“The reappearance of Dragon within the independent regions of space has raised many concerns within the Independent World Council. The Confederation has been working closely with the UNF over the past forty-eight hours and they are fully prepared to back our move to retake Dragon. They will be laying on support of two carriers and a number of starfighters, themselves. The main strike force will consist of Griffin, Ifrit and Leviathan, captained by myself, Commodore Hawke and Captain Meyers respectively.”
“This is getting pretty serious,” Estelle whispered in Dodds' ear. “They're throwing a lot of weight behind this, sending up Griffin, Ifrit and Leviathan.”
Dodds wished he could share her admiration. He also wished he had not helped to polish off the rest of that whiskey bottle. He pulled back away from Estelle, putting a hand on his forehead. It, like most of the rest of him, was feeling rather hot. He then found himself wishing his hand was a pack of ice. There, that was his three; and none of them had come true.
Dodds turned a lazy head around the briefing room to see that, in an almost exact repeat of the ATAF presentation the Knights had attended earlier that year, jaws were hanging down.
“Do not misunderstand,” Parks boomed over the returning mumblings.
Dodds winced.
“As I'm sure all of you can fully appreciate, Dragon by itself in a combat situation would prove a very formidable opponent; and on this occasion we believe it to also be accompanied by two Imperial frigates and several starfighter squadrons, all of which will have to be handled and dispatched in order to successfully complete the operation. For this purpose, we will be employing the use of several fighter squadrons of our own.”
The screen behind him changed once again, to display a representation of the fighters, grouped into squadrons. Numbers of participating types were listed next to the flat two-dimensional images. There were four classes there: TAFs, Rays, Rooks, and Hammerheads. It looked as though there were three digits next to the TAFs and two for the others, but Dodds could not focus on the exact numbers.
“Now listen carefully,” Parks' voice continued over the hall speakers. “There are two primary objectives in this mission: the first, as already stated, is the successful recovery and safe return of Dragon. The second is the apprehension of these two men...”
The screen behind Parks changed again, displaying the two men in question. Both wore full Imperial naval dress and faced the camera head-on. Neither man wore a cap in the pictures, though both were highly decorated.
“The first, and most important of these two, is Admiral Zackaria. He is the Fleet Admiral of the Imperial Naval Forces and is, without a shadow of a doubt, the one person whom we cannot afford to lose. I would even go as far as to say that the capture of this man actually outweighs the recapture of Dragon itself. We believe that he may have been instrumental in the theft of Dragon in the first instance and is likely to also be playing a key role in the on-going troubles throughout the Imperium. Should he be aboard Dragon then he must not, under any circumstances, be allowed to be killed. I say again: we need this man alive.”
“Enrique...” Dodds heard Estelle hiss. He looked around to see Enrique sitting back up from where he had been hunched over, hiccuping. Dodds couldn't be sure whether either of the three men stood on the stage were aware of the issues he was experiencing trying to focus – certainly Hawke would already have an idea – but he thought he'd better make the effort. He folded his arms and looked at the screen, finding the black thread, red trims and silver buttons of the Imperial uniforms a little easier on his eyes, than the bright white glare of the previous screens.
He looked first to Admiral Zackaria, a name that was a little more familiar to him than the other; he had heard it thrown around from time to time over the years, though not certain he would be able to pick the man out of a line-up. The man looked to be in his early-to-mid sixties, his hair more or less gone, leaving him with strands of grey. His eyes, too, were grey and possessed a hardened edge. His face was long and clean shaven, but his skin appeared rough, with wrinkles, tiny scars and marks scattered about. Easy enough, Dodds concluded. His age would make him quite distinctive amongst everyone else and he would be a lot easier to tackle than most. Not that Dodds wanted to get involved right now.
“The second is Commodore Rissard,” Parks went on. “To our knowledge, he is Zackaria's second-in-command and right-hand man. He does not hold as much sway as Zackaria himself, but it would be in our interest to bring this man in, too.”
Rissard did not appear as old as Zackaria, closer in age to Parks and Hawke. Like Zackaria, he was light-skinned, but with short, thick blonde spiky hair.
“Look at his eyes,” Estelle said.
Dodds did: they were unnaturally bright blue, almost as if they were some kind of implant; though maybe they were just contact lenses.
“I don't like the look of him,” Kelly murmured.
Though he held a neutral expression, Dodds did acknowledge that the man looked menacing; threatening; almost sadistic. Maybe it was those eyes. A slideshow of images began, displaying the two men in various other poses: some at formal gatherings, others within parades. In a few, Zackaria could be seen with a ceremonial sword at his hip, and sometimes holding it in a rather regal fashion.
His head began to ache once more. He eyed Chaz, seeing the big man looking up the screen. He looked both very attentive and as fresh as a daisy. How? He'd been drinking too, hadn't he? He'd also enjoyed his fair share of the whiskey, as far as Dodds could remember. He wondered how the other four were feeling this morning. He expected that McLeod's head was in a comparable state to his own.
“Remember these faces, people,” Parks said. “I want to be assured that even those not directly involved in the boarding of Dragon are familiar with all targets and objectives of this operation.”
He then moved on to describe how the operation was to progress. Dodds let his attention slip a little, but listened as best he could through his suffering. As far as he could tell it was to unfold this way: the Hammerheads, together with support from TAFs and Rays, would lead the Initial Run against the two escorting frigates. Together they would knock the frigates out of action, as well as any starfighter support. Once the path was clear to Dragon, the Confederation would deliver their coup de grâce: as with all newer capital ships, Dragon had an inbuilt security module, that allowed for all non-essential-to-life functions to be shut down remotely. The idea had been scoffed at by Dragon's design committee when the chief engineer had proposed it. He had gone ahead and implemented it regardless, arguing that it might come in very useful one day. And so it now proved.
With Dragon disabled, the escorting frigates out of action or destroyed, and only a handful of enemy starfighters to deal with, the rest of the mission would be a cakewalk. A large number of boarding vessels would attach themselves to Dragon's hull, before burning their way inside and flooding the entire ship with toxic gas. Following this, joint Confederation and Independent World teams would board Dragon and perform a mop-up of any remaining enemy forces, before handing over control to Parks, Hawke or Meyers. Zackaria and Rissard would be located and taken aboard a specially appointed shuttle, where medical teams would administer treatments as required.
Should the security code fail to work, then the combined CSN and UNF teams would attempt to force boarding by firepower alone. Although this was far from ideal, the allied forces would at least still retain the element of surprise and again seek to take down the frigates, before engaging the massive battleship itself.
Or something like that anyway...
“Dodds!” It was Estelle.
Dodds realised that he had slumped down into his seat. His chin was on his chest and his eyes were closed. He was on the verge of falling asleep. He opened his eyes and looked back up at the screen, to see what he might have missed. Parks was looking right at him. The commodore paused for a brief moment, before starting to talk again. He then stopped, pressing a button on the podium that killed the
microphone and looked at Hawke, who had gained his attention. Following the very brief exchange, he brought the microphone back up.
“Time is short, people. If we are to make our appointment, we need to get things underway. You will be further briefed on the strategy upon arrival at your designated carriers.”
The screen behind him changed to detail a list of assigned flight teams to carriers. Parks began to rattle off the names of the flight groups as, behind him, Meyers and Hawke got to their feet and made for the exit. The assembled personnel sat staring up at the screen, waiting for him to finish.
“What are you all sitting there for?” Parks asked in sudden anger. “At least a quarter of you should be at your departure points, waiting for transports. Come on people! Suit up and get moving! Now!”
The fliers jumped to their feet as ordered and made to leave, whilst the commodore continued to read out names, departure points and destinations. The White Knights had been assigned to Griffin and the vast squadron making up the Initial Run, meaning they would be responsible for protecting the bombers as they engaged the Imperial frigates, as well as clearing the way for the boarding parties.
“Right, let's go people,” Estelle said, standing up and preparing to lead the team out of the briefing room and prep for departure.
“You all right, man?” Dodds asked of Enrique. The man's eyes were reddened from where he had been vigorously rubbing them.
“Aw, mate, I feel like death warmed up...” Enrique started.
“You two - come here!”
Dodds turned around to see Parks glaring straight at him. The delegation over, Parks had turned his attention to a new issue: that of Dodds and Enrique. He clenched his fist, as if grabbing them by their jackets and pulling them towards him. Dodds had feared this from the moment he had almost drifted off. Seated right before the commodore, it looked as if he and Enrique's various sick expressions and attempts not to fall asleep had not gone unnoticed.
Enrique and Dodds stood themselves in front of Parks as requested, though neither of them saluted.
Parks looked over the two men. “What seems to be the diffic...” he started, before wrinkling his nose. “Are you two drunk?” The commodore did not need to finish the sentence, nor less ask the question; the stench of alcohol emanating from the two men already provided all the answers.
“No, sir, we...” Dodds began, knowing that the very breath leaving his mouth would make it all too clear that he was either rather inebriated or suffering from a severe hangover.
“Shut your mouth, Lieutenant!” Parks snarled. He looked over at the men and women retreating out the briefing room, seeking a quick solution to his new problem. “Lieutenant Chang!”
“Sir,” the man Parks had called after turned around and saluted.
“You're being reassigned. You and your team will now be a part of the Initial Run. The White Knights will take over your secondary cover duties.”
“Yes, sir,” Chang's face lit up. It was clear that he was delighted that he would now be doing an important job, instead of providing menial cover for the Confederation's capital ships. Should everything go well, then he and his team would be recognised for the essential role they would play, and perhaps even rewarded for their hard work after a successful operation.
Dodds looked to Estelle, about to apologise, when Parks pushed past him, getting to her first. She stood to attention as the commodore approached.
“Get your boys sobered up, de Winter!” Parks glared, wagging a finger in her face. “And get to that departure point now! I don't want any more screw ups!”
“Yes, sir! Immediately, sir...” Estelle started, though Parks was already marching past her and out the briefing room.
* * *
“... pair of complete bloody idiots!” Estelle glared at Enrique and Dodds as they hurried down the corridors to the transport landing zones, helmets in hand, still fastening up their flight suits. “Make sure you get into those damn shuttles!” she added as the throng of people threatened to separate them from one another.
Estelle was both bitter and broken. For the second time in just a few weeks she had been busted down, absolved of any responsibility, of any chance to prove herself of her true worth. It was starting to become too much of a regular occurrence for her.
The cool, crisp air of the early morning hit her as she left the housing block, along with the crowd. It was just past sunrise and spotlights illuminated her path, aiding the dim natural light. Ahead of her, she could see the multicoloured marking lights of landing platforms, flickering in her view as they were obscured by other people rushing in front of her. It was a clear morning and the arc of lights dotted around the incomplete orbital ring could be seen high in the sky. Not that this was the time to admire such things.
As she approached the landing zones, Estelle was greeted by a scene that she had only seen in archived war footage: in the sky ahead of her, several transport shuttles were accelerating upwards towards the atmosphere, carrying their full complement of personnel. Pairs of strong blue engine light could be seen higher up as the transports attained the speeds necessary to achieve escape velocity, leaving subtle trails of cyan as they went. A couple of dozen transport craft rested on landing pads, hatches open, personnel being crammed inside. Hovering in the sky above were more transports, waiting for landing pads to become free, so they could touch down and pick up more passengers. If the presentation had failed to impress upon anyone the importance of the operation they were about to undertake, then what Estelle was witnessing now would surely do the trick.
She had long since lost Dodds and Enrique, and looked around for them as she drew closer to their designated landing zone. She then spotted a big, dark-skinned man ahead of her, running to a transport as people were called forward by one of the many air marshals present. Relief washed over her as she recognised Chaz, and then Enrique and Dodds, following just a short way behind him. The three, along with several others, got into the transport, which was quick to seal its doors and takeoff, another transport quick to take its place.
With her boys well on their way, Estelle looked around for Kelly. Where was she? Like herself, Kelly was barely taller than average height and in amongst the taller men and women it was going to be hard to spot her. Estelle felt herself being pushed forward and glancing around, she found that Kelly was just behind her. The woman was looking more than a little concerned as she was jostled back and forth, and Estelle reached her hand back to hold on to her. Not only to make sure her friend was okay, but to ensure that her team made it onto Griffin without any problems. She could not afford yet another black mark against her name. Even after the heart-to-heart she'd had with Kelly the previous evening, Estelle found it hard not to put her aspirations ahead of her friends, a fact that had now been further compounded by Enrique and Dodds' irresponsible drinking.
Estelle took a firm hold of Kelly's hand as the throng pushed her forward. Ahead of her, a transport had filled its quota of passengers and was setting off. Now at the front of the crowd, Kelly and Estelle were next.
“You all right, Kelly?” Estelle looked around and asked of her friend. Kelly looked scared for some reason. “We do this all the time. Just remain calm.” Estelle attempted to reassure her that the shuttle ride was nothing to get concerned about.
“This time it just feels more real,” Kelly said. “We're not going on patrol this time; we're going on the offensive.”
“They have it fully planned out,” Estelle said, keeping an eye on the transport that was descending from the sky. “The CSN always makes the safety of those in service its top priority.”
“Even before Dragon, Zackaria and Rissard?”
“Even before Dragon, Zackaria and Rissard.” Estelle shook the follow-up sentence from her head. There was always a first time.
The transport landed and an air marshal beckoned them forward. Estelle lost her grip on Kelly's hand as everyone surged forward. Parks' speech must have hit home with many.
; “No, only you guys!” the air marshal said, spreading his arms out and trying to get a control of the crowd. “You lot head over to that one. The rest of you get back. I only want twelve for this one.”
Looking around, Estelle discovered she had been separated from Kelly and felt uncomfortable not knowing where everyone was. She tried to rejoin the main group of waiting people.
“Hey, where you going there?” the marshal stopped her from leaving. “No time to go back now. In you get.”
The man's hand was on her back, pushing her on-board the transport. Now inside, the hatch closed and locked, leaving Estelle to wonder if Kelly had made it. She felt the engines engage and took up a position on the bench, pulling down the familiar restraining harness over her shoulders. The shuttle was smaller than the ones she had grown used to over the past few weeks and held fewer people. Space on Griffin would be at a premium, when compared to Spirit Orbital. Estelle glanced around at the others occupying the transport, at first not recognising any of the faces. She then did a double take.
“Andrea?” she asked in complete surprise.
The curly, blonde-haired member of the Red Devils looked over in the direction of the voice and smiled.
“Estelle!” Andrea said, eyes sparkling. “How have you been?” She looked genuinely pleased to see her.
Estelle was stunned at how chipper Andrea was at such a time. “I've been good. Everything's going very well,” Estelle answered.
Andrea's here? At Mandelah? Since when? Estelle wondered to herself. Does this mean that the Red Devils didn't succeed in the evaluation, either? Did it go to the other team? She forgot their name.
“Are you based here? I've not seen you around,” Estelle asked.
“No,” Andrea said, shaking her head, her curly locks bumping against her face. “I've been continuing the training and been posted in a number of places.”
That confirmed it. Andrea's team had won. Estelle realised her face was betraying her sense of jealousy. She decided not to ask any more about how the training was going; about how Andrea was getting on flying a starfighter that she should have been; about how praise was being piled on her, for her great work.