correct flight profile, the squadron began to
disperse, to avoid bunching up and giving the fleet an easy target, soon they
would be within range of the fleets guns.
*****
“God damn it!” Harkov raged, pacing up and down the command
deck like a caged tiger. Turning on the tactical officer he demanded. “So we
cannot launch missiles at them, but they can at us? Would you like to explain
this?”
The tactical officer just shrugged helplessly and uttered,
“They’re Praetorians…” Having only recently graduated from the fleet naval academy,
the young officer had been surrounded by the rumours of the enigmatic and
mysterious Praetorians.
Praetorians swords could slice through anything…
Praetorians could tell when you were lying…
Praetorians were invincible…
Pretty much everybody in his graduation class was in awe of
the Praetorians and he could not believe his luck when he was assigned to the Imperial
Star , the flagship of the Imperial Fleet, home to the Praetorians.
However, reality has a bad habit of setting you down with a bump. The first
Praetorian he encountered was cold and arrogant! The second, worse! Within
the span of a week his dreams of meeting and becoming one of these mythical
warriors was dashed on the rocks of reality.
The Commodore made a lot of sense when he explained how the
Empire had become rotten at the core. The Emperor surrounded by his
Praetorians had become decadent and corrupt, leading the Imperium to ruin!
They had to be replaced, so that the Empire could still be saved.
However, Commodore Harkov’s speech seemed a world away now,
and the stories of the legendary Praetorians suddenly became far more
frightening when facing them. Having just watched them miraculously avoid the
ambush cleverly devised for them, how they were immune to the fleet’s weapons
but could use their own. For a moment he wondered what the hollow feeling in
the pit of his stomach was, before finally recognising - that it was fear.
Fear of these invulnerable warriors that had never been beaten, fear that he
had made a dreadful mistake siding with Harkov…
“Guns!” The word filtered through the young officers thought
process, interrupting his contemplation of the Praetorians.
“Excuse me, sir?” The young tactical officer stammered,
glancing in the direction of Pendleton who was still collapsed in his chair and
where the exclamation had originated.
“The ships guns are tied into our own targeting system, is
that not correct?” Pendleton insisted.
“Yes, sir,” the tactical officer confirmed, “All the ship’s
guns are tied into the ship’s central targeting system…” his voice trailed off
as he finally got what his commanding officer was thinking. “…And we can
reprogram our system to mark the fighters as hostile,” he confirmed excitedly.
So much easier to reprogram one system, than hundreds of
smaller ones spread throughout the missiles in the fleet
“We would have to rely upon the smaller, point defence
weapons; they have less range but would be able to better target the incoming
fighters,” he exclaimed aloud confidently.
Pendleton just nodded in agreement, before snapping his
fingers. “Quickly, reprogram the targeting computer and bring the guns on-line,
before the fighters get within range.” With a quick flourish of his fingers
the tactical officer made the changes and held his breath…
“Guns are on-line and tracking the incoming targets, sir,”
he exclaimed in relief. It was only when he double-checked the tracking
sensors however, that the realised that the guns were tracking all the incoming
targets – both missiles and fighters.
Uh Oh.
*****
As the squadron came within range of the fleet’s guns they
continued to disperse and started jinking, up, down, left, right all in random
patterns to help confound the aim of the fleet’s guns. However, as they got
closer and closer to the fleet the gunfire became
disperse, to avoid bunching up and giving the fleet an easy target, soon they
would be within range of the fleets guns.
*****
“God damn it!” Harkov raged, pacing up and down the command
deck like a caged tiger. Turning on the tactical officer he demanded. “So we
cannot launch missiles at them, but they can at us? Would you like to explain
this?”
The tactical officer just shrugged helplessly and uttered,
“They’re Praetorians…” Having only recently graduated from the fleet naval academy,
the young officer had been surrounded by the rumours of the enigmatic and
mysterious Praetorians.
Praetorians swords could slice through anything…
Praetorians could tell when you were lying…
Praetorians were invincible…
Pretty much everybody in his graduation class was in awe of
the Praetorians and he could not believe his luck when he was assigned to the Imperial
Star , the flagship of the Imperial Fleet, home to the Praetorians.
However, reality has a bad habit of setting you down with a bump. The first
Praetorian he encountered was cold and arrogant! The second, worse! Within
the span of a week his dreams of meeting and becoming one of these mythical
warriors was dashed on the rocks of reality.
The Commodore made a lot of sense when he explained how the
Empire had become rotten at the core. The Emperor surrounded by his
Praetorians had become decadent and corrupt, leading the Imperium to ruin!
They had to be replaced, so that the Empire could still be saved.
However, Commodore Harkov’s speech seemed a world away now,
and the stories of the legendary Praetorians suddenly became far more
frightening when facing them. Having just watched them miraculously avoid the
ambush cleverly devised for them, how they were immune to the fleet’s weapons
but could use their own. For a moment he wondered what the hollow feeling in
the pit of his stomach was, before finally recognising - that it was fear.
Fear of these invulnerable warriors that had never been beaten, fear that he
had made a dreadful mistake siding with Harkov…
“Guns!” The word filtered through the young officers thought
process, interrupting his contemplation of the Praetorians.
“Excuse me, sir?” The young tactical officer stammered,
glancing in the direction of Pendleton who was still collapsed in his chair and
where the exclamation had originated.
“The ships guns are tied into our own targeting system, is
that not correct?” Pendleton insisted.
“Yes, sir,” the tactical officer confirmed, “All the ship’s
guns are tied into the ship’s central targeting system…” his voice trailed off
as he finally got what his commanding officer was thinking. “…And we can
reprogram our system to mark the fighters as hostile,” he confirmed excitedly.
So much easier to reprogram one system, than hundreds of
smaller ones spread throughout the missiles in the fleet
“We would have to rely upon the smaller, point defence
weapons; they have less range but would be able to better target the incoming
fighters,” he exclaimed aloud confidently.
Pendleton just nodded in agreement, before snapping his
fingers. “Quickly, reprogram the targeting computer and bring the guns on-line,
before the fighters get within range.” With a quick flourish of his fingers
the tactical officer made the changes and held his breath…
“Guns are on-line and tracking the incoming targets, sir,”
he exclaimed in relief. It was only when he double-checked the tracking
sensors however, that the realised that the guns were tracking all the incoming
targets – both missiles and fighters.
Uh Oh.
*****
As the squadron came within range of the fleet’s guns they
continued to disperse and started jinking, up, down, left, right all in random
patterns to help confound the aim of the fleet’s guns. However, as they got
closer and closer to the fleet the gunfire became
Similar Books
