The Honour of the Knights, Stephen J. Sweeney [reading women .txt] 📗

enemy's escape. Hawke followed the orders through, assuring the admiral that Griffin would not get far. Though Ifrit could not follow or fire upon Parks' ship itself, the Confederation fighters ready and waiting on the flight deck were unaffected by the power outage.

Black-clad figures leapt up into fighters, that were quick to be taxied towards the catapult; the speed and efficiency of the pilots and deck crew as clinical as always. Within minutes, the first wing were starting to hurtle down the launch tunnel, more and more fighters lining up behind them.

Hawke watched as the first group of fighters shot out in front of the carrier, knowing there was little chance that Griffin would be able to outrun or fend off an assault from close to one hundred simultaneous attackers.

Even so, Hawke was taking no chances and sent out further requests for backup.

* * *

The TAFs, Rays and Rooks began to spill fast from Ifrit and wasted no time in giving chase to the fleeing Griffin. They closed the gap quickly, the first wing soon bringing themselves into weapons range. The carrier was not moving fast, but even if it had been in perfect working order it had no chance of outrunning those pursuing it.

With missiles already locked on to the kilometre-long vessel ahead of him, the lead fighter pilot poised over the trigger, waiting for the confirmation that his target was in range. The seconds and meters ticked down; the range confirmation flashed up on his HUD; he squeezed the trigger; his TAF exploded.

The TAF next to him fell at the same time, as did one of the following Rays and yet another TAF, not far behind them.

The pack of hijacked Confederation fighters scattered like a frightened school of fish as five sleek black craft appeared before them, seemingly out of nowhere, and rushed straight at them, the tips of their cannons blazing like flaming torches on a dark night.

Heads snapped around, tracing the path of the mysterious craft and seeing them fan out as they hit the rear of the pack.

As Griffin's pursuers attempted to reform their wing and once again focus their efforts on the fleeing carrier, the new arrivals arced up and around, and raced straight back at them, cannon fire spraying the squadron indiscriminately. More of the TAFs, Rays and Rooks fell, despite the pilots' attempts to evade the shower.

With their allies dropping all about them, the squadron made a collective decision to eliminate the threat before dealing with Griffin, and broke off their pursuit. It was not long before they realised what they were facing off against, many having seen them before, only hours earlier.

* * *

The news came quick to Parks.

“Griffin; this is Lieutenant de Winter, reporting mission accomplished,” Estelle's voice came over the bridge's comms system. “Returning with five ATAFs, five pilots, and one mission target.”

“White Knights!” Parks said, almost unable to express the relief he felt at hearing that the five had not only returned safe, sound and successful from their mission, but had also stepped up to pull Griffin out of the fire.

“I must apologise for cutting that a little fine, Commodore,” Estelle said. “I wanted to better assess the situation and attempt to get the drop on Ifrit; but I got a bit over-zealous, at your expense.”

“There's no need to apologise,” Parks said. “Your timing could not have been more appropriate. I think it's fair to say that our present situation speaks for itself. Griffin needs cover whilst we retreat and work on a plan of action. Jump engines are currently in an uncertain state, so an immediate evacuation is not feasible.” And even if they were, we're not leaving just yet. Not without bringing Hawke and Ifrit back in. “Go to it, Knights.”

* * *

Dodds was suffering a range of emotions from the events of the day: he was hungry from not having eaten since the breakfast he had picked at that morning, weary from the lack of proper sleep, and sore from the encounter at Arlos.

The sight of Ifrit opening fire on an allied carrier had resulted in all those emotions clustering together and expelling themselves as pure anger. No-one could have convinced him that Hawke was not in some way connected with the attack. The urge to break away from the others and focus his rage straight against Ifrit had been almost uncontrollable. But he had bitten his tongue and remained veiled and radio silent, as they had made their way back towards Griffin; until at last letting everything out the moment Estelle had given them the order to attack. He had raced forward, like a dog out of a trap, surging headlong into the wing of Griffin's unsuspecting attackers and taking down the lead with his opening salvo.

“They learned to fly those pretty damn quick,” Enrique said, pulling up to continue the pursuit of his chosen target.

“They probably had a lot of time to practice with the ones that Hawke loaned them,” Dodds glowered, noting how the flyers of Ifrit's fighter complement were operating the Confederation craft with the expertise of any seasoned CSN pilot.

The Knights carried through Parks' orders, driving back the waves of fighters they had earlier that day battled alongside. A hail of fire was exchanged on both sides fighting between the two carriers, plasma bolts drowning out the subtle cyan hues of the micro-missiles the Knights loosed against their opponents. And though their opponents made an admirable show of fighting back, their efforts with the TAFs, Rays and Rooks proved no more successful against the ATAFs than they had with the Imperial Mantises, Jackals and Sphinxes.

“Are these guys even thinking about retreating?” Enrique wanted to know as he downed yet another fighter.

“I don't think they know what that means,” Kelly said.

Dodds brought himself around to look upon Ifrit. Fighters were still launching from the catapult and it appeared as though the carrier's hijackers were prepared to throw everything they could at the ATAF pilots, in order to take down their targets. Despite the enemy pilots having incurred great losses, they were undeterred in their task, and it felt like no matter how many fighters Dodds brought down, several more would appear to take their place.

“Ifrit's gotta be exhausting its complement soon,” an exasperated Enrique said several minutes later.

“Not even close,” Estelle said. “I don't think we've even hit the halfway mark yet.”

“How many more of them are there?!”

“Doesn't matter,” Dodds said. “We'll keep taking them on until there is nothing left but Hawke himself!”

“Knights, concentrate only on the fighters. Do not open fire on Ifrit,” Parks cut in. “We're not leaving here without Ifrit. I want to do everything in my power to bring her back home with us.”

Dodds suppressed a growl and plunged forward into another wing, ignoring the hail of fire that sped towards him.

Several more exhausting minutes of battle followed when, at last, the streams of fighters leaving Ifrit began to abate. They were no longer launching from the carrier with as much gusto as they had at the beginning of the fight, and Dodds could only guess that it was now taking longer to prep what remained of the complement. It came as a relief; at last, it looked as though the day was finally won.

He was about to ask how Parks wished for them to deal with the still dead in the water Ifrit, when a flash close by caused him to swallow his question. He then swore as he saw Hawke's backup arrive.

“Didn't think it would be long before we saw that again,” he said, as out of the portal slipped the enormous bulk of CSN Dragon.

XXV

— He Who Runs —

Standing at the front of Dragon's bridge, Commodore Rissard looked first to the ATAFs striking down Ifrit's fighter support, then to the escaping Confederation carrier far beyond, still putting distance between itself and the battle area. He gave no further thoughts to the whirling starfighters and ordered Dragon forward. Ifrit needed no protection; not from the ATAFs and certainly not from Griffin. He knew that Griffin's captain would never seek to risk irreparable damage to the vessel, a point that had been made clear to him when Hawke had called in Dragon to assist them.

* * *

“It's going after Griffin!” Estelle said, as Dragon powered forward.

“Ifrit's back on-line,” Chaz added.

Dodds noted that running lights were once again dotting the carrier and that the ship was turning to begin pursuit of its former ally in battle. He brought his fighter about to look over the hulking mass of Dragon, never before having been so close to the battleship in his life. He was granted a close-up view of the graphic of a blue Chinese dragon that spread itself across the hull, claws sunk in deep, jowls pulled back, teeth snarling. The bow was already beginning to split, in preparation to use the anti-matter cannon. He saw that the hijacked Confederation fighters were breaking off, evacuating the target area so that they would not risk being caught up in the fallout from the assault.

He felt powerless. There was nothing he could do to prevent Dragon's advance. His comms popped; it was Parks.

“Knights, what I'm about to ask is going to sound absurd... but I'm going to have to request that you engage Dragon.”

Dodds swore, though his words were lost within the collective gasps and words of disbelief from his fellow wingmates.

“You all witnessed the power of that battleship's main gun earlier,” Parks said, undeterred. “We cannot allow it to gain a lock on us. If it does, then it's all over. I'm going to enable the accelerators. Target and sweep the hull across the vector I'm sending you.”

“Sir..?” Estelle's concerned voice came.

“Don't panic, de Winter: you will be targeting power systems only. There is no danger of you destroying that ship.”

That's not what she's worried about, Dodds thought.

“The combined power in those accelerators should be enough to break through the shielding,” Parks added. “If you hit it right, then you'll knock it off-line until the Imperial forces can effect repairs.”

Dodds looked over the colossal battleship. Chaz's words came into his head, of how the number of fighters the allied forces were bringing to the table were no match for it. Back then, during the commencement of Operation Menelaus, there had been several hundred. Now there were five.

But Parks was clearly convinced that they had a chance of tackling Dragon. Either that or the man was clutching at straws. And very brittle ones at that. But what else could they do? They had to at least try. It seemed that as much as the commodore wanted to recapture Dragon with the minimum of damage, he no longer had a choice. The man had long given up on the main objective of the operation that had begun that morning, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be retaking the Confederation flagship today.

Dodds' console jingled. The restriction on the accelerator had been lifted and Parks' coordinates had been received. He glanced again to Dragon and set to work utilizing the data and preparing the cannon. He then swung his craft up and around, to bring himself in line with Estelle and his fellow wingmates.

* * *

Rissard watched as the ATAFs changed their heading, breaking away from their engagements with the Confederation fighters and brought themselves into a staggered horizontal formation toward the battleship.

Unperturbed by their sudden interest in his ship, he ordered that they be ignored, his focus remaining on Griffin. They could be captured once the carrier had been destroyed. He prepared to give the order to fire, but found that his eyes were inexplicably drawn back to the camera tracking the black Confederation fighters. The ATAFs came into range...

Moments later, a thick, bright green stream of plasma erupted from the belly of the lead, striking the broadside of Dragon. Beams from the four others joined it, aiming for the same point. There was a call from somewhere down the bridge - the shield generators were struggling. The lead changed their heading, sweeping the beam along the hull. Its path was followed by the four others, who banked hard to trace the line. Against the concentrated plasma beams, the shield quadrant held for only a few seconds before it collapsed. Bright splinters erupted from Dragon's broadside, as though someone had just shot a cannon ball through a huge stained glass window.

With the shield gone, and with nothing to protect it, the beams proceeded to cut straight into the hull, tearing