Lieutenant Scott Blake sat in the cockpit of his Eagle Assault fighter; only half his concentration was focussed on the controls. Piloting was as second nature to him as breathing, it had been since he was big enough to see past the control stick. Blake yawned, more out of boredom than fatigue; this was a particularly dull patrol. He and another pilot had been out for nearly a half an hour now, and still no action. He wasn’t that surprised though; the hostiles had been quiet lately.
"Hey Ghost, you still awake?" Came a crackling voice through his headset.
"Just about." Blake replied idly, the other pilot was a rookie, a rookie who was excited at the prospect of flying with the legend that was Lieutenant Scott Blake.
"So man, I’ve been meaning to ask you." Blake snorted silently. "How come they call you Ghost?" How many times had he heard that question?
"They call me Ghost," Blake answered almost intolerably. "Because I’m silent, because I’m scary and because I’m deadly."
"Uh-huh." Said the rookie. There was a short pause before another question came.
"Are you as good as they say you are?" The Lieutenant rolled his eyes.
"Yes." He answered curtly.
"Uh-huh." Repeated the rookie. "I guess I was hoping to see the Ghost in action, it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen." As if to defy the youngster, an alert signal began to fill the cockpits of both fighters.
"Thanks for tempting fate kid." Blake said, halfway to bitterness. He glanced down at the RADAR screen, one large red BLIP had appeared and it was surrounded by four smaller ones. Blake then looked at the identification details; the larger ship was a reasonable sized enemy cargo freighter, Bulk class. Four Raven Attack fighters were escorting it, the best kind the hostiles had. "Four escorts, for just a freighter?" He said to himself, a little surprised.
"Yeah!" Exclaimed the rookie excitedly. "It’s game time."
"Don’t lose your cool kid, I don’t like the look of this." Blake’s instincts warned him about unusual or unpredictable situations like this one. He flicked a few switches on his control panel and spoke into his headset once again. "Paris patrol to TSA command, repeat Paris patrol to TSA command."
"Paris patrol, this is Tristar command, receiving you."
"Have encountered hostile cargo ship with heavy fighter escort, request orders ASAP." He waited a second before repeating his message. A few moments later a reply came from the Alliance outpost.
"Transmission received Paris, engage fighter escort and inspect cargo, backup is on the way. Do not destroy cargo, repeat, do not destroy cargo." It was a standard order, given in an outstandingly small amount of time. Blake surmised that the Alliance had been expecting this one, there was obviously something on this ship that Intelligence wanted a look at.
"You hear that kid?" Blake asked.
"Affirmative, let’s rock and roll!" Blake shook his head as he increased his craft’s velocity.
"Stick to my wing and don’t do nothing stupid, okay?"
"It’ll be a pleasure sir." Came the over-enthusiastic response.
The two Eagles streaked across space ever reducing the distance between them and the cargo ship. Blake brought the weapons systems on-line and a red grid overlay formed on the transparent canopy in front of him. A cross hair appeared in the centre of the overlay and the missile bays to both port and starboard clunked as they opened, ready to release their payloads. A pulsating beep filled the air: the targeting computer was attempting to lock on to the bandits.
"I’ll take the leader and his wingman to port, you take the starboard two." Blake’s voice commanded authority, the other pilot responded.
"Yes sir."
"Hug the hull of the freighter, I’m willing to bet that they won’t launch anything heavy duty if we’re doing a fly by of their own vessel."
"You got it boss."
The Ravens began to break formation as they saw the Terrenes approach.
"Here we go!" Blake said pushing his control stick hard. The targeting computer locked and indicated it by changing the intermittent beep to a continuous one. "Swallow this." He squeezed the trigger and a bright blue torpedo leapt from the missile bay and began to scream across space. The target craft rolled and launched flares to try and avoid the weapon but the blue missile continued to track. A second later the missile impacted and the craft exploded in a flash of yellow flame.
The leader of the wing opened full throttle and shot past Blake at high speed. A second later the bandit had turned sharply and began to pursue Blake’s Eagle. The Lieutenant rolled his craft as green cannon bolts streaked past the cockpit canopy, he cursed, punching the impulse thrusters. The Eagle leapt forward evading the deadly canon fire, but the Raven continued to chase. Again Blake fired the impulse thrusters, he wanted to get some distance between himself and the bogie.
"Come on you son-of-a-bitch!" He growled under his breath. An alarm went off in the cockpit; the bandit had missile lock. "No you don’t!" Blake released a pair of flash flares, which detonated the incoming missile. At the same time he wrenched back on the control lever and made the Eagle perform a massive aerial loop. He swooped in behind the black craft and let rip with his Raptor Pulse canons. "See you round." The white Raptor blasts dented the Raven’s shielding, a second missile took care of the bandit for good.
"Hey Ghost! I need a little help here!" The desperate voice of the rookie crackled in the Lieutenant’s ear. Blake turned in his seat, looking at the freighter and at his wingman. The kid had both of the other hostiles hot on his tail, he’d bitten off more than he could chew and was in serious trouble.
"Get as close as you can to the freighter, I’m coming, just hang on!" Once again Blake hammered the impulse thrusters control, his fighter raced across the sky. The youngster piloted his craft in sheer desperation, he had a double missile lock on his tail and no where to hide. He dived for the freighter, also firing his impulse thrusters. As the kid took his Eagle along the length of the freighter, a number of hatch-like bays opened up on its hull.
"What the..." Exclaimed Blake; and then he realised. "Kid! Get the hell out of there!" Multiple rockets launched from the bays and converged upon the Eagle. The rookie had no chance, his ship exploded in a plume of yellow flame. Blake muttered an expletive in anger and surprise, and then charged between the two remaining Ravens, cannons blazing.
Another RADAR alert signal filled the air of Blake’s cockpit.
"Now what?" He said glancing down at the RADAR scope. Then he breathed a sigh of relief; eight small green blips appeared on the screen. Friendly fighters had arrived, they were being accompanied by two Vulture transports. Presumably the Vultures were there to pick up the freighter once the fighters had disabled it.
"Paris 1, you are relieved, Washington and Stockholm wing will take over."
"You don’t gotta tell me twice." Blake said bunking out of the battle area at full throttle. "Be careful boys, that freighter’s armed to the teeth."
"Thanks for the warning Lieutenant, get back to base."
Blake pressed a number of buttons on his command console and then pressed his body back into his seat. He felt the rumble of the Jump Drive and then black turned to white.
***
Admiral Gregory Jonas sat in his office staring at a hand held data pad, it would be incorrect to say that he was reading it. The truth was that he already knew what it said, none of the information it brought was new, it just confirmed all suspicions. There was a knock at the door; Jonas looked up and said.
"Come in." The door opened and Lieutenant Scott Blake entered the room. "Ah Ghost, come on and sit down."
"Thank you sir." Blake said quietly, sitting down in the seat across from Jonas’s desk.
"Quite a patrol this morning." Commented the Admiral. "I was sorry to hear about the rookie."
"It happens." Blake said, showing far less emotion than he actually felt.
"You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve checked your flight recorder, we know that there was nothing you could have done to save him." Blake nodded but said nothing. "To take on a wing of Ravens by yourself is no mean feat, then again, I’m forgetting who I’m talking to."
"They were good craft with bad pilots."
"Yes." Said the Admiral thoughtfully. "I suppose you’d like to know what all this is about?" Blake shrugged his shoulders, he was curious but he’d seen and done it all before. "The Bulk freighter contained a prototype fighter, we’ve codenamed it the Magpie. It’s the latest thing and it could cause us many problems." Blake sighed, there was always something to cause problems.
"Sir, if it’s not a new fighter, it’s a new cruiser. And if it’s not a new cruiser, then it’s a new battle station. There’s always something to deal with in this war. We’re developing new ships all the time, what’s so special about this one?"
"The Magpie combines the speed of the Crow Superiority fighters with the firepower of the Rook bombers. It also contains an advanced shielding system that appears to be impervious to the Raptor cannons. I don’t have to tell you that that’s quite an edge in a dogfight." Blake nodded, that was an impressive résumé.
"You say that it’s only a prototype?" Asked the Lieutenant.
"One of four, we believe." Answered Jonas. "Intelligence are going to strip down the one we have, hopefully we’ll be able to find a weakness. In the meantime, we’ve found out the location of a manufacturing plant, the place where they’re going to be making these things."
"We’re gonna try and take it out?" Blake had already anticipated his reason for being.
"Affirmative, and you’re going to be part of the strike crew. I don’t know, I guess someone must have said that you were the best." Blake smiled, he was good at what he did, that was for sure.
"When do we leave?"
"Mission briefing at seventeen-hundred, you’re leaving at nineteen-hundred. I suggest you go and get some rest."
***
Blake entered the briefing room and sat down three rows from the front. The room reminded him of a sort of tiny cinema, there was a huge video screen at the front and rows of seats all the way back. As usual Blake was the first to arrive, he was always early, no matter what it was for.
"Haven’t seen you in a while stranger." The mechanical voice came from behind him, Blake turned in his seat to see his friend Trado. Trado was a Camerian; Cameria and Earth are two of the three home planets that combine to form the Tristar Alliance. Camerians cannot communicate in the same manner that humans do, for a start, they don’t have a mouth. They are humanoid, but are green and the only feature on their face is a single eye in the centre. They communicate with each other via telepathy, something that Terrans cannot do.
As Blake did, Trado wore his flight suit. Around his neck was an uncomfortable looking translator collar. It had a speaker on the front that output a computerised mechanical voice so that Camerians can communicate with their human allies. Trado came and sat down beside Blake.
"How’s it going buddy?" Blake asked. Trado blinked his single eye and said.
"Not so bad, do you know what all this is about?" The Camerian gestured with his hand towards the front of the briefing room.
"Kind of." Blake answered in a non-committal fashion. Trado laughed loudly, he slapped Blake on the shoulder.
"You’ve always got the inside track!" Blake chuckled at the brash manner of the alien. He’d always found the Camerian species easy to get along with. There pilots were always damn good too.
Slowly as the time approached seventeen hundred, the briefing room became more and more busy. Blake glanced around, there were maybe about ten fighter pilots and dozens of flight crews. They were obviously sending in a cruiser, Blake wondered which one, he didn’t suppose that it really mattered that much.
As Admiral Jonas entered, silence fell over the room. The man definitely commanded respect from his fellow officers. Jonas was approximately fifty years old and he’d been in the military for the majority of his life. His leathery face was wrinkled and scarred, he’d seen his fair share of action over the years. Jonas wore a red military uniform and displayed his pips proudly on his collar.
"Evening ladies and gentlemen." He made his way to the front of the room and placed a data pad down on the front desk. Then the lights dimmed and the video screen lit up. "I’m sure that many of you are aware of the incident this morning involving Paris Patrol?" Echoes of conformation circled the room. "Well I’m about to tell you what it was all about. This information is classified and only the people that need to know are here."
He pressed a button on the panel to the side. The picture on the video screen changed, a schematic of the Magpie Attack fighter appeared. It was black and white, streamlined and looked the part.
"This is a prototype of a brand new enemy fighter. It’s been codenamed the Magpie and it means serious trouble for the TSA. All of you have faced the Crow Superiority fighters in battle; you all know how fast they are, well the Magpie is faster. You have all also faced the Rook Bombers in the past; the Magpie has greater firepower. Also it contains a shielding system that seems to be invulnerable towards our Raptor Pulse cannons."
Trado leaned in to Blake and whispered.
"That’s no toy, is it?" Blake shook his head.
"This morning," Continued the Admiral. "Washington wing and Stockholm wing captured a working prototype of this craft; Intelligence is currently analysing it. We interrogated the crew of the captured freighter and have discovered the location of the Magpie manufacturing plant. Guess what boys and girls, we’re gonna strike." Blake smiled a rye smile, he liked the way that the Admiral had said it. Jonas pressed another button on the panel, once again the picture on the screen changed.
"This is the station." The station looked much like a bicycle wheel on its side with a thick axel poking through it. "It is armed to the teeth, we’re talking turret cannons, heavy missiles and powerful deflector shielding. Your mission will be to destroy this station and its fighter guard." Trado chuckled quietly.
"Won’t that be fun!" He commented softly, Blake nodded.
"The TSA Hermit docked at the outpost not ten minutes ago. It’s currently being readied for the mission; it leaves in a little under two hours, nineteen hundred. The hermit will jump in at a safe distance from the station, once at the rendezvous co-ordinates, the strike wings will exit the Hermit and jump to the station.
The mission will be led by Commander Hardgreaves and Toronto wing. Toronto wing will be flying Albatross bombers, whose primary goal will be to take out the weapons and defences of the station.
The station is guarded by two wings of Ravens and a wing of Crows. It will be the job of Paris wing, led by Lieutenant Blake to take out these fighters. It should be noted that Lieutenant Blake is second in command to Commander Hardgreaves. Paris wing will be flying kestrel Assault fighters." Blake nodded in satisfaction, he liked the Kestrels, they were the fastest in the fleet, although they could do with a little more punch. Admiral Jonas continued.
"Backing up Paris and Toronto will be Rome wing led by Lieutenant Trado. Rome wing will be flying Hawks kitted out with both ship-to-ship missiles and heavy duty bombs. Rome wing can be assigned to whatever task is most needed, destroying fighters or the station. Commander Hardgreaves, use your discretion. Any questions so far?" Jonas looked around the room. Blake raised his hand slowly, Jonas nodded at him.
"I don’t believe that they’ll leave such an important station so relatively unguarded, presumably we’ll have reinforcements if necessary?" Jonas nodded.
"Stockholm wing will be accompanying the hermit in case the cruiser gets attacked, if necessary you can call them in, but please remember that’ll leave the Hermit without any fighter escort." Blake nodded, same old story, they were on there own.
"Once Paris and Rome have eliminated the fighter guard, Toronto can begin to disarm the station. Once all turrets and missile bays have been destroyed, The Hermit should be called in so it may begin bombarding the station. Once the manufacturing plant goes critical, all fighters should return to the Hermit and bunk out.
Always remember that the enemy is never far away, so expect heavy resistance and constant fighter reinforcements. Paris and Rome must protect the Hermit and the Albatrosses whilst they destroy the station. If any hostile cruisers jump in, it will be the responsibility of Rome wing to hold them off whilst the station is being eliminated." Blake leaned in to Trado and whispered.
"Good luck buddy, hope none of those big destroyers jump in!" Trado nodded, probably grinning on the inside.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Jonas continued. "This mission must not fail. The Magpie fighters must not be created, the war is tight and any advantage is worth taking. If we can postpone the production of this new fighter for even a month, it’s one month more we have to prepare. Take any actions necessary, do what you gotta do. I’ll now hand you over to Commander Hardgreaves." The Admiral stepped to the side and Hardgreaves stepped up.
Commander Hardgreaves was a man of around thirty years old, he was an ace pilot and was very experienced. He was about 6’2 with dark hair and a cunning face. His eyes were dark and they concealed all that he was. In a strange kind of way, Blake looked up to the man. Although Blake knew he was a better pilot, Blake was no leader, he’d only ever known how to take care of himself. Hardgreaves was a natural commander, people respected him and trusted his orders.
"I think that the Admiral has said pretty much all that there is to say. I’m just gonna go over some of the finer points for you. If you’re in this room, you should be on board the Hermit by eighteen forty-five at the absolute latest, it’ll leave at nineteen hundred without fail. If you’re not on it when it leaves, and you should be, then when I get back I’ll kick your ass." Hardgreaves brought up a star map on the screen.
"The Hermit will jump in to these co-ordinates at approximately twenty-one hundred hours, all wings will depart immediately. Paris first, and then Rome, and then finally Toronto. On my mark you’ll engage the jump drives and we’ll come out of subspace at these co-ordinates." The map altered slightly and a marker appeared indicating the subspace exit node. "As you can see, this is approximately five kilometres from the station. All wings will move at their top speeds towards the station. The kestrels will obviously get there first with the Hawks not too far behind." Trado raised his green hand.
"Yes Lieutenant?" Hardgreaves asked.
"I take it that Rome wing will be on fighter assault initially?" Hardgreaves nodded.
"Yes, take out the fighters first, and keep them off my tail. Once the bandits are clear, then we can start work on the station. Toronto, take out the missile bays first and then the turrets. Once the station is completely disarmed, I’ll call in the Hermit to finish the job. On my signal, all craft will return to the hermit’s fighter bay and we can get the hell out of there. It should be as simple as that." There was a short pause before Hardgreaves looked to Blake and Trado. "Anything to add?" Blake glanced at Trado, who simply shrugged his shoulders.
"No sir, it’s all crystal." Said Blake.
"Then I’ll see you all again at eighteen forty-five at the latest."
***
Blake stepped out of the elevator and began to cross the Hermit’s fighter bay. The Hermit had been travelling for about an hour and a half now and as usual, Blake was early. The three wings of fighters stood in three rows of four, widthways across the bay. The Kestrels were at the front, behind them were the Hawks and at the back were the Albatrosses. The craft were being prepared for the mission; engineers were running around loading weapons and doing all those other jobs.
Blake walked slowly around to the front of the bay. The front of the bay stretched out like a tunnel, at the end of the tunnel was a force field covered rectangle. Beyond the force field was the whiteness of subspace. Blake turned around to face the spacecraft, the four Kestrels stood proudly in a row, the second fighter from the right had a red star on its nose cone. This indicated that the craft was the leader, Blake’s craft.
The Lieutenant stepped forwards and gently caressed the smooth, metal exterior of the fighter. The Kestrel Assault fighter was silver in colour; it was streamlined and small. It looked vaguely similar to the very first space shuttles that flew back in the twentieth century. Three Raptor cannons were fixed to the underside of each wing; the small missile bay was positioned towards the front, underneath the cockpit. Currently the canopy was up, Blake could see the black pilot’s seat and the safety harness.
"I’ll do you a deal," he said. "If I promise to get you back in one piece, you’ve gotta promise to fly straight, work hard and do exactly what I tell you." He moved around to the rear of the Kestrel, it was about twelve or thirteen feet long. Three exhaust ports were situated on the back of the craft, Blake knew that they burned hot and glowed red when they were being used.
Blake turned and looked at the Hawks, they were shaped much more like early airplanes, the nose cone had been formed into the shape of a beak. The Hawk fighters were much like the Eagles, the only difference was that the Hawks could be fitted with heavier payload missiles for bombing purposes. The Eagle was strictly a fighter and couldn’t be adapted for any other purpose.
The Albatross was a bomber, and due to its double missile bays it was sluggish and slow. In a dogfight, you wouldn’t want to be in an Albatross. This craft was much broader, and more rounded. The ship was wider than long and held a missile bay on the underside of each wing. Its cannons were placed to the port and starboard of the cockpit, it had the option of adding extra laser blasters on to the wings, but that option was rarely used.
A short while later, Blake was climbing into the cockpit of his Kestrel. He settled into the seat and fastened his safety harness. Then he pulled on his helmet and closed the canopy by pressing a button on the console. A motor whined as it slowly lowered down over the cockpit, it clunked as it locked shut. Blake fiddled with his left suit pocket, he wanted to make sure he had his dagger and his cigarette lighter. They both sat together in the pocket, Blake had never flown a mission without either of these things, he figured them as being lucky charms.
The pilot they called Ghost flicked the com switch on the control console, and then he spoke.
"Mission control, this is Paris 1 logging on. All readouts are green and am ready for launch."
"Affirmative Paris 1, as usual you’re the first in line." Blake chuckled.
"Wouldn’t have it any other way."
Over the next ten minutes or so, Blake listened to the other pilots as they began to climb into their craft. He heard a familiar voice say.
"This is Rome 1 reporting mission readiness."
"Affirmative Rome 1."
"Glad you could make it Trado." Blake said speaking into his mouthpiece.
"Me too good buddy. Ready to kick some bad guy butt?"
"You know it."
"Have a good one Ghost, I’ll see you back here in one piece."
"You got it Trado, and remember to keep those big, bad battle cruisers off my back." Trado chuckled at Blake’s joke.
"Will do."
"Mission control, this is Toronto 1 ready and waiting." Hardgreaves voice came over the radio. "Blake, Trado, you in yet?"
"That’s a roger boss, we’re both ready and waiting." Blake answered.
"Excellent." Hardgreaves commented. Mission control began to broadcast to all fighters.
"This is Mission Control to strike crew, all fighters are prepared for launch, you can start warming ‘em up boys." Blake nodded at the message and responded to it by flicking several switches on his control panel. The Kestrel began to vibrate softly as the engines came on-line.
"Okay boys and girls," Hardgreaves was talking again. "You know the drill and you have your orders, everyone who brings their ship back in one piece, gets a beer on me!" Several pilots could be heard laughing on the radio, Blake then spoke.
"Everybody hear that? He doesn’t offer to buy the beers too often, I suggest as many as you can take him up on it." The horseplay died down and then mission control spoke again.
"Paris wing prepare for launch on my mark." Blake looked to his left, the pilot in the Kestrel beside him waved his hand. Blake nodded in return; the pilot was a youngster, another one. He was good though, he would never have made it onto Paris wing otherwise. The Ghost looked straight ahead once again. The launch tunnel stretched out away from him, the rectangle at the end had the blackness of space behind it.
"One, two, three, four." Blake whispered under his breath. "I’ll be back home soon, for sure."
"Paris wing launch in, three, two, one, mark." Blake hammered the engine control switch and was pressed back in his seat by the sudden acceleration. All four Kestrels darted forwards and quickly covered the distance of the launch tunnel. Paris wing emerged from the TSA Hermit and made their way into space.
"Rome wing launch on my mark. Three, two, one, mark." Trado and his wing of Hawks left the fighter bay and joined the Kestrels in space.
"Toronto wing, launch on my mark. Three, two, one, mark." Hardgreaves and his wing of Albatrosses joined the rest of the strike crew in space.
"Okay guys," He said. "It’s a lovely evening, the stars are out and if you look to your left, you’ll see a beautiful gas nebula. If you look to your right, you’ll see a small green planet called Timidia 2. Local time is twenty-one ten and we expect to arrive at our destination in a little under five minutes. We hope you enjoy flying with the Tristar Alliance Military, and we guarantee you’ll be choosing us again."
"Permission to begin the mission?" Blake said with a smile.
"Affirmative Paris 1," Replied Hardgreaves. "All craft initiate jump drives on my command." Blake, and indeed all of the other pilots warmed up their jump drives by flicking various switches on their flight controls. "Hit it." Hardgreaves said simply. Blake pressed down hard on the appropriate button and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the blackness of space had been replaced with the vivid white of subspace.
***
The Kestrel’s on board computer began to count down the time to the subspace exit vector.
"Ten seconds." Said its mechanical, computerised voice. Blake reached forwards and grasped the control stick. He ran an eye over the various gauges, making sure that all was in order. "Five seconds." Blake counted down the five small units of time and felt the rumble of the jump drives cutting out. The regular engines fired and the Kestrel screamed out of the subspace portal back into normal space. At that exact moment, the RADAR alert began to signal. A huge red blip appeared in the centre of the RADAR screen, it was the manufacturing plant. Exactly twelve other signals appeared, the enemy fighters.
"Paris wing to full throttle, all craft engage." He said. The wing of Kestrels accelerated away from the Hawks, the Hawks in turn accelerated away from the Albatrosses. "Trado, we’re going after the Ravens, if you wouldn’t mind taking out the Crows?"
"Roger Ghost, Rome wing engage the Crows." Replied the Camerian Lieutenant.
All of the fighters met in a blaze of cannon fire and missile detonations, the sky became engulfed in a battle of epic proportions. Blake began to pursue the leader of the first wing of Ravens. The ship weaved from side to side making it difficult to obtain missile lock. Blake squeezed the canon trigger and white Raptor blasts cut across the sky. The energy bolts hammered into the black craft, a second later it exploded.
"No, no, no." Blake said perplexed. "He didn’t even put up a fight!" the leader of Paris wing shifted in his seat, he looked out to the left and watched as Trado chased down the leader of the Crows. The Crow Superiority fighter darted from left to right but offered little resistance. Trado opened fire and the enemy craft was suddenly no more.
"That was easy." Trado commented, also a little confused.
"Paris 1 to Toronto 1." Blake spoke into the communicator. "Hardgreaves, do you get the impression that maybe this is a little less than challenging?"
"Yeah," Hardgreaves answered ominously. "All craft watch your backs, they could have a surprise in store for us." Blake looked down at the RADAR screen, the hostile blips quickly became eliminated leaving only the TSA fighters and the station. Blake reduced the velocity of his craft and for the first time, looked at the manufacturing plant. It hung in the air large and dark, lights could be seen all over its massive frame.
"How comes the station’s not firing?" Trado asked. It was true, none of the missile bays were even open, let alone launching torpedoes. Even the turrets remained motionless, not even bothering to track the TSA craft.
"I don’t know." Answered Hardgreaves. "I’m gonna take a closer look."
"Careful Hardgreaves, I got a bad feeling about this."
"Me too Ghost." Said Hardgreaves faintly. He took his Albatross towards the station slowly, he swooped in close, taking the time to scan it carefully. The results of the scan showed nothing unusual, the station was active and functioning properly. That didn’t answer the question of why it wasn’t firing or why the escort had been so easy to eliminate.
"Are we in the right place?" Trado asked. Suddenly the massive fighter bay to the rear of the station began to open.
"Watch yourselves." Blake warned. What happened next surprised everyone. Four wings of hostile fighters launched from the station. The fighters were black and white, streamlined and looked the part. "Magpies!" Blake exclaimed. "I thought they were just damn prototypes!"
"I guess we were wrong!" Hardgreaves said with distinct concern in his voice.
"It’s a damn ambush! Paris wing engage." Blake yelled, firing his impulse thrusters. He streaked towards the leader of the Magpies and opened fire with all six Raptor cannons. The enemy fighter made no attempt to dodge the blasts, each energy bolt hammered into the shields but didn’t even make a dent. "Man!" Blake cursed, diving sharply to avoid a barrage of cannon blasts.
"A little help here people!" Hardgreaves yelled in terror as a Magpie fighter began to close in quickly upon his tail. The Albatross weaved and rolled but the Magpie was faster and much more manoeuvrable.
"Hang on Toronto!" Blake said gritting his teeth and firing his thrusters. The Kestrel moved rapidly but the Magpie was faster still.
"Come on Ghost! I can’t hold him off any longer!" The Magpie closed in for the kill; Blake strained to push his craft faster. The Lieutenant knew his cannons were useless against these new ships, he’d have to use missiles. The targeting computer struggled to gain lock on the Magpie and Blake knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He clenched down on the trigger and a blue missile launched from underneath him. The missile screamed across the sky but the pilot of the Magpie dealt with it via a counter measure flare.
"No!" Hardgreaves screamed in fear but was cut off mid flow.
As Blake watched the Albatross explode, he knew that the strike crew wouldn’t last five minutes against these knew fighters. They were hopelessly outgunned and greatly outnumbered; the TSA had no chance. Blake had never liked to run from a fight, however he thought it best to get out alive, plus the fact he was responsible now. He knew they had to bunk out.
"This is Paris 1 taking command." He said. "All craft retreat, repeat all craft abort the mission. Get the hell out of here." The Magpies made it increasingly difficult for the TSA ships to evacuate, they blocked subspace vectors and were quick in their unscrupulous destruction of the pilots. Blake punched the jump drive ignition and then heard a missile lock alert. He closed his eyes and waited for his destiny. When he opened his eyes once again, he found himself cruising through subspace, the missile had been left behind.
***
The commanders of the Hermit quickly realised that something had gone terribly wrong. They observed as the jump nodes opened and battered fighters emerged. Of the twelve fighters that started the mission, only five returned. Both Blake and Trado had survived the ambush but unfortunately Hardgreaves hadn’t.
"Paris 1 to Mission control, permission to dock?" Blake’s voice was down and quiet.
"Granted Paris 1, where is Commander Hardgreaves?"
"He didn’t make it." Blake sighed, pushing his control stick to the side. "It was a trap, the Magpie is no prototype, it’s just a very real nightmare."