Star Crusader: Battle Fleet Victorious: Star Crusader, #5

By Michael G. Thomas

Nate and his friends undertake their greatest adventure yet, when their squadron joins BATTLE FLEET VICTORIOUS on a top-secret mission. The elite group of powerful ships makes up the fastest and deadliest Battle Fleet in the entire Alliance. They are heading deep behind enemy lines, to where the Star Empire has located an ancient and deadly weapon. One that would give them the means to defeat the Alliance in a single overwhelming battle.

As the pilots of Ironclad Squadron arrive on board the massive assault carrier, Nate discovers this is no conventional military force. Their commander is the infamous Colonel Gun, and the assault teams will be led by no other than Major Spartan, the Alliance's greatest warrior. Nate must leave the safety of the simulator videogame, and use his skills to prepare the fleet's rookie pilots to provide fighter cover for the entire mission. This is Nate's greatest challenge, and the fate of the fleet, and the entire Alliance lies in his hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: swordmiro
• Release date: Jul 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781911092254

Michael G. Thomas

Michael G. Thomas, is a writer, martial artist and military historian. He has written books on European martial arts and military history as well as Zombie Survival books and fiction. He is the co-founder of the prestigious Academy of Historical Fencing that teaches traditional armed and unarmed European martial arts. His specialist subject areas are teaching the use of the medieval two handed longsword and the German long knife in both the UK and other parts of Europe. He academic background is as varied as his writing with degrees in Computing, Classical Studies and Machine Learning. In recent years he has undertaken substantial research in the fields of machine learning and artificial intelligence as well as Ancient Greek and Byzantine military history. Michael is currently completing his Champions of the Apocalypse Series and Star Crusades science fiction series.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Karnak, Byotai Territories

One month later

27 December 2472

The four Lancer Class light cruisers were derelicts. Great hunks of metal and spare parts were now all that remained of the great Star Empire fleet of the 10th Quadrant. Ten days earlier they'd been part of the great Star Empire blockade, but no more. The Interstellar Assault Brigade had broken through to bring about a rebel victory on the surface. Just one week later the combined forces of two Byotai Generals then routed what was left of their fleet.

With their power systems no longer active, they drifted in high-orbit over Karnak, to all intents dead in space. The threat they offered was that of space debris in the primary shipping lanes, and the future their inevitable breaking up for salvage. In the past, these were the lightning fast raiders of the old warring clans, and more recently acting as the eyes and ears of the Star Empire reborn. Star light glinted off the metallic surface, yet for anybody that cared to look, there was life.

The four hulls were icy cold and as dead as the increasing amount of rocks and debris orbiting the planet. Scores of ships, both military and civilian had befallen the same fate, and like them would fall into the planet's atmosphere and burn up on the way down. This was the inevitable fate of any object trapped in a decaying orbit over the war-torn world of Karnak. It was the most densely populated of the six intact planets in the system, and scene of more than a yearlong ground war that had just ended in a surprise victory for the Byotai rebels.

If anybody had been monitoring these three wrecks, they might have detected the glimmer of energy burning inside their powerplants. It was a slow process, but with each passing minute, more and more subsystems activated. This was a slow, careful process, hurrying any one part could shatter the cold parts of the vessel, or cause fires that would draw unwanted attention. This was little different to nature when a creature emerged from its slumber following hibernation. Even so, this process still took over a short period of just seventeen minutes. Once ready, the ships activated their main engines in sequence and increased the orbital trajectory second by second. Soon they reached escape velocity, and with a final boost, accelerated for the centre of the blockade.

It was a bizarre reality of interstellar combat that dead spacecraft, or those drifting with all systems off-line, could prove impossible to track and identify. Their powerplants were now live and bristling with energy, and their engines burning hot. These were no ordinary ships, but Lancer Class light cruisers, some of the fastest and most agile in the Star Empire's arsenal. Like so many of the ships press-ganged into service by the new Empire, they bore few symbols. It might just as easily have been a Spires or Red Scars clans ship had it not been for the single logo along the flanks of the hull.

A single Byotai frigate was all that stood between the light cruisers and their course to freedom. Few of the reptilian ships remained, the majority of the fleet scattered and either captured or destroyed. This particular example was the Imperial Frigate Spiteful, an old ship that defected to the rebels at the start of the war. This was probably the reason it was still operational, as every loyal ship's captain had answered the call to war, and vanished in the maelstrom of combat.

Without hesitation, the captains of the four ships activated their weapons batteries, and deployed significant numbers of warhead batteries. Unlike most ships, these were designed to unleash volleys of missiles directly at their targets, often at incredibly long ranges. As the launcher systems activated, the front launch plates rotated to open the tubes, displaying the warheads like a row of razor sharp teeth. There was no warning or offer of surrender, just the bright white flash as the hypersonic missiles blasted from the ships.

Each launched a barrage of four missiles, with every single warhead visually locked onto the ship. Some weapons used heat seeking technology, but these missiles were the infamous SQ-700 anti-ship cruise missiles. They used a combination active-radar homing system combined with an astronomical star tracking navigation package. At ten metres long, they were big weapons, carrying a seven hundred and fifty kilogram warhead capable of destroying heavy fighters, bombers, and small cutters with a single hit.

Each light cruiser carried four automated missile batteries on board, and between them they sent a veritable swarm of stealthy missiles to their target. The four ships were just two thousand kilometres from the Imperial ship when a routine, but severely delayed sensor sweep, picked them up. By then it was already too late. The ship activated its articulated armour and opened its gun ports, but it needed another thirty seconds to be combat ready. Fatigue and battle damage slowed the responses of the ship and its crew, and the price of this failure would prove its destruction. A single automated turret awoke from its slumber, and then tracked the two nearest missiles. With the speed and precision possible through the use of robotics, it opened fire. One burst ripped apart two missiles, but there was no time for a third. Thrusters fired as the Captain tried to manoeuver away, but it was not enough.

Fourteen surviving missiles struck along the aft hull before detonating against the armour. The warheads were not powerful enough to completely destroy a large frigate, but they could blast a large hole in the hull, and trigger a number of fires and breaches. Eight of the missiles struck along the underside of the small ship where it was more lightly armoured, and each weapon punched a deep hole through the plating. Atmosphere breached the craft, sending it spinning while further explosions rippled along her flanks. In less than ten seconds she was already a shattered ruin, wracked by miniscule explosions from bow to stern.

As the crew tried to regain control, the formation of four Star Empire light cruisers raced on by. Other vessels activated from their slumber, and soon there were a total of eleven ships, including one heavily damaged Byotai fleet carrier. Some may already have been disabled, but more likely they were in hiding to avoid destruction at the hands of General Makos and his fleet. Two still bore massive holes in their hulls from impacts taken a week earlier in battle with the IAB taskforce that had broken their blockade. Their engines grew ever hotter as their captains used every ounce of power to continue accelerating towards their destination, the Serpentis Rift and beyond to the infamous space junction known as the Fiorr Veej System, or Four Rifts in English. If they could make it to Fiorr Veej, they could assist their comrades in the inevitable invasion of the Human-led Alliance.

* * *

Imperial Battleship 'Furiosa'

On approach to Karnak, 10th Quadrant

27 December 2472

Nate was physically and mentally exhausted, as was every single member of Furiosa's crew. They'd been in action almost continually, and after a bloody battle in this system were now safe. They'd arrived a matter of three days earlier, and the ship was still in a terrible state. The encounter with Star Empire loyalists had been a brutal one, leaving the ship riddled with holes and damage from bow to stern. Any other ship might have been abandoned after such a fierce battle, but not this one, as one of three known Legion Class battleships remaining.

Nate closed his eyes again and tried to shake some of the terrible images from his mind. The dogfighting he could live with, he'd seen enough of that already in simulation. It was the event close up that tugged at his heart and played with his mind. He'd seen people shot, and watched friends and foes cut down beside him. It was something he'd never trained for or expected to see, and it was overwhelming. Now he rested, safe in the knowledge that the fleet commanded by the renegade Byotai General Makos controlled the entire system. They were due to arrive at Karnak, where they'd help take on volunteers to continue the fight against the Star Empire. Once complete, they would set sail for a rendezvous with the Alliance fleet. Because of that, Nate expected to see no action until they met with the other ships. For now they would concentrate on their mission, as well as helping to ferry food and medical supplies to the starving civilians and militias far below on the surface.

Nate's eyes were closed when the klaxon began its call. All four active pilots sat in their chairs on the deck, like fighter pilots of old waiting for the call to arms. Nate's limbs ached, and he'd been in the middle of some exotic daydream when he snapped wide awake. His eyes opened wide, and he scanned left and right before rising from his seat. As per standard procedure, he wore his battered looking Naval issue PDS uniform. The only thing missing was his helmet, but that waited for him atop the ladder and at the side of the waiting cockpit.

What's happening?

The sound called the crew and pilots of the Byotai flagship to battle, and though he'd now heard it dozens of times, it was always a frightening sound. Sometimes it marked the start of yet another drill, other times it was for real. It could be a race to defend the ship against incoming missiles, or simply a standard combat air patrol. Each time was different and reminded Nate of the sheer danger he and his friends now faced. An alien voice sounded through the ship, and Nate tried to understand what the words were.

Nate!

He looked to his right and found Flying Officer Valdis Ferreus looking right back at him. Nate still found it hard to take the Byotai pilots of the Ironclads as seriously as the Human equivalent. Where his people wore conservative uniforms, these Byotai wore exotic clothing, with metallic plates and many gaps that showed off almost completely naked flesh. It looked both decadent and alluring, and Nate found that to be quite a distraction.

She is something else.

It's the Captain. There are ships coming our way. Hurry.

Valdis was a little older than him, though he was never quite sure by how much. Her combat flight suit was of a dull grey, yet adorned with all manner of embellishments that served as a reminder the Ironclads were not just an elite Byotai squadron, they were one of the few that bore the moniker Royal.

I'm on the way.

A pair of Alliance marines moved past, each giving him an inquisitive glance. There were a handful of them aboard the ship. After all, this was still a sovereign vessel of what remained of the Byotai Empire. This was because Nate and his friends were not military; in fact they were not even pilots. The average age for pilots in the Alliance was very late twenties and up into the fifties. Yet here they were, with an average age of nineteen, and on the front-line. Each of them was a student from the Alliance run academies, but none had spent a day of service with any of the military arms.

Sir, said the nearest marine, Looks like trouble out there.

Nate was already moving to his fighter, and as always ran his eyes down the flank of the craft, checking for any signs of wear or fatigue. In the simulations, failure was just a reason to try again. But Nate had now learnt that equipment failure or mistakes could mean death, and he'd experienced that first hand already.

Trouble, what trouble?

The vessel shuddered slightly as the massive engines activated. Without a direct view outside, it wasn't clear what was happening, but Nate had a good idea of what must be going on. They'd been coasting to Karnak for the last six hours, so this could mean something had changed. They were not due for a course or velocity change for several more hours. He'd run enough simulation to known when a ship was aligning itself for a critical, high speed launch. That was where he had the advantage over most pilots, because unlike them, he'd already trained on this scenario more than a hundred times, and he was damned good at it. Nate was a teenage student, something that should have precluded him from anything close to military action. Yet here he was, as one of the four pilots waiting for orders to launch from the battleship.

As Nate moved to the side of the lower deck of the Byotai battleship, he could tell it wasn't a drill. Simple tell-tale signs were noticeable, not least the fact that they were still a long way from the shattered and war-torn planet of Karnak. Any course alteration was significant.

Ironclads, we've got company.

Nate relaxed at the sound of Commander Higgins’ voice. He was their only real link back to the Alliance, and bridged the gap between the Alliance pilots and their attached engineers and the alien Byotai crew, of whom few spoke any form of English.

A single formation of four Anicinàbe Lancer Light Cruisers have broken free of the planet's gravity well, and are on course to the Serpentis Spacebridge.

Nate absorbed that information as he reached the bottom of the ladder. He was already on the main fighter deck when the sound started, and in less than ten seconds, he'd reached the base of the ladder leading up into his waiting fighter.

We just came from Serpentis. That course will send them right past us.

Ironclads, you'll screen us from any ordnance they drop on the approach. Furiosa will deal with the ships."

The battleship echoed with the sound of crew preparing the other spacecraft for the mission. Nate clambered up the ladder to the cockpit of his personal Lightning IIA; just as twenty-six year old Lieutenant Commander Holder closed the canopy of her own fighter. Unlike Nate, she was a real Navy pilot, with years of experience in the military and a long list of kills to her name. She was tall, beautiful, with long brown hair and a slightly tanned face hidden behind her helmet. She always looked stern, and it was rare that she ever smiled at the other pilots. She gave him a thumbs-up as she dropped inside her cockpit, a move that stirred something inside Nate.

Ensign.

For a second, Nate almost didn't notice the large Byotai officer waiting between the fighters. He was a veteran of the Imperial Navy, and though Nate didn't know what all of the medals and clasps meant on his uniform, it was obvious he was a man to treat with respect.

Be careful out there. It looks like trouble.

Normally the Captain would have been responsible for managing scores of fighters, assault shuttles, and bombers. Everything from ensuring they were at full strength, supplied and armed, through to the wellbeing of the pilots and deck crews. Now he had nothing but four craft to manage. Nate nodded politely and began climbing.

Will do.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was still incredible that the mixed crew of engineers and technicians had recovered even a single craft, let alone four complete machines. The rest lay broken and burnt, and stored away safely inside the innards of the massive battleship.

Your people did incredible work. I thought we'd lost all our fighters.

Nate kept on moving, knowing full well that time was of the essence. Even now the power couplings were being pulled away from the fighter.

This is all we could salvage from the wreckage, said Captain Sobiex, They will do as required.

The reptilian Byotai officer gave him a polite nod as he reached the fifth rung on the ladder. It was a short movement, but one Nate knew showed respect towards him even though he was just a youth on a starship, and that made him feel a little guilty.

Thanks, Sir. I'll take care of her. I promise.

Nate clambered up the metallic steps and then threw himself expertly into the cockpit. He could see the veteran Byotai from inside the fighter, and as often happened, a pang of doubt entered his mind. He frequently experienced what some called imposter syndrome, where he felt as though he'd made it where he was purely by chance. At any moment one person could order him out and send him home, and everything that had happened would instantly vanish.

I can do this. I've done it before.

He'd flown so many missions now that the distinction between reality and the simulated combat missions of the Star Crusader simulation were utterly blurred. Back at the Academy he'd moved in exactly the same fashion, but then it had been in an air-conditioned room surrounded by his fellow students. Now he was aboard the famous alien warship and serving as part of a small, fatigued fighter squadron, the Ironclads.

Nate, stay close to me.

He looked back and spotted the young Byotai climbing into her own spacecraft.

Always do, Valdis.

When they'd first transferred to the alien battleship, there had been six of them, including the Lieutenant Commander. With them they'd brought a handful of marines, support crew, and of course, six heavily armed Lighting II fighters. Of all those brought with them, two remained functional, as well as the three Byotai fighters from their entire arsenal, a modest number to serve aboard such a massive warship. Though Nate's fighter was now fully functional, the spacecraft still bore the marks of the recent fighting on board the battleship. Black marks covered her hull, and the entire nose had been salvaged from a destroyed fighter. To the uninitiated, the fighter might easily have been waiting to be scrapped, but he knew better.

Systems on-line. Good.

One by one each of the diagnostic screens flashed past as the fighter ran through its tests. It didn't take long, and as he waited, the cockpit flickered as the main hangar lit up with bright blue light from the long strip lamps activating. The powerful beams picked out the fine details on the five remaining fighters. From where he was positioned, he now had the perfect view of the three Byotai Mantis interceptors, the most advanced and powerful spacecraft in their remaining inventory. Nate had first seen them in the Star Crusader simulation, and he still had something of a soft spot for