Barbarians

You'll take my life but I'll take yours too

You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through

So when you're waiting for the next attack

You'd better stand there's no turning back

The bugle sounds as the charge begins

But on this battlefield no one wins

The smell of acrid smoke and horses' breath

As you plunge into a certain death

Iron Maiden - “The Trooper”

Admiral Fujimoto watched the Khonhim like a hawk as she brought the fleet back around for a second pass. The enemy flagship was still shedding escape pods and spewing plasma as her ships raced to catch back up, and for the moment they didn’t seem to react to her course change, but there was no way that would last. Despite the damage, it would only be a matter of minutes before they reorganized their formation, but then what? Would they yield the system, or stand and fight? She’d hurt them, but Hélène was convinced they wouldn’t give up so easily. In fact, having the Khonhim flee before her was the last thing she wanted, because if they escaped there was no telling where they’d go.

Even though the enemy fleet was still struggling to deal with the loss of their flagship, their speed hadn’t dropped off all that much, which forced them to play catch up. There was an old naval saying, “A stern chase is a long chase”, and despite all the advantages she held this time around it would take time for them to get within weapons range once more.

Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz stumbled through the corridor of his dying flagship with the rest of his crew as they made for the lifepods. Like any commander, he’d hoped they’d never be necessary, but like any good commander, he had also prepared for the worst. Another shuddering blast rocked Oathkeeper as he arrived at the emergency station, slapping the large orange button to open the hatch and revealing the five-man pod on the ship’s hull. He and his tactical officer and three of the bridge crew piled in and sealed the hatch, strapping in as the lifepod began its brief countdown sequence. With any luck, they’d be picked up by one of the other ships, but even as the pod blasted away from the ship Jiyazh hungered to know what was happening with the enemy fleet. He had to get to another ship and take control of the battle once more, for this time the humans had planned their attack with care.

And unless he could see with his own eyes what they were doing, there was an all too real chance they might carry the day.

His tactical officer was already plugged into the pod’s communicator trying to hail one of the other ships in the fleet, but with all the other lifepods clamoring for attention, their message was lost in the noise. The engines fired, catching him off guard, and as he stared out the porthole in alarm Jiyazh realized the pod’s emergency systems had decided that instead of waiting in space for retrieval, it was far safer to deliver its occupants onto the planet’s surface below. It made perfect sense from an emergency standpoint...on Zaaronq there was atmosphere, food, and water, all the resources necessary for long-term survival.

From a tactical standpoint, however...it was a disaster.

“Override the engines!” he shouted to his tactical officer, as he grabbed the rudimentary controls and struggled to fly the pod back towards the fleet. His officer was trying to nullify the pod’s predetermined flight path, but the simple machine was having none of it. It was designed with one purpose in mind, to keep its passengers alive...and its builders had understood there was a very real possibility that its occupants might try to do something stupid.

Something stupid like trying to blast away from the safety of a planet surface and towards a battle zone in space.

“I can’t!” his officer screeched in reply...as the pod’s engines drove them towards Zaaronq.

The Triumvirate fleet streaked towards the enemy as Admiral Fujimoto watched in chagrin, as the Khonhim finally reacted to her attack run. There had been no real chance she would have been able to fly all the way in without being noticed, despite the loss of the flagship, but she’d hoped. Unfortunately, the gods of war didn’t seem to be listening.

Their response was ragged and poorly coordinated, just as she’d counted on...but would it be enough? There was still time to abort her attack if she had to, only it was unlikely she’d get another opportunity like this. If she’d learned anything about combat...the real thing, not the simulations she’d spent her life mastering...it was that victory did not go to the best.

No, victory went to the one who screwed up the least.

There would be no finesse this time, no clever last-minute maneuver, no surprise reinforcements coming to save their bacon. What she had was all she had, and the math was as brutal as it was simple. The Khonhim were turning to meet her, making the same decision she had, and as the two fleets raced headlong into each other’s embrace, she knew this time it would be a god-damned massacre.

Hélène did her best to give the impression of serenity to her crew, but they could read the displays just as she could. Their expressions hovered somewhere between grim determination and morbid fascination, each of them wondering if they would still be alive when the two fleets met.

For many of them...the answer would be No.

Nassat looked at the faces of those under his command and did his best to appear confident. Sergeant Lin always had, and as a frightened recruit, he had drawn strength from that. Had he felt as I do? he wondered. If so, the human was far better at concealing it, in his opinion, though as he gazed into the eyes of his soldiers what he saw reflected in them humbled him beyond words.

They trusted him. Trusted him to get them through the coming battle, trusted him to not waver or falter when they faced the enemy...trusted him to stand at their side, no matter what. Dear Creator...let me be worthy of that trust, he prayed, as he rose to his feet.

“When we reach Zaaronq, remember your training,” he informed them. “Put as much distance as you can from the shuttles when we land and remember to disperse. Clumping together may feel safe to you, the familiarity of the herd, but it is not. The enemy will see that as a target of opportunity, so remember the human creed of combat.”

One of the new recruits raised his hand. “Sergeant, what creed is that?”

Somehow, a wry smile appeared on his face. “Try to look unimportant. They may be low on ammo.”

A nervous titter of laughter filled the shuttle’s hold as their ship headed for battle.

Hélène watched the two fleets racing to annihilate each other, with the inevitability of an onrushing avalanche. It was up to them now, the individual pilots, and as they closed to weapon's range she keyed her mic.

“This is Admiral Fujimoto to all ships. The Khonhim flagship is out of action, thanks to you, so this is our chance!” A fierce grin was plastered on her face as the clock counted down. “Today we make the enemy pay for all they’ve done, and every single victim lost to the invaders rides with us. Their blood cries out for vengeance, and it will not be denied. We will not be denied.” Her visage grew dark and unflinching as she gazed at them all, as ancient words came to her in her hour of need.

“I hope you all had a hearty meal...for tonight we dine in Hell. All ships, FIRE!”

The Triumvirate fleet exploded with weapons fire, as antimatter rounds snarled towards the enemy. Moments later an answering storm cloud of missiles arced away from the Khonhim fleet, blotting out Zaaronq’s sun...as both formations dissolved in chaos.

Long ago, combat pilots had dubbed the anarchy of mass aerial combat as the Furball...a swirling, writhing orb of death and destruction. The Triumvirate pilots knew what was at stake, and for races who had spent millennia espousing pacifism, they had somehow discovered their primal selves in the heat of battle. Missiles and antimatter chased craft with reckless abandon, the explosions marking the deaths of friend and enemy alike. There was no time for strategy...just find a target, aim and fire, check your six, race for safety, reengage a target of opportunity, dodge an incoming missile, fire at your enemy, find another target...and try to stay alive.

While all the while, your enemy was doing the same thing to you.

Not even the computers could keep up with the insanity as the two fleets ripped each other apart, clawing and tearing and rending each other to bits. Ships slammed into each other and detonated with common frequency...and it was just as likely to be allied craft dying in accidental fratricide as it was enemy vessels dragging each other into extinction. Crippled ships pinwheeled out of sight, only to explode as some hapless pilot discovered the debris by accident They killed and fought and died by the hundreds....with no end in sight.

Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz tore open the lifepod’s hatch and stumbled out on the surface, his eyes searching the sky above him. The soundless flashes of light showed him what he’d feared...his battle plan was falling apart, and unless he could take back control the fleet teetered on the brink of extinction.

“I must get back up there!” he howled in frustration, as he turned to his tactical officer. “There has to be one of our shuttles somewhere near here! Something we can commandeer?”

The sensors aboard the lifepod were functioning perfectly, even if he had disagreed with its programming. “There appear to be a few assault craft, bearing 218,” his officer informed him after a moment. “I will attempt to radio them now, and request extraction.”

“Quickly,” Jiyazh urged, “...before there is nothing left.”

The voice on the loudspeaker was Ophipteran, as most pilots were. Nassat and his company lifted their heads, as the announcement filled the compartment.

“All hands, ETA to the Zaaronq system is ten minutes. Shuttle pilots stand by. LZ is hot...repeat, LZ is hot.

Nassat drew a deep breath. “May the Creator be with you all,” he told his company, as the shuttle’s engines began to whine.