Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae
The shuttle was packed with crew from Plymouth Station. Every man and woman was desperate to leave the station and had left equipment, weapons and even clothing behind in the panic. Some were keen to return to their ship to fight, but most were more than likely terrified at the prospect of being stuck on a station they could do nothing to defend. This far out in space, the outpost was on its own. There was no planet or hilltop to retreat to. If the base were captured, you would either be killed or become a prisoner of the Laconian League. A fate that was truly worse than death. At least, that is what their instructors and commanders reiterated every day.
More like they don’t want us abandoning our posts, deserting or simply refusing to fight, thought Xenophon wryly.
Even as they had climbed aboard the shuttle, the breach alarms in the station had been sounded. Either heavy weapons fire had cut through the armour and shielding or even worse; Laconian warriors had landed and were in the process of taking control of the base. There was little the crew could do to oppose their professional warriors. Unlike the Laconians, the Alliance crew and military did little actual close quarter combat training. Even the use of firearms was limited to the tiny number of tactical teams used for hostage rescue or guard work. In this era of space warfare, the argument had always been that the Navy made ground combat obsolete, even vulgar. It was considered a rough throwback to the old days of Earth.
Vulgar! Ground combat? Maybe if we trained in it, we wouldn’t be running. What if they take the station? The Armada would have to withdraw back to the homeworld. He was trying to work out what would happen to the Alliance if the battle continued on its present course. It was hard to believe that a force as substantial as the Armada could suffer anything more than a minor loss to the enemy. The complete Alliance fleet had never been defeated in open battle before. The best the Laconians had ever managed was when a handful of frigates had duelled, and it had been indecisive and proved little.
Sat inside the craft, Xenophon thought about the state of the station he had just left. He still had pangs of guilt for leaving so fast. He knew deep down that he had done the right thing. His skills in battle were only to do with operating ship-based weapons. In a stand-up fight with professional Laconian warriors, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The Alliance had no professional infantry. Even the crew of the ships were almost all enlisted for short-term operations. The Laconians, on the other hand, came from a much poorer background but had the advantage of a small, fully professional navy and a substantial ground force of heavy infantry. These forces were known simply as Laconians, as it was the duty of all their citizens to train and prepare for war. Xenophon had always been fascinated by the Laconians and had wanted to visit their homeworld since he had been a boy.
A great thud, like a crate being thrown at the shuttle, brought him back to his senses. A series of alarms echoed through the small space and steam blasted out from a joint on the piping above his head. A dozen cables dropped down where the damage had shredded the cables. Sparks ran along their length before the shuttle emergency system isolated and immobilised the circuit.
What the hell is that? he thought. The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmoured and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.
Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was quiet and frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.
Have we started the fightback yet? We have Titans, and nothing can stand against them, he thought. The Titans were surely so powerful they could hold off an enemy fleet on their own.
Curious to see what was going on, he remembered the high-speed digital media system built into every suit. He looked about until he found the link buttons. A quick tap and he was connected to the shuttle’s public interface. Various menus popped up inside his visor and by looking and thinking about the options, he was able to bring up a multitude of video feeds and reports. The shuttle was showing three external views and also repeating the public announcement channel from Plymouth Station. He selected the station feed first and almost choked at the sight.
No, it can’t be. The station can’t take that kind of beating.
Over thirty heavy ships were lined up and firing thick energy beams into the station. Each impact sent a shimmer around the station as its heavy shielding tried to absorb the energy.
They’re trying to bring down the rest of the shields, he thought.
Changing to the feeds on the shuttle, he spotted many ships engaged in a battle that was so large he could barely understand it. The Armada was being hit hard, and the terrible thing was that the enemy fleet was no larger than theirs.
We’ve been caught with our pants down this time. He nodded to himself.
The only thing he could think of was that it must have been the arrogance of the commanders and their position. He had been told many times in the last week about how safe they were safe in the Nebulae. It was either that, or the enemy had found a way to cripple the fleet prior to their arrival. All he could tell so far was that less than ten percent of the Armada was engaged in the fight. The rest of the ships were moored around the station and under attack. He remembered his studies and especially the ancient Terran officer Frederick Lanchester, quickly applying the rules the officer had devised to the facts as he could see them.
Lanchester had devised a simple set of rules for calculating the relative strengths of a predator/prey pair. This formula essentially required the squaring of the statistical number of forces on both sides. A simple deduction between the two values would show the winner and loser. Most officers found the concept hard to grasp, but Xenophon, with his years of philosophical and mathematical training, had found it easy. If five ships fought three ships, then Lanchester’s Law would state the comparative strengths were twenty-five versus nine. Therefore, the larger force would overwhelm the smaller forcer by almost a factor of three, and essentially a guaranteed victory with minimal losses.
“Lieutenant,” he called out to Lieutenant Devereux who sat just two seats away from him. She seemed to be ignoring him. He leaned towards her and called again. Rather than a reply, the side of the shuttle tore open to reveal the great emptiness of space. He felt the tug on his thick harness as the vessel instantly depressurised. Two of the seats ripped from their slightly damaged mounts and blasted out into space. Xenophon watched the two people vanish into the blackness. They were both wearing sealed suits.
That won’t help them. He knew it would be almost impossible to find a couple of spacesuits amongst the debris and wreckage drifting around the station. The rush of air as the pressure altered was over almost as soon as it had started. Through the breach, a series of coloured lights betrayed the position of at least two ships. The pilot of the shuttle must have made a drastic course change as the lights vanished to be replaced by an Alliance battleship.
“Gods!” he spurted out before thinking.
The mighty ship was burning from bow to stern as explosions and flashes ran the length of the vessel. A bright red beam move from the right until it made contact with the hull. As soon as the two touched, a bright light almost blinded him. If it weren’t for the automatic visor on his suit, he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.
A cutter, they’ve had it.
The common nickname for the heavy laser weapons, a cutter was designed to do exactly as its name suggested. It would make contact with the exterior of a ship and simply burn through, cutting an arc in the vessel. As he watched, the beam slashed through the ship as though it had been no more than soft plastic.
“Xenophon!” came the familiar voice of Lieutenant Devereux. He spun around to see the survivors of the shuttle trying to help two of the crew that had refused to wear suits. He moved to unbuckle himself, but a blast of power from the shuttle forced him into his seat.
“Hold on, we’ve making an emergency landing on the Valiant,” said a voice over the intercom system. Xenophon assumed it was the pilot, but in all the commotion he had no easy way to tell.
The impact was rough, and this time his straps gave way. Xenophon was thrown forwards and towards the front of the shuttle. With a crash, he struck an unconscious passenger. The shaking and violence of their trip suddenly stopped to be replaced by the harsh, full gravity of the warship. Xenophon hit his visor just in time to vomit onto the metallic floor. He coughed and then turned around to check on the others. Lieutenant Devereux was lying atop a number of crates that had broken free. Crew from the Valiant climbed in through the damaged hull and proceeded to pull them from the ruined shuttle. He climbed over to the officer and leaned down to her face. She was pale, but it looked like she was breathing.
“Get her out of here, she’s gonna blow,” called out one of the newly arrived crew.
He needed no more persuasion and grabbed her limp body. He expected her to feel light, but with the suit and webbing gear she was difficult to move. Pushing himself hard, he managed to bring her arm around his neck and across his shoulder. It took less than a dozen steps to reach the side doorway and out into the space of the hangar. Two men in full hazard suits pushed past him and blasted the burning electrical and fuel system with fire retardant foam and chemicals. He pushed on until reaching the rest of the crew who were trying to help a woman who had refused to wear a suit. Xenophon glanced at her, but as far as he could tell she was dead, probably from the explosive decompression that had already occurred. He was paranoid about suits during transportation on the small craft, and today had only reinforced that idea.
“Xenophon?” asked a feeble voice.
He looked down to see a weak smile from the Lieutenant. He smiled back and leaned in closer.
“How are you feeling?”
She coughed and shook a little.
“Not great, suit says it’s coming up with blood pressure warnings.”
Blood pressure? No, it must be internal bleeding.
He lifted himself up, so he was more visible to the crew.
“Hey, I’ve got a wounded officer here!”
A medical and an orderly were there in seconds. The medical officer attached a cable from his medical analysis tool on his belt. It connected directly into the biological monitoring package embedded into the suit.
“Yeah, she’s got internal bleeding, pressure dropping. Get her to sickbay, stat!”
The orderly called for another man to come and help and before Xenophon could say anymore, they were heading for the doors. Xenophon moved to follow but was stopped by the arrival of a gruff looking Commander. He was at least a head taller than Xenophon and scarred on the left side of his face.
“I’m down to fifty percent of my crew. Any of you with combat or targeting experience?”
Xenophon watched the Lieutenant disappear before looking back to the Commander. Five men had already stepped forward and were talking with him. He moved up to join them, and his heart pounded from the events he had already experienced.
“I’m a gunner.”
“What unit?” he replied suspiciously.
“Gamma Squadron, Sir.”
“Gamma huh? You guys pulled the bait mission, right? Yeah, you’ll do, come with me.”
The Commander moved away, and Xenophon stayed close. In the corridor, crew carrying equipment or moving the wounded continually interrupted them. Every few seconds, the heavy thud of pulse weapons striking the ship’s shields sent shivers down Xenophon’s spine. He was aware that powerful ships like the Valiant could take a number of hits but once the shields were down the weapons fire would start to burn or cut through the metal. It was that part of the attack that worried him.
“Sir, how are the shields?” he asked the man.
Without slowing down, the Commander threw him a quick reply.
“Don’t worry about the shields, son. She’s a tough old bird. Just come with me to the gundeck, I need you on the weapons and fast.”
Another ship and still they won’t tell me what the hell is going on. He grumbled to himself.
The thuds of weapon impacts continued, and it was clear from the body language of the crew, they were flinching from the strikes just as much as him. As with his frigate, there were no windows in the vessel and the displays limited to the command sections of the ship. The small group entered a wider space, almost like a miniature plaza. Directly in front was a pair of large automated doors. The Commander stepped through and moved into the heart of the ship.
Wow, this is more like it, thought Xenophon, for a moment forgetting about the apocalyptical battle that was taking place all around them. The first thing he noticed were the massive five-metre tall virtual windows that ran in a wide ring around the room. In the centre were almost two-dozen command officers. He looked at the windows and was presented with a terrible sight. The massive space station was being struck with powerful mass drivers. These electromagnetic weapons were able to hurl great chunks of material at super high speeds. Each strike blasted chunks of armour away and created a series of terrible breaches. What looked even worse was the incredible number of Laconian warships. He gave up counting after reaching thirty heavy ships, and there would be hundreds more cruisers and smaller. Beams and pulses of light hurtled towards the scores of docked ships, resulting in blasts and flashes as far as the eye could see.
“You, you’re a gunner, right?” asked a half-dressed Lieutenant.
“Uh, yes, frigate gunner.”
He considered his words for a short moment before indicating to a lower deck. Xenophon stepped towards it and noticed the rest of the group taking up their positions. It was much like the gundecks on the frigate, but there were only eight seats. He sat at the first available space and strapped himself in.
“Right, this is a Mark IV heavy laser setup. These are not cutters, and they fire in pulses, not too different to the frigate plasma weapons. Okay?”
Xenophon and the others nodded.
“Good. Your job is to help clear a path through the fighters and escorts as we break out.”
“What?” demanded one of the volunteers.
The Lieutenant didn’t need to explain any further as the amplified voice of the commander of the ship instantly drowned out his voice.
“I have just received a distress signal from Fort Plymouth. Laconian ground troops have boarded the base. This sector is lost, so the only question is, how much of a fleet we can escape with? In the meantime, a general evacuation has been ordered. The Titan Prometheus is providing a rearguard for the rest of us. We are the last of the grand cruisers. Over sixty percent of the fleet is gone already. If we’re lucky, we’ll be leaving the Aegospotami Nebulae in one piece.”
As if to emphasis his point, a volley of plasma cannon rounds smashed into the heavy warship. The vessel shook slightly, but there were no other obvious signs of trouble. The Commander continued.
“Fighters are already in position to escort us out of here. Man your guns, and watch for pursuing ships. We get one shot at this. The jump beacon is seven minutes away, good luck!”
He checked the screen. It was similar to the model used on the frigates but with a handful of changes. The first was that he had no crew around him. The status indicator showed seventeen men in the weapons deck, but he simply queued up requests, and they would deal with them in sequence. It was a more automated but distant approach. He reasoned it must be because the larger weapons needed more crew and that they served more than just his guns. The end result was that only the more senior crew were present in this part of the ship.
Better than being with the rest of the midshipmen, he thought wryly.
The second big change was that he controlled a battery of four separate turrets, each one equipped with quadruples heavy lasers. It was more firepower than all of the plasma cannons on his frigate put together. He tapped the connection button, and in a few seconds the communication node implanted in his skull connected to the fire system and communication network. He was immediately hit by a number of orders from the command crew.
“Cruiser unit blocking the beacon, right let’s sort them out then,” he said confidently though only to himself.
A quick scan of the gun system showed his systems were fully operational. The capacitors were charged and the guns set to short-ranged fire by default. As he watched the raging battle on the bank of screens, a number of diamond shapes appeared on the targets. He looked down but couldn’t find the fire control system.
The trigger, where is it?
“Why aren’t we firing?” shouted the XO.
Xenophon turned around, embarrassed to ask but more concerned with the battle.
“The trigger, Sir?”
“Your head, son. This is a Grandcruiser. You’re controlling a quarter of the heavy weapons on the ship. Select targets with your eyes, fire and control the weapons with the communication node.”
He turned back, feeling stupid for asking. The communication node was only used for oral communication on the frigates, a quicker way for the commander and the officers to stay in contact during the confusion of battle. This level of integration was a feature of all capital ships. The realisation he was now in command of enough firepower to cripple a heavy warship, sent his heart pumping almost uncontrollably.
“Shields are down to thirty percent, minor damage to secondary power systems. Incoming torpedoes,” said one of the senior officers.
Xenophon had no idea who was doing the talking, but he immediately recognised the flashing indicators on the display. A group of five heavy torpedoes were shown in he centre as well as at least two-dozen heavy fighters. He tasked the gun mount with the torpedoes and sent the mental signal to loose off a volley. It was the first time he had seen, let alone fired, this kind of weapon. The name laser was something of a misnomer, as the weapon was only vaguely related to the ancient Terran technology. The turrets fired a sequence of a dozen shots, each following right behind the other in a bright burst of red energy. Each turret fired at a separate target and struck in a matter of just two seconds. The five torpedoes exploded in a brilliant blue crackle of energy and power. Xenophon almost jumped up with excitement from the success, apart from the arrival of a Laconian battleship that filled his entire display.
“What!” he whispered.
Two bright beams came from both sides of his displays. It was the heavy cutters being unleashed. These massive weapons were the most powerful weapons fitted to the Grandcruiser. Each beam connected with the battleship and cut an arc of almost fifty metres through the hull before stopping.
“Gunners, concentrate your fire on the battleships turrets,” said the voice through the communication node.
Xenophon concentrated on the port side of the battleship and zoomed in. Its entire flank appeared to bristle with weapons, and most were already blazing away at the myriad of Alliance ships trying to break out to the beacon and safety.
Here we go.
His first salvo struck multiple turrets, but there was no visible damage. The shield easily deflected the energy. Instead, he targeted one section of the ship where a small battery of missile tubes were located and watched for the timing. It was something he had read about weeks before. The shielding of capital ships was multi-layered with separate generators producing fields at different points on the ship. Gun turrets and antenna could not be completely shielded as the signals or projectiles would be blocked. The shielding systems were designed to flicker to allow signals to move in and out or at the split second a shell or beam weapon fired. He had postulated the idea of programming the weapon systems to automatically fire on turrets as they fired. It wasn’t easy. The timing was an issue, but it might work.
He took careful aim at a single missile tube and counted the gap between shots. It didn’t take long, and he timed it as two seconds between the fifth and sixth missile. As he ran the numbers in his head, another missile launched. It was the first in the sequence. In the blink of his eye the turrets opened fire, each sending a salvo of powerful bolts towards the target. The first arrived too early and once more glanced off the shields. The last two managed to strike in the window of opportunity. A flash of energy erupted around the target, and two turrets and the missile system blasted from the superstructure of the ship.
“Good work, son, you must have hit a launching missile,” said the XO.
Xenophon grinned to himself, and pleased he had achieved something of note. He moved to the next weapon system and counted the weapon launches.
“Gunners, copy the shield skipping routine of our new gunner. We jump in sixty seconds, keep those turrets busy. Each one that is destroyed or fires at us is another ship of ours that can get home,” said the XO.
He looked back to the displays and watched the small number of the Alliance making for the beacon. It was only a short journey, but a necessary one to allow them a safe, direct journey back home. Two cruisers managed to jump, but two more were caught in a devastating crossfire between three Laconian battleships. He winced as he watched the vessels tear apart in a violent series of explosions that wracked the capital ships from bow to stern.
“They’ve adapted already,” called out the XO. “The battleship’s shield phasing has changed to what seems to be a random sequence. Concentrate your fire on incoming missiles, leave the shields to our cutters.”
Xenophon was disappointed by the news. He was convinced he had found a working solution to the superlative protection offered by the layered shielding. As he considered the issue, he concentrated on the scores of torpedoes and missiles racing through the battle. The computer system could quickly identify likely targets for the missiles, and any that were heading for Alliance ships were flagged red.
Let’s take them out, he thought confidently.
By reducing the power levels of his guns, he was able to fire long bursts of over twenty seconds in one go. Streams of small bolts pours from the barrels and the curtain of energy shredded dozens of the weapons.
“Keep going, almost there!” called the Commander, this time completely bypassing the XO who was evidently busy coordination the fire of the cutters and fighter crews. Xenophon caught him out of the corner of his eye talking to the CAG, the commander of the fighter group on board the Valiant.
“Hold tight, we jump in twenty!” he shouted.
Twenty seconds, come on, we can do it! thought Xenophon.
It was incredible, but after so little combat, he was now excited at the prospect of an ignominious defeat, providing it meant they lived to fight another day.
I don’t want to die, he admitted to himself.
Three more warships jumped in and started to blast away at the depleted shields of the Valiant. The difference in sound was vast, as the lasers, plasma and other energy weapons cut and burned their way through the armour and hull of the ship. Shield impacts sent a concussive ring through the ship, whereas the impacts against the ship seemed almost insubstantial. The alarm warnings and alerts through the deck told another story however. Xenophon blasted more missiles and then turned his attention on a small group of four Laconian bombers. These small vessels were difficult to hit but were heavily armed and a serious risk to the small ships out there. He managed to destroy the first and hit the engine of the second before a bellowing tone hammered at his head.
“Cease fire! Five seconds to jump!” called the XO.
Xenophon spotted one final bomber making its way to one of the scores of transports trying to escape. For a second he hesitated, and then sent a single, final burst of laser fire to the target. The stars blurred and then with a flash they were hurtling through space using their FTL engines.
“All stations report in, I need engineering and casualty reports ASAP!” ordered the XO.
Xenophon moved to disarm his weapon system but it didn’t matter, the command staff had already deactivated the capacitors and weapons control from the gunners.
I wonder if the Laconian ships have such a problem with crew and security on their own ships? he thought.
It was a constant source of both surprise and disappointment to him that although those citizens serving in the Armada had proven themselves many times, they were never given enough responsibility to excel in difficult situations. Each person had a fixed task and limited access to anything else. It was hardly surprising that Alliance ships were so over crewed; they needed far too many people to carry out the smallest of tasks. From what he had heard of the Laconian ships, it was the exact opposite. Rumour had it that they carried less crew, far less. Each member was better trained and expected to be able to carry out any role from navigation or engineering through to targeting and battle tactics. Plus, of course, every single Laconian was an expert fighter with edged weapons and firearms.
He turned around to look up to the rest of the command centre. The Commander and the XO stood in the middle and watched as dozens of reports and messages came in from different parts of the ship.
“Good work, people. Get your systems and crew patched up, we are heading home at maximum speed. Tankers are due to meet us at the first rendezvous point in approximately fifteen hours.”
Xenophon looked back to his own display and brought up a map of this part of the galaxy. It contained limited data, but he knew from memory where most of the main Alliance bases were.
Okay, Fort Plymouth is about two hundred parsecs from Attica, so that would take about fourteen or fifteen jumps to get home. So about two weeks, maybe less depending on how many tankers were available. This is going to be one long trip home.
Grandcruiser Valiant, Attica Nav Beacon, 11 Days Later
“Action stations, due for arrival in T-Minus five minutes. All crew to your stations. This is not a drill, all crew to your station.”
Xenophon rolled out of his bed and barely managed to avoid crashing off the side and striking the ground. His temporary quarters were inside the forward weapons battery, a cramped location that seemed to be the warmest and most uncomfortable part of the ship. He dropped to the ground and immediately felt the pangs of plantar fascia on the base of his foot. The ligament that ran from under his heel to the front of the foot had started hurting in the last few days. It wasn’t serious and was probably related to the increased physical work helping with the repair and engineering on board the Valiant. But knowing what it was didn’t make him feel any better. He rubbed the foot for a second before the sirens woke him up.
What the hell are you doing messing with your foot at a time like this? Get your backside to your weapon station and fast! he said to himself, with more than a little embarrassment.
He grabbed his webbing that contained his sidearm, communications handset and various tools. It wasn’t essential, but after what had happened on the station, he never wanted to face trouble without having options on his side. As he moved down the corridor, he noticed many of the other crew were doing much the same. Some carried belts with regulation sidearms thrust inside, and other carried first aid injection packs and drugs on them. One man marched past with what looked like an ancient boarding cutlass hanging from his side.
Weird, he thought.
Xenophon moved to his station and sat down. The screen was active and the weapons capacitors already charging up. They showed an active level of sixty percent and climbing. He pulled the straps on and started his checks. Then the weird sick feeling arrived, and he knew immediately that this meant they were coming out of lightspeed and must be near their destination.
“This is the Captain. I have received word that all remaining Alliance vessels are in position around Attica Homeworld. We are the last ship of the line to make it here. The Lexington was destroyed during refuelling three hours ago. We are it, people. All that stands between our home and the Laconian fleet. Check your systems and prepare for battle. Good luck.”
Nice speech, thought Xenophon sarcastically, gazing at the planet as it came into view. The blurred dot grew in size until the ship slowed to what seemed like a halt near to the Attica Nav Beacon. Lights flashed up on his tactical display and showed him the location of friendly and enemy vessels based on configuration and IFF (Identify Friend or Foe) systems. It took only a few seconds for the data to fully register, and the final figures left a sick feeling in his stomach.
The last battle of the war looked like it was going to be one of extermination rather than glory. Xenophon watched his displays and sighed at the sight of so few warships being able to defend the last area of space between the enemy and the Homeworld. With the Alliance fleet annihilated at Aegospotami a week earlier, there were now only seven warships left to defend against an estimated Laconian fleet of nearly four hundred. On his display unit he could see nearly a hundred civilian ships moving into position around the beacon. He recognised at least three long distance passenger liners as well as over a dozen tankers.
This isn’t a fleet. This is going to be a massacre. His heart was heavy with fear and also disappointment. It was only just over a week since his first glimpse of a battle, and now he was about to participate in the fall of the Alliance.
“This is the Captain, ready your stations. They’re coming through!”
The red emergency lighting came on, and the entire command centre darkened with the change. Xenophon looked up from his own displays. The walls around him were decked with display units that gave the impression they all sat in a glass room. He could see space, his homeworld and the assembled armada. Next to his targeting matrix was a full list of all Alliance vessels down to the size of lunar ferries.
One hundred and seventy two vessels in total, and of those, only seven were warships. What are the transports going to do? Ram the enemy?
A glimmer of movement caught his eye; at first it was nothing more than a smudge in space, but it quickly changed. The shape transformed into dozens then hundreds of larger shapes. In less than five seconds, a vast battlefleet appeared. At the centre of the dark horde was a Laconian Titan, the mightiest warship known to man. A myriad of coloured lights flickered along the ships as gun, torpedoes and missiles systems activated.
“Open fire!” shouted the Captain.
The sheer number of targets available dumbfounded Xenophon. The other gunners were already blasting away at the nearest Laconian cruiser, a ship that was two-thirds the size of their own vessel. He selected a dozen key areas and fired burst of laser fire. The great cutting beams of the primary lasers arced down into the ship’s hull and cut great chunks of metal from them. More shapes appeared to the right of his vision.
More ships, this is it, he said to himself, now realising that the end was just minutes away.
The shapes coalesced into the form of three titans. As soon as they arrived, a dozen cutter beams fired out and towards the pitiful Alliance Armada. A dull rumble in the bowels of the Valiant indicated the engines were building up power. They were noisier than expected, possibly due to the engineers pushing them way past their design limits in readiness for the desperation of the battle.
“Keep firing!” called out the XO as he marched about the deck, watching over the officers as they directed turrets and weapons batteries against the horde. Xenophon and the others selected target after target until the area of space around the Nav Beacon was aglow with energy beams and pulses of light. It was almost beautiful, apart from the myriad of exploding ships and wreckage that was starting to fill the area.
“Fourteen ships down, Laconian boarding pods are en route,” called out the XO.
Xenophon shook his head as he continued to blast away. Flashes along the shielding of the Titan showed he was having no effect. He turned his attention to the smaller fighters, frigates and torpedoes. His heavy laser turrets fared better, but he was under no illusions that the Titan would decide the battle.
How did it all come to this?
“Incoming!” called one of the women, but Xenophon couldn’t see who was talking. It was too late. Half of the command centre vanished with a blinding blue light. Alarms flashed everywhere. Xenophon pulled at his straps to release himself, but another blast struck him and his vision turned to darkness. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.