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| There Ain't No Justice |
| |
| #93 |
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- The Sack of Cassidae -
by Tal Meta
"CDS_Coruliic, you are cleared for approach. Vector for slot 199, velocity at
or below 10 kps. Rendezvous with the CSS_Pithin for inspection at or about
2100. Plendar Station out." Fromn slumped in his cuplike chair as he switched
off his communications board. "Boring is what this is", he thought to
himself, "just flat out stale. Life in space was supposed to be exciting, an
adventure, the recruiter said. Ha!" Life as a traffic controller aboard a
space station had rapidly proven to be monotonous.
Except for the occasional battle weary freighter that came in from off the
patrolled trade lines (usually hoping to evade the taxes collected at each
stop and finding pirates or worse instead) most of Fromn's time was spent
doling out parking spaces near the station, dispatching tax inspector
flights, and watching the jump indicator for signs of traffic seeking to
avoid the taxman by jumping in deep-system rather than at the "easy" polar
jump points.
Fromn oozed out his chair and headed across the room towards the inhalant
dispenser. After selecting a stimulant, he was just turning back towards his
console when the jump indicator began flashing crazily. "What in the hell?"
Fromn half said, half thought to himself as he pushed off hard against the
dispenser and sailed rapidly back to his position through the 0-G.
The jump indicator kept flashing, spooling out a nearly continous display of
varying masses jumping insystem, all of them larger than the largest
freighter Fromn had ever seen. In the space of 20 seconds, nearly 60 ships
had jumped inbound, taking up positions at both polar stations and several
along the planetary ecliptic. As Fromn raised his eyespots to the visual
display, he could see one of the incoming ships visually, less than 6km away!
Shaped vaguely like some bulbous wine bottle, it was just turning itself to
bear directly towards the station.
Over the communications bands came nothing but static. Even the station's
internal communications were affected. Datalines were still in effect,
however, and inquiries from a number of other stations began flashing over
the screen. Someone in Tactical must have decided that the inbounds were
unfriendly, as Fromn could hear the dull thuds of the station's main guns
firing.
Fromn watched spellbound as the turning behemoth on his viewscreen launched
what appeared to be fighters, followed by the larger shapes of its
accompanying assault shuttles. Fromn was still watching as the SIMBA class
battlecruiser began firing its forward array at Plendar Station, its first
barrage smashing into the communications array under which the traffic
controller's station was located.
Explosive decompression is never pretty... its even less pretty on a species
that is 100% fluids like a Drallim.
+++//*\\+++
Captain Uri Helmstetter of the EMS_Gettysburg watched with satisfaction as
his ship's gunners picked away at Plendar's communications & defense
platforms. He smiled inwardly as reports from the fighter groups scrolled
past his left eye's internal display, showing damage carefully done to each
of the parked freighters and jumpcarriers. Turning his back on the main
display, he spoke to his tactical liason, Cmdr. Holland.
"Mr. Holland, what is the status of the 2nd and 3rd Groups? Have any of them
made radar contact with the Cassidaen Militia?"
"No sir, no reported contact as yet. However, the 3rd group has yet to report
in. The 2nd group should be injumping another courier within the next ten
minutes. The Nurnburg and Berlin..." Rachel Holland's hands flew across her
tactical station's controls as she grimaced at something unseen, "report that
their prize crews are preparing to board Plendar Station. They request we
cease fire on the primary fighter launch facility so that they can utilize it
for their assault."
"Granted. Helm, bring us about to a heading of 94.5, mark 45. I want a
planned 3G burn towards Cassidae IV commencing in 20 minutes." "Mr. Holland,
contact Captain Bernard of the Berlin, and inform him that I am leaving
further pacification of the Zenith JumpPoint to him, with support from the
Nurnburg, Philadelphia, and Atlanta." With that, Capt. Helmstetter returned
to his command chair and plugged himself into the ships command computer.
"Sound recall for all fighter and assault shuttle groups. Inform the other
Captains to form a skirmish line behind us, and prepare to get under way."
+++//*\\+++
Meanwhile, in another part of the field....
Captain Jennifer Marshall of the EMS_Bunker_Hill yanked the datalink cable
out of the jack on her left wrist as the panel it was connected to began to
give out a shower of sparks. "Damage report! Mr. Stiles, what hit us?"
Cmdr. Reginald Stiles was trying desperately to answer that particular
question through the haze that was threatening to drag him into
unconsciousness. "Captain, contrary to intelligence reports, I believe that
the Cassidaen Militia has fortified the cluster of asteroids known as the
Seven Sisters, located in a trojan point 100km from the nadir jump point.
There are large enough to hide a signifigant number of weapon emplacements."
On the main viewscreen, the Cutlass Class Cruiser EMS_San_Francisco quite
literally broke in two. The glare from her hydrogen fuel tanks exploding
momentarily overloaded the viewer; when it cleared itself only the expanding
shell of her debris could be seen. "Helm! Bring us about to a course of 186.2
mark 5," Capt. Marshall cried, as she switched to intercom, "All Hands!
Prepare for maximum accelleration in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, NOW!"
The hull of the Bunker_Hill groaned under the stress of 3.5Gs as it swung
around to present the smallest possible target to the gun emplacements ahead.
Several of her accompanying assault shuttles pulled out ahead of her,
utilizing their smaller mass and greater accelleration to locate and direct
fire into some of the smaller emplacements. The hidden turrets began to
concentrate all of their fire on the Bunker_Hill, hoping to destroy it before
it got inside the cluster, where it could bring its massive broadsides to
bear.
Lt. Ellen Carstairs was a fighter pilot assigned to the Bunker_Hill; she was
the last surviving member of her squadron. As she was turning her Hawk and
signalling the AS_Clementine for refueling when the glare from the exploding
EMS_Bunker_Hill reached the main battlegroup surrounding Sabatt Station. Her
disorientation caused her to blow her approach and crash into the port
recovery bay wall, damaging the Clementine and killing herself and seven
technicians inside the bay.
+++//*\\+++
Group 3, somewhere inside the orbit of Cassidae V...
Lt. Duncan Richards could feel the thrumming of his Hawk's fusion powerplant
like the beating of his own heart. A slight ache in his left side indicated
(virtually) where the opposing C-Militia fighterpilot's weapons had scored
several hits in their last pass. As he slipped into the retreating fighter's
drive wake, he launched a pair of aft firing heat-seekers. Moments later he
was rewarded by a small flare that signalled the destruction of his foe.
"RedDog6 this is RedDog5 do you copy?" Richards queried his radio without
much confidence; he and his wingman had gotten seperated early in the
engagement. Group 3 had jumped insystem almost on top of the Cassidaen
Militia, and the fighting had been nothing short of intense. While the
Earthani Militia had superior ships, the Cassidaen forces had numerical
superiority. If anything, the intel they had on the Cassidaen forces was well
underestimated, as the number of assault carriers in the main group was
nearly three times as great as expected.... Richards shook himself out of his
musings as the familiar shape of his wingman pulled up along his port side;
flashing her cockpit lights to indicate that her comm system had taken
damage.
After landing their fighters aboard the EMS_Iwo_Jima, Richards and his
wingman, Lt. Andrea Simmons, made their way to the debreifing center. Both of
them smiled at the familiar faces they saw there, and greived privately for
those that were missing. As the last few stragglers made thier way to their
seats, the Commander of the fighter groups cleared his throat and began the
mission status reports.
"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Here is our current situation. Zenith
Point was taken without much struggle; except for one or two fighters there
were virtually no casualties. Nadir Point was another matter. Contrary to
intelligence, the Cassidaens appearantly fortified the group of trojan
asteriods there, and in the fighting to take control of the nadir jump point,
the EMS_Bunker_Hill was lost with all hands, in addition to three of her
accompanying assault shuttles, the Mirabelle, Desire, and Linda. The
EMS_San_Francisco was also lost, numerous other cruisers and destroyers in
the second group sustained moderate damage."
Commander Rieken sipped from a squeezebulb before continuing, "Our situation
here I'm sure most of you can guess, but I will restate the obvious. We lost
fully half our support ships fighting the system militia. The EMS_San_Juan-
_Hill, our command ship, survived, but is so badly damaged she'll probably
have to be scrapped. Captain Ellebrod has transferred his command to the
cruiser EMS_Seattle. ETA to Cassidae IV at 3G is approximately 26 hours,
Groups 1 & 2 will link up with us in about 72 hours. That gives us just under
two days to neutralize the lunar and orbital assets around Cassidae IV. Any
questions?"
Richards stood and asked in his best deadpan voice, "Commander, seeing as how
the boys up in intel are currently batting about 100 for accurate
information, what kind of resistance can we expect from the assets
surrounding C-IV?"
"Well," Cmdr. Rieken said, as Lt. Richards sat back down, "our latest reports
from operatives who arrived insystem last week assure us that there are no
major militia spacecraft in or around the lunar naval base or the orbital
shipyards. There are, however, signifigant numbers of fighters and assault
craft based at the Drelm Naval Base as well as an assortment of armed
workshacks and factories above IV. Seeing as how C-IV has grown into one of
the Drallim's major industrial worlds, as well as the HQ of one of the
Confederacy's largest coporations, we don't expect it to be a cakewalk. Your
primary objective will first to bomb the naval base on IV.1 to prevent the
enemy's fighters from resupplying, then to eliminate any armed orbital
assets."
One of the transport shuttle pilots in the back spoke up with "What time do
we begin dropping our troops dirtside, Commander?" "As soon as the fighters
and assault ships have cleared the skies for you, Lt. Cmdr. Briggs. Our
operatives have informed us of several SDI-type satellites in orbit around
IV, which would make mincemeat out of you once you'd reached the ground."
"This concludes the general breifing, ladies and gentlemen. Please report to
your individual section heads for more detailed instructions."
+++//*\\+++
"Keep your eyes open, Andrea, I'm going in for my drop." Richards keyed off
the mike as he brought his Hawk down on the deck, approaching what appeared
to be a hidden fighter lanch port on the far eastern side of the DNB. When
his fighter was within 1km of the opening, he could just barely make out the
landing lights within. At 500m, the lights were clearly visible. At 100m, he
could make out the fuel storage tanks at the back of the cavern. At 25m, he
released his bombload and pulled back on the controls, sailing his load of
ordinance neatly within the cavern. "Very pretty, Duncan, shame you had to
miss the pyrotechnics!" Andrea's view of the cavern's explosive gout of flame
as the fuel tanks exploded was unimpaired by the neccesity of pulling up hard
to avoid being part of the show.
"Alright RedDog6, lets see what other kinds of havoc we can stir up." No
sooner than Lt. Richards keyed off than his cockpit warning signal indicated
that someone had acquired a radar lock on his fighter. "Andrea, something's
got a lock on me, can you see it?" he cried into his radio, while feverishly
rolling his craft to try and shake the lock. Andrea scanned the horizon with
her fighter's eyes, until at last she spotted a trio of hovercraft belly-down
in a crater 15 km away. "Duncan, drop down on the deck, there's a trio of
Canope class hovertanks 15km south-southwest, launching missiles. Odds are if
you drop below the tank's LOS, the missiles will lose their locks to your
chaff." Andrea began following her own advice without waiting for Duncan...
they'd been wingmen long enough to know what the other would do in a crunch.
The two Hawks circled around behind the tanks, utilizing the terrain to mask
their approach. As they came together again about 2 km behind the tanks, the
center one (which'd been watching the 6 o'clock for just such a maneuver)
began firing its main laser at the approaching fighters. In response, both
Hawks opened up on the tanks with their autocannons, quickly disabling them.
The two Hawks then pulled up over the mountaintops of the lunar landscape and
began orienting themselves on one of the larger visible space stations
orbitting the planet proper. Opening up their engines for a 2.5G burn, they
covered the 200,000km in a little over two minutes. As they cut their
deceleration in a high orbit, their shipboard computers began to sort out
which of the hundreds of targets were military, civilian, friendly and
opposing. A small workshop 500km distant began firing a stattaco pattern of
laser light in their direction, but a single missile from Lt. Simmon's port
wing left it a shattered mess.
Richards & Simmons completed a three-quarters orbit of C-IV before linking
with a squadron of Eagle class fighters engaging the planetary defense
force's primary orbital platform, know as Quinstar Station. The firefight was
very hot; while the station was forced to concentrate most of its defensive
armament and accompanying assault shuttles on the cruiser EMS_Leningrad, its
halo of defensive fighters (Sparrow & Raven class) were being piloted by a
mercenary force of Yezzrim as well as members of the local Human population.
While they couldn't match the absolute precision targetting the Earthani
Militia pilots gained from their neural interfaces, the Yezzrim were natural
flyers, and the Humans were quite literally fighting for thier homeland.
+++//*\\+++
Finally, however, the guns aboard the Quinstar ceased firing, and boarding
shuttles moored near her surface began disgourging the small, armored forms
of the marine boarding parties. Orders came over the fighter command channels
ordering the pilots to fire on any and all escape pods fleeing the station, a
task none of them relished but all of them understood.
This battle was supposed to serve as an example to the Drallim; an example of
what could happen to their inner systems if they didn't end their political
blockade of Earth's trade with the rest of the Confederacy. An example of
just how well Humanity understood the art of war... and that refusing to
acknowlege Earth's claims to these systems politically would result in
astronomical costs in lives and material.
Cassidae sat at the fulcrum of a T shaped traderoute between Earth, Drallim,
and the rest of the Confederacy... holding this system made the conquest of
GranQuiv and Madderly simple, while in addition cutting off the Drallim from
the same traderoute Earth wanted, it opened up a direct route for Human
warships to enter the Drallim's heartworlds.
+++//*\\+++
"Ladies and Gentlemen, with your permission, I wil begin the breifing for the
final stage of this operation." Commander Rieken waitied as the pilots of the
remaining fighters and shuttles took their seats, before continuing. "As I'm
sure you are all aware by now, we've been joined by elements of the 1st and
2nd Groups and are preparing for the final ground assault on the cities of
Korensh, Mitgari, and Poluth. As these cities contain populations that are
primarily Drallim, they have refused to acknowlege our accomplishments, and
are holding out on surrendering. It is their belief that since their cities
also contain Human citizens, that we will not simply bomb them from orbit,
and they are quite correct."
"We will, however, make every effort to evacuate our fellow humans from the
confines of those cities, and then begin an orbital bombardment if the
Drallim are still recalcitrant. As a result of that strategy, the following
mission is being outlined. Fighter squadrons will accompany the remaining
troop shuttles from all groups to landings at the ports of all three cities,
and will remain overhead to provide air support for the marines as they seek
out and collect as many of our brothers and sisters as possible. Once they
have reboarded the shuttles, the fighters will fly cover for them as they
transport those civilians to neighboring, friendly cities onplanet. Are there
any questions? If not, then please contact your individual section heads for
your temporary squadron and shuttle escort assignments. That is all."
+++//*\\+++
"RedDog6, turn to a heading 153, and target the green tower. They've got a
pulse laser at the pinnacle. I'll take out the Warthog AA on the ground."
Richards and Simmons had guided their empty troop shuttle to a landing at the
city's southwestern airport and were now rooting out the last few pockets of
resistance among the city's towers. Drallim cities weren't like the ones men
built; the Drallim GREW their buildings like giant trees. Thats not to say
that they lived in trees, no. Their cities were simply organic things,
capable of digesting the wastes their inhabitants put forth, and often
helping to Drallasform the worlds they inhabited.
As Andrea's wing-mounted particle cannons set the top of the local banking
combine's headquarters aflame, Duncan's missiles arrowed their way towards
the quartet of mobile anti-aircraft guns lying at the center of a nearby
park. Smoke from a dozen other smoldering buildings darkened the sky as a
dozen or so of their fellow pilots left contrails overhead as the pursued
their individual objectives.
"RedDog5, are you monitoring channel 31?" Lt. Simmons' voice sounded odd in
his ears as Duncan pulled up hard to avoid a volley from a fifth, hidden AA
emplacement in a copse of trees to his left. Mentally he scrolled the channel
selector via his optical interface, and was rewarded by a strange rythmic
music coming in over what should have been another group's liason channel.
Almost absent-mindedly he oriented his Hawk down a wide, unobstructed avenue
and began a landing sequence. As his fighter touched down, his fist smashed
through the weapons panel of his fighter, completely disabling all of the
onboard offensive systems.
He wandered south along the avenue on foot, slowly being joined by a growing
throng of fighter pilots, civilians, and battle-armored marines. Somewhere on
another channel, the voice of Cmdr. Rieken could be heard screaming orders,
demanding status reports, and brokenly inquiring his command staff high up
above for answers as to why the entire battle had suddenly ceased.
When the group came to the foot a lovely lavender and ivory dome in the
central square of the city, they all began to sing along with the music that
was being broadcast not only on channel 31 but from loudspeakers located
throughout the city. Drallim officials welcomed them within, as they queued
up before a long line of tables to divest themselves of their personal
weapons and armor. As they follwed the line down a set of stairs to the lower
portion of the dome, the context of the music changed, and with blissfull
smiles the assembled men and women began shedding their garments and lying
down together among the garden fronds they discovered there.
Duncan and Andrea found one another almost by accident. He'd just finished
pleasuring himself with a small brunette when Andrea stumbled past him arm in
arm with a tall, well muscled marine. He and the brunette made room for them
beside themselves and watched interestedly as the couple made love. After a
few minutes, Duncan and the marine exchanged partners, and Andrea smiled up
lustfully at her long time wingmate, now lover as well.
+++//*\\+++
Dawn was breaking when the music stopped, and the humans sprawled drunkenly
across the gardens began to recover their senses. Sometime during the evening
their captors had obviously sent guards down to collect the clothing their
captives had discarded in their haste to obey the subliminal commands of the
Drallim's music. Those same guards now looked down from the upper gallery,
the thin lines of their laser rifle muzzles clearly covering their prisoners.
After several nervous hours under the watchfull gaze of their Drallim
captors, the peace was finally shattered by a tremendous sonic boom that
shook the very foundations of the dome. Outside, a siren began a plaintive
wail, which nearly (but not quite) drowned out the sound of successive, more
distant explosions. The guards above them began to fidget even more
nervously, and a few of them broke ranks and fled the dome as cracks began to
appear overhead.
Like a tide of lemmings, the Humans trapped below took to the stairs and
bolted towards the remaining guards. A few of the Drallim fired into the mob,
but most stood wavering as the Human flood smashed into them. Finding all of
their weapons, clothing and armor gone, the Humans roared out into the street
like a nudist's convention and fled southwest towards the local airport under
the direction of the marines. Overhead, a dozen of the Comet Class assault
shuttles hovered on their drive-flames, pouring out blast after blast from
their lasers and autocannon into the city at random. Once the tide of
Humanity was spotted by the Comets, they began razing the city section by
section, starting in the northeast.
When the last of the troop shuttles lifted off from the airport (the Drallim
hadn't yet taken the time to disable them) the Comet's broke off their
assault and fled west with the troop shuttles.
A single thunderclap shook the sky behind them, as the orbitting cruisers
overhead detonated a single HellFire bomb in the exact center of the dome
where the Humans had been held. A million metric tons of earth, buildings,
and Drallim were instantly converted to ash.
The Sack of Cassidae was complete.
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