Thrust Vector - Log 3: Forged in Fire
//Europia Continent, Sector 14B
//0914 Hours, 02/03/2564
//Consortium Ship Decimator
//Medditerria Zone
//Altitude: 5,713 Meters
//Caution: GPS Location Unknown
//Caution: Unable to establish radio contact
…
Reattempting
…
Reattempting
…
Warning: Emergency communications protocols established
Things were going wrong.
Across the Decimator, the combat alert klaxon blares in dreadful pulses, red lighting slathering the dimly lit lower decks.
“Any luck reaching Fleet?” Captain Ano asks the Communications Officer.
He shakes his head. “Nothing sir.”
In this dead place, the Decimator was blind. Atop her superstructure, the towers of radar and radio transceivers were beaming at maximum power, trying to reach through impossibly thick interference.
Even the most basic compass was spinning on the nav table like a drunkard, the zone itself seemingly pushing against the Consortium as the Decimator continues forward.
The open com channel speaks again, a repeating, whispering voice layered as if spoken by a thousand prayers. “You have entered the Garden of Meddeterria, for eleven generations we have protected it from the… corrupted.
Your presence here has already defiled our holy place. If you are here to join us, cease your vessel operations and join our Covenant. Live, in peace and plenty. If you are here to take the holy artifacts of the Garden, then you will… be expunged from this place.
This message will repeat until you state your… intentions.”
Captain Ano motions to the Communications Officer, who mutes the frequency. Twenty times repeated, the Captain doubted it would change anytime soon.
Outside the meter thick window, the sickly green clouds of the Meddeterria Zone flowed like waves passing the cruising vessel. They were a constant reminder of the conflicts fought before, and the distant towers of debris a monument to those dead in forgotten and horrendous combat.
Here in the very thick of the zone, nothing was alive, and if it was, it was fair game to lawlessness.
“Any progress on that broadcast?” Captain Ano stands right behind the Tactical Officer, reaching vision overlooking her panel.
“Well, I have something but I don’t think it's good news.” Tactical takes a minute to think. “I believe we’re being jammed sir. The entire EM band is getting scrambled to pieces by a massive generator somewhere in the East. I can’t pin down exact locations, but it’s somewhere there.”
Captain Ano looks out to port, trying to see the source to no avail. “Could this also be the location of the low band broadcasts?”
“There is a very high chance it is sir.”
“This is an ambush if I’ve ever seen one.” Ano concludes. “Fuck.”
Whatever force was lying within the dense radioactive clouds, there was a serious doubt among the Senior Officers that the Decimator had enough power to meet it head on.
“Navigation, can you get us out of here?”
“GPS, sat-con, compass, everything is down sir. The only way we’re navigating out is by the sun, and even then there’s so much updraft here I wouldn’t go past quarter speed.”
“Just get us out of the zone.” Ano orders. “Speed at your discretion.”
“Aye sir.”
“General broadcast.” Captain Ano points at the Communications Officer. “All short wavelengths.”
After a few seconds, Ano brings the microphone to his mouth. “This is Captain Ano of the Consortium Ship Decimator, call sign Decimator Actual.
We did not realize the sacredness of this place you refer to as the Garden of Medditerria. Our vessel seeks safe passage through this airspace, and therefore the Consortium and in turn we, have no conflict with you. If passage can not be granted, allow us time to withdraw from this location.
This message will repeat every fifteen seconds until further correspondence.”
The Communications Officer gives a thumbs up as the message is broadcast, and Ano hears his request echoing back from the zone’s thick layers.
Suddenly, the voice of the crow’s nest spotter breaks into the Bridge. Situated at the very top of the superstructure, the commanding view through magnifying lenses was gospel truth for the bridge. “I have a visual, two seven Nine degrees West!”
Captain Ano takes the pair of binoculars from his chair, scrambling to the edge of the bridge as he brings them to his eyes.
The clouds of decay and rot fold away. In the distance, the nose of a rusting metal mass tears through the clouds. It was an ancient, misshapen shape that could’ve been mistaken for another piece of Zone Debris if it wasn’t soaring in the sky.
The bridge watches in silent, fearful mesmerization.
“Operations.” Captain Ano gathers.
“Sir.”
“Get the Vectors out now.”
A fusion engine roars on the flight deck, a pitched noise of flexing energy sounding as main power flows through the machine.
“Gaea Four engines start.” One of the techs reports. “Green light.”
On the central flight board, Gaea Four’s engine indicator reflectively turns green.
“Gaea Team: engine startup cycle complete.” Main Tech announces.
Four vectors idle at full thrust over the noise of the battle stations alert. Technicians and flight crew scramble across the steel flooring as the sound of screaming alarms and blazing engines drive them to war.
Tech speaks. “Gaea Three, adjust reactor by nine point two percent, your quarter thrust potential is off.”
“Acknowledged.” Case mechanically responds as they flip the reactor flow switch.
The high pitched whine of the four engines softens to a low growl, then back again to its full power roar.
The technician in front of the thirty ton armored vector gives a thumbs up.
One of the techs, combat helmet and all, waves to Mei’s sleek machine as they climb up to the scaffolding. “Uh, Gaea Two, we’re gonna give a final inspection for the camo system.”
“Yeah yeah.” Mei rolls her eyes as she flips on her vector’s optical camouflage.
The image of a clamped vector breaks, the outlines of a tirelessly engineered machine become nothing more than shimmering illusions.
Techs swarm around the distorted frame, handheld lights scrounging up every inch of the shapeless thing, searching for a misshapen pattern or broken panel.
“Gaea Two, you’re clear.”
“Gotcha.”
“Gaea Four, your targeting servos are redlining, give your weapons’ a check up.” Main Tech requests.
“Targeters are operational.” Markov coldly reports. “I will reset the gunnery systems.”
Markov flips three switches in practiced order, and the targeting system failing for just a moment, then coming back to life in a river of numbers.
The tech gets the data, giving two thumbs up the munitions loader. “Targeting servos are good, we’re clear to load the thirty millimeter.”
Over the noise of active engines, a gun tech slaps in the rotary cannon primer shell. He turns his head to the helmet’s headset as he speaks over the air intake. “Rounds locked and loaded, you’re hot Lieutenant!!!”
“Understood.”
They save the most unstable machine for last. “Gaea Leader, final electronics startup.”
Perez’s eyes dance across the cockpit, a Christmas tree of lighting illuminates the red launch lights of the cockpit. Dozens of indicators, independent and extremely agitated, call for his attention before settling down.
He gives a nod, a smile across his uncovered face. “Startup up is good. Your electronic warfare frigate is online.”
Across the launch controller airscreen, all lights were ignited in a well told green. “This is Tech, Gaea Team is clear.”
Commander Dalsma arrives on the tactical command channel, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he hears the noise of vector engines. “Gaea Team, this is Archangel, I will be your tactical air controller today. Full Communications and hud check please.”
Sicario begins. “Gaea Leader check.”
“This is Gaea Two, check.” Illya gives a finger gun to one of the techs.
“Check, Gaea Three.” Case rumbles.
Werewolf speaks. “Gaea Four… check.”
In their flight helmets, green outlines appear. Indicators of altitude, speed, munition levels come flooding into second sight. A crosshair arrives, augmenting the mounted holographic sights of the vector cockpit.
They all turn their heads carefully, checking the validity of such a heads up display.
Four green lights appear on the Tactical Air Control panel. “This is Archangel, Gaea Team coms and link check is a pass. Handing you over to Decimator Flight Control.”
The channel changes with static. “Gaea Team, this is Decimator Flight Control. You are sortieing under yellow combat alert level four. Lowering you down in ten seconds.”
Four souls lie in mediation. Nerves cold as ice flow through lifeless steel. Like some kind of eldritch symbiosis, the vector pilot meshes with the vector itself. The construction of metal and time becomes the flesh, the extension of self in battlefield of sky.
Uneasy unions of armor and man, untested and untrialed, prepare to be forged in the fires of war.
“Opening launch bays.”
Four silts in the lower hull fold away and air rushes into the vector compartment.
Caution: class one radiation hazard detected. Crew are advised to reduce exposure. The Environmental System announces.
The metal clamps holding the vectors steady rumble from flowing air, followed by the whirr of hydraulics as ancient machines lower them into the sky.
Vectors rebel against the holding clamps of their carrier, engines exuberant in the open, moving air like caged birds ready to soar. Pilots within feel the dead atmosphere on engineered surfaces, preparing to do battle in a foreign environment.
The clamps stop, and the pilots silently breath piped oxygen. Pupils dilate as familiar sights return, a rush of ecstasy flowing through uneasy nerves.
Angled at the very top of the pilots’ vision, a string a four colored lights flash on: red to green. They count from the inner levels to outer before all of them ignite in brilliant lumesient color.
All lights turn off at once, and the metal hands release.
The vectors are freed into wide, toxic heaven.
Gaea Team catches the air in a short glide, engines tasting the sky’s freedom in a moment of blissful, calm enjoyment.
Vectors in practiced formation shoot off into irradiated atmosphere.
The roar of fusion engines hits the topside crew as four vectors pass over the deck. All eyes peel away from duty to watch the angular shapes of warrior gods collect themselves twenty kilometers starboard from the Decimator.
“Gaea Team deployed.” Commander Dalsma reports to the bridge. “Pickett line created at twenty kilometer mark.”
In the distance, the mass of steel grows. The size of the thing could be scaled towards a smaller end city state rather than a single vessel, a fully enclosed society, isolated to the entire world.
“I want an analysis on whatever that thing is.” Ano orders the bridge. “Anything goes.”
The Tactical Officer begins as she looks through her telescopic lense. “Looks like some kind of Earth War Era civilian cruise ship. The pleasure craft kind, not the refugee boat.”
“Some kind of cruise ship then, I seriously doubt that.” Operations scoffs. “It’s probably one of those supertanker hulls they’ve brought up from the surface.”
“If it is they’ve made extensions on the hull.” Engineering adds, pointing to the shape. “That thing is at least a half kilometer long. I mean, once you’ve got a good foundation up, there’s enough hypercarbon and metal on the surface here to build anything.”
Tactical blinks. “Wait, they probably don’t even have to salvage the stuff from the ground. How many ships disappear in the zone per year? Ten, twenty?”
“It was seven last year I think.” The Navigation Officer remembers.
Engineering follows. “Yeah, I mean, why salvage when you can just add. I’m pretty sure all they’ve done is weld hull on hull, keep expanding like a city state or something.”
The operations officer shakes his head. “No… they do have salvaged Tech though. That’s Capital level weaponry on the top and port hull.”
Tactical adjusts her view, finding the massive turrets of armaments scattered in random fashion across salvaged metal. “Damn that’s gotta be like a 403 millimeter cannon up topside. And I can’t even count the number of mark 44s on that hull. Thank god we’re not in range.”
“Yesh.” Engineering frowns through binoculars. “Anti air armament is off the carts too. Seriously though, I can’t imagine trying to slave that many guns to a single gunnery system.”
“Who says you have to?” Operations shrugs. “Manual gunners all the way.”
“Can the Decimator match her?” Captain Ano asks.
The bridge looks at each other, settling on the Tactical Officer to deliver the news.
She chuckles. “I mean, maybe if you don’t care about getting out of here alive then yeah. Otherwise, an assault carrier with battleship support could take her down, maybe.”
A noise of breaking metal echoes across the lower decks, stubborn machinery tearing at itself as a vector is caught up in its own launching system.
The warning lightly bellows across the bridge, and Operations swears. “Sir, the vector launching system is jammed. A vector from the secondary team just got ripped apart.”
“How bad?”
Commander Dalsma answers the question, the words of flight crew confusion sounding across his ear piece. “Pilot’s fine, but the damage is bad enough. God damn prototypes, Colonel Perez is not going to be happy when we tell him what happened to his old vector.”
The Tactical Officer frowns. “Well we aren’t going to take that Covenant City down with a single battleship and four vectors.”
“We’re making a make a break for it then.” Captain Ano concludes. “Let fleet take care of this mess.”
“I’m getting a transmission.” Communications interrupts. “It’s a Consortium Identifier code.”
A look of confusion scrolls across his face, the wavelengths and numbers falling together on his flat screen. “It’s ancient, still using a repeating crypto frequency. But it is military.”
“How many military vessels have dissapeared in the zone?” Captain Ano asks.
“One from the Consortium sir. The Isacara I believe, last transmission they put out was of a creature following them.” The Navigational Officer answers. “That was one hundred and some years ago.”
“The ID code is for a Frigate: the Isacara.” Communications updates.
“I guess we know what happened to her…” The Ops Officer grimly says. “But what the hell are they doing broadcasting a hundred year old ID code?”
Ano shakes his head. “They’re telling us that even when we’re Military, we’re not safe here.”
Communications almost jumps from his chair. “I have voice incoming sir.”
“Patch it.”
The dark voice comes filtered through thick layers of masks and rebreathers. Uneven, broken words are separated by troubled breathing, as if trying to mouth language through charred lungs. “I am Cardinal Kar’ok… of the… Covenant of Medditerria. Your presence here… has already disturbed the Garden… in irreparable ways.”
Ano looks around the bridge, watching the stunned faces of his crew before answering. “This is Decimator Actual, our intentions are non-hostile. We seek passage to a place across the Medditerria Zone, any damages occurred is not purposeful.”
“We’re being scanned!!!” Operations yells.
A loud pulse shakes the hull, a sonaric vibration probing and analyzing the Decimator in a mass scale unconsented search.
“Think good thoughts.” Ano tries to calmly assure his crew.
The voice breathes heavily. “Your vessel holds… the god-technology… of the Cathedral. You carry the burden… of the unclean… of the heresy. Join us… and we will cure… you of this… disease.”
The crows nest spotter yells again. “Unknown frigate class vessel detected, thirty seven small craft confirmed at heading two eight one degrees.”
A flying wing the size of a Consortium Frigate breaks through the clouds along side the Covenant City. Engined by seven archaic push propellers, the upper deck was covered with weapons emplacements and armored hardpoints. The small craft escorting her was of the same vein: a overt reliance on brutish aerodynamics rather than graviton generation.
Everything seemed to be cobbled together for the Covenant, the mixture of ancient technology taken to the brink of usefulness in desperate reclamation.
Ano raises his tone in response to the implied threat. “Cardinal Kar’ok, please allow us safe passage through this airspace. If that is not possible, we will prepare to withdraw.”
There is only pained breathing on the other side of the channel. Decimator bridge staff remain still as they await the response. “There is no… passage away… from this place…”
The Captain looks to his steady bridge staff before responding. “If this is a request for us to withdraw, please clearly state so. We will comply.”
“You still… do not understand.” The Cardinal speaks, his menacing tone through dying breaths making Ano’s skin raise on end. “You have entered… into the Garden… If you will not join us… then you will be cleansed.
There is no… withdraw… from the Garden.”
The link is severed at the source, leaving Captain Ano to the distortions of the zone. He looks up with hollow eyes. “All hands, battlestations.”
Through static, the pilots hear the voice of Tactical Air Command. “This is Archangel, Gaea Team, you are cleared to engage Covenant forces at your discretion, repeat, clear to engage Covenant forces. Cover the Decimator.”
Four vectors bank towards the Covenant Force in the sickly green atmosphere, engines thundering at full throttle. “Acknowledged Archangel.”
The Covenant Frigate turns as well, her escorting craft following her in a loose formation.
Two sides move towards each other in open sky, two worlds crashing together at ruthless speeds.
Under the power of the Old World, the Consortium vectors scream towards the hostile force.
Practice wasn’t everything in the grand sky. There was only so much risk, only so much nerve in the playful, pretend war. The mastery of the vector was exclusive to true conflict. The place where lives were dealt like cards on a table, where mistakes were ruthlessly and lethally exploited was the fire that tempered the bonds of blood and salvaged steel.
“Alright people, you know what to do.” Perez calmly speaks through his flight helmet oxygen mask. “Don’t let any one of those bastards through.”
Three words from three souls are spoken, the acknowledgement of Command becoming a mere background to the thunders of approaching war.
Gaea Leader soars into the air, nose pulling up away from the incoming hostiles. Gaea Two and Gaea Three break port and starboard.
Gaea Four continues head on in a suicidal pass.
Within the undecorated cockpit the lock on alert screams, ancient missiles and computerized guns tracking the vector as it crashes into weapons range.
Cold, focused eyes are dead set with dedication towards the targets highlighting in red.
The Covenant fires first.
Missiles launch at the Consortium Target, and within the vector cockpit the screech of the incoming projectile alarm shatters the low warning pitch.
Werewolf throws his vector into a hovering inertia spin, the mass of machine tumbling uncontrolled as the confused infrared targeters cleanly miss their target.
The vector pilot within wrestles back the controls of his craft, and the pair of twin machine guns fall towards the mass of hostiles.
A dead voice rings in the ears of all. “Gaea Four, engaging.”
Superheated lead soars into the sky as the brush meets canvas, Covenant small craft tumble and break under precise Consortium firepower. The scream of the vector combines with the exterminating gunfire of sheer skill as simple targets are mangled into balls of flaming debris.
As the hostiles break, Werewolf brings the vector up towards a larger, slower target: a multi crewed attacker craft covered in bristled firepower.
Locked.
The nose mounted thirty millimeter rotary cannon roars in a pitched scream of electronic weapons fire. Shells crash into the Covenant Craft and the large winged attacker detonates in an ammo explosion.
“Hostile on me.” Case informs as their bukly shape tears through the air.
“Hang on!” Illya pushes her vector hard in a gut wrenching turn, a banshee form howling down to Case.
Plasma erupts from the invisible shape as she atomizes the Covenant craft, a precise pair of engineered beams cleanly severing the fighter as they pass over it.
“Got’em.” Illya updates as she backs away.
“I am attacking the frigate.” Case turns their vector towards the flying wing. “Cover me.”
“I have your back Case.” Sicario answers.
Two vectors scream towards the Covenant vessel from above, coming down in a vertical strafing maneuver across the giant construct.
Gaea Leader powers up his electronics as they dive, the invisible, unseeable spectrums of the air turning into unreadable garbage for the ancient automated anti-vector cannons.
Tracer rounds from manual gunners fire into the sky, untrained eyes trying to get a bead on the blurry frames of incomprehensibly fast war machines.
Sicario lets rockets fly, airburst warheads detonating meters away from exposed crew and machinery. The force of the explosion shatters bones, shrapnel tearing through flesh as the faster craft screams away from the carnage.
Case crash slows their thirty ton vector as they hover over the deck, the paired barrels of twin modified vector shotguns bearing down the confused and wounded crew.
Buckshot rips through flesh and guns, loose munitions detonate under the sparks of colliding metal. Case switches ammo types, buckshot shells switching to solid armor piercing slugs in the weapon autoloaders.
A desperate shell from the Covenant frigate makes contact with the vector. The shaped charge of metal and explosive built to penetrate reinforced ship hulls shrugged off by mammothian armor.
The shotguns thunder as Case turns their fire onto the Frigate’s fuel storage systems. The Covenant Vessel’s port wing bursts into flames as shells the size of human heads break into hyper flammable biofuel tanks, and the fuel hungry engines ignite.
A squadron of Covenant Craft, a mash of propellor and jet engines welded onto cockpits and wings, comes speeding to the aid of the wounded frigate in unpracticed formation.
Metal tears into their crafted forms as Werewolf comes in hard starboard. The scream of a pair of machine guns is punctuated by the growl of the rotary cannon as several craft shatter under fire. A fighter banks to meet Werewolf and is ruthlessly torn to shreds, the others breaking formation under the teeth of a monster.
Werewolf doesn’t give up chase as he slots in behind one of the fleeing craft, bullets gnashing the pilot within to nothing more than red paste.
The lead Covenant fighter takes the chance and scrambles behind Werewolf’s tail, desperate autocannon shells streaming towards the blur in the sky as they try to land a hit upon untouchable gods. Thrusters burn, the cry of engines die, and Gaea Four throws the vector in a reversal maneuver that rivaled art more than war. A thirty millimeter shell crashes through the cockpit glass of the Covenant fighter, the round ending a life like a painter finishing a masterpiece.
Werewolf thunders away as the Covenant Squadron separates, launching himself back towards the thick of conflict.
“Holy shit…” The tactical officer’s binoculars have to be physically removed by Operations to get a peek at the air battle.
On the Decimator’s topside deck the crew observe in fearful witness. With the anti-air guns loaded and manned, all the gunnery crews could do was watch as pure carnage unfolds thirty kilometers away.
Even Commander Dalsma, the long veteran of the vector corps, sits in stunned and awed silence.
Explosions of munitions and fuel, colored tracers from unknown sources, all patterned against the green sky between the Decimator and Covenant City like animated art, a painting in progress from four master artists.
Sicario’s voice echoes across the bridge. “Archangel, we are moving to destroy the frigate.”
Commander Dalsma has to physically tear his eyes away from the battle to reply. “Understood Gaea Lead.”
The Covenant Frigate was burning. All seven engines and topside deck were aflame, the only thing keeping the holed fuselage aflot an ancient gravity generator that was already failing.
“Someone sever the port wing.” Case requests as they adjust fire.
“On it.” Illya replies.
The cloaked vector turns towards the frigate for another attack run. Within, the pilot sets the dual high yeild plasma rifles to wide burst.
Air charges as energy travels through magnetic chambers, slugs are melted into post gaseous states of matter as she fires. Blue light crashes into the Covenant Frigate, meter wide plasma bursts disintegrate structural pylons and melt colossal armor like sharp knives through tender meat.
Superheated metal reaches the frigate’s heavy munitions storage facilities, and the vessel detonates like a string of firecrackers.
The Crew aboard the Decimator advert their eyes from the explosion, with the heavy, chest thumping shockwave reaching them seconds later.
“Fuck!” Someone yells over the bridge.
“Gaea Team, headcount.” Archangel orders.
“Sicario.” Gaea Lead grunts through a high G turn.
Sicario blasts away a stunned fighter in his targeting reticule, pulling away from the falling debris as he regroups with his vector team.
The cloak of Gaea Two shimmers for a moment as it readjusts from the blinding light of a large yield munitions explosion. “Illya.”
“Case.” The vector closest to the frigate was only aesthetically burned, the pristine, custom factory fresh paint job of the armored craft covered in the soot of base carbon.
The final member doesn’t respond promptly, however, the four flaming fighters falling into the earth below was tell tale enough. “Werewolf.”
Four Consortium vectors were in the fight, four gods at the ready.
“More small craft incoming!” The crow’s nest spotter reports. “Count, fifteen!”
“Captain.” Tactical turns her head, voice even. “This battle is turning into attrition warfare. The Decimator does not have enough resources to sustain combat against such a force.”
“What is your recommendation then?” Captain Ano asks.
“I do not think Gaea Team will like it.”
Ano blinks. “Tell me.”
Archangel’s voice calmly relays the orders to the deployed squadron. “Gaea Team, objective change. Priority is the disabling of jammers aboard the Covenant City Ship, further orders following.”
Gaea Leader speaks in a concerned voice. “Archangel, repeat, we are to take on the Covenant Primary Vessel alone.”
Instead of Commander Dalsma, Captain Ano breaks through the com channel. “This isDecimator Actual. Gaea Team, Covenant forces are able to continuously field small craft and major vessels. We have determined that eventually they will be able to severely damage theDecimator from sheer numbers. Disable the jammers and we’ll have a clear shot out of the zone.”
Gaea Leader nods, the explanation plenty for the duty sworn pilots. “What about the small craft?”
“We’ll take care of them.” Ano assures. “Earth speed Gaea Team, Decimator Actual out.”
Four vectors turn towards the flying mass of steel.
Two sides pass by each other, Covenant and Consortium, each towards similar objectives.
Aboard the Decimator topside gunners take final checks, bristled barrels of manual anti aircraft guns bunched together with automated rotary cannons point skyward towards the shapes of incoming aircraft.
Wing mounted anti-ship missiles fly towards the Decimator, dozens of them trailing the battle torn sky as they lock onto the massive metal signature of the warship.
The ship’s automated defense system activates, across the superstructure CWIS platforms open fire. Lead intercepts steel and the warheads are shot right out of the sky with machine accuracy.
Manual anti air cannons come to life a few seconds later, trained eyes turning against hostile craft.
Flak batteries light up and explosive shells shatter the broken sky. The well oiled gunnery crews of the Decimator move like machines, the loaders replacing spent magazines at the moment of their depletion, a barrage of continuous fire towards hostile craft.
Gunners point and shout. Words lost over the noise of gunfire as they coordinate against the onslaught.
Fighters and attackers swarm the Decimator, a few of their fragile frames splitting under the constant wall of flak as they try and find a weak point in the vessel’s unbreakable bulwark.
With the humans firing, the machine was silent. When the mind of flesh and synapses believes it has a good shot, the thoughts of silicone do not agree.
A heavy attacker loaded with explosives comes barreling towards the superstructure, a suicidal attack against the giant vessel’s impenetrable defenses. The automated anti air gun behind the gunners ignites at this threat, the rotary autocannon roaring as it tears apart the incoming Covenant Craft before its pilot could even establish a target.
In an era where supposedly the small craft outgunned the naval vessel, the Decimatorwas ripping and gnashing through outdated hardware like a starved dragon finding a unsuspecting village of fattened peasants.
Superior technology, firepower, and crew made the rift so laughably large for this battle that Captain Ano wondered if this entire engagement was a farce.
“Archangel.” Gaea Leader speaks. “Engaging Covenant City Ship.”
Gaea Team splits as weapons fire erupts from the mass of steel. A blend of handheld weapons to massive caliber capital weaponry are fired at bleeding fast vectors.
It was all an unorganized mess of lead. Sickly civilians barely able to pull triggers were pressed into wielding anti air weapons that needed entire crews to service, guns used to hunt small animals now hunting prey engineered for the most brutal of wars.
“Where the fuck are the jammers?!” Illya asks as she dodges around a rising capital ship cannon.
“I’m running a deep scan, tryna to find’em.” Sicario bites back.
In the experimental tactical link, the entirety of the City is exposed. Within the internals it seemed like a hundred different ships were brought together to create a singular, universal mass. Corroders were like mazes, cathedrals of strange construction littering the inside and surface in pure salvaged chaos.
“Jammers located.” Sicario reports, marking the locations of almost thirty four jamming units littering the hull of the mothership.
“It would be more efficient to destroy the secondary reactor cores.” Case supplies. “We would then disable both the vessel and jamming units.”
They pause. “I have marked them.”
Green dots ignite several areas of the hull.
Gaea Leader translates the change of plan to Tactical Air Control. “Archangel, we are moving to destroy the City Ship’s secondary reactors, how copy?”
“Copy.” Archangel replies, exchanging words between Captain Ano and him. “Decimator Actual has given the go, couldn’t have thought of a better plan.”
“Acknowledged.” Sicario banks the vector away. “Gaea Two, you’re the only one with enough penetrating power to get to the reactors I want… ”
“Count me fucking in.” Illya cuts into her superior’s plan, the concept already in fruition in her mind.
The invisible creature banks towards the vessel, plasma on thin burst discharging into the hull as she snapshots the beams on target. Metal turns to slag and flesh becomes carbon as an absolute plasma bolt reaches the secondary reactor. The piece of Old World Engineering detonates as unstable nuclear material interacts with energized particles, and part of the city ship’s hull blows out like an exploding carcass.
On the surface of the Covenant vessel, another frigate class flying wing starts up its engines.
“This is Gaea Four. Advised: frigate class vessel is attempting to take off from city ship topside.” Werewolf coldly reports.
A runway of smoothed metal was carved dangerously close to the habitation structures, lining its highly placed sides were parked fighters and several frigate class flying wings.
“Gaea Three get on it!” Gaea Leader orders.
“I am occupied.” Case promptly states as they dodge a barrage of fire aimed square at them.
On the tactical map, Archangel finds the closest vector. “Gaea Four, splash that frigate before it takes off.”
“Understood.” Werewolf answers, banking hard towards the City’s upper surface.
A shape shrieks down between the hab structures. Like a nightmare it enters head on with the taking off frigate, the vector nearly scraping the surface of the smoothed runway.
Covenant Air Crew, dressed in immaculate white robes and gas masks, dive out of the incoming craft’s way.
Three guns fire straight into the control center of the Covenant Vessel in a sustained barrage of white hot armor piercing rounds, shredding the crew within to liquid.
The vector pulls out of the suicidal pass right before impact, jet wash knocking air crew right off their feet.
Uncontrolled, the flying wing crashes into the sides of the lowered platform. Debris ejects at lethal speeds as giant propellers smash into metal and personnel, the vessel coming to a dying stop at the edge of the structure, broken flesh to shattered steel.
“Frigate is destroyed.” Gaea Four updates.
“Incoming Vessel westbound!!!” The Crow’s nest spotter yells.
The onslaught doesn’t seem to end, as the last of the Covenant Attacker aircraft peel away from the Decimator a dark shape rips through the clouds in hyper proximity. Covered in ceremonial structures, the vessel itself looked more towards a idol of worship than a machine of war. However, the triple large bore cannons mounted on a single turret laid out at the very front of the vessel did not betray its lethality.
“Identified unknown as probable cruiser class warship.” Tactical announces.
“A Covenant Warship?!” Ano yells.
The idea that the Covenant of Medditerria could actively field a fleet in secret had extensive repercussions in the Europia Sector. A rogue, unknown power that had exercised the ability to single handedly shut down an unexploited trade lane had influence enough to perhaps take down anything wandering into their airspace.
However, reliable passage through the zone, following the elimination of whatever power was already situated in the cloud line, could rapidly change the power dynamic between Consortium and Syndicate.
If it was even possible to eliminate the power within that is.
A voice sounds across the bridge, a deep throbbing tone spoken through a failing filtration mask. “I am Sajulk of the vessel U’ra, we are here to cleanse this place of… ”
Captain Ano cuts the Covenant Captain, pointing to Tactical. “Sink that ship now!”
The Decimator’s main battery adjusts fire for a knife fight, laser and radar rangefinders not even needed as the capital gunners take it by eye.
It was almost comical on fast the Decimator to Covenant Cruiser interaction was completed.
One broadside from the Decimator’s massive primary guns splits the Covenant Vessel in half, colossal high explosive shells ripping into the salvaged and layered hull. Crew within annihilated before synapses could register death, burning candles of life extinguished with high explosive retardant.
A single panicked return shot from the Cruiser harmlessly impacts the Battleship, the experimental armor of the vessel slapping away the shell like an annoying fly.
The Covenant Warship becomes nothing more than free falling debris
“Confirmed kill.” The Tactical Officer announces.
In the distance another explosion from the mothership hits the Decimator, Gaea Two’s work as a light attacker coming into play as another reactor is force detonated.
“Jammers’ going offline!!!” Communications reports. “I have a connection… barely!”
Data flows on the central airscreen as the blinds are taken off the Decimator. The zone’s remnant activity still blurring the systems, but it was enough clearance for brute power to push through.
“Long range comms, distress call priority ten!” Ano yells. “This is the Consortium ShipDecimator, we are under attack by rogue identified forces calling themselves the Covenant of Medditerria. Location is subsector 31G in sector 14B. One city state classification hostile has been engaged!”
As if on cue another reactor explodes, the Covenant City bellowing out a pillar of radioactive smoke.
“How copy?!”
A heavily distorted and filled with static voice arrives. “Decimator this is Third Fleet Command, call sign Overlord, what is your status?!”
Captain Ano sighs with relief. “Overlord this is Decimator Actual, we have sustained negligible damage and are engaged with the Covenant Fleet.”
Behind the voice others run and yell panicked orders. “Decimator Actual, do you need assistance?!”
“Confirm, we need reinforcements secondary priority. The designated City class vessel can not be destroyed at this time. Our current objective is safe withdraw from the zone, how copy?”
“Good copy, Decimator Actual.”
With Ledenoft almost a two day’s travel time away, Consortium reinforcements were hardly going to tip the balance of the already awfully scaled battle. However, Captain Ano seriously doubted the Decimator’s ability to safely take down a mothership of that caliber alone.
“I am getting a transmission from the Covenant vessel.” Communications turns, patching it through to the bridge.
The ragged, dying voice was mixed with screaming and alarms. “Stop…please… my flock is…dying… ”
“This is Decimator Actual to Cardinal Kar’ok, order your forces to ceasefire immediately or we will destroy you.” Ano yells into the line.
“Just… wanted… life.”
“Covenant forces, cease fire immediately.” Captain Ano pushes.
“Archangel, do we pursue attack?” Gaea Lead asks over a munitions explosion.
“Continue assault until otherwise noted.” Archangel replies.
“Acknowledged!”
Four vectors move across torn and ripped hull, demigods gracefully dodging bursts of defensive fire.
“Keep up the pressure people!” Gaea Leader orders his team.
Gaea Four rips between the sky, the nose mounted rotary cannon hosing down a capital ship turret as the vector howls by. Behind him the munitions cook off, a pillar of high pressure flames ejecting from the horizontally mounted gun.
Metal turns white hot from burning propellant, steel turning brittle under a sudden and involuntary reforging. The entire turret housing suddenly sheers off the hull as solid alloy turns to molten liquid and it falls through the clouds like a lit signal flare.
The entire Covenant Home was being demolished, centuries of desperate work and additions unwound by trained precision and inhuman slaughter.
“Stop…!” The voice on the Covenant communications channel yells. “Stop…”
Gaea Two and Gaea Three intersect paths as they bellow topside.
The salvaged City structure comes over a steel horizon as targeting survos lock. Plasma and buckshot carve across the rusted metal constructs, bodies and steel torn to shreds as two hovering vectors brutally tear into taneously built housing blocks.
Cold, unfeeling instinct replaces human empathy, the nerves of the vector overriding any base emotion of the pilot.
An entire tower of metal crumbles as the pair shreds through the foundation.
Gaea Leader turns past his two subordinates, gunning for the runway.
The frigate Gaea Four put down was in flames on the lowered metal, firefighting crews were swarming, trying putting out the blaze with thick polymer retardant.
Behind them, parked fighters explode as rockets from Gaea Lead savage the exposed flight deck.
Shrapnel flies and burning hot debris reaches biofuel lines. The entire deck mushrooms into a fireball, spreading flames across the dying city.
In less than fifteen minutes of combat, Gaea Team had utterly annihilated anything the Covenant could throw at it. Small craft and capital cities were nothing if just targets for the nerves of gods.
The channel opens. “Archangel, this is Gaea Lead. Ammo is low, repeat, ammo is low.”
For a vector designed to act as a electronic warfare caster and vector screen, it was amazing it was still in active combat. The munitions needed for fleet tackling were swelled in comparison to normal vector duties, and with the entirety of Gaea Team doing exactly that, Gaea Leader was in dire straits.
“Understood Gaea Lead, conserve munitions, orders incoming.”
The Covenant City suddenly crash accelerates, the cobbled engines on her aft blazing out a mountain of superheated air.
For the first time in their collective histories the salvaged engines all fire at full blast. Acceleration power overwhelms the broken generators and within the maze of salvaged steel; civilians and crew are broken on metal, bulkheads sheering in metallurgic screams. An engine breaks loose from its housing and rips across the internal hull.
The Decimator watches as the Covenant seizes and convulses in desperate escape, the self wrought damages magnitudes more than any Consortium action.
“Holy shit they’re gonna rip themselves apart.” Navigation says.
As the city burns, metal flies into the air. Nuts and bolts, sheets of alloy all coming off of the vessel as it thrashes in wounded confusion.
The vector was fragile in certain conditions. With billions of tiny pieces skyborne, the air intakes of their engines were starting to gunk up to critical levels.
“Archangel this is Gaea Team, we’re falling back. There’s too much loose debris in the air.”
Archangel nods. “Copy that Gaea Team, fall back to the thirty kilometer picket line. Repeat, fall back.”
Four vectors break away from the mortally wounded city, four shapes rocketing into the sickly green sky.
Behind the engineered frames, the fires of war burn. The dark rusted metolids of the Covenant home brilliantly reflecting the ever spreading fires across the burning decks.
It was a peaceful moment, the battlefield growing silent as guns slowly ebb away. Engine wash from vector engines distort the air as they come into matching formation, a cone of blurring heat severing the Decimator’s visual range.
“Covenant City ship is disengaging.” Tactical reports.
The clouds of the zone form again, the blackish, blazing shape of ignorant arrogance and religious dogma disappearing back into the distorted wastes of the Old World.
“Track her for as long as possible.” Captain Ano orders. “Keep sending her location to fleet.”
“Yes sir.” Communications gives a relieved report.
They watch as the last vestiges of the Covenant fall away into the distant sky.
Captain Ano brings the microphone to his voice. “This is Decimator Actual of the Consortium Warship Decimator. To all Covenant of Medditerria forces: The Consortium has no conflict with you, but we will defend ourselves with necessary force. I am enacting a seventy kilometer no fly zone surrounding the Decimator. All vessels entering this area will be destroyed without further warning.
This message will repeat every thirty seconds.”
Captain Ano sinks into the chair as he finishes the announcement, his spiking heart rate refusing to lower down to a more manageable level. “Keep up the combat alert, I don’t want to get ambushed again.”
“Aye.” The bridge replies.
“Priority repair is the vector launch systems.” The Captain continues, intent focused towards Tactical Air control. “I want the secondary vector teams sortied out as soon as possible.”
“Copy that sir.” Commander Dalsma nods.
The Bridge goes to work, the bustling of post combat stress a limiter to what was a efficient war machine.
Captain Ano crashes, his mind freeing itself from the responsibilities of captaining three hundred lives. The real Nathaniel Ano, the personable, humored creature peaks its head out like an animal after weathering a brutal typhoon. “God this is going to require so much paperwork to explain. Fleet Command’s gonna be crawling through my lungs.”
The bridge staff takes the humor in stride, a few even light heartedly laughing.
Even the vector pilots, listening on mindless consideration, chuckle.
Perez turns his head to his own crew, the reborn gods of the sky in tight, military formation “Gaea Leader to Gaea Team, we all green?”
“Yep yep!” Mei answers.
“I will require more paint for green.” Case’s dry humor gets a loud, unstoppable laugh from Mei. “But all my systems check out.”
For a while, there is no response from Gaea Four. Perez reaches out first. “Markov you good?”
“Yes.” He coldly answers.
They fly in silent consideration.
“First engagement!!!” Mei suddenly yells in excitement. “WHAT WHAT?!”
“We did pretty good.” Perez replies. “Not bad for a bunch of new vectors.”
“Are you kidding me sir?!” Mei patches into Archangel. “Hey Archangel, I OWN this vector now right???!!!
“Copy that Gaea Two, she’s yours.”
“Fuck yeah!” Mei fist bumps the cockpit.
Perez laughingly shakes his head. “Archangel, tell matience to get some paint and heat up some beer for us when we get back.”
“Already am Colonel.” Commander Dalsma leans backs on his chair. “Already am.”
Four vectors soar in the sky, battle damage scarring the metal like prizes earned in brutal competition. Metal and flesh tempered, brought out from the coolant of war as unbreakable bonds.
Gaea: the name of Earth now shakes the distant sky in fear and awe.
A voice reaches out to them, commanding and light hearted. “Gaea Team, this is Decimator Actual. How Copy?”
“This is Gaea Leader, good copy.” Colonel Perez answers.
The Captain sighs. “Good work out there Gaea Team, we owe you one.”
Gaea Leader laughs at the complement, his voice echoing across the bridge as a general announcement. “Acknowledged sir, but… it’s just another slow Friday morning for us.”
The bridge laughs, a mixture of tightened nerves and uncontainable stress spilling out through the mouths of tired warriors.
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