SAW 1: Stars at War (9 page)

"Everybody ready? We got to accelerate to point epsilon
in 3...2...1...go!" Bobbi punched her fighter's gravity emitters to full.
With a gigantic burst of energy, her gravity engines created a front-back
gravity field of 500 gs. On her display, she watched as the rest of her wing
did the same thing.

Ok Bobbi, first battle, no worries. Doing it for the
team, for humanity, so whatever happens—happens. 
"Everybody good, out
there? No malfunctions?" Bobbi spoke to her wing.

At her level of command, it wasn't her job to worry about
individual fighter pilots. Being in charge of 1000 souls meant she must think
in terms of squadrons as the base unit. Caring about the individual pilot was
the responsibility of the squadron leader, not the wing commander.

"All good," one of her squadron leaders answered.

"Fine here," said another.

"Good," Bobbi replied while her body shook. Inside
her lukewarm cockpit, Bobbi shook with fright. She’d done well in the
simulations, but this was literally her first real battle, as well as
humanity's first fighter-fighter battle in many years. She knew she shouldn't
be feeling these emotions, especially since she held such a high rank.
Suddenly, she worried if her squadron leaders could hear the quavering in her
voice.

Getting to her high ranking position was easy. She did well
in the sims, and she could command well, but that was during peacetime. She
listened to her superiors, she executed her tasks brilliantly, but now she
wondered if any of that mattered in a real battle.

Bobbi felt afraid. Afraid of being seen as a coward. Afraid
of being afraid.

Her teeth chattered and goose bumps formed on her skin.
Is
the microphone off?
she wondered. She didn't want her subordinates to hear
her right now.
Especially
—right now.

Her 1000 man wing almost reached their destination, a point
in a curve of points that would take them behind the enemy fleet and position
them perfectly to attack the enemy's battleships, right when her side's
battleships clashed with theirs. The missiles her wing guarded were of even
more importance.

The missiles...

On her cockpit map, she saw everything happening all around
her. The main battleship fleet commanded by Admiral Prion suddenly accelerated
forward to meet the enemy battleship fleet. When they met, they would be in
laser range and laser contact for about ten minutes, after which both
battleship fleets would pass each other and if either side wanted to fight
again, they'd have to decelerate and accelerate backwards—turn and burn.

Bobbi predicted much of what needed to happen…would happen
within the first intercept, the first crisscross, and one of the two fleets
would decide they'd had enough and would accelerate away from the other.

This is good
, thought Bobbi.
Concentrate on the
battle. I'm not feeling so panicked anymore.

In a typical space battle, where the vectors of opposing
fleets were so different, where fights only happened during crisscrosses, there
would be long moments of peace, with intermittent turbulent episodes of war.
This was the same for fighter-fighter battles.

Her displays beeped.
Enemy interceptors!

Oh no!
She knew it would happen, and now it happened.
"Squadron leaders, ready your fighters for dogfight ing. I'm reading about
3400 bogeys incoming!"

"Thirty—thirty four hundred, ma'am?"

Pause.

"Yes, I'm reading it, too," said one.

Twenty other squadron leaders agreed…seeing the same thing.

"Uh—ma'am," said a voice, "You sure we can
take on this many? There has to be a mistake!"

"I—don't know!" Bobbi replied. "Command
hasn't assigned us any extra fighters! I think it's just us!"

A lot of cursing cluttered the net-comm.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Battle Fortress Epsilon Decimus

Flag Bridge

P
rion monitored
her fleet's formation. It was optimal. A thin sheet of heavy-cruisers in front
to take the initial blow, followed by another layer of battleships ten thousand
kilometers behind it, followed by another layer. Her juggernauts held the
center sheet. A total of five layers or flat sheets with ten thousand
kilometers between each. Some distance, but not so much or else her fleet
became spread too far out. Effective laser range was one hundred thousand
kilometers after all.

The stratified layer tactic, and the ideal response to the
fact that both enemy and friendly battleships had weaker aft and side armor
compared to their frontal armor.

The purpose of the stratified layer tactic would be when the
first sheet passed the enemy's battleships, the first sheet could fire on the
enemy's aft’s and sides. If the enemy battleships turned to face the first
sheet, the second and third layers could fire at the enemy's aft’s.

This worked against an enemy who balled all his ships
together in a massive clump.

Unfortunately, as Prion eyed the enemy fleet, the snakes
formed a stratified layer formation as well, which
was
the ultimate
counter strategy against her formation. This made turning her first layer
difficult, because if her first layer turned to face backwards to shoot the
enemy's first sheet, the enemy's second and third sheets could fire on her
first sheet's aft. The enemy's formation practically neutralized her own.

Prion bit at her lips. A long time ago, war strategists
asked,
"Does concentrating armor on the front of battleships become
more disadvantageous than having equal sized armor on all sides"?
She
now saw the answer was no….still more beneficial to have frontal armor
significantly stronger because most of the time, it would still be the front
side of battleships that received the most weapon fire.

It would be just during the crisscrossing when aft and side
armor received hits. But before and after the crisscross, the frontal armor
always took the blows. Even after including missile attacks, which could come
from anywhere…the impact of strengthen the frontal armor in laser battles made
it all worthwhile.

"Commodore Brigum," Prion called out, "Could
you strengthen Fighter wing Gamma with additional units? They are facing a 3 to
1 size disadvantage."

"I'm already over stretched already," Brigum
replied. "I told you, we’re outnumbered in fighters. But I'll dispatch
some fighters to aid Gamma, ma'am."

"Please hurry. They're about to engage."

Gamma Wing

Mark Four Space Fighter Call Sign  ‘Zeta-1’

Wing Commander's Cockpit

In her lonely cockpit, Bobbi shouted into her mic,
"Squadrons 1-22, I want you to enact the macros we discussed earlier!
Ready your formations. Bill and Tom, you guys got aft formation. Shoot the
easiest targets first! We need to take out enemy fighters fast, because we're
so outnumbered—"

"We got incoming!" someone shouted.

Bobbi cursed.

"They're ours!"

A sudden relief coursed through her. She found them on her
map, too. Five hundred extra human fighters. Now, the numbers were only more
than two to one against her.
It wasn't—hell, the odds were still terrible.

"Alright, we got some relief, guys, but it doesn't
change the problem entirely," said Bobbi over the net. "We're still
heavily outnumbered. Everyone, use your training. Work with your teammates.
We'll show those snakes that humans are superior dogfighters!"

Now, if I could only stop my hands from shaking...

"Will those five hundred reach us in time?"
someone asked.

"You bet! But on the safe side, guys let's slow
down!" Bobbi advised. "Turn around and accelerate backwards…400 Gs
for 30 seconds ought to do it!" Bobbi couldn't believe she was saying the
things she was saying. It felt natural, but she knew training and experience in
the sims was pumping words out of her dry mouth. She certainly didn't feel it
in her heart.

Her body and mind were separated.

She could feel the shaking in her hands—from two things.
Fear, but also excitement. She was doing her job, and no matter how tough the
eventual end results might become, she knew it  to be her best and only she
could do it like this, because she was in the zone.

While she finished the turn and decelerated her fighter at
400 Gs, things around her felt slow, like she could pay attention to everything
at once. Her instruments became crystal clear to her. Every beep and every
light entered her mind as she unconsciously checked them.

What a way to die.

"Alright everyone," Bobbi announce on the net,
"Revert back to our original direction and get ready to be intercepted.
Delta Wing, you guys caught up?"

"Yes, ma'am," said a new male voice. "Colonel
Jennings from Delta Wing here. Hope our additional five hundred won't take away
too much from your kills."

"You won't!" Bobbi laughed. "We'd be happy to
share our kills with you! How would you like to form up?"

"Right behind you is good."

"Alright then! Prep the anti-fighter missiles and get
ready to shoot a good amount the moment the bogeys enter range. They'll be
doing the same to us, so get ready to sand blast our way through."

Fighters had missiles themselves, but they were the smaller
variant, meant to kill other fighters. Anti-fighter missiles, not anti-ship
missiles that came from missile ships, weren't able to wreak severe damage to a
large multi-kilometer ship.

Sand blasts referred to sand canisters which exploded in
front of the fighter, shooting a wave of sand at enemy missiles in an attempt
to kill them through severe relative velocity.

On her map display, she saw them. 3400 red dots two hundred
thousand kilometers away. Suddenly, those 3400 dots became twice as many, and
then tripled.

Her screen flashed. ENEMY MISSILES INBOUND, as her computer
tracked the newly created gravity waves.

"Alright guys, fire your missiles!" said Bobbi to
her wing. She zoned in on her target, a squadron of enemy fighters directly in
front of her, and punched the missile launch button.

On her monitors, her team's 1500 green dots became 5000. Her
wing's newly created missile waves zoomed past her from behind. In the darkness
of space, they left no physical trail, nor seeable exhaust. Their grav waves
did alert Bobbi of their positions and their speed, which would be around 1000
gravities.

Half a minute later, the two missile waves from both sides
intercrossed. Not a single explosion occurred during that interval, as both
missile waves separated after mingling, heading for their opposing targets.

The
MISSILES IMBOUND
alert continued to flare on her
monitors.

"Everyone, target the incoming missiles ahead with your
sand blasts and fire!" Bobbi ordered.

"Roger! Firing!" came the replies on the net.

Bobbi watched the incoming missiles aiming at her and made a
ballpark estimate. Then, she punched the button which let loose her sand
canisters. The canisters themselves used a substantially smaller grav engine to
zero in on those missiles. The AI on the canisters then detonated when the time
was right.

She knew the enemy fighters would be doing the same thing,
or maybe they had a better anti-missile defense system than sand canisters.

On her monitors, she watched as the enemy missiles zoom in
closer to her intended sand blast area. She tightened up in fear.
Come on,
canisters. Detonate! Detonate! Kill those missiles.

The missiles came closer. 10,000 kilometers.

6,000 kilometers.

2,000 kilometers.

One thousand kilometers! Then, one by one, the enemy
missile's grav waves disappeared!

Score!
They continued to blink off. What’d been 6000
missile signatures became 5000 then 4000 then 2000.

They fell like flies. But they didn't fall fast enough. Some
of those missiles passed through the sand detonation zone and darted toward her
1,000 man fighter wing. "Everyone, fire another wave of sand blasts!"
But it was too late. Some of her fighters did manage to fire, but the missiles
zoomed into her wing at lightning speed. They smashed into her 1000 fighters,
and Bobbi felt the horror of watching dozens of her able fighters disappear
from the gravity wave map.

Bobbi could imagine it. Thousands of high velocity missiles
armed with nukes diving into her fighters from the front. Some of those
missiles would hit dead on and their kiloton nukes would blink, splashing
plasma into her fighters. Other missiles would proximity detonate, having
missed their targets, giving off lethal blasts of radiation and plasma.

Her fighters died. Space always remained silent, but the net
screamed with voices from her squadron leaders panting and giving out orders to
evade and destroy the missiles.

"Able-2, you hear me? You there?" said one.

"Sand blast it, squadron 22. Fire everything!"

"Jink it, squad!"

"Jellico-6, you got two missiles heading straight for
you!"

"I see it! I see—"

So many green dots disappearing from the screen! Bobbi
watched as enemy missile signatures meshed with her fighters. She looked ahead,
and saw even more missiles.

Sand blast, away!
She punched the canister launcher
repeatedly.

Suddenly, she wondered if she would survive the missile
wave. But then, the missiles ahead of her started disappearing, and she felt
safer.

Until she realized she was entering laser range.
"Guys!" she glanced at her wing. Only 800 fighters remained. Bobbi
cringed. 200 dead pilots already. "Aim at a red dot in front of you and be
ready to fire lasers when range hits!"

She stared at the enemy fighters on her monitor, and
realized that her wing's own missile wave killed about 300. That meant there
were only 3100 enemy fighters left—
only 3100
.

Meanwhile, her losses kept racking up. By the time the
missiles disappeared entirely, she’d lost another 50, meaning she only had 750
fighters left.

250 fighters just died within the period of 2 minutes.

While the enemy fighters came closer and closer.

140,000 kilometers away. 120,000. 100,000. 80,000. Laser
range.

"Everybody, fire laser mounts!" yelled Bobbi at
the top of her lungs. She let her AI target one of the enemy dots ahead and
jammed the button on her throttle.

Suddenly, space in between the two fighter groups darted
with thousands of crisscrossing laser beams. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" came
the scream and cries on the net.

"I'm hit!" someone yelled.

Laser beams slashed through both fighter groups, enemy and
friendly, and the sound of explosions beaconed through the net.

Bobbi kept selecting targets and jamming the laser button.

As the distance between the two combatant groups decreased,
the laser fire became more accurate. One of the enemy beams struck into her
fighter's puny shields, splashing green-blue radiation all across her view
screens.

Bobbi glanced down at her shield gauge. Shields at 60%, it
read.

On her map, the distance between the two wings decreased.
The enemy's dwindling numbers matched her own wing's dwindling
numbers…percentage wise. Suddenly, Bobbi realized it wasn't so bad. She was
killing more than her side was losing. She shook her head. She realized she
couldn't think this way about her dead, and at the same time she realized every
commander in history thought this way.

The red dots came closer. 50,000 kilometers. 40,000.

"Alright, guys! Squadron leaders, fire as many missiles
as you want! Unload it all if you have to! Continue firing lasers!"

Missile separation from her wing increased the green dots,
but so did the enemy's. Now, it was a gigantic mess of a battle. Lasers crossed
the shortening distances. Missiles veered in and out from every direction.

"Missiles away!" said the net.

"Missiles incoming!"

Sand canisters exploded while numerous sand dusts flared
into plasma as they accidentally hit laser beams. Meanwhile, her fighter
numbers dropped. 680.

650.

600 fighters.

40% of her wing dead already.

And the distances between the two combatants decreased
further. 30,000 kilometers. 20,000. 10,000.

Bobbi fired her lasers at an enemy dot and realized she hit
dead-on as the dot disappeared from the map.

0 kilometers.

Enemy fighters zoomed past her from forward to back. Inside
her cockpit, her heavy breathing skyrocketed even more. An adrenaline rush shot
through her neck. Now, she was truly in the zone. Time seemed to slow down.
Everything around her became crystal clear. The sound of the yelling and
screaming on her net filled her with fear and excitement simultaneously.
"Everybody, turn and shoot! Turn and shoot!"

Unexpectedly, those dreaded enemy fighters were behind her,
and as she finished her 180 degree turn, she shot them with her laser beams,
and they did the same to her.

Distance: 10,000 kilometers. 20,000 kilometers.

I survived, thought Bobbi, just as another laser beam
slashed into her forward shields. Her shield gauge dropped, again.

30%.

"Everyone, accelerate forward! Stop your backward
momentum and burn towards them! Let's dogfight!" said Bobbi, just as any
wing commander would say.

Hell would continue unabated.