bridge.
“Gilgamesh is ready for battle, sir,” Gorski said. “I presume we are using the same tactics as last time?”
“Take one each, with the scouts in reserve and half a squadron each for defensive/offensive work. You get to command your own fighters.”
“Nice to know,” Rogers said. “We’re ready over here, Danny. Let’s hope we all get out the other side.”
“As long as the enemy doesn’t, I’ll be comfortable calling this a win,” Marshall replied. “Anything I need to know about?”
“Sir,” the sensor technician said with a frown, “Thermopylae is falling back.”
“What? Frank, are you having problems over there?”
“Wait one, sir,” he replied, turning away from the screen.
“Missile salvo ready, Danny,” Caine said. “Gilgamesh is closing on the enemy.” She looked up, sharply, and said, “Thermopylae just dropped out of the tactical datanet.”
“Frank, what the hell is going on?” Before he could answer, the screen went dead, and a sickening feeling began to grow inside his stomach. He looked across at Caine, her face a catalog of frustration and fury.
“The battlecruisers are turning towards Gilgamesh,” she said. “They’re ignoring Thermopylae, and I can’t get through to her Tactical officer. There must be something seriously wrong over there.”
“Press the attack,” he replied. “Take one of them, and get Dragomirov to pull Thermopylae’s support squadron out to support us. We’ll just have to make the best of what we have.”
“Aye, sir,” she said, and the ship surged forward, the other two vessels in its squadron on either side. Marshall looked at the tactical display, watching his carefully planned formation slowly fall apart as Thermopylae hung behind, loitering out of combat range. For whatever reason, he couldn’t count on that ship entering the fight. They were going to have to do this one by themselves.
“Energy spike! Twelve missiles incoming to Gilgamesh.”
Marshall shook his head; there was nothing he could do to help the battlecruiser at the moment; his forces had to strike the second enemy ship , and their course was curving towards it rapidly, their fighters hard on their heels.
“Firing!” Caine said, and Wyvern rocked back as two missiles leapt forward, matching the launches on the other scoutships in the formation. Their target started to turn, moving to face them as the six warheads moved ahead on their track towards their target. Over on one side, Gilgamesh was concentrating on defense rather than attack, trying to knock down the incoming missiles before they could reach her.
“Enemy battlecruiser launching missiles, sir. Six warheads, right at us!” the sensor technician yelled, and Marshall shook his head. They’d only just put Wyvern together after the last battle, and of all the scoutships in the squadron, she was the weakest. The enemy commander was making the best of a bad job, trying to take his ships apart one at a time, but he’d take a terrible pounding getting that home.
At last, the fighters swooped past the scoutships, four of them pushing ahead to make an attack run on the Cabal vessel, the others holding back to help Wyvern defend; Caine was frantically working her controls, trying to get the launch tubes reloaded in time to get some anti-missiles out, while riding the countermeasure controls to try and knock down the incoming targets.
“Got one!” she yelled. “Four to go; one of the fighters just took another down.”
“Progress, Deadeye, progress.”
He tried to step back from the ship, to take an overall look at the battle; it was an effort for him to remember that he was commanding the whole fleet now, and that he couldn’t just focus on a single ship, even if it was the one he was riding. Gilgamesh seemed to be just about holding its own against its target, matching salvo for salvo now that the odds had been evened, and the
“Gilgamesh is ready for battle, sir,” Gorski said. “I presume we are using the same tactics as last time?”
“Take one each, with the scouts in reserve and half a squadron each for defensive/offensive work. You get to command your own fighters.”
“Nice to know,” Rogers said. “We’re ready over here, Danny. Let’s hope we all get out the other side.”
“As long as the enemy doesn’t, I’ll be comfortable calling this a win,” Marshall replied. “Anything I need to know about?”
“Sir,” the sensor technician said with a frown, “Thermopylae is falling back.”
“What? Frank, are you having problems over there?”
“Wait one, sir,” he replied, turning away from the screen.
“Missile salvo ready, Danny,” Caine said. “Gilgamesh is closing on the enemy.” She looked up, sharply, and said, “Thermopylae just dropped out of the tactical datanet.”
“Frank, what the hell is going on?” Before he could answer, the screen went dead, and a sickening feeling began to grow inside his stomach. He looked across at Caine, her face a catalog of frustration and fury.
“The battlecruisers are turning towards Gilgamesh,” she said. “They’re ignoring Thermopylae, and I can’t get through to her Tactical officer. There must be something seriously wrong over there.”
“Press the attack,” he replied. “Take one of them, and get Dragomirov to pull Thermopylae’s support squadron out to support us. We’ll just have to make the best of what we have.”
“Aye, sir,” she said, and the ship surged forward, the other two vessels in its squadron on either side. Marshall looked at the tactical display, watching his carefully planned formation slowly fall apart as Thermopylae hung behind, loitering out of combat range. For whatever reason, he couldn’t count on that ship entering the fight. They were going to have to do this one by themselves.
“Energy spike! Twelve missiles incoming to Gilgamesh.”
Marshall shook his head; there was nothing he could do to help the battlecruiser at the moment; his forces had to strike the second enemy ship , and their course was curving towards it rapidly, their fighters hard on their heels.
“Firing!” Caine said, and Wyvern rocked back as two missiles leapt forward, matching the launches on the other scoutships in the formation. Their target started to turn, moving to face them as the six warheads moved ahead on their track towards their target. Over on one side, Gilgamesh was concentrating on defense rather than attack, trying to knock down the incoming missiles before they could reach her.
“Enemy battlecruiser launching missiles, sir. Six warheads, right at us!” the sensor technician yelled, and Marshall shook his head. They’d only just put Wyvern together after the last battle, and of all the scoutships in the squadron, she was the weakest. The enemy commander was making the best of a bad job, trying to take his ships apart one at a time, but he’d take a terrible pounding getting that home.
At last, the fighters swooped past the scoutships, four of them pushing ahead to make an attack run on the Cabal vessel, the others holding back to help Wyvern defend; Caine was frantically working her controls, trying to get the launch tubes reloaded in time to get some anti-missiles out, while riding the countermeasure controls to try and knock down the incoming targets.
“Got one!” she yelled. “Four to go; one of the fighters just took another down.”
“Progress, Deadeye, progress.”
He tried to step back from the ship, to take an overall look at the battle; it was an effort for him to remember that he was commanding the whole fleet now, and that he couldn’t just focus on a single ship, even if it was the one he was riding. Gilgamesh seemed to be just about holding its own against its target, matching salvo for salvo now that the odds had been evened, and the
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