Gamma Squadron, Aegospotami Nebulae
Xenophon gazed through his virtual windows and out into space. His plan hadn’t worked out as expected. Instead of staying at home, he’d been forced to join the Alliance Navy. That was six months ago, and he was now on his first military posting. Six months had seemed like years, but he still felt far from ready to take part in the campaign against the Laconians. For a brief moment, he forgot he was looking at an electrostatic polymer display rather than the reinforced glass it emulated. The centimetre-thick unit was part of nearly thirty similar units installed through the gundecks and command centre. It gave the impression the ship was thin skinned and surrounded by glass. A shape like that of a diamond glistened, and the object gave off flickers of light of many colours. He looked at it carefully, and the display quickly altered the camera’s level of magnification, detecting his gaze and interest.
Just more stars. Where are they? They are out there somewhere, he wondered.
They had been out in this part of space for almost an hour now, and the adrenalin pumping through his body was starting to make him feel sick. There were so many dots and smudges of light out there, and any one of them could be a ship with its own gunners watching down their own barrels. The thought sent a shudder through his body. The ship’s sensor package was working at full capacity, but there was only so much space it could monitor. That didn’t preclude the enemy from simply jamming the sensors themselves.
He looked at the configuration panel to his right and considered running another optimisation subroutine. The plasma charging system was running at over ninety eight percent, and far more than was required to work well in combat.
Screw it, ninety-eight will do, he thought, but looked about to see what the rest of the gunners were doing. They appeared to be checking their systems, but they could equally just be sat, waiting as he was. He sighed.
Something happen, anything!
The small flotilla of six Hydra class Alliance destroyers moved from their defensive positions outside of the Aegospotami Nebulae. They were only twenty parsecs from their operating base, but it felt as though they were ten times that distance away. It was an easy trip of two jumps to get back, assuming resupply drones were waiting at the supply point.
We could do it in one jump though, he reminded himself.
The safe maximum jump distance was supposed to be limited to fifteen parsecs, but the emergency reserves could be used to boost the trip to twenty. The thought of being left stranded in space was a terrifying thought. As one of the many patrols looking for the Laconian fleet, they needed to travel far from their base to hunt for any signs of the dreaded flotilla. The Alliance ships were small, fast and lightly armoured, but they could do little against a main warship. Their orders were simple; record the enemy disposition and course, then return to the designation jump co-ordinates and transmit the data back to fleet command at their base.
Can we make it out of here if they turn up? The fear of a major warship started to grow in his thoughts. I need to check the guns. It was his job, and returning to it might take his mind off the waiting.
There were rumours of a small battlegroup that was hunting scouts and escorts. The Captain had tried to quell the comments, but Xenophon couldn’t be the only one keeping an eye on the casualty reports.
Come on. Show yourselves.
They had left their outpost, Fort Plymouth, a place of warmth and security. As one of the small number of Olympus class outposts, it was one of the most important parts of the Alliance military and both a major asset and target. As powerful as a capital ship, and the home to thousands of personnel, it was the heart of the war effort. Through careful planning and engineering, the base had been well hidden in the Nebulae and was ideally placed to provide food and supplies for ships that were so far from home. It needed to be, as they were so many jumps from home. It would take months to make the return voyage, and without a base they would be forced to abandon this sector to the enemy. The outpost itself carried over a thousand people as well as the all-important FTL beacon. Using this device, a ship could make a jump of almost ten light-years in a single trip. As the ships had moved away, Xenophon had spent almost twenty minutes looking at the fleet stationed in the sector, hundreds of ships, and all waiting for news on the enemy fleet. But it wasn’t these vessels that interested him. No, it was the six Titans. These were the largest and most powerful ships he had ever seen, and the largest warships built by humanity. At almost twelve hundred metres long, these behemoths carried enough people and weapons to bring entire planets to their knees. Although only one had actually been constructed at the homeworld, the rest were from the scores of Alliance worlds. Each was held by a close bond to the mother city, as well as the fear of the Armada, a military force they were forced to contribute towards. The ships might not all originate from one place, but they were all crewed by loyal members of the Alliance.
Here we go again.
A low rumble came from the bowels of the ship. It was the main thrusters powering down. They were less violent than the FTL engines but still sent a shudder through the small ship. They shut down, leaving the ship to coast through space until they reached the designated location. With no other ships in the area, the small group of frigates pushed out on a wide search vector. Each of the ships left a small multi-coloured wake in the cloud of gas and dust. They were spaced out at one hundred kilometres apart; a gap that was a mere hair width in space. At a length of one hundred and fifty metres, and with a crew of one hundred and ninety five, the vessels were the smallest self-sufficient ships in the Alliance Armada. The destroyers had the look of large predatory fish from Ancient Earth, with large frontal sections and long tails that carried a multitude of antenna and sensors. The lead ship in the formation carried three white stripes that ran down the sides in a regular pattern. The rest carried their simple dull red blue finish as used on the rest of the fleet.
“This is the Captain. We have just received word from our sentry drones. A force of Laconian ships has been detected in quadrant alpha twelve. Check your systems, we jump in thirty seconds.”
Thirty seconds and enemy ships detected. Is this it?
Xenophon gulped at the realisation he was finally going into action. His mouth dried at the mere thought of the dreaded Laconian fleet. His training kicked in, and he ran his eyes along the lines of data, checking the power levels, plasma generators and targeting grid.
As the craft moved from the protection of the vast Armada, each one flashed and then vanished. The faster than light (FTL) engines of each frigate propelled them away at unimaginable speed to their patrol area. Inside the ship, Xenophon did his best to not retch. No other members of the vessel seemed to be adversely affected by the journey. He was certainly the most recent addition to the crew, but even so he would have expected other members to experience at least mild discomfort during the trip.
“Three minutes until arrival, charging up primary weapon generators. All stations report in,” said the Captain.
Xenophon scanned from left to right, looking at scores of numbers and diagrams that showed him everything from the temperature of the barrels to the heart rates of his two assistants.
“ Everything looks good,” he said, partially to confirm, but also to reassure himself that he had made no mistakes. The trigger locks were still active and could only be withdrawn by the tactical officer or commander of the gundeck.
“News coming in from Headquarters, a Strike force has been tracked by our primary fleet, and they are in pursuit. Arrival in sixty seconds,” said the Captain.
Xenophon’s pulse was now pounding. He could see his own life signs on the monitor suite next to him. The increase in heart rate simply made him more anxious. One alert message popped up. There was a slight anomaly in the targeting system. It wasn’t serious, but it did throw him into a minor panic. The change in pressure inside the ship hit inside his skull, and the feeling of sickness feel quickly returned.
We must be there, he thought.
“Battlestations!” called out the Captain through the embedded communication nodes fitted to every crewman. The small device was fitted behind the ear and several millimetres under the skin. Xenophon reached out and touched the spot where it had been inserted. The doctors said he would feel its presence, but he felt it anyway. The ship FTL engine cut out, and his view of the stars shifted from streaks to a still, almost beautiful starscape.
“Enemy ships detected at mark three point five. Ready the guns. It’s a scouting party.”
Xenophon looked around to the rest of the gundeck and then up to the command centre. Dozens of crew moved about, and each carried out their duties as quickly as they could. He had two crew under his control, and they worked furiously to carry out their work of preparing the individual guns, monitoring their power levels and anything else needed to get the ship ready for battle. There were two other gundeck sections, and just like this one, arrayed in a crescent shape around the command centre of the ship. It meant the Captain, command crew and the gunners, were all in sight of each other. Each gundeck, and its weapons, had an arc of fire that covered a full third of the ship. His particular gundeck on the starboard side was tiny compared to the similar parts of the much larger capital ships. He imagined himself commanding a gun crew on one of the Titans stationed around the supply base. That was just a dream though.
Xenophon was a young midshipman of just twenty-five years of age, and this operation was already making him feel sick. This was his first assignment in the fleet of the Alliance Armada, and his nerves were already frayed. He was hardly one of the gruff infantrymen that swaggered through the ship, and each waiting for their chance to engage the enemy in some close ranged brawl. Xenophon was lean, almost slender in build. His fair skin was in stark contrast with the sunburned faces of the more seasoned crew who had fought on land, and in space, during their many years of service in the war. He spotted the nearest midshipman, a red faced man called Maxentius. He was sat waiting with his system ready and his guns online. Xenophon was captivated by the calm on the gundeck until he realised his was the only station not yet ready. He brought up the targeting matrix and focused on the Laconian cruiser that sat ninety kilometres away. The display showed the power levels rising in the gun battery’s power cells.
The communication node whispered to him, and once more distracted him from his work.
“ Damned thing,” he muttered.
“Gunners, hold your fire.”
He checked the enemy ship again. It looked similar to their destroyers. The greatest different, as far as he could tell, was one of aesthetics. Whereas the Alliance ships were smooth and almost pretty to look at, the Laconian League ships were rough and angular, almost suggesting they were unfinished. They operated far fewer ships, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in ferocity. The Laconians might not be a great space faring colony, but they had won several devastating land battles, and their fleet had so far eluded the more experienced Alliance ships. Even more important was that the Laconians had sacrificed speed and living space for more weapons and armour. In a one on one fight they had the advantage unless the Alliance captains made use of their speed and longer ranged guns.
“Sir, guns are ready, power levels are correct and the targeting matrix is active,” said Private Loraine, a stern looking young woman in her early twenties.
Xenophon had tried to make friends with her and the other enlisted men and women in the crew. For some reason, he had never been able to break the ice. There was something about him they had issues with, and he wished he knew what it was. Private Loraine, for example, gave the impression she hated him and had done so from the first moment they met.
“Good, chain them for linked fire. We won’t have long to hit them. It is a small window of opportunity.”
The guns could be fired individually or in groups, one of the many benefits of this kind of energy weapon. No ships in the Alliance Fleet were allowed to make use of computer control systems for anything other than communications and navigation. All engineering and weapons control was under the strict control of its human operators. It seemed archaic, and even a little stupid, to require so many people to operate vessels in space. But as powerful as computers were, they were also vulnerable to all kinds of hacking. The reliance upon these professionals made the Alliance ships more powerful and flexible than the ships in any of the known empires in the Galaxy, but also far less numerous.
“Jammers are active,” said the Captain, his voice calm and collected through the communication node. Xenophon could almost make out his actual voice over the noise on the command centre, but it was easier to just listen to the electronic voice in the node.
The Alliance ships, like probably every military ship in existence, were packed with advanced and powerful electronic jamming and countermeasures equipment. Jamming weapons lock and communication systems was critical to combat in space, unless you wanted your ship destroyed thousands of kilometres away from the enemy. Xenophon had learnt on his first day of training that a computer system could lock onto and track a vessel thousands of kilometres away, and hit it with torpedoes or even solid fuel missiles. Through simple use of electronic counter measures (ECM), the enemy could be forced to use their weapons on manual operation. This made them slower and reduced their effective range when done correctly. He thought back to the class where had had tried to hit a simulated Empire frigate. The vessel had been fast, too fast. The computer could hit it, but as soon as the jamming started, he had to take over. No matter how carefully he led the target, it was just too hard to hit the small ship. He just hoped that when the time came to target and fire the plasma cannons, he would strike his target in a quick and efficient manner.
“Xenophon, you ready for this?” called out his friend and now commanding officer, Second Lieutenant Roxana Devereux. The confidant women stood tall. Her thick auburn hair and grey eyes betrayed wisdom after relatively little time in the military. She was almost the same height and build as Xenophon himself and that was no doubt part of her ability to sway the weaker minded in the crew.
Ready for this, are you kidding? I should be back at home and studying like the rest of the citizens my age, he thought angrily.
“Ready, Sir,” he answered as confidently as he could manage.
She spotted him looking about nervously and frowned at his discomfort. She was a tall, confident woman and had been his friend back when they both studied under the philosophical master, Kratez. He had tried on multiple occasions to get her interest, but she seemed completely unaffected by his advances; no matter how persistent he had been.
He watched her, but all he could think was how much she seemed to be enjoying her position on the ship. Unlike Xenophon, she had volunteered five years ago and already proven herself in three battles against the enemy. While she was busy fighting the enemies of the Alliance, he had continued his studies. For her performance at the battle of Arginusae, she had been promoted on the spot to that of Second Lieutenant. By all accounts, it had been a truly momentous victory, sullied by the loss of a number of famous captains who had vanished in the final hours of battle. She walked towards him and smiled, a grim expression on her face.
Come on, try and look at least half confident.
It was her job to monitor and command the starboard gundeck, an important responsibility, and one that could win or lose a deadly battle in space.
“Xenophon, watch your station. The enemy ships are preparing for battle, just like us.”
And again I crash and burn, he thought, once more.
“Aye, Sir,” he replied nervously and turned back to his tactical screen. The curved unit gave him a one hundred and eighty degree view of the space around his ship, and if he concentrated, it was as though he was actually outside and floating in space. Small coloured boxes flashed around the target, each giving him the status of the enemy’s shields, weapons and armour. It was just like when he had practiced on the simulators. The single difference being that he knew his life actually depended on his and others’ competency.
His mind drifted for a moment as the sight of Roxana reminded him of his last night back home. Xenophon and his friends from the capital had been drinking and ended up getting involved in a scuffle with some of the democrats. It was people like them that had voted year on year for the war to continue. None of his friends, with the exception of Roxana Devereux, had volunteered for the war. But after nearly twenty-seven years of war, it seemed the voting public wanted it to end. He had been conscripted to join the last Armada. This fleet was a collection of every remaining ship controlled by Attica and her allies with one simple mission, to find and destroy the primary Laconian fleet, and end the war once and for all. His thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar sound. It was the communication node again.
“This is Captain Agrippa. Enemy scouts are approaching our position. We are detecting at least six, possibly more, on an approach vector. Gun crews, check your weapons and open all gun ports. Locks have been removed.”
The locks are off. I can target and fire the guns whenever I want! The moment of worry and fear were gone, even if just for a few seconds. The feeling of power when given control of these weapons was not unlike the feeling he had when stood on a cliff edge or on top of a tall building. That brief moment when he knew he could easily fall or do something with devastating results.
Hey, come on. Get ready, he told himself, angry at becoming caught up in the moment instead of concentrating on what he should be doing. He looked at the multitude of screens and systems around him and went through a mental checklist.
Gun hatches open.
The response was instantaneous. The thought process from the implanted node gave him full control over all systems other than primary fire control. From the video feed on his curved display, he could see the multitude of other ports opening up. The ports were grouped together into batteries of two guns, each pair controlled by a man or woman just like him. As the ports opened, the barrels of the powerful 60mm plasma cannons pushed out so that the last metre protruded from the ship. These weapons were the standard armament of small warships, and also used as secondary weapons on capital ships. They were rapid firing weapons that hurled magnetically sealed bolts of plasma into space. The velocity of the projectile was higher than conventional kinetic weapons, but they were short ranged because the seal would break down after just a few hundred kilometres.
This is more like it. He started to smile, his confidence returning.
“This is the Captain. The enemy formation is shadowing us. I suspect they are scouting for their own fleet. Wait for the order.”
Here it comes.
Xenophon nodded to himself, double-checking his control system and the status of his gun battery. So far it was all looking good. The next ship in formation did the same, and he watched his screen in awe as the three batteries on the port side of the ship opened up to reveal the teeth of the scout ship. It might be a small ship, but for Xenophon, it was his first exposure to warships in an actual combat operation. He had seen the guns firing during training and was convinced nothing could withstand the power of the 60mm plasma shells. The last demonstration he had seen was incredible. The plasma shell had smashed into the simulated hull and vaporised nearly half the ship it hit. He became almost impatient to see what damage he could inflict with his own pair of plasma cannons. With eighteen of these plasma cannons in total, the ship was adequately equipped to deal with small scouts and survey ships. Though the class was considered the lowest class of vessel capable of fighting in deep space, it was poorly equipped to deal with a full size warship.
Xenophon glanced back to the command centre and watched the XO move to the Captain to speak about something. Although it was a matter of metres away, the command crew looked as if they were in a different world to him. Whereas they knew what was happening overall, Xenophon was only given as much information as he needed to do his job.
Come on, what’s happening? Tell us something.
There was nothing on his system that told him anything about the tactical situation or even the intent of the enemy. It didn’t seem to bother the rest of crew in this part of the ship, but it served as a constant source of irritation to Xenophon.
“Watch your screen. There are reports of a rogue fighter squadron in this sector,” said the XO loudly, choosing to ignore the communication nodes. His voice made Xenophon jump. He looked up towards the raised platform used by Second Lieutenant Roxana Devereux. Her viewscreen gave her a full display of the area of space around the ship, and she was seated at the periphery of the command deck itself. She had a perfect view of the rest of the gun crew, as well as the systems used to control the plasma cannons. Her job was to carry out the orders of the tactical officer who resided on the bridge along with the rest of the command crew. The gundeck was an important part of the ship, but there were also the more powerful anti-ship torpedoes. These devastating weapons were controlled by the tactical officer and resided in the armoured housing near the front of the ship. Xenophon had tried to be posted to the more prestigious gun crew in the bow, but so far he had been unable to leave his current position on the flank. It was of little importance to most people, but Xenophon wasn’t used to being so insignificant. With his knowledge, skills and family connection, he was still convinced he should have his own ship. The main lights switched to red, and an emergency tone flashed through the gundeck and the rest of the command centre.
Looks like trouble, about time though. Let’s get this over with.
A dull rumble shook the ship as it powered up its engines. The gravitic generators did their job well and maintained a standard one gee of gravity throughout the vessel. It was not critical to provide this on board a ship, but it did offer many benefits, the most significant the wellbeing of the crew. Bone development issues and muscle deformity had all caused problems for long-term travel and operations. Gravitic generators required larger ships, but it meant they could stay out for much longer duration operations.
Xenophon looked up to Lieutenant Roxana Devereux.
“We’re moving into range. Gunners, lock your weapons on the highlighted vessel. Target her engines and communications array. Wait for my command.”
Xenophon nodded and checked his screen. The nearest Laconian vessel was turning from them, and its engines glowed brightly. He used the two control sticks to track the vessel. The gunnery computer calculated the current course and projected position to help with him leading the target. Xenophon treated the system like a helpful friend that assisted him with his combat duties.
“All locked in, Lieutenant,” he replied smartly.
She continued looking at her screen, presumably watching the rest of the enemy formation and waiting for orders from the Captain. The emergency alarm quietened down and finally switched off, but the battle lighting stayed red. Xenophon noticed the Captain say something to the crew in the command centre, and she almost immediately turned to Xenophon and the rest of her gundeck.
“They are powering up their FTL engines, open fire!” she called out.
Xenophon exhaled in excitement and pulled the triggers. The vibrations from the magnetic launch tubes could be felt even this far from the power generators. He watched the burst of whitish-blue energy as it blasted from the twin guns and hurtled towards the enemy. Streaks of similar fire erupted from the other guns, all at the same target. With just a thought, the optical unit zoomed in closer to the target so that it filled his view. The first bursts of fire arrived, of which only four rounds actually hit home. He almost jumped up for joy as one of his projectiles struck eight metres from the port engine nacelle. A blue flash indicated a powerful hit from the weapon, and he smiled with pride as a section of at least fifteen metres tore away from the ship.
“Keep firing!” called out Lieutenant Devereux.
Xenophon pulled the triggers and fired another series of paired blasts. The rest of the gunners did the same, each of them pulverising the enemy vessel. Flashes of plasma lit up the hull until a mighty coloured pulse tore the craft apart. A cheer rang out through the ship, and Xenophon felt a surge of excitement in his blood.
“It’s a decoy vessel. All crews, charge your guns, it’s a trick!” shouted the Captain. His voice ran throughout the command centre and gundecks. The calm voice of Lieutenant Devereux spoke into his communication node.
“Gunners, recharge from the capacitors. Check for enemy vessels.”
Xenophon ignored the commotion on the command deck and did as he had been ordered. With his wide arc of fire, he could check his area of space. The other gunners did the same, and each checked their segment of space for an elusive ship that might have blocked their sensors. It was strange that so many hundreds of years after the development of direct energy weapons and reliable FTL technology, the crew were still forced to rely on using their eyes. As he looked for the enemy, he tried to understand why the Captain might think the enemy ship, now smashed to a hundred pieces, might be a decoy. Perhaps there were no life signs, or there was something it transmitted. The more he thought about it, the more he desperately wanted to know. Being stuck in a single role, without access to all the information around him, was proving to be stifling.
Then he spotted it. At first it was just a flicker of the stars, much like looking at astronomical objects from his home. The atmosphere of the planet between him and space would cause the stars to flicker and change in the more subtle of ways.
What is it? It has to be them, it must be. He was wary of speaking out in case it was a false alarm. He couldn’t keep it quiet any longer though.
“Lieutenant, I think I’ve got something!” he called out.
Lieutenant Devereux connected to his computer system and looked down at the object Xenophon was looking at.
“Where is it?” she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.
Please be something. He worried that he was wasting the crew’s time but also wanted to impress her.
Xenophon drew a mental box around the anomaly that was immediately added to her own computer display. It was a faster way of communicating than simply trying to point it out on a display, or even worse, attempting to explain with words.
“Good work,” she said and actually smiled at him.
Yes! Something right, for a change, he thought happily.
“Sir, something is out there,” she said, her tone of voice less convinced than Xenophon would have liked. As if to answer her, the Tactical Officer spoke quickly.
“Jump signature, something is coming in!”
Xenophon rechecked his display and spotted more shapes rush past their position. The blurred shapes took form as an enemy formation shut down its FTL engines. There was always a brief moment between the engines being deactivated and the ship approaching normal speed, where the subject would be blurred and indistinct. It lasted the briefest of times but could give those waiting an advantage, if only for a moment. At first, he couldn’t make out the shape, but then he recognised the silhouette from his training back at the fleet headquarters.
That looks like a drone carrier.
It was one of the largest military ships he had ever seen and easily the size of an Alliance cruiser. From memory, these ships were used to command small strike forces. It was rare they travelled alone, and if he was right, it could be a serious problem.
Lieutenant Devereux had already sent the data to the Captain.
“Good work, Xenophon,” she said. “It’s definitely a drone carrier, and probably leading a small force to wipe out our scouts, one group at a time.”
“That why they left a derelict to draw us in?” he asked.
She nodded, but he couldn’t tell if she was impressed or irritated by his questions. Either way, they were interrupted buy the voice of the Captain.
“All crew, prepare for FTL jump. Gunners keep the carrier busy until we’re underway.”
Xenophon could sense the worry in the Captain’s voice. He could see why, as he watched three-dozen drones detach from the ship and set an intercept course with their own small formation of ships. The drones were small, perhaps ten metres, maybe slightly more. They were fast and lightly armed, no match for heavy fighters but easily able to swamp a few frigates, given enough time. As he watched them, he forgot to check his own tactical display. It was too late when he finally spotted the lock errors on the system.
“No, no!” he cried to himself. The gun tracking system shutdown as powerful enemy countermeasures saturated their vessel. It was a textbook attack, and it had rendered the entire targeting matrix defunct.
“It’s the drones,” explained Lieutenant Devereux. “Switch to manual gunnery and look for the Wild Weasel drones. Take them out.”
A cloud of plasma rounds scattered the formation of drones, but they were already in range. The computer-controlled attack aircraft rolled with speed and precision that made his gunnery harder and harder. He looked at the first group of six, staring intently to find the illusive Wild Weasel craft. They were specially modified to suppress air defences and destroy the frigates capacity to destroy other drones. Blasts of energy fired from the guns of the drones struck their own frigate, but he was able to draw two into his sights.
He managed to hit the first, a standard interceptor drone with two direct impacts. One plasma round was easily capable of destroying a drone, and the two simply vaporised the craft, causing enough damage to a second that it spun wildly out of control before finally self-destructing. He tried to track the rest of the formation, but it passed the ship and moved off to the port side. The automated turrets did their best to track them using optical systems, but with radar, microwave and thermal targeting all jammed, the system was severely limited. Only one more drone was hit as they moved out of sight.
A dull rumble indicated a number of hits to the hull, but he had no idea how serious it might be. He scanned his area of space for more hostiles and was drawn to one of their destroyers. Three smouldering holes in the hull showed where one of the drones had rammed the armour and caused catastrophic damage to the vessel.
Gods, how many men and women? One of the gundecks tore apart, and he tried to imagine how terrible it would be inside that ship. With no air, freezing temperatures and no gravity, it would be a terrible death in the void of space. His attention was brought back by another flash to his left. It indicated the arrival of more ships. The FTP drives must have been charging up as he could feel the rumble through the hull of the ship. One of the frigates to his right disappeared. As he watched the area of space it had vacated, he spotted the shapes of the newly arrived ships coalesced into mighty warships. Xenophon didn’t recognise all of them, but he did spot at least a dozen cruisers, of which at least four were definitely Laconian in design. As they arrived in position, each vessel opened fire. The powerful streaks of energy from their massed batteries sent colour pulse and beams out to their opponents.
“Jump in 5…4…3…2…1…now!” called the helmsman. Xenophon could feel a dull throbbing in his skull as the FTL drive powered up, and with a thump they hurtled away from the battle. In just a few seconds the feeling resumed, and they were back in position around their base in the Nebula.
“All stations report in,” called the Captain.
Xenophon sat there quietly, an empty feeling washing over him. He had played his part in the battle, but once the warships had moved in, they had left. He wanted to know how the battle had turned out. The capital ships were the pride of the colonies, and he had spotted just a glimpse of them before the small vessel jumped back to safe space.
“This is the Captain. Good work people. We left one frigate behind, but we did our job. We were there to draw in their drone ships. Fleet is mopping up, and I am pleased to let you know the battle is progressing well.”
Progressing well? Xenophon thought. How could he have trained all this time, just to be sent back to the safe zone every time a battle occurred?
“Gun crews, I need your crew to perform a full stage two service and check of all gun and capacitor system. Make sure they are ready for action in less than an hour,” ordered Lieutenant Devereux.
Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae
The skirmish out on the rim of the Nebula was nearly three days ago, and still Xenophon could not forget what had happened. He sat in a comfortable chair and watched the rest of the crew spending some time relaxing on board the station. This part of the recreation room was sparsely equipped with a pool table and a few vintage arcade machines set up. Two other officers sat nearby. One was busy watching news reports on a small video screen, and the second just kept looking into his glass of alcohol. He watched them both for a moment and then looked to the window. It was unusual to be able to stand near an actual window that looked out onto space. This particular area in the room gave him a perfect view of the stars, as well as the mysterious clouds of dust and gas that ran through this region.
“Anything on this sector?” he asked the man watching the screen. The man turned, a look of irritation on his face.
“It just says there have been three incursions by Laconian forces. All have been stopped. The media reckon we’re mobilising to fight one final battle to finish them off.”
“Interesting,” he replied.
“Really? How can we destroy them if we can’t even find their ships?”
Xenophon shrugged, unsure as to what to say or even to what he was referring to. They must be doing something right if they’d hit three groups already. As he thought on the problem, he spotted a group of officers, all wearing their more casual off duty uniforms. They made their way towards him and the other midshipman from his ship.
“Xenophon,” said Lieutenant Devereux, “very good work out on the Rim. I think you probably saved us from a nasty ambush.”
She sat down next to him, followed by another Lieutenant that went by the name Calum. Xenophon had spoken with him on several other occasions and found the man to be infuriating.
Why does the asshole have to come and sit next to me? Stupid socialist whiner from a worthless family and wants a handout without doing anything to deserve it, he thought angrily.
“Thanks,” he replied when he realised he hadn’t responded to her comment.
“What’s wrong, Xenophon? Still worried you might have to give up a few more of your family’s estate to help the rest of us?” asked Calum in his typical self-righteous tone.
“What?” he muttered back, both unwilling and uninterested in being drawn into another argument that in reality was an excuse for the young officer to rant.
“Well, from what you said last time, you think somehow your family deserves to see the rest of us struggle by.”
“Struggle? Your family could afford to put you through college, and my family’s taxes paid for the time you dodged work afterwards. What did you do after college?” he snapped back, and instantly regretted opening his mouth.
“Yeah, Calum?” asked one of the other officers, a lieutenant he didn’t recognise. The man struck Calum in the shoulder.
“If I remember right, didn’t you want to join the experimental aircraft division as a pilot?”
“Yeah, they didn’t have enough places though.”
Xenophon laughed at the comment.
“So you didn’t get the grade then? Let me guess, the system failed you?”
“You bet your arse it failed me. Any citizen should be able to train and do what they want. Sticking limits just makes it elitist.”
Lieutenant Devereux reached out and placed her hands on both of their shoulders.
“Hey, you two. Give it a rest. This is the first break I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t want to spend it listening to another argument.”
“No problem,” added Xenophon, but Calum was far from finished.
“I’m just glad the new higher rate taxes have come in so people like you can give something back. Our system needs to be fairer to people like, well, us,” he said with both hands turned inwards.
Alarms blasted at full volume throughout the recreation room. It was similar to the battlestations alert on board the frigate. Lieutenant Devereux looked around them and then outside through the window.
“Look!” she said, the tone of dread obvious to them all, apart from Calum.
Xenophon leaned in closer to the reinforced glass. There were shapes forming out there in space, and not far from the assembled Armada.
Here? We have the entire Alliance Armada assembled and ready for war. This is madness. Xenophon argued with himself.
“This is not a drill. We are under attack. I repeat. Fort Plymouth is under attack. All crew report to your stations!” called out the voice of whoever was in charge of the station right now.
Lieutenant Devereux grabbed Xenophon and pulled him towards her.
“Captain Agrippa has just sent me a call, as well as the rest of the senior officers. We’re to get to the ship fast.”
“What the hell is happening?” he replied, but she was already moving from the room. Scores of crew rushed about, some heading to the transports, and others to the stations weapon systems. The loudspeakers continued their drone.
“The primary Laconian Fleet has jumped in directly over the station. I repeat. The enemy fleet is…”
The audio cut out ominously, and at the same time the station’s artificial gravity and lighting cut. The emergency lights flickered on but gravity and communications remained off. Xenophon tumbled along the corridor, his momentum keeping him moving until he struck the wall with a crunch.
This is insanity. We can’t lose like this.
Lieutenant Devereux was having none of it. She was at the wall and ripped open a panel to reveal a small lever. With a quick tug, she yanked it back. Lights flashed in the corridor and partial gravity was restored. It was no more than a third of normal, but it did make movement more manageable.
“Look, the emergency override will only run for about an hour. We need to reach the lower level docking arm. It’s over there,” she explained.
“Yeah, I know the way, come on!”
As they bounced and jumped along the corridor, a number of dull rumbles shook the station. At first they were gentle, but the reverberations quickly spread through the innards of the structure. Xenophon couldn’t see anything, but he knew full well what was happening.
We’re being bombarded. Yet he felt calm, even serene. Something that surprised him more than the actual attack itself. It was a sensation he had never felt before, even during his brief time aboard his frigate. Perhaps it was the inevitability of an attack as massive as this one, more likely he was so pumped up on adrenalin that he didn’t know any better.