The Honour of the Knights (First Edition)

The Honour of the Knights

The Battle for the Solar System : Book One (First
Edition)

Stephen J Sweeney

Last Revised:
11
February 2011

ISBN 13:
9780955856198

ISBN 10:
0955856191

Published
by Stephen J Sweeney at Smashwords

Copyright
2010 Stephen J Sweeney

www.battleforthesolarsystem.com

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For Dad

—
Prologue
—

I
t had taken only a matter of hours
for the Kethlan system to become a tumbling sea of debris; the
twisted and burnt out remnants of a once glorious Imperial nation.
An empire whose costly mistakes would for many years to come echo
into every corner of the known galaxy. And with those mistakes
would come death to billions of innocent, unsuspecting
lives.

A
starfighter hurtled through the scattered metal, the pilot
desperate to find a way to stop himself from joining the ever
growing population of this interstellar graveyard.

Jacques Chalmers was not alone in his frustration with the
current situation, but he was doubtless one of the most panicked.
He tried to steady himself as he began cycling once again through
the available display options for his
starfighter
’
s
radar system. His anxiety continued to grow with each passing
second, every change of the screen doing nothing to abate it. He
stopped midway through the calibration and glanced out of his
cockpit.

The scene was the same as it had been a few moments ago and
it brought him no comfort. He couldn’t count the number of capital
ships that dominated the Enemy
’
s frontline. Twenty? Thirty? Fifty?
In his years of service to the Imperial Naval Forces he had never
seen anything like it, not even in archive war footage. The
enormous forms of the battleships loomed like giants atop a hill,
staring down upon a tiny village below. Then there were the Enemy
starfighters themselves: hundreds at least, swarming about like a
huge wall of locusts.

Knowing
that he had already been flying straight for longer than was
advisable, Chalmers altered his course to attempt to throw off any
pursuers.

* * *

Not long
before he had been standing on the flight deck of his deployment
carrier, amongst the other pilots, his heart pumping in his ears,
his hands sweating as he awaited the order to board his
fighter.

Chalmers saw his friends run forward as their names were
called out, scrambling into cockpits, pulling on helmets and
performing last minute safety checks. Though most hid it well, he
was convinced they were all as nervous and scared as he was -
knowing they could well be speeding only to their own deaths. As he
watched his friends
’
fighters hurtle down the catapult, his commanding officer had
addressed the last remaining pilots still standing on the flight
deck.

“
Right, listen up,” he started. “This is where we must make
our stand. The Enemy cannot be allowed to advance any further.
Tonight we fight the battle for Kethlan and for the Imperium; the
battle for our survival. Hundreds of millions of lives are
depending on our actions here. Make them proud!”

Hundreds
of millions?
thought Chalmers.
Is
that all that
’
s
left? A few months ago it was billions.
This day had crept ever closer as cities, planets and then
entire star systems had fallen to the Enemy; to those damned
Pandorans; to the Senate’s mistake. How many of his friends had he
lost over these last few terrible months? Had they died fast or
were they now suffering a fate far worse..?

As his CO continued to pump them up for the critical battle,
Chalmers
’
head
was filled with visions of row upon row of black-clad soldiers. A
white emblem resided on their right arms and left breast, an
all-encompassing full black helmet upon their heads, its smooth
form negating all facial features. Two bright red oval spheres were
set into an eye-level groove that ran all around, the “eyes”
themselves slanted into a menacing and intimidating scowl. One of
the soldiers turned to face him, the ruby-like eyes seeming to
pierce his very soul. He felt his hand tighten on the flight helmet
he held, swallowing hard.

“
Daniels! Peterson! Foster! Brown! Rye…”
a voice called out above the other sounds that filled the flight
deck. Feet moved and Chalmers felt his stomach lurch. His name
would be called soon. He felt a sense of doom. If the Empire could
not stop the Enemy before, what hope did they have now? The
Enemy
’
s
power had grown exponentially and they had crushed everything in
their path with harrowing little effort. Chalmers was feeling
forced to accept the truth: they were all that was left of the
Imperial Naval Forces. This was a battle that could not be won; not
now, not ever.

“
… Tyler! Flynn! Chalmers! King! Golden!
Blair…”

At the
sound of his name, Chalmers felt himself move robotically, his mind
screaming in protest against what his legs were doing. He ran over
to the waiting starfighter, threw on his helmet and begun ascending
the ladder into the cockpit.

Zombie-like he sank down into the seat, watching as if from
outside his body as his hands buckled him in, his fingers flip
switches, press buttons, acknowledge questions and confirmations on
the screens before him. Moments later, his craft was taxied to the
catapult and before long he’d found himself out in space and into
the thick of battle.

At that
moment, his worst fears had not only been altogether realised, but
far exceeded.

* * *

Chalmers
cancelled the radar calibration screen and instead opened a
communications channel to his parent carrier.

“
Centaur
,
this is First Lieutenant Chalmers.” He could hear the fear and
tension in his own voice as he spoke and could not control it. “Has
there been any update to the radar situation?”

“
That
’
s a negative, Chalmers,
we
’
re still
working on it.”

Centaur
‘s
answer did nothing to ease his distress. “Any contingency
plans? I can
’
t
see what the hell I
’
m supposed to be shooting at out here!”

“
Again, that
’
s a negative. Ops believes that
enemy craft are masking their vessel signatures.
We
’
re working to
decode it ASAP. We will keep you notified.
Centaur
out.”

Chalmers
again looked down at his radar screen in frustration. In a normal
combat situation the radar would differentiate between the
participants with simple colour coding: green for friendly, red for
hostile and white for unknown. His radar had been functioning as
normal when he had launched, but only a few minutes into the battle
every item on the screen had turned green. In that state it made it
impossible to decipher hostile targets from friendly ones. To make
matters worse, his opponents were flying the same craft as he and
his squadron, so that even at visual range he could not be certain
whether he was about to open fire on friend or foe.

“
Jules!” he said, opening a communications channel to a life
long team mate. He attempted to keep his voice steady as he spoke,
trying his best to avoid drawing any of his allies into his own
personal hell. “Is your radar any good?”

“
Jacques!” the familiar female voice came
back to him, sounding grateful to hear from a friend. “Where are
you? I
’
m
flying blind here! I can
’
t see a thing!” The anxiety and
distress was clear in her own voice. Chalmers had known Jules for
years, she was almost like a sister to him. For him to hear her in
such a state horrified him. He longed to open a video link, to look
into her eyes and tell her that everything was going to be okay,
that they would both get through this. But with his fighter in its
current state, he dared not touch anything for fear it would make
matters worse.

As he
tried to think of how best to relay his present location to his
team mate, he noticed that the radar had tagged the craft he was
speaking to; a thin, blinking white rectangular box outlining the
green triangle. For a brief moment his anguish subsided and he
brought his craft around to face Jules’ fighter. He could see her
weaving and twirling in a similar fashion to his own meandering and
confused flight, the cannons of her fighter as quiet as his
own.

“
Jules, check your radar.
I
’
m…”
Chalmers began. Jules
’
starfighter exploded before him, a pair of fighters peeling
away from the wreckage that spread out like a firework. His small
glimmer of hope melted as soon as it had first appeared and he felt
the words he was about to speak become lodged in his throat. Though
he had witnessed it so many times before, to see two fighters
identical to his own open fire on and destroy an allied craft was
still an awful sight to behold. It was not like combat against
foreign craft, those of the Confederacy or Independent Nations, for
instance. This was more personal, as though one was watching dear
friends turn on each other again and again. For longer than was
wise he sat staring at the sparking, spinning metal that continued
to spread out. Chalmers took it as sign that the destruction he had
witnessed over the last few months was edging ever closer to
engulfing him.

“
No…” the pitiful sound of his own voice finally escaped
him. He felt his throat close up, but forced back the tears he
could feel welling up and threatening to blur his vision. His
fighter gave a heavy jolt as he was hit from behind and he banked
hard, seeing a stream of bright green plasma streak past
him.

In the wake of the attack, he tried to think. He could wheel
around and go after the closest craft to him, hoping that he was
opening fire on a hostile. However, he risked killing a friend who
had assumed that
he
was the Enemy. A voice from his comms system drew his
attention,

“
All available support, this
is
Minotaur
. We are sustaining heavy damage. Requesting immediate
assistance!”

Chalmers felt the panic rising further within him and fought
to control it.
INF
Minotaur
was the Imperial flagship;
a symbol of the Empire
’
s glory. Historically, its very presence within a conflict
zone was enough to spur the Imperial combatants on to victory. But
a desperate request for help from the great battleship could only
lower morale. He could not allow such a thing to happen. He pushed
recent events behind him and looked around for the great capital
ship. Even though he could not identify it on the cluttered mess of
green that was his radar, its sheer size meant that he would have
no trouble locating it with his own two eyes. He saw it hanging
high above the planet Kethlan; the former Seat of the Emperor and
the planet where he himself had been born.

He changed his heading, raising his velocity to maximum and
sped forward. Even at this distance he could make out the
explosions ripping across the hull, blooming before
dissipating.
Minotaur
’
s
laser
and plasma cannons were firing indiscriminatingly in all
directions, whilst volleys of return fire impacted further on its
surface, the battleship
’
s shielding all but
destroyed.