THREE: Surrender, Belisarius!

They emerged from jump space in what seemed to Victor only a fraction of a second. In reality it was closer to four seconds total transit time, but the complexities of jump space travel and the related time distortion was lost on him. There was a large gray looking planet that loomed in the distance and limping away from it were the transports. It was Cygnus Prime. They had arrived on station.
“Command, this is Alpha Two, we have arrived on station approximately fifteen hundred meters from the convoy.” Vellum said as he quickly assessed the situation.
There were two Vasudan Sathis transports ahead and slightly below their position. They were badly damaged and trailing plasma. Two equally battered Vasudan Serapis fighters were also limping along.
“What the hell? These guys got mauled.” Victor said as he surveyed the damage.
Vellum switched to the local combat frequency from the command frequency and contacted the Vasudan Transports.
“Iota Transports, this is Alpha Wing of the 53rd Hammerheads, GTD Aquitaine. We have orders to protect your convoy. What’s your status over?”
“Alpha Wing, this is Epsilon One,” The pilot was Vasudan and the translators kicked in instantly to convert the Vasudan’s speech to something the Terran Pilots could understand.
“We are grateful for your assistance. We have repelled a heavy NTF assault and are down two fighters. We have lost three transports to the rebel attack and the surviving transports have sustained moderate damage. We anticipate the rebels will return in greater force,” the Vasudan stated matter-of-factly.
“I copy, Epsilon One.” Vellum replied. He was not all that crazy about the Vasudans but slaughtering defenseless refugees was something only cowards did. He had friends that went over to the NTF because their hatred of Vasudans was that strong. Vellum was proud to be a Terran but he couldn’t make the leap to traitor, despite the fact that he really didn’t trust the Vasudans.
“Alpha Four, take the forward cover position. Keep you eyes peeled and make sure nothing gets through.”
“Roger.”
Victor advanced the throttles on his Myrmidon and slipped forward of the lead Transport. He could see through some of the viewports as he passed her and saw that there was a fire raging within. They were attempting to vent one of the cargo hold to space to get the inferno under control. One of the cargo bay doors gave way and the compartment decompressed, sucking a few unfortunate Vasudan crewmembers out to their deaths
“Jeez, one of the cargo bay doors let go!”
He could hear the Vasudan vessels chattering back and forth, clearly agitated. They couldn’t rescue the victims even if they were capable of doing so. They had no available support ships. If they could secure the sector, they might be able to recover the bodies later.
“Potshot, we might want to call for some backup. They are fighting fires in there and their engines are leaking plasma. They won’t be able to maneuver and fend off another raid. Judging from the damage, there are bound to be severe casualties.”
“Good idea Alpha Four.”
Vellum switched frequencies over to the Command circuit, “Command, we have a lot of friendly casualties and we are requesting priority emergency assistance.”
“Command copies, Alpha Two. We do not have any one available at the moment to send your way. We are sending your request up the line. We will send a recovery vessel as soon as one becomes available. We will know more in a few minutes.”
“Command, we may not have a few minutes. I suggest you emphasize the fact that the Vasudans have already lost three transport ships and two fighters. I don’t know how long the other two can hold out.”
“Alpha Two, we copy your transmission. Stand by; we will be back to you shortly.”
Neither Pilot liked it, but they what else could they do? They were on their own for the time being. He could hear the Vasudans calling each other for status requests. They were nervous and had every right to be. There were still close to seventy-five thousand refugees stranded on Cygnus Prime and the NTF had clearly demonstrated that they had no reason to leave any of them alive.
Exasperated, Vellum switched back to the local frequency.
“Hang in there Iota. Command will send a recovery vessel as soon as possible.”
There was a strange warbling sound coming from Victor’s radar display. It took half a second for him to realize what it was.
“Inbound hostile at two seven zero mark one one five!” He called out. He instantly pumped his throttles to the stops and transferred some of the power from his defense shields to his engines to coax a little more power from them.
“I see them,” Vellum called out. “Epsilon, stay close to the freighters, we’ll handle these guys.”
“We copy Alpha Two.”
Victor’s Myrmidon was quickly approaching one hundred meters per second and when he kicked in the afterburners the distance between the inbound fighters and his fighter vanished.
“Potshot, looks like we have a wing of NTF Hercules fighters, designating Leo.”
“I copy. Weapons free.”
Victor didn’t even bother to respond. He whipped his fighter into a tight roll, rising above the fighters, who didn’t seem to notice his presence yet.
Too bad for them.
“Hello friend.” He muttered through clenched teeth.
He opened up on the lead Herc from less than two hundred meters, dropping his speed as he fired off a pair of Rockeyes.
They were great for close quarter dog fighting.
Small and agile, they didn’t require a lock before you could fire. They went after what ever was centered in your HUD, including you if you weren’t careful. The tiny missiles had a short distance to cover and he fired his Subach cannons at the Herc just before the missiles impacted, collapsing the shield and allowing the missiles to penetrate the fighter’s hull before they vaporized it in a cloud of expanding gases, plasma and molten metal.
The other two fighters instantly split up, confused by the sudden and violent death of their flight leader. They never saw the Myrmidons. Potshot blotted the second one with a volley from his Subach cannons and tempest missiles.
“Woo hoo!” He shouted.
The third fighter was close enough to the transports that they opened up with their defense cannons. High velocity, depleted uranium rounds filled the space in front of the Herc and he dived straight down, accelerating, to avoid the anti-fighter cannon fire. He was hoping to flip his Hercules fighter around and get off a few missiles at their exposed underbellies. Victor, having killed the flight leader, had been right on top of him lining up a shot from about two hundred meters when he dove. He snap rolled the fighter over, inverting it, and yanked back on the stick.
The Herc after about six hundred meters turned, reversing course, and was starting its run. They were now closing each other at over two hundred fifty meters per second. It was over in the blink of an eye. The NTF pilot didn’t even have time to notice the Myrmidon bearing down on him before his canopy melted away in a hail of Subach cannon fire. The last thing he saw was the glow of a Rockeye fired from Victor’s fighter a second before.
A few seconds later the sky was clear again and they formed up to report to Command and check on the Vasudans.
“Alpha One, be advised that we have transmitted your co-ordinates to the GTV Psamtik. The vessel should be exiting subspace momentarily.”
“Nice shooting Alpha Two. Not bad for a newb.” Vellum beamed.
“We were lucky. They didn’t know we were here.”
“True. But I always say that it’s better to be lucky than good.”
Neither of the remaining Vasudan transports had sustained any additional damage, much to Victor’s relief, but he knew that unless they were reinforced soon they wouldn’t last much longer.
“Contact! Inbound hostiles bearing three one niner, mark zero one five. Designating Cancer.” Epsilon One called out. The two Vasudan fighters spread out a little as the anti fighter guns on the transports began tracking towards the incoming fighters.
“Looks like our friends with the Hercs are back again.” Vellum commented. Both Myrmidons were about three hundred meters above the NTF fighters, again giving them a clear firing lane. Victor was already sighted on the lead when Epsilon Three, the other remaining Vasudan fighter called out, “Hostiles inbound, bearing two two eight, mark two seven seven.”
This put the other flight on a perpendicular course to the Cancer group.
“Designating inbound as Gemini.”
Victor fired off three Rockeyes and pulled up, throttling up to full power and firing his afterburners. He reversed course quickly and headed for the new group of fighters closing on the exposed flank of the transports.
“Potshot can you baby sit these two while I greet our new guests?”
Victors target noticed the Rockeyes too late and dived just as the fist missile caught his starboard engine. It blew the engine clean off the rest of the fighter, sending it careening off, spinning wildly out of control. The second missile missed only because it was confused by the explosion of the first, continuing in a straight line. The third found its mark easily however leaving Cancer flight without its leader.
Potshot, hoping that Victor would be all right handling the new threat, tried to concentrate on the remaining Hercs of Cancer flight. They were still flying in formation, boring in on the two cripples Sathis transports. They began firing their cannons and missiles at about two hundred and fifty yards.
Idiots, Vellum thought with some relief.
The Hercs were using their Tempest dumb-fire rockets and had only a small chance of actually hitting their intended targets. The Vasudans got lucky. He lined up for his first shot, switching his secondary weapons to his Rockeyes. He needed to eliminate the fighters as quickly as possible in order to help Victor with the rest.
Hitting his afterburners to close the distance between his fighter and the slower moving Hercs quickly, he fired off a salve of three Rockeyes from less than one hundred and fifty meters. It was at the outer limit of their optimal kill range but the tactical situation was deteriorating quickly and he didn’t know how many more fighters the NTF were going to throw at them.
“Alpha Four, how’s it going?” He said as he bored in on the remaining fighter from Cancer flight. He almost panicked when Victor didn’t answer right away. The last fighter suddenly vaporized in front of him and Victor’s Myrmidon went blazing past him full bore.
“What the hell!?!” Vellum screamed. He was more upset that Victor had taken his kill, than at the fact that Victor went screaming by without so much as a ‘Tally Ho’.
“Are you insane?”
“We have more company. Less talking, more flying.” Vellum checked his screen and saw that Victor was right. Three more NTF Hercs had jumped in.
“Designating Aries.”
“Command, this is Alpha One, where the hell is our support?”
“Alpha One, Psamtik has been momentarily delayed. Be advised that the NTCv Belisarius, a Deimos class Corvette has run our blockade of the Sirius jump node. We are tracking the vessel through subspace and have vectored its course to your immediate vicinity, ETA two minutes.”
“Oh that’s just great!” Vellum growled.
By now the NTF realized that the Vasudans were no longer alone and the Hercs of Aries wing managed to get their shots off first. Victor rocketed his fighter high and Vellum dove below the group to envelop them or force them off the attack. Epsilon Four moved in as well, opting to cover Vellum’s wing. These fighters were better prepared for the Myrmidons and as a result Victor’s first pair of Rockeyes missed. That led to a muffled curse and full throttle with afterburners. Vellum watched with morbid fascination as the Herc Victor was chasing tried everything to shake him.
He couldn’t. Victor was all over him like cheap cologne.
Then, suddenly, the Herc reversed thrusters and Victor was going too fast to stop. They were going to collide. Vellum tried to call out a warning but it was too late.
Victor watched the Herc yaw and pitch wildly as it slowed down and grow incredibly large in his view screen, without really thinking, he switched to his Tempest missiles, never bothering to slow down. No less that eight of the tiny rockets hit the Herc center of mass, a full second before Victor’s fighter plowed through the fireball.
“Alpha Four! Vick! Are you all right?” Vellum couldn’t see anything through the explosion and felt sick to his stomach.
“Don’t worry about me and get that damned Herc before he fires on the Transports!”
Victor’s Myrmidon raced out the other side of the expanding explosion, trailing hot plasma.
“How in the blue hell did he survive that?” Vellum said in awe.
Victor had rolled to port to engage the other fighter, zooming below and out of Potshot’s view. Vellum and Epsilon Four quickly dispatched the oncoming Herc and by the time they turned back to the convoy Victor had nailed the last remaining fighter with an assist from Epsilon One.
“Contact! Large vessel dropping out of jump space, bearing one three zero, mark one five.!” Epsilon One called out.
“This could be the Belisarius,” warned Epsilon Four.
Vellum and Victor formed up, ready to put their fighters between the new vessel and the transports. A massive wormhole opened up and one of the largest warships Victor had ever seen in his life glided out.
“Negative, IFF transponder is green.” Epsilon One called out.
It was a Vasudan ship.
“Alpha Wing, this is the GVD Psamtik. We are on station, ready to assist.”
“Boy, are we glad to see you, Psamtik.” Vellum replied.
“Nice of them to show up, huh,” Victor said, smiling for the first time since he jumped in. Relieved that they had some help finally, he cut the power to his fighter and coasted next to the transports. With the Psamtik in system, he could take the opportunity to rearm his fighter in case some one else jumped in before the Psamtik could launch her fighters.
Less than a minute later the Support ship had docked with his fighter and was busy refilling his weapons stores. The GTVA fighters all had a sophisticated modular weapons system that allowed them to be re-supplied while on patrol without the need for a space dock.
“Contact! Inbound hostile,” the Psamtik’s CIC controller called out. A second later the corvette NTCv Belisarius, looking so completely mangled Victor wondered why it didn’t just fall apart, crawled out of subspace. They didn’t slip into the system unnoticed.
“Belisarius, this is the GVD Psamtik. You are ordered to power down and surrender.”
The voice of the officer in the Psamtik’s CIC was calm and devoid of emotion, completely professional. He was not offering alternatives, merely instructing the Belisarius what it needed to do to survive. Not that it made a difference with the NTF Corvette. The commanding officer of the Belisarius still thought his ship could fight and refused to surrender his warship.
“Negative Vasudan,” he spat the word Vasudan out like a profanity. “The NTF is the only legitimate authority in this system.”
The calm reassuring voice of the Vasudan officer crackled through the comm link again, “Surrender or be destroyed. This is your last warning.”
The Vasudan delivered the ultimatum with deceptive ease and civility, almost as if they were politely chatting over supper, would you like some sugar for your tea?
“Your posturing insults us both Vasudan. I will not give up my ship.” The Belisarius wasn’t even capable of maneuvering, Victor to see the ship’s reaction control thrusters shooting off sporadically to no avail. The Belisarius was floundering, she was dead in space.
“What’s to give up?” Victor wondered aloud.
There was no way that the Belisarius was going to surrender to a Vasudan warship. If the Aquitaine had been here, perhaps they might have considered it. But there were no Terran vessels available and so he was left with the Vasudan warship. And predictably, he had indignantly refused.
As it turned out, it was a poor decision.
“As you wish,” the voice on the Psamtik replied, sounding rather disappointed.
“Gunnery control, open fire.”
“All fighters stand clear of the Psamtik and Belisarius.” Epsilon one warned.
The Belisarius was game for the fight but even if she had been fresh from overhaul, she was nowhere near enough to handle the Psamtik. As it was she turned out to be what Vellum liked to call a one hit wonder.
The Psamtik’s main particle cannon fired a single shot, a brilliant amber bean that reached out faster than a bolt of lighting and touched the skin of the Corvette like an angry finger of god. It cut through the heart of the Corvette like a hot knife through butter. The Belisarius blew apart a fraction of a second later and just like that, Cary Victor’s first combat deployment was over.
“The Belisarius objective has been neutralized. Alpha wing, we are now deploying Zeta and Theta Wing. Thank you for your assistance. You may return to base.”

TWO: Flight or Fight

Four days later, the GTD Aquitaine arrived on station. The rest of the Third Fleet had arrived a little early but as it turned out a faulty converter in one of the support ships delayed their departure for four hours.
Admiral Petrarch was furious and the commanding officer of the support ship was relieved of his command. Petrarch told the unfortunate officer that he was lucky he didn’t have him shot, which under the rules of wartime discipline was apparently well within his rights.
Petrarch wasn’t going to kill a man for screwing up his vessels maintenance records.
But he could kill a career for it.
The rest of the Aquitaine’s considerable star craft wing showed up before that happened. With the four interceptor squadrons, one of which was the CAG’s (Commander, Air Group) personal squadron – the Suicide Kings, four bomber squadrons and the other three fighter squadrons in addition to the 53rd, plus the miscellaneous support craft and the search and rescue wing, the GTD Aquitaine have a full complement of nearly one hundred and fifty combat ready space craft.
They were loaded for bear and ready for anything the NTF threw at them.
Once underway the Admiral was kind enough to introduce himself to the new troops and, being a former star fighter pilot himself, took a few extra minutes to introduce himself to the eighteen new Pilots that had joined the various wings assigned to the Aquitaine. He seemed personable despite the regrettable support ship incident and had paraded around the Combat Information Center, or CIC, with an easy sort of command presence. Every office knew who was in command and the hierarchy that followed might as well have been set in stone. From the admiral all the way down to the galley staff all knew what their roles were and understood the task at hand.
It also helped that Admiral Petrarch had that aura of someone who’s been there and done that, as the saying goes. Anyone that took the time to review his service record, which was made available to the crew so that they understood that the old man had indeed walked the walk, could be confident in his leadership. Victor couldn’t help but be a little inspired by him and even got a chance to speak with him. It went better that he could have ever imagined.
“Welcome aboard the Aquitaine, Pilot” Petrarch said smiling.
“Sir, Ensign Cary Victor, 53rd Hammerhead Fighter Squadron, Sir,” Victor said, snapping to attention.
“At ease son,” he replied offering his hand which Victor gladly accepted.
“Victor? Why does that name sound so familiar?” The Admiral eyed Victor cautiously, “You’re not related to Commander Armand Victor?”
Vick’s heart swelled with pride, “Yes Sir. He’s my father.”
“Really?” Petrarch cocked an eyebrow.
He looked at Victor more closely and then smiled, “Well, I suppose he is. You look an awful lot like him you know. He’s a good man. Some of the things he came up with during the Great War saved a lot of lives, including my own. Would never have brought down the Lucifer in time if it hadn’t been for the jump drive modification he worked on. He wasn’t just brilliant, no. More important than that was his ability to persevere under pressure. Hell, the man thrived under pressure.”
Jump drive, the Shivan Super Destroyer? His father had never mentioned working on the jump drives or the Lucifer.
He patted Victor on the arm, “Nothing like the threat of extinction to separate the men from the boys. You look just like him.”
Cary could see a hint of nostalgia in the old admiral’s smile, the shadow of old tales and the fading glory of hard earned victories. His father had spoken rarely of his contribution during the Great War, preferring instead to simply shrug off his accomplishments and just mutter something about just doing his part.
Victor learned a lot about his father’s humility and the true value of his service to the GTA. It made him proud. The old man made him proud.
“Nice to see you followed in the honorable tradition Mister Victor.”
“Yes Sir! Thank you sir!”
The rest of the gathering was really just the standard trading stories and catching up between old friends and remembering those no longer among the ranks of the living, whose ranks were starting to swell as the insurgency gained momentum.
Victor was assigned to the Alpha flight group of his Squadron led by Lieutenant Morales. They went over the patrol schedules and generally chatted about life in the fleet for the next two days. Finally, when they were close to their destination, Petrarch gave the combat flight crews their mission briefing.
A final confrontation with the NTF was brewing at Epsilon Pegasi and the Third and Thirteenth Fleets were being sent in to provide badly needed reinforcements for the ships defending Epsilon Pegasi. The Thirteenth Fleet was a Vasudan Battle group led by their Flagship, the GVD Psamtik, a massive Vasudan Destroyer, one of the more powerful ships in the GTVA fleet. The plan was to establish a blockade of the Alpha Centauri and Sirius jump nodes, trapping the NTF within the contested systems and preventing the spread of the rebellion.
It was ambitious to say the least.
After the mission briefing Victor decided that it might be a good idea to spend as much time in the simulators as possible. Victor had met most of his squadron mates in the intervening time. The NTF was definitely making a push towards Epsilon Pegasi and the Third Fleet was being sent to reinforce GTVA positions there.
Less than twenty four hours later, Masher, Potshot, Victor and another pilot, Ensign Ricky Vorhees, call sign Slash were finishing up their Combat Defense Patrol. It was still referred to as a CAP, the old acronym for a Combat Air Patrol. It was almost six a.m. local time and the flight deck was clear. Most of the Aquitaine’s fighter and bombers were off on a strike mission. The Hammerheads had been held back in reserve just in case the NTF got lucky.
“Not bad Victor.” Morales said after they landed.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Their Myrmidons were pulled off the flight line and set onto their platforms. They would be inspected for damage and then sent one deck below for post flight servicing.
“You have soft hands on the stick and you know how to fly straight. Make sure you remember the basics when the time comes and you’ll be just fine.”
“I’ll try.”
“NTF Pilots aren’t as technically proficient as we are but they have balls you wouldn’t believe.” Vellum added.
“He’s right Victor. They have raw talent and serviceable fighters but what really sets them apart is their near fanatical belief in their cause,” Masher paused for a moment to let it sink in.
“They are willing to die.” Victor said, finishing the thought.
“Exactly.”
“And die they do, in great numbers.” Vellum added with a grin.
Masher shot Potshot a dirty look for the comment but said nothing.
“It reminds me of something that an ancient Terran general said once a long time ago,” Masher said as he turned his attention to the newest member of the 53rd.
“What did he say?” Victor asked.
“He said no dumb son of a bitch ever won a war by dying for his country.”
Vellum made a snorting sound and grunted derisively, “What idiot said that?”
“He wins by making some other dumb son of a bitch die for his country.” Victor said, again completing the thought. Vellum stood there waiting for the answer, looking slightly confused.
“Pretty good, Vick,” Masher said approvingly.
“The idiot in question was Patton.” Victor said to Vellum, who just rolled his eyes in exasperation. How the hell was he supposed to know who that was? Not everyone studied ancient war horses.
“Nice. Maybe we could make your call sign Egghead.” Potshot shot back.
“No. We have time to come up with something suitable for Mister Victor.”
They were nearly off the flight line when the alarm klaxons sounded suddenly and alert calls for battle stations roared through the flight deck. The four pilots turned right around and ran back towards their fighters, which had yet to be transferred below.
“Get those Myrmidons ready for flight now!” Masher ordered. The lift technician started the cranes going in the opposite direction, returning the space superiority fighters to the flight line.
“Potshot, you and Slasher launch and set up CAP on point. Victor, you’re with me.” He bellowed as they slipped back into their fighters. They all managed to launch less than five minutes later and they were on their patrol stations awaiting order thirty seconds after launch.
“Command, this is Alpha One awaiting instructions.” Masher said keying his command circuit commlink.
“Stand by Alpha One.”
“Masher, looks like they’re calling out the horses,” Slasher called out.
Masher looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, four more Myrmidons were launching.
“That will be the skipper and Beta flight.”
“Alpha One, Command is tracking inbound hostiles through subspace. Someone got through the blockade. We have then vectored to your position. ETA, seven minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Masher replied tersely.
Two minutes Command was calling in another emergency. A pair of NTF Cruisers had run a blockade. There was also a five Vasudan transport vessels carrying refugees from Cygnus Prime that had come under attack. The Vasudans, probably from the GVD Psamtik, sent in a wing of fighters to provide cover but now the fighters were calling for reinforcements. Captain Loukakis, leading Beta flight, made his decision quickly.
“Potshot, you and Victor are going to reinforce the Vasudans. Zeta flight is preparing to launch now so we should be able to handle anything that comes our way here. The two Vasudan fighters are dinged up so we are sending in support as a precaution. You boys ought to be able to handle it.”
“Vasudans?” Potshot’s disappointment was evident in his voice but he managed to hold his tongue. He thought about voicing his displeasure at being left out of the action but decided against saying anything.
“Aye, Sir, happy hunting,” Vellum replied as he slowly angled his Myrmidon up and over the slowly forming group. He reversed course, mumbling sullenly about his milk run mission to baby sit a few Vasudans with the squadron virgin.
“Victor, remember to stay close to the transports,” Loukakis continued.
“Hammer anything that gets close and for god’s sake stay in contact with Potshot. Keep your head out there.” Loukakis didn’t like having to send a new pilot off alone without knowing what he was capable of but Admiral Petrarch’s decision to send off the rest of the Aquitaine’s fighter on the Third Fleet’s blockade and counter strike mission meant that he was forced to sit behind in reserve. Fleet safety was his responsibility and all he could do was sent his least experienced pilots to cover what should be an easy mission. If they ran into trouble they would have the Vasudan fighter pilots to help them out. The Vasudan pilots of the Thirteenth fleet and especially those on the GVD Psamtik were some of the very best.
That’s probably why Vellum nearly threw a fit, he thought smiling inside his flight helmet. A little competition would be good for the boys.
“I won’t let you down Boss.” Victor replied with a bit more confidence than he really had. He and Vellum would need to form up and clear the fleet’s course heading to make the short jump to where the Vasudan refugee’s were supposed to be.
“Okay Victor, switch to combat frequency one four seven and form up on my wing.”
Victor rolled his fighter over and pulled back on the stick, reversing course and formed up on Potshot’s wing quickly.
Victor felt his pulse quicken and a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d been told to expect butterflies his first time out, that a little nervousness was a good thing. The adrenaline your body starts to produce was good for making you more alert. And so were some of the medical supplements he was required to take as a pilot.
“Alright Vick, just, uh, don’t freeze up out there and we’ll be uh, fine.”
Potshot was nervous and it did little to convey confidence to his virgin wingman. It was the first time that Vellum was being allowed to lead a flight. That there were only two fighters in his flight element was immaterial. Either way, Victor was too preoccupied to notice, he was too busy checking his ammunition stores and countermeasures. He had never really expected to conduct a preflight inspection after launching but another lesson drummed in during flight school was always know what you are carrying into battle and be prepared to make do with what you have.
You won’t always have a choice.
He had a full load of Tempest dumb-fire rockets and his personal favorite Rockeyes, midrange fire-and-forget missiles with a decent amount of teeth. You didn’t have to lock onto your target to fire them. Just get him in the center of your Head Up Display and say hi. There was also supposed to be a retrofit of the Prometheus cannon but that was still just scuttlebutt. They would have to make do with some antiquated Subachs.
“Alpha Two, this is command, your coordinates have been updated. You may jump when ready.” Victor took a deep breath and flexed his fingers on his flight stick and throttle. Potshot acknowledged command and gave Victor, designated Alpha Four, the order to jump.
A tear in the fabric of space, a pool of blue shimmering light, appeared directly in front of each fighter. It doesn’t matter how many times you get to see a wormhole open up, it’s always an impressive sight, even for a small fighter.
“Up, up and away,” whispered Victor.
And they were gone.

ONE: Shark Bait

He felt like a kid at a candy store, whatever that meant. He had heard his father use the expression before and for some odd reason as he pressed his face against the glass of the view port, he felt it was completely appropriate. If the Aquataine was a candy store then he sure as hell wanted to be there.
“Stand by docking clamps.”
The disembodied voice of the pilot reverberated through the cabin. Cary could hear the muted hiss of the docking collar pressurizing somewhere a couple of decks below. The Aquitaine was one of the largest vessels in the fleet but even she couldn’t hold a transport the size of the Minos. A transom and docking collar was how they were going to arrive.
He stood up, along with the other officers that were transferring to the Third Fleet, as the speakers announced that they had successfully docked with the Aquitaine. His footlocker was going to be transferred with all of the other footlockers for replacement troops and the supplies that the Minos was delivering.
There was nothing like GTVA door to door service.
The lingering feelings of homesickness had passed and he was excited and energized now that he was here, in the Capella systems about to transfer over to the Flagship of the Third Fleet.
It took fifteen minutes to get across and clear security. The main gangway hatch was adjacent to the flight deck. He could see stacks of fighter and bombers along the walls of the cavernous space. You needed to wear special suits to walk the flight deck area. There were caution signs and warning signs all over the place.
Caution: Plasma Flow Circulation.
Warning: Exo-Suit required for flight deck. Low gravity environment.
He heard a set of engines throttling up and looked up just in time to see a Myrmidon fighter lifting off the cradle and heading towards the flight line. It was quickly followed by three others. Somewhere in the cavernous expanse of the hanger, there was a fighter with his name on it.
His heart was racing.
“Hot damn.”
“Keep it moving newb, the tour don’t stop here.”
Cary turned to see a deck officer waving him through an access door. The sounds of the flight deck dwindled quickly as the deck officer closed the fire door behind him and as he made his way forward to find his new squadron, the 53rd Hammerheads, a well respected group with a lot of combat history. After a few minutes of heading in what he thought was the general direction, he made a right turn and suddenly found that he wasn’t where he had expected to be. It was one thing to memorize deck plans and schematics, it was another thing entirely to try and find your way around an actual living, breathing warship
He pulled a card from his back pocket and looked at the orders printed there.
“Excuse me Chief, where can I find Captain Loukakis?”
The pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor, “The Captain is right through there, Sir.”
“Thanks Chief.”
There was a scrap of dark, charred metal hung over the door. It looked like a panel from an old fighter. It had 53rd Hammerheads painted on it and the logo of a black hammerhead shark. He knew what a shark was. They weren’t indigenous to Vega but he saw pictures of them and films with sharks and other creatures found only on earth.
He stepped into the room.
It was brightly lit and pretty spacious considering it was on a ship. There were a few tables with pictures and various knick-knacks on the wall behind them along the port side of the room and a lectern and screen on the wall to starboard. The lectern had the same Squadron Logo on the front. In one corner, Cary noticed three men in flight overalls sprawled at a table on the far end playing cards.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Captain Loukakis.”
One of the men looked up with a look of detached interest at Cary. His face was neutral in a bemused sort of way. Cary figured he was trying to decide whether or not to answer him truthfully or not. He had the stub of a cigar clenched between his teeth and was switching it from side to side as he stared at Cary.
“He ain’t here.”
“Do you know where I might be able to find him?”
“No. Probably up in CIC”
Victor nodded slowly but didn’t move.
The surly card player looked at his watch, “he should, uh, be back in a few.”
One of the other players smirked and tossed his cards down on the table, “I’m out.” He was young but had a worn look on his face despite the lopsided smirk he sported. A short tuft of brown hair peeked out from under a ball cap with the Aquataine logo on the front. He couldn’t have been more than twenty two or twenty three.
“Your dealing leaves a lot to be desired, Sir.”
The third man did the same, muttering a curse under his breath. He was a little older than the cap wearing pilot. They had to be pilots, Cary thought. He looked up and seemed to notice for the first time that someone else was in the room. He stood up and stretched, waving Victor over.
“Who might you be?”
“Ensign Cary Victor.”
“Ah, the new guy. Welcome aboard,” he said extending his hand.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Henry Morales, Squadron XO. This is Ensign Cory Vellum,” he said pointing to the first guy to quit the card game. “And you’ve already met Denim,” motioning to the man with the cigar.
Denim stood up to offer his hand, “Lieutenant (j.g.) Hiram Blue.”
“So Vick, what squadron you transferring in from?” Denim inquired.
“Transferring? I’m not transferring in from anywhere,” Victor replied. That earned Victor a derisive look from Masher.
“Wait. What, you’re like fresh out of flight school or something?” Morales asked cautiously. Evidently they weren’t keen on rookie pilots.
“No way, Masher, no way command would send us a newb,” Denim interjected. “Even they’re not that mean,” he said, probably trying to convince himself as well as Morales.
Masher? Cary figured that was Morales’ call sign.
“Actually, Sir, I was assigned to Vega Sector Patrol while they hashed out where they wanted to send me. So I’m not technically coming straight from flight school.”
“A sky cap? They sent me a sky cap!?!” someone growled from behind him.
The new voice startled Victor.
He turned to find the Squadron Commander, Captain Vaile Loukakis, standing behind him. He hadn’t heard the Captain enter the room.
Cary drew himself to attention, “Ensign Cary Victor, reporting for duty, Sir.”
“At ease, Ensign,” he said in a voice that made Victor feel anything but. Loukakis had a confident but weary presence about him. He was tall and thin, just under six-three, with a razor thin patch of blonde hair on the top of his head and steel blue eyes. The patch on the right sleeve of his flight fatigues had the Squadron logo and the Captain’s call sign was embroidered underneath, Shadow.
Victor noticed for the first time that they all had similar patches.
“Things must be getting worse if they are sending us rookie replacements,” Loukakis said irritably.
“I knew Bosch was making inroads at Epsilon Pegasi but it’s got to be worse than Command is letting on,” Denim said gruffly. Cary thought that his voice matched him perfectly. He was on the short side, maybe five foot eight, but he had a broad barreled chest and strong arms that looked like he could pinch the head off of someone.
Not the sort of person you wanted to piss off.
“Yeah, same old same old.” Loukakis said wearily. He straightened up and shook his new pilot’s hand, “Lieutenant Commander Vaile Loukakis. Welcome to the 53rd Hammerheads Ensign.”
“Thank you sir.”
“Vellum, show Mister Victor to his bunk and help him get squared away. The Third fleet is being redeployed so we are all going to be busy for the next few hours.” Loukakis turned to Victor, “Are you up to date on the Myrmidon?”
“Yes sir. I have forty-three hours logged.”
“Forty-three huh? Once you get your gear stowed I want you to run through the training sims, Potshot will show you where the training facility is,” He said motioning towards Ensign Vellum.
“The rest of the battle group won’t be here for another thirty six hours and the Admiral isn’t due back until then. Get as many hours in as you can, you won’t have any room for error once we get out there Ensign. It is a singularly unforgiving environment and the NTF are far more clever than you have been led to believe.”
“Yes Sir.”
Loukakis walked into his office trailed by Masher and Denim. Vellum waved towards the doors that lead to the bunk area, “So, uh, Vick, you have a call sign yet?”
“No,” Cary replied truthfully. “You?”
He looked at the squadron logo, “Potshot? Was that the best you could come up with?”
Vellum groaned, rolling his eyes, “man, don’t get me started. The Lieutenant made me change mine after my first sortie. My call sign was Hotshot but I screwed up on my first sortie with the Hammerheads by not hitting anything but the side of a transport we were escorting.”
He laughed at the memory, “Masher said I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a Destroyer. So I got changed from Hotshot to Potshot. It sort of stuck.”
“Ouch.”
They walked through the barrack room Vellum pointing to his bunk area vaguely and led him out another door in the back of the room that lead to the Corridor. Vellum pointed to a sign that had an arrow and the words Flight Simulator.
“How long have you been out here?” Victor asked.
They followed the sign’s directions.
“I guess about a year now. I was with the 232nd Fighter Squadron in Alpha Centauri, served on the GTD Minotaur. We got ambushed by the NTF. Minotaur went down after twenty Loki’s got through our fighter escort. We were overrun after that. We withdrew to Capella and what was left of the 232 was reassigned.”
Cary had not heard of the loss of the Minotaur. It was an old Orion Class Destroyer but it was still more than a match for anything the NTF had wasn’t it? As far as he knew the NTF wasn’t even interested in Alpha Centauri. Now they were in control of that system? Twenty Loki bombers in a single sortie? Since when did the NTF have those kinds of resources available?
“When was this?” Vick asked.
Vellum cocked his head to one side, trying to remember, “I dunno, I guess maybe three, almost four months now.”
“Four months? We got pushed out of Alpha Centauri four months ago?” Cary was incredulous.
“How else to you think they were able to take Deneb from us so easily?” Vellum shrugged. It was disconcerting. All of the media reports had said those systems were merely ‘contested’, which was a fancy word for battleground. Vellum made it seem like the battle had ended and the GTVA had come out on the wrong side of the score.
But that wasn’t possible, was it?
Vellum noticed the look on Vick’s face, “Cheer up man. It’s only temporary. Word is we are going back to, uh, relieve the NTF of the burden of leadership.”
He clapped him on the back laughing out loud.
Three minutes of tight turns and corners later, they had arrived at the training center. Vellum quickly introduced him to a frazzled looking chief and left Victor waiting for the trainer to be prepared.
“The Chief will see to it that you have a good time.” He turned to the Chief and winked, “Wontcha Willy?”
“Sure thing Sir. We aim to please,” the Chief replied.
Vellum disappeared through the hatch and Victor was alone again. The Chief mumbled something about giving him a few minutes to warm up the machines, leaving Victor with a few minutes to wait so he took a seat and contemplated the last twenty four hours of his life.
Yesterday he was safe and secure, relaxing on Vega.
Now he was on the pointed end of the lance that was about to be jabbed at the heart of the NTF. He had thought the NTF was a lot weaker than they turned out to be. He always thought of the NTF as a minor irritant for the GTVA but Ensign Vellum’s recounting of the loss of the GTD Minotaur and a few fragments of conversation he had heard on the flight over were beginning to paint a picture.
It wasn’t pretty either.
“You ready Sir?”
Victor looked up to see the Chief grinning down at him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Prologue: Farewell Vega

1300 GTT Minos

Vega, in all its pristine glory, was the very center of the universe, at least to the fragment of humanity that called her home. Cary Victor was one such individual. Though human by birth and a Terran by ancestry, he considered Vega his home. Victor had never seen the home planet of his ancestor. In fact, no one had seen earth for more than thirty years. Having spent all of his twenty two years in and around Vega, he was spared the longing for a world that he had never seen with his own eyes.
The fact of the matter was, he considered himself first and foremost a Vegan.
Earth remained a figment of history’s imagination, something beyond the tangible realm he had grown up in. You needed a sort of blind faith to believe in a planet you have never actually seen and Cary decided early on to expend his energies elsewhere.
“GTT Minos, bound for 3rd Fleet headquarters, Capella cleared for departure. Please stow you gear and fasten your seatbelts,” said the disembodied voice of the transport’s pilot. He sounded old and jaded, decidedly irritable, Cary thought idly.
Must be the long hours, boring flight and lousy pay, he chuckled to himself.
There were, of course, more plausible reasons for the pilot’s rough demeanor and Victor had no illusions about what they were.
The Neo Terran Front.
War was on the horizon, everyone knew that. It was no longer a matter of if but when. Thirty two years of peace were threatened by the NTF insurgency and it was beginning wear on the Vasudan / Terran alliance. They had a vision for the Terrans trapped in this region of the Galaxy and it did not include the Vasudans. Aken Bosch, the fallen Admiral and self proclaimed messiah of the insurgency, had captured the Polaris system in a stunningly brazen betrayal of his command.
There were plenty on both sides that stood to gain a lot by straining the relationship that was the cornerstone of the GTVA. The Vasudans had been dealing with their own disgruntled citizenry, The Hammer of Light, for a lot longer. Millions had died during the Great War. Despite the fact that he was probably headed for combat, Cary only thought distantly of the chance that he might die in battle and like other men his age, he felt invincible, immortal. He was proud, determined, resolute and uniquely unencumbered by the sense of loss that wore down the generation that came before him, the so called Lost Generation. In that respect he was something of an anomaly.
As the old Terran saying goes, rank hath its privileges.
Because of his father’s service record and contributions in the Great War, Cary grew up in the best of circles, among the politically connected members of Terran high society. He had been spared the darker legacy left by the Great War, a shattered society, a non-existent economy and millions of humans struggling to survive in the aftermath.
Cary Victor lived his life as a free Terran. He didn’t grow up in the shadow of the war with the Vasudan Parliamentary Empire, nor did he fear annihilation at the feet of the Shivans, the shadow raced that appeared one day in the blink of an unstable wormhole and disappeared nearly as quickly. They very nearly wiped out every single living creature in that region. But they were gone, forgotten.
A vanquished enemy.
The Galactic Terran had started to rebuild and the peace treaty with the Vasudans brought the promise of prosperity the likes of which the Terrans could only dream of.
His great adventure was just getting started.
But the shadow of turmoil was slowly spreading across the world of the Galactic Terran Vasudan Alliance.
He smiled as the roar of the engines thrust the lumbering spacecraft into the air. It was an Argo class transport, a bulk hauler normally used by the GTVA Marines. What it lacked in creature comforts it made up for prodigious capacity. It could hold half a dozen Myrmidon fighters and a company of Marines easily. He settled into his window seat in the forward officer’s lounge and tried to relax as the ship reached escape velocity fairly quickly.
Vega fell away beneath the rising Transport.
It was the adopted home of his father and mother. It was where they settled after the defeat of the Shivans. The destruction of the Shivan Destroyer, Lucifer, left them stranded out here on the far side of the galaxy, cut off from their ancestral home. It was where Armand Victor, Cary’s father, reclaimed what remained of his life after years of conflict. Vega, where other humans, longing for some consistency, shattered by the war and the sudden realization that few, if any of them would ever live to see Terra again, came together to form a new society.
Vega, where they united to build a new home for the weary remnants of humanity.
Cary could feel the power of the engines building beneath him as the ship accelerated. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the power was siphoned off to the engines. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
There was a slight shudder as the spacecraft, buffeted by Vega’s considerable gravity field, broke free of the pull and turned out towards space. The clouded skies of the planet below briefly filled the window and Cary did his best to ignore the view.
He didn’t want to give into the urge to look back but he found it hard to stop.
He looked.
There was a cold, hard lump in his chest as he watched it fade from view.
A brand new Nugget, an Ensign fresh from flight school, leaving his home behind for the first time, Cary found that his excitement at the adventures that waited for him was mixed with a little anxiety.
“Now hear this, prepare ship for jump, crew to your stations. Seal all firewall bulkheads. That is all.”
No preamble, no pleasant commentary about the temperature of the Third Fleet headquarters or how the rings of the fourth moon of Vega sparkled, just a terse command to get ready for the inevitable jerking sensation of the jump to subspace flight.
Flight protocols certainly were abbreviated these days, things haven taken on serious overtones.
War has away of changing things like that.
The Neo Terran Front’s insurgency suddenly escalated from the minor nuisance that was marginalized by the press as nothing more than desperate acts of piracy by a few, with the staggering defeat of the GTVA navy at Sirius. Regulus and Polaris quickly followed and, if the rumblings he had heard from his friends were true, Epsilon Pegasi was next on the NTF’s menu.
Sure both sides were claiming victory, but like it or not, the NTF had finally forced the GTVA to take them seriously. Details of the battle were sketchy. The press was being kept out of the area unless escorted by military units or embedded in one, though those were few and far between.
Cary knew that his being immediately deployed to a front line battle group meant that something serious was happening. The insurgency had exploded in the face of a fledgling society struggling to grow. Despite the violence of humanity’s roots in this section of the universe, Cary had never known war until now.
The Great War was before his lifetime. He also had never known the blue skies and green fields of earth. He was born after the end of history. Even his father had a hard time remembering his home world after so many years being away.
When you are fighting for your very survival every single moment of every single day, you tend to focus on the now. He was a shipwright, a master shipbuilder. He had a keen eye for a straight keel and a true line as he put it. Wounded early in the war, battling against the Vasudan Navy, he was forced to find a new way to contribute to the war effort. An engineer by training, Armand Victor helped to design upgrades to weapon systems and propulsion systems that helped to turn the tide of war.
He shied away from praise, just saying that in those days everyone had to contribute to survive and that he only did his part.
After The Great War, Armand Victor, Commander, GTA (ret.) helped to design and build some of the newer ships that helped bring the stability to the region. He had a gift for design and function as well as the ability to maximize the limited resources available in those lean early years.
The Vasudans called him Shao’ Huraat.
The master builder.
High praise coming from a civilization as advanced in technology and steeped in traditions and craftsmanship as the Vasudans. To most Terrans, the subtly of art and design were lost and Vasudans (who were viewed with skeptical eyes and half hearted acceptance in spite of the treaty) felt them unable to really appreciate Vasudan artistry.
To the Vasudans, everything in the universe has to have a purpose.
Everything had a cosmic balance.
There was nothing that existed in the universe that was without function. That included the Shivans. Cary’s father often liked to quote Vasudan design philosophy when he was working.
To everything under heaven a purpose, was one of his favorites.
Vasudan ships are works of art. Deadly adversaries to be sure, but they are undeniably graceful and almost beautiful when compared to the brutish designs of the Galactic Terran Alliance.
Cary inherited his father’s respect for Vasudan culture and it often drew curious looks whenever he discussed Vasudans or the Great War. There are a lot of humans on this side of the Sol jump node that think that were it not for Vasudan interference that the jump node home would never have collapsed. Those are people that are too consumed by the past or by someone’s version of recent history, most likely NTF propaganda. The NTF h often loses its venom on the Vasudans, calling the treaty the primary culprit for the escalation of hostilities. Three decades of peace are now threatened because of the skewed perceptions of a handful of ignorant individuals.
Armand Victor, though he fought against them in the early days of the Great War, respected the Vasudans. He said that the Vasudans showed remarkable courage in the face of incredible tragedy.
He said all one had to do was imagine how you would feel watching your home planet burn. Imagine the feeling of leaving your once proud civilization behind, a smoldering ruin.
There is still some semblance of hope for those wanting to return to earth. Eventually contact may be reestablished, the jump node repaired. The Vasudans, unfortunately, no longer have that hope. All that remains is the legacy of their culture and traditions.
And their considerable courage.
Cary thought that it would be enough.
He never pretended to know a great deal about politics or the how’s and why’s of the Great War. All he knew was that there was peace until a year and a half ago. He hoped that humanity, having survived conflict before, would do so again.
And this time, Cary Victor would have a chance to do his part.