After six weeks of trekking across five systems the Axis task group was just a day away from transiting into the Twins system. To celebrate the occasion Fanmet had his Stiletto flight groups participate in track and field competitions aboard their respective ships. On the Falconer and her squadronmates the shuttles were retracted into their maintenance alcoves to create the maximum amount of cleared space for the activities. Shipboard food services pulled out the stops and prepared carefully husband supplies of timberwolf meat from Lauset and broadleaf lettuce from Elotoshani. Tables and chairs sprung up on the shuttle decks as fast as they were cleared of jumping hurdles, nets, and goal posts. After proclaiming the winners of the respective sports and the feast tucked into Fanmet stood up at the head table and made his announcement.
“This is indeed a great day with equally great performances from all. Training and competitive spirit will stand you in good stead, for tomorrow we’ll be basking in the glow of the Twins. With Providence at our side, we will outshine the Twins with the dying afterglow of Abom ships broken by our weapons.” Fanmet waited until the thunderous applause died down, this being the first time he had ever evoked such an intense response from an audience. “We're one of three task groups involved in Operation Baseplate, the goal of which is to disrupt Abom logistical infrastructure in systems subjugated by their foul influence. Earlier today word was received that our forces in Battlement had launched a combined fighter and pinnace attack on the Abom fleet loitering in the outer system. Losses were heavy for both sides, and it was worse for the Aboms for they hadn't fully restored their flight groups from their last attack. Two Abom carriers were wiped out with several more damaged.” Again he waited for the audience to exhaust their fulsome cheers and cries.
“Battlement can readily replace its brace of Hatchet fighters and Mace armed pinnaces while our Abom enemies have to scamper home to restock from their wanton warehouses. This is where we'll do our part. We will smash any convoy that attempts to enter the Twins, whether sent from Citadel or Battlement. Not even a cargo pinnace will get past us. In combination with Operation Restoration, and the Will of Providence, we will see the fall of all Abom fleets set against us. We will ride the crest of the wave that will sweep them into oblivion.” Fanmet raise his left arm and made the AFC salute, a clenched fist planted just below the neck. “Advance... for the Axis!”
With such loud cheering and proclamations from the crews, combined with the acoustics of the open bays, one would think it was a rally at the People's Hall on Comensal Prime. Fanmet was at one such rally while undergoing officer training, and in many ways the comparison was apt. Then and there he hoped for the day to receive an award at the People's Hall, bestowed by the First Leader no less. Achieving numerous victories, especially ones that dealt massive blows to the enemy, for the Asteroid Axis is the one guaranteed way to be on the same dais that so many other heroes of the people got their reward. But for now the applause will have to do, and one must be alive in order to appreciate bestowed rewards and praise.
*****
The quarters for the pinnace crews aboard Oyster Cove-02 were the equal of those found on space stations and even groundside spaceports. Arranged by squadrons, there were nine such crew areas on the base, each quarters holding two crewmembers and having their own private bath as well as a multipurpose commons area. It was the same arrangement for shuttle crews on transports and troop ships, and it elicited the same jealously from regular base crews that had to do with communal baths and berthing space that held anywhere from four to ten.
On this night those Valhallan crews on the base and on the tenders deployed for exercises had good reason to celebrate. Davke had decreed that since there was a marked improvement in performance by the pinnace crews the time had come for some entertainment. In the nine pinnace crew common areas on the base was a holoimager, and around each one were 36 Valhallans watching the first five episodes of Return to the Planet of the Khanates. Some restrictions were lifted, and it was up to the Station Patrol to see that the rest are enforced. Just into the start of the fourth episode Lieutenants Tes and Tinker strolled into one such gathering, prompting everyone to come to attention. “Good evening, Sirs,” said one of the pinnace pilots, apparently the designated one in the group as he was the oldest by at least a year. “To what do we owe for this visit?”
“Contraband inspection,” said Tinker. The translation program had improved the intonation and inflection of his speech, but now it sounded like he was forcing his words like a piece of meat through a fine mesh screen. “Good old Davke wants to make sure none of his ‘kids’ are hitting the sauce or anything else on the proscribed list.”
“You’re welcome to look,” said the pilot, known by his callsign Hotdog. “We’ve kept our horns clean.”
Tes looked at the red-skinned biped. In his eyes, Valhallans were short, emaciated flat-faced versions of E’sani with small, vestigial horns on their heads. Said horns were often shaved down to round bumps so as to make flight suit helmets fit better. Even with hair in the way Tes knew that Hotdog was hiding something for a pair of thin, beading lines of sweat came down the face from where the horns were located. “I’ll take your barber’s word for it.” The nostrils on Tes’ snout twitched noticeably. “Now, is that cigar smoke I smell?”
“Yes it is, Sir,” Hotdog confirmed. “It’s one of the items allowed by Davke for use outside of religious observance.”
“No wonder the chapel is filled everyday,” said Tinker. The Crajen moved to a magazine rack that was mounted on the wall next to the restroom. “I wonder what the sense is in worshiping a god that prompts the smoking of rolled-up leaves. Unless you Valhallans can’t get lung cancer from smoking your ‘tabacco’ or whatever it’s called.” Using his left crusher claw with dexterity that no casual observer of Crajens would believe possible Tinker pulled something from between the rack and the wall. He then held it in his manipulative hands while his pair of claws folded up under his body. With two eyes looking at the filmsy-printed mag as he turned pages Tinker used his other pair of stalked eyes to navigate back to Tes.
It didn’t take much imagination to know that Tes was grinning. “What is that you have there?”
“I believe it’s what commonly called a ‘skin’ magazine.” Tinker held up the flimsy-papered object as high as he could with his manipulative arms for Tes to see. “I take it that it’s some sort of artistic depiction of the Valhallan form.”
Several male Valhallans tried not to show interest while certain females looked at them with daggers and sledgehammers coming from their eyes. Tes took the magazine and flipped through it himself. “It must be an art magazine, or even a fancy advertising device used to showcase those beads, necklaces, and shoes those bare females are wearing. At least I think they’re females.” He looked at the mixture of expectant, nervous, and resentful faces before him. “Yeah, they’re females alright. If this is art then I don’t get it.” Tes tossed the filmsy to a knot of female Valhallans. “Here, there might be some products in there that you want to get.” He pretended not to notice how a certain cluster of males tried their best to subtly keep their distance from a group of indignant females. “What’s that smell?”
“Other than the cigar smoke?” Tinker asked. As the smell receptors for a Crajen were in the mouth his mandibles moved like parts of an ancient, dementedly designed typewriter. “Yes, there does seem to be something else in the air.” He scuttled to the kitchenette with Tes in tow. Stalked eyes noted how there were stacks of shot glasses on the counter, yet no pitchers or containers were evident. In the large refrigerator there were only the issued bottles of flavored water. “Odd,” Tinker said to no-one in particular, “shot glasses aren’t normally used for water.”
“Yes, that’s unusual.” Tes’ reply came from deep in his chest. “The smell seems to be coming from the oven.” He looked at Hotdog, knowing that he represented the group as he had talked first. “Were you cooking brownies? I see no serving trays, napkins and forks.”
“Oh, we cleaned up after ourselves right quick,” said Hotdog eagerly. “No telling when surprise quarters inspections would be conducted.”
The E’sani smiled. “Good for you. But haven’t you forgotten to clean the oven? I got a demerit back in officer training for forgetting something so simple.” He turned and went through the menu on the stove’s interface, bringing up the settings he need. “Hey, Tinker, think we should have the oven set on the deep, overnight cleaning mode?”
When a Crajen shrugs he uses all four arms familiar to shop mechanics that didn’t know the answer. “It won’t hurt anything if you did. Let’s have that oven inspection-ready.”
“Okay. I have it on the Hell’s Kitchen setting.” Tes was about to press the commit button when he was interrupted.
Hotdog stepped forward. “Wait, Sir! There’s something in there.”
“Really? Is it more brownies? I do fell a bit peckish.” Tes had his huge hand on the oven’s door handle. “May I?”
Looking like he had swallowed a lit cigar Hotdog managed a nonchalant reply. “Yes, Sir. Help yourself.”
Upon opening the stove Tes reached in and pulled out a covered pitcher filled with a liquid that had a light greenish tint. He opened it and took a deep inhale with his nostrils. “Ah, I believe this is what is described in the station regulations addendum as raisin moonshine.”
“I’ve heard of it, Tes, but never seen it.” Tinker took the offered pitcher and took a smell for himself, his mandibles clacking away. “How’s it made?”
With the red-skinned Valhallans looking downright pale Tes answered like a professor in a lecture hall. “Well, partner, you take several cupfuls of Valhallan raisins, dump them in an 8-pint container full of water, seal it, and place it next to a constant low-level heat source for three to four weeks. Skim off the raisins and then serve.”
“That doesn’t sound much of an alcoholic drink,” Tinker confessed.
Closing the lid to the container Tes then swished the contents and held it up to the light, noting its clarity and body. “Nevertheless the rules are the rules. We’ll have to… ah, ‘impound’ this for the duration of your stay on this station. Do I have your word that there are no other containers?”
“Sir, that’s the only one,” Hotdog said like he was reliving basic training.
“Good, because it would be unfortunate if I had to flush this out into space.” Tes stowed the container in the satchel he had on his back. With Tinker leading the way Tes left the commons area and back into the hallway. He looked down at his expectant partner once the doors closed. “You think the crews in the next set of quarters would drink their clandestine-brewed hooch by the time we get there?”
“Count on it, Tes. They’ll just claim it’s the smell of mouthwash on their breath.”
“Just like what happened to me in officer’s training. Well, let’s not keep the kiddies waiting.”
*******
It began later that night as a minuscule flaw in space-time right next to the star labeled Kerama Retto 1 (KR1) made its presence know via a small scoutship making transit. For a full minute it stayed before transiting back, reporting all-clear for its companions to proceed. One by one the flotilla of craft entered the system, 31 in all. Then, in preassigned groups and speeds, the ships went out, filled with crews intent on harming the enemy before the day is through.
The late shift sensor watch on Oyster Cove-02, tied into the Kerama Retto sensor net, had observed the initial entry and subsequent arrival of the as-yet unknown ships. Flag Lieutenant Nolsus and Commodore Fensha were awaken and told the situation as required by regulations. Both entered the station’s command post (the term bridge in CSF parlance is only used on mobile constructs) and consulted the massive main flatpanel display.
Fensha spoke first. “Sensors, confirm. Is this one of my random alert exercises?”
“Negative, Sir,” said the senior sensor tech on watch. “We checked the main database as well as the one belonging to Lieutenant Davke.”
“Has the location of this new warp point been confirmed?” Fensha had to adjust the resolution of the screen to make out the graphical markers. “Two light-minutes from the primary, a blue giant no less, sounds like a glitch.”
“It has been confirmed by three scanner buoys, Sir, and the scout V-043. As it was not found in the warp point survey and being so close to KR1 means this new warp point is a Type-15.”
Nolsus blinked. “A closed one. I see on the screen that one of the buoys is close enough to get a number estimate on the contacts. Is it the same for V-043?”
“Yes, Flag Lieutenant. I’ll put the breakdown of the groups on the main screen.” A moment later light codes and animations adorned the big panel. Every eye that wasn’t busy with immediate tasks was looking at it as well. The senior tech highlighted one cluster of icons. “Until we get a read on their drive frequencies we’re designating the groups as Amber. The first one is composed of five contacts moving at .05c towards WP2. They’ll get there in little over 8.4 hours. Amber 2 has two contacts moving at .133c towards WP1, ETA 7.12 hours. Amber 3 has three contacts also moving at .133c. If they keep their current heading and speed they’ll reach the halfway point between warp points one and two in 4.85 hours.”
“Right into our laps,” Fensha quipped. “The speed of Ambers 2 and 3 suggest they’re full-engine escorts or corvettes. What of Amber 4?”
“Sir, that contact contains 21 ships moving at .05c. It’ll reach us in just under 13 hours.”
“At least we have some time, Commodore,” said Nolsus.
“Yes, but what are we up against?” Fensha’s eyes went from the main panel to a bank of repeater screens directly below it. He thought for a moment. Among the other officers present was the operations officer, Mokana. “Ops,” Fensha said, “have scout V-043 stay within definitive scanner range of the new warp point. The scouts holding station over WPs 1 and 2 are to intercept and shadow their respective Amber groups. Two of our reserve scouts will investigate Amber 4 and the last one Amber 3. All scouts are ordered to go to full tactical speed to reach their objectives. Now, bring up the disposition of allied forces between Battlement and Citadel.”
“Yes, Commodore,” Mokana acknowledged. “The list will be on repeater screen #2.”
The list came up as green text on a black background, Fensha and Nolsus’ eyes treating each paragraph as a morsel to be digested. But, like the diet panfish being served on in the base’s dining halls, those morsels were there only due to regulations. “We can discount the forces in Citadel and Chrome. They can seal up the new warp point with mines and buoys but we’ll be long gone by then.”
“The RVSN is totally committed in Battlement, especially after the losses they reported earlier, and the escorts for their logistical flotilla in Electrical would only be able to secure the new warp point after it’s been surrounded by mines and buoys,” commented Nolsus. “By now the Valhallan carriers that came for their flightgroups would be at the Electrical/Battlement warp point. Only the pinnace tenders in Shunt have the chance to actually engage this unknown force.”
“I suppose we should be thankful they didn’t leave a day earlier as planned, Nolsus. Our Davke had to throw in one more major exercise before sending the first 36 Whales forward to Battlement. Even better, they’re conducting that exercise with the participation of Task Element 114.1, a veteran unit.”
Nolsus smiled, eyes double-blinking. “We’ll just have to start the hurt process on Amber 4 and leave the rest for Davke and Simm to finish.”
Fensha’s left eye focused on Mokana. “Ops, what is the current composition of our embarked Shark and Whale forces?”
The mentioned officer didn’t bother to consult a readout, for he knew the numbers by heart. “Commodore, we have 36 F1 Sharks and 54 Whales. Additionally, we have two RVSN cruisers in the repair slips of the Lagoon base. However, they only arrived here a month ago and repairs have been at a lower priority due to the need to uncrate fighters. Apart from life support, only their armor, point defense, and electronic warfare systems have been repaired, and can only make one-third of their top speed.”
“Understood.” Sensing that all the eyes in the room were looking at him Fensha made his decisions. “Ops, tell the cruiser repair crews to pull out the stops and jury-rig as many components as possible in eleven hours. Barring any radical changes, this anchorage will be at general quarters one hour before the arrival of Amber 3 and at battle alert thirty minutes before the arrival of Amber 4. Send a flash message to the pinnace tenders and Task Element 114.1. They are to enter Kerama Retto and engage the contacts, which I’m convinced are Axis units, as soon as practical. I designate Flag Captain Simm to be in charge of the combined tender-carrier force.”
“Aye, aye, Commodore,” said Mokana.
"Don't bother to wake the pinnace crews just yet," Fensha added. "They deserve to have a night's rest before going into what might be their first and only battle."
********
The quiet on the bridge of the Falconer was only broken by occasional tones from worked control panels and the creak of chairs in their crash frames. An underlining sense of anticipation was felt by all, for very soon a pair of scouts will have reached the Twins/Chrome warp point to keep watch over it. As for the destination of the Falconer and its companions it was already reached by a trio of scouts. What they found was the heart of conversation between captains, tactical and operation officers of all of those ships.
”So it appears Prime Commander Ashton's instinct was correct,” opined Larpon as he gazed into the holoimager. “I was expecting nothing more than a small way-station for pinnaces to recharge their power reserves and life support.”
Fanmet, standing next to Larpon, could only nod in agreement. “Three type-2 bases, a type-5, and a pair of type-6s. There's also a commercial engined destroyer-sized ship, and, if the scouts are reading it right, a pair of cruisers docked to the type-5. A proper little anchorage.”
“Being where they are, Fanmet, those large bases have to be fighter platforms. Perhaps small craft too. A potential for a big fight in my book.”
Fanmet feel a bit hungry while looking at one white-colored icon in the holoimager. “Too bad Ashton had to send those fighter-armed Flak Lighters to the other warp point. Even though they're carrying a dozen outdated Hatchets we could use their firepower.”
“Commander's prerogative,” Larpon said. “It's possible the enemy may have left some light fixed defenses at the Twins/Shunt warp point. Perhaps nothing more than a small base or a ship equipped with automated weapon control systems. If such units are present then destroying them will deny their use to the enemy. So using a dozen outdated fighters for such a task is reasonable.”
“Still, a fighter is a fighter,” mused the shuttle pilot. “Ah,” he pointed to a holographic icon that blinked in a rapid series of pulses, “the scouts are reporting from the Twins/Chrome warp point.” He quickly read the word scrawl appearing below the icon. “No enemy units present. That means they'll perform their secondary duty and destroyed the nearby navigation, communication and scanner buoys.”
Larpon's eye stayed on the holoimager as the icon divided into two, each representing a scout engaging in a search pattern to find the buoys. “That will hamper their communications between here and Citadel. Any courier drone coming through has a very good chance of not achieving a position fix. Those that do will have to face the prospect of being shot down by the scouts.” With nothing better to do at the moment the two officers watched the reported progress of the scouts. Before long one found the quarry and moved full speed in order to dispatch it quickly and get back to assume its watch over the warp point. What came next was totally unexpected.
Truth be told, there was only one actual scout in the pair, for the other had its long-range scanner swapped out for a point defense instillation; not only for its own use but to share via datalink with its partner. It was just as well, for the scout needed all the help it could get at this point for it had run straight into a pattern of mines 1.5 light seconds from the buoys. With no engine modulation, and ECM shut down as there were no enemy units in weapons range, the surprised point defense crews did their best. Attacked entering and leaving the mine patch, the scout was a wreck, with just life support operational and one engine room intact. The scout’s partner came over, and, after doing a comprehensive investigation, found that the two buoys were protected by a very thin shell of mine patterns, 36 in all at a distance of 1.5 light seconds. Never before did the Axis encounter such a defensive arrangement for what were expendable assets. The mines wouldn’t stop assault shuttles or fighters, and posed a slight risk to solitary pinnaces. Clearly it was meant to mousetrap unwary scouts, or hold them at bay until a fighter, armed small craft or a bigger ship was available.
The commander of the Tracker Leader, after some thought, decided that the mission had to be completed. He had the remaining crew on the slightly smaller Fleet Tracker abandon ship, but not before programming it to enter the partially depleted mine patch. This done, the patch was down to 20 mines. His own ship, with full engine modulation and ECM spun to full power, entered the patch with a fully alert point defense crew. On the far side the scout emerged victorious, its path now clear of mines, though it came at the cost of its armor, datalink, hold and two engine rooms. With both buoys shot down, and survivors from the Fleet Tracker stuffed aboard, the remaining scout took station around the Twins/Chrome warp point. Emergency repairs fixed one engine room. Prime Commander Ashton had the scout stay on station until relieved by the scout trio that was currently keeping watch over the enemy anchorage. All the while the nearby CSF scout kept its own watch, having observed what happened and reporting its findings via courier drone to Citadel and a comm line to Oyster Cove-02. In the battle for the Twins the much despised Aboms got the first kill.
********
On the opposite end of the system the AFC had better luck. The five-ship flotilla was comprised of one Tracker Leader scout, one standard Flak Lighter and three fighter-carrying Flak Lighters. What they found was a single type-1 base, sitting 10 light-seconds from the Twins/Shunt warp point. The three little carriers launched their broods, three squadrons comprised of four F0 Hatchets each. Since they controlled the range the fighters minimized their exposure to counterfire.
With so much lead time the base commander’s decision was an easy one. Save for fourteen volunteers, including himself, the commander had the rest of the base’s crew evacuate in the assigned shuttle. They were to head out into Kerama Retto’s outer reaches until the arrival of the pinnace tenders. As for the Sloop scout it kept its distance, watching the unfolding fighter strike. Though they could’ve been armed with antimatter close attack missiles the squadron commanders elected not to do so, preferring to save the new and relatively expensive ordnance for more worthy targets.
The fighters went in, taking no losses from the base’s point defense and sole externally mounted close attack missile. Leaving behind a cloud of expanding debris the 12 fighters were vectored by the Fleet Tracker towards the communications/navigation buoy, having received word of what happened at the other warp point. There, too, was a thin shell of mines like the one at the first warp point, and was duly noted by the Axis scout. Around the warp point proper was a shell of 300 mine patterns. Obviously any weapon buoys that were presented were lifted months ago and moved on to the Electrical/Battlement warp point. Secondary task completed, the Hatchet fighters landed on their miniscule carriers and were rearmed. An equally tiny combat area patrol, composed of three Hatchets, took their station, circling the warp point. At best, such a small force was expected to destroy any courier drones that came through as well as any small enemy ship. It was accepted that anything greater than that would mean the destruction of the Flak Lighters, leaving the sole scout to carry on with its mission.
An hour into the routine the Sloop detuned its engines and moved towards the warp point, taking the CAP by surprise. More enticed rather than cautious, the fighter trio moved on the ship, only to be tricked at the last moment. The Sloop launched its sole courier drone at full speed and came about, heading away while the drone, now out of range of the Hatchet’s close attack missiles, made transit into the Shunt system. Now armed with the knowledge of what awaited them on the far side the allies rushing towards Kerama Retto drew up their plan of attack.
