Ambrosia Software Web Board: Ares Chronicles: Spectre of the Order - 1:2 - Ambrosia Software Web Board

Captain Peter Welsh sat in his chair backwards, slumped over in a happy daze, obviously enjoying the afterglow of last night's events. "I tell yah, Sarah, that was the best damn fight I've been in for a while." His daughter stared at him disapprovingly as any pacifist would. She was slim and tall, braided blond hair flowing down to her waist. Her skin was like a pink silk, one of the few delicate and beautiful ornaments in UNS space untouched by the horrific Cantharan Wars. She was the pique picture of fragile feminine beauty, protected against the cruel galaxy out there by her father. Boy she hated it when he got drunk...

"You almost got yourself killed, much less arrested. You're lucky not to be in some alien jail. what have you to show for your rash behavior?"
"Arg; I knocked out six gaitori with my bare hands!" He lied.
"Trouble with you warriors is that's all you can do. Fight fight fight! 'Ever give peace a chance?"
He regarded her in drunken disgust, one eye slightly swollen shut. "All the way out here? These here men are prospectors, not philosophers. To blend in in Paylos life you must, err... blend in!"
"You need to get more in touch with your sensitive side, dad."
"I know my sensitive side 'cause it has a rash!" He laughed loudly at his own joke.

She didn't.

"In other news," she buzzed on, ignoring his hangover, "Brooks gave you a call. He says he'd like to meet with you to discuss some pressing matters. I think it's urgent." Brooks Arnold was a wing commander for the UNS navy. Whenever something seemed amiss to him, it always was.
"Did he say why?"
"No, it's classified."
"Alright, phone him and tell him I'm on my way..." He grudgingly heaved himself from the seat, tossed the beer glass out the window, and made for the hangars.

* * * * *

Succession had always been a part of Cantharan culture, or at the least, a part since time beyond memory. The shipbuilder's son was irrevocably destined to become a shipbuilder, as was the farmer's son to become as his father. Thus when Mek Het, Admiral and commander of the First Imperial Fleet of Cantharis, was struck down on the eve of the battle of the Ares, so was his son forever and inescapably to become his new thronebearer.

"Battlegroup Seven did a most excellent job at crippling the human hold on Alpha Centauri. We should capitalize on this opportunity and seize the system!"
For a while there was silence as Captain Hop let his suggestion inkle in. There was an awkward pause in the dark room, neither man could see each other through the metallic blackness. For all Hop knew, the Admiral wasn't there. Then, the strong voice spoke, clearly enunciating it's syllables into rock-hard words.
"No, captain. They would expect that to be our next move as Alpha Centauri is an important chokepoint into human space. Since we damaged their jumpgate, they will divert ships from the Pollux system to aid in defence of our expected attack, inadvertently leaving Pollux vulnerable for a seventy-two hour period. We shall strike at Pollux."
"But Pollux is their fleet-staging point. If you're wrong we could lose most of the fleet!"
The voice chuckled. "Faith, my good captain."
"Our opponent is formidable."

Silence once again. Both men knew full well the military status of the human fleet. Commanded and led by the UNS Admiral Hollister, a tactical wonder who had coordinated the resistance from the start of the Cantharan occupation of Earth. He had led the massive diversionary assault during the Battle of Sol, and it had been his bravery and wartime tact that succeeded in luring the mainstay of the Cantharan fleet away while the Gateship was to be annihilated. Every carrier that had stayed in that system fighting his fleet was one less the enhanced cruiser had to blast to pieces in Sol.

"Yes, our opponent may be formidable but as great as he is, he is still just a human. Humans are stupid, slow, rash. Predictable." He put the emphasis on predictable so as chills went down Captain Hop's spine. "I have fought him ever since the start of the occupation; I have read his wartime diaries and studied the literature he appreciated. Judge a man not by his actions but by what he appreciates. Admiral Hollister is a rash man; always taking action a split second before he is quite ready. He is much like the ancient-earth human Stalin was, in the way that as long as the desired result is achieved, due process does not matter."

"So we launch marine wing for Pollux."
"Send Battlegroup Four to accompany them. Battlegroup six is to follow up on their suspicions and launch a diversionary attack on Alpha Centauri."
"Aye sir."
"You are dismissed."

* * * * *

"Lieutenant Welsh." The black man saluted.
"Wing Commander." Peter Returned the salute. "You wanted to speak with me sir?"
"Yes. UNS Intelligence has been observing the movements of the Cantharan Warlords. Their coordination and tactical precision of late has alarming."
"You mean they're getting together?"
"HQ has reason to believe they are attempting to recapture the Centauri system."
"How so?"
"Two days ago a large flotilla of Cantharan warships dropped from jumpspace into the system, and overtook the UNS defences by surprise. Several key colonial facilities were crippled, implying the Cantharans intend to launch a second attack to overtake the system."
Immediately Peter remembered the routine. "When do we launch?"
"Oh-nine-thirty."

* * * * *

The Centauri night sky loomed over the planet, cloud-free and motionless. The stars sat perfectly still, sparing the odd twinkle now and then. The scene could have easily been mistaken for a painting, had not a single wing of UNS fighters streaked across it. The vanguard-formation of the tiny ships consisted of seven heavy fighters, each one headed with a unique symbol. At the head of the wing was Brooks' ship.

"All birds call in." His authoritative voice rumbled over the intercom. The callsigns came back.
"Sixpack reporting in."
"Psycho reporting in."
"Catgirl reporting in."
"Munchie reporting in."
"Stradolator reporting in."
Peter Welsh knew it was his turn. "Welsh reporting in."

It was Brooks' turn to rebrief the wing. "Alright team, we've got incoming Cantharan warships and it's our job to tie them up until Hollister's fleet can secure the planet."
Catgirl continued, in her sardonic voice. "Don't look now, Brooks, as here come the guests of honor. I'm reading nine... ten... jesus! Almost two dozen incoming."
"It could get a little rough. Lock all missiles on heat-seeking."
Peter was the first to see the green ships on his scope. "Here they come!"

The Cantharans did not hesitate to roll in as immediately, six fighters barrelled into the formation, their red beams reaching for the wing of UNS ships. "Sixpack, take the one to twenty degrees; Munchie, take the one to one-eighty; Welsh, follow me; the rest of you engage the main group." The chorus of voices acknowledged.
"Yes sir."
"Aye."
"He's mine!"

Two of the UNS fighters rolled away from a stream of crimson Cantharan beams lancing into the formation, coming about to strike the underside of one of the Cantharans; it lit aflame, spinning out violently before it blew itself apart.
"Got one!"
Again, the Cantharan fighters spun into the UNS formation, photokinetic beams bolting into it. The UNS fighters dodged and returned fire, missing entirely as the Cantharans rejoined formation. Four charged the formation head-on.
"Look out!" Someone in the UNS fighters shouted as a volley of fire engulfed the UNS fighters. Too late.
"I'm hit!" Cried Catgirl as a beam smashed into her fighter head-on. She launched a missile and swung out of formation just in time to avoid another round of the crimson flame the Cantharans so zealously poured out. "They've flushed me out of formation... I can’t shake them!"
"Hang on, Catgirl!" Sixpack followed suit and pursued catgirl's stalkers. "I 'got them in my sights.... die!" The laser cannon on Sixpack's fighter spat four blue bolts towards the two enemy fighters. They shot forth, plowing into the remaining Cantharan fighters and sending them into a flaming death.
"They got me bad!" She shouted over the unbearable static. "I'm returning to base!"
"Sixpack return to forma-" An explosion rocked the intercom as Psycho's fighter exploded in a ball of white-hot gas.
"Commander-- Destroyers!" Munchie yelped in an alarmed voice, seeing the approaching vessels eclipse the Centauri suns.
"All units disperse and regroup at seven-niner-niner."
"Roger."
"On my way."

The wing of fighters came about to face their new foe: a trio of destroyers of who had entered the system. "Stradolator, Sixpack and Munchie; take the leader. Welsh, distract the one on the left. I'll hold the one on the right."
The five remaining fighters split, two headed for the flanking the destroyers and the remaining three streaking towards to lead.
"Try and land a missile up the front!"
"Can't get a lock with all that quasimatter they're shooting at us. We'll have to do it manual."
The three fighters darted side-to-side, glowing blue destroyer pulses streaking past them and narrowly missing; the destroyer clawing at them in futility.
"Range is 3 km... closing..."
"Pull out, Sixpack! he's got you locked!"
"Allllllmost there..."
"Pull out damnit!" Munchie yelped frantically as he saw a single pulse streak towards Sixpack's fighter. "Take evasive action!"
Sixpack's eyes dilated at the approaching flare, his body paralysed in terror as he watched the torpedo streak towards him. "Ohhhh ****...." The torpedo hit, and Sixpack's fighter was no more.
"Noooo!" howled Munchie in distraught tragedy. Had any man been in the squadron he would have known they had been brothers.

"Pull yourself together, Munchie!" Stradolator barked into the intercom. "It's not over yet! The destroyer's recharging!"
"Shoot it then." The response came from a sad, empty shell of a voice on the other end.
"I used my missiles, Munchie. You gotta take vengeance." Said Stradolator comfortingly. "I'll cover you. Show 'em what we're made of!"
"I.... Aye...."

The twin fighters shot towards to destroyer like greased lightning, taking advantage of the pause in its fury to reload. "We're in range, Stradolator!"
"Fire!"

The missile gracefully departed from the hold of the fighter; for a moment it seemed to hover barely outside as if making up its mind. Then the boosters kicked in and it rocketed for the hapless Cantharan ship. With impunity it sailed up the destroyer's quasimatter chamber, and disappeared from sight. There was an uncertain pause, the two pilots unsure of whether it had worked, and then it came. A most horrendous explosion tore apart the destroyer from the inside out, the full detonation of it's quasimatter core engulfing the ship in a blue fireball, debris flying outwards and annihilating itself on invisible particles.
"One bogey down! I repeat: one bogey down!"

There was cheering through the intercom with all four pilots congratulating each other on the kill, when the universal alert siren went off. Four gunships and a carrier had entered the system. There was a brief string of harsh expletive shouting when Welsh finally managed to check the transponders on them. They all displayed the UNS fleet signature. He grinned under his helmet visor.

"All units return to base; Hollister's fleet's here to mop up the rest."

* * * * *

The usual classy celebration took place in the Centauri Station Bar, drinks and music flowing like water at Niagra. There was singing, alcohol, games; everything a drunk pilot would wish for. Admiral Hollister grinned smugly at his success. The very appearance of his fleet had caused the remaining Cantharan forces in the system to turn and flee home like a chased duck.

Amidst the celebrations, a short man in intelligence uniform stepped very carefully up to Hollister, a deadly serious expression on his face. The Admiral clapped him on the back. "Relax, corporal, we've just chased off a Cantharan invasion fleet, yea, completely out of Alpha Centauri." The man's face did not budge, however he put an arm around Hollister's shoulder and took him aside to a quiet corner. His voice was hushed and disturbed.
"Sir, it's Pollux."
"What about Pollux?" The Admiral said in the same cheery voice, only now somewhat confused.

Then the corporal said the six words that completely shattered Hollister's mindframe.

"They've fallen to the Cantharans, sir."


[This message has been edited by moderator (edited 05-28-2001).]

Very impressive work. Looking forward to hte next chapter

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"No one will ever silence the voices of Obain"
-Admiral K. Ackgott at the moment of execution by Gaitori terrorists

Fighter don't have missiles. You're making them sound as if they're oh so powerful, like in some Star Wars story.

Where is htjyang?!!!

Quote

A better question would be: Where is Sargatanus?

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"Facts are stubborn." - John Adams
"Football combines the 2 worst features of America. It is violence punctuated by committee meetings." - George Will
The above quotes are courtesy of George Will on ABC's "This Week"

I don't think he's AWOL...

Since Andros hasn't replied to my inflammotary posts, then I think he's left the boards.

This implies Andros wrote his story ages ago.

I would surmise that Sargatanus is letting the old chronicles leak out.

May I cast a vote for bringing back Hytjang before?

Quote

It is conceivable that fighters be outfitted with missiles. They could just be a slight variation on the standard design (i.e added missile racks).


And no, I don't think this chronicle is particularly old. About two weeks I'd say.

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I'm pretty certain you're right laguna. I've just checked out andros, and he's only made 3 posts: those 3 chronicles.

I wonder who he really is...