Thrust Vector - Log 10: War for the Zone
The automated anti vector cannon roars as it tears into the lost Syndicate Fleet Tacker, the lone pilot trying to get an angle on the Decimator, punished indiscriminately by the cold machine.
Hades Three thunders past the debris of the destroyed craft across the span of the Decimator as she pushes the engines beyond their design. The hostile vector behind her sticks despite raw speed, the sharp scittaco of carbine projectiles barely missing the armored shape as the pair are locked in a lethal dance.
Reload.
The Syndicate Pilot swears, the final munitions of the pair of loaded magazines dispensed. Hades Three takes a desperate gamble as the guns fall silent, throwing her vector in a hard turn and gunning the engines.
The Pilot crosses her attempted head on pass with a gut wrenching descent, the balance of power shifting away from the Syndicate Vector as weapons are reloaded.
Spent magazines fall from the craft as fresh ones are slammed into the weapon from the autoloader. Hades Three spins around as she turns the jetting vector into hover mode, the trade for maneuverability; the precious gains from velocity.
The carbines reload just as the Consortium Vector hits its terminal point. Both pilots pulling triggers at the exact point in time.
Bullets and rockets fly. Two worlds of ordinance pass each other in frenzied nothingness, the scales of skill brought to the point brink of marginality.
Rounds bounce off the Syndicate Vector’s angled armor, and detonating rockets sever the Consortium Craft’s engine mounts.
Hades Three tumbles out of the sky, the vector ripping itself to shreds underneath the power of a single unmatched engine.
“Hades Three is down.” Wolfram reports.
The entire battlefield was changing, shifting towards threats that were beyond those expected. Naval units form together, a defense against two sides of the conflict.
The Mako takes a plasma lance through her belly, the Syndicate Vector screaming away from the hit and run attack as gunners try and land a shot.
“Shit, they’re prosecuting this hard!” Captain Kuskov yells through the Command Channel. “We need Fleet tacklers on Syndicate, draw some of their vectors off of ours!”
“Tackler assets are keeping the Covenant at bay.” Captain Lin of the heavy cruiser Litany calmly points out. “If we deploy them to the Syndicate then we will have to face two hostile forces at once.”
Captain Ano shakes his head. “We should let the Covenant escape then, redeploy vectors to force them out of the A.O. via route grid 14B. We can have Vector assets on the Syndicate as well as avoiding a two sided battle.”
“But we’ll lose the Covenant.” Lieutenant Commander Iscariot interrupts. “There’s a large probability we won’t have an opportunity like this again.”
“There’s also two Syndicate carriers and a battlecruiser here as well.” Another officer points out. “If we can even destroy half the fleet they’re feilding we can regain superiority in Europia in a single strike. I say we ignore the Covenant, finish off the Syndicate.”
The Captains all pause, weighing the consequences of such actions through.
Without the head of the dragon, the body had to make high level decisions. All commanding Officers of the Capital Fleet were interlinked on one single call, the inefficient hive mind of experience and attention gathered together, voices in the static and distortion of the Zone.
On the com-line, the Heavy Cruiser Lance of Fire is overwhelmed, its outer line of defensive fire breaking as Syndicate Fleet tacklers swarm the vessel. The Commanding Officer’s panicked voice is cut from the feed as the entire warship succumbs to hostile fire.
“Redirect vector assets then.” Sub-Admiral Groningen orders. “Ease the pressure while the 87th out flanks the Syndicate Battlegroup. We can… ”
“No.” Captain Sitz interrupts the Sub-Admiral. “We can’t risk tactics, not now with our advantage. If we stand and fight we’ll have to overwhelm them. Combine our two task forces and break them down.”
“Sitz is correct.” Captain Ano supports, much to Akula Actual’s relief. “If we are to go head to head with the Syndicate right now we’ll have to crush them, hard and fast. Decimator and Akula can spearhead the charge. We both have the armor and speed to lead it.”
“Destroyers should follow close behind then. Provide fire support.” Commander Lauren adds. “Frigates protect the carriers within the formation while cruisers cover the rear.”
The voice turns. “Captain Ano, how fast can the Decimator pull?”
Captain Ano pauses, trying to figure out a way not to spill classified information. “She’ll give the destroyers a run around, that’s for sure.”
“Alright.” The Admiral’s line is cut for a second as the Kronos is hit with a high explosive missile, the background noise of a rocking warship returning as she continues. “All units rendezvous at grid 18R, follow the Decimator and Akula respectively. Decimator and Akula Actual, spearhead a charge into the Syndicate line at a perpendicular angle at Tac-grid 34C, divide and conquer once we halve them. All units will follow your approach.”
Atop the holographic display, the Admiral’s plan is put into paper. Fastly drawn crude lines over the three dimensional war map updated real time through the tactical link were the gospel truth of the beheaded force, every captain of every vessel watching closely.
“All units copy tac link?” The sub-Admiral asks as she finishes.
Across the board, all surviving Consortium Vessel acknowledge.
After a pause, the Admiral nods. “Execute.”
Captain Ano drops the call, standing from his command chair as he marches up towards the back of the bridge. “Navigation, I want three quarters acceleration towards rendezvous point alpha, then maximum for the fleet breaking maneuver.”
The young officer nods. “Understood sir!”
“Tactical, pin the Syndicate down with fire, I want them as loose as possible for when we execute the charge.”
“Got it!” She gives a thumbs up as the Commanding Officer rushes past her.
“Operations, engineering, priority repairs are for acceleration and that alone. Keep the Decimator moving at all costs.”
The pair give a salute.
“Relay announcement to vessel: All hands prepare for sudden acceleration and incoming fire.” Ano orders the Coms Officer.
As her voice plays through the vessel, Captain Ano grabs the seat of Commander Dalsma. “Dalsma. I… ”
“You want Vector cover?” The Tactical Air controller smiles as he continues processing the battlespace. “I can get you Lightening and Ares Squadrons right now. Maybe Cirus Team In five minutes.”
“Do it.” Ano nods. “And…”
“Redeploy vectors for the charge, already done.” Dalsma can’t spare the mind as he keeps focused. “Anything else?”
“Keep up the good work.” Ano tries to assure.
Dalsma cuts a thin smile as a Syndicate Vector is sawed down by fire. “Understood.”
Cut off from fleet control, each Tactical Controller was thrust into the unfamiliar world of high level command and control. Although trained, the letters and lectures for the subject only scratched the surface of an abyssal universe.
Centurion had Fleet, Archangel naturally took care of upper level vector control, and Wolfram everywhere in between.
As Captain Ano falls back to the forward bridge, Dalsma depresses the transmit key. “Wolfram this is Archangel. I have vector teams inbound to tactical grid 13.”
“Copied Archangel.” Wolfram replies.
“All hands brace for acceleration.” Captain Ano announces as he straps himself into the chair. “At your ready Lieutenant.”
“Alright… hang on.” The navigation officer grips the control stick as she pushes the throttle toward. On her heads up display, the entire vector of the Warship extends as tuned steel lurches forward.
Four massive engines burn, their respective cold fusion reactors roaring in response to increased demand. Jetwash rips across the sky as even the trailing cruiser at the other end of the Task Force feels the blazing heat of a contained star ejected for velocity.
The metal hull screams past shocked crews as a battleship blasts through the Consortium line at impossibly fast speeds. Within the vessel, steel construction roars as they’re pushed to the very limits of design, powering through the air through brute strength.
The gravity generator switches priority, the comfort of its masters replaced with the sole objective of keeping itself together. Gravities of acceleration hits the crew as the ground beneath them shifts to their back, the air itself piling to the rear of the vessel in tight breathes.
“Three quarters acceleration reached!” Navigation reports as she lets off the throttle.
Behind the Decimator, Ares Squadron splits combat space as they give chase towards their defensive target.
“Ares Team, be advised. Hostile vectors inbound.” Wolfram’s machine reports.
Nine craft fitted for anti-vector combat roar overhead as they visually acquire the incoming fleet tacklers. The chest thumping noise calibrated as the jetwash fumes across the topside crew.
Behind the bricked shapes of armor and flesh, a burning Consortium Cruiser falls. The background of metal warping fire and billowing smoke was against the superheated air thrown behind the formation of sharks, the well trained formation of red and black shapes starving for more blood as they move towards a fresh target.
“I have them” Ares Seven’s targeting unit identifies them in Syndicate red. “They’re coming right for the Decimator.”
“Don’t let them through.” Their leader speaks in her calm voice. “We’ll team on each one. Aston, Illian, you take their lead. Rest of us split in pairs.”
“Aye.” Ares Three and Nine acknowledge.
Syndicate engines scream as thrust nozzles tighten, the seven fleet tackling vectors of Havoc Squadron approaching the terminal point of combat.
“Havoc Team, Dauntless Squadron is inbound.” The Syndicate Tactical Air Controller reports. “Hold out until their arrival.”
Two sides break. For a single second, the air itself shifts as walls of the aether crash together.
Ares Four ejects countermeasures as missiles fly from the Syndicate Vector in front of her, the head on pass almost lethal to the perpetrator as her thundering response of twenty five millimeter lead severs the craft’s aerodynamic wing.
The skirmish meets, two factions left in an uneven duel between warfare groups.
“Target hotel is damaged.” Ares Four reports.
“I have him.” Ares Seven announces.
A single machine gun chatters as Ares Seven dives the vector to the rear of the Fleet Tackler. Sparks illuminate the Syndicate vector as the small rounds are bounced off of armor, the Pilot within throwing his craft across the sky to shake the hostile off him.
In a single swipe, the vector dives hard to starboard. Ares Seven depresses the trigger of his primary weapon as center mass is exposed, a rocket spiraling out of its launch tube at ludicrous acceleration.
Havoc Two is shattered underneath explosive power, armor broken as the superheated warhead detonates half the craft into oblivion.
Through the debris of his comrade, another Vector screams to combat. Twin auto cannons roar as they rip and tear into the Consortium hostile. Vengeance is extracted, painfully and slowly as the pilot within is shredded into base gore.
“Enemy down.” Havoc Five brutally announces.
The skirmish is interrupted by the crushing power of a battleship. The Decimator screams past the macro universe of carnage and salvaged steel as its engines blast apart air itself.
Havoc reforms by instinct, gunning after the massive warship underneath the incoming fire of the anti vector bulwark.
Gunners strapped to their chairs open up as shell casings fall not to Earth, but towards the vessels aft. Crew hanging on for life grip harder as the vessel comes under attack again, the shifting mass of metal and flesh the sudden battlefield for warrior gods.
“Hostile vector team is on us.” Tactical reports. “Friendly vector assets are engaging.”
In microseconds the automated vector cannons come to life, identifying friendly from foe. Numbers are crushed and calculated faster than any natural construct, boards of silicone the superior to body and brain.
At this close range the secondary firing systems activate, mortars attached to the rotary cannons send flechettes in a shotgun spread towards Syndicate targets in thunderous explosions.
One hostile Vector is caught in the blast as it screams past the deck, the tiny steel arrows bouncing off armor plating harmlessly but ravaging the relatively open air intakes. The high pitched roar of the fission engine screams as if a knife was being plunged into its chest, its critical components utterly failing as emergency coolant is ejected behind the craft.
“Havoc Three, your vector is terminally damaged.” The Syndicate Tactical Controller reports. “Recommend retirement.”
“Negative we can still take her down.” Havoc Three insists.
The fatal mistake of hesitation is the first and last step in the fall of the Vector Pilot. Lightning Four’s group of six swarm missiles tear apart the fleet tacker as they arrive, the already dying craft broken as its loose engine fairings fall towards Earth.
Lightning Leader reports. “Archangel be advised, hostile vector force is falling back.”
“Copy that.” Archangel, continues to look at his screen. “Ares Team, redeploy. The Akula needs more vector cover.”
“Understood.” Ares Leader replies.
As the vector team screams towards the under fire Battlecruiser in the distance, the Decimator’s primary armament opens up towards the approaching Syndicate Line. The massive broadside of the Consortium vessel utterly outranges any sort of deployed firepower available to the Syndicate, a fact painfully obvious as the distant line of craft starts to execute evasive maneuvers.
Shells are fired, with every single attempted attack the lines separate as every vessel forces a miss.
“Keep’m softened up.” Captain Ano watches the tactical display. “Load a smart round or two at random. Get them guessing.”
“Aye.” The Tactical Officer nods.
The specialty round is loaded in, and amidst its dumb comrades, fired into the sky.
This time, the target for the machine is much more difficult. The Syndicate Destroyer comes into view as the shell reaches its apex, the target software crunching as the vessel accelerates away from the predicted path.
The Captain of the Don Vosk sees the approaching shell adjust, its trajectory impossibly accurate as the trail it leaves behind somehow bending towards his accelerating vessel.
It singular fact hits him mentally first, closely followed by the round.
Without a second paired shell, the single round defaults and plows through the destroyer unspun. High explosive detonates within the solid engineering of the Syndicate warship, casualties instantly pulverized as the entire ship is gutted from starboard to port.
“Good hit!” The gunner announces.
Somehow the gravity generator of the Don Vosk still is operational despite the horrendous damage from a the Decimator’s main gun. And the Syndicate warship attempts to limp back into the crowd of friendlies, its engines barely pushing out thrust in short pulses.
“Target in range.” Hades Leader announces. “Engage.”
Consortium Fleet Tacklers fire as sharks enter a feeding frenzy. Wounded prey is consumed whole, the Syndicate Destroyer utterly blasted apart as sheer firepower takes it down.
Red vectors scream over the heads of Syndicate crew, the squadron of Consortium Fleet Tacklers too much of a threat to be left alone behind the lines.
“Hostile vectors spotted.” Dauntless Nine announces.
Dauntless Leader cracks his neck as he prepares for combat. “Take them down.”
Syndicate Tactical Air Control suddenly interrupts. “Dauntless Team, more hostile vector assets inbound. They’re coming for you.”
In a split second the anti vector squadron breaks formation as streaks of plasma crash past them. Reinforcements from the Covenant Front redeploying as the Consortium strategy of overwhelming firepower is played out to its fullest potential.
“Vulkan Team, cover Hades on their approach.” Archangel orders.
Eight vectors acknowledge, their dance between hostile warships only broken by heavy flak.
Blue Arrows move through the formation of red, their trail of ruin marked by the burning of vessels.
“Vulkan Squadron, hostile vector force is regrouping at tactical grid 193.”
“We have them.” Vulkan Lead grips the control stick. “Don’t stop Hades.”
Vulkan separates, gunning their engines past the friendly Consortium Fleet Tacklers. Vectors from both sides clash, the thundering roar of Consortium fusion engines matches with the pitched scream of thin Syndicate thrust nozzles in an explosion of carnage.
Flak gunners cease as warrior gods sever skies, the incredible display of eldritch symbiosis utterly engrossing for those in witness.
Autocannon fire breaks with loose rockets as plasma lances fire into the met battle, Dauntless and Vulkan engaged in nothing less than mindless war.
“Vulkan Two, incoming.” Tactical Controller Wolfram’s machine voice warns.
The Consortium Vector swings around in a single burn of its maneuvering thrusters, the shape of the Syndicate aggressor sneaking up on him instantly vaporized by the wide burst plasma bolt.
With Vulkan Two’s position compromised, the team’s sniper thrusts its engines eastward.
Not even a hundred meters in his escape, a homing missile from within the battle lashes out at the thundering vector.
Alloy armor eats the proximity blast, the entire craft blown off course as it attempts a precision maneuver around a Syndicate cruiser.
A second following missile smashing directly into the vector’s port engine mount. Five kilos of explosive payload is concentrated against armor, a jet of molten metal piercing through layers of electronics and engineering before detonating.
Vulkan Two crashes into the superstructure of the Syndicate Light Cruiser Yokohama, the shape of the dying god coming to fall as it breaks through metal and crushes flesh. The vector comes to rest at the base of the tower, engine plasma from the exposed fission reactor ejecting from the wounded craft.
The molten air of the overloading energy source chars flesh on contact, the dying god’s corpse putting one final lash of carnage and rage in its death throes.
Deck crew grasp and trip towards any sort of cover as waves of superheated medium pushes every feasible construct of matter to its flash point. Uniforms are set ablaze and flesh melts off bone as the wounded vector engine still attempts to thrust its long dead master away at full power.
The dual heavy plasma rifles mounted on the hull misfire as electricity arcs across now melting boards of silicone, heat deformed weapons force detonating in a overload that takes the entire top deck of the Yokohama in an explosion of blue plasma.
Hades Team roars past the massive fireball of their comrade, the capital fleet of the Syndicate Battlegroup within reach.
Flak fire becomes impossibly thick, the sky itself turning into black heaps of shrapnel and lead as the warrior gods aim straight towards doom. The two carriers and single battlecruiser of the Syndicate heart spot the incoming vector team, personnel scrambling towards gunnery positions as their final bastion is exposed.
“Hades Team is engaging hostile capital fleet.” Wolfram’s machine reports.
Automated anti-vector cannons fire into the sky and instantly the attacking vectors dump countermeasures.
Flares and chaff combine as burning angels arrive in demonic fire, the thunderous roar of god engines shattering the psyche of every human being in presence. Gunners cease to speak, the will of the mind nothing more than a crushed leaf as the monster within all roars out to consciousness. The beast of man wildly fires into the sky as desperate hands try to extend the worthless life, the god uncaring towards those they wrought.
From beneath Hades Five a massive thermobaric bomb drops towards one of the Carriers. Free of its massive payload, the fleet tackling vector screams away.
Crew on the top deck of the Marston watch the bright blue weapon falls towards them, their thoughts cut short as air itself explodes. The very soul of humanity is ruthlessly torn out as gore splatters forth from bodies. The pressure wave from detonated ordnance smashes through all, the entire deck cleansed of crew like the extermination of lower life.
The Syndicate Carrier is utterly disabled, an entire wall of firepower extinguished as Consortium Vectors continue to prosecute their attack on the remaining two threats.
“All units be advised: Covenant is falling back.” Centurion reports.
“Deployed vector teams against Syndicate units advised, friendly vector assets inbound.” Archangel adds.
Commander Dalsma watches as more arrows move towards the Central Fleet, the singular Squadron about to be reinforced two to one. “Hades be advised, Loki Team is inbound.”
Consortium Vectors pile on. From beyond the now retreating Covenant Front, more and more vectors charge towards the Syndicate Line.
Defenders and aggressors combine in airspace, warrior gods becoming complete within the thick of combat.
“Decimator, hostile carrier target Romeo is damaged. Fire support recommended.” Centurion speaks.
“Copy that Centurion.” The Tactical Officer replies.
“Two smart rounds bridged with armor piercing on Romeo.” Captain Ano orders. “Finish her off.”
Shells fire towards the Capital fleet, and within the thick of battle vectors scream and thunder unaware of the incoming apocalypse.
Broken morale is shattered as an entire Syndicate Carrier is wiped off the face of the world. The hull broken as not even escape craft are able to fly from the exploding warship, the overconfidence and desperation of distant Commanders punished without hesitation through atrocious destruction.
“Splash one hostile carrier.” Tactical reports with a smile.
The Operations Officer next to her share a moment as they silently bump fists.
“Confirmed kill.” Centurion reports.
Within the Consortium Lines, emotions swell as the words are spoken. The Decimator’s in action combat utterly matching its reputation from hours of consumed propaganda.
The warship designed for endless destruction easily crushing the Syndicate underneath its metal hull. The first carrier kill by a Capital Ship in almost fifty years of war taken, the title well earned by the mighty crew of the grandest battleship in history.
“So do we even need to charge the Syndicate at this point?” Tactical jokes.
“We’ll have to see if there is a Fleet to charge.” Navigation adds. “Vectors Crops got ten minutes to beat us to the punch.”
“Finish it in five.” Dalsma comments from the back of the bridge. “Easy.”
The golden horizon of victory approaches. Across the curvature of a distant earth the universe bows to superior force. Already grasped within the hands, the bridge eases in battle. The intensity of war loosening to destitute cleanup.
It arrives.
Operations interrupts the bridge’s celebrations as distant radar contacts are picked up. “Unknown contacts entering airspace!”
The reminder of war grips the two merging task forces as holographic displays update with the incoming signatures.
Through the corrupted air of the zone, black slick shapes slice through air. Behind them, powerful jet wash cuts through the ancient ionization and radiation of a war fought long before, a direct path from a distant point of origin.
Tactical looks up. “Unknown contacts, eastward vector incoming. Mach Five.”
“Mach Five?” Operations blinks.
Centurion hits the comms. “All units, we have cruise missiles inbound. Threat Level Seven.”
Silence in the aether.
Cut out from the universe within sealed atmospheric pods, the noise of burning air was the only comfort to those raging towards war.
Upon trained and honed eyes, the dark dance of flight data shows the vectors of flight. A runway like wireframe towards the approaching battlefield.
“No…” Captain Ano and Captain Sitz say at the same time. “Those aren’t…”
Dark lighting turns red on approach, the terminal vector reached as sleds slowly deploy flaps. The noise of air turns from screaming to shattering as machines crash slow their occupants.
“Sir?” Tactical blinks.
In the eyes of trained soldiers there was something, a quivering pillar of some unknown emotion from the darkness of the very fiber of being.
Expressions covered with dark inactive flight helmets, environments pitched in red lighting. Minds and nerves cold in execution.
The lights flood green, and in an instant; action.
Hypersonic sleds crash open with explosive force, the sickly green sky spilling into cockpits as flight helmets come to life.
The Pillar within their eyes.
It was fear.
“Oh my god…”
Four vectors glide in open sky, red matted black shapes soaring over a distant earth. The movement of air across engineered surface utterly silent, the knife’s edge tearing through the paper thin forms of medium.
The distant voice sounds in cockpits. “Sky Team, deployment complete. Cleared to engage.”
She stops as her voice drops, the breathes through oxygen masks pulsing like the slim movements of life support. “Sky Lead… understood.”
In silent skies, god vectors scream towards war.
Comments
Post a Comment