Captain John Tangent clenched his jaw as the Kruul battlefield moved into position, firmly ensnaring the UNN
Excalibur
in their pincer movement. The crackling beams of the mass-net that stretched from frigate to frigate had formed a near total web around his ship - disrupting any attempt to reach the lower tiers of the SOF and escape. The Kruul cruisers and their fighter escorts remained at range, forming up into interlocked chevrons of fighters that spearheaded their heavier capital ships. He rubbed his hand against his chin, forcing himself to relax, to sound calm.
"Options, Triana?" he asked, turning to his XO.
"Those are Galling class frigates," she said, having checked her databanks in a tearing hurry. "Those mass nets have to be sucking up most of their power. They've either got shields or weapons on, not both. The shields are on par with a Liberty class, but their weapons are likely similar to the normal Kruul line."
"You mean guns that eat you?" Albert asked, frowning as he watched the dots on his console move and shift.
"Likely," Shey said. "Ship powered masticator guns are capable of tearing through durasteel. But there we have an advantage."
"The hull!" Albert perked up. "It's made of that indestructible Luciferian hull material!"
John nodded subtly - the
Excalibur
wasn't exactly a normal Terran ship, easily torn apart by Kruul weapons. But Shey's expression made him purse his lips. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. "Yes, the teeth won't penetrate the hull. But the Kruul don't just chomp - they can grab. Shake. Imagine being shook around like the middle of a threeway with a bunch of Qorr." She paused, then reached up, subtly fingering her pheromone masker. "Let me tell you, while they don't break bones, it sometimes feels like they might."
"The inertial dampers will give out before their mastication guns can stop their hold," Triana muttered.
"How about the cruisers?" John asked.
"Two classifications - a Defenestration and a Pogrom class," Triana said.
"Did we have to give them such evil names?" Albert asked.
"Those are Terran translations of the Kruul designations," Eugene cut in from his computer console.
"Oh." Albert frowned. "Seriously, what the fuck did the Zemturga do to those guys?"
"Several thousand years of engineered evolution for evil," John said. "Maybe it can be reversed - once we destroy the empire. Give me their specs, XO."
"The Defenestration is built around her main gun: An inverter beam strong enough to pull a ship out of tier four and smash them into realspace so fast that they get mulched. But since it's only good against ships going at FTL, she's also got a whole suite of secondary weapons - plasma beamers, RG cannons, nukes. The Pogrom is a bit nastier: They're built around an unstable multidimensional quasi-fission core and use it to power a bank of six putrefaction cannons, backed up by heavy mastication weapons along the belly."
"...Shey?" John asked.
"Take a chunk of highly unstable radioactive elements, shunt it to Tier 6 of the SOF where distinctions between elements break down. It turns into a big green crystal that emits generalized bad energy. Shunt that energy up through hardened conduits and it fires green rays that...just kinda...melt stuff," Shey said. "At that level of abstraction, the physical effects are randomized. And nasty."
John pinched the bridge of his nose while Albert didn't even have the energy for a quip.
"Those shouldn't do well against our new shields," Trianna said. "So, if we can keep out of the teeth, the nukes, and the railguns, we might be able to survive the P-Guns. That leaves the fighters."
"That's my job," Eugene said, and despite his cool, professional tone, it was clear that a gleam was beginning to glitter in his eyes. "To put it bluntly, sir? They're
fucked
."
John turned in his seat, frowning. "They outnumber our Avengers ten to one."
"And that's not enough." Eugene nodded, confident.
John nodded slowly. "All right. We have a plan."
***
Aboard the Kruul flagship, the
Unending Genocide
, Admiral Slaughter felt a twinge of pain along his spine as his aged muscles grumbled at having been taken from their comfortable chair back home, in his cruelty enhanced free range farm. He had been enjoying his quite retirement of whipping the ralsta, quen and vormaps and making sure that each animal was fed precisely the amount to prolong their life to dinner while still being sickly and weak. Even now, he could remember the glitter on their tiny cages and the piteous squeaks and mews that had sung him to sleep every night...
He shook his head, casting aside such pleasant memories as he focused instead on the strange Terran ship. It looked like a vast black wing, and it was made of a material that his scientists had never seen before. They were even now still tirelessly torturing the universe for the secrets, trying to wring cosmic pain with spectrographic analysis with their esoteric tools of torment - but he needed to act now, not on the say so of some eggheads who did all the work of wringing suffering from non-sentient matter and energy.
Caution. The slow brand sears the clearest.
"Send in the first wave. Lets see how they do," he said, nodding slowly.
"Admiral, we have ten times the fighters waiting in the bay-" one of his officers said.
Slaughter lifted his hand. "Silence! Don't teach your grandmother how to squash kittens."
On the screen, tiny pinpricks of green light flared to life as the first several chevrons of their Evil class fighters plunged through the mass-net and towards the scrambling squadron of Terran Avengers. Admiral Slaughter leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers together above his belly, his long beard tickling his knuckles. He harrumphed. "And tell me...what are the Vornash doing?"
"Maintaining distance," his sensor officer said, immediately. "They aren't sending any communication signals."
"Good. They're letting us tire one another out," Slaughter said, quietly. "The Terrans stand alone in this field. But they're not our playthings yet. They may still gore us at the worst time - be on your toes."
The officers all nodded with a grunt.
And the fighter battle began with a flare of glittering pyrotechnics.
***
Delta Vee slammed back into her cockpit, whooping as she corkscrewed past two Kruul interceptors. Their green contrails caused her dosimeter to flash a warning yellow for a second - despite her shields and armor - but then she was through the danger zone and cruising free of the furball. The chatter of her pilots played through her helmet, and with the learned multitasking of a veteran, she was able to parse through overlapping noise, tangling it out into a strand of vectors - just like the battle she was in.
Alpha-2 had just gotten a third kill, making him a shoe in for the new ace. But they might need to declare this battle didn't count on that count, since there were enough fighters for everyone to be an ace, and they were
absolute
dogshit.
Beta squad was cleaning up - she could hear their war cries, their cheers, their reports...
Alpha-3...
"Shit! I got five, repeat, five tails! I'm a kitsune out here, not a
dog
!"
"On it, Alpha-3!"
Delta swung her stick around her Avenger shuddered as it pulled a bank off, its wings screaming as they bit into the invisible aether of the space opera field. Ahead of her, she could see Alpha-3, her retro rockets burning furiously as she flew backwards away from the five Kruul ships that were charging after her. Despite their fragile shields, weak engines, and tendency to explode when coughed on, the Evils were able to dodge the streams of railgun rounds that Alpha-3 was playing around as she twitched her nose up, down, left, right. Meanwhile the Evils were all spitting their green plasma blasts right back at her: The Avenger's shields flashed and strobed as energy weapons punched through weak points, bubbling off ablative armor in hissing clouds.
Delta flicked her thumb up on her stick - her missile tracking computer whirring, clicking...and then the loud
deeeeet