The Furies

"Roger."

On her HUD the seconds slowly ticked down as Erica wondered what would await them.

Rebel squirmed in her seat and fidgeted. The blood was pounding in her temples and the clock seemed to be going in slow motion. She had never felt this jacked up and wondered if Cloudy was feeling it too.

"Were coming out of hyperspace, launch on my mark," Boss called.

There was something sexy about her voice, so confident, even and in control. It was sexy, but not as sexy to Rebel as that soft, confused, shy, 'I don't know how' at the bar.

With the compensators and her flight suit on, Rebel didn't even feel the lurch of the ship coming out of hyperspace.

"Launch!"

Rebel hit the button and felt her suit try to squeeze her intestines out. She clenched her body, aiding the suit to keep the blood in her core as the Gs forced her small frame deeply into her seat.

As she came out of the chute, her engines kicked and she fought the ship's controls. She still wasn't used to the superb handling of the Corsair. Rebel broke to port, crossing over the lower decks to join Boss and Cloudy on the port side. When she looked up, her mouth dropped open.

The star field was filled, literally filled, with ships. Great, silver hulls as far as the eye could see. Far away the huge red disk of Starbase Five gleamed. A million lights seemed to wink as the Trog attacked. Occasionally, a bright mushroom of flame marked the places where the starbase's mass drivers found the range.

"Get out here Goose, we've got trouble plenty," Erica called.

"Soon as they get the cables back and attached."

"Boss, three cruisers have detached from the main body and are headed this way," the cap officer reported.

"Roger, Hammer, Thunder, Cowboy, where are you?"

"Got your six, Boss," Thunder laconically replied.

"Still waiting on this fucking cat," Cowboy raged.

"Rebel? Cloudy?"

"On your wing," Rebel responded, noticing how high and excited her voice was.

"Here," was all Cloudy said.

"They're beginning launch operations, Boss,"

"Roger, Goose, form up with Lucky and Surfer, wait for them to get more fighters out before you begin your attack runs."

"Roger that."

"All right Boss flight, accelerate to attack speed."

Rebel eased the throttle forward and the sleek fighter leapt forward like a greyhound, quickly gaining attack speed. She was hyped, nervous and now watching as the tiny dots began to grow larger.

"Arm torpedoes."

Rebel flipped the red cover that shielded the arming switch up and flicked the switch on first one, and then the second.

"Rebel, take the one on your side, Cloudy, take the one on yours, I'll take that big bastard in the middle."

"I'm on it," Cloudy replied.

"Rebel?"

She was so excited and concentrating so hard she had forgotten to respond.

"Roger," she hastily called.

In the black space between the far away cruisers, tiny lights flared to life.

"Enemy fighters, watch yourselves."

"Let us worry about 'em Boss," Thunder called.

"Just the two of you?"

"Me and Hammer are more than enough," he responded confidently.

She watched as the distance to target quickly fell. Fifty thousand, Forty thousand, Thirty thousand. Suddenly her entire view screen was filled with hurtling missiles. She tensed, but the massive barrage passed by to her port side.

"Ignore them, they're firing blind," Erica snapped.

Twenty thousand, fifteen thousand, ten thousand. The metal behemoth filled her view screen, blotting out all else. Beams of light streaked out, flashing like searchlights in the dark. The shark nosed prow seemed to be coming right for her and Rebel felt a moment's doubt. The Boss seemed to sense it and her calm voice settled the butterflies.

"Don't worry about the point defense batteries, even if they hit they won't penetrate your shields. Remember what Goose taught you about head on attacks."

"I've got fighters on my scope," Cloudy called. For the first time Rebel heard some emotion in her voice.

"Don't panic, the ghostdogs will take 'em. Just watch your launch meter."

The range meter ticked from kilometers to meters. Six thousand, five thousand, at four the red lights on her HUD went green. Rebel depressed the trigger on her yoke and pulled back hard on it. The ship, suddenly divested of several tons in gross weight yawed hard and she had to fight the stick.

"It's away!" she called as she righted her ship and pulled up.

"Away!" Cloudy called almost simultaneously.

"It's away," the Boss called.

As soon as the view screen cleared and she was looking at open space, Rebel eased the yoke back to neutral and jammed the throttle forward. She squeezed her internal muscles to help the suit as the fighter jumped from attack speed to supersonic.

On her HUD the seconds ticked by. Five, four, three, two, one. As the digital readout clicked to double zero a massive shock wave rocked the small craft. Rebel held on and grimly fought the controls as the expanding sphere of photons from the three explosions buffeted her.

"Rebel?"

"I'm good," she said through clenched teeth, easing back on the throttle.

"Cloudy?"

"Good to go," the Indian woman replied.

"Roger, form up on me. Thunder, you guys still with us?"

"Roger that, I've got your six, Boss."

"Hell of a show!" Hammer enthused.

Rebel brought her craft into line with the blip on her screen that was the Boss's ship and throttled up until she was back on her wing. Below her, the detritus of three Trog cruisers floated, the largest piece was barely the size of a playing card.

"Boss to cap, do you copy?"

"Roger, Boss."

"Tell the captain it's a go."

"Roger."

"Goose?"

"Roger"

"Bring up what you have out and form up on me. Leave Lucky and Surfer to bring the rest of the flights."

"On our way," she called.

Goose and her two wingmen were with them in no time. The white ship, with goose feathers and a beak painted on it looked garish compared to the flat black of the rest.

"Boss, this is Cap, turning you over to Yalo station. Good luck and good hunting."

"Roger."

"Boss flight, this is Yalo station, do you copy?" a new voice called.

"Copy, Yalo,"

"Good to have you with us, Captain. We're taking some major heat from those battle cruisers, can you assist?"

"Roger Yalo Station, just give us a vector and get your fighters out of there."

"Done and done, good hunting."

"All right ladies, accelerate to attack speed. Goose, y'all armed?"

"Roger"

Rebel accelerated quickly, moving slightly ahead of the Boss's fighter.

"Ping your targets, ladies," Boss called.

Rebel depressed the button on her fire control grip and sent out an infrared beam that painted her target. She chose a large battleship, a little off from the main battle line.

The numbers were falling fast when someone shouted.

"Fighters!"

"I've got one on my tail!" Jugs called.

"Me, too!" shouted Cloudy.

"If you're targeted, take evasive maneuvers," Boss said, her voice grim.

"Relax Jugs, break left on my mark, three, two, one." Thunder called.

No sound. Nothing, but seconds later she heard Jugs.

"Thanks,"

"I can't shake him!" Cloudy screamed, her transmission cut short by a burst of static.

"Boss?" Goose inquired, the question hanging in the air.

"Stay on target." Erica called, her voice stony.

"You can't leave her to die!" Rebel exclaimed.

"Stay on target, that's an order!"

"We have to help her!"

"You turn that ship around and I'll burn you myself," the Boss declared in a tone so icy it froze Rebel's heart.

Rebel bit back an angry reply and turned her head back to the immense ship now filling her view screen. Six thousand, five thousand, four thousand. On the all green she triggered the launch with all her pain and anger and pulled up hard.

Again the dizzying sense of vertigo and then heavy Gs as she accelerated away. She wasn't exhilarated now, she was sick to her stomach and hot tears were pouring down her cheeks.

The blast effects were worse this time and Rebel fought the bucking ship's controls with grim determination. When she came out of it, she leveled off, to find herself alone in space. No fleet of ships, nothing.

"Thanks for the assist, Boss flight. Looks like the lizards decided to take their toys and go home."

"What we're here for," Boss replied.

"Form up on me, those of you with torpedoes left, disarm them."

"Boss," Thunder called.

"Go ahead Thunder."

"Cowboy got launched late. He's on a different frequency, wanted me to let you know he's got your lost duckling. She's nursing her ship in. It's beat to hell, radio's out, but she flashed him with her blinker and she's all right."

"Thanks, Thunder. We owe you boys a drink."

"Lets call it even, if we had been faster you wouldn't have had to worry about her. Meet you all at Bel's, Thunder out."

While the rest of the group made ready to head for York and Bel's place, Erica donned her dress blues. She had quietly picked the Goose to accompany her to the meeting. She had no idea what kind, only that Captain Quarrels left her a message she needed to attend along with a brief and cryptic warning to be prepared for anything.

"Hurry up, it's a meeting not a date, fer Christ's sakes," the Goose called.

Erica donned her cap, checked her reflection in the mirror and joined the tall blonde in the jeep.

"What's this about, Boss?" Goose asked as she negotiated the heavy traffic in the service corridor.

"I don't know, but something tells me it isn't good," Erica replied pensively.

"You know I'll hold you personally responsible if I miss getting laid tonight," Goose said, trying to lighten her superior's mood.

"You expect sympathy from me?" Erica countered.

"It isn't my fault you build walls around yourself, Erica," Mindy replied seriously. In her time on the ship she had never used the boss's first name, but she did so here.

"No, I suppose there is no one to blame but myself," she replied in a quiet voice.

They rode in silence after that, Erica was deep in thought and the Goose was afraid she would over step her bounds if she got going. They took a lift up to C deck and proceeded to the conference room. Two MPs in shock armor and armed with assault rifles stood guard. A Lt. Commander also stood outside.

"Name," he demanded.

"Davies, Erica. Captain."

He checked a list and motioned them inside.

Warning lights went off in the tall Air Boss's head as she stepped in. Around the table sat Captain Quarrels, three admirals, two vice admirals, the ship's engineer, executive officer, and department heads, a man she pegged as a fighter pilot and a civilian.

"Gentlemen, my Air Boss," Captain Quarrels said.

An old admiral, with graying hair and leathery skin rose immediately.

"I wish to thank you Captain, your people really pulled our bacon out of the fire."

"Not just her people, Paul, she lead the flight personally," Quarrels added.

"There will be enough time for ass kissing when we are done," the civilian said in an affected high falsetto.

He was a pretty-boy, with long hair, white skin and a double chin, wearing voluminous robes that Erica felt would be more appropriate on a stripper. It was however haute court and she immediately pegged him as a politico. Probably a courtier as well.

"Please be seated, Captain," another admiral said.

He was a tall man, with red hair and ruddy skin, a big roman nose and dark, intense eyes. His uniform seemed to barely fit around his barrel chest and his stance was ramrod straight.

"Before we begin in earnest, I'll pass out the sugar, since there is damn little of it before we get to the vinegar. Captain Quarrels, by order of His Majesty, you are elevated to the rank of admiral and will assume leadership of seventh fleet."

"Some command, what's left of seventh fleet? This old derelict and a few destroyers. When will sufficient force be in place to defend the eastern arm?" the civilian demanded.

The big admiral gritted his teeth before continuing.

"Captain Davies, by order of his majesty, you are elevated to Chief of Air Operations, seventh fleet, with a commensurate advance in rank to commander."

"Wonderful. My prefecture is practically unguarded and you military types are passing out ribbons," the fop said sarcastically.

The big admiral turned on him with such fury in his eyes the thin man visibly cowered. The admiral mastered himself and spoke in an icy calm voice.

"I am sure his majesty will be heartened to know his prefect greets his decrees with such enthusiasm. Perhaps I should send the security tape of this meeting to him, so that he can see for himself how supportive you are of his decisions and military staff."

Erica had to suppress a laugh as the young man's face blanched. His mouth worked, but no words would come and he seemed to shrink back into his chair. The admiral turned back to the table, ignoring the prefect's discomfiture.

"Quick introductions. I'm Admiral Harris, C-in-C for the fifth military district. This is Admiral Tibbets, Yalo area commander," he said, gesturing to the man who had said thanks earlier. He nodded to Erica and gave her an encouraging smile.

"The quiet gent next to him is Admiral Hosegawa, Liaison with the general staff."

The elderly, oriental man nodded gravely.

"This is Vice Admiral Ricks, commander of Starbase Five," he said, indicating a dashing young man with a black goatee. Erica glanced at him once and made a snap judgment, she had met him before. A hundred times, in a hundred different guises and with a hundred different commands. Career military, hard driving but fair. He, and hundreds like him were the backbone of the Authority Navy. The men on the firing lines who made the tough decisions and wore the inner scars to prove it.

"And Vice Admiral Grew, Liaison officer with command, research and development, Navy."

"The fat fellow, typically out of uniform is Bill Torbin, and leads the interceptor squadron."

"Call me Rambler," he said, extending a hand which was firm and strong.

Erica had met him too, a thousand times over. Tough, competent, a pilot's pilot. The kind of man who led by example and was always in the thick of it. He was alive today because he was that good and his men would charge hell with a bucket of water for him.

The big man started to speak, but paused.

"Oh, and this gentleman," he managed to make the word an epitaph with his tone, "is Prefect Lombra, of the eastern arm."

"Now to business!' he said clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

"Jack?"

"It isn't pretty Ed," Vice Admiral Ricks began, "the base is about forty percent depressurized. We lost a bit over seventeen percent shield capacity and one battery of mass drivers is inoperative. Vin estimates he can get the drivers back online in seventy two hours, but it will take six months to get hull integrity back to one hundred percent. If the Yorktown hadn't showed up when she did and if they hadn't pressed the attack and if the results hadn't been so spectacular, I'm afraid we would have been goners. That's a lot of ifs coming together to save us and we can't count on it again."

"Paul?"

"We've sent a recall to all line ships of the Seventh that were on TDD. That's two battle cruisers, Gallant and Defiant. Three heavy cruisers, two light jobs and about forty destroyers. They should all be in within the next seven days."

"What do we have right now?"

"The battleship Potempkin should be out of the fleet repair dock within thirty-two hours. The heavy cruisers Hawthorn and Graves, light cruiser Pygmalion, and seventeen modern destroyers."

"That's it?" Harris asked, visibly shaken.

"A handful of patrol craft. The obsolescent battlecruiser Mines. That's it."

"Good lord," the big man said, sinking into his chair.

"We got hurt."

"All destroyed?" he said, regaining some composure.

"No. We only lost the carriers, auxiliary carriers, six battle ships, twelve heavy cruisers, thirty-odd destroyers and the minesweeper Dove. The rest either made their way to the fleet yards at Camperdoon or were towed there. The first reports made it out to be a lot worse than it was, you know the story Ed. A fleeing soldier counts every foeman twice and every casualty three times. That said, we had a lot of total hull breeches," he said quietly.

"Casualties?"

"Not totaled, but in six months we'll have a lot more ships than we do crew."

"Hosegawa?"

"Sixth fleet, Third fleet and the Home fleet are being mobilized, but expecting their arrival in less than one hundred and twenty days would be dangerously optimistic. Even when they do arrive, the weight of broadside will not be significantly higher than Seventh fleet had at the time of the attack. Even then, I seriously doubt they will be committed to action until their carriers are outfitted with the new fighters and torpedoes."

"How long will that take?" he said, turning to Grew.

"The Skoda works are retooling all lines to produce the modified Corsairs," Vice Admiral Grew responded.

"Assuming the change over goes well, and assuming they hit full production and assuming there are no interruptions in the raw material supply, I still can't see them being able to outfit a single fleet air arm for at least six months."

"And the torpedoes?"

"We'll be lucky if enough can be produced in the first three months to keep this ship's air complement stocked. After that, production should skyrocket when the Amspurn and Quintilla armories come online."

"Admiral Quarrels, how long can you hold out here?"

"I think that question is better answered by my Air Boss, the ship's guns will only play a minor role in any defense."

"Commander?"

Erica considered her words before she spoke.

"Am I right in assuming this new ship class is still a small percentage of the Trog fleet and is being used as a kind of shock attack group?"

"Our intelligence points to that. I think it's a safe assumption."

"In a nutshell then. I have thirty-six pilots, forty-two fighters and just under five hundred torpedoes. The Trog have over a thousand ships and god only knows how many fighters. Sooner or later they are going to realize what hit them and they will adapt their tactics. That means beefed up direct fire escorts and more fighter cover for the capital ships. Had they understood the threat, they would have stood and fought. If that had happened, they would have won. They can afford to lose thirty capital ships for every fighter they destroy and should they destroy Yorktown, that will be all remaining fighters and our stock of torpedoes. When they come back, they are going to win, unless we have more fighters and more pilots on the way I don't know about."

"That's defeatism!" the prefect yelled.

"It's a pragmatic assessment of the situation, your grace," Erica replied.

"Have her arrested, immediately!" he demanded of Admiral Harris.

"Guards!" the big man roared.

In moments a team of troopers poured into the room. They looked around tensely, as if they expected Trogs to be everywhere.

"Escort that twit out of here," he said, pointing a stubby finger at the prefect.

"You can't do this!" he squalled, but the guards paid no notice to his curses, his threats or the dignity of his office, simply manhandling him out of the room.

When quiet was restored they all looked at one another and slowly everyone, even the stoic Hosegawa, broke out into grins.

"Nice move, Ed," Admiral Tibbets said.

"Damned civilians. He was right about one thing though, that's a pretty bleak assessment, Commander."

"I'm not an ass-kisser sir, you asked for my opinion, I gave it."