Thrust Vector - Log 11: Thrust Vectors
Commander Dalsma depresses the transmit key, the fear in the voice beyond humanity broadcast to all. “All units be advised Sky Team is in airspace, repeat Sky Team is in airspace!”
Radio waves ignite as word spreads with explosive force, both sides blasting at full power with the arrival of gods.
“Seems like we’ve made an impression.” Sky Two murmurs within his mask. “Not bad.”
Sky Leader begins, her voice breaking the chaos of airwaves. “Team, priority targets are the Consortium Capitals. We take them down, our fleet can mop up this mess.”
Three god pilots acknowledge.
“The Decimator is in airspace. Should we attempt to engage?” Sky Three adds.
Sky Two chuckles. “If we splash her, we can change the course of this battle… and this war.”
“Decimator is a priority target.” Sky Leader concludes. “We take her down after the carrier to the south.”
The orders are digested.
“Sky Four.”
The man within the machine raises his eyes towards the battlefield as he hears his call.
“Keep the vectors off us.”
He smiles, a grin stretching from ear to ear. In his voice the cold, unfeeling monster of the battlefield. “Understood.”
“I don’t want any more of our people killed today.” Sky Leader orders. “This ends now.”
Without objection, four pilots nod.
“Execute.”
Four shapes scream towards the battlefield at full acceleration, reality itself bending towards the craft as the sky itself is shattered.
Pilots and Sailors from all factions stare, the frames of true gods plastered in front of a massive blast of distorting jet wash.
Across the deck of the farthest Syndicate vessel: salvation howls overhead. Saviors of blood and salvaged metal cease as they enter battle, the pilot becoming nothing less than a creature.
“Hades, they’re…!” Archangel tries to speak as four red arrows approach at impossible speeds.
“FUCK FUCK!” Hades Leader Colonel Kaptn screams as Sky Three blasts over him, the ordinance of twin carbine rifles tearing the pilot and vector apart in cold death.
Sky Four locks onto one of the attacking vectors, the targeting survos lighting green, Hades Two panics, ripping the vector as her cockpit fills with alarms. “HE’S AFTER ME!”
Rounds blast into the vector, the entire craft detonating in a fireball as the Syndicate Vector finds the munitions load of its target.
Archangel can do nothing but watch as an entire vector team is wiped off the face of existence, four god pilots crushing lesser beings underneath an astral boot.
Panic rages across the Consortium as black blurs take down all. The culmination of fear made reality as Sky Team cleanses the Syndicate Line of all attackers.
The cold nerves of tactical controllers run hot as the beast within overrides all. Across the tactical screen, they all watch as four vectors brutally execute supposed gods without second thought.
“He’s on me!” Loki Three dives the vector as Sky Leader sticks to him. “Shit SHIT!”
Swarm missiles fly towards the thundering fleet tackler, a predictable pattern dodged by the Consortium Craft. For a second, the window opens just a crack and the Consortium Pilot takes it.
The massive armored vector tears across sky as engines cease, the craft turning against its vector as aerodynamics crash against air. In front of him, the red shape of a god passes over, guns trained right on him.
Trap sprung, Sky Leader tears into the soft cockpit of the plated creature, the roar of the autocannon sounding as the outclassed pilot is turned into gore.
“All vectors fall back fall back!” Archangel orders through clenched teeth.
Warriors break off attacks, the call sounding as loud as an air raid alarm for a state under attack. Consortium Vectors turn back towards their fleets as those left behind in combat are sacrificed for their escape, cold calculation for the setting sun of victory.
“Hostile Vectors are falling back!” The Syndicate Tactical Controller tries to remain calm. “Repeat, they’re falling back!”
Sky Team howls across the deck of the Battlecruiser Zeream, the battle scarred crew cheering and waving at the afterimage of their saviors.
“This ain’t over yet.” Sky Two chuckles as the team reforms.
In the airspace between war, black shapes move.
Four towards the Consortium.
Towards annihilation.
The Syndicate Tactical Controller speaks, his tone barely contained. “Sky Team, hostile Fleet has concentrated anti-vector Forces along a lateral strip. Recommend course adjustment.”
“Negative Big Eye.” Sky Leader replies. “We take them head on.”
Four gods separate from the pack of vectors, the technology within their grasps beyond that of lesser creatures.
Flak ignites, gunners spotting the incoming threats as the sickly green sky betrays the adjusted camoflauge of craft.
Tracers cross into the black as vectors crash into Consortium lines, the ear shattering scream cracking stalwart minds, the first steps of psychological warfare penetrating deep within the souls of those against them.
Four shapes scream towards their target, the Consortium Escort Frigate Melfort nothing more than a simple obstacle against them.
“They’re just targets like any other!” The Forward Gunnery Officer quivers as she yells. “Take them down!”
Gunners open up against gods, eyes filled with muzzle flashes as their final moments are spent towards unfeeling rage.
Atop the forward superstructure, the massive anti vector cannons open fire. Streams of lead fly as software tries to track ridiculously fast machines, computers over estimating vector paths as mechanical parts can’t keep up with sheer speed.
Shrapnel breaks hard as they launch depleted alloy slugs into the hull of the Melfort, the recoil from firing multiple heavy mass rounds enough to stop the vector cold.
Penetrators trivialize thick armor plating and across decks, metal spalls into fragments that pulverize crew.
On the bridge of the frigate a slug crashes through, the thing vaporizing half the senior staff into a fine mist as the mass round ejects from the other side of the impact site with ludicrous velocity.
The voice of Centurion plays across a dead bridge, the gore covered survivors hearing her gritted voice over the muffle of blood soaked speakers. “Melfort, hostile is on you.”
The Witch throws himself across the top deck as the vector pulls to hover across the vessel, plasma rifles charging to maximum force in a deathly blue hue.
Wide burst plasma bolts crash the sky, personnel scrambling towards cover as armor is vaporized through by superheated matter.
Fires rage across the frigate as everything burns by blue flame, the destruction unrivaled as the vector screams back towards its distant objective.
The respite is short lived.
“All units, focus on the hostile Escort Craft.” Syndicate Tactical Air orders. “Cut an escape route for Sky Team.”
Across the board, the red vectors increase acceleration.
“Shit they’re going for the Escort Frigates!” Centurion yells.
Fleet Tacklers open fire as they close in, the wounded Melfort the first to be targeted by hostile forces.
The vessel is cracked into pieces as its damaged gravity generator overloads under immense fire, the construction sundering underneath the massive pull of a million wild forces from destroying hardware.
Dozens of Syndicate vectors rush into the opening, Consortium Lines suddenly becoming a battlefield as warrior gods clash for superiority in close quarters.
A vector from Lightning Team takes aim at a Syndicate Fleet Tackler gunning after the cruiser Revenant, the after image of the armored craft barely targetable by the automated systems.
“Hostile entering terminal towards Revenant.” Wolfram informs.
“I have him.” Lightening Seven grits as carbine barrels come to life, the sharp thunder of the weapons tearing across air muffled through thick cockpit armor.
The Fleet Tackler guns its engine and breaks off its run as it comes under attack.
“Hostile on me.” The Syndicate Pilot reports as a lucky hit is bounced off the armor. “Need cover.”
Gunners spot the pair of vectors as the dogfight weaves through their angles of attack, anti-air weapons silent as the blurry frames move so fast even the primary gunners’ helmet displays fail to process friend from foe.
Lightening Seven continues to prosecute, the world tunneling down to the tail end of the hostile vector.
The targeting modules within the cockpit light green for a split second, the target had.
Underneath the spread of massive shotgun pellets the Consortium Vector detonates.
Dauntless Four roars over the debris of the attacker vector, the friendly fleet tackler reorienting to make another run on the cruiser.
“Sky Team is on the Kronos.” Wolfram reports as her very home vessel comes under attack.
“Shit.” Archangel watches. “Vectors, cover the Carrier.”
“Copy.”
Twenty against four, Consortium Vectors cutting off Sky Team’s approach towards the heavy carrier.
“They’re in the way.” The Witch points out.
“Four, cut a hole for us” The Inquisitor orders her subordinate.
A haunting smile encroaches upon the empty face of the pilot within. The monster’s master about to unleash a horror beyond the facade of humanity.
“Understood.” Chimera breathes.
The air itself bows to a god, the single vector breaking past its brethren towards the warrior elite.
One against twenty.
Now it was fair.
Syndicate light machine guns open fire, precision engineering and the will of men failing as the god crashes through their lines.
The formation breaks underneath the screaming vector as a straight shot is cleared towards the target, three blurs breaking through the crack of armor.
On the deck of the Kronos gunnery crew lash out. Streams of lead soar as the lines between hostile and friendly turn to ash in the face of oblivion.
Data flows through flight helmets as the entire vessel is scanned and instantly uploaded to displays, the nerves and hearts of the Consortium Warship exposed clean.
“Go for the reactors.” Inquisitor orders.
“Roger.”
Untouchable beings move and strike like the air itself. Gunners reach into the sky as the medium turns into blasted lead.
Plasma and depleted penetrators scream past all, the carrier’s crew count decimated as rounds rip and tear through decks.
Through it all, Consortium Vectors try to break past the army of a single god, every attempt beaten off by a barrage of impossibly accurate fire.
“Fuck, we gotta rush Chimera.” Lightning Leader coordinates as the Kronos takes a hit. “After me, all of us on him!”
Three Vector Teams turn at once, a wall of salvaged steel against a god. Overwhelming firepower is launched as missiles take to the sky, contrails filling the air of the Consortium line.
The engines of Chimera scream as the god falls back, heads up display lighting up with a thousand incoming signatures from across the battlefield.
Flares and chaff burn as the Syndicate craft dumps its countermeasures, and across the board the attacker software send missiles smashing into false signatures.
A few still stick on its tail, aggressive and stubborn in their unfeeling assault towards the vector.
Chimera sees this and shoots their craft across thin atmosphere, maneuvering thrusters burning at full power as the kinetic aileron roll ejects superheated air everywhere.
And for one single moment in time, the vector is overwhelmed. Through the detonations of explosive payloads the slaying of a warrior obvious yet censored within black clouds.
“We got him.” A pilot reports.
Through the smoke, through the flames, the god vector jets out, thrust vector changing as he takes aim upon those who would dare tread upon him.
“SHIT!”
Twin machine guns rip into blood and salvaged steel, rounds tearing holes through smoke as dark infrared turns to standard vision within the piloting helmet.
The Consortium line breaks into panic and the com channel turns to chaos as the god dismantles them all.
“I have target.” The Witch speaks as he finds the angle against the massive carrier. “Taking the shot.”
The Kronos’ secondary reactor room is detonated by a single plasma lance, the hull blowing outward as explosive force rips apart salvaged steel.
Tactical Controller Wolfram’s com-line fills with life ebbing gurgling as their life support system fails, the command channel following with screams as reactor plasma blasts into the bridge.
In an explosion to rival a nuclear blast, the carrier’s munitions detonate in a cascade effect. The ignited sky blinds all, a shockwave of biblical scale condensing as it rips the air in half.
EMP from the blast cuts coms on both sides, and on the bridge of the Decimator all displays force reboot.
In the blindness, Consortium Vectors remain in the fluttering chaos.
Four gods nowhere to be found as they escape back into their lines.
Move and strike.
Syndicate Tactics always playing against their adversaries, the rigidity of the Task Force’s current formation now a detriment to their flexibility.
“Hostile Fleet is reorienting.” Tactical reports as all systems come back online. “Shit they’re going to try and cut us off!”
On the display the red formation begins to turn, moving to hew the Consortium forces in half.
All vessels pound in disarray and Captain Ano can only hear chaos.
Across the command channel, the headless force runs wild. Voices of Senior Officers split as the hierarchy of war is turned upon itself in battle.
Sky Team, the true gods of the sky, made true to their reputation.
In a single second, the Consortium was lost in its attempt to find a Master.
And in the chaos, the strike begins.
“All vector units, concentrate on the Decimator.” The Syndicate Tactical Air controller orders. “Follow Sky Team in.”
Over the top of the Syndicate Battlecruiser Zeream, four shapes pass towards the enemy.
“Negative Big Eye, Sky Team has the Decimator.” Sky Leader orders. “All other vector units go after the Akula, we’ll take the battleship on.”
Across the board the red vectors acknowledge, seperating from the single team.
Through the roaring air ripping past the Consortium Battleship, they spot them: the incoming wall of firepower and gods approaching at blazing velocity.
“Hostile vectors inbound!” Tactical reports.
The crows nest spotter blinks as the shapes come into view. “Count Four hostiles coming straight for us.”
Four gods.
“Oh shit…” Commander Dalsma blinks as the ID tags are measured and classified. “Sky Team is targeting the Decimator!”
The legendary Syndicate squadron screams across the expanse between factions, headed straight towards their target. And for a second time in war; rage and vengeance fuels all.
Propaganda only goes so far, and even the lowly anti air loader on the top deck understands the utterly inferior position the Decimator was in.
Against a force like Sky Team, the battleship was nothing more than a target.
Prayers are sounded in the silent air, crew knowing their saviors had to be nothing less than divine.
And in the nothingness of the corrupted air, they come.
The soldier's mind is broken by the thundering of battle, the eyes of a hundred wars readied and focused to combat.
A warrior's battle haze lifts to slight consciousness as the invisible banshee screams across air, broken shape barely visible over its high acceleration.
The monster’s engines blast to full power as within the craft, commands are given through the machine’s medium. Pilot encased in armor and life support, unfeeling and utterly alienated from war.
And all were followed, by the sky shattering thunder of a god.
Flying in a diamond formation across the chaos, the blurring shape of vectors smash through the visions of topside crew. Consortium Fusion engines roar through massive thrust nozzles as the air itself breaks underfoot power made reality.
Over the deck of the Decimator do four gods cross, the answer for prayers coming in the slick roars of god vectors.
The Soldier speaks across the communications channel, voice muffled by the helmet upon his face. “Decimator Actual, this is Gaea Leader. We’ll cover the Decimator. Do what you have to do.”
There is no response from the Captain as the frames of Gaea silence all, the air above them melting into the blast of jetwash.
“I see them.” Mei grins as the four shapes highlight in Hostile Red. “Time for some payback.”
“Don’t be arrogant.” Case speaks through the machine.
“Case is right. We need to punch hard but keep a glove close.” Colonel Perez orders. “Stay on your toes, I don’t want any of us getting fucking killed today.”
For a second he stops, voice tightening as the mind loses itself to the madness of combat. And in the last sliver of lucidity his tone booms across the vector channel. “We know how this works people, lets get it done.”
Gaea Team breaks past the Consortium Line, the open air of the gap between factions endless fuel to ravenous coolant systems. Engines push themselves to the very limit of design; earth and sky crashing towards each other at insane velocities.
All except two craft separate as the battle meets, Gaea Four and Sky Four stubborn and unshifting as raw nerves combine together.
“Can you take him?” Sky Two asks Sky Four.
“Don’t worry.” Chimera smiles. “I have the Beast.”
Both god vectors open fire as they pass head on towards each other, Consortium and Syndicate rounds deflecting off of alloy armor in brilliant sparks extinguished by rushing air.
Vectors roll as movement lines meet. One craft dodges to port and the other to starboard in a meanuver of pure instinct.
Paths cross and then divide, ethereal matter crashing together as the two vector gods scream away to combat.
Archangel sees the arrows meet. “Gaea has engaged Sky Team.”
War.
All watch as the air becomes a battlefield for ascended beings, pure white contrails hewing a green sky in untouchable carnage as earth and sky become one.
No longer is the pilot a human and the vector a machine, for now they become gods.
Gaea Leader launches a rocket as Shrapnel tries to get an angle on Case, the preemptive strike missing as the Syndicate Vector screams away from their attack path.
Behind him the Inquisitor lets loose swarm missiles, three blue hues are locked upon the master Pilot as countermeasures dump from the rear of the craft.
Wide burst plasma bolts cut the air in front of the Red Leader as the machine gun acquires lock, the distant invisible shape of the cloaked craft spinning in precision control as it’s pilot keeps the pair of rifles aimed directly on target.
The Witch comes in towards the blur, eyes geared to battle equals.
A pitched roar of of rotary cannon fire comes in as the incoming craft grabs the tumbling target in his reticule, the god pilot at his tail finding him first.
Chimera comes to save his teammate, vector screaming against lead as he forces Gaea Four off.
Two worlds of warfare turn together as Chimera takes the Beast head on.
Machine guns erupt in high pitched detonations and the growl of the rotary cannon roars as thrust vectors combine. Consortium against Syndicate as nerves blend into an unliving mass of blood and salvaged steel.
The entire world is stunned, unable to move as they watch the battle in the distance.
And within the headless Consortium, there is born a leader.
Captain Ano stands to the lost seat of power, his mind no longer becoming his as he lets go of all military tradition. “All units, this is Decimator Actual. Continue the plan, follow the Decimator in, we’re making the push now!”
Captain Ano points to the Navigation Officer, who responds to unspoken orders as fingers dance across dials and displays.
A voice echoes across the Decimator’s war torn decks, played along with the blaring alarms. “All hands prepare for acceleration, All hands prepare…”
“Hang the fuck on people!” Navigation announces.
Through a wall of firepower, the battleship burns blindly towards the Syndicate line.
In throws of mechanized destruction shells fly towards the distant masses of steel, the berserking creature throwing inaccurate fire towards the sky.
Across all decks the crew hang on and metal screams from the beyond as their very fibers begin coming apart from acceleration.
Through the line, the Decimator breaks into neutral space.
The Syndicate battlecruiser Zeream spots it first, the voice of its commander relaying across the fleet. “All units, Decimator’s trying to breach our line, heading is zero four seven seven!”
With Sky Team in combat, the Syndicate Fleet forms tighter and calls upon lesser gods.
Red matted Vectors scream over the top of naval vessels as armored Fleet Tacklers move to alter an unstoppable force.
“Shit we got vectors incoming!” Operations reports
“Decimator, we’ll cover you.”
The surviving Consortium vector teams smash into metal warfare, the carnage meeting as each pilot fights an uphill battle while the battleship approaches the Syndicate Line.
“We have a frigate trying to cut us off!” The Navigation Officer yells.
“Don’t deviate!” Captain Ano orders. “Run them over!”
Aboard the Regan the Decimator’s shadow looms overhead. Steel construction accelerating towards the tiny frame like an enraged dragon against a puny warrior.
“No…” The Regan’s Captain whispers.
Decimator’s impact vector reaches terminal, the line of no return crossed without second thought.
The crew of the Regan watches as the monstrous Consortium Vessel approaches them, angle unchanged. “Oh fuck…”
Captain Ano’s voice screams across all decks. “ALL HANDS BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!”
Beneath the heel of the battleship does the frigate break.
Metal screams as force is transferred across structure, thick alloy crushing the thin armor plating of the Syndicate warship from sheer mass. Ordery gravity fields interact as gravitons send each other in wild protrusions across the sky, the chaos of the inner ear throwing some crew to immediately send bile to floor plating.
Aboard the Decimator safety lines pull taught as the sudden deceleration overwhelms the gravity generator. Crew are bucked like unwanted cargo, injuries from impacts against metal coming from across the vessel’s wireframe.
Hull alloy bends, the meeting against solid force cracking heavy construction and warping steel. The Decimator’s massive frame takes the hit with ear shattering complaint, the entire warship screaming underneath impact stress.
The frigate is not so lucky. Regan is hewed under the power of the Consortium, absolutely unsalvageable as the dissolving metal is quickly swept aside from superior force.
“Casualties on all decks!” Operations yells over the blaring damage alarms.
“Keep pushing!” Captain Ano orders. “Return fire!”
In blinded pain, Decimator lashes out. Shells scream from massive barrels as the battleship lets loose at point blank range, the Syndicate Fleet shattering as a berserking dragon begins a crusade of annihilation right in their midst.
Vectors fly past the muzzle trails of battleship cannons, the hole left in the line plugged with the Consortium counter attack.
Commander Dalsma shakes his head, the impact still fuzzy in his mind. “Vector teams, priority target are hostile destroyers. Protect the fleet breakers.”
Lightning Leader nods as her heads up display crawls with Syndicate red. “Copy that.”
Vector engines roar, Attackers and Fleet Tacklers taking to air as they barrel down towards the enemy.
The frames of Syndicate Destroyers are bathed in fire as Pilots take action, the universe dissolving into the simple frames of attack and destroy.
Lightning Nine sees hostiles in the distance. “Watch your corners!”
“We have them.”
In the thick of the mindless action does the pilot become complete. Centimeters away from death itself, the abyssal voice of the void beyond screams to the destroyed mind.
Chaff, flares.
Behind Gaea Three countermeasures burn, the swarm missiles from the Inquisitor blinded by reactive metalloids.
The armored craft swings around as Case demands power, the shotgun blast from the frame mounted barrel hitting air as they try and grasp the hostile on their tail.
Inquisitor barely has the fleet tackler, its maneuverability tracesending mass. She swears as the craft’s velocities and turn ratios made even anti-vector craft look sluggish by comparison, targeting systems barely able to track it.
She hands off the duel to Chimera, taking against Gaea Four.
Raw skill strikes against ancient experience, two vectors dancing across the sky as tracer fire rips behind both.
Contrails form a helix, the ascent taking them to higher altitude.
Inquisitor can’t keep up with the Consortium craft, the rawness of the warfare against her crushing the advantage she had ever so slowly.
“Damn!”
“I have him.”
Shrapnel fires three shots into the duel, each barely missing the Beast.
In unbound rage the consortium vector turns around. Massive tracers fly towards the light vector as the muzzle flashes bloom, the following roar of the rotary cannon forcing the red craft to back off from its angle of attack.
Across the cockpit glass of Shrapnel the shape blows past.
Through Witch and Gaea Two’s dogfight the Consortium vector nosedives from its lofty position. Underneath a thousand rounds the world turns to lead, and both are forced to seperate.
“Decimator, hostile battlecruiser is opening fire.”
Across the bow of the Decimator two ranging shots pass over, Zeream’s gunnery crew taking stock in the massive barnside of the broadside Consortium Battleship.
“We’re in a bad place!” Tactical yells.
“All hands brace!”
The Zeream open fires, turrets flashing as large bore guns send lethal metal towards the fleet breaker.
“Incoming!”
Reactive armor detonates across the Decimator’s hull as the final wall of defense shuts against hostile fire. Explosive force reaches contacting shells and several are shattered from the blast wave.
One round takes the angle correctly, explosive power peeling away the layers between outer steel jacket all the way to lead core. Alloy armor gives way to the soft internals of the battleship, and the shell shatters into a thousand spalling pieces.
Across decks nine to seven, section twelve, fragments cleve into everything.
Cabins are annihilated, crew pulverized, and structure penetrated as fragments of steel blast like an uncontrolled shotgun across the vessel.
Destruction is contained, fragments stopped cold at the bulkhead.
Like a sudden wall in their path of destruction, metal shards embed themselves in the meters of alloy armor surrounding the section.
On the bridge damage alarms break, and on the wireframe cutout of the vessel an entire section is blotched in red.
“Heavy damage!” Operations reports as casualties fall across his console. “Fuck!”
“Get us into position!” Captain Ano orders. “Priority is that Battlecruiser!”
The Captain turns. “Dalsma!”
The Tactical Air Controller’s vision is overloaded with data, his voice stuffed underneath mountains of combat transmissions. “Vector teams, new target is the Battlecruiser. Take out its main armaments.”
Across the sky, the gods hear him. “Acknowledged!”
Vengeance comes from the air, vectors thundering as the battlefield itself shifts towards the Syndicate Battlecruiser.
Flak comes in heavy as frigates form a wall of fire against the vectors, the bulwark pushing back gods.
Lightning Leader grits her teeth. “Shit there’s too much fire!”
Akula Actual breaks on the comm channel, aboard the Consortium fast battlecruiser the trails of thrust nozzles concede all vision in a blinding white smoke cloud. “Vector Units, you have a friendly naval strike inbound. Hang on tight.”
In just under a single kilometer of distance the projectiles reach critical velocity, warheads arming as they pass over the wounded Decimator.
The closest Syndicate frigate takes a naval missile right on its superstructure, the gunnery crew unable to even comprehend their charred deaths as the warhead detonates.
Automated defense systems, too occupied with the attacking vectors, are unable to react as the rest of the incoming strike enters their terminal ranges.
Massive shockwaves expand as ordnance finds their marks, frigates detonating in flames.
Consortium Vectors shift through the shattered defenses, thundering craft dancing across the slowly falling debris like angels.
In the display, red arrows move. “Vector Teams be advised, hostile craft in your attack path.”
Backs to the battlecruiser, they hover. Against the roar of god engines do they stand in conflict.
Syndicate pushing the overwhelming firepower of the Consortium.
Sirius Leader answers the call as his anti-vector division roars past the Fleet Tacklers. “We have them, keep pushing.”
Vectors meet in battle, and a few break past towards the Zeream.
“They’re still coming!!!” One of the Syndicate gunners yells.
Across the superstructure flashes of light premetiate flak fire, thousands of rounds pour from barrels as vectors reach into range.
“Go low, underneath their angles.” Lightning Leader orders.
Attacking a battlecruiser’s anti-vector armament head on was suicide, the thick armor of the tacklers nothing when running into a solid wall of lead.
The attack patterns emerge from an angle perfectly aligned with the lateral armor belt, vectors approaching with their greatest weapon of all: speed.
Plasma bolts launch, a pair reaching one of the massive naval turrets on the Zeream’s top deck. In automatic machine reaction blast doors crash shut and escape vents open as within the turret, munitions are set aflame.
Temperatures spike in the metal construction, with stunned and blood covered crew instinctively trying to claw their way out of a lethal oven of burning munitions.
Nobody survives.
Charred muscles tense as naval gunners are burned alive, the raw heat consuming all the ammo cook off.
Flames erupt forth from turrets like geysers as pressure rushes forth from escape hatches to open air, vectors passing over the deck as they make their getaway.
Close in defense systems run into overdrive as gunners take aim, hostile vectors shattering as they escape the lead net of fire.
Across the Tactical Screen blue arrows fall, gods slain by concentrated vengeance.
Commander Dalsma turns. “Fucking hell they can’t make another run like that!”
“Hostile battlecruiser still live!” Tactical reports as the Zeream’s remaining turrets fire.
Missiles from the Akula are shot out of the sky as the syndicate heart recovers, wounds immediately licked by hundreds of trained sailors.
Decimator’s hull eats a shell, the battleship rocking as more damage reports arrive.
Captain Ano shakes his head. “That battlecruiser needs to go down!”
“We’re on it.”
The Consortium Destroyer formation lagging behind the Decimator finally arrives.
Torpedos eject from hull mounted launchers, fast warships throwing an overwhelming cloud of firepower at the battlecruiser.
“Destroyers incoming.” The Syndicate Admiral notes. “Cruisers, cover the Zeream.”
Syndicate Cruisers fire, accurate shots cracking the thinly armored Destroyers beneath them.
The destroyer Podolsk takes a shell that guts her from aft to stern, the vessel barely intact as the crew hang on to shearing metal.
“We’re going down!!!” Podolsk’s Operations Officer yells. “Grav is failing!”
“Then we’re taking someone with us!!!” Lieutenant Reda screams back. “Full acceleration, aim us right to that Battlecruiser!”
In mindless noise, words spew from long dead crew. “CONSORTIUM AETERNUM!!!!”
Engines burn and the gravity generator fails. Crew are plastered against metal as the destroyer turns from crewed warship to automated missile, ten gravitates snapping necks and liquifying organs instantly.
The shape breaks past fire, terminal velocity directed with blind fury.
“TAKE THAT THING OUT!!!” The Syndicate Admiral aboard the Zeream shouts as he spots the incoming destroyer.
Across the red fleet guns turn to the threat.
Guns fire and the suicidal vessel takes enough fire to splash twenty Destroyers, but the vessel still somehow powers towards its target.
The Tactical Officer looks up. “Oh my god, Podolsk is going for the battlecruiser!”
They all watch as the craft careens into the Zeream, the world shattering horn of destruction crashing across the battlefield.
Consortium and Syndicate collide and combine, two vessels becoming a single force as metal welds in kinetic impact.
For a second, the chaos subslides, the sacrifice of heros worthless.
Then, action.
Deadman switches activate and torpedos launch at point blank range, not even meters away from their tubes they explode, molten hot penetrators gutting the Zeream with a thousand lines of debris.
Within the Podolsk’s engineering deck the fission reactor reaches its hypercritical state, coolant funnels auto failing in a planned cascade sequence.
The self destruction finds its point, the battlefield blinded by a pre-nuclear explosion. In the expanding ball of heat, nothing remains except the hulk of falling steel.
Zeream is obliterated, crew and construction atomized instantly.
In the silence of the ear shattering shockwave, the scream of vectors crashes through.
Gaea and Sky Team’s battle rips into the combined Consortium and Syndicate line as the gods wrestle for control; rockets, lead, plasma, all firing at blurry shapes without thought to the bystanders at watch.
Sky Four finds Gaea Leader in the chaos, gunning for his frame as he barely dodges around a vessel’s superstructure.
“Chimera on me.” Gaea Leader reflexively mumbles.
“I see him.” Gaea Four replies.
Behind Gaea Four the long barrels of the Sky Two flare, depleted rounds crashing past the god frame by mere meters.
“The Beast is on you.” Sky Two says to his squadron mate.
The rotary cannon growls as the Consortium Craft sends a burst of armor piercing lead towards Chimera, one that the Syndicate Pilot dodges as the craft throws itself across sky.
“Chimera out.” Gaea Four speaks.
“I’ll take him.” Mei replies.
Under the countermeasures of the old world a cloaked shape burns towards the vector. Plasma fires in leaded pairs, each wide burst shot throwing itself widely as the god craft takes evasive maneuvers.
Within the cockpit the Syndicate Pilot thrusts down and rips the stick, the vector responding in cold steel.
Engine gimbals shut and both of the craft’s engine mounts roll in opposite directions. The vector turns around on a dime towards its target, inertia still allowing it insane velocity as it now travels backwards.
The craft reaches its falling apex and open fires. Twin machine guns chatter as barrels ignite in rapid evacuation, lead soaring towards the invisible shape in the distance.
Gaea Two tears across the air as she rolls to port, the targeting sensors within her helmet clearing for a second for a clear shot.
Plasma rifles fire but Chimera dodges, engines flaring as he charges directly at Gaea Two head on.
“Come on you fucker.” Mei whispers. “Come on…”
At the last minute before close quarters combat, she pulls out, the heavy vector behind her thrusting forth. “CASE!”
“I have him.” The Machine replies.
The deep eyes of the Syndicate Pilot don’t react as the deception is revealed.
Case thunders past their comrade, shotguns blazing towards the god pilot.
Two against one.
War combines as vectors collide in air, the universe of nerve and thought cracked as three gods wrestle for control in blind fury.
Plasma and shrapnel erupts from the duel, replied by the constant chattering of machine gun fire.
Gaea Three shrugs off a massive burst of lead head on, ceaselessly pushing forwards as Chimera falls back for a few hundred meters before accelerating again towards battle.
Gaea Two takes the open chance and fires, missing both shots as the vector pulls into a roll against her.
The Syndicate craft takes aim and chances the invisible shape, a single round managing to find its mark. Sparks scatter and the camouflage system fails, the shape turning solid against green sky.
“Shit.” Gaea Two murmurs.
Slugs fly from the barrels of the armored vector, revenge scoring a glancing hit on the craft’s lateral armor plate.
The impact knocks the Syndicate vector off course for an infinitesimally small moment before the pilot recovers, and the engines crash burn as guns once again train on the pair.
Somehow the single pilot holds his own against two.
Tech and flesh combine, a vector distilled from an ancient golden era wielded by a pilot once in a generation clashes against two legends.
“All units, fall back.” The Syndicate Tactical Controller speaks. “Vectors, cover the retreat.”
The red fleet turns slowly, formation shattering as they burn eastward.
Centurion widens her eyes at the tactical display. “Syndicate Fleet is falling back!”
Colonel Perez echoes over the vector channel, his voice against the Tactical Controller’s. “Keep up the pressure, this ain’t over yet!”
Syndicate Vectors force Consortium warships back with fire as their fleet makes a fighting retreat, Sky Team breaking off their engagement with Gaea as they move to support their comrades.
Archangel pauses, watching as red arrows move. “All vector units, cover the fleet. Syndicate Warship assets are secondary.”
Inquisitor, Shrapnel, and Witch focus down warship, their assault crashed by a force of Consortium Vectors.
Chimera instead screams towards those of similar flesh, vectors falling underneath his gnashing jaws.
“Chimera is tearing them apart.” Mei grunts.
“I’ll take him.” Markov replies.
Over the top of a dying vector of unknown faction, Gaea Four screams past.
In mindless preparation, the creature within comes to life. The roar of a monster claws its way out of the unconscious mind, the human no longer alive within the cockpit.
Syndicate Tactical air speaks across the channel. “Sky Four, the Beast is on you.”
“Understood.”
Archangel’s voice stops all. “Markov is taking on Chimera!”
Nothing.
Two gods clash.
The sky itself is broken, ripped apart like a fragile tapestry. Blurs take to air, the duel between even foes exemplified in their dance of glory, and carnage.
For a moment the battlefield watches. Ancient enemies put aside differences, the artwork of war brought upon their witness utterly consuming the consciousness of humanity.
Gods and mortals, the sound of fusion engines and gunfire, the ceaseless beating heart of raw war.
Across top decks do gods meet, and in open air they separate.
Moving across the ever shifting heavens, warriors of equal ground rule the sky.
The universe shifts, cosmic powers bending to encompass only two souls in a mindless battle, eyes upon the terrifying truth of humanity.
Chimera falls behind the Beast, his angle of attack too shallow to grab a good shot upon the craft.
The Vector swings across a burning cruiser, nose raising up and crashing behind the hostile.
Fire spreads past, and the vector dodges the burst of lead.
Two wars pull, dogs chasing each other in rabid confusion across a separating battle.
For a single split second, the vector has him.
“ALEK!!!” She screams in horrendous pain.
Glazed eyes roll from the black, the monster letting through a sliver of light as the universe ceases to be of war.
Her eyes were blackish agony, her shriek shattering minds. “IT HURTS. IT HURTS SO MUCH.”
Foam forms at the mouth of the pilot, the mind seizing as mindless carnage tries to tear apart what was left of the human mind.
“STOP.”
KILL.
“STOP.”
YOU HATE THEM ALL. KILL AND LET IT BE DONE.
“STOP.”
I don’t want to die.
Across the bow of a vessel the leading craft hits dirty air and wobbles, the opening for death crashing wide.
Red targeting reticles light green and twin machine guns stop.
For a single second, there is no death, there is no war.
The Syndicate Pilot smiles, thoughts taking over words. Not bad Markov.
The creature rips back control from the fickle mind, the roar of the Beast returning again.
A single mistake is corrected, and mercy exploited. The blue vector swings around in its fall, and the rotary cannon takes aim upon hostile craft.
The smile fades. “But not good enough.”
Syndicate machine guns fire in a short burst, munitions finding their target on the Consortium Vector’s port engine mount.
Damage alarms erupt as power is lost, the vector engine failing as it sputters jet wash.
The kill is open, simple weaponry easily able destroy the wounded god.
But there isn’t fire, the universe still and unmoving as the barrels align with craft.
For a second, flesh overtakes metal, the mind taming the machine as all are crushed.
Carnage ceases, and war melts into its base components of blood and steel.
Within the cockpit Markov stares in blank eyes, the firing solution atop his vision red as he tries to pull the vector together.
Over the armored screen, the red shape screams past. In the slow motion world of the Pilot, the frame of Sky Four is ignited from a distant sun in a second of movement.
He sees it.
Across the the lateral point of the angular machine; the plastered dots of an ancient star scape were spread farther than the void itself.
Red lines run across the craft, falling to a single point painted upon in deep color.
And at the center of the tapestry; the unbroken blood moon, a relic of the sky from a lost era.
Markov watches the thing pass through his visual range, dead eyes wide as the image recalls memories long buried.
Then, nothing.
The shape screams off towards the escaping Syndicate Line, back towards friendlies as he leaves behind the wounded.
Words, blotted out by the blindness of the monster, come flooding into his head. “Markov, Markov!”
The pilot breathes, his mind returning to him. “This is Gaea Four.”
Archangel blinks as he locks eyes with the damage reports coming from the vector. “You’ve got heavy damage on your port engine. What’s your status?”
Markov stares at the world around him, the vector hovering near the deck of the Consortium cruiser Denver. “I am fine.”
“Like hell you are with that engine kid.” Colonel Perez cuts in as he spots the smoking craft. “Get back to the Decimator now. No objections.”
The Pilot blinks, consciousness returning like a distant rain against sunbaked earth. “Understood.”
The battle clears and the world aligns again. War ceases as the final shots are sounded, and the damaged vector thunders carefully back towards the west.
“All units this is Decimator Actual.” Captain Ano begins. “Do not pursue the Syndicate Fleet. Reform at tactical Grid twenty five F, standard directional positioning. We’re holding the Zone per previous objectives.”
In his breath, repentance and relief. “Vessels with critical damage report immediately to Battlemaster Control, vectors with damage prepare for orders from Archangel.”
For a second the corrupted heaven remains silent, All hands watching the red Fleet disappear back into the Zone.
Then, the thunder arrives.
Four vectors crawl across a battlefield fading to the tides of wind, contrails blending with the smoke coming from one of their own.
“All units, be advised we are in the clear. Alert status has been downgraded to Level five.”
The victory is hollow, casualties massive and death real.
But the world stops as they watch gods slowly cross the sky, crew, wounded or not, stare as they pass overhead.
Eyes taking in the embodiment of war.
The sky, the earth, damaged but still remaining as ancient as the universe itself.
Now both were equals on the battlefield.
The grand balance, upon which all things were sacrificed to achieve it, finally again to the liking of some eldritch power. Normality shattered and put back to a fragmented mirror of self.
Markov’s engine flutters, the bullets lodged within still grasping machinery ripping apart the fragile construction.
“Gaea Four needs immediate repairs.” Archangel reports. “Decimator Flight, can you assist?”
The voice is covered in static, the Flight Deck’s Controller’s mouth underneath a bleeding head wound from shrapnel. “Gaea Four this is Decimator Flight control. Gate Three is open.”
Beneath the massive battleship two prongs fall. Like stuff feathers, the rods of metal move ever so slightly in the flowing wind.
“Welcome home Lieutenant.”
On the heads up display of the pilot the wireframe draws the approach vector.
Alek Markov’s craft shutters as the damage continues, his fingers moving to shut down the coolant systems in response.
The gate opens, machinery moving like automated vector cannons to catch the craft as the helmet display shows green on final approach.
Metal hands snap shut, clamps grasping the machine with explosive force.
The third hook comes down, completing the claw that now grips the god.
And Gaea Four enters the embrace of steel.
The god pilot stops, hands feeling the world around him. The sky loses a master, now entombed within metal to be unleashed in another battle, another war.
And another war to come again.
The voice rings out, within the head a final word to a disappearing creature as the mind returns to the world of the living. A nightmare made in reality, seeping through the cracks left behind in war.
“Is something like that truly worth dying for?”
//Act One
Comments
Post a Comment