She could feel her heart beating hard, threatening once more to burst out of her chest; though now out of sheer exhilaration, rather than fear and uncertainty.
This is it, girl. This is what it has all been about, she thought to herself. Do yourself proud. Do us all proud. Looking to her side, she gave a thumbs-up to her wingmates and then faced forward as the cargo bay doors slid apart. Moments later, the forcefield rotated, the all-clear was given, and she accelerated out.
* * *
Beyond Griffin, the battle raged on. Though Grendel's Mother and Leviathan were struggling against the increased enemy presence, they had still managed to earn Griffin a reprieve. After seeing the damage their allied carrier had sustained, and the loss of stability, Meyers and Mandeep had ordered all their crew and starfighters to divide themselves between protecting all three carriers. Against the odds, their efforts were admirable, but cracks were beginning to show in their defence, the increasing swarm of enemy fighters on the verge of overcoming the allied forces. Grendel's Mother had held her position next to Griffin, Meyers taking Leviathan to stand some way in front of them.
“You're going to have to work harder to keep those fighters off us,” Meyers told the allied squadrons. “If they put either Leviathan or Grendel's Mother out of commission, then it's all over.”
“Doing our best, captain,” one of the pilots responded. “But these guys are proving tougher than expected. I've never seen Imperial pilots fly like this before!”
“That's because Imperial pilots don't fly like that!” another pilot broadcast his feelings to the entire field, the anxiety unmistakable in his voice. “I've flown against them before, and these guys... these guys are something else! Those are not Imperial pilots in those fighters!”
They were the same concerns that Meyers had heard levied by many others about the field. The skills possessed by those commanding the Imperial starfighters was truly something to behold: it was as though they were more than capable of exploiting every weakness of their opponents, whilst at the same time able to anticipate and compensate for every return attack. Their reactions were unparalleled, as if they had minutes to deal with situations that others were required to handle in seconds.
“Captain, power has been restored to Griffin,” came a voice from the bridge.
Meyers turned from where he had been watching a pair of TAFs' luckless attempts at taking down an Imperial fighter, to see that Griffin was once again back on-line. He was relieved to see that the enemy fighter that had crashed into its flight deck had not left the carrier permanently dead in the water.
“Thank God for that.” He turned to his communications officer. “Have you managed to establish contact with Commodore Parks yet?”
“Negative, sir,” the woman answered. “There is too much signal corruption to maintain a stable connection. The link keeps dropping out every few seconds. Their comms system must still be down.”
“Keep trying,” Meyers said, staring at the swarm of Imperial starfighters that had just issued from Dragon. Against such odds, they would need some sort of miracle to see them through to the end of the day.
* * *
The Knights were clear of Griffin, and the ATAFs looped around the rear of the carrier, to face the incoming threat. Dodds realised that the situation they now faced mirrored one from the many hours they had all put into the simulators. It reminded him of the team's very first failure and of how the training manager had assured them it had been designed to be unfair, unrealistic, and not ever likely to occur in real life. With all that in mind, he approached the battle with added caution.
Estelle's orders - derived from what she had managed to understand from Parks, between the static and regular loss of signal – further compounded it. They were to lend support to the three carriers that were attempting to escape the system, providing extra support to Griffin in its crippled state. Parks had also requested that they attempt to take down the frigate at the earliest opportunity.
“... though it looks like we're going to have to fight our way through this lot, first,” Estelle concluded.
Dodds noted that whilst some of the fighters that had departed Dragon had peeled off from the main group and were headed in the direction of Leviathan, the majority were headed straight towards Griffin and Grendel's Mother; and with them, the Knights. Dodds swallowed and then braced himself. Along with his wingmates, he put himself on an intercept course with the approaching squadron and sped towards them.
As they drew within range of one another, both sides spread out to gain more fighting room, three of the Imperial fighters aligning themselves with Dodds. He eyed his opponents. Though he had never seen them outside of a simulated environment, there was no mistaking the form of an Imperial Mantis: a Y-shaped frame and egg-like body, where the cockpit and single large engine resided. Three struts jutted out of the body, a single cannon affixed to the tips of the frame's top two; the lower, central one, home to a number of missiles, set into a rack. Though not visible from the distance, Dodds recalled that the fighter's designers had also seen fit to squeeze on another pair of guns, just beneath the main body. The appendages appeared almost as if they were claws and mandibles, poised to rip their opponent apart; the maroon hues of the Imperial colour schemes that decorated the armour looking like the blood of its previous victims.
The three fighters continued to close in on him and Dodds held his course unwavering, making no indication that he intended to deviate from his present course. He kept in mind his experiences of the ATAF back on Xalan, confident that the fighter he occupied was in every way superior to those he faced, no matter the odds.
Weapons ranges were met, and at once the three Mantises' guns opened up, a torrent of green and purple bolts streaking towards him. At the sight, he felt his heart leap into his throat, panic deriding the pride he had felt only moments earlier. He banked hard to evade the shower, though not as fast as he would have liked. Much of the enemy fire hit home, his fighter's encasing shields bathing the entire cockpit in rippling blue hues as they absorbed the hits.
As the Mantises streaked past, Dodds' hand flew to the ejection handle, preparing to blow the canopy and jettison himself out of the doomed craft, the moment he heard the blare of the warning siren. It never came, and all was silent, save for the jumble of noise from his comms.
Relief washed over him as he glanced to the instrument panel. The attack he had feared had barely even registered. It was like the first day with the simulators all over again, where he had found it difficult to get used to the fact that the ATAF could handle itself far better in combat than anything else he had ever flown.
He exhaled, though his heart was still beating hard. He then wheeled the ATAF around and gave chase to the three Imperial fighters that had just passed him.
With the realisation that their target had been spared destruction and was now tailing them, the Mantis group dived. Dodds stayed behind them during the manoeuvre and the ones that they followed up with, utilizing all the skills he had been taught. He then shifted his heading over, so that his crosshairs met with the HUD's predictive targeting receptacle, before returning fire.
It was far from the first time he had seen it, but the resulting hail of fire from the ATAF's cannons still floored him; even more so when his target connected with the thick stream of plasma bolts. The Mantis exploded, scattering metals, alloys, and sparking components in every direction. Dodds was quick to react to its allies, who were pulling away, repeating the same tried and tested technique against them.
Thirty seconds later, Dodds found himself victorious, staring at the tumbling remnants of an enemy that had at first outnumbered and outgunned him. A small chuckle of disbelief escaped him, and he turned about to face the ongoing struggle he had lost sight of during his fight.
His eyes swept across the scene: cannon fire, lasers, missiles, and fighters of various different configurations flew in every direction. Leviathan's and Grendel's Mother's cannons were hunting targets within the
hordes of Imperial fighters that were swarming all about them. At one time a sight such as this might have terrified him; made him wish that he was some place else. Not now.
He looked for the W-shaped forms of the other four ATAFs in amongst the swashes of other fighters, then gave up. He would find him them later. For now, there were bigger issues to address. He could see more Imperial fighters turning his way. He suspended his disbelief, buried his sense of glory, and took a good grip on the stick.
“Okay, let's see what this thing can really do.” He raised his velocity to maximum and dove headlong into the chaos.
* * *
With power restored to Griffin, Parks was once again able to immerse himself back into the battle. For all the damage the carrier had incurred, he was surprised – and grateful – to discover that the on-board camera systems and audio transmissions had been least affected. As the feeds tracked the ATAFs speeding around the conflict zone, he caught snatches of reaction from other allied fighters, whilst the bridge crew attempted to establish a more stable comms system.
“Who the hell are they?!”
“I don't know, I've never seen them before!”
“Are they on our side?!”
“I don't know - there's no markings on them!”
“Should we attack?”
“No! They're not shooting at us; they're shooting at them!”
From what Parks could tell, the Enemy forces had ceased many of their attacks on the allies present, concentrating all their efforts on attempting to bring down the five unknown starfighters that were tearing their way through their forces. Although, for all their might, they may as well have been trying to hold back the tide.
“Captain, we've managed to establish a stable connection with Leviathan,” Parks heard.
“Audio?” he asked.
“Both audio and visual, sir.”
“Finally,” he said and turned away from where he had been watching one of the ATAF's astral acrobatics. “Bring it up.”
The holographic image of Leviathan's captain was far from perfect. Even under normal operation the image and audio could suffer from breakup and distortions, as the signal failed in places. It was now a permanent mess of discolouration and blocky pixels, the audio scratchy and accompanied by white noise. But it represented the best efforts of the crew in the time given to them, and, for now, fulfilled its purpose.
“How are you holding up, Aiden?” Parks said.
“Better than you, by the looks of things, Elliott.”
Parks picked at some of the blood caked to his face. Aside from a handful of painkillers, he had refused any proper medical attention once he had learned he was suffering from nothing more than a superficial head wound.
Meyer said, “I requested that Commodore Hawke bring Ifrit up front to lend their support for our withdrawal, but I'm sorry to say that he point-blank refused. I did my best, sir.”
Parks waved away the man's apology. He had long since given up attempting to involve Hawke in the battle, communication problems notwithstanding. Should they both survive the day, he would be bringing his actions - or lack therefore of - to the attention of Turner and Jenkins, as well as other top brass. He could not believe that someone whom he had once seen as a good friend and mentor would desert him in his hour of need. But for the moment, there were more important things to deal with.
Meyers' attention turned for a moment and he looked back at Parks. “I see you managed to deploy the ATAFs.”
“Eventually. And by all accounts they are exceeding expectations.”
“As are the Red Devils.”
Parks shook his head. “The Red Devils aren't piloting the ATAFs, Captain, the White Knights are. Unfortunately, the Red Devils lost their lives when the frigate attacks us.”
“Hell, that's... regrettable,” Meyers said.
Although Parks felt the same way, there was no time for anyone to grieve. “Captain, I want Leviathan to fall back to my position, so that we can complete our withdrawal. I have ordered the White Knights to engage the frigate and Dragon's fighter wing, to provide you with cover.”
“The frigate and the fighters?” Meyers said, looking stunned.
Parks raised a hand. “Don't worry, Captain, they can cope. This is an ideal opportunity to collect combat data on the fighter. I shouldn't worry too much about the threat of attacks from the Enemy for now - they have enough to contend with as it is.”
“Very well, Commodore,” Meyers said. “I will prep torpedoes in case things turn ugly.”
* * *
Hawke had watched the battle from the bridge of Ifrit without a flicker of emotion, despite the numerous calls from his crew that they should move in to assist. They challenged him no longer, the threat of a stay in the brig and a disciplinary hearing, should they continue to question his command, being enough to silence them. Even after the damage that Griffin had sustained, he had refused to acknowledge the calls for assistance by Meyers, who could do nothing but ask, unable to order the higher ranking officer to take action.
But now, Hawke was almost ready to make his move. He turned to the carrier's helmsman. “Prepare to take us forward on my command, Mr Cox.”
“Yes, sir,” Cox said, without raising his eyes from his console.
* * *
Dodds continued to strike down the Imperial starfighters that darted about him. His adversaries, for all their impressive flying skills, were able to do little to protect themselves from the advantages the ATAF granted him. They could only weave and dive for so long to throw off the targeting systems, before they succumbed to the hail of fire that chased them, or were downed by another of the White Knights.
He had long ago lost count of the number he had taken down; though judging by the sheer amount of debris that now floated around, littering the area between the two sides, it must have been a lot. He was certain that at one time the bulk of the wreckage had been made up of the remains of allied Confederation and Independent craft. But in only a short space of time, the Knights had managed to drive the enemy away from the four carriers and were now on the offensive, plunging deeper into the cluster of Dragon's support.
He had since caught up with his fellow wingmates and asked each in turn if they were in need of any assistance. None of them were, all confident that they stood a good chance of handling the battle all by themselves. Dodds agreed. The effect of the attacks brought against his fighter's defences were so minimal that he had taken to more or less ignoring them.
As he sought out his next target within the scrum, a group of Imperial fighters ahead of him slowed, flipped around and sped away. A wing further up field followed suit. Glancing around his canopy, he saw others performing similar manoeuvres, a blur of Mantises, Jackals, and Sphinxes racing past him, their guns silent.
“Enemy fighters are pulling back,” he heard Chaz's voice come over his comms.
Dodds held his own fire, watching as his enemies fell back to more defensive positions, drawing a line between the allied forces, Dragon, and the frigate. A pair of ATAFs came up alongside him and brought themselves to a halt.
In the brief calm that followed, he considered the scene before him: they were five lone fighters, pitted against a frigate, dozens of Imperial starfighters, and a monstrous forty-five-hundred-metre battleship. But they were also five fighters that had caused their opponents considerable upset. His hand tightened on the stick, readying himself for the anticipated push.
Estelle was quick to issue new instructions to the team, aiming to capitalize on the break in the enemy's attacks whilst they reorganised themselves, and ordering Kelly, Enrique, and Chaz forward to take down the frigate that was still exchanging long distance fire with Leviathan. She then ordered Dodds to follow her lead, and the two swung about, the pilot becoming aware of the reasons for splitting the team – Emerging from a jump point, just behind where the three allied carriers had gathered themselves, was the expected second and final frigate.
An eager Estelle raced ahead of
him and he shot after her, surging through their own ranks to tackle the approaching warship.
* * *
As Estelle and Dodds headed toward the second frigate, Kelly, Enrique, and Chaz made for the first. Missiles, plasma bolts, and laser sprayed towards the three as the frigate's cannons focused on them. They avoided much of the barrage, the missiles that sought them falling to the starfighter's countermeasures. What remained of the frigate's attack was easily fended off by their shielding.
With Kelly's lead, the three tackled their target in a similar manner to the way they had done time and time again on Xalan: starting with their lasers, they circled the vessel until the biting red beams had made significant impacts on its defences. Next, they flew up and around, racing lengthways across it, bombarding the topside with their own missiles. Finally, they looped back around, skimming over the surfaces and concentrating their cannons on the weakest structural points.
All the while the frigate returned fire, bolts, beams, and missiles chasing the three starfighters, all failing to stave off the attack. It was not long before the midsection began to come apart, explosions haemorrhaging the hull and bulkheads, and began to tear the frigate apart.
Soon after, the three Knights pulled out of their assault and re-focused on the Imperial fighters, who had been able to do little else except standby helpless as the ATAFs dispatched the ship they had escorted in.
* * *
Dodds and Estelle plunged into the second frigate's fighter escort as they streaked past Griffin, lending support to the carrier's defences that had been caught on the back foot.
“The first frigate has been taken down,” Estelle said, not a few minutes into their engagement.
“Already?” Dodds said in disbelief. He could have put full trust in his radar, but instead he wheeled around to witness the final moments of the frigate, as it was torn asunder by the explosions that continued to issue forth. He lingered for a while, aware of the fire striking him, but paying it no more attention than he had before.