Existential Threat: Chapter 2 Part 2 of 4 (Patreon)

Dana pulled up the feed, playing it at four times the speed, watching from the first missiles, showing the Coalition’s Bernard Armada, the freighters started to form weapons, Dropships and shuttles powering away from the carriers towards each ship. Must’ve been filled with bots to assist in the weapon additions. She nodded in appreciation, Large freighters were as big as a carrier plenty of space to add weapons to their spindly super-structure or to their cargo spaces.

The rest of the fleet wormholed to the contested Lagrange as fast as possible. She jumped to the current events, not what her missiles had caught in the past.

Corvettes opened up wormholes in the midst of the different enemy freighters, firing nuclear missiles, interceptors and their sensor packages.

She paused it, the freighters were firing back, they’d been attaching weapon systems to their hulls.

Instead of helping the new weapon system’s hindered, they must not have been tied into the weapon grid, some shot and hit the weapons that had been added, causing damage.

Secondary wormholes big enough for the corvettes formed, the ships charging through.

They appeared away from the freighter fleet, unleashing all of their firepower. Hammering them with Hellbores, sweeping in so close as to rake ships with their CIWS, V3 rounds detonating against the freighter’s super-structures, causing them to break apart, spilling containers across space. Freighters stayed back to defend, as others made a run for it through wormholes.

The freighters rapid fired interceptors, devouring incoming fire and swarming the attacking corvettes, taking out several even as their hulls came apart around them.

“Friendly freighter fleet reports they’ve released all of our missiles, and they’re heading to standby rally one,” Ayambe said.

“Good,” Dana checked the timer, caught up to what her scout corvettes and enemy freighter fleet were doing now. The last of the enemy freighter fleet escaping through wormholes.

“Scouts report the enemy freighters have lost twenty percent of their ships, they have lost fifteen, requesting permission to continue harrying,” Ayambe asked.

“They’re to hunt the enemy freighters down until they run out of ships,” Dana said. The longer they could pin them down, the longer for Weskarth’s main fleet to get resupplied or have additional support.

“Theirs or the enemy freighters?”

“Either.”

Eighty seconds till intercept. Freighters left the missiles they’d dumped into space. Hundreds of missiles orientated on thrusters towards unremarkable points in space.

“Sixty seconds till intercept, forty till we reach ten light seconds out. Enemy fleet is accelerating at us, below military acceleration.” Klinsky called.

Dana added Minnie to the chat. “Minnie what will I have in the way of hell bores by the time we hit engagement range?”

“Jump up to Fifty-ish, should have a hundred in ten minutes, but have a feeling you’re going to be smashing up my nice ships before then.”

“Might scuff the pain a bit, adds character I am told.”

“Adds work hours it does,” Minnie grumbled.

“launch all small craft, once we cut acceleration,” Dana said.

“Yes Ma’am,” Ayambe said.

The smaller craft simply couldn’t fly at the speeds that the warships did. Having them stuck to the different ships, she’d lost some, support had broken off or some other issue. But most stayed on, and would be able to deploy in seconds instead of waiting for one another to clear the launch tubes.

“Using the Boxer, not intending to go easy on him huh?” Minnie laughed.

“Best way to train and test out our new hardware.”

The Boxer was a pure space fighting ship. A rectangular prism outfitted with a ship’s railgun or Hell-bore at its heart. interceptor missile packs along all the long sides, the engines on the face opposite the weapon’s muzzle protruded. A pilot operated it from within the net, without requiring a bot.

They had been building and experimenting with everything the last three months. Taking decades of video game and weapon experience, boiling it down into systems they could use.

“Cutting acceleration in five seconds,” Klinsky’s call drew her back.

“Three, two one!”

The green tint went away without any other noticeable markers, Railgun to hellbore status kept climbing. Dropships flew free of their ships, launch tubes working over time to release their brethren, as well as the ‘attack craft’.

Dana checked their path towards Coalition’s Bernard Armada, makers updating along it showing when barrages would fire.

“Coalition’s Bernard is continuing accel,” Leblanc said.

Hell bores powered up and shifted out of their protective coverings, fixating on their targets, magazines shifted ammunition forward into standby positions.

Engineers moved through the ship, dealing with issues that had appeared in the high acceleration. Factories and vats churned out replacement parts for what had already been used and others to be used for quick fixes.

“Minnie, tell your people to move to standby positions. What railguns we have left we’ll leave as railguns.”

“Copy.”

“Firing hellbores steady rate,” Leblanc said. “Ten seconds minus till impact.”

Weapon’s fire, only visible on the screens and holograms lanced between the two fleets.

“Target their Cruisers and then the battleships,” Dana said. They’d built the ships tough, CIWS systems linked to their own software, layered armored meters thick.

“They’re rolling their ships and going evasive, dispersing the Hellbore as much as possible,” Leblanc said.

The Legion’s firing solutions were crafted so that ships would be bracketed by fire, unable to escape without being struck. It took a lot more shots and power, but assured hits.

Battleships weathered the hits, the Cruisers plowing onwards.

“No hellbores detected, they’re using the previous generation of ships,” Minnie said.

“That’ll help us out in a big way,” Dana said.

Ship after ship fell to the power of their nuclear lances, drifting out of the battle lines, trading shots of incoherent energy back and forth.

Coalition ships fell back, repairing and returned to the formation.

“All small craft have been ejected,” Aymabe reported. “All fleets remain operational. Ships with engine issues, more than forty percent of their weapons knocked out are launching every missile they have and jumping away.”

“Thank you comms,” Dana said, seeing the ships spit missiles out like dandelions in the wind, hurling their last anger at the enemy as their capacitors poured power into the wormhole projectors, disappearing from the battle. “Get me updates from the repair fleet once those ships are operational, have them reinforce the corvette scouts.”

“Yes admiral.”

As they closed less hellbores were required to hit each target as the firing and impacts became closer.

Ships exploded as the bores excited particles found missile magazines, exciting their nuclear payload.

“Missile launch window in three seconds,” Leblanc rolled with the strikes against the hull of the ship.

Greens were fading into yellows and a few ambers across the ship. Markers for Engineers rushed through the ship like its living blood.

She’d lost several ships, but the balance wasn’t tilting in one direction or the other. Feel that this isn’t out of hand yet.

The main tenants of her plan were still actionable.

“Coalition are launching missile barrage!”

Each Missile Battleship shed missiles.

Great they’re going for the micros.

“Make sure the CIWS are locked in and the battlenet has all the server power it needs.”

Missiles the size of two interceptors, swarmed from the ships in the hundreds, the numbers climbing by the seconds as launch after launch repeated.

Hellbores struck some out of accident.

The map system turning the missile launch into a cloud instead of trying to individually pick them out.

“Launching first missile barrage!”

Dana pulling the image from the screens, throwing it into a hologram in front of her.

Hellbores, cut lanes through space as the missiles, traveling at speeds that would have crushed a human appeared to slowly cover the distances between fleets.

The missiles ran chaotic manouvers, based on the reflective starlight, atomic decay of their engines and warheads, crossed with the breathing patterns of a random fleet member’s breathing and arrhythmic patterns.

Estimates put Weskarth’s barrage at fourteen times her own.

The converted weapons and those of the Boxers joined in the coordinated attack, bracketing and striking the enemy warships, carving lines into the armor of one another.

They weaved the dance of nuclear death, hellbores caught missiles, detonating them in clouds of energy Missiles slammed into one another. Most danced, the dance of the first aquatic animals on earth, copied by the fighter pilots of their mother skies, now in the depths of space. Interceptors hidden within each barrage kicked into over-drive, hunting down and tearing apart enemy missiles.

Shoki’s bones stretched and rattled, warming up from the fight, her missile tubes firing as fast as she could reload, adding to the stream of weaponry hurtling towards the enemy.

“Launching second barrage,” Leblanc said.