The Exploits of the FWLS Unyielding Dominance

[BlakesBestBoi]

The Exploits of the FWLS Unyielding Dominance
Chapter 1

November 7th
2787
Atreus-class Battleship, Unyielding Dominance

   Marcus Carter, Captain of the Free Worlds League Navy, Second Fleet, gazed out at the void in silent contemplation. He floated alone in the depths of his WarShip, the Unyielding Dominance. He liked the name, although it had raised more than a few eyebrows over the years. The name wasn't his choice, the vessel had been bestowed that title during the bloody days of the Wars of Reunification, a promise of what was to come. The ship had been constructed for the war, rushed into service in the days leading up to the Reunification in order to bolster the joint FWL/SLDF force that was to bring war to the Magistracy of Canopus. A small smile touched Carter's face. It was a good class, the Atreus, and the Unyielding had a lot of stories to tell.

  They weren't glamorous ships, in fact they were quite ugly, being little more than a metal rectangle sailing through space. Inside, the vessels were all barracks-style quarters with dimly lit, cramped corridors, shared showers and bathrooms and common spaces that provided little to no opportunities for privacy. The only single-occupancy cabins aboard the Atreus were those of the captain and the first officer, and even those were rather miserable. The Unyielding and her sister ships were made for war and nothing else, comfort and beauty mattered little to them.

  Marcus watched the stars sail past through the small view-port before him. The sight of the void was rather unnerving to some, many men and women couldn't gaze into the endless darkness without feeling at least some discomfort, but he had been born and raised aboard a JumpShip and the bleak nothingness of space had always calmed him. The void was his home, more than any planet could ever be, but in a way this ancient, venerable WarShip was also his home. He'd served aboard the Unyielding for twenty years, and very much hoped to do so for at least another twenty. The lack of gravity was a comfort as well, he'd lived most of his life like this and Marcus had never, and likely never would, grown completely used to real or artificial gravity.

  His upbringing was obvious in his appearance. Carter was abnormally tall, with thin limbs, worryingly pale skin and weak muscles. A soft, round, unimposing face was surrounded by thinning grey hair and his pale blue eyes were ringed with wrinkles and age. He was dressed in a lightweight pressure suit, a marvel of design which was capable of supporting life independently for more than thirty minutes if the ship lost life support, over which he wore a woollen jacket and cap for warmth, the jacket and cap were coloured in a mix of grey, purple and green. Black gloves and boots completed his garb.

  He allowed himself to enjoy the view, he had found precious little to enjoy recently. The Star League was dead, Aleksandr Kerensky was gone and most of the SLDF had gone with him. In less than a decade, the glorious dream of a new, golden future had died and been replaced with a vision of apocalyptic war. There was already many names for it, the Succession War, the War for Terra, the Wars of Dominance, the Second Reunification War and so on. The entire galaxy, from the edges of the Periphery to the skies of Terra, were engulfed in horrible, bloody battles that cost the lives of countless men, women and children daily. So many had died, and there seemed no end to the fighting in sight.

  It amused Marcus, in a grim, bleak way, that he didn't actually remember how, when or why the fighting had started. He had lived through the beginning, he'd been on the frontlines of the conflict when it started, but when he thought back, it was all just a blur of blood and horror. It seemed as if one moment they were united under the Star League, and the next the galaxy was ripping itself apart in a devastating civil war. 

  He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. It didn't matter, the reasons for this conflict, how it had started and why, were all irrelevant. The League was threatened by enemies from all sides, innocent people were dying and it was his duty to defend the people of the FWL. That was all that mattered to him. Carter had knew his place in the galaxy and he knew his duty. That was enough for the old veteran, for now, at least.

  "Bridge to Captain Carter." A voice buzzed over the comm unit built into his suit's collar.

  Sighing, he said, "Go ahead."

  "You're needed up here, sir. We've finally found the bastards." It was Commander Ren speaking.

  Lola Ren was the Commander, and thus second-in-command, of the Unyielding Dominance. A young, fiery woman whose Regulan blood was obvious in her love of all things militaristic, she was a recent addition to the ship's crew but Marcus was already becoming fond of her. Ren wasn't exactly pleasant to have a conversation with, one would find more warmth and comfort on a frozen glacier, and she never seemed to smile, or show any emotion behind mild anger at all times for that matter, but in his many years of service Carter had never met a more professional, skilled and trustworthy soldier. In the past two months, the Unyielding Dominance had been involved in four battles, two major and two that were little more than passing, noncommittal skirmishes, but in all of them Lola's input and leadership ability had been invaluable.

  If he were a paranoid man, Marcus would have worried about her taking his job.

  "Are you certain?" He asked.

  "Aye, sir." Lola said, "Scanners show a single Capellan WarShip and at least two DropShips waiting near the edge of the system."

  "The WarShip's charging its drive..." Carter mused.

  "Exactly." He heard a hint of eagerness in Ren's voice as she spoke, "We've caught the Caps with their trousers down. If we hit them now, they've nowhere to run."

  "Agreed." Marcus kicked out, propelling himself away from the wall and shooting across the room, he grabbed the edge of the door, swung himself into the hallway beyond and kicked off again, swimming fish-like through the weightlessness of the ship, "I'm heading to the bridge. Bring us in to attack."

[BlakesBestBoi]

  So this story is going to be updated far less often than my other fanfic, the Holy Work of Adept Apollo, but I've still got plenty of stuff planned for this one! Unlike Apollo's story which is following him through the Jihad and focusing on his actions during that galaxy changing conflict, this will focus less on an overarching story and be more focused on the individual actions of the Unyielding Dominance's crew and the battles that ship took part in at different points in the First Succession War.

  Apollo's story has small jumps in time but follows his journey closely, this one might have months or possibly years between chapters. I think the best way to describe what I want this to be is that I want the Exploits of the FWLS Unyielding Dominance to provide small, but fun, snapshots of the 1st Succession War, rather than follow the crew through the entirety of the conflict.

  If that interests you, keep an eye on this page!

[Wrangler]

Looking forward to more.

[Cannonshop]

looking forward to more.

[BlakesBestBoi]

Chapter 2

November 7th
2787
Atreus-class Battleship, Unyielding Dominance

  "Captain on the bridge!" Lola Ren shouted as Marcus swung into the command deck.

  Around her, the bridge was bathed in the bluish light of a dozen workstations and holographic displays. Fourteen men and women worked around her, hammering away at the controls of various stations or working out all manner of calculations, from approach vectors to firing locks. It was controlled chaos and a dull, omnipresent murmur filled the air as the crew passed reports to one another, shouted out updates and communicated with the rest of the ship's occupants in other parts of the vessel. Ren sat in the command chair, a small, but rather comfortable, seat located in the middle of the command room. Its location provided a good view to every station on the bridge, and a small screen on a movable metal gimbal was attached to the side of the chair, providing whoever was sitting in it with detailed information which updated in real time.

  Lola had once, at a noble ball long ago, been described as resembling a sculpture made out of glass and it was description that fit her well. The woman was short, clearly having not been born and raised aboard a spaceship, and her delicate, sharply defined features were so pointed and hard it seemed that her cheekbones could slice a man as easily as a knife could. Her flaming red hair was kept short and close to her scalp and her thin lips and brown eyes rarely showed any emotion beyond slight disappointment or contempt for anyone around her.

  Marcus sailed across the bridge, grabbing the tops of monitors and stations to propel himself off, then gripped the back of her chair to arrest his momentum as she unstrapped herself and drifted out of the seat. She pushed herself to the side, floating at the man's left shoulder as he secured himself in it. Glancing at the screen, Marcus took stock of the situation.

  "Update." He ordered.

  "The Caps are aware of our presence and are reacting." Ren said, "Luke, throw it up on the holo."

  "Aye." A voice shouted back from the rear of the bridge.

  Shimmering into the air before Marcus, the hologram displayed a scan of the system they were currently in, known as Pavia. Three blinking symbols were highlighted at the edge of the system, each representing a Capellan vessel, "A single Cap WarShip, scans show a Baron-class Destroyer, along with two DropShips." Lola explained, "We believe a Vengeance and a Czar."

  "That's the fleet we're looking for." Marcus nodded, already planning the coming battle in his mind as he studied the hologram.

  A small fleet of Capellan Confederation ships had launched a large assault upon numerous League worlds in recent weeks, laying waste to entire cities and manufacturing plants. The Unyielding Dominance had been assigned the task of hunting down this force and bringing it to battle. For two weeks Marcus and his crew had stalked the void, hunting their prey. After two weeks of hunting they were all starting to lose hope, but they had finally located the Caps, and better yet, they had caught them while they were recharging their drives.

  "The Baron has been confirmed as the Aleisha Liao." Ren pointed at the WarShip, "An old ship, and a damn poor one at that. The Baron is a useless type of vessel by all accounts."

  "My old man always said there's no such thing as a useless ship." Marcus grunted, "And he's right. Even a poorly built hunk of scrap is still equipped with powerful enough weapons to level a city." He glanced at her, "That's something you need to learn, Lola. In the great blackness, there's no such thing as an easy fight. Never underestimate your foe, and never expect a coming battle to be easy. Otherwise, you'll be dead in a matter of years."

  The woman nodded, "Understood, sir."

  "Now, let's see what we're dealing with." Carter muttered, fixing his eyes on the hologram, "Czar DropShips are troop transports, so that's no threat to us right now. Usually a Vengeance can carry around 40 fighters, but recent attacks have likely taken a toll on their complement so we'll say..." He grumbled to himself, rubbing his jaw as he ran some quick calculations, "if we factor in the average amount of aerospace assets lost in an assault upon a planet I'd say we're looking at around 30 fighters, perhaps a little bit more. Not too bad considering our own complement." 

    He reached down, compressing a small stud on the arm of his chair to activate the comms system installed in it for the personal use of the ship's captain, "Mr Dumont, I have a ship in need of your attention. Get to your craft."

  "Already on the way, sir." The young commodore's voice was laced with excitement, "Me and my boys will be in the air before you've even got a shot off."

  "Very good." Marcus said, cut the comm then returned his attention to the hologram, "Bring us in, maximum burn. Charge PPCs and fire at will as we approach, hold all naval autocannons and lasers until my command." 

  "Aye!" The crew shouted in unison, alarms screaming into life as the ship went to full alert.

  "Prepare to seal emergency bulkheads on my command!" Ren snapped, the bridge flashed red, bathed in crimson light for a moment as the Unyielding's prow mounted PPCs fired, "Activate compression rams, set internal bracing and have all repair teams standby for orders!" She looked at Carter, a rare, small smile splitting her delicate features, "We're all set."

  "Very good." Marcus nodded, "Let's teach these bastards a lesson, shall we? No one messes with the Free Worlds League." 

*********

  "Move it you lot!" Commodore Pierre Dumont barked, "I want those fighters in the air! Two Stingrays to an Eagle, you know the drill!"

  The man was tall, with a wiry, well trained body, honed over years of training and service in the military. His handsome features, flowing blonde hair, aloof tone and general attitude of superiority screamed 'noble' as loudly as possible. The Dumont family was decently powerful, and more importantly very rich, but that mattered little to the crew of the Unyielding. Pierre still stank of nobility, saw himself as better than everyone else and was just generally unpleasant to talk to, but the man was actually fantastic at his job. A rarity indeed among the ruling class of the Inner Sphere, Pierre Dumont was a man who had achieved his rank through great skill and impressive accomplishments rather than position or birth. Recently, as the war with the other Great Houses heated up, he had received countless offers and requests to transfer to another ship, but Carter had fought hard to retain him, the Captain knew his worth and was loath to let such a fine officer leave his command. 

  "Ben, got that fuel line fixed yet?" He asked as he sailed weightlessly across the hanger. 

  The hangers of the Unyielding were, like the rest of the ship, built for purpose and nothing more. Dull metal boxes lit with yellow light, filled with aerospace craft and maintenance equipment, they served their purpose but were rather miserable to operate in. He felt quite sorry for the groups of miserable engineers who spent most of their lives in these hangers. 

  "Yep yep yep." The portly, balding technician said as he unhooked the fuel pump from Dumont's fighter, "Got 'er all fixed up, boss."

  Pierre grinned and slapped the man on the back as he hauled himself up to the cockpit. The cabin hissed open, leaking pressurised air, revealing the cramped, equipment filled space within. Instantly recognisable by the forward swept wing design and with a body highly resembling an early twenty-first-century conventional fighter, the Stingray Dumont had affectionately named Mort Rapide was the closest thing the aristocrat had to a child. He'd flown the fighter in dozens of engagements and personally oversaw much of her maintenance. Three times the old girl had been shot down, but every single time he had demanded she be salvaged and repaired. His noble lineage helped quite a bit in those situations, since he had the pull required to ensure Mort Rapide was fixed up perfectly. He refused to fly another fighter, now or ever.

  He glanced across the hanger, seeing the rest of his squadron strapping themselves into their craft. Pulling his helmet on and sealing up his flight suit, he said a quick prayer, not to any one god, but to any who were listening. He didn't care which deity looked out for him, so long as he had some sort of divine being taking care of him in the battle to come. Helmet secured, he grabbed the edge of the cockpit and pulled himself in. Alarm klaxons screamed and damage alerts wailed as the ship shuddered. He cursed, loudly and in an impressive number of different tongues. So much for being in the void before the Unyielding got to fire a shot.

  The hanger crew were scattering, rushing from the cavernous space to allow the hanger doors to open without voiding anyone. As he withdrew, Ben shot him a salute, which Dumont returned with a smirk and his own, one-fingered salute. He turned his attention to the controls of his fighter, flicking switches and entering all manner of activation codes into various systems as he spoke into his comms, "Squadron Three with me, we're going after the DropShips. Squadrons Two and Four cover our flanks, Squadron One, hang back and guard the ship. Ren will skin us alive if we allow any Cap fighters to damage this hunk of rust."

  He received numerous acknowledgements, shifting in his seat to get comfortable, and gripped the controls of his fighter in tight fists, "Mort Rapide deploying." He reported to the bridge.

  "Copy that, good hunting lad." Marcus' voice crackled back over the comms.

  Grinning savagely, Pierre engaged his engines and roared out of the hanger.

[BlakesBestBoi]

Chapter 3

November 7th
2787
Atreus-class Battleship, Unyielding Dominance

  The Aleisha Liao rolled hard, lumbering out of the way of the Unyielding's fire as it moved to close the distance. The biggest advantage, possibly the only advantage, a Baron WarShip possessed over the far more powerful Atreus was its speed. If she could keep moving, she was harder to hit and thus, harder to kill. Her naval lasers returned fire, but these did little more than scratch the Unyielding's paint. The vessel's two prow mounted White Shark missile launchers added their own fire to the attack as the Aleisha banked left once more to dodge another PPC salvo. Most of the shots missed, but a single PPC blast struck the rear of the Baron, blasting through the ship's armour and reducing a section of the hull underneath to slag. The Capellan torpedoes raced towards the larger ship but the interdiction fire from Squadron One quickly dealt with them, filling the void with fire and shrapnel. The Unyielding Dominance sailed on, enduring the wrath of the Aleisha Liao's weapons with contemptuous ease.

  As he watched the battle play out via the hologram before him, Marcus listened to the reports filtering in from the crew all around the bridge. His experienced mind easily processed the seemingly overwhelming flow of information, sorting through the tide of data, keeping what was important and discarding the rest. The battle was going well, but that was to be expected. The Aleisha Liao had little chance against the Unyielding, the Free Worlds ship was over twice its size, after all, and carried a significantly more devastating arsenal of weapons.

  The Czar DropShip had pulled back, burning hard to escape danger, and had taken up position near the Capellan JumpShip at the edge of the system, perhaps hoping to avoid danger or maybe serve as a final line of defence for the valuable jump-capable ship. The true threat were the fighters being vomited forth into the void by the Vengeance-class DropShip, which was holding position far from the fight as it had little in the way of weaponry.

  The swarm of aerospace craft moving towards the Unyielding was represented on the hologram as a horde of tiny red dots, and the blue dots speeding to engage them represented Pierre Dumont's forces. An Atreus-class WarShip was not equipped in any way to deal with such a small foe, meaning that all Marcus could do was trust that Dumont would handle the enemy fighters before they got in range to deal any real damage.

  The entire deck trembled, "Fires on Deck 3!" A voice shouted to his left.

  "Damage control teams and medics deployed!" Another answered.

  "Overheat in naval PPC 2, re-routing power until it's cooled." A third voice reported, "Autocannons loaded, sir!"

  The Unyielding closed on the Aleisha rapidly, like some massive metal hawk bearing down upon a helpless mouse. Marcus couldn't see the enemy vessel of course, there was still an unimaginable distance separating the two ships, but the holographic representations of the WarShips seemed so close they were almost touching. According to the data scrolling across the screen attached to his chair, they were approaching 15,000 kilometres. That was quite close for void combat.
 
  "Bring us about 83°, I want a clear line of fire on all starboard weapons." He glanced right, "Weapon control, prepare to fire on my order." He said, voice calm but filled with authority, "All naval autocannons and lasers to target their starboard weapons, focus PPCs on their engines. I want you to lay down a carpet of fire so thick I can walk on it, clear?"

  "Aye!" The crew shouted.

  The distance closed quickly between the two ships, the void laced with lasers and flame. Marcus watched the distance decrease on the screen by his chair, waiting. The air was thick with tension as the crew awaited their next orders. Something exploded somewhere on the ship, the deck shook violently and alarms screamed across the damage control station. A Baron could never do that much damage. It must have been a lucky hit. 

  12,000 kilometres.

  11,000 kilometres.

  10,000 kilometres.

  Finally, he pointed towards the weapon control station, "Fire!"

*********

  Pierre pushed Mort Rapide as hard as he could, blazing a bright trail of fire across the blackness of space as he sped towards the foe. His sensors were noting a massive swarm of fighters closing directly ahead of them, but he ignored those for now. As his hands danced across the fighter's complex controls with practised ease, he opened a line to the rest of his forces.

  "Multiple enemy craft closing, open fire as we pass but don't stop to engage them. Our focus is the DropShip shitting those fighters out." He said, "Trust Squadron One, they'll deal with the Caps and keep 'em off our ass."

  The beep of the target lock filled his ears and, without hesitation, he compressed the fire stud. The large and medium lasers positioned across the Stingray's wings opened fire and a heartbeat later he was rewarded with a brief flash of blindingly bright light in the distance. He barked a harsh laugh, first blood to Commodore Pierre Dumont, just like always. Then, the enemy returned fire. Lasers and missiles darted past him as he pulled his fighter into a spin. On a screen to his right, two of the markers representing the craft under his command blinked red rapidly, warning of damage sustained, and a single marker flickered out of existence. He'd lost one of his fighters. It was expected, of course, aerospace pilots never lived long, but the idea of some Cap loving bastard killing one of his men still made his blood boil.

  He fired again, this time close enough to see the fighter he was after, and speared the Cappy straight through the cockpit with a large laser. Dozens of enemy craft closed in on his Stingray and the rest of his unit and he was forced to rapidly swerve, duck and roll in order to stay out of the line of fire. He was tossed about in his cockpit, the restraint harness barely holding him in his chair as he weaved a path through the enemy. He carried on, evading as best he could but never diverting from his course. He fired, obliterating another enemy before he was free, punching through the back of the swarm and sailing into the empty void once more.

  "Form up on me." He ordered, "Our target is close now."

  He glanced at the display to his right, another two pilots dead. Gritting his teeth, he returned his gaze to the Stingray's sensors. The Caps were moving on, just like Pierre they had their own target. His battered flight closed in around Mort Rapide and together they carried on towards the Vengeance. He gripped the controls tightly, DropShips weren't ease to kill, but he'd done it before. He would do so again.

  "Once we nail the Vengeance, we're going after the Czar." He said, "It's a pretty long ride, so don't get fancy with your flying. Save fuel, or else you're gonna be stuck drifting out here until the battle's over and the Unyielding can pick you up." He smiled, amusement entering his tone, "if the Unyielding decides to pick you up."

[mikecj]

Starting strong!  Thanks for sharing this.

[worktroll]

TAGged for great glory!

[BlakesBestBoi]

Chapter 4

November 7th
2787
Atreus-class Battleship, Unyielding Dominance

  When the Unyielding fired, Marcus couldn't help but grin. The entire ship rumbled, the deck shuddering underfoot as the WarShip unleashed its full fury. It was rare for a ship to fire almost every gun at once, but it was a uniquely pleasurable experience when it did occur. The deep, unending blackness of space was lit for a brief moment as the Unyielding's naval autocannons, lasers and PPCs were loosed in unison.

  The resulting impact was beautiful. Although he could not see the enemy vessel, Marcus could picture it. Armour slagging and atomising, hull shrieking as it was torn apart, atmosphere and broken bodies being sucked out into the horrific cold beyond. He could almost hear the alarms wailing within, could smell the smoke as the interior of the ship burnt around him. He wasn't a man that particularly enjoyed war. He fought to protect the people of the League, not simply to spill blood, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a great sense of satisfaction when he saw an enemy WarShip die.

  And the Aleisha Liao was most certainly dying. The PPCs struck the engine section of ship as it attempted to evade the tidal wave of firepower smashing into it. Explosions blossomed across the rear of the stricken vessel, entire sections of hull tearing free as the inside of the vessel's engine compartment detonated. Such was the force of the detonation that the ship was blown in a new direction, careening wildly through space now that it had no engines with which to current its course.  The Atreus-class WarShip's naval autocannons and lasers ploughed into the starboard weapons of the Baron, punching through the armour of the smaller ship with ease. While the majority of a Baron's weaponry was made up of lasers, it still made use of several naval autocannons and White Shark missile launchers meaning there was still plenty of ammo stored within the metal shell of the Aleisha Liao.

  It took a moment for the autocannon magazines to go off, but when they did, they exploded in spectacular fashion. The entire starboard side of the Baron bulged outwards, the metal skin of the WarShip straining to contain the devastation within. Then, in a blinding flash, the hull ruptured. Corpses, still living crew, broken machinery and various other pieces of detritus were torn free of the vessel and hurled into the great nothingness of space. The missiles cooked off a heartbeat later, rocking the abused ship even more. Fires and eruptions bloomed up and down the Aleisha Liao. In the end, the ship simply tore itself apart, ripped to pieces from within by all manners of explosions.

  "A hit! And a damn fine one too!" Lola Ren clenched her fist in victory, grinning at the man beside her.

  "My compliments to the gun crews." Marcus smiled, nodding with approval.

  There were likely still some people alive within the wreck that had just moments ago been the Aleisha Liao. Marcus considered sending a team to capture them. As the captain of the Unyielding Dominance, it was within his power to take prisoners and even claim entire ships for the betterment of the Free Worlds League. But then he thought to all the people murdered in the recent Capellan raids, the children left without parents and the siblings who would never see their kin again. The men and women aboard that vessel were responsible for those deaths.

  In the end, Captain Carter decided to leave them within the wreckage of the Baron. They would suffocate or burn or freeze within the metal depths of that destroyed WarShip. In his opinion, it was a fitting end.

*********

  Mort Rapide led the attack upon the Vengeance-class DropShip. Inside his cockpit, Dumont clenched his jaw and gripped his controls tightly. While the majority of the fighters aboard the DropShip had broken off to assault the Unyielding, a squadron had remained behind to protect their mother-ship. It was going to be bad enough trying to kill the DropShip without its bastard children snapping at his heels.

  "Squadrons Two and Four, lure those fighters away." He ordered, "Squadron Three, follow me in. Let's start probing that armour, shall we?"

  The fighters scattered in all directions, Squadrons Two and Four sped straight for the enemy craft and engaged them. Lasers stitched the void and the occasional flash of light signalled the death of fighter, most of them were on the Cappy side, which pleased Pierre quite a bit. He made directly for the DropShip, swerving back and forth as the vessel opened up with its meagre LRM and laser defences. It was a simple to avoid such clumsy weapons, they were made for fighting other DropShips and WarShips, not an enemy as nimble as Mort Rapide. He closed the distance within moments, and the world seemed to simply disappear around him.

  Dumont, ever one to put a dramatic spin on even the most mundane of things, liked to call this his 'Battle Time' when he talked about it. When the big moment came, when he was about to perform some great, important task or carry out a daring, or possibly insane, feat everything seemed to slow down. The world withdrew, the interior of his Stingray grew distant and faint. All that existed within this decelerated bubble of existence was Pierre and his target. Many people claimed this was impossible, that he was merely making it up to make himself seem more impressive while others said it was just adrenaline. But Dumont knew the truth. Battle Time was real.

  As everything slowed, he weaved a complex path through the missiles and lasers unleashed by the DropShip, flying so close to some that the beams of energy burnt paint from his craft's hull. Mort Rapide swooped low, skimming the hull of the Vengeance as the old girl he loved so much let loose with her two wing mounted lasers and the disturbingly powerful PPC mounted on her nose. Such a powerful weapon had no place on a mere fighter, but the Commodore was glad it existed. Explosions followed him across the hull, orbs of heat and light charting his path over the huge DropShip. Behind him, Squadron Three followed closely, the mix of Stingrays and Eagles adding their own firepower to his attack. They stitched a path across the Vengeance until they reached the rear of the ship and swung about, angling away from the DropShip and speeding off into the void. The fighters banked hard, coming around to face the ship once more.

  Directly ahead, Pierre Dumont could see the bridge of the DropShip. He grinned, pushing Mort Rapide perhaps just a little too hard, using just a bit too much fuel, but he didn't really care. This was the big moment, he could afford to be a little wasteful. The DropShip redoubled its attack as they closed, sending every missile and laser that it could arcing towards them. One of his fighters was hit. The laser struck the craft with such force the Eagle was turned to little more than dust. The rest made it through the wall of interdiction fire more or less intact. The swarm of fighters raced past the bridge, and a heartbeat later the command deck of the Vengeance ceased to existed, blasted to pieces by the combined fire of the squadron. The DropShip wasn't looking that good, and with a cheer of victory and enjoyment, Dumont led his flight on another attack. By the time they broke away and set off in the direction of the Czar, the DropShip was nothing more than a twisted, broken scrap of metal.

*********

  "After that, I led a masterful attack upon the Czar DropShip, also destroying it with minimal effort. In addition to two DropShips, me and my boys claimed a score of enemy craft in the battle." Having finished his report, Pierre crossed his arms and floated before Marcus' desk with a smug smirk that suggested he was waiting for a round of applause.

  The Captain nodded, "I'm certain you exaggerated some of that, but you did well regardless. You have my praise, lad."

  They were in the captain's lounge aboard the Unyielding Dominance, although that was perhaps too great a name for such a room. Like the rest of the Atreus-class WarShip's interior, it was a spartan, empty metal space that contained the bare minimum required to function. The only things present were a small desk with an inbuilt computer and digital notepad, a set of three chairs with straps to allow one to 'sit' in them, and a tiny fridge built into the wall which contained a small selection of military approved drinks.

  Aboard an Atreus, a fridge as small as your head filled with awful tasting beer was quite the luxury. It was, perhaps, not the traditional beverage to drink during a victory celebration but there wasn't much to chose from in terms of what a man had to drink aboard the Unyielding. All the tins had airtight lids and straws, as it was a little difficult to drink within a WarShip without them due to a lack of gravity. That detail seemed to amuse, and confuse, a lot of people but to Marcus it had always been this way, so the spacer never really thought about it. 

  The crew would doubtless be celebrating later, when their shifts ended and they were given some downtime. With the limited resources on the ship, such a celebration would likely involve card and dice games, songs and some manner of prohibited substance one of them managed to smuggle aboard. Marcus was aware of the drink circling the lower decks, either secreted onto the vessel during its time in dock or brewed somewhere within the ship's guts, but he was fine with his men enjoying themselves so long as said enjoyment was kept civil and did not impact their performance.

  He drifted behind his desk, sucking on the straw of his drink for a moment before looking to Lola, who floated by the door with her hands behind her back and chin raised, still trying to look professional and at attention despite the fact she was hanging a foot or so off the deck, "What do you think of the battle?"

  "It went as well as one could expect. I do wish we could have won it without losing some fighters, but I'm certain the Commodore did his best." She glanced at Pierre, eyes narrowing for a moment.

  She did not like him, and he didn't like her. So long as they did their duty, however, Marcus had little reason to care about their personal relationship. The pilot was still in his flight suit, and he carried his helmet under his arm. His free hand held a tin of beer that he slurped on rather loudly.

  "Young Dumont here is one of the best." Marcus said, "He performed better than any other could have, and if he weren't leading the attack, we likely would have lost more."

  Ren nodded stiffly, "As you say, sir."

  Carter ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and looked to the computer installed in his desk, rereading the report, "I'm sure you heard that loud explosion during the battle? Damage Control reports the Caps struck a PPC capacitor while it was charging." 

  "A good shot." Dumont hummed, "If they meant it, of course."

  "Even if they didn't, that hit did more damage than it should have." Marcus grunted, "We'll get the old girl fixed up in dock once we're back at the nearest shipyard." He looked at the two officers, "All in all, it went very well. Give my praise to the crew, and provide the gun and flight crews with extra rations. Dismissed."

  Dumont smiled happily at that, then turned and kicked off the wall to propel himself towards the door. Lola let him depart, saluted and used the doorframe to swing out after him. Marcus watched them go before flicking a button on his desk, "Sergeant, report."

  "Me and my men are ready to deploy, sir." Sergeant Tal reported, her extremely heavy accent even harder to understand over the comms, "Boarding Squad One is waiting in the DropShip now. Two is on its way."

  "Excellent. Be careful over there. I don't want any more losses today." He said, cutting the link.

  He didn't envy Tal. While the battle was over, for several hours now in fact, the Cap JumpShip remained at the edge of the system. With no where to run and its escort and passenger ships destroyed, it was a target the League could not afford to ignore. Standard military policy was to capture as many enemy JumpShips as possible, therefore Marcus was forced to order the boarding action. It was an order he did not like issuing. Boarding actions were foul affairs, filled with blood and death. But, orders were orders, so he had sent Tal to take the Cappy ship.

  He just prayed she made it back alive.

[DragonKhan55]

Oh this is great reading so far!