He wanted to be the type of Admiral the crew admired. However, no matter how much he racked his brain on this one, he did not find any satisfactory solution.

"I was afraid you might say that. I haven't come up with any plans either. And I think we both know why that is," Caldwell replied, giving him a meaningful look.

He knew what Caldwell meant. Sending similar units to those of the opponent in a head-on crash was amongst the worst orders an admiral could give. The reason behind having different classes of ships was easy to understand. It was to be able to face the enemy with better-suited units whenever possible. That was especially true when forced to defend against a numerically superior opponent, in which case it was paramount to outsmart them instead of relying on brute force. The situation prevented them from moving, or else the planet and people under their protection would perish.

If the enemy sent fighters, the worst was to launch fighters of your own. If the enemy had large and slow ships with anti-capital-ship weapons, sending ships capable of evading such threats would be the way to go. Sheppard knew that very well. He knew that creating a favorable imbalance in a battle was essential to achieve a decisive victory.

Unfortunately, he also knew the Terrans were missing an entire class of ships that would come in handy right about now.

The ideal way to fight a large group of fighters was to deploy flak frigates. Those were ships capable of firing tons of bullets and fast interceptor missiles. They were weak when pitted against capital ships but unmatched when smaller and more fragile vessels were their targets. Unfortunately, they did not have such ships. There were no flak and no missile frigates. They did not have any vessels even remotely resembling a fraking frigate.

There was a reason for that. After the Battle of Eden, the Terrans deemed having frigates as unnecessary. The Vargas never used fighters; hence building frigates would have been wasteful.

Who would have guessed that these dinos preferred fighters above all other types of spaceships?

But there was more. The dinos were quite the big fellas, which implied that their ships also had to be bulkier.

"Why didn't we make any frigates? We have cruisers—many types, I might add—and we have the Defiants, the fast attacking ships that any navy needs. Still, we've never envisioned the need to make flak or missile frigates capable of protecting against the likes of fighters. Why is that?" he asked.

"It's because we have such powerful shields that we think fighters are no big deal. Even now, we see their fighters as no threat to our capital ships. The problem is that we can't chase all of them while they are trying to enter the planet's atmosphere," Caldwell said.

"That's probably it," he said while thinking. "And it wouldn't be a problem if we were to keep with our previous strategy."

He was referring to fighting by doing ambushes. Even if the enemy overwhelmed them with smaller ships, they could always retreat to fight another day. They usually did that anyway, as their task force was on the smaller side, hence inadequate for prolonged engagements. They never thought that their first incursion into enemy territory would end with the task of protecting a planet belonging to another race.

"Not much we can do about that now. We can send a memo back home complaining about the unfairness of our situation, but I don't think it would achieve the desired result," Caldwell replied.

"No, it wouldn't." The only thing he thought complaining would achieve to piss off Jack. Both.

As he said those words, the 3D hologram depicting the planet and the ships in orbit came to life. Displayed on it were the vessels in his task force. They were keeping a stable position in geosynchronous orbit some thirty thousand kilometers above the surface. Their fleet seemed so insignificant when compared to a planet.

"No matter how I look at it, we are coming out short. Can't we push our ships into a lower orbit? That should help," Caldwell suggested.

"Maybe, but you know what the problem with that is, right?" he responded.

If one drew an encompassing sphere around the planet at the same altitude as their ships, the surface area would be over 16 billion square kilometers! If they combined all the capital ships they had in orbit—including those of the other task forces—they would come up with a little over a thousand capital ships. If they spread them to cover the whole sphere equally, each vessel would need to protect over 16 million square kilometers. That meant placing ships four thousand kilometers apart in a perfectly squared grid formation that would encompass the whole world.

Putting four thousand kilometers between two ships and still believing they could stop incoming swarms of dino-fighters was asking for too much, even more so if one considered the sphere's curvature and the complications that come with it.

Could a single ship like a Defiant cover such a large space against a swarm of incoming fighters where no friendlies were anywhere near to support it? Could they prevent the fighters from passing through the blockade?

No, they could not!

A Defiant could take down a few fighters while on approach, and it may take down a few more after they passed it. But the rest would reach the planet; he could guarantee it.

"If we push our ships in a lower orbit, we have a smaller area to cover. But we are then encroaching onto our second layer of defense," Sheppard answered. "I don't see any gains in doing that."

"Well, it was a thought. Also, our capital ships are mostly useless after the first five minutes of engagement. The enemy is smart enough to keep away from them, which means that our fighters have to do most of the job," Caldwell added.

The Terrans and their allies certainly had fighters of their own, but they did not have a surplus of them, far from it. Sheppard's task force had two assault carriers, each filled to the brim with three hundred fighters. In such numbers, they could chase after many hostiles. But here, the part in which the dinos are giant creatures comes into play. With larger and sturdier fighters as their targets, it takes more time for the Terran space superiority fighters—or the Aklarian counterpart—to take them down.

First, they would need to take their shields down. Even though weaker than those the Terrans use, it still took several shots from their plasma repeaters to get the job done. It would take a few more to breach the thick armor and disable their craft. Alternatively, they could use their onboard seeker missiles, which were great at taking the dino-fighters down. The seekers would phase through their shields, making it much easier to shoot them down, but only until they had missiles to fire. After exhausting their stock, the fighters would be left with nothing but their energy weapons. Combined with the fact that the enemy attacked in waves, sometimes lasting for hours, it meant that spending all their consumables at the beginning of their engagement wasn't a smart idea. Sometimes there were so many dino-fighters that they would have to fight for two hours without resting. The enemy didn't rush either. They would circle, probe, and faint while trying to find a way to slip through the blockade.

The conclusion was that fighters alone were not sufficient to stop the swarm of incoming hostile craft that resembled a Tel'tak more than they did a glider, at least in size and thickness of their armor. It meant that the Terran corvettes were better suited to deal with them with their large frontal cannons. Their powerful guns were able to tear the dino-fighters to shreds even with a short burst.

Shield or no shield, it did not matter.

However, the number of corvettes they had was pathetically low. Each assault carrier had only thirty of those on board.

"No way our fighters and corvettes can hold thousands of those things from passing through," he said.

"No, they can't, but we shouldn't try to either. The best we can do is thin out their ranks. The next line of defense would then have an easier job," Caldwell said.

The man still did not speak their name. To Caldwell, it was always they or them, or he would not say to whom he was referring to, and Sheppard had to assume he was talking about the dinos. It was clear that Caldwell did not like them.

Sheppard didn't like them either. "That's true. It's paramount we make it easier for the next defensive layer."

Small satellites and zat mines made up the next line of defense. During prior engagements, sieges had proven the zat mine as an excellent deterrent. The main reason was that it did not explode as a regular mine would. The mine's discharge would fry the approaching craft, but it would remain operational. Its only downside was that it would deplete its energy reserve after a few bursts fired in quick succession. The shield would need time to recharge.

Sometimes that would be enough for a fighter to slip through. That was why it was paramount for the Terran fighters and corvettes to thin out the incoming swarms, which would prevent the minefield from being overwhelmed.

The satellites had a similar job, except that they couldn't cloak like the mines.

After the second layer, the dino-fighters would reach the planet's atmosphere. That was a moment of vulnerability. No matter how sturdy, they still needed to slow down during atmospheric entry or risk burning up in the upper stratum. Here, the small number of F-302c awaited them, with the task of stopping them from reaching the ground. They would charge at the enemy to take them down swiftly while they are at that critical moment during atmospheric entry.

"Three layers of defense protect the planet. They should be able to stop whatever the enemy throws at us. Even with the way we are now," he said.

"Our preparations are lacking. We should have envisioned such scenarios and made plans accordingly. Right now, we should have more mines, more satellites, and the necessary equipment to raise a planetary shield," Caldwell complained. He was the type of man who hated going into battle only half prepared.

"That's a tall order. I'm still not sure that our hasty decision to help the Minians was the right choice. We should have waited longer before going all gung-ho with our plan of rescuing aliens we've just met," he said.

It must have been a spur of the moment type of thing, the reason why they had so suddenly decided to help the Minians. Of course, nobody had informed him of the details. They just ordered him to protect their home planet that his fleet was currently orbiting, and that was it.

"Well, no point in complaining. I think you did enough of that to the Fleet Admiral—the one who came up with the hasty decision to help the aliens," Caldwell said.

Admiral of the Fleet, Jack O'Neil—the one five minutes from the future—was the one who came up with the whole damn idea. Sheppard protested—many times—saying that the battle groups tasked to take down the anomalies were better suited to protect a planet than his task force ever could. But it fell on deaf ears. Jack dismissed him, saying that closing the anomalies took precedence over everything else. On the other hand, they could scrap his mission of harassing the locals who had sided with the Vargas without batting an eye. They would make him go back to that job later whenever they felt like it.

It's not that he disagreed. They did need to close the anomalies before the Vargas started bringing reinforcements through them. But that didn't mean that his task force became better suited in stopping thousands of fearless dino-warriors who were ready to sacrifice their lives. It was quite a terrifying sight to see. Call it bold, daring, warriorlike, or just moronic, the gist of it was that it was near impossible to prevent every single one of the big fellas from reaching the atmosphere.

The Vargas might have done something to make them the way they were, just as they did to the countless other races inhabiting this unimaginably vast galaxy.

"Well, we will do as ordered. There's no way around it," he said while looking at some data displayed on his datapad. "The Aklarians are giving us the all-green, as always."

"They are quite the dependable bunch; I have to give them credit for that. Most races would have started protesting a long time ago. Instead, they keep doing their job every day like clockwork without uttering a single word of complaint," Caldwell said, with a hint of admiration present.

"Without their numbers, we would be screwed," he said. Ninety percent of the ships in the system were Aklarian.

"True enough," Caldwell said, just as the alarm started acting up. "Here we go again."

On the 3D holo above the table, Sheppard watched the enemy capital ships starting to disgorge fighters in copious numbers. Their large vessels were not taking part in the battle. They never did after the beating they had suffered the first time. They learned the hard way that coming inside the firing range of the Bellerophon's main cannons only meant swift death. Hence, they kept at a distance, knowing too well that, sadly, the defenders did not have the numbers to chase after them. Sometimes, the Nox interdiction device hindered them as much as it did the enemy. In this instance, it indeed prevented the enemy from jumping inside the defensive perimeter. However, it also made it nigh impossible for the allies to go on the offensive since the device prevented them from using any FTL method of travel. The enemy was smart enough to take advantage of it.

"They seemed to be in a rush. It also seems there are more fighters than last time," he said.

"Reinforcements arrived five hours ago—a few carriers more than usual. Not that it will change the outcome," Caldwell said confidently. "Do you believe in our estimates on how much spread they are?"

"I do," Sheppard said solemnly. "It's a huge galaxy that holds many advanced races. Some of them traveled through space a million years ago. In this vast galaxy made of a hundred trillion stars, races like the dinos had the opportunity to spread to countless systems. Estimates are there are twenty trillion of them. Since the Asgards were the ones doing the estimating, I'm sure it's a good assessment," he said.

Those were the kind of numbers that gave nightmares to even the toughest of admirals. What were they supposed to do against so many hostiles? He didn't know if they could dent their numbers even if they kept at it for the next decade. He also didn't know if he wanted to. He certainly didn't want to be the one to go around the galaxy, killing billions or even trillions of dinos, no matter that they had it coming from the moment they sided with the Vargas.

"I'm not looking forward to spending the next decade or three while butchering these sentient dinosaurs. Or any other race for that matter," Sheppard said while letting out a long sigh.

"You'll probably get some leave time after a year or two," Caldwell deadpanned. "I'm sure they'll give you a few weeks."

"Don't you think a year—much less two—is too long before getting some leave time?" he deadpanned back.

"We are short on staff," Caldwell deadpanned again.

"Damn it. I hate it when you're right! Especially when you're right about things I'm not too fond of hearing. I think I can do it for as long as it takes, though. No, there's no way I can do it for more than three years," he said, unsure if he could do it even for that long, just as his XO entered the room. Sheppard would never be able to do everything he does and with the same efficiency if it weren't for Commander Stein, his right-hand man.

Even though he knew the reply he was going to get, he still had to ask. "Is everything in order?"

"Yes, sir. All ships went to full readiness, and the assault carriers are scrambling their fighters and corvettes. Once fully deployed, the whole fleet will go into stealth," Stein, his XO, replied.

They were not planning to make it easy for the dino-aliens. Even before the engagement truly began, they were going to ambush them. The aliens were learning, but they would still suffer quite the losses in the first few opening minutes of the engagement. The main reason for that was the Alliance's cloaking technology the dinos were unable to crack.

On the holo-screen, Sheppard watched the aliens split the fleet into dozens of smaller groups, each taking a different course. They would spread out and then attack the planet from every conceivable angle, speed, inclination, formation, and whatever they could think of, all to somehow breach through the defenses.

"They are splitting their fleet into smaller groups," Caldwell spoke, just as his XO walked in the room. Noticing his arrival, Caldwell immediately gave him an order before he could even say anything. "Move the ship in attack position. I'll join you in a minute."

The XO made a swift hundred-and-eighty degree turn and disappeared as swiftly as he came, leaving the three alone to discuss matters further. Caldwell would soon have to go to the Bridge, the place where the Captain must be, but he liked to stay in the CIC until the very last moment.

"You mentioned they'd received reinforcements during the night? I also see a fifty percent increase in fighters. They have broken their previous pattern, which could suggest that something is up," he said, feeling like the day was getting heavier with each passing moment.

"It's still inside our predictions, but barely. I'm sure we can take that many without even one passing through." Caldwell sounded quite confident in his evaluation. "Also, the increase this time could be a fluke."

Sheppard wasn't feeling as confident. He didn't find any reason to be. Still, there was no reason to spread his negativity to others at such a critical time. It would help no one, and he didn't have any proof that something was afoot anyway.

Sheppard approached the holographic interface. He began tapping empty air, instantly connecting many lines from both friendlies and hostiles. He was updating the AI-Core plan to fend off the incursion by tapping the hologram above the table.

The AI core was of great help—he wouldn't want to be without it—but after using it for so long, he learned that it was a little too mechanical for his taste. It would always give the perfect formation, ideal for maximizing the benefits and minimizing the drawbacks. That all sounded terrific, and at first, one would think the best to do was follow the Core's recommendations as they were. However, there was a slight problem in pursuing such a course of action. If the model was perfect, it was also predictable. It was the same as a swordsman exclusively targeting the opponent's vitals. It was the shortest way to win, for sure, and it often worked. Still, if the opponent realized what the swordsman was doing, he would start protecting only his vitals because their opponent would never target anything else.

Thinking the aliens were stupid and would not notice it would be a grave mistake. Sheppard preferred to believe the aliens were smart. That was the reason why he was changing a few things. He was introducing an uncertainty factor the enemy could never fully consider. It would be nothing major. Just a few tweaks here and there. He was also creating some asymmetry to hit some groups harder than others. Usually, he would attack the most prominent groups harder than necessary. It was part of the psychological warfare he was waging against the dinos. With that, he was telling them that in places where they were the strongest and felt the safest, they would suffer the most. With that, he was hoping the enemy might decide to spread more, which would help their second defensive layer, the zat-mines, and the satellites.

He didn't know why the enemy was spreading so much this time around. It might be because of his actions or might be because of their increase in numbers. No matter the reason, they were playing right into his hand. Their second defense layer was the most crucial. It would be unfortunate if too many fighters came rushing through unabated. Much better would be to have fewer fighters to deal with at a time.

"Sheppard, I'm going to the bridge," Caldwell said.

"Alright. I don't think there will be any more changes in the strategy. Let's hope it will be enough," Sheppard said, thinking how the dinos indeed never put up any significant surprises. "Good hunting, Captain."

"Thank you, Admiral. I won't be satisfied if the Bellerophon doesn't take down at least a few hundred fighters," Caldwell said.

"I expect at least that much from the flagship," he replied.

Caldwell nodded with a grin before leaving the room.

The door closed behind him with a low hissing sound.

"Well, let see how it plays out," he said to his XO.

As opposed to until now, he opted to take a chair. As he sat, he leaned back into it. He was watching the hologram giving him a complete view of the battle theater. It was great, but he thought it wasn't enough. "Computer, full holo-immersion."

Suddenly, the room began dimming out. Then, stars began appearing, followed by the planet they were trying to defend as the most massive object, the moon, and finally, the ships popping out all around him. Meanwhile, the table retreated into the floor, leaving him and his XO as the only obstacles. He thought it wouldn't be wrong to call it a god-like view of a battle theater. With the neural interface, he was smoothly zooming in and out and viewing different portions of the area around the planet from different angles quickly and efficiently, sometimes even by creating smaller holograms inside the bigger one. It was the equivalent of the picture-in-picture system, just in 3D.

He could see every unit, be it friend or foe, with a copious amount of data floating smack next to them. He genuinely enjoyed working with this immersive system—a system he could control with his mind. It made doing stuff be that much faster.

The assault carriers had finished disgorging their fighters and corvettes, which were now slowly approaching the prearranged positions.

"Phase two is about to start, sir," his XO said.

Sheppard thought about it, and a timer showing the engagement would start in forty seconds appeared in front of him. One would think it would become quite the burden for the other person in the room with the zooming in and out that he was doing. However, that wasn't the case because his XO wasn't necessarily seeing the same things as he did. The contact lenses were showing different views of the battle theater. Sheppard didn't know what his XO was looking at, but he was confident the man was perusing through tons of data to predict whatever he might need. Just like now when his XO had the timer showing that phase two would soon begin.

"Here we go," he said.

The ship cloaked, just like every other ship in his task force. He could still see vessels floating in the room, but they appeared slightly transparent and with a blue hue surrounding them. That blue color signified the ships being undetected, at least as far as the AI Core knew. If there were a chance of discovery, a vessel would initially turn slightly orange, eventually changing towards red as the detection probability increased.

The ship was moving toward its designated target. As the most prominent ship in the task force, the Bellerophon had the mission to go after the largest incoming fighter group. Twelve hundred fighters were in that swarm alone—quite the number of combatants for a single unit.

He willed for some additional information, and another timer popped out. The system was great at always placing such information in the right corner where it wouldn't hinder his view of the battle theater yet be easy to notice. Near the timer, other information floated. The system drew the best intercept course the Bellerophon could take. Instead of a straight line, it was an arc. It would be best for the ship to match the enemy's speed and direction before initiating the attack.

The enemy was smart. During the siege's earlier phases, they had learned the hard way that keeping a tight formation could be dangerous. This time around, they formed a loose box formation, attempting to spread their forces to prevent the Bellerophon from efficiently using its point defenses the instant it appeared from stealth.

Sheppard watched the Bellerophon make a broad parabolic trajectory to match course and speed with the hostile swarm. As the Bellerophon inched closer to its target—those twelve hundred fighters still blissfully ignorant of the danger lurking ever nearer—all the ship's offensive systems came online.

The Bellerophon appeared from stealth like a killer whale amid a flock of helpless fish. Many of the fighters began firing at the suddenly appearing behemoth, but it was to no avail. Sure, the ship didn't yet have its shield raised, but to a capital ship like the Bellerophon, that meant little. The Aegis was a defensive system made of three separate layers of defense, with the last one able to strengthen the armor by a factor of 14.6. No puny fighters could hope of harming the vessel.

Simultaneously, the ship's Defensive Satellite Array (DSA)—a system made up of drone satellites to be deployed around the Bellerophon—began positioning themselves. In seconds, the unmanned satellites started firing at the dino-fighters with their tiny but still deadly laser-like beams. The AI-core calculated the exact number of shots it took to down a single fighter, which reduced the number of overlapping weapons' fire. They would waste no shot.

The Mark III ancient drones were exiting from their ports on the sides and top of the ship, immediately going for the fighters. The Mark III drones did not explode upon impact like its predecessors. The latest model would find its prey, go through it—sometimes more than once—and then seek its next victim.

It would keep repeating such a task until there were no hostiles in range.

Some dinos tried fighting back. They wanted to take down a few drone satellites—they knew the capital ship was above their capacity of harming. They wanted to achieve at least something in this fight, no matter how small the accomplishment. At least, that was how Sheppard was interpreting their actions. But it was all for nothing. Shields had already sprung in place, fully capable of protecting the satellites from harm. Those shields were sapping power from the battlecruiser's massive internal energy capacitors. Only a powerful weapon could penetrate them—a weapon the dino-fighters did not possess.

Their attempt was pointless, just like it had been during all the previous engagements. The dino-aliens could not win this battle, and they knew it, even though some were brave enough—or stupid enough—to try anyway. However, that did not mean they had no choice or that their situation was desperate to the point they could only hope their deaths would be swift and painless. Their mission wasn't to fight the defenders in an unfair fight, but instead to reach the planet's atmosphere.

Which meant there was still something they could do.

The dino-fighters veered off—a coordinated effort—speeding in different directions. They put their engines to the test, fleeing from the menace that was slaughtering them indifferently. Lucky for them, the Bellerophon was alone, hence incapable of chasing more than a few. Once they scattered far and wide enough, Caldwell could only choose to go after the closest and the unluckiest group. Meanwhile, the rest continued onward towards the planet to achieve their goal.

Once they went out of range of the Bellerophon's point defenses, the ship had no more targets. Indeed, the primary weapons had a far greater reach than the point defenses or even the drones but using them against fleeing fighters wouldn't make sense. Using the ship's heavy plasma lances would be like launching an ICBM to kill a fly. The drones were still able to take a few fighters down, but they too had to return to the ship soon enough. Once inside, they would check them for repairs. That was why the third generation of drones was so great. Many could be reused—something paramount in long wars.

The skirmish's tally was floating in the air, just a meter in front of Sheppard's eyes. In less than three minutes, the Bellerophon took down 427 fighters.

"Caldwell will be glad about the score. No ship performed better," he said.

"It's Bellerophon's new record," the XO added.

It was why Sheppard thought the initial clash would turn into a one-sided slaughter. It had been a brutal attack that lasted mere minutes—one in which they diminished the number of enemy combatants in the swarm by a third. But their job was done, for now at least. Now it was time for the superiority space fighters and corvettes to do their part. It would not be like with the Bellerophon, which had no opponent capable of harming it. When pitted against the same class, the enemy would fight back and could even inflict casualties.

"I don't envy our pilots. Eight hundred of theirs against sixty of our SF-322s and only eight corvettes," he said.

That was all they could spare. The rest needed to intercept other groups, just like the case with the task force's capital ships. He thought they needed at least five times more fighters to be sure no dino would pass the blockade.

"Yes, sir. It somehow doesn't seem fair. As much as it wasn't fair what we did to them only a minute ago," the XO said.

He got him there. They would not be boasting about their newest achievement; that was for sure. Gloating about having destroyed tiny fighters with the meanest capital ship in the Terran arsenal just felt wrong. The fight also did not involve much of any human interaction. With so many targets, it happened so fast that the only course of action was to give the AI-Core control of the offensive systems and let it come up with the best targeting solution. Three minutes later, everything was over.

Not something they could go around bragging about.

It would take a few minutes for the scattered fighters to regroup and reach the next defense layer. The SF-322s were ready for them. Sheppard knew they should not chew more than they could. The way the dino-fighters were spreading helped them target detached groups, the perfect target. Otherwise, no matter how good the SF-322 and their pilots were, they could not cope with eight hundred dino-fighters at once.

Sheppard zoomed in on a small group composed of three SF-322s and one CR-337-b corvette. The blue, slightly transparent color of the craft meant they were in stealth, still lurking unseen and waiting for the best opportunity to appear. Right now, they were trailing a small group of dino-fighters on their approach towards the planet. In around a minute, they would be inside the firing range.

"Let's hope they don't spend all of their consumables right from the start," Sheppard said. "Not like the last time."

"If they listened to our recommendation, that's how it should go. However, I think it will also differ from situation to situation. The fighters you are looking at are going against more than ten hostiles. If it becomes dangerous, they might have no choice but to unload their missiles and drones to prevent receiving damage," Stain reported.

"I know, the pilots' safety comes first," Sheppard said. He was still hoping they would find a way to disengage without wasting too much ammo. It was easy to use the drones first and score a few good hits. But this fight wouldn't last a few minutes. There were more enemies around than there were missiles their fighters could launch. "I wish we could increase the Wraith storage on our fighters."

"Our scientists back home achieved an increase of fifty percent in storage capacity without any increase in size. I would call it an outstanding accomplishment," Stein said, but it was clear from his expression that he had more he wanted to say. "Still, I don't believe that to be the right approach to solving the problem."

Sheppard, on the other hand, wouldn't mind if they kept pushing in that exact direction. It would be great news if they increased the storage system by another fifty percent. However, he knew what Stein wanted to say. "You think they'll reach the limit?"

"That's inevitable, sir. No matter how good our scientists are or how much time and effort they put into it, the day will inevitably come when we'll barely see any gains, even after years of relentless research," Stein responded.

He understood the logic. He knew that a fifty percent increase in storage capacity was a praiseworthy achievement for the scientists working on the project. Still, he also knew that it was far from a gamechanger in terms of overall gains for the fighter pilots. Instead of twenty, they could now hold thirty seeker missiles. Not exactly something to get drunk over with a bottle of expensive tequila. "I gather you wouldn't have mentioned it if you didn't have a proposal."

"Yes, sir, I do have an idea. I think we can solve the problem by making cloaked resupply buoys. When a fighter passes near one, the beaming system transfers new consumables on board. The biggest hurdle would be making the transfer instantaneous, leveraging fighters from having to stop or even slow down. Also, the content would need to be put directly inside of the Wraith storage system."

"Directly into it? It makes sense. Since a fighter doesn't have much space available, we must beam the goods directly inside. But the question remains, can such fly-by resupply be made possible?" he asked.

"I sent a few inquiries to a scientist friend of mine. He replied with encouraging words," Stein said.

Sheppard didn't like the word 'encouraging'. When it comes to scientists, they are often of two camps. One would shout that it was impossible without even thinking about it (Rodney). In contrast, others would get all excited at the idea, immediately promising a desirable outcome (Rodney after a few threats involving impending doom or citrus fruits). Rarely, a scientist gave a realistic estimate of the effort needed to make the functioning new tech (not Rodney).

Nonetheless, he still liked the idea. He also understood that it had no limiting factors, not like increasing the storage capacity had. The buoys could resupply the fighters for as long as they had consumables to share. However, he still thought there might be issues with it. "What about the enemy detecting the buoys? Even with our advanced cloaking technology, they could get a whiff of the buoy during the transfer process."

"There's a risk the enemy could detect the energy spike during transfer; that's true. But, what of it, sir?" Stein asked.

Sometimes his assistant asked a question that should encourage him to search for possible answers. However, this time around, he wasn't motivated to use his brain in performing such an uphill task. He wasn't in the mood. Also, there was little time left before the defenders in the second layer would engage the dino-fighters. Some other day he might not mind, but not today. "Just give me the answer, Stein."

"Yes, sir. We can mitigate that downside through sheer numbers. It is easy for us to make more buoys, and since they are automated, no one would be risking their lives even if the buoy is targeted and eventually destroyed. We could have dozens waiting to replace those lost the very next instant. We could work on its avoidance, increasing its evading chances until it becomes undetectable again. Once the energy spike dissipates, it shouldn't be a problem for it to change location quickly and disappear from their sensors."

"It sounds quite a simple approach. Yet, I can't find any faults to it. At least not in the time left before our fighters engage theirs," Sheppard said, knowing that in a minute, the firefight would begin. "Well, I will think about it a little more after this latest raid is over, but even now, I can tell you that I'll probably recommend your idea to our people back home. So, write a proposal that I can send later today."

"Yes, sir. I've already finished it," Stein did.

"Great, that's just great," Sheppard said, but even though this was a step forward in the right direction, his mood didn't improve. "But your idea doesn't help us in the short run. Am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong, sir. Even if my proposal is accepted, it will take at least a month to develop the buoy. Then, some testing would have to follow, and only if there are no red flags, will they start with mass production. We can expect to have it ready in around two months."

"As long as it's approved, they'll make it sooner than that. Wars tend to shorten the developing and testing phases and speed up production. The top brass will put the scientists under pressure to deliver swiftly," he said. He then looked at the blue, half-transparent fighters he had previously zoomed onto floating in front of him. "Here we go."

Coming into weapons range, the three fighters and the single corvette decloaked and immediately opened fire. Plasma repeaters barked bolts of destructive energy, many zeroing on their still oblivious targets. Differently from the fighters, the corvette unleashed a more powerful volley. A few hits from its frontal cannons and the targeted dino-fighter was a goner, broken and spinning before exploding. The corvette veered off, quickly finding its next victim to go after.

By now, the hostiles understood someone was on their tail. An easy conjecture since all of them swiftly rotated their vessels by 180 degrees by using short bursts from their thrusters. It took less than a second, and they were already able to return fire.

"I prefer fights in an atmosphere where you can't turn your fighter like that," Sheppard commented, not liking the way dogfights in space were fought.

Fights in space were different from those in the air. In a way, one might think of what the hostile did as rotating their fighter in place while continuing flying in reverse—something impossible inside an atmosphere, with the air providing resistance. Everything was relative in space, and moving in a different direction than where the craft's nose pointed was a regular occurrence. The downside was that the enemy could return fire seconds later, even though they had been caught with their proverbial pants down. Inside the atmosphere, it would have taken them quite the effort to shake off the pursuers and then slowly turn around to engage them.

"Our pilots are prepared for it, sir," Stein replied.

The four friendlies made quite the move. Under tremendous acceleration, the fighters went in three separate directions to reach the hostiles' sides quickly. After achieving their goal, they rotated their planes by ninety degrees, pointing their fighters towards their intended victims. They began spitting plasma bolts when the target was in their crosshair while keeping their engines at full throttle. By doing it, they were forcing their craft to make a strange parabolic trajectory around the dino-fighters. Of course, they always needed to adjust their vector with their thrusters to keep a lock on the target. Not easy to do, especially since the dino-fighters weren't standing still, waiting to be shot.

Space was weird that way. Simply because one turned their craft in one direction, it didn't mean it would stop its earlier motion. With the engines continually changing their orientation, their trajectory was quite the sight to see, almost impossible for the dino-fighters to trace.

Two more hostiles exploded before their foes regained their bearings and were able to return fire. But, by that time, they had forgotten about the corvette that had, at one point, vanished. Once again, from an angle where no hostile was pointing at, a barrage from the powerful corvette's frontal pulse plasma cannons shredded another dino-fighter.

The firefight was progressing well, but it wasn't all smooth sailing. The SF-322s were now having trouble taking down the enemies. It wasn't easy for their plasma repeaters to deplete their shields and breach their tough armor, not in the short time they had before the opponent would dodge the incoming barrage. Both their shielding and armor could take quite the pounding. Also, one of the dinos seemed to be an excellent pilot. He made some spectacular maneuvers making it challenging to hit repeatedly. Certainly not enough to cause a disabling amount of damage.

That was the right moment to use their seeker missiles.

One might think of the seeker missiles as a downgraded version of the drones, but that wasn't entirely true. Small and fast, their biggest downside was that they had a lower penetration ability compared to a drone. They would explode upon impact, hopefully putting their target out of the fight. They also had a phase discriminator that gave them a fair chance of going through less advanced shielding, like in this case. Another positive side about the seekers was that they were crazy fast.

One of the fighters must have decided that his next opponent was too good to fool around in a dogfight. They fired two seekers. They were quicker than the drones but had a shorter reach. However, if a target were close, they would intercept it in a blink of an eye. The enemy would not have time to react.

Both detonations happened simultaneously, one seeker hitting the fighter's left-wing and the other its nose. The dino-fighter began spinning on several axes, while pieces of the hull spread in every direction. Seeing that made Sheppard confident, yet another hostile was out of the fight.

"Good thing he took out that one. Whoever he was, it was making some unbelievable maneuvers, yet it always kept its nose pointed at one of our fighters long enough to take a few shots," he said.

"I believe that's the best use of our consumables. After we were able to analyze their shields and update our seekers' phase discriminators, they had become even more deadly than the drones."

"To each its own," Sheppard murmured, thinking how the drones were great against any enemy, be that a fighter or a capital ship. However, that didn't mean they couldn't make a more specialized weapon against smaller planes. The Terrans were known for their ability to make cheap but also deadly weapons. Even the Alterrans and Asgardians agreed on that point, especially true if compared with the likes of Lanteans. They had used an abysmal amount of rare resources by wasting expensive-to-make drones to be used as the primary weapon against cheap Wraith darts that barely cost anything.

No wonder they lost the war.

It took even Sheppard by surprise learning that it took only ten minutes to manufacture a seeker missile—a weapon made of easy-to-get materials. The massive support ship Nostromo, part of the task force, produced them relentlessly using several production lines. If they could only find a way to resupply their fighters quickly, even double the number of hostiles would prove no threat. While they were at it, if they could make a few flak and missile frigates, it was guaranteed the dinos would lose their will to fight.

Looking back at the fight, Sheppard noticed that one of their own was taking fire from two dino-fighters at once. It wasn't looking good. Compared to the enemy fighters, the SF322s had superior shielding but were far from invincible. Next to the fighter, the indicator showed the shield's energy reserves were at forty-three percent. For this type of ship, it was already nearing the critical level. The craft had minimal energy reserves, but it could quickly restore its shield from its internal Naquadria reactor. It meant that if the fighter could find even five minutes of respite, it could replenish its energy reserves back to acceptable levels. The flip side of the coin was that, for a fighter, forty-three percent of energy reserves remaining were quite at a dangerous level. Three or four well-placed shots and the shield could start bleeding energy through, or it might even go down completely. "If that shield goes below thirty, the pilot might start feeling the heat from those plasma bolts."

"I think that he's feeling some of it already. At least, that should be the case if his evasive maneuvers are any sign," Stein said while frowning.

Sheppard wholeheartedly agreed with him. What that pilot was doing was short of lunatic. The pilot must not even know where his fighter was going. The lateral acceleration must be such that even the uber advanced inertial dampeners cranked on overdrive could not fully compensate for it. On the other hand, no dino could hit him. They couldn't even guess what the pilot was doing. "Are we sure he didn't pass out?"

"The data we are receiving would suggest otherwise. Although the pilot's 210 heartbeats per minute seem quite frightening," Stein commented.

"I would say. Well, if the pilot makes it, let's give this maneuver his name. But only if he can do it again," he said, not too confident the pilot could repeat it for a second time.

"His shields level is rising, and no fighter is near him now. If he can stabilize the craft, he could even cloak and hide until fully recharged," Stein said.

Sheppard was already looking at what the other two fighters and corvette were doing. He must say. Since the dino-fighters were more on the bulky side, the corvette was able to keep up with their maneuverability, which was a big plus. One of the hostiles just perished because he was unable to shake off the corvette.

Once inside the scope of its frontal pulse cannons, nothing could save them.

"Sir, another wave is inbound, and it's bigger by thirty percent. Caldwell's asking what his orders are," Stein asked.

"His orders are to make a new record," Sheppard said. He was also smiling as he saw the crazy pilot stabilize his craft before cloaking. The pilot was safe. Now he could probably start vomiting in peace.

"I'm sure the captain will like such an order," Stein responded before replying through the comm.

Sheppard wasn't worried about the new wave. The Bellerophon could take any number of fighters, knowing that they couldn't even scrape the paint off its hull. Instead, what worried him was their fighters not having enough time to resupply aboard their carriers. Some would inevitably have to stay aboard and perform repairs. They would have to spend precious time, possibly causing them to miss the entire second wave.

He sighed, knowing that with the reduction in numbers, the likelihood of losing someone would increase. It certainly wouldn't be the first time they had lost a fighter. That was another distinction between them and the dinos. Sheppard couldn't be sure of the exact reason. Maybe It was just the way their race was, or because of the Vargas and whatever they had done to them. Or it was because there were trillions of them in this galaxy, causing the value of a single life to drop to minuscule levels. Whatever the reason was, it was clear the enemy had no problems sending thousands of theirs to die. None of their ships could face the Bellerophon no matter how much they tried, what tactics they employed, or what numbers they used in the attack. The alliance's biggest hurdle was the need to keep close to the planet. If not, Sheppard would have ended the siege a long time ago by going after their carriers.

"These dinos are making me angry. For weeks I've watched them send their people to their deaths. I wish we could go on the offensive and end this siege, instead of being on the defensive," Sheppard said, frustrated.

"Nox's interdiction device is a great piece of technology that has served us well thus far. It's preventing the enemy from simply jumping near the planet. But using the device also has its shortcomings. It's preventing us from going after their carriers," Stein iterated through what Sheppard was aware. They could not make short jumps, no matter how much he wished for it.

The massive ship once again went hunting for the dino-fighters, cloaked while waiting for the right time to pounce on them. The dinos were learning, though. They were spreading their next wave further apart, expecting it would be harder to ambush them that way.

Sheppard leaned back and kept watching. The whole task force was doing their job right; therefore, no point in ordering them around. The Defiants had the most challenging assignment—not the right fit for this kind of opponent—but no order he issued could improve the situation. The Defiant was a fast attacking, anti-capital warship, with fighters as its worst type of opponent. Nobody could expect them to perform well in the current scenario.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he visited Caldwell, but there was nothing he could contribute there either. No captain likes having their admiral breathing down their neck, so he went back to the CIC to watch the whole fight evolve.

Eventually, three hours passed without any development of any interest.

"One went through," Stain said, snapping Sheppard from his half-dreaming state.

It wasn't anywhere near the Bellerophon or any ship part of his task force. It happened in a sector defended by the Aklarians.

"I knew from the start we'd have problems in that sector," Sheppard said.

The Aklarians weren't at fault. It was just that the dinos had directed a considerable portion of their forces there. The Aklarians were doing a remarkable job, but, unfortunately, one slipped through. "Let's hope our F-302s can kill it during entry."

With each fighter breaching the blockade, the job of the defenders on the ground became more difficult. "Let's hope we take it down before it can drop its payload."

"Too late, sir," Stein said.

The moment he said it, he saw the craft launch something. He knew it was a teleportation booster—one that would allow their soldiers to be transferred directly from their massive motherships to the ground.

Every available unit in the vicinity intercepted it, desperately attempting to destroy it while still in flight. Everybody knew how bad it would be if dino-soldiers could start pouring out from yet another teleportation point. Worse yet, they would take the device underground, making it near impossible to locate precisely enough to destroy it.

"I wonder what they are searching on the planet?" Sheppard said.

"Why do you believe they are searching for something, sir?" Stein said.

"I'm unsure. It's just a feeling that I'm having. Based on the dinos' earlier tactics, I'd bet they're looking for something. Something they don't know its exact location but believe it's inside one of the three largest cities," Sheppard said.

Stein displayed a map showing the three cities and some statistics floating next to them. "They are indeed targeting those cities often."

Other cities and towns only received damage while soldiers marched towards those three cities. "The natives are not saying anything, but if I have to guess, I will say it is to get the access codes to their entire infrastructure that's spread throughout the galaxy."

"It's possible. The natives didn't give us the codes either. Well, we must make sure that the dinos don't get them."

Thankfully, they took the payload down. The dino-fighter was still flying, but that was irrelevant. Without the dangerous cargo on board, a single fighter meant little.

The second wave came just like the first, with no difference in the overall outcome. A few fighters came close to penetrating through the last layer of defenses, but, in the end, none managed to deliver a transportation booster. It wasn't that every fighter had it on board anyway. So, even if a fighter or two made it through, it didn't mean they had anything dangerous to deliver.

"That cluster of incoming fighters seem bent on protecting the two in the center of their formation," Stein noted.

There were so many places where to look that Sheppard had trouble choosing. His focus went towards a dangerous situation happening near his taskforce. The capital ships were far behind the action, unable to provide support. Even the space superiority fighters had done what they could before disengaging. The mines and satellites were doing an excellent job in thinning out the incoming fighters, but it was clear there were too many. To make it worse, the F302s inside the atmosphere were busy chasing hostiles elsewhere.

"That looks dangerous," he said.

"It seems some will pass through, with no one near to stop them," Stein replied.

"Except for that one," Sheppard pointed at a fighter. "Who's that?"

Even before Stein could answer, the hologram displayed the pertinent information about the lonely SF-322. It was Andrews, the pilot whose fighter was chasing the bundle of hostiles at full throttle.

"That guy again," Sheppard said, frowning. "If he weren't such a good pilot, I would have sacked him already.

The first time he met him, Andrews talked to him as if they were old friends meeting at a bar. Even though Sheppard wasn't big on ceremony, he would never have addressed a General in such a casual way while still a mere Major. Even back then, Sheppard had a hunch Andrews would be weak at obeying orders. And it turned he had been right. His CO often reprimanded Andrews for insubordination. He usually did whatever he 'felt it was best' as the man himself had put it.

"His three-two-two suffered damage during the previous engagement. If he doesn't slow down soon, he won't be able to stop before entering the atmosphere," Stein said.

The problem was that it would be difficult to stop with the damage sustained before reaching the ground. "He'll probably try bouncing off the atmosphere."

"Yes, let's hope that that's what he's trying to do," Stein said, but there was no confidence in his voice.

The distance between the SF-322 and the enemy fighters quickly decreased. As opposed to the Terran pilot, the dinos did not go bonkers. Their approaching speed was nothing excessive.

Missiles flew from the Terran vessel, several at a time.

"He's emptying his consumables," he noted.

"He will have to veer off soon. That must be the reason," Stein said.

Sheppard nodded, agreeing with the man. It was about time for Andrews to change direction.

One after the other, the missiles slammed into several of the chased fighters. "Andrews has taken down six of them. It would be great if he could get the other two, but I guess that would be a little too much to ask. After he disengages, no one will be left to stop them."

It was time for Stein to nod this time, fully agreeing with Sheppard's statement.

However, time passed by with no noticeable change.

Sheppard could not take it anymore without commenting. "Why isn't he veering off?!"

"He's trying to take down the other two fighters," Stein replied.

Sheppard knew that, but he hoped that wasn't true.

Andrew's fighter entered the range of its frontal plasma repeaters. A stream of plasma bolts peppered the two fleeing dino-fighter. Andrews didn't care who he targeted first.

"He even thinks he can take both down!" Sheppard knew it was better to target one fighter until defeated and only then go for the other. But the way Andrews was doing it meant that he was confident in taking both down. "How is he even able to target them without one thruster!"

"Mister Andrews had shown on many occasions his uncanny ability to beat the odds."

"Well, at that speed, he won't 'beat the odds' of evading the ground!" Sheppard was pissed.

Andrews was going too fast. As they were zooming through the atmosphere, he almost overpassed its target. He was slowing down, but not fast enough. The next shot hit the already damaged dino-fighter, which caused it to explode. He passed through the spreading fireball, with pieces of the fuselage hitting the SF-322's barely surviving shield.

"The shield's gone," Stein noted.

"Nice, really nice! Just what you need upon planetary entry at such absurd speeds." He wanted to retort how Andrews would soon become the target once he passed the dino-fighter when he noticed something. "Where did he pull that missile?!"

From a point-blank distance, Andrews fired his last missile. It barely had the time to veer off that its journey was already over. The dino-fighters did not have any shields left, which allowed the missile a clean hit. It did not breach the craft's hull, but it was enough to make it start spinning. Spinning while entering the atmosphere at high speeds was always a bad idea. The vessel could not take the forces working to tear it apart. Pieces began flying apart, the hull became engulfed in flames, and lastly, it turned into an expanding ball of fire.

"That moron managed to make both kills, a commendable act worthy of a medal. Too bad that he'll receive them posthumously!" Sheppard shouted.

"There's a slim chance he could pull something off," Stein said. "Miracles do happen sometimes."

His craft was damaged, the shield was gone, the speed still too fast, and the SF-322 was not that great inside the atmosphere. The hologram was perfect at depicting the burning ball of fire entering the atmosphere, with the altitude quickly counting down from 70 miles, then 60 miles, 50 miles, so promptly that Sheppard could barely force himself to watch the pilot turn into a pancake. "Wait! He can eject, right?"

Stein made a weird face. "The ejection system's not working properly."

Now that Stein said it, Sheppard also saw the indicator showing the damaged craft's various parts blinking an ugly red. It wasn't just the port thruster and shield that were a goner. Other systems were in bad shape as well, and the ejection system must be among them. He didn't even have pressure in his cabin, and it had been that way from when he was still in space. "This asshole came charging at those dino-fighters with a barely space-worthy fighter. I don't know if to pin a medal on his chest or beat him half to death!"

"Yes, sir. Although Andrews is not the type to be beaten half to death, sir." Stein said, with a small but meaningful cough.

He then recalled that Andrews was a seven-foot-tall giant, brimming with muscles made of steel. "Right. How did that guy even become a pilot, I wonder?"

Stein didn't answer. Instead, he continued commenting. "He seems to have diminished the craft's inclination. For some reason, he has also lowered the craft's energy expenditure. He even decreased the inertial dampeners."

"Must be a fun ride," Sheppard said. With the way the craft was shaking, one would want to increase the dampening effect. No matter how he looked at it, he could not understand what the guy was doing.

The craft's altitude was below five miles, still going too fast for Sheppard's liking. It seemed though that Andrews had managed not only to slow down his fall but had also chosen a decent place to land. In short, he managed to evade any mountain that would have spelled instant death.

The strategic room had turned into an immersive experience where Sheppard felt like flying next to Andrew's craft from meters away. The ship was slowly coming closer to the tall trees, none taller than forty meters. It was then that Sheppard understood why Andrews had lowered the plane's energy expenditure. He had given it all to recharge the craft's energy reserves to send a last spurt in the shield generator. He knew that without it, he would break apart upon impact with the trees or ground.

The shield flickered to life just as the craft began skimming the top of the tallest trees. Felling tree after tree, the vessel left a mile-long trail of destruction before finally crashing into the ground.

"I can't believe he survived," Sheppard commented.

The craft had turned into complete wreckage. Even the shield gave out at the end. However, no one could say Terrans didn't make sturdy ships. Sheppard read the pilot's life sign, happy to notice they were still there.

"Mister Andrews was born under a lucky star," Stein said.

On the other hand, Sheppard chuckled menacingly. "But only until he comes back. Then, he will wish he had never been born!"

"I suppose some punishment is in order. Before pinning a medal to his chest," Stein said.

"What medal? He is forcing us to send a rescue team deep into hostile territory. He should be happy I don't court-martial him!"

This time, they succeeded in preventing the incoming fighters from delivering the teleportation boosters. But there were times when that hadn't been the case. In the beginning, while their defenses were still weak, the enemy had made it through on several instances. Once a teleportation booster reaches the ground, transported hostiles would hurriedly take it deep underground, where the Terrans wouldn't be able to destroy it. As a result, sporadic regions became infested by the enemy.

Unfortunately for Andrews, he had ended up crashing at the edge of one such patch of land.

"Let's send a rescue team," Sheppard said with a sigh.

It was only the second of many waves the enemy would send, which meant that he had more important things to worry about than the wellbeing of a single pilot. The day wasn't over yet, and he predicted these aliens would keep sending fighters for at least another five hours.

It was going to be a long day.

---

Philip didn't like what he was seeing. Glancing at the faces of his teammates was telling him they didn't like it either. The problem lay in what Ralph held in his hands.

Philip sighed, not knowing how to answer the concerns his brothers in arms had voiced just a second ago. "Maybe it has its uses."

Ralph's big round eyes seemed to say. 'Sarge, you're full of it!'

"Sarge, you're full of it!" Ralph said. No one would ever say that he liked beating around the bush.

His teammates were right to be pissed. The fight with the aliens wasn't going well. An endless stream of enemies poured down on the planet daily, forcing them to fight exhausting battles while fully conscious tomorrow would be the same. Even their substantial technological advantage didn't seem to offset the outcome of the fight in their favor. Due to their massive numerical advantage, the invaders were slowly gaining ground, while the Terrans simply could not replace their losses.

Surely not the way the aliens could replace theirs.

Another concern was the survivability of their soldiers during prolonged engagements. True, their armor was extremely resilient, and its shielding provided the wearer with absolute protection even against concentrated fire. However, both the armor and the shield were not invincible or without flaws. The shield would not last forever, and it had the problem of performing poorly when in contact with another object. In short, it could not differentiate between incoming fire, a tree, or the ground. It would drain precious energy while trying to repel anything it touched. That precluded using the shield while lying on the soil or while leaning against a tree or boulder. Not if one didn't want to end up with a depleted shield at the worst moment.

No matter what, the shield was a lifesaver as it gave protection while running in the open. Still, with the shield's energy drained, the armor would eventually start taking damage, which, no matter how tough, would start deteriorating as the battle dragged on.

The Army knew their current deployment wouldn't be a short one. They also knew that sometimes troops would have to be deployed for a prolonged period. During that time, many soldiers couldn't perform extensive repairs, leading to their gear deterioration. It was one reason why many believed shielding to be superior to armor because it would return to full power without the need for any maintenance. As a result, the Colonel in charge had asked his superiors to improve the soldiers' survivability during such long deployments. He insisted that scientists should develop a better shielding or one that didn't have such a glaring flaw. However, the people back home rejected his suggestion, stating that too much effort had been put into its development. They could not foresee any quick breakthrough, no matter how many scientists worked on it. In truth, the results for such a short time were nothing short of outstanding. It was just that people had started thinking that if they didn't find at least one revolutionary improvement every month, it meant the scientists were doing a lousy job.

In that way, the colonel kept pestering the people back on Earth until a solution was finally presented. That was the reason why Philip was looking dejectedly at what Ralph was holding in his hands. "They said that it should—"

"Sarge, it's a spray can," Ralph interrupted. "With paint in it."

"I don't think it's a color. It's more like a kind of varnish, or resin maybe, with a bit of silvery—" Philip stopped when he saw the look Ralph was directing his way. Those eyes were so condemning. "Look! I don't like it either, but we must try it. They said it would help."

"Um, maybe Sarge isn't wrong," Larsen said while reading the instruction manual for the miraculous spray can.

"Not you too!" Ralph said.

"Shoosh, Ralph! Let him explain first. You can retort afterward," Philip instructed.

"Sure, Sarge. I'll retort later," Ralph said.

Philip turned to Larsen, giving him a small nod. "Go on."

"I'm reading this, and it isn't as simple as a spray can with simple paint, or as the boss said, varnish in it," Larsen said but stopped when he saw Philip's threatening glare. He needed to get to the juicy part quickly. "Anyway, the resin solidifies the main compound immediately after applying it on the armor. The important part is that the compound has particulates taken from the Vargas ship's hull."

Philip tried to understand what that meant but didn't have much luck. "What does that mean?"

"Sarge, we all know that after the Battle of Eden and that of Earth, we had a big surplus of scrapped Vargas ships, mostly in the form of floating debris, right?"

"Right, keep going," he said, urging him to continue before Ralph started retorting.

"So, with so much of the material floating around, it wouldn't be bad to have some way of using it. But the problem is that the Vargas material has the property of diffusing any form of energy. Be it with the Asgard dematerialization and reintegration technology, or through direct heating up to thousands of degrees, both methods use energy as the medium to mold the material in whatever shape we want."

"Which is damn hard for a material that diffuses energy," Philip understood.

"Exactly! The material would not behave as you'd want. It is difficult to bond the material with other molecules to make alloys if it disperses the energy. That's why we don't make ships with similar materials. It's too big of a pain to use."

"Because it is damn hard, I get it. So, how does this help us?" Philip asked.

"Well, while trying to make a new hull is incredibly difficult, grinding it down into nano-dust is quite easy. So, what our people did was to mix the dust with a special resin so we can spray our armors with it."

"And since the material has energy-dispersive properties, it could work against plasma weapons. But how long can it last?"

"It says here that it should be good for several hits taken in the same place. Of course, the resin will eventually evaporate, and the coating would disappear. Still, the brilliant part is that you need less than ten minutes to spray the stuff on your armor, and it solidifies almost instantly."

The Army received what they needed. An enhancement for their armors to help during long deployments. It wasn't like they had received an impenetrable shield or a new armor that even a beam from a capital ship could not dent. What they received would allow the soldiers to survive longer. Soldiers could swiftly reapply the coating and renew their protection against plasma fire each time they had a moment to rest, significantly increasing their survivability in situations where extensive repairs were not possible.

"What does that mean?" Ralph couldn't take it anymore without saying a word.

"It means that if you spray your armor, you'll be able to take several hits in the same spot with reduced damage," Philip explained.

Ralph's eyes grew larger. He was the leading damage taker in the team, so a way to increase his protection level would be welcomed.

Ralph looked at him with expecting eyes. "Does that mean that, if I spray this paint on my armor two or three times, that I'll be able to take six hits with no damage? Or maybe even ten times!"

"N-No, I don't think it works that way. One coating's all you get," Philip said.

"Ah," Ralph sighed dejectedly.

"Ralphie, why don't you try getting hit less? You don't have to tank every plasma bolt coming your way," Manuel, the fourth member, commented.

Philip didn't want to say it so bluntly, but everybody knew that Ralph was the team's plasma magnet. It was uncanny how many bolts found their way to him. "Well, it won't hurt to try. We will coat Ralph's armor twice and see how it goes."

Ralph seemed happier. It's not like he wanted to get hit. It's just that, no matter what, he always ends getting shot at least three times as much as any other member of the team. Somehow, even the two Cylons get shot less than he did, and those were often used as decoys. Philip began thinking that giving Ralph a nice towering shield wouldn't be such a bad idea. The only issue with that was that Ralph was the team's heavy hitter, with his sizeable grav-machine gun ready to spray multiple hostiles at once. Carrying a shield would be detrimental, as well as making him look quite stupid.

He wanted to say more, but then he stopped after hearing his radio buzzing. He listened, quickly ending the call. His display showed the received file with the mission details. He skimmed it. "We have new orders. One of our pilots crashed inside enemy territory. Unfortunately, the hostiles have deployed quite the number of heavy anti-air weaponry throughout the region, which means that we can't simply send a Hammerhead to pick the guy up. Since the pilot has no choice but to walk here, we will help him achieve that by meeting him halfway."

"Oh, come on! We can barely hold our position here! How are we supposed to reach him without getting turned into mincemeat?" Manuel complained.

"That's why only the four of us are going. We need to evade detection. One lonely team should be able to do that. They also need every available body here, so that might have played a factor when the top brass decided to send only us." No one seemed ecstatic at the news, and he couldn't blame them for it. Going deep into enemy territory with little to no support wasn't going to be fun. But they still needed to do it. "The pilot risked his life to prevent another teleportation booster from reaching the ground. We owe him that much."

Once the intruders deploy a booster, which allows them to teleport an unlimited number of troops, they would easily invade a whole new region of the planet, and the defenders could do little to prevent it. The only saving grace was that the dinos could not quickly relocate the booster elsewhere. The moment they tried bringing it back to the surface, the Terrans would send a fighter to raze the whole place. It significantly limited what the aliens could do with it and how fast they could spread on the planet. However, that did not prevent them from bringing more soldiers anywhere a teleportation booster was dropped. Therefore, it was of vital importance to prevent the device from reaching the surface.

Even though the team members liked to grumble a lot, everybody was already preparing to depart. They were even applying the Vargas varnish from the received spray can without uttering a single word of complaint. Philip wasn't too worried about the mission. After all, they were elite members of the Army. By wearing the TPA-X1 Power Armor, each member equaled a tank. The two elite Cylons attached to the team were also great at taking the brunt of any sudden attack since they were always the first in line.

Still, if possible, he was planning to stealthily find the pilot and return to base without the enemy being any wiser.

"What protocol is the pilot following?" Larsen asked.

"He'll activate his locator beacon every four hours," Philip responded. It would be difficult for the aliens to pick his signal if activated only sporadically. But the team could do it easily since they knew the exact subspace band and frequency he would use. "The rendezvous point has already been set, but it will depend on the situation. If there are too many hostiles around, we are changing the location."

Larsen watched on his bracelet the information they had received. "Ugh, at least twenty hours of walking."

"The armor does most of the walking, so stop complaining," Philip replied.

The TPA-X1 bulky power armor was a monster powered by a Naquadah mini-reactor. With it, the armor could walk for days if necessary, without the wearer having to exert even an ounce of force. Something Larsen knew very well, yet still chose to grumble.

"I know it does most of the work, but after a while, it becomes uncomfortable to be moved by it. I start feeling like a puppet moved by strings," Larsen said.

Philip never thought about it until now. Thanks to Larsen, from now on, he would continuously feel bothered by it. "Let's get a move on."

"Um, Sarge, the file does not mention any gunship support," Manuel said.

"You do not see it because there isn't any. With the anti-aircraft defenses the aliens have deployed, the Hummingbird can't go so deep into enemy territory. A few were even taken down by those fuckers."

"So, if things go south, we can only rely on our fast legs," Manuel said.

"We can call in a strike from our F-302Bs, but those will drop cluster bombs from high altitudes. That means I'm not calling them unless in a desperate situation," Philip said. If they were in trouble, it meant they were surrounded with nowhere to run. When in such a predicament, calling for the type of bombing the F-302s did wasn't right for one's health. The GS-351 Hummingbirds were much better in such a situation, but the aliens had some fast seeker missiles ready to be launched at anything that flew at low altitudes. Even worse, they had them in unlimited amounts. The gunships would be overwhelmed the moment they entered inside the missile's range. "We are keeping a low profile. That's the best we can do."

"Couldn't the pilot have fallen ten klicks closer? It would have solved many of our problems," Ralph said.

"If it were always easy, why would the army be paying the likes of you?" Philip said.

"It's not like they pay me all that much, Sarge," Ralph retorted.

"That's right. We aren't doing it for the money," Philip said, remembering the reason why he was doing it.

He didn't join because of a big paycheck waiting at the beginning of each month. He did it because he was fed up with aliens taking shots at Earth. People dear to him died when Ba'al attacked Earth, and although no direct acquaintance of his died when the Vargas came, he swore he would prevent a similar tragedy from happening ever again regardless. He was also angry because Mount Everest wasn't the tallest peak in the world anymore and wanted some payback.

He had plans to climb it one day.

While bantering through the comm system, the team got ready and began their trek across the treacherous terrain of this alien world on which he and the rest of his team had set foot for the first time only two weeks ago. No forest on Earth was quite like the one they were currently threading through. It was mostly because of the twenty percent lower gravity that allowed for taller vegetation to grow. But also because of other, less noticeable differences. The trees weren't of the right shade. Or the leaves were too pointy for that type of vegetation. Or the bee that went for the nearby flower didn't look like a bee at all. Many things made the world they walked on a genuinely foreign one.

Being encased inside the TPA-X1 didn't help either. No one in the team was claustrophobic, and inside it, one felt as cozy as it gets. The suit kept the temperature, humidity, and oxygen at optimal levels. Some might even fall asleep while carried. Or maybe the right way to describe it was to say that the power armor was the one doing the walking while the person inside only had to keep up with the rhythm while having their legs moved. It was a particular feature of the armor. On long treks, it would carry on its own instead of reacting to the wearer's motion. It was a strange feeling, not an entirely comfortable one if someone asked him for his opinion. However, it was a godsend when they had to cross miles. It allowed a soldier to rest during the tedious hours spent walking.

After half a day—interspersed with only a few breaks in which they took a bite or rested their bodies for a minute or two—they managed to cross a full fifteen miles. It might not seem much but walking through mostly treacherous terrain while continually keeping an eye for hostiles was a very time-consuming task.

Without any preamble, Philip gave the signal. In two seconds flat, the whole team cloaked, ducked, and readied their weapons to welcome any hostiles.

"I see that you're still sharp even after twelve hours of walking," he said.

"Sarge, can you stop with the sudden tests?" Manuel complained.

"We've been together for long enough to know that we won't slip up," Ralph added.

Philip agreed. They were a decent bunch but keeping them on their toes shouldn't be a bad thing. "These suits can make you fall asleep while walking. That's why I'll keep testing you from time to time. Now that we are getting close to the rendezvous point, it's important to stay sharp."

He barely managed to end the sentence when something appeared on his display. It showed a reaction eight hundred meters north of their position, moving fast in their general direction. "You're all seeing it, right?"

"We are," Larsen said.

"If we don't move, they won't come close enough to notice us," Manuel said.

"Let's stay cloaked and wait for them to pass," Ralph was the last one to reply.

"You failed to notice the first one is slightly ahead of the others," Philip said.

"Crap! Could that be the pilot we need to rescue?" Ralph commented.

The information inside the helm was updated when the sensors detected an energy surge. He knew it was weapons fire. More info popped in front of him, confirming his worries. "The pilot has activated his emergency beacon. We need to reach him asap, or he'll be dead soon."

While still cloaked, four people and two Cylons began running. Their suits allowed them to reach a speed of 30 miles per hour, even on uneven terrain. It took them less than a minute to intercept the approaching group. The pilot was in the lead with the pursuers closing in. From time to time, they would fire even though still quite the distance from their target.

"Those things!" Manuel said, his tone conveying how little he liked the opponent they were about to face.

Philip didn't like it either. And even though they weren't saying anything, he was sure the remaining two members didn't like it either. Their opponent wasn't an easy one to deal with.

He recalled some people making conjectures on how they were made—a metallic frame and a nerve system that would grow inside it during production. That nerve system was different than that of a human. It was like an overgrown tumor that would quickly spread throughout the metallic frame connecting to its every part. It also did not have a brain. The nerve system served that purpose.

With the thick frame tough to destroy and the nerve system equally spread throughout the body, there was no easy way to take down the mechanical abomination, not like people made of flesh and blood that could quickly be incapacitated. A pierced brain or a severed spine would kill or disable a person. Even a sudden drop in blood pressure was enough to put a human out of a fight. That was all easily achieved even with small-caliber bullets by hitting a vital point. However, these abominations did not have any of these weaknesses. It meant that it took a lot of shots to make it go down.

The Terrans have been making weapons geared towards killing people for thousands of years. But making weapons that could easily kill such abominations was a new thing for the Terrans.

"Dozens of them! Fuck, that's a lot. We might lose our chaperons today," Philip noted, thinking about the two Cylons often used as a necessary sacrifice when things got rough. He didn't want to contemplate the chances of losing someone other than the replaceable Cylons.

"I'm closest to the pilot. I'm going to take some of the heat away from him!" Ralph said.

While Ralph went for the pilot, the rest would have to charge at the abominations.

"Don't try to catch every plasma charge they send your way. Try to avoid at least a few!" Philip shouted over the comm. Even with the new coating, their designated plasma magnet should still try to evade at least a few plasma bolts. The biggest worry was if the suit would sustain enough damage and stop moving. Their task was to pick up a pilot and quickly escape, and not to stay and fight.

Ralph reached the fleeing pilot and at once stood between him and the incoming horde of abominations. He opened from his grav-machine gun, spitting 8mm bullets at a rate of eight hundred per minute. The bullets sped at more than a thousand meters per second, striking several of the hostiles. They pierced their torsos, heads, legs, and arms, many of which went cleanly through. However, none of the enemies stopped. They did not falter or felt pain. They merely took the hits and kept going. Ralph was moving sideways to at least miss a few of the incoming scorching hot plasma bolts. He had achieved his first goal to divert the abominations' attention away from the pilot. The pilot had a shield, but it was questionable how long it would last against dozens of enemies firing at it. It certainly wasn't as strong as the one Ralph had.

The rest of the team did not need any particular invitation to start fighting. Philip was firing from his large-caliber rifle. The .50 caliber explosive bullets struck the incoming wicked cyborgs with better results. The explosive shell was calibrated to explode the moment it pierced through its tough exterior. A bullet couldn't penetrate the thick defensive armor every time, but when it did, it made the abomination stagger. One abomination lost its head because a shot blew inside it. However, after pausing for a moment, the monster continued onward. Philip wondered where its visual sensors were. It wasn't inside its head; he understood that much.

Larsen and Manuel were doing similarly well, both spraying bolts from their plasma-based rifles. The charged plasma was having a significant effect. When it hit, it sent an energy pulse, damaging the abomination on the inside as well. It would work even better if the plasma bolts weren't so slow that the abominations could evade them in time. That had been the greatest surprise of all. The abominations were not mindless crawlers. They were not creatures that could only rush forward, uncaringly taking hits until they died. They were good at tactics and quick at changing their MO whenever needed.

The two Cylons were also doing a great job. In fact, they were the stars of the show. They went the furthest and took the brunt of the incoming fire, saving the others quite the number of plasma bolts. Even Ralph was taking less damage, which wasn't always the case. A strong shield protected the elite Cylons from harm, giving them leeway, but even that strong shield would not last forever.

"The pilot's been secured! Start retreating towards the forest!" Philip ordered. They had reached the pilot in the middle of a ravine, with nothing around that could serve as cover. The only option left was to retreat while under fire. It wasn't the greatest of combos when outnumber by hostiles eager to kill them.

"That would be great!" Ralph said. The bullet magnet had taken many hits, but he had played his role right. He protected the pilot just as ordered.

Three bolts hit an elite Cylon in its chest, causing its shield to flicker under strain. The next hit came, causing it to drop altogether. The useful machine was now taking severe damage, or so Philip thought, but he then noticed that plasma bolts dispersed upon impact.

"The paint job wasn't completely useless after all," Philip said, as he noticed the diminished damage the Cylon was taking. Still, the formidable varnish would not work forever.

The pilot was by now the furthest from the enemy, suggesting he was safe for the moment. However, they still needed to shake off the pursuers. He knew other units were in the area. The abominations had certainly asked for reinforcement. If their little skirmish did not end quickly, more enemies would soon appear.

And that would be bad.

One Cylons stopped moving. It was still shooting even while prone on the ground. It was unable to stand up because one leg was missing. Soon, three abominations surrounded it and riddled it with plasma bolts until the only thing left was scrap metal.

"Sarge! If my armor takes any more damage, I might have to stay here for longer than intended," Ralph said while running.

Ralph was at risk of armor failure, which would spell doom for him. A power armor weighed four hundred pounds. If it didn't move on its own, then it did not move at all. It was as simple as that. It was also the main reason why many in the army liked the combat armor better. Lightweight, at only forty pounds, it could easily be carried even if it malfunctioned. The wearer could take it off wherever and whenever needed without having to ask for help. The versatility it gave a soldier was far greater than the Power Armor ever could. However, its durability could not be compared to that of the TPA-X1. Currently, four soldiers were fighting against dozens of enemies in an unfavorable position.

That was only possible because of the power armor's incredible resiliency.

"Get some trees between you and those things! Ralph, sprint ahead and set up a few surprises. We will keep them busy until you do," Philip order.

"Roger that! Give me ten minutes!" Ralph replied.

"Seven's all you'll get!" Philip spat back. Maybe Ralph thought they were here on a picnic.

Without a word, Ralph went past them. The others were slowing down, often turning and firing back while trying to use trees as cover. A tree would not last long, as no matter how thick, plasma bolts would eventually pierce through it. Seven minutes wasn't much time, but many things could still happen in such a short time. It was then that Philip's sensors picked up more hostiles a mile from their position. Reinforcements were approaching.

"Sarge, more are coming," Manuel said, his voice easily betraying how little he liked it.

"I'm aware," he replied, already calling for an airstrike.

There was no choice in the matter, not if they wanted to survive. However, Philip did not like the odds. The hostiles had slowed down a little, but if he had to guess, he would say the airstrike would come late. Which meant they would be near the enemy when the bombing happens. "I called a strike, be ready for it."

"Not again!" Ralph shouted over the comm.

"Why are you the one worried!? You're five hundred feet from us?" Manuel replied.

"No, Ralph is right to be worried. We will be able to retreat to his position before the strike comes," Larsen said.

Larsen was right. No matter how he looked at it, it would take more than seven minutes for the bombers to reach their position. "Okay, be ready to dash to Ralph's position. When I give the order, give these abominations hell one last time."

It was simple. They were now holding the enemy—barely—while their comrade placed some nasty traps further inside the forest. But they could not stay like that forever, else risking being overrun. One more burst, and then they had to run to safety quickly.

Philip gave the order, and everyone opened at full auto. Larsen also tossed several grenades. It would be a mistake to think of it as a simple toss that formed an arc because when a person in power armor does it, it comes close to resembling a missile.

When it came to precision, Larsen should have played professional baseball. Grenades with the ability to detonate on impact struck the abominations one after the other. It was easy for the Terrans to make grenades that could be triggered when one wanted. Larsen often opted for the second option as his toss followed a straight line that would deliver the grenade smack in the middle of the abomination's chest. In this case, detonation upon contact was the better option.

"Do we even need to set up traps?" Manuel muttered through the comm.

"I don't have enough grenades to take them all out," Larsen replied while chucking another grenade at well above a hundred miles per hour.

"So, you're saying that the only problem is that you don't have enough ammo?" Manuel retorted back.

Larsen didn't respond. He was trying to think if he could do it. If it were only to hit the abominations, he would be able to thin their numbers enough for the remaining ones to pose no threat. However, most of the time, one grenade wasn't enough to outright destroy the ugly cyborg. It would delay it while causing extensive damage, but the monster would keep moving. The other problem was time. Soon more enemies would join.

"From the readings, it seems there's a company worth of hostiles coming our way. I'm inclined to skedaddle before that happens," Larsen eventually responded.

"Let's retreat," Philip gave the order.

Once again, the small group of Terran soldiers fled from the enemy. No matter how little he liked it, it was the best they could do given the circumstances. The short trek brought them near Ralph, crouching hidden behind a large boulder.

He picked the place with care, Philip thought.

"Sarge, their reinforcements will be here soon," Ralph spoke, giving to the other the bad news.

While they could deal with the first group of abominations, dealing with the second was a little too much for the small team. Philip could only pray their call for help would come before it was too late. "I'm aware of it. Proceed as planned."

The three soldiers joined Ralph and the pilot behind the boulder. Philip was glad they made it to safety. Unfortunately, before being able to do the same, the last Cylon received a fusillade in the back. Having provided cover for the fleeing Terrans for so long hadn't come without a cost. During the brief trek, it had taken numerous hits. Some were fended off by its shield, some by the armor. Already near the breaking point, the armor finally gave out, leaving the Cylon's inner workings exposed.

A few well-placed shots were enough to shred its vital components.

"We've lost the second one. Damn it! It will be a pain to report to the commander," Philip said while giving the cause of his predicament (the pilot) a stern look. Everyone knew the commander liked forcing them to provide unbelievably detailed reports on how their precious equipment got destroyed. It had to be so precise that many chose to protect their Cylons from harm—with their bodies, if necessary—rather than having to report having lost one. Many would then have to give a similarly long report about how their armor got smashed so much. "Ralph, don't wait for my signal. If you think the moment is right, pull the trigger."

"Got it," Ralph replied.

When it came to damaging things, Ralph had the instinct to cause the most. It wouldn't be long before the abominations set foot inside the range of the traps.

"Here we go," Ralph said, pressing the trigger.

In front of them, blue flames burst in every direction at tremendous speed. Ralph had detonated what must amount to his entire stockpile of plasma explosives—a stockpile always of ample size. The flames took the abominations by surprise, instantly raising their surroundings' temperature to thousands of degrees. No matter how tough they were or how difficult it was to destroy their nervous system with bullets, there was no escape in front of such heat. The moment they stepped inside the perimeter, their fate was sealed.

"Oh wow, even their metal frame is starting to melt," Larsen commented.

The abominations had first turned an incandescent red. A minute later, they began melting. Usually, plasma grenades were useless because the abominations would easily escape from the burning area before the flames could cause crippling damage. But this time, the area covered by the spreading plasma flames was too large.

"We can start running now," Manuel said, already prepared to flee the area.

"Too late. Look," Larsen said.

Behind the raging flames, they could see more abominations running.

"Yeah, that's too many for us to take on," Ralph said. "I'm mostly out of explosives anyway."

"How many explosives did you bring?" Philip asked. From the flames' size in front of them, one would think Ralph had used every explosive he had. But that wasn't true in Ralph's case. "It doesn't matter now. Everyone! Be prepared to shoot. Let's stall for time."

The four army soldiers plus one pilot began showering the incoming horde of abominations with bullets of various types and sizes. They all knew it was futile. But, even though outnumbered and outgunned, they had to do their best.

Besides, if it were only for stalling instead of outright winning, they still might have a chance.

"Finally!" Larsen said.

Philip also noticed on his display the icons depicting the incoming bombers. "Five more minutes and we would have been toast."

"Umm, Sarge, the bombs projected trajectory is… I mean, we should probably," Ralph said.

Modern tech like their armor's display allowed them to see where the bombs would drop with little to no margin of error, which in this case was quite a scary thing to see. "Okay, let's run like hell."

While the large cluster bombs were raining down upon the abominations, the five Terrans were running at full speed while screaming. While doing so, Philip thought that he could feel the heat from the bombs on his back. "Let's not stop. If any of those things survived, the bombers would make a second pass. The farthest we are, the better."

"Sure, Sarge. It would be quite the dumb ending if this rescue mission concluded with us getting roasted by our bombs; pilot we need to rescue included," Ralph said.

"You made us work hard for our paycheck today," Philip said while addressing the pilot.

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to spoil your day. It's just that, for some reason, my fighter didn't want to fly anymore."

"Strange, the report mentioned a crazy pilot recklessly chasing after a bunch of hostile fighters inside the atmosphere even though ordered otherwise. It also says that a certain admiral is eager to talk to the said pilot. I'm sure that's the main reason why he sent us to save you," Philip said.

"Ugh, somehow I don't feel like going back anymore. Sheppard's speeches are known to be exceedingly long, and loud," Andrews said.

"From that, I gather this isn't your first time getting chewed by that particular superior," Philip asked.

"For some reason that I don't quite get, I'm in his crosshair. It's been like that from the moment I joined his task force; don't know why, though."

Philip was sure he knew why but decided not to push. Especially since he had just noticed something else on his display, another plane was coming their way.

"I just received word we are getting a ride home. Be prepared to board the Hammerhead the moment it lands. The fewer chances we give them to use their anti-aircraft missiles, the better," Philip said.

He could see the happy smiles on his team. Even the pilot who was waiting to be chewed by the Admiral was smiling at the news.

Hammerhead's approach was sharp, blowing quite the amount of dirt as it touched the ground. The team and pilot quickly got on board, the flier not waiting for any order before taking to the sky. F302Bs were keeping the enemy at bay while the rescuing was still ongoing. He was glad for that. He wasn't looking forward to spending the next twelve hours walking back to base while always on alert. "Now, I will just have to spend the next half hour writing how I lost the two elite Cylons."

"Good luck, Sarge!" Ralph said with a smile.

He did not respond. Instead, he looked through the window, which wasn't a window at all. It was a display, but one could hardly differentiate between the two. While it had taken them twelve hours to come here, it took them only minutes to get back to base.

While on final approach for the landing pad, the craft passed over the energy pylons that created the powerful ten-meter tall forcefield. The forcefield provided the most significant benefit to the war, as it stopped the enemy from proceeding further. Still, if left undefended, the hostiles would target the pylons until the forcefield went down.

"One pylon's down," Philip stated. It was always awful when it happened.

"It happened one hour ago," a member of the Hammerhead's crew responded. "They came at it with thousands of those mechanical abominations and an even greater number of dinos. They used that damn wave thingy to knock it down."

"Is it under control?" Philip asked. They already went over the engagement area, and he couldn't see the situation on the ground anymore. A few glimpses weren't enough to learn everything he eagerly wanted to know.

"Somewhat. The battle is turning fierce, and the aliens are not slowing down their assault. But we are somehow managing. Although, I think they'll send you back to fight the moment we land."

"Hearing that, Sarge? They might overlook we came back without the Cylons." Ralph could always find the good even when there shouldn't be any.

Philip would rather give an extensive report than fight more abominations, especially right after the day they had. Just thinking about joining the chaos spreading through the front line made him feel exhausted. But, unlike the dinos, whose numbers seem boundless, the Terrans had few soldiers on the ground, which meant that every available one counted.

"We could be thankful things aren't much worse," the pilot commented.

"What do you mean?" Larsen asked.

"We arrived in the system only two weeks ago, and we still have fewer defenses deployed in orbit. The truth is, if even a small Vargas task force came knocking, we would have lost the planet," the pilot explained.

"So why don't they?" Philip asked.

"They don't because they are busy dealing with the Main Fleet led by Admiral Jack O'Neill. They are doing everything they can to close the anomalies and prevent the Vargas from receiving reinforcements. Consequently, the Vargas are doing everything they can to keep their anomalies open, hence not enough ships to send a few here," Andrews explained.

"And what's the score?" he asked again. He knew that if they failed to close all the anomalies quickly, the Main Fleet wouldn't have a snowball chance in hell of winning.

"Five anomalies closed, still two to go," the pilot said, but then frowned. "Those last two will be tough. The Vargas are already getting ships through. Worse yet, they are on opposite sides of the galaxy. And we all know how much it takes to cross it from one end to the other."

Philip knew that very well. At first, he was incredibly optimistic about the odds of the Alliance to kick some Vargas butts. He had said so to anyone who had asked him for his opinion. To him, it was only a matter of time. The Second Great Alliance had a technological edge that even Vargas's numerical superiority could not compensate for. To him, it was easy to think the SGA would take a firm grip on this galaxy and would eventually cripple the Vargas logistics. But he soon realized his mistake. He thought the Terrans would bring their jump stations in such numbers to cover the whole galaxy, just like in the Milky Way. With jump stations with a jump-range of around fifty thousand light-years, they could protect their home galaxy with as few as six stations. With the stations set up, a large task force could jump anywhere in the galaxy in a matter of minutes and provide support to the small patrol that asked for aid. With such a strategic advantage, he was sure the SGA would dominate the IC1001 galaxy in a short time. After all, it isn't important how many ships you have, but how many you can bring to the fight at any given time.

But then, an officer told him the sad truth. In a galaxy with a diameter of more than four million light-years, the volume of space was such that it would take hundreds of thousands of jump stations to cover the whole galaxy. Then they would need to place their ships in so many places that it would take millions of warships. They would all have to be positioned near the jump stations on standby, mostly doing nothing but always having to be ready to jump whenever a call came. His hopes of the SGA dominating the IC1001 galaxy shattered into a million pieces. No matter how fast the Terrans and their allies were at building things like ships and stations, they could never produce the necessary numbers for a quick campaign. It was then that he understood how big the universe was.

It was then that he understood that it wouldn't be easy for the Terrans to win this war. "Yeah, we do. This galaxy is just too big. The Vargas chose well when they picked this place as an important junction."

"Exactly. And don't forget about their minions. No matter that we all think of the dinos as nothing compared to the Vargas and their war machine, we still need to deal with trillions of them, all of them ready to toss their lives if it means taking even one of ours with them," the pilot said.

"It's the reason why our bosses are so invested in protecting the Minians. If we can grab their whole logistics for this sector, our job would become much easier," Larsen added.

"Yes, and then double that," the pilot said.

"Double?" Larsen asked.

"Not only would that cripple them, but it would also add that same infrastructure to our shipbuilding capacity. Instead of bringing everything from the Milky Way, we could start building everything we need right here. It's not like there aren't enough resources in this massive galaxy," the pilot answered.

Philip hadn't thought of that. That could remove a bothersome bottleneck. "No wonder the dinos want to take this planet back."

"If the natives are keeping access codes or maybe a terminal capable of accessing their entire network from here, the dinos will stop at nothing to take it," Larsen added.

The dinos attacked the front line with reckless abandon, ready to send millions of their people to their deaths if necessary. "They won't stop sending soldiers. We need to prevent them from sending more."

"That's right," the pilot commented.

"Even more reason for you to get back to stopping whatever tries to land," Philip said before smiling. "Although, next time eject before crashing, all right. We can easily replace a fighter, but not the pilot."

The pilot's expression changed into a serious one. "I did."

"You did what?" he asked.

"I tried to eject, but it didn't work," the pilot said, still with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Bad luck all around, huh? They must have damaged your systems," he said, but he sensed something was amiss. From the look on the pilot's face, something was on his mind.

"I don't think so. If it were only me, I would think the same as you, but my wingman couldn't eject. I know because our comm was open when he tried," the pilot said.

Philip didn't have to ask. It was enough to see the man's face to know how it had ended. His wingman did not make it. The pilot might have chased the dinos inside the atmosphere to avenge his friend.

However, he knew better than to pry and was more intrigued by the pilot's inability to eject to change the subject. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that one ejection system not working is one thing, but two not working at the same time is something entirely different. No way two fighters experience the same failure," the pilot explained.

It wasn't like nobody could jam their beaming system. The Terrans and other races were doing it regularly. It happened so often that many had started believing the beaming system would soon become obsolete. It was one of the reasons why they didn't rely more on it. It was easier to reach the planet's surface with the beaming system than land with a craft. But they didn't use it often because they knew it could be jammed, resulting in their people being stranded on the ground, possibly while under fire. "Could it be that the dinos have found a way to stop our beaming system from working? They, too, must think that killing our pilots is more important than destroying only the craft."

"I'll have to check that out. Our ships in orbit might have picked up a jamming signal. If that's true, it could turn out to be a big problem." The pilot explained. "We have a shortage of pilots more than we have of fighters.

These days, the Terrans could build an SF-322 in as little as two days, already tested and ready to kick ass. But even with the tech they have, they could not do the same with the pilots needed to fly them. He had experienced the memory transfer device and the virtual reality that allowed them to train from a chair. It made it possible to gain experienced soldiers who had fought many battles, at least in the virtual world. One might think of them as half-baked war veterans even though they haven't set foot on a real battlefield. Not to mention that there were no injuries during the training process—it was inside a virtual world, after all.

With the combination of transferring knowledge from veterans, the availability of complex virtual battlefields, and a physical training regime more advanced than anything they had a decade ago, they could train their recruits in as little as a month. And their competence when they came out was so great that calling them rookies or novices would be insulting.

Still, two months to get a new pilot than two days to get a new fighter was a difference of more than one order of magnitude. It was no wonder the Terrans were putting a beaming ejection system to save their pilots.

Feeling the craft touching ground, Philip thought how their mission had now indeed come to an end. They had saved the valuable pilot, which was the most crucial part. He hoped they could take at least a few hours of rest before having to rejoin the frontline to keep doing what they did before the rescue mission.

The group of four army soldiers and one pilot belonging to the space navy descended the ramp. At the same time, an officer, an Lt., a Junior Grade from his stripes, rushed to meet them.

"Lieutenant Commander Andrews, I presume," the officer asked while giving a sharp salute.

"You presume correctly, Lieutenant," Andrews said.

"We have a ship ready to take you back to your assault carrier," the Lt. said.

"All right, I'll be right—wait! Why do I have to take a ship to get back to my people? Just beam me back the hell up."

"We are experiencing difficulties with the beaming system," the Lt. said.

"Okay, use the rings then," the pilot pushed. "Or is it not working?"

"The rings are working, but we are detecting strange fluctuations. Until we know it is safe, nothing living will use them," the man explained.

Listening to the conversation, Philip could not but assume something was afoot with their teleportation systems. The dinos had teleportation boosters the Terrans could not stop from establishing a lock, something the Terrans would like to do. In his book, it meant the dinos were quite advanced. In some areas, maybe even ahead of the Terrans. They might know of ways to prevent the Asgard beaming systems from working correctly. Thankfully, it seems the rings were still operational. It was clear they were a more robust system than the Asgard counterpart. Regretfully, they were just not as handy.

"Sargent, you and the rest of your team have saved my life. I hope I'll be able to one day repay the debt I now owe," the pilot said.

"The best way to repay it is to stop more dinos from reaching the planet. That would undoubtedly save us more grief," Philip said.

"Preventing more battlefields from opening up must be your priority," Larsen added. "Even so, you still need to buy us a few rounds of beer."

"You have a deal. First chance I get, I'm coming down, and drinks are on me," the pilot said.

"Oh, I'm so looking forward to it," Ralph said, looking motivated.

"But you also must make sure you all survive until then, all right?" the pilot said.

"Now that I know an unlimited number of beers awaits me, no way I'm getting killed by those fuckers," Ralph added. He seemed quite pumped up.

"I must go now," the pilot said, slowly turning towards the impatient Lieutenant. "See you soon, guys."

"And he's gone," Philip said, watching as the pilot followed the other officer. "Well, it's time to go meet our commander and see if we can beg for some leisure time before rejoining the fight," he said.

"Why do I have the feeling the thing we'll get will be the man chewing our asses for losing two Cylons and a big syringe full of stimulants before being ordered to rejoin the front," Larsen said.

"Yeah, I can already hear his thundering voice saying, 'You had twelve hours to sleep before reaching the pilot! Then a craft picked you up and brought you back! Why would I give you more time to keep doing nothing?'" Ralph gave a particularly good impersonation of how their CO sounded when angered. The issue here was that being enraged seemed to be the man's default setting.

"Maybe he'll give us an hour to fix our armor and apply that damn varnish on it," Manuel added.

"I must say, though. That stuff works. Without it, I can't say for sure my armor wouldn't have stopped working while still surrounded by those freaks," Ralph said.

"The Cylons were able to survive longer than I thought."

"Great, that means the CO will chew our head because, despite having the new miraculous varnish, we still managed to lose both Cylons," he said.

"No reason to think of how our CO will yell at us. We can go right now and experience it firsthand. Not like we can escape it either," Philip said.

The other three nodded, knowing their faith was sealed no matter what they did or how long they tried to delay the inevitable.

The four began their short trek towards the main building, where the dreaded CO awaited.

---

Thanks for reading. Leave a review. They are always appreciated.