Sigil of the Wolf - 20. Chapter 20

HMS Excalibur - en-route to Taïrian Space

It had started before the dawn, the first wave of Amsus fighters shrieking out of nowhere and driving on the Excalibur, the CAP and alert fighters dispatching to intercept the four lone long range Predators, cutting them to pieces with superior numbers.

It was over almost as soon as the crew came to combat stations, Darien hurrying out onto the bridge still doing up the buttons of his collarless white shirt.

"The CAP reports Total Kill," Sub-Lieutenant Galadriel reported as she relieved a junior officer at the Communications station, resting a hand on her earpiece and smiling, "Shall I recall the Alert fighters?"

Darien glanced over the tactical boards, looking at Commander Durnham, the AI's quick reactions had dealt with the threat neatly. "Four long range recon fighters, lightly armed, dual pair of jump pods..." He looked up, "Advance scouts for a hunting party?"

Colonel Mayfair came out on deck. He'd tossed on a set of BDUs and his von Karin leather jacket over the top, "Great, I gave up coffee to get here and its all over..."

Darien glanced back apologetically as he straightened down his dishevelled hair, "Morning wake up call courtesy of our friends at Amsus High Command." He nodded to the empty tactical boards, "We should execute a jump just in case," he looked down at Galadriel, "Contact Colonel Ramsey..."

"Incoming!" Commander Durnham announced as the alarm klaxons flared.

Outside four more flashes of light appeared as another set of long range Recon Predators appeared and executed the exact same attack run. The Alert fighters and CAP swept in like angry bees, dispatching that set of fighters as well.

Darien hesitated, looking back at the same data readouts he had before, "Lightly armed recon fighters..."

"Part of the same patrol?" Colonel Mayfair asked as he gestured for the holo-spheres to be activated showing a detailed image of the fighters.

"Continue with the Jump preparations," Darien said, leaning down to rest a hand on Lauren's shoulder. She was quickly tapping away on the computer panel, plotting the jump co-ordinates.

"And again..." Commander Durnham reported.

* * *

Darien accepted the mug of coffee and scrubbed his eyes looking at the clock; six hours of near constant alerts. They'd successfully jumped to the next system, however the Amsus fighters seemed to continue dropping in at irregular intervals. It was as if they waited for the exact moment when the crew of the Excalibur began to feel relaxed and then they struck again, never firing a shot, simply making doomed attack runs.

"Sir, I have to recall the Alert fighters." Masconi said, folding her arms and staring up at the scopes that, for the moment, were clear, "They're running low on fuel and they've all but exhausted their ordinance. I have VF-54 standing by to relieve them..."

"Send them up," Darien replied, wincing as the alarm klaxon began again...

* * *

"For the love of god!" Katz swore, pitching the F-175 about and thumbing the fire switch, ending another Recon Pred. It was doing his kill score the world of good, sure, but it was a turkey shoot. No skill behind it at all, just the same thing over and over again. Amsus Recon Preds appeared, they intercepted on afterburners, bam bye-bye Preds...

"Paladin-Lead from Paladin-Four. Hey sir, you think they just decided to give up the war and come get shot one at a time?" Jose was being a smart ass.

After nearly five hours in a cockpit, sweaty and tired, Katz wasn't in the mood. He thumbed his mike, "Shut up Paladin-Four." He turned the F-175 back again and stared at the white shard of the Excalibur, rubbing his temples he checked his fuel status. His ammunition was low, but he was good for another hour or so.

* * *

Rikard sat in the mess hall, his feet up on a battered metal table, sipping a mug of coffee, watching the near constant to and fro charges of people rushing to and from battle stations. Enjoying the cacophony of alarms going off, he savoured the dark roast.

His left hand was coiled around the simple two-switch remote he had taken from the security station, a simple device supposed to be used by the ship's political officers in the event of an emergency to let State Security know if a ship went rogue. Rikard put it to better use. He waited until the clamour died down and things began to settle before triggering it again, a tight smile on his face each time he depressed the button.

It had been so long since he had last had coffee...

* * *

"They're trying to get us to expend our ordinance." Nazzien and Lauren stood together, the Commander reviewing a clipboard with the latest report from the ship's quartermaster.

"I already instructed our fighters to conserve their missiles," she replied, flipping through the charts and pausing to yawn, what time was it? "We're running off of the rail cannons, but even that ammunition won't last forever."

The crossed the Ark-Royal's hangar deck, a pair of F-175 fighters being pulled back, the faulty master computers effectively taking them out of the fight. The strain of near constant flight ops was beginning to take their toll on the ship, its equipment and on its people. The F-175s were still new technology, and when they worked they were amazing, but when they didn't...

"How many is that?" Nazzien asked, pausing as another alarm began.

"That makes ninety-two," Lauren replied, looking up in annoyance, "Either they are going to run out of fighters, or I am going to run out of patience..."

"I meant the 175s," Nazzien said, "I think it's us who'll run out of fighters at this rate."

* * *

"Ark-Lead from six, I've got a problem."

"Roger, six, I have you in sight, I'll be with you in a minute," Masconi called.

They needed everyone who could fly up on the duty roster, and Masconi couldn't remember when she had last had more than a couple of hours' sleep. The recon fighters were steadily hammering them, appearing and dying without seeming to care. But that was the Amsus, sheer numbers; they had the fighters to spare...

She formed up on the F-120 that was calling for help.

"You've got a bad leak, Six. What's your state?" she crackled into her radio, staring at the F-120. The constant strain was beginning to wear on the fighters; it took time to maintain them, and with the plane crews working virtually around the clock to service all the fighters, it was only a matter of time before they missed something.... Something critical.

"Fuel critical. 3,200 pounds."

"Okay. Can you plug-in to the tanker?" Masconi asked, hoping that Six had enough fuel to make it to the emergency fueling tanker - basically a modified 120 with buddy pack refuelling bladders underneath its wings and centreline - but if the fuel probe refused to extend...

"Lead from Six. Negative. My probe is stuck. I can't refuel."

Damn, Masconi swore to herself, "Okay. No problem. Let's just be prepared for the fire to go out. I'll park you on the ship myself if we can't get you aboard on your own. Give me fuel flow readings every 500 pounds." Masconi ordered.

"Roger."

"Ark-Royal Approach Control, Ark-Lead with you, zero-six-zero, thirty five miles. Flight of two Fox-One-Two-Zeros. Request straight in approach. Be advised we have a fuel emergency."

"Ark-Lead, Ark Royal Approach, squawk zero-seven-zero-zero," the controller replied.

"Ark-Lead squawking 0700." Masconi checked her instruments.

"Ark-Lead RADAR contact, two-zero miles, signal Charlie."

"Lead from Six, I'm at two point two."

"Roger, Six," Masconi looked out her window at the young pilot, "Almost there."

The pair of fighters intercepted the Ark Royal's approach path and they turned to the right. It would use up almost all his remaining fuel but he would be lined up for the ship.

"Paddles is up."

"Ark-Lead, what is the aircraft on approach?" The Landing Signal Officer called.

"Ah, Ark Royal, the aircraft on final is Two-Zero-Six, over."

"Roger."

"Two Zero Six you're at 1 ¾ miles call your ball," the LSO instructed.

"Two Zero Six, Orca, Ball, zero point two..."

"Roger Zero Six, keep her coming. Check gear down and locked."

Masconi started: he hadn't lowered his landing gear. She leaned forward in her chair, staring wide-eyed at the young pilot. Mistakes happened, they were tired... all he had to do was reach down and press the emergency gear lever...

* * *

Darien covered his eyes from the bright flash of the fighter detonating down on the Ark Royal's flight deck, emergency crews rushing as the ship's warning alerts began all over again. They'd been at it for thirty-six hours straight, expending precious fighter fuel and ordinance, loosing fighters and people.

The Amsus were out to whittle them down, drive them steadily crazy by throwing ships at them. Their last jump with the transports had done little to put any kind of distance between them and the source of the fighters. If he were to guess, it was a couple of Amsus fleet carriers shadowing them a couple of jumps behind, being re-supplied with fighters from various outposts and facilities around them.

It still didn't explain how they knew exactly where the Excalibur was.

He ran a hand up his face pushing his hair out of his eyes, it was getting long... He ignored it and tried to focus on the tactical boards, trying to see somewhere they could jump to in twelve hours once the transports' drives had finished recharging.

His hand flexed tightly and he rubbed the sore muscles trying to work circulation back into them as he tried to blink back sleep, forcing himself to stay awake. They were all tired, he just had to look at the weary faces of the crew around him to know that. He needed to think, but all he saw were dead ends... He frowned up at Colonel Mayfair who was looking the worse for wear, resting his head on his arms idly pushing a pencil across the CIC table.

"You should sleep..." Darien suggested.

"You should take your own advice," Mayfair quipped back.

The alarm went off again, and Mayfair glanced up at the boards, "You know, I'd like to find the inventor of the alarm klaxon and... enjoy introducing him to a size ten..."

Darien smiled tightly, "I'm sure there's a special place in hell just for him."

They both looked at Lauren who was leafing through her clipboard scribbling in it with a pencil, her hair poking out in disarray from underneath a ball cap she had pulled on once she realized she'd have no time to do anything about it. She set the sheets down.

"Two pilots dead, four more suffering what amounts to exhaustive collapse, nearly all of the F-175s are down with technical problems, the 150s are pulling double duty which means they won't last." She rubbed her eyes, "Doctor Kyr has upped the stimulant dosage to the pilots and to some of the plane crews but..." she shook her head, "That means our pilots are out there now on no sleep, high as kites..." she wobbled a little.

"When was the last time you ate?" Mayfair demanded worriedly, "You need to keep your sugar levels up..." He passed her half of the sandwich he had abandoned a short while before.

Lauren devoured it thankfully while Darien flipped through the ordinance and fuel reports. The rail cannon ammunition was being used sparingly, the missiles were being conserved, but there was no way to ration the fuel without cutting the number of fighters on the CAP and Alert. And if he did begin to cut them... he looked at the transports.

The fighters were all that stood between them and the Amsus. Pushing them to the breaking point meant that only bad things could happen. He needed to give the pilots a rest without cutting the number of fighters in the air.

He looked over the situation; he needed to figure out how the Amsus were tracking them. It was either a new long-range sensor system tracking them at range, or it was something internal. So far the Amsus incursions had been relative to the Excalibur's position; if the Excalibur executed a jump leaving the transports behind, he'd be able to test that theory.

The problem was that it left the transports dangerously exposed. "Colonel, take the Raptor and stand station over the transports, I'm going to jump the Excalibur and see if we can't pinpoint how they are tracking us." The Raptor's auto-masers and energy-based weapons weren't reliant on shipboard ordinance; at the very least the transports would have some kind of protection.

"I want every officer who can fly to report to the Wing Commander, we need to give our pilots a rest..." he nodded firmly, "No one stays aloft beyond six hours and everyone gets six hours' sleep minimum."

Lauren nodded, "I can..."

Nazzien joined them, "That's me as well."

Darien nodded, "All right, that's three more pilots at the very least."

"You're going up as well?" Mayfair suddenly sat upright.

"We don't have much choice," Darien replied, "I'm fresher than some of the pilots, and if the Amsus do decide to do more than throw themselves at us, I'd do more good out there than pacing the bridge helpless."

* * *

Darien walked down the ladder onto the Excalibur's flight bay, pulling the old leather jacket on over his flight suit and accepting the helmet one of the junior officers handed to him.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" Masconi asked, walking a few steps behind him. She looked utterly exhausted, but her duty kept her going, especially when it came to her flight deck.

"It's either this or I learn to fly an F-150 while being loaded onto a catapult for launch." He smiled at her, "Besides, right now we need every fighter we have."

She looked over at the captured Amsus Predator sitting on the deck, a couple of techs finishing painting the appropriate markings on him. The last thing they needed was for some exhausted pilot hopped up on stims mistaking the Highlord for an enemy fighter. She shook her head and looked back at Darien, "I can..." she yawned tiredly.

"You're going to rest," Darien said firmly, "That's an order," he mounted the retractable ladder on the side of the Predator, and climbed into the heavy bucket seat, glad that the modifications made to it when Katz had flow his mission against the Haligonian jump nexus were still functioning. He began his pre-flight, glad that there were few differences between a Predator's controls and a Raptor's; he had to love Amsus engineering for its simplicity.

"Lauren and Nazzien are down on the Ark-Royal, they'll form up with you once you launch," Masconi leaned on the cockpit canopy, "Remember you have two auto-cannons and one utterly useless laser guidance system..."

"Hey," Darien smiled at her as he fastened his helmet's chinstrap, "Relax, I'll be fine. Turkey shoot remember?"

The engines began to roar as they spooled up, and he turned to the Wing Commander offering a tight salute, as the instrument panels lit up with information as the computerized self-test showed that everything was ready to go. He lowered the canopy and waited for the cockpit to pressurize; when it did he attached his facemask and popped his ears.

"Falcon-One is up, button four." He called out.

Lauren was listening for him, "Falcon-One from Falcon-Two, we're already taxing. Join up at your discretion."

"Falcon-One, Roger. See you on deck."

He leaned around to look out of the cockpit, peering aft for a glimpse of Masconi who emerged from underneath the left wing with a thumbs up. She motioned him to taxi forward and then handed the Highlord off to the plane director with a snappy salute of her own. Darien smiled as he taxied out of the parking area, guided by the yellow shirted plane director. He reached the elevator and tapped the brakes with his toes to bring the Predator to a halt as the elevator rushed him up to the main flight deck.

He'd never attempted a fighter launch from a starship before. Flying R-403 was very different from the Predator, and he felt his palms beginning to sweat as he adjusted his grip on the stick, making a quick flight control check.

The plane director motioned for him to move, and he bumped the throttle forward a fraction of an inch. He taxied into the cat shuttle and placed both hands on the glare panel. The safety pins for the weapons slung beneath the fighter were removed, and in seconds he was blasted off the bow of the Excalibur and into space.

He switched to button five and made a call to Lauren. "Falcon-Two, Falcon-One."

"Falcon-Lead, Falcon-Two, go ahead."

"Falcon-Two, I have you on screen. I'll be up with you in three minutes, thirty seconds, over."

"Roger Falcon-Lead. Three-three-zero."

"Falcon-Lead, contact Queen's Bishop, button three." The flight controller ordered.

"Roger, Falcons Button three." Darien responded, switching over to "Queen's Bishop" one of the Excalibur's defence controllers. Darien smiled at the friendly voice of Sub-Lieutenant Galadriel filling his headphones.

"Falcon-One, Queen's Bishop," Galadriel intoned, "Nice to have you with us out there Skipper. Turn right heading three-two-two mark zero-zero-nine."

"Falcon come starboard ten." Darien ordered, smiling as the pair of F-150 fighters flew into formation around him. Lauren and Nazzien took up positions off either wing. The trio turned onto the course Galadriel directed them towards, a vector that would allow them to intercept the CAP fighters.

"Paladin-Lead, this is Queen's Bishop. Falcon-One is at your six o'clock low, three miles, over."

Darien smiled as the tired-sounding voice of Squadron Leader Katz came over the channel, "Paladin-One, roger. Good Afternoon Falcon-One, here to show us how it's done?"

Darien smiled, adjusting his fighter's trim and settling back into the fighter's seat, "Roger that Paladin-One. Have you in sight, we're at your seven o'clock, two miles."

"Roger that Falcon-One." There was a snort and a giggle on the line, the stims...

Darien stared at the strobing navigation lights, flashing as they closed on them. Darien looked left and right at the two F-150s sitting in perfect formation with him.

"Queen's Bishop, Queen's Bishop, this is Falcon-One on station with two chicks."

"Roger Falcon-One. Paladin-Lead... Falcon-One, Emergency! Come left heading Zero-Four-Nine. Bandits Zero-Four-Nine, Zero-Zero, 140 miles. Buster."

That was fast, Darien murmured, noting that Katz's CAP was still with them. The Alert fighters were swinging on an intercept but they would arrive too late to interfere in the fight.

"Falcon-Lead, roger, vectoring Zero-four-nine. Paladins form up, assume call Falcons four through six. Falcons starboard zero-four-nine."

"Paladin-One, now Paladin-Four, roger," Katz called back.

"Roger Falcon-Lead," another pilot called back, "I'm a black wet chicken..."

Darien glanced back, not familiar enough with the voices of the pilots to recognize who it was.

"Falcons, I need you to focus with me." Darien said firmly, reefing his Predator into a hard left turn, accelerating to close on the enemy recon fighters, running through a quick cockpit check to insure his switches were set properly, feeling the familiar rush of adrenalin coursing through his veins. He felt a strange mixture of fear and excitement as he realized it was his first combat in a fighter. It was terrifying when compared to the relative safety of the Excalibur's bridge.

The four Recon fighters lay ahead, Constant Bearing Decreasing Range... Darien's mind ran through the information he would be getting on the bridge. He watched the blips on his RADAR growing closer, the distance between them dwindling.

"Fire at will." Darien ordered, as the six fighters screamed in on the four recon Predators, explosions lighting up the night sky.

* * *

Rikard leaned against the view port, tucked away overlooking a row of Excalibur's pinpoint defence batteries. He had a good view of the young Highlord flying in perfect formation engaging the recon fighters.

He enjoyed the view, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He hadn't expected the Highlord to be quite so dedicated; originally Rikard had simply hoped to whittle the Excalibur down a bit, but once the buzz had began around the ship that the Highlord intended to fly a fighter, and the Excalibur had left the transports under the care of the Karin Colonel, an idea had formed in the former Chancellor's mind.

He lifted the small remote and depressed the second switch, slipping it back into his pocket and returning to the mess hall.

* * *

Commander Durnham flickered, as the consoles around the Excalibur's bridge began to shut down. Computer control was being wrested away from the main computer and routed elsewhere.

Deep in Engineering the reserve jump drive flared to life and engaged, acting on a pre-programmed set of orders as it catapulted the great starship into hyperspace on a completely random vector.

As she boiled from the heart of the chaotic space she rotated slowly end over end as her primary systems shut down. The Commander took two steps towards the helm control, a look of concern on his face as he flickered again before he sputtered off, and the ship plunged into darkness.