Presode One
"Opening Shots"
Robotech IV- The Odysseus Epic
Act One: Superdimensional Starforce Orion
by Presley H. Cannady (cannady@magiccarpet.com)
and Lou Barnes (lbj@magiccarpet.com)
_______________________________
Sun Tzu said: The art of war is of vital importance to the State...
It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to
ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be
neglected.
-Sun Tzu Wu, "Chapter One: Laying Plans." The Art of War, 500
B.C.E. Translated by Dr. Lionel Giles
* * *
"SCRATCH ONE."
Lieutenant Colonel Noriko Hirota watched with morbid satisfaction as her
prey exploded into a brilliant fireball. A trail of fire, fumes and debris
followed its sinister form's rapid descent. A moment later, the enemy craft
brutally ruptured the surface of the ocean. Pulling back the flightstick as
violently as she could, Noriko hurled her Veritech fighter into a steep
climb. Behind her, the magnetic bottle collapsed around her victim's
powerplant. An enormous blast raced outwards along the surface, its
shockwave rattling violently against her airframe. She held the flightstick
steady, fighting the rush of turbulence threatening to subdue her aircraft.
Her airfoil finally cleared the blast radius as she angled out for level
flight at one thousand meters. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the
ensuing fireball darkened the skies billowing fumes ballooned outward,
jading the magnificent splendor of the view as Ishtar-anai Prime descended
below the moon-world's horizon. Avoiding the sharply rising pillars of
percolating, potent ocean, she swung her Tymanech VT hard to the left,
basking momentarily in the rapture of the kill. The secondary, dwarfish sun
of the Ishtar binary system passed through the acrid fire-plumes, spreading
its focused, blazing white brilliance behind her. The spire-like silhouette
of her aircraft's fuselage dispersed Ishtar-yera's effulgence as the dwarf
star's radiance glinted of the Veritech's champagne tegument.
She forced her attention back to her monitors. Early on in her career,
Colonel Hirota had learned to keep her pride in check. This sort of
profession demanded the utmost respect for her opponents' capabilities, and
cockiness and overconfidence had claimed the lives of more than a few pilots.
"Watch yourself, Cran Leader," her tac-net flared up suddenly. "One
o'clock high!"
The warning came just in time. Her threat indicator noted the lock, but
she reacted too slowly and allowed her new acquisition to let off two
missiles--medium-velocity, self-guiding interceptors with a high-explosive
warhead--with less than fifteen klicks between them. With the intercept
vector bearing right down on her nose, she had only a split second to react.
Her computer automatically dispensed countermeasures as she roughly jerked
the side stick back and to the left. Her control surfaces adjusted
themselves accordingly and Noriko's bird pulled into a tight turn. A risky
maneuver, she exposed her VT's ventral broadside to the interceptor's
guidance systems for a brief moment, quickly recovering and angling her bird
back to a low angle of attack. Then, she repeated a ritual of jinking turns
until the missiles--unable to match the VT's maneuverability--gave up and
slammed into the ocean's surface. Noriko quickly returned to a straight
search flight pattern, but her screen was blank--whatever had been at one
o'clock high a minute before was sure as hell long gone.
She clicked her comm-circuit back over to the tactical net, "Cran Lead
to Cran Two, over?"
"Go ahead, Lead," Cran Two's crystal clear mezzo-soprano voice clinked
over the commlink.
"Having a bit of trouble with Bandit Six. You see him, over?"
"Got Bandit Six on heading two-fiver-three, niner-zero-zero
kay-pee-aych," Lieutenant Takahashi replied, her spectacled image coming
through on Noriko's left visual display. The acting squadron commander--the
SVFA-109 Vermilion's squadron commander was still onboard the
Farragut--frowned mockingly at her new wingman, who always managed to
maintain a casual, easy-going demeanor under even the most stressful of
combat situations. A few days ago, she would've longingly wished for
Captain "Blackjack" Kricht of the 63rd Strike Fighter Squadron to take
Takahashi's place on her wing. However, Hirota soon learned that the Navy
lieutenant could easily hold her own in a fight.
"Well, get your ass on him if you can see him!" Noriko gritted her teeth.
"Since you ask so nicely, Cran Leader," Miki Takahashi--Cranberry
Two--replied mockingly. Under normal conditions, the command of the
squadron would've been ceded to the squadron's exec, which was Lieutenant
Takahashi. However, in an extremely unorthodox procedure, the Mongol SVS
commander had assigned one of SVS's group commanders--an AF short colonel at
that--to lead the primarily Navy unit planet-side. Hirota was naturally
siphoned for the assignment, considering her extensive planetary experience
as an Aerospace Force pilot as well as her newcomer status in the current
Mongol Strategical Veritech Squadron's command organization. Additionally,
she wore the additional hat of commander of a predominantly Navy squadron.
While eager to break free from the responsibilities that had tied her to a
desk for the past six months, she was quickly re-learning that combat also
had a downside.
Noriko grumbled aloud, searching for her new acquisition. Fortunately,
the search didn't take too long; a second Pariah soon flashed across her
radar-screen, flying straight at one o'clock high. Switching to a satellite
link-up--which was impressive in itself considering defense coordination
sats were usually the first to go when an enemy moved in on orbital
space--Noriko noted two blips on her radar screen; bogies breaking through
the upper atmosphere plunging towards the heated battle close to the
surface. "I'm reading breaks! Two of 'em! Coming in bearing
zero-eight-zero magnetic, mark twelve!"
With depth precision, she wiped the lead fighter with an early missile
release. Switching to fighter configuration, she muscled onto the next one.
A hustle. Despite her superior acceleration, she was careful not too
overshoot her target; instead, Noriko trailed expertly as she locked her
floating targeting pip on her acquisition. Gradually, she closed the
distance until she was close enough to--
"Guns! Guns! Guns!," she could taste the challenge as she danced
dangerously with her new playmate. Arming her forward plasma cannons, she
squeezed off a few rounds. However, with surprisingly irritating ease, the
enemy Pariah fighter arrogantly flew out of the barrage unharmed. Cursing,
Noriko sent her Tymanech rolling upward in pursuit, punching her thrust to
attack level and trimming her variable wings. Her twin fusion engines
roared in jet mode, hurtling her at transonic speeds towards her target.
"Cranberry Leader to Cranberry Two! Cran Leader to Cran Two! No dice,
repeat, no dice! Lost target Sierra Five. Repeat, lost target."
"Bad news, Cran Leader. Three bandits--atmospheric breaks bearing
zero-zero-nine mark eight!" Came Takahashi's reassuring reply. "Looks like
our buddies are going to be a bit late!"
"What's taking them so fucking long!" Noriko demanded. She thought she
heard a flicker of static on the tac-net, and steadily grew impatient as her
wingman neglected to answer. "Cranberry Two?!"
"Uh...yes, commander?"
"Glad you're paying attention, Lieutenant."
"Glad you're watching your ass, Commander," her wingspan laughed.
"You're a magnet for trouble. As for your question, still nothing on the
tac-net. No support signal...zippo."
"Uh-huh," she said tersely, turning her attention to the Pariahs that
were approaching rapidly and head on. Her GU-56 autocannon--a lengthy,
jet-black cylindrical weapon that ejected spent-uranium projectiles with
energize ribidium coats--discharged a continuous burst, ripping apart the
first fighter; in the meantime, Takahashi was finishing off the third.
However, the one they were forced to ignore--
If it weren't for the dampers, a mecha's uppercut to a VT in fighter
mode could prove fatal. Tensing her jaw muscles, she transfigured into
battloid mode, fighting off the pain. Damn!
"All right, asshole," Noriko landed on the soft beach, as the Pariah
converted to its guardian mode. She hit the trigger, tearing up landscape,
but narrowly missing her target. The blow shorted her tracking array,
forcing her to cut it off and recalibrate the sensor-heads. Within a
minutes, the fully array chimed back online. Sierra Seven, however, was
nowhere to be seen.
"Cran Two! Lost acquisition! You see him, over?"
"That's a negative, Leader. I would--shit! Look out!"
Just as the second target had disappeared from her screen, a third--she
designated it Sierra Eight--appeared out of nowhere to take their place.
The Corron Pariah had taken the advantage of his surprise, firing well
within Noriko's threat zone unchallenged, before pulling away.
Unfortunately, the Corron pilot had overestimated his respective velocity,
and Noriko jinked wildly to force her opponent to overshoot--within seconds,
he had fallen right into her firing cone. Still, Sierra Eight refused to
succumb to her trap. The bandit banked sharply to the right, cutting across
Noriko's tenuous line of sight and defeating missile lock. She
automatically compensated her dramatic increase in the angle of attack,
carefully glancing for the horizon and at her altitude-above-ground--vitally
important for survival during low-altitude engagements.
"Guardian!" Jamming her finger on top of the key marked G, the computer
automatically began transforming the Veritech into its intermediate robotic
configuration. With its gam thrusters extended, the Tymanech skirted the
surface of the water, hurling salty foam as it skimmed atop the ocean at
over three-hundred knots. However, Sierra Eight caught on too early, and he
quickly drove his craft into a wild climb and looped back in her direction.
Noriko attempted to feint, leaning towards the left. Nonetheless, Sierra
Eight persisted, screaming from the skies with an angel's wrath.
In a last ditch effort, Noriko brought up the mecha's right hand, ergo
the autocannon, and let loose a fury of spent-uranium rounds. At the same
time, she threw the Veritech into a carefully executed u-turn, bringing her
altitude to barely ten meters before the thrashing waves. The Pariah pilot
avoided the telegraphed tactic, and pulled out of his steep dive about
twelve kilometers away--and three-hundred meters up...but not before loosing
its immense payload.
"Inbound coming in! Crawfish twelve o'clock high!" her wingman's shrill
warning rang over the tac-net. Sierra Eight had launched two of her bulky
Crawfish heat-seekers, an overkill weapon mounted by the Pariah during
atmospheric engagements. Fortunately, they were clumsy and easy to throw
off. Noriko answered the impotent attack ferociously; zig-zagging atop the
ocean surface until the Crawfish lost their lock and plummeted into the sea.
Checking her six, she was astonished to see that her pursuer flying straight
into an approaching overcast. To concerned with saving his own hide, Sierra
Eight had neglected to ensure that his strike had killed Noriko. Well,
that's his lot. Climbing out of her surface skimming maneuver, she
throttled her craft towards a gathering storm front. Although Noriko
positively detested flying in this sort of weather, her tracking equipment
was far superior to that of the Pariah's--in the clouds, she had the
unilateral advantage of sensor sight.
"Fox One!" cried Noriko as her thumb depressed the launch key. She
repeated the phrase three times the Tymanech freed itself of a concurrent
number of her foil-mounted AMRAAM missiles. Her missile lock came really
close as the missiles closed the gap, but Sierra Eight--to Noriko's
surmounting frustration--managed to escape destruction. Dipping out of the
overcast, he cut his engines and dropped wildly--throwing the missiles off
thoroughly before disappearing off her screen. She searched desperately,
but as far as her sensor suite was concerned, Sierra Eight no longer
existed. Likewise, she quit the drab gray air mass and slinked back towards
clearer skies; flying straight with her search radar on active.
"Cranberry Leader to Cran Two, come in Cran Two."
"Hey there, commander," her wingman replied. "Let me guess, 'lost
acquisition,' eh? Can't keep your eyes on target just once? You won't see
me going winchester that quickly."
"Very funny," she couldn't see her wingman either. Cranberry Two
finished her last acquisition five minutes ago, and currently pulled up to
cover Noriko's fantail. "Now cut it out. Do you see him?"
"Roger. He's at oh-four-eight--damn! He's closing in right behind you,
Leader! Seven-thirty low!"
The proximity alarm confirmed Takahashi's assessment. Noriko quickly
brought her Tymanech off its straight course, pulling the side-stick to the
lower-right violently. The resultant gees from her circum-acceleration
panged at every living cell. Still, the maneuver had the desired effect;
the Corron fighter hurtled by, passing underneath her as she regained her
previous vector. Quickly, she hit another configuration key--for Battloid;
this time converting the Veritech into it's fiercesome, humanoid mecha
contour. The "rabbit-ear"-like sensor suites locked onto the fleeing
Pariah, just as five long bursts erupted from Noriko's autocannon. This
time, Sierra Eight took a little damage, but only a little.
"Damn!" Noriko hit the dash. Angrily, she forced the throttle stick
full forward. The Battloid's FCHUD (Full Canopy Head's Up Display)
automatically translated the information from the VT's remote sensors and
projected them onto her forward canopy. Noriko depressed the fighter-mode
key, pursuing Sierra Eight in standard configuration. "Cran Two. He's
afterburning on two-eight-eight straight. What can you see, Cran Two?!"
"Il'tana Mern," her wingman replied, speaking about the small island the
fray was moving towards. "Not very large, about twenty-five kilometers in
diameter. It's lush, if that's what you wanted to know."
Noriko could see already the islands coming into view through her
somewhat steamed canopy. Far within the tropical belt, they were lush in
rain-forest vegetation and rock-face outcroppings. The cliffs formed narrow
gorges that were further slimmed by warped and mangled trees. Flying above
it would mean possibly losing track of her target--if it hadn't piled in on
its own. After all, such tropical environs were a jet-jockey's
"Nap-Of-the-Earth" nightmare.
Perfect, Noriko thought.
"I'm pursuing," she informed Takahashi. "Stay high and dry, and keep me
informed. If it gets to hot, jump in."
"Roger, Leader," Takahashi replied. Noriko frowned, her anger piercing
through her professional facade. Whoever this bastard was, he was pretty
damned good; and Noriko's orders for this action zone were perfectly clear:
Conduct anti-mecha operations to the fullest extent.
Then, turning her voice command microphone to her lips, "CHATS on."
The computer immediatly accessed the Cross-Hair Aquiring and Targeting
System--tied into Orbital Sat KHR-33-Victor-Echo--which was still alive
almost three days into atmospheric war. Two axis, "x" and "y," appeared. A
"z" axis was represented by the range finder already active in the radar
display. The cross hairs danced about the canopy's interor until it found
its mark. "Bingo! Bearing two-eight-seven magnetic!"
The Battloid crossed over the beaches of this jungle island, still dark
and neglected by the rising sun's rays.
Suddenly, the low whine of a target lock went active. Noriko hated
flying planet-side. Especially over terrain this rugged. Il'tana Eight had
five mountain chains, being part of the planet's mid-oceanic ridge. The
thick jungle gourges and valleys were difficult to fly through, but served
to conceal Noriko's form from the decisivel inferior radar of the Pariah.
Dodging overhangs and vinal growth, she suddenly saw the treeline begin to
decline around her.
Suddenly, her terrain ran out, and she was racing over a white-sanded beach.
With the menacing grace of cheetah--bursting at last from its hiding
place--the Pariah burst out of the forest, firing directly up Hirota's
center lane.
The target lock went erratically to the right and broke. Before Noriko
could interpret this, her rear-end proximity alarm lit up. Looking back,
she suddenly saw the bastard Pariah in its own version of Battloid
configuration.
"Not today, buddy," she said, reversing thrust hard and fast. Several
short range unguided missiles screamed in at her, but her erratic manuever
sent them skewing harmlessly into the sandy beach; tossing tonnes of
granular silica into the air and quickly cutting off both vehicles' visibility..
She hit the ground, tucking her battloid deftly as she executed a
somersault and roll-out. Stabilizing her autocannon, she fired at the
incoming fighter. It two engaged into erratic movements, but two shots
found there place in his left turbine. Realizing his wounds, the Pariah
pilot immediatly broke off his attack, racing back over the sea. Noriko
struggled up, switching to fighter configuration.
"He's wounded," she reported, FCHUD opened a window on the canopy, which
provided a zoomed-in view of the fumes leaking from his left turbine.
"That's one fast sonuvabitch."
"Gotcha, Cran Leader," Miki Takahashi acknowledged. "You want to stop
playing down there? We've got three, no four confirmed atmospheric breaks
outside the Zone. Repeat, four confirmed breaks outside the Zone. The
field's getting REALLY stretched out."
"Copy that, Lieutenant," Hirota replied. "Anything on the goddamned
relief?"
"Just radioed in. They're seven minutes out," Takahashi replied. "I'm
engaging target Bandit-Fourteen."
"I didn't want to hog all the action," Noriko laughed. But her smile
turned to a frown as her long distance radar showed the Istarani newcomers.
* * *
The 23rd Planetary Defense Wing, Ishtar-anai VI, had launched ten of its
top-line Crimean fighters only fifteen minutes ago. To the displeasure of
the Confederation pilots, the Ishtar-anai forces were rather lax in their
defensive posture. These were the best the colonists could hope to ever
offer--a few crack veterans and a handful of sky-brained farmboys who
weren't able to cut the mustard for the UPDF enrollment requirements.
Furthermore, most of the 23rd's--as well as the other PDWs--planes were
two-seaters. The worst part about that is that the Ishtar-anai Planetary
Militia didn't train very many RIOs to accompany their pilots.
Strike one.
The Crimeans were painted gold, to match the tint of the sky once
morning reached full rise. The aerodynamic design hinted at the Crimean's
ancestry to the 20th century air-superiority Terran fighter--the F-15 Eagle.
"Approaching engagement zone perimeter," the lead Crimean fighter
replied. "Three minutes!"
The last three-Crimean formation rose out of the fighter configuration
and raced for the spread of enemy contacts infesting their screens.
* * *
Noriko saw it first. The fighter's trail swerved to a sharp left, its radar
already fixing on hers. He released a volley of the Corron version of the
AMRAAM missile; the last of his medium and short range missile munition.
The effort, however, was thoroughly wasted; Noriko knew that he had to be on
his last leg of missiles--Pariah magazines had a twenty-percent inferior
capacity, and their missile load ranged from ten to thirty-eight percent
less massive than a Tymanech. The way Sierra Eight had been conserving his
missile strength proved that he was on the verge of flushing his
close-engagement racks, and launching an AMRAAM at close range was a dead
ringer for a fighter gone "missile winchester."
"Sunsparks!" Hirota shouted out the command. The onboard computer
replied, ejecting small munition cannons as the FCHUD automatically adjusted
for the new tactical situation. One-hundred-and-eight small hexagonal
targeting blips on her canopy represented the maximum tracking ability of
her powerful radar. All twenty enemy missiles were targetted, and the small
munitions began to home involutarily on the missiles. She couldn't turn
around or slow fast enough. As the munitions struck the missiles, she burst
through the resultant explosion, probably searing the new wax job. Cursing,
she realized that the Pariah had passed her by, heading straight in the
opposite direction. A wide turn place her on his six o'clock position.
Just a little closer, and he'd be unbreakably locked in her sights.
Wait for it.....
"Damn it!" she replied as the Pariah finally noticed her. She cursed
herself for not firing sooner. It jinked out of her field of view, and she
suddenly realized it was heading straight up.
Out of power, she thought. It had to be running out. She must have
strucked the turbines or something. "Time to press my luck."
"Tallyho!" she cried out, bringing the nose to ninety degrees. The
fighter raced higher and higher, the targetting blips searching for-
There! She had him. The smoke was turning lighter and bluer as the
purplish-yellow morning atmosphere gave way to open space.
"Hey, Cran Leader!" Takahashi came over the radio. "You're breaking
defensive ceiling! What the hell are you doing?"
"He's retreating, Princess. I'm gonna smoke this bastard."
Three javelin beams from Sierra Eight's laser cannon caught her
attention. While she was distracted, the Pariah had noted that she had
persistently pursued him this far. Taking advantage of the situation, he
had switched to his own battloid mode again, and fired. The VT rocked as
one seared her left invent. "Damn! That's it, mother-"
The colonel turned into her menacing battloid, as if she was one with
the fighter. Bringing her autocannon to bear, she quickly focused on the
Pariah's damaged left turbine--straining under the orbital breaking
overdrive the Corron had brutally unloaded on his bird. As if pronouncing
judgement, the cannon's release provoked an almost sexual sensation
throughout Noriko's body. The long burst found its way to the already
agitated wound on the Pariah, providing a predicable effect. The hydrogen
tanks ruptured, expanding into the already deforming fuselage. Within
moments, the fighter exploded in a display that nearly blinded Noriko. As
the debris and light cleared, she prepared to reenter by freefall, probably
over the new contacts's position.
Noriko was wrong.
* * *
"Forty illacamas until optimum firing range," the Commander's senior
operation's officer turned around, gazing with a mixture of excitement and
fear at the hardened feature's of his captain's expression. It was blank,
emotionless, and his eyes were disguised behind tinted spectacles.
"Main gun charging in three, sir," another technician reported.
The Commander leaned back in his chair. "Excellent. The Founders would
be pleased." The Hellfire-class superdreadnought continued its descent on
small world below. Leaving their mark on this world would be more
satisfying than taking it, the Commander supposed. He relished the image of
a fatal swath of death and destruction sweeping its way across the main
continent; his eyes focused intently on the holotank as the red blip
signifying Ishtar-anai's capital city flashed interminably.
* * *
Noriko didn't see it until it nearly encompassed her entire field of view.
Like an ominous eclipse on the eve of an ancient battle, the Corron
superdreadnought--designated the Foxtrot 2A by the high-orbital combat
sats--appeared as dark and omnious in appearance as its Corron name
suggested. As its reentry pylons extended like a bird-of-prey adjusting its
flight before strike a field mouse or some other helpless animal, it began
to eject hundreds of seemingly tiny objects. Pariahs, Ranoths, and mecha
the Confederation only knew as Helms poured out rapidly. "Oh, shit!"
The colonel quickly hit overdrive for the QUICKEST reentry she could
hope for. The invasion force, advancing in a sea of Pariah strike-fighter,
approached in her general direction. Three of the anti-mecha screening
units broke off to specifically to engage and destroy Noriko. Maintaining a
reasonably cool posture, the colonel descended into the lower atmosphere to
just below the two-thousand meter operational ceiling; carefully maneuvering
into an abnormally high cumulus layer descending on one of the secondary
continents. Concealed in the easterly moving cloud, she searched with her
superior radar for her pursuers. It was luck that they had descended into
the cloud as well. The Corron Homeworld issued fighters primarily designed
for space combat, with very little advantages in planetary operations.
Cloud formations severely affected a Pariah fighters equipment. Without
navigation, they couldn't find her unless--
Three rounds of cannon fire forced Noriko into a wild evasive.
Unless they made visual contact, Colonel Hirota told herself. She took
a moment in her shock to ponder on how they actually found her, when she
realized that she had not seen them leave the cloud layer, and all three
were on her tail. She pulled out of the dangerous position her straight
flying placed her in, diving for the ocean below. Th fighters followed
dumbly on her route. Smiling, she hit guardian configuration and "skidded"
across the silvery-purple waters. The first two Corron Pariahs, which
resolved to remain on her six, were obviously rookies at this game; they hit
the water without so much as an attempt to pull out of the dive. One was
torn apart when he hit his guardian configuration (the Corron Pariah is
actually a VT with a vulture-like shape and painted dark blue-the Corron
Native Color).
The third Pariah was smarter, taking a position on her six at high
level. He released a small volley of missiles. Hirota fired off some
sunspark intercepteroids, while dodging the surviving missiles and trying
not to auger in.
"Home Plate! This is Cranberry Leader! Over!"
Some static. Reentry often did a job on communications during reproach.
"This is Home Plate. Your signal is now five-by-five, Cran Leader. What's
your situation?"
"I've got a Fox cruiser on my tail! It launched a full battalion of--"
"That's Point Egarde's jurisdiction, right?" someone said in the
background. Noriko blinked twice, and then repeated her message.
"We read you, Cran Leader," the coordinator on Ch'iltana, the
Confederation island base on Ishtar-anai VI replied. "Can you confirm that?"
What the hell? "I said there--"
"Where is your wingman? Radar's and Point Egarde's not--"
"Point Egarde is dead! Pariahs took it out three hours ago!" She had
been fighting the bastards all night. "We're running low on our power
matrix. Make a decision."
What happened next nearly sent her on an attack course for that control
tower. "Is your wingman with you! We don't have you on radar and we can't
confirm your assess-"
"Listen up shithead!" a gasp came over the radio. "I don't know what
the hell you think you're doing, but I've got three Pariahs setting a
pipeline for my ass as soon as I reenter! That qualifies me for some
backup! Now get your candy-ass fighters airborne and get a cruiser here!"
A pause. She wondered if the bureacracy really understood--or
cared--how many good pilots it killed. "Home Plate?"
"We cannot authorize that action without confirmation. If you'd just-"
"Fuck you!" she shut down her radar. To hell with them. "Cran Two,
we've got problems."
"I hear ya'," Takahashi replied. "Assholes."
Her bird swooped down into formation with Hirota, as a wounded Pariah
slammed into the cliff face of the small island they were passing over.
"That just leaves two."
"The Crimeans?"
"Two are down, but they're handling the Ranoths fairly enough. We're
the only VTs in the air, Lead."
Oh god, LaSalle, Mikey.
"All right," she packed away her grief. "Let's do it! We'll hold out
for as long as we can; feel free to operate at your discretion; orders
issued/authorized--Colonel Noriko Hirota, acting-commander, SVFA-109."
The first Pariah that crossed her path had made the mistake of
interpreting Noriko's straight flight pattern as an attempt to remove
herself from the engagement arena. He dearly for his mistake; Hirota's VT
tumbled suddenly, forcing him to overshoot and fall into her autocannon's
firing cone.
"That's one," she was pleased to see it explode on impact, instead of
wounding it fatally like the first one. "Your turn, Cran Two."
"I'm on it," Takahashi replied replied. The second--wiser at the
expense of his wingmate, but just as novice as the first--banked sharply,
heaving his heavy-handling fighter around for a broadside strike. Takahashi
matched his maneuver carefully, neatly cutting her defensive angle across
his line of sight. As the bandit struggled to match Takahashi's turning
radius, he fumbled his controls as Cranberry Two jerked her craft expertly
in the opposite direction. The Tymanech raced off to the side of his
canopy, and the Corron pilot nearly twisted his head off trying to keep his
eyes on her. As he turned carefully to match Cranberry Two's course, the
Veritech suddenly braked in mid-air, rolled until Lieutenant Takahashi was
staring at nothing but islands and ocean, and reconfigured to Guardian mode.
For a split moment, the particularly unaerodynamic, hybrid mechanical figure
lost altitude; yet the lieutenant made good use of her limited time. As the
enemy unwittingly closed within two kilometers, Takahashi's autocannon
squeezed off two short bursts right across the bandit's nose. Panicking
just as she predicted, the poor bastard instinctively jinked his sidestick
about, sacrificing altitude he simply did not have. Moving at speeds
greater than seven-hundred knots at two-hundred meters, nothing could have
possibly saved him from the impact. Takahashi somersaulted her Veritech
one-hundred eighty degrees, bringing the leg-thrusters to bear only seventy
meters above the ocean surface; the lieutenant tasted the satisfying rush as
her targeting computers marked the augered-in Pariah as a kill.
"Jesus!" Noriko gasped as the Pariah found a tumultuous end in the deep.
"What the hell was that for?"
"Hey, I'm not the one always stuck in a rut, commander," Takahashi
pointed out. Clearly satisfied with her expert work, she began to turn for--
* * *
"Fire!" the command rang out. The ship whined with the gigajoules of energy
it was being drained of. Towards the bow, a magnetic bubble quickly
coalesced fusion plasma with the massive energies into one point. Just as
the energies and plasma content of the retarded particle beam reached its
critical amassing stage, the magnetic bubble suddenly reoriented itself, and
the hyper-active gravitational field suddenly thrust the destructive beam
forward, magnifying its destructive potential with its own gravimetric
properties. In distinct waves, the three-stage impulse of the Foxtrot's
main gun bore down on the planet below.
* * *
The sky went from rich vermilion to bright white. Noriko shielded her eyes,
hoping not to collide with her wingman. As she slid down her blast visor,
she could still make out the brilliant, streaking stream of radiation and
charged particles--striking outward from its magnetic collector towards--
--an energy surge flashed across her field of view, blinding her screens
as well as her eyes. As Noriko's combs and rods struggled to make sense
after the aftermath of the shockingly brilliant display. Her ears strained
to listen for the "dangerously low altitude" warning that might blare across
her internal speakers at anytime. As her vision slowly returned and her
visual cortex reassumed control after the visual overload, Noriko veered her
eyes to where she knew the altimeter was. Checking her current vector, she
pulled back on the sidestick and applied additional throttle; removing her
aircraft from the dangerously low loft into the hearth of a burning sky.
Then, the cockpit went mad. At first, the tremor seemed
slight--following the flash by mere seconds. Then, her systems blared the
"collision alert" alarm, signalling the approaching shockwave of the firestorm.
"Shit!!!" Her craft turned into the wave, reducing her vulnerable
angularity to the shock's path. Still, an advancing Pariah fighter group,
detached by the approach Foxtrot to sweep clean aerial resistance over the
seas, fell victim to friendly fire. The force of the particle beam
immediately disintegrated four of the fighters, reducing them to nothing but
component matter. The particle beam laughed at the Capitol's meager defense
screens--an electromagnetic ECM field not even strong enough to reduce
Ishtar-anai's inbound radiation. The angelic shaft of charged particles and
thermal energy struck the capital with the explosive force of a five-hundred
megatonne nuclear warhead, and the tight focus of the beam served to neatly
slice through both gubernatorial and residential districts. In less than an
Earth second, Ishtar'me Resla, the millenial capital city of an entire
world, died in a vicious flashfire of radiation and fragmentation.
Moreover, the strike had irradiated an area within a one-hundred fifty
kilometer radius outright, as the flames spread outward across the main
continent's western coast.
"Holy mother of..." Takahashi trailed off. The beams laced through the
sky, impacting with the capital city and quickly lacerating the continent.
The screams of Ishtar VI's governing continent's populace drowned in the
vaporizing fury. The heat and radiation hit first, EM energy racing at
lightspeed. Those exposed to the wide bands in certain areas were burned
alive, suffering from third-degree charrings that were beyond the ability of
medicin. The plasma-wave, piggy-backed along the laceration round's energy
wave, finished the job, destroying organic and non-organic, abiotic and
biotic matter. Whatever or whoever was left lay dying or crumbling, either
from extensive cratering damage, untreatable wounds, or radiation sickness.
"Resla's gone..."
"Do you acknowledge that, Home Plate," Noriko spat out as she switched
to ship-to-shore audio.
"We acknowledge confirmation for Commander Hirota," the watch officer
replied softly. "We are launching reserve squadrons from all remaining
bases." Noriko didn't reply.
"Cran Leader?" Takahashi down looked at her radar.
But Noriko Hirota still remained silent. They were too late. The
battleship was already retreating. All this for noth-
"Just--fuck!" Takahashi's sudden change of tone jerked her out of shock.
"Leader! Six high! Six high!"
All Noriko could think was that Cran Two's warning had come too late;
three missiles impacted on her right-side turbine, effectively knocking her
powerplant out. The engine sputtered sickly as the Veritech limped vainly
across the sky, trailing debris and fire as Noriko--stunned by the impact's
concussion--struggled to keep her airborne.
"Oh...shit, Takahashi!" she called out. "I'm hit bad! Engine failure
is...oh god! I'm gonna have to bail."
"Copy that," Takahashi said. The Pariah race by, ignoring her
completely and confidently neglecting to check the status of his 'kill.'
For that assumption, Takahashi relished sending the bastard to hell--burying
her last two Stiletto IX missiles into the Pariah's outboard thrusters.
"Bail out here, sir," she said after an island staggered towards them
from the horizon. "I'll circle your position until help arrives."
She hoped that the forward fuselage was still ejectable. That way, she
could glide into the ocean below. She screwed off the safety cap, slowed
the VT down to subsonic speeds, and spread her swing wings open as far as
possible. The VT gained the drag it need, and she turned the activation
pull and yanked it toward her.
Nothing. "Damn it. Takahashi! I'm going to have to bail manually. The
little prick must've picked off my ejection bolts...yep. That's what he did
all right."
"Copy, Sierra," Takahashi replied. "There's a small atoll just one
kilometer to your left. See it?"
The canopy was fogged from the acrid smelling smoke leaking from her
VT's wounds. "Yeah, I can make it." In a pig's eye.
She carefully turned the Tymanech, under the protectful watch of her
wingman, banking and turning slowly. The whine of structural integrity
failure increased. Just a little more.
Noriko eased herself back up, allowing the plane to decrease speed. She
cut the auxillary engines--having already shut down the main power engine
and right turbine--and began a gliding descent.
Eighty meters. Only a few more...
She placed her helmet's neck brace on and flipped open the safety cover
of the ejection lever. "Five, four, three, two, one, GO!"
The canopy ripped open, and the ejection seat launched from the VT at
several kilometers per second. The plane fell beneath her, descending
slowly until it hit the murky waves below. It survived the crash for a few
seconds befor the auxillary systems and structural integrity failed,
destructing the VT as quickly as a missile volley would. The force of
moving air seemed to crush on her. She wasn't very petite, four inches over
six feet, a slight above-norm height in these days. The ejection seat fell
from beneath her as her parachute deployed.
The wind was somewhat favorable, guiding her toward the beaches. It
looked like a clean landing right on the islands sandy-
A trade wind picked up, knocking her off course. Struggling to swing
her self back, she continued to fall toward the thick jungle area. Seeing
the inevitabilty of her situation, she lifted her legs, tucking her body in
as she descended into the treeline.
The major innovation of the new Tymanech Valkyries lay in the ingenious
addition of an ejectable forward fuselage. The entire front end blew out of
the engine hull just as the left turbine ngine exploded, raining flaming
shrapnel into the torrent sea below. The turbine flame-out set off a
reaction in the hydrogen containment tanks; the contact of slush hydrogen
with the seventy-eight degree, one atmospheric pressure aim mass produced a
radiant enough explosion visible up to seven kilometers away.
As the forward fuselage, clear and safe of the disintegration drive
hull, glided towards the coastal beach below, she closed her eyes, waiting
for the impact. Her parachute's drank air friction with a healthy thirst,
dragging the ejection pod beyond the beachline and inland. They managed to
retard the descending pod's air velocity to a safer, survivable speed;
nevertheless, the impact would be most painful.
Branches slapped against the pod's outer skin like whips; the momentum
shift hardly significant enough to lessen the impact force. As twigs and
trees gave way, ripping at her parachute, she couldn't even her Takahashi's
low approach the junglish overgrowth roared about her.
After what seemed like eternity in freefall, the pod slammed into the
ground. Something inside her leg gave way--generating a sickening crunching
sound. The evening sky, the violets and the vermilion clouds that puncuated
the perfect gradiant of Ishtar-anai Prime's face, dissipated into darkness
as Noriko's eyes closed--her mind slipping into the painless realm of the
unconscious.
* * *
+-----------------+-<The Badass Reverend of Funk Prez>---+
| Presley H. | Political Science / Computer Science |
| Cannady II | and Electrical Engineering Undergrad |
|<revprez@mit.edu>| at the Mass. Institute of Technology |
+-----------------+-<Anime Manga Development Group>------+
+ Author of Liars and Dreamers, a Robotech fanfic +
+-------<http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/1731/index.html>-+
| MIDN 4/c A-2-2 SQD, MIT-Harvard-Tufts NROTC Battalion |
|_|"The art of war is of vital importance to the state"|_|