Vanguard Word Update

2k words

***

“The corvette is neutralised, sir,” the operator reported. “Structural damage to the shipyard is within tolerable levels.”

“Good work. Continue the course, prepare for combat manoeuvres on my mark.”

The shipyard was closing in within a few thousand kilometres, the Endeavour’s nose pointed directly at it. Since there was no medium in space, starships could reach incredible speeds, the only real limits being the crews themselves, as the human body could only withstand so much g-force before giving out. Some crew could be injected with hyperactive stimulants to push these limits further, but Vonstock was of the opinion that anyone on his ship was to be drug-free, and in complete control of their faculties.

The shipyard was close enough now that Vonstock could just make out its vague shape on the dark horizon, the glint off sunshine reflecting off metal giving its location away. He heard a warning blip travel from across the bridge, on he’d heard enough times to know it was a proximity warning.

“Sir, the frigates are displacing,” one of his helmsman advised. “Scans show massive thermal signatures. They’re burning away from the shipyard. We’ll show on there radar any second.”

“Helmsman, combat stance,” Vonstock ordered. “Tell the Relentless to follow us in. Weapons hot.”

The view out of the canopy panned, as though the whole Universe was spinning like a top, even though it was actually the ship that was turning. Like a whale surfacing for air, the carrier tipped its nose upward, presenting its belly towards the shipyard, Vonstock feeling the g-forces pulling him into his seat at the sudden shift in orientation.

From another view monitor he could see their escort follow suit, the arrays of weaponry on its underside brought to bear. Their own arrays of flak batteries and point-defence cannons were also extending out of the hull. Carriers were built with critical systems along the spine, and weapons along the underside, as carriers were frequently used as orbital support for ground campaigns.

Their change of course pulled them out from behind the cover of the shipyard, exposing themselves to the Confederate frigates, more proximity alarms blaring. They showed up as red outlines on the canopy, the three boxes splitting apart in a basic evasive stance Vonstock had seen before.

“Launch tubes three through ten at the closest frigate,” Vonstock ordered. “Tubes eleven through eighteen at the next. Engage at will.”

He could feel a distant rumble through the ship as the hardpoints disabled their safeties, half of their entire salvo launching at his command. He caught sight of maybe a dozen of the torpedos streaking through the void, their afterburners kicking on after a short delay. They zipped into the darkness, their thin profiles vanishing as they were sent away.

After a delay, the ship’s mounted cannons joined them, dozens of guns jumping in synchronicity as they delivered their tungsten payloads. From the external feed, he could see the Relentless firing its own salvo from its point-defence canons, the bright flares of muzzle flashes the only indication that the battle was underway, as tracking projectiles was next to impossible.

Their was a short delay in which their was silence, and then the Confederate frigates responded. Their own PDC’s spurred into action, their rotary barrels spitting out hundreds of tracer rounds by the minute, the bullets forming giant arcs that swerved back and forth through the void. There had to be at least twenty streams of tracer fire from each individual frigate, the targeting systems aiming to knock out the torpedo barrage before they found their marks.

One such torpedo was destroyed by the counter-fire, the ordinance going up in a ball of flames that instantly petered out. Torpedos were packed with as much explosive ordinance that their aerodynamic designs allowed, and combined with the sheer kinetic energy that the vacuum could afford a projectile launched at high speeds, they made for devastating weapons, far more deadly than those employed by ground units.

More of the torpedos were intercepted, perhaps ten of them detonating as the guns cut them down, the bright detonations framing the bulky shipyard. Those that got through smashed into their targets with all the force of a hammer, several explosions chaining up one of the frigate’s flank, one of the camera’s zooming in to give Vonstock a view of the impacts. The torpedos tore apart critical systems, the dark stealth coating of the Confederate vessels illuminated by short-lived detonations, the near side of the armoured hull ripping apart.

He switched view to the second frigate, watching a similar show of destruction as part of the salvo penetrated the PDC’s cover fire. The guns on the first frigate suddenly powered down, the follow-up fire from the autocannons hitting some vital system. Vonstock knew it was dead in the water, but the second frigate was still maintaining its course, their weapons system still actively shooting down the remaining torpedos despite its damage.

“Sir!” the operator called. “The third frigate is going on a wider course, and they’ve got a lock on us. Multiple warheads incoming.”

“How many?” Vonstock asked, his voice collected.

“Thirteen missiles, with a flak barrage right behind it.”

Vonstock couldn’t split his entire torpedo barrage on three targets, frigates had too much point-defence that a divided salvo would be a waste of resources. That didn’t mean Vonstock had forgotten about the third ship, however.

“Adjust our vector accordingly,” Vonstock ordered. “And prepare to engage defensive measures on my mark. Let’s put our new alien toys to the test.”

Rather than attempt to evade, Vonstock ordered the helm to aim their nose towards the retaliatory salvo, moving below and away from the shipyard, leaving the Relentless to deal with the two damaged frigates. The alarm of incoming projectiles filled the bridge, but Vonstock remained unfazed.

“Missiles closing to one hundred kilometres,” the operator reported, his voice trembling with apprehension. “Sixty, thirty, twenty…!”

“Mark,” Vonstock said.

Through the canopy, there was a glimpse of bright blue, a screen of light rising up from beneath the carrier’s nose, extending out in an even, ovular shape. He could see crystallised shapes in the screen, small transparent shapes that flickered within the expanding barrier, which rose up from below like some sort of blast screen. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the screen was covering all sides of the carrier’s forefront, the barrier giant enough to cover the ship’s profile when looked at from the bow.

A series of explosions travelled across the barrier, its sudden appearance stopping what would have been a devastating salvo in its tracks. Smoke and embers clashed against it, its surface rippling like disturbed water as the kinetic energy was absorbed.

Ever since witnessing the utility of Balokarid shielding, the Alliance had hastily begun to upgrade their own ships with the technology, including the Hub itself. Many captains had been against the idea of allowing aliens to mess around with their ships, Vonstock included, but after thoroughly testing it in the Hub system, and now witnessing the results in a proper combat scenario, he regretted never giving the Balokarids the benefit of the doubt. He’d have to see about getting some of them a permanent place on his ship.

The barrier began to power down once the salvo had been neutralised, Vonstock idly wondering how the Confederates were reacting. He’d been told that shields could not be shot through on either side, so he waited for the shield generator to fully dissipate before giving the order to resume fire.  

The Confederate frigate had not altered course, expecting Vonstock’s ship to go dead in the water, and as such they had drifted well into weapon range, the ship’s guns opening up on the cruising vessel. They were only a few hundred kilometres out, practically in close-quarters in terms of starship’s weapon ranges, Vonstock able to see the kinetic impacts as his guns found their marks.  

The proximity went both ways, however, the frigate counter firing with all they had. Tremors rocked the bridge as PDC fire lit up their hull, Vonstock clutching his armrests for balance. The canopy was a mess of criss-crossing tracer round patterns, a pang of alarm worrying the Captain as he could make out the frigate through the glass. A ship-to-ship collision was every Captain’s nightmare.

“Status report,” he demanded.

“Tolerable damage to the hull,” the operator reported. “No armour penetration.”

“Launch all remaining torpedos. I want that ship destroyed before that changes.”

The operator nodded, relaying his orders. The remain torpedos launched, and for a moment the crossfire continued, thousands of rounds spewing from one ship to another, creating a display that was fantastic in its destruction.

The heavier impacts of the torpedos shredded through that the PDC’s could not, Vonstock watching in satisfaction as one of them scored a direct hit to the bridge window, venting all the air, and its occupants, into the void. The two ships past by, like the sailing ships of yore turning to broadside, but the destruction soon became exclusive to one side, the Confederate frigate going critical as the salvo became too much.

Vonstock had to avert his eyes as its reactor cascaded, a bright bloom cracking the long ship down the middle. If there had been a vacuum for it to travel through, the explosion would have been deafening. The two pieces of the ship split apart, C-loys and reinforced steel counting for nothing with the forces at play here.

The weapon’s crews ceased fire as the destroyed ship continued its current course and speed. Escape pods ejected from the rear of the ship, popping up as potential targets on the ship’s radar. He’d deal with them once the shipyard was secured.

“Bring us about, helmsman,” Vonstock ordered, sparing the wreckage one last, pitiless glance. “What’s the status on the Relentless?”

“She’s taking fire, but the frigates are turning away,” the operator said. “They’re running.”

“Target their engines, and tell Relentless to do the same. We can’t let them get word out to any reinforcements.”

“Yes Sir.”

They caught up with the Relentless, joining the frigate in bringing down the fleeing Confederates. Their vector put them roughly on course with the Cordon and back towards UEC space, but they wouldn’t even make it to the edge of the system. Tungsten shells tore into the flanks of the ships, the giant engine nozzles going cold as they ruptured their systems, the combined might of the two Alliance ships bringing them down. They tried to return fire, but the carrier’s reactive shield systems ensured that damage was kept to a minimum.

“All frigates destroyed,” the operator announced. “Long range scans are clean.”

A general cheer went up around the bridge, the operators turning to give each other words of encouragement. Vonstock was proud. They had been against the odds, but the crew had pulled through, as he knew they would.

“Good work, everyone,” he called, quieting the room. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The operation is still underway, this isn’t over until the shipyard is ours once again. Helmsman, bring us closer.”

“Roger,” the officer manning the controls said, the ship pivoting on its Y-axis. They cruised in until the shipyard was close enough for Vonstock to make out the patterns on the solar panels with his own eyes, the ship slowing to a halt above the ruined conning tower.

“Send out a hail to all frequencies,” Vonstock said. “Reports indicate there were multiple boarding parties. Let’s see if they’re not willing to give up the fight.”

The shipyard communication dish might be down, but that didn’t mean the Confederates wouldn’t have brought their own equipment with them. It wasn’t long before his communications officer raised her hand.

“Getting a response, Captain,” she said. “Orders?”

“Patch them through to my terminal,” he said, reaching over to turn on his audio. A man’s voice crackled through a screen of static, Vonstock adjusting so that all the bridge could hear him.

“Captain Ford? That you? Our ship’s blown up and took half the yard with it. The fuck’s going on out there?”

“This is Captain Vonstock, of the Alliance ship Endevour. Ford won’t be coming to pick you up anymore, his ship, along with all his escorts, are destroyed. Unless you want to join them, I order you and any of your colleagues to stand down and prepare to be disarmed.”