Republic under Fire

Aboard Dreadnought Kestrel

Zeta Draconis System

Draconis Rift Republic

November 12, 3258 AD
 

During the early phases of the exodus from Terra, many colonies bore clues, artifacts, and even structures and technology proving once and for all that the human race was indeed not alone. Governments grabbed for power, used what they could reverse-engineer by their own means to hold the edge over another faction. The same could be said for the Draconis Rift Republic, a power holding dozens of star systems under it's borders. Only one of dozens of other governing powers in Terran explored space. Their naval assets now stretched thin, losses from all of Terran space were significant. Ten years ago members of a Terran exploration team made first contact with an alien race. Three ships encountered a vessel adrift in the peripheral edge of explored space and all their best attempts at communicating seemed to fail. The commander of the flotilla of ships decided to board the vessel and try to make personal contact and provide assistance if necessary.
 

Upon moments of boarding the vessel, reports flooded back with gunfire and shouting of wounded. Seconds later an armada of ships jumped into view before the Terran fleet and began launching strike-craft, and discharging weapons fire. In a panic, two of the three ships began to open fire with what little weaponry they had to defend with, while the third jumped away to their emergency jump coordinates several light-years away. Time slid by as the commander of that vessel waited for the jump-drive to recharge, once it did they jumped back to the system in hopes that there were survivors. What they found was fragments of debris and clouds of gas remaining where the two other vessels from their fleet once were.
 

Ten years have passed since that fateful day aboard his first command. Ironic how on the tenth anniversary of the invasion of the Drekons, that he be promoted to Fleet Commodore and given command of a new Dreanought Class vessel, the Kestrel. His mission was to patrol and provide as garrison fleet for the colony Zeta Draconis on the outer edges of the Republic territory, and periphery of Terran explored space. He couldn't stop thinking about that day as he walked the corridors of his new flagship, the twisted wreckage of what were two identical ships to the one he once commanded. Had he not broken his orders to return fire and engage the alien armada, the Republic may have been crippled, or destroyed. Finally reaching the outer door of the Command and Operations Center, the Marine posted just outside on guard saluted and opened the door on reflex, then closed the door behind the Commodore just as smoothly.

"Officer on deck!" The Executive Officer shouted to the bridge crew. Everyone stood at attention and saluted in unison.
 

He took a moment, gazing left then tracking his vision to each and every face studying them all and finally returned the salute. "Carry on," he replied coldly. None of these men and women was his friends, but they were his crew and comrades. He would die for anyone of them if it came down to it, and they would justly do the same. Never would he tell them that he had a love for each and every member as if they were family itself. Striding over to the holotank where his XO, Michael Banson, stood monitoring the fleet's movement and issuing orders as needed. "Sitrep, Michael."
 

"Sir, we've just finished our sweep of sector alpha-three-zero-one and moving into the next sector now. No activity at this time. We've got forward scouts leading the fleet and no reports yet from them." Banson said with distaste in his voice.
 

"Looking to pick a fight are we?" He said with a hint of a joke. They both knew that the Drekons were going to pass through his sector, and his fleet was the first and last line of defense for the colony. It wasn't a question of why, but a question of when. "And I was hoping we'd just have a stroll around the system and bore ourselves to death." Trading a smirk with his executive officer, he turned to notice the combat air patrol veer off on a new heading away from their designated patrol.

"Tactical, report," he barked across the bridge.
 

"Sir, wait one..." he stated as he cupped a hand over his ear-piece. "Sir, CAP just picked up contacts on sensors out of our range, they are moving to intercept."

"Patch me though," as he grabbed for the comm device wired to the bulkhead next to the holotank. "Lieutenant, this is Command, I need a sitrep."

A brief pause passed, "Command, we picked up contacts on our sensors and they began retreating. CAP is moving to investigate, sir."

"Copy, ETA?" He replied.

"ETA to intercept in three minutes," the pilot replied back quickly.
 

"A lot can happen in three minutes," he whispered. Staring at the flight path his CAP was heading on, he began thinking of the strategic value of that area of the system. There were six major bodies in the system, a volcanic rock closest to orbiting the star, Zeta Draconis in an orbit far enough from the sun to be habitable. That left the glacial planetoid trailing the colony, an asteroid belt with several large rocks suitable for mining operations and small colonies, and two gas giants. If I were an alien armada, where would I hide to avoid detection? He thought, then like being struck by lightning it came to him in a flash. "They're on a trajectory that will intercept with the gas giant’s magnetic field. Our sensors will be useless, and the radiation would only make matters worse for our systems. Michael, get the fleet’s fighters scrambled. Pull the fleet carriers back beyond their sensor range, and have our fleet set status to Condition: One." He ordered.

"Aye, sir." Banson said as he repeated his orders to the bridge crew and grabbed the comm device to repeat the orders to the fleet as well.
 

Fleet Commodore Marcus Connor knew in his heart that his fleet could not stand against the Drekon armada alone. He silently hoped for only a token fleet of the alien horde to visit, but he knew it would be foolish to have such high hopes. Seconds passed ever so slowly, he tuned all his awareness into the sounds of the bridge and stared intently upon the holotank for any information he could use. Finally turning his gaze upon the bridge, he focused on the Tactical Officer, Martin Kindley. A bright young officer, younger than any other officer in the fleet, with the coldest set of eyes one could stare into. Cold and calculating, Kindley never hesitated, never faltered, and always stated his opinion in a way you couldn't punish.

A devilish smile crept upon Kindley's face as he made eye contact with his commanding officer. "Sir, CAP reports it's the Drekons. They are pursuing the CAP in limited numbers. CAP reports only forty vessels, no capitals, sir."
 

Marcus turned to see his XO's reaction to the report and saw the same similar smile creeping on his face. Our fifty to their forty, he thought. Mathematically that would sound like a clear victory. Tactically it could tell you two different things; technology and training will determine the true victor. New icons began to appear in the holotank, entering along the edge of the fleet's sensors. He began issuing commands in the holotank using varying hand motions and selections from menu icons to process through details. Within seconds, the fleet began to move into an attack formation he recently devised while studying battle footage and reports from other fleets that have fallen to the Drekons.
 

"Marcus," his XO stated quietly. "You got a rabbit in your hat you're not telling me?"

"New tactic, you could say." Marcus replied, still fixated on the holotank. The majority of his fleet now split in three staggered formations. The lead element would head along a parallel path with the Drekons just inside their sensor range. While the other two would stay just beyond sensor range until they could pass directly alongside the Drekon fleet and pull in from their rear and move to box them in leaving one route of escape. Assuming the plan worked past contact with the enemy.

"Sensors, report." He barked the order.
 

"Sir, lead element will make contact in five minutes." The officer replied from her station.

Michael Banson stepped beside his Commodore and asked, "So, boss, how do you wanna play this out?"

"Open box, cheap gift wrapping, the usual." He said, trying to bring humor to the now stern situation. "If we can lead that fleet away from the gas giant, and closer to the asteroid field we may be able to pull this one to our advantage." Minutes passed as he explained his strategy, and received fleet reports from his other ship commanders. All of them were ready to follow his orders without question.

"Sir, enemy fleet is adjusting to intercept lead element." The Tactical officer reported. "Contact with enemy in five minutes... still trailing their sensor range, sir," he finished.
 

Time seemed to slow whenever he entered into a combat situation. Only real combat, never simulations or scheduled war-games. It brought with it a sense of urgency, extra caution, bordering paranoia, and the possibility of ordering people to die. The latter never made him comfortable with command, but it was something he learned to accept exactly ten years ago.

"Enemy will be in weapons range in thirty seconds, sir." The officer stationed at sensors reported with a bit of excitement in her voice.

  

He couldn't tell if it were due fear or not. Grabbing the comm device, he channeled to the fleet through all frequencies, "This is your Commander, prepare for combat. All stations, set Condition: One, and good hunting." Facing his bridge crew he witnessed a flurry of activity. The volume in the room increased to a steady roar as the lead element began trading fire with the Drekon fleet. Looking up at a tactical display he saw the plan forming together. The lead element was already closing the lid. His center element had already formed a cohesive battle line; the rear element had begun to fall into position just outside their weapons range. All across in between the two stellar fleets were strike-craft fighting to gain targets. “Tactical, focus on their heavies first, interchange between selections for higher threat levels. Sensors, keep watching for additional contacts. Helm, once the battle commences, keep us moving with the fleet. Stay within weapons range and keep us rolling to absorb hits.” He ordered above the noise and sounds of the Command Operations Center.

“Tactical, order fleet to fire at will.” Focused on the holotank as data and icons clustered all about the display, the entire fleet now has engaged the enemy. All of his vessels had engaged in their flak screens against enemy fighters and bombers. His fighters were engaged in dog-fights just beyond the flak, fighting to prevent enemy strike craft from getting through. Each vessel had already begun to open fire, many pairing up and concentrating on targets to gain a tactical edge in numbers and firepower. It was the only weapon the Terrans truly had, numbers. The Drekon technological level compared to Terran is almost astronomical in some aspects. Reports claimed that the Drekons are a militaristic race, built for warfare, and only wish to expand their empire and conquer anything in their path.
 

The ship shuddered as it took a hit from the enemy fleet. Merely a concussion as the shields took the brunt of the assault. This was only the beginning, how long the shields held was going to be everyone’s question they wouldn’t dare to ask. Most battle reports from Terran fleets across known space have all suffered greatly from this alien menace. One could almost respect the tenacity and ferocity that they deploy their fleets with. But today was somehow different and something didn’t seem right… there was never an easy battle. Almost as if he sensed it coming, alerts across the bridge flooded in. “Report!” He shouted over the chaos as he watched his XO approach the Communications station.
 

“Sir, we’ve got a report from our scouts, sir.” She stared blankly. His Executive Officer Martin Kindley, his best friend, really his only friend showed a look of defeat in his eyes. The Commodore stared at the tactical display inside the holotank and counted twenty more ships just entered the sensor zone. His only guess was they had to have jumped in once combat was engaged beyond their sensor range. Biting his lip he was thinking on how to devise victory from this current turn of events. There was still the asteroid belt.

“Comms, patch me to the fleet.” He grabbed the comm device and spoke orders while issuing more orders with the other hand in the holotank. Placing the comm device back in place, he began using both hands again to manipulate the holotank to send and receive details in real-time. Within minutes the entire fleet was in a solid reinforced line of ships maneuvering to head into the asteroid belt. Suddenly the ship shook with such a force that metal was heard stressing all around in protest.
 

“Shields down to fifteen percent, sir!” his Tactical officer shouted over the cacophony of sound.

“Put all reserves into shields and life support. Switch to secondary life support systems. Helm, range to asteroid field?” He was thinking a mile a minute hoping his crew and fleet were all thinking just as quickly. Actual combat was where a person was truly tested, defining a person into something more.

“Sir, fleet is closing to asteroid field, eight-hundred kilometers and closing, sir.” The officer at helm control replied. “One minute out, sir,” he concluded.
 

“Helm, bring us through as straight as possible, all this metal should screw up their targeting pretty good.” In theory, he thought. Hopefully he would get a small reprieve from battle as the asteroid field would act as a shield of sorts. There were large enough areas to stage ambushes, but those were harder to plan while already in combat. Everything depended on how the Drekons would react to this strategy being employed by his fleet.

Sensors officer shouted, “Sir, they are not changing course. They are pursuing, sir.”

Just as he’d hoped, studying the holotank he started to notice the efficiency of their fire diminishing. The amount of metal and radioactive material in the asteroid field is acting like a jamming system. “Tactical, have all vessels launch bombers and fighter reserves. Have them near large bodies in this mess and power down. Await further orders.” He ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Tactical confirmed him orders.
 

Once again assaulting the holotank with motion as he issued orders on the fly, he was carefully observing how the Drekons were reacting and what methods they may try to use to gain an edge. Ever the game of chess; attempting to predict your opponent, and always planning several moves ahead and counter moves, and feints. Maybe traps could be laid along the way.
 

When his fleet would reach the edge of the asteroid belt they were traversing, they would then turn and unleash everything they had into the belt. Anything they missed could hit asteroids and rocks sending debris out like shrapnel. All of the strike-craft would lay in wait until the Drekons passed their positions undetected and move into the kill-box, then they would strike from behind attempting to disable or destroy any ship they could before they would have to escape the chaos that would erupt in the field once the fleet opened up on the Drekons. The plan seemed good in his head, and came to him as he studied the holotank, not a plan thought up. These were always his best plans, because they kept him alive for the last ten years.
 

Precious minutes of life passed, the fleet had exited the asteroid field and now began to move into attack formations, balancing the sheer firepower of his vessels against a fleet of aliens convinced they must destroy the Terran race. “Sir, the enemy fleet is now in weapons range,” Tactical stated coldly.

Patched through to the entire fleet, he held the comm device in his right hand and held it up to his mouth while looking over his entire crew on the bridge. Each officer traded a look with their Commodore, each a silent nod of respect. “All ships, open fire!” There was nothing more he could do now but wait and see how strategy played out. The scene from the holotank was like something out of a holomovie. But this was real, and people were dying. It was a small price to pay to save billions on the colonies. To hold off an alien race that wants nothing more than to expand and destroy those considered a threat.
 

The ship lurched to one side and tossed the Commodore into the bulkhead. His ears were ringing, head pounding and his vision blurred, he fought to focus and glanced around the bridge and saw sparks shooting and falling from different areas. Consoles were burned out, or lost power, a few crew were injured. The ship shuddered again as metal was groaning from the stress of attack. Thoughts about how the other ships were fairing against the Drekons were only similar to the reports coming in though Communications and the holotank. His fleet was hurting them badly, and the asteroid belt was only making it worse on the Drekons as they attempted to maneuver back through to retreat. All of their strike-craft had landed already, their ammunition spent, and their ships needing repairing. It all came down to sheer firepower, strategy, and coordination.
 

His bridge crew all shouted in celebration, screams and laughter of joy and surprise echoed in the room, through the corridors, the hangar bays, throughout the ship, and fleet were all feeling victorious. Today, he would have never thought that ten years ago could the Drekons be beaten in combat and forced into retreat. Fate seemed to have placed him once again against an enemy at a pivotal moment and lived to report to his commanding officers.