USS LINCOLN: Conference room A 17:59

The dimly lit room was perfect for displaying in-wall graphics and transparencies, but the low lighting made Colonel McQueen even more somber than he had felt upon entering a short time ago. He had compiled a casualty report for the Saratoga and was the first to address the meeting. McQueen stood at the head of the polished table and referred to his clipboard.

"Gentlemen, I estimate the Chigs delivered 2,000 AI troops via 30-40 stealthy Chig bombers into the Saratoga. By the nature of their insertion, they had the advantage of decompressing each bulkhead compartment they entered. Initial engagements with the AI's had 90-100% human casualty rates while putting up almost no resistance. Later engagements proved more effective as our troops donned oxygen units. I regret that the delay in relaying this order was caused by a communication SNAFU among the Security Marine commanders. With the oxygen units, our troops fared well- inflicting an estimated 50% casualty rate per engagement. Nevertheless, due to the losses in the first engagements and the sheer number of AI troops, key sections of the ship were overtaken with no hope of mounting an effective counter-attack. Commodore Ross gave the order to abandon ship at approximately 16:38. At that time, my estimated casualty- count was at 850 for all types of crew, with 60% of those dead. In addition, more than one thousand crewmembers are unaccounted for and presumed dead or captured."

"Those are *grim* numbers, Colonel. I'd like to move on to Admiral Pratt, but he himself is being debriefed by High Command. We can expect him shortly. Colonel, what is the status of the Saratoga's Hammerhead force?"

"Colonel Griffin is better prepared to answer that, sir." The flight operations commander of the Saratoga stood to speak, but he was interrupted by Admiral Pratt's entrance.

"You may sit down, Colonel Griffin," ordered Captain Brown, settling into his seat waiting to be enlightened by the all- knowing higher-ups sitting in plush offices on rear-echelon planets.

"Gentlemen, I've just been briefed. First, the good news. Covert communications with the captured survivors of the Saratoga indicate that they are faring well. Those captured estimate their number at 800 and the AI's number at over a thousand. Thankfully, the AI's are allowing treatment to the wounded crewmembers... destined for labor camps, no doubt. Now, the bad news. The situation that faces us is more dire than I had anticipated. For the past few months, the Chigs have engaged in a series of highly successful deep-strikes in an attempt to cripple our supply lanes. Everything from fuel depots, to steel-works, to troop staging areas, the Chigs have hit them with their fanatical AI pilots. By using captured Hammerheads and ISSCV's, AI pilots and troops have quietly slipped to our rear areas and severely damaged or destroyed several key installations. During transit, they have rarely raised any suspicions of our forces. The Chigs have evidently realized the value of these attacks and have stolen the Saratoga for her Hammerhead and ISSCV complement onboard."

An officer interrupted, "Why not just steal the Hammerheads and destroy the Saratoga?"

"We can only assume it will boost morale of their troops, to capture one of our big carriers, if they *have* such a thing as morale. Other than use as a gunship or scrap metal, it won't be of much use to the Chigs. It is badly damaged and has more holes than Swiss cheese."

McQueen had a more urgent question. "Are there any reports as to the nature of the craft that delivered the AI's onboard the Saratoga?"

"I was going to get to that later, Colonel. That is perhaps the most dire news of all. It is suspected that the stealth properties of the so-called Chiggy von Richthofen prototype have been applied to a Chig bomber-class vessel."

"Suspected?" McQueen interrupted. "Have you seen the logs, Admiral? There was nothing out there. They were only silhouettes! There is no suspicion here, they have DONE IT! The PROBLEM, Admiral, is that those silhouettes carried fifty troopers apiece and were fitted with boarding rings that cut through thirty centimeters of steel."

Beads of sweat formed on the Admiral's brow. "We can't be sure that these are more advanced than CVR."

"SIR, I could SEE Mr. CVR!"

"We're working on that. The bombers apparently absorbed all light radiation and emitted no stable signature from their Sewell-fuel engines." The Admiral squeezed his forehead. "We think we may be able to spray them, to 'paint' them with something. It is all very preliminary at this stage. Aerotech is working on it, I can assure you."

A high-ranking officer who escaped from one of the destroyers had his own comments for the room. "CVR was only one plane, and look what it did. Now there are multiple stealth crafts out there- and they can carry torpedoes, troops, and who knows what else! Do you know what those torpedoes did to our destroyer?! Do you know what it's like to have a torpedo just materialize out of nowhere?!"

"Yes... the Saratoga was attacked earlier today. That was probably a trial run for their new ships... a test to see how we would react," added the Admiral.

Another officer spoke. "First fighters, now bombers, what's next, an invisible carrier? That could bring this war to an end in a matter of weeks!" The briefing room erupted in heated comments.

The Admiral raised his hands and tried to call them to order. "Gentlemen, I am almost finished. Please allow me to conclude my briefing. As I said earlier, the covert strike missions by AI's in captured Earth-forces vessels have proven highly successful. At no point before each attack were the vessels interrogated or boarded. Interrogating every suspected vessel is too cumbersome- it achieves nearly the same effect as the attacks. Besides, the AI's just avoid the checkpoints by traveling circuitous routes to their destination. Without the need for food and water, the AI pilots can coast for weeks to reach their target. I don't think I need to remind anyone of the Phobos massacre after the AI War. Changing our IFF codes more frequently has proven unsuccessful as well. Every time the IFF signature is updated, the Chigs' robust intelligence network catches on to our game, and makes the necessary changes to the captured vessels. Our best defense against these attacks is to prevent them from obtaining our vessels in the first place, which brings us back to the Saratoga."

"Onboard the Saratoga at the time of her capture were 88 SA-43's and 4 ISSCV's. At this point the SA-43's are *priority- one*. Gentlemen, by the nature of their employment, these 88 craft can cause more damage to the war effort than an entire Chig carrier task group. Therefore, direct from High Command, these ships are NOT to be allowed to reach Chig reinforcements. It is *imperative* that they are either destroyed or recaptured- even if it means destroying the entire Saratoga with her surviving crew still onboard. Hopefully we can draw out their Hammerheads in defense of the Saratoga. This task is further complicated since we have until 2400 hours to accomplish our objective." The room became silent. Many dropped their jaws in disbelief.

"Tonight?!!!"

"Affirmative."

A brave soul ventured, "What happens at 2400 hours?"

"Although the details are classified, I can tell you that all forces in this sector will be redirected for participation in a new offensive on another Chig-held planet. The loss of the Saratoga is inconsequential to this offensive. We must leave at 2400 hours to arrive at our destination in conjunction with the other task groups. We *cannot* be late, gentlemen."

The room became still. The Admiral flipped a page in his notebook.

"The USS Valley Forge task group will arrive at 22:35. We will have just enough time to complete our objective from that point onward. Our attack on the Saratoga will require an estimated 50 minutes with available forces. With a ten-minute buffer, I have placed the H-hour at 2300 hours. At 2300 hours, the attack will begin regardless of cost or casualty. If the enemy Hammerheads are not launched, then the Saratoga will be attacked until they *are* launched. If they refuse to launch them, we will obliterate the Saratoga. Either way, the captured Hammerheads *will be* destroyed by 2400 hours." The Admiral's warning was understood by all.

Although the tone of the room implied that there was nothing left to say, Colonel McQueen was not satisfied with the plans and broke the silence. "With all due respect Admiral, I know our crew, and they are ready to die if necessary, but there must be *some* way to retake the Saratoga."

The Admiral closed his eyes and recalled his earlier fears of the inevitability of that question. "Colonel, the problem is that... that is to say... if we were to gain the upper-hand on the AI's, they would most certainly kill the captured crew in retaliation. And there's no guarantee that we could successfully board the ship-"

McQueen was insulted by the Navy man's lack of confidence. "Give me 2,000 Marines and I'll take the ship back."

"We do not *have* 2,000 Marines. We don't have 2,000 of anybody to spare. The troop movements for Roundhammer have left this sector nearly empty. Besides, the troop ships we *do* have available in Hercules Sector are running out of food, as you know, much like the Saratoga. They cannot postpone their supply drops any longer."

McQueen turned to look away from this Navy pencil-pusher who couldn't even steer food in the right direction.

"If the Marine Corps can take Iwo Jima, they can take the Saratoga," McQueen fumed.

The Admiral feared he was losing respect in the room. Certainly, retaking the Saratoga was the most courageous choice, but not the most prudent. He had earlier toyed with the idea, even devising a capture operation, yet he considered it suicidal for those involved. If McQueen had not pestered him, he never would have uttered it.

"There is another way, perhaps." The Admiral stroked an imaginary beard, looking slightly upwards with squinted eyes. The officers unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation. "The Saratoga's LIDAR and RADAR arrays were heavily damaged by her escorts."

"Probably aiming for the bridge, those Navy jerk-off's," thought McQueen.

"It is likely that a team of specialists can slip into the Saratoga undetected, in MMU combat suits. Gentlemen, if you were to ask me whether we had done this before against Chig capital ships, I could neither confirm nor deny it. I think we understand each other." Heads swiveled to look at each other. The officers could not imagine the mad souls attempting such missions. Who would be that crazy? Navy Seals, Army Rangers, Green Berets?

"We can insert one or two specialists using a Fast-Attack- Boat. Any more than two and they are likely to be detected. They can approach from astern in the Saratoga's engine vapor, I'm sure you are all aware of the insertion technique. With the proper diversionary attack, the team could make it to the Saratoga undetected and board the ship through one of the entry blast- holes."

An officer already skeptical of the Admiral's plan interrupted, "What do you propose, that the two-man team storm the bridge?!" The officer snorted at the thought. "You'd better get some bad- asses for that one!"

The Admiral was not pleased with this insubordination. His tightened jaw and furrowed brow silenced the skeptical officer.

"Please allow me to finish. If we could flush out both the Hammerheads and the AI's, we'd gain our primary objective and save the Saratoga. But we must flush them out in such a way that they do not have time to kill the crew or destroy the ship. If those specialists could remotely patch into the nuclear reactor control systems, they might be able to convince the AI's that the magnetic containment field is failing. The main fusion engine was damaged by the Hammerheads in the aborted scuttling attempt. A reactor malfunction, real or perceived, would not raise any suspicion. However, as the AI's have a tendency kill POW's, this pseudo- calamity may result in the AI's killing the crew before abandoning ship. But if the ruse is done quickly enough, they may not have time. The only things needed for this operation would be a hacked nuclear-control data-interface program, two volunteers, and a diversionary attack group of 3-5 squadrons. I don't have to remind you that such a mission would carry a high risk of death or capture to both the insertion team and the pilots. If this plan failed, we could waste precious Hammerheads that will be needed in the main attack. The risks are high, gentlemen, but the advantages to saving the Saratoga..." The Admiral trailed off and did not need to complete his thought.

At this pause, McQueen stood at attention. "Sir, this Colonel requests to lead the insertion team."

Captain Vicks was irritated by McQueen. "You are no commando, McQueen. And what in-the-hell do YOU know about nuclear control programs?! No, no, no, you will not leave this ship, Colonel!" Captain Vicks shook his head vigorously.

"Sir, if you get me that hacked program, I'll get you two volunteers and a strike force for the diversionary attack." McQueen knew exactly where he could find volunteers for this mission.

"I can have Aerotech engineers working on it within *minutes*," replied the Admiral with a slight smile.

The officers' spirits mirrored the slowly increasing overhead lighting at the close of the briefing. The Chigs and Silicates would regret their actions here in Hercules. They would soon feel the simultaneous stings of the USS Lincoln, the USS Valley Forge, and the 58th Squadron USMC Air and Space Cavalry.

USS LINCOLN: Computer maintenance Room, 21:00

Two Aerotech engineers sat hunched over a small briefcase-like box. One technician monitored a computer terminal while another technician stood by cleaning out a space-combat equipment case for the newly constructed box. Two armed Marines stood outside the entrance of the room, preventing anyone from peering into the oversized window in the door.

"Let's run it again, one last time," said the lead engineer. They hooked up two input wire bundles into a portable uni- terminal that interfaced with the computer.

"Nuclear control simulation up and running, sir," reported the technician at the computer.

"All right, I'm sending the data stream... now."

"Standby... magnetic field *is* declining... estimated field rupture in five minutes... it appears to be working, sir." The engineers walked to the computer station to see for themselves. As reported, the readings indicated an irreparable failure of the magnetic drive. The readings for the field strength were slowly decreasing. If the simulation had been real, the Lincoln would suffer catastrophic engine rupture in five minutes as the magnetic field dipped below the critical containment strength. The fusion plasma at 12,000 Kelvin, freed from its magnetic prison, would destroy the ship in seconds. The pride-fest of the engineers was interrupted by Colonel McQueen's entrance. He carried an empty black duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Ahh, Colonel McQueen. We have the interface and program ready. It just passed a final simulation run with flying colors. Five minutes to critical strength, as requested."

"Very good, gentlemen. I'm sure your work will prove *adequate*." McQueen's distaste for Aerotech civilians still seeped past his best attempts to mask it.

"To operate the program, it is only necessary to interface with any uni-terminal and flip these two switches. The first disables false-entry warnings for that particular terminal, and the second executes the nuclear control interface protocol and data stream. It's quite simple- even a *child* could do it." The engineer raised his eyebrows.

McQueen paused and inhaled. "But it takes a *Marine* to get your fragile little box onboard an enemy-occupied ship. That will be all, gentlemen, I will now take custody of the unit." With a smug smile, the head engineer placed Aerotech's latest creation into McQueen's outstretched duffel bag.

USS LINCOLN: Loading Bay 2 21:30

McQueen had already assembled the team for the daring mission to recover the Saratoga intact. When asked for volunteers, all six members of the 58th Squadron volunteered while Lt. Robert Smith, for lack of experience, was disqualified by McQueen. McQueen assigned Vansen and Damphousse to the insertion team, while the others would participate in the diversionary Hammerhead attack. McQueen needed 20 Hammerheads for the attack, and volunteers were easy to find. He soon completed his team, consisting of elements from the 58th, the 109th, the 33rd, the 46th, and 12th Staffel of the Luftwaffe.

The insertion plan was completed, detailing every group's position second-by-second. Four groups of Hammerheads would attack the Saratoga's bridge while the Fast-Attack-Boat, code- named "Rooster" would slip in astern of the Saratoga and insert Damphousse and Vansen two kilometers from the ship. This was their first combat MMU insertion- all the others had been during vessel-recovery training. However, their training focused on salvaging damaged Hammerheads, not Kennedy-class carriers. The insertion was a delicate maneuver- come in too slow and they would surely be detected, come in too fast and they would either suffer catastrophic deceleration at the hull or shoot past the ship. Loading Bay Two on the USS Lincoln was filled with activity in preparation for this mission. The Fast-Attack-Boat was being flight-readied. Several technicians readied the MMU's, others stowed the terminal box and weapons. Vansen and Damphousse stood at attention and received a last-minute briefing from Colonel McQueen.

"Once again, exit the FAB at position 2-dash-180. Refrain from using your MMU thrusters until you are within 100 meters. At 200 meters, Vansen, you pick an entry hole on the port aft flight-bay section and keep on it. If you drift starboard, you will die. The ship still has 40% LIDAR capability on the starboard side. Don't shift to another hole, you want to minimize your maneuvering until the 100 meter deceleration burn. Once stopped, maneuver into the blast hole as quickly as possible. Once inside, proceed to the nearest uni-terminal. Stay in one bulkhead compartment at zero atmospheres. If the enemy is patrolling the ship, they are most likely ignoring the depressurized sections. Lie low, keep your eyes and ears open, and if anything sees you, take it out immediately. I've told you in the past that it's OK to be scared. Not this time."

McQueen leaned closer to the mesmerized faces of Vansen and Damphousse. He spoke in a low tone to only them, "Hear this Mah'reeens, this is a *do-or-die* operation. Retreat is *not* an option. There will be no air support, no reinforcements, no artillery... *nothing* but your training to keep you and the Saratoga's captured crew alive. *Failure* is unacceptable. Your job, soldiers, is to defeat the enemy, not to die as heroes. There will *be no* posthumous medals for this one."

McQueen straightened up and resumed his normal voice and manner. "You will have 20 minutes upon entry to fool the AI's into thinking they have a faulty fusion containment field. Upon uni- terminal interface, flip the switches on your box *in numbered order* to activate the false data stream. If all goes well, the AI's will believe the malfunction and signal the alarm. Orders to abandon ship should follow soon after that. They will have five minutes to 'take a chance'. If after five minutes the AI's have not abandoned ship, you have permission to exit the ship. If you do, I hope you remember your fellow crewmembers onboard who do not have that option." McQueen looked one last time into the eyes of Damphousse and Vansen. "Make me proud, Marines... now DO IT!!!"

"YES, SUHR!!!" grunted the team in their best boot-camp bravado. McQueen proceeded to the bridge as the team donned their MMU's and equipment. McQueen whispered a silent prayer for the dead as the FAB's roaring engines were throttled up.

USS LINCOLN: Flight Deck 22:10

Over each Hammerhead cockpit ready for flight hovered a support crewmember who guarded against accidental cockpit ejection. The cockpits were primed and combat-ready. An accidental ejection-motor ignition would devastate the flight deck. The pilots assembled for this mission were being debriefed one last time in the glass-walled room adjacent to the flight deck. Hoses limply hanging from the overhead breathed life into the cockpits, topping off oxygen and hydraulic fluids. A lazy red light turned in its housing, signaling imminent space-craft launches. The support crew watched in silence through the glass walls as the pilots stood at attention and saluted an unseen officer. They made their way to the flight-deck door and fanned out to their cockpits. The flight-deck operators began their sequence checklist over the announcement intercom. Sirens blared to warn off extraneous personnel. In less than a minute, the flight deck was cleared, each cockpit's sensors reported positive pressure- seals, and the evacuators stored the flight deck's atmosphere. With that done, the inner hangar doors were opened and the cockpits descended to mate with their Hammerheads.

Before each pilot awaited an outer hangar door. At each pilot's command, their hangar door opened and allowed them to launch. Each Hammerhead streaked out the starboard side of the asymmetrical USS Lincoln. As each Hammerhead cleared the hangar doors, another fighter eased out of the storage hangar, mated with the launching-assembly and throttled its engines to full power before launching. Twenty Hammerheads formed up and turned towards the Saratoga.

They would attack in four groups. West commanded the first two groups. Captain Meier of 12th Staffel led the other two. Colonel McQueen on the bridge of the USS Lincoln coordinated their movements to assist in the FAB's insertion of Vansen and Damphousse.

The USS Valley Forge would arrive in twenty minutes. In forty-five minutes the main assault on the Saratoga would commence. McQueen wished he had more time. The Valley Forge's bomber squadrons would gut the Saratoga with their powerful torpedoes.

"King of Hearts, reporting in. ETA 20 mikes."

"Fire-snake, reporting in. A-OK, Queen-six," the crackling German-accented Captain Meier radioed in.

"Rooster, reporting in... Waypoint one reached on schedule."

"Affirmative. Commence radio silence, Rooster. All other units keep me posted. Continue your flight paths." Wang settled into his seat, clearing his mind to prepare for combat. Vansen and Damphousse, thousands of kilometers away on the FAB speeding towards the Saratoga, sat side-by-side and knew that the 58th would be there to back them up during the insertion.

West began the standard pre-combat checklist. He reminded the team to focus their attack on the bridge but to pepper the main engine cylinder with cannon fire as well. This would provide an explanation for the Saratoga's sudden engine malfunction. However, West ordered them to fire with poor marksmanship- an unusual order to all the pilots involved. If they were too good at targeting the cylinder, they might cause a *true* engine rupture. Meier gave strict orders to conserve their missiles, for they would be needed at 23:00 hours during the main attack. He also reminded them that their purpose was not to destroy the ship, but to steal the AI's attention.

Captain Meier said additional words to his squadron only. "Gebt leichtes Feuer auf den Hauptantrieb. Konzentriert euch auf die Bruecke. Hebt euch eure Raketen auf... Und vergesst nicht: der Angriff soll echt aussehen! Menschen ueber alles!" Meier's words were met with battle cries as he rolled his plane into a slow barrel-roll. As his wings with the German cross and number "12" flashed in the sunlight, all those in the star system were warned that 12th Staffel of the mighty Luftwaffe had arrived for battle.

Near the SARATOGA 22:35

West scrambled to handle the incoming activity after such an uneventful ingress to the target. He reported to the others that the USS Valley Forge had arrived. Sixteen squadrons of bombers and Hammerheads from the Valley Forge would join up with both the Lincoln-based diversionary attack force and the Lincoln's remaining squadrons to finish off the Saratoga. There were Chig-fighter contacts at 12 o'clock-level. The Saratoga was beyond this Chig Group.

"Watch your missiles, we'll need them later." The menacing Group of 20 Chig fighters loomed ahead on each pilot's HUD. Missile locks toned and one missile per Hammerhead screamed off their racks. The Chigs lost five planes in this first salvo. Two Hammerheads were damaged by return fire. The gap was closed and the knife-fight began.

"Haltet die Augen offen!"

"Hawkes, you've got one on your tail!"

"I know, I know!" Hawkes violently pitched his craft to evade the fire from pursuing Chigs.

"HOORAH! Scratch one Chig!" hollered Wang over his headset.

"Auf Wiedersehen!" yelled one of the 12th Staffel as she tore apart a Chig fighter with her cannon.

"Chew on this!" cried Hawkes as he smoked a Chig that had earlier pursued him. Hawkes was surprised to see a puff of green goo flash from the Chig's cockpit. He savored the thought of hitting a Chig pilot directly in the face with his cannon.

The 12th Staffel pilots and the 58th made killing Chigs look easy. The other volunteer pilots struggled to evade fire and only occasionally pursued an enemy plane. The Chigs had hand- picked their pilots for this operation, but they were no match for the 12th and 58th.

"Macht's gut, ihr Chigs!" cried the 12th Staffel as several missiles splintered three Chig fighters in succession.

As the surviving Chigs disengaged to regroup, West ordered the team to break off and head for the Saratoga. They had to observe a strict schedule for the insertion which was only minutes away. West's HUD became a cluttered mess as more contacts from the other Chig CAP flights steered to intercept the diversionary attack force. The situation on their six was no better since the fighters they had just left behind were pursuing them.

As they approached the Saratoga for their first attack run, Wang's Hammerhead was taken out with a Phalanx missile. Luckily, the missile exploded in its proximity role and the shock wave of hot gasses only crumpled his wing and engines. He ejected safely and reported no injuries. The attack force continued, leaving Wang behind. Missiles from the Hammerheads slammed into the superstructure of the Saratoga, causing little damage. The AAA fire was intense as the planes turned 90 degrees and resumed attack formation. Two sections diverged, one attacking the main engine cylinder with intentional poor targeting, while the other picked at the numerous AAA batteries. Several planes were damaged by return fire.

The attack had worked, since Vansen and Damphousse had exited the FAB without any apparent detection. All available AAA guns were trained on West and Meier's attack teams. As she sped along in her MMU, Damphousse realized how vulnerable they were. The suit she wore could stop slow shrapnel, but not cannon fire. One round would tear her in pieces. West, Meier, and McQueen's coordination ensured that no fire would cross their paths. Hawkes occasionally glanced to see if he could see Vansen out there somewhere, but her black combat MMU camouflage prevented any visual sighting.

McQueen's timing of the operation could not have been better, for as soon as Vansen and Damphousse had completed their deceleration burn under the Saratoga, the Chig CAP flights converged on the Saratoga. With McQueen's permission, Meier ordered the team to disengage and head home. Average pilots could not have escaped that beehive of Chig fighter planes, but the volunteers were no average pilots. West even managed to bag a kill with his rear-facing cannons.

No Chigs pursued the FAB, so McQueen concluded that the insertion was a success. Captain Brown monitored the sector's ship movements. The USS Valley Forge was launching its bombers and fighter-cover in preparation for the main attack. The escorting Hammerheads spiraled about the slowly accelerating bombers laden with one large torpedo and two missiles each. The Lincoln's remaining Hammerheads began to launch and join up with the bomber force. While monitoring the waves of friendly contacts, Brown exclaimed, "Shit, McQueen, they're bringing in the 3rd Squadron!" McQueen turned to face Brown at this revelation.

"*THE* 3rd Squadron?!"

"Both flags' worth! High Command is taking no chances on this one."

"What do we need that mercenary Esperian Army (see glossary) shit for?"

"That SHIT could wipe out the 58th in seconds... the Esperians are some mean bad-asses, McQueen."

"I know... they're crazy." McQueen recalled the Esperian Army's actions in the AI War and shuddered silently.

As the bridge rattled with every Hammerhead launch, McQueen remembered his latest rookie of the 58th, Lt. Robert Smith. He positioned his headset microphone closer to his mouth.

"Ace of Spades, this is Queen-six, come in, over."

"Queen-six, Ace of Spades reporting in, sir."

"Listen up, Marine. Be advised the 3rd Squadron of the Esperian Army will be participating in this attack. They carry the Peruvian flag on their left wing and the Esperian flag on their right. The rumors you have undoubtedly heard are true. Stay out of their way. If you hit them with friendly fire, eject immediately. That shouldn't be a problem, because I want you to stick to King of Heart's six and follow his lead. Watch his six and engage the enemy only when ordered to do so. Do not break off if under fire... you can't fight alone out there. Am I understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"And remember, Ace of Spades, no one is going to check your pants when you get back."

"Sir?"

"Carry on, over and out."

Smith was puzzled by McQueen's comment. Such things constantly made him feel like the rookie that he truly was and not the life-taking Marine he aspired to become. "I'll get my first kill today... then I'll get some respect...and I'll tell West to go to hell," thought Smith. As he eyed the armada of planes speeding towards the Saratoga, he knew the upcoming battle was going to be big- big enough to get an easy kill in the distraction of a hairy furball. Smith did not anticipate that the distraction would be bi- directional.

22:45

The first coded signal came in from the insertion team. Vansen and Damphousse were safely aboard the Saratoga and proceeding as planned. Fifteen minutes remained until the main attack. McQueen hoped that the main attack force would give the AI's added incentive to abandon-ship when the false engine failure was executed. Radio chatter from the attack force poured into the Lincoln's bridge. McQueen monitored the 3rd Squadron's frequency:

"Jen Lupo, Tria Eskadro, preparighu. La Batalantaj Bestegoj neniam malvenkos." McQueen tried to remember his brief Esperanto language training during the AI wars: "The third squadron... the Fighting Beasts. At least they're honest," thought McQueen.

"Spektu vian poston, kiel la Mondo rigardas nin. Municiojn konservu ... la batalo vershajne longos." McQueen could recite by heart the blessing which came next. He had heard it numerous times in the AI War.

"Gefratoj, morti egalas malvenki. Min amu, kaj transvivighu. Estu la fortego de nia Plejalta Arbo nin plenumi."

McQueen frowned in disgust. "If only they felt the same towards non-Esperians..."

"Mi volas vidi chiujn postbatale che la Valley Forge."

McQueen's anger broke free as he radioed to the 3rd Squadron leader, "I'll see you personally if you endanger *my* pilots!"

The squadron leader was irate. "Dees ees Espereeawn skoodrown chawnel! Who ees ooseen oor chawnel?!"

"Colonel McQueen, 58th USMC Squadron."

"Oooh, eee awm freetaned! Yoo kawn keel Cheegee Reekhoven, sed ne *nin*!!!" His squadron laughed with their leader. The Esperians taunted McQueen with name-calling he could not understand and each taunt intensified the laughter. He promptly switched off the channel.

Seconds passed like hours for McQueen. "Vansen's signal should have come by now, what is taking so long?" thought McQueen. His heart resumed beating as the second signal came through. With a half-smile, McQueen reasoned, "the AI's should be pissing in their pants by now!"

Vansen and Damphousse huddled together with weapons at the ready, unaware of the chaos they caused on the Saratoga's bridge. Some AI's began to run for the door as soon as the engine warnings sounded. Others tried to restrain these deserters. A third band of AI's unholstered their weapons and summarily executed the deserters with a bullet to the forehead. The AI's in charge debated whether to 'take a chance' and wait out the engine malfunction. The AI's monitoring the engine room readings soon realized that the engine would destroy itself and the Saratoga within minutes. At all questions of repair, the engine monitors emphatically asserted that the damage was irreversible, so the leaders decided to abandon ship. After sounding the alarm, the AI's relayed their plans to the awaiting Chig forces.

The stealthy Chig bombers traveling parallel to the Saratoga arrived and attached to entry holes made in the assault. Torpedoes were jettisoned to make more room for Silicates. The leaders escaped in the ISSCV's. Vansen and Damphousse sighed with relief as McQueen confirmed that the AI's were abandoning ship. They prepared to enter the next compartment and free the crew confined in the mess halls.

The main attack force of Hammerheads and bombers linked up with the diversionary force. As Smith approached West's Hammerhead, he was given strict orders to remain on his wing until further notice. The veteran pilot would be too busy to hold his hand during this battle. The 88 Silicate Hammerheads dominated West's fears. He, like all the others, did not look forward to receiving fire from the SA-43's deadly cannons.

Both the Lincoln and Valley Forge would be providing a new form of fire support for the fighter force: remote missile attacks. This recently developed weapon system was being reserved for Operation Roundhammer because it had proven so deadly in non-combat trials. All ships were prohibited from using the new system until Roundhammer commenced in order to achieve surprise and maximum effect when it would be needed most. High command had made an exception for this battle since the captured Hammerheads were such a strategic threat. The remote missile attack system utilized specially-outfitted Phalanx missiles launched from the capital ships and targeting data from stand-off bombers close to the battlefront. It was assumed that the Chig fighters would have trouble detecting the missiles since the missiles used no active scanning. The AI escape convoy was surrounded with Chig fighters and AI Hammerheads. "The Chigs will love our new toy,'" thought McQueen as he loaded the remote missiles into the Phalanx-launcher. Captain Brown stood nearby directing the defense of the Lincoln with CAP flights, course and speed adjustments, and LIDAR patterns- leaving the attack coordination to McQueen.

Vansen and Damphousse had freed the Saratoga's crew from the mess halls, unharmed by AI retaliation. Vansen explained the situation and told them to report to their battle stations while Damphousse ran to the armory in preparation for a possible counter-attack and ship-boarding. Commodore Ross emerged from the back of the galley where he had been tending to those with minor wounds. After receiving a quick summary of the battle situation, he barked out a list of priority battle-stations before rushing to the bridge.

The Chigs and AI's became suspicious of the Saratoga's apparent engine malfunction when the ship did not destroy itself at the expected time. Any thoughts of re-taking the Saratoga were quickly discarded. The AI's were in possession of the Hammerheads- the goal of the operation had been reached. When the Chig bombers reached a safe distance from the Saratoga, the escorting fighters broke off and traveled a parallel course towards Chig reinforcements.

Having a greater speed, the main attack force was able to catch up to the Chig escort force. The Chigs and AI's realized the futility of fleeing as remote missiles destroyed them one-by-one. McQueen became an "ace" by merely flipping five switches at a missile-terminal. Each Group leader decided to counter-attack. With klicks and beeps, the enemy forces looped over to meet their attackers head-on. The human squadron leaders prepared their pilots for the counter-attack.

Lupo from 3rd Esperian Squadron spoke rapidly to his formation. "Iru! Iru! Marko, aliflanken... Sasho, dekstren! Du mil kilometren venantaj. Multaj banditoj antauen, jen bontagon!!!"

Nothing in flight-training had prepared Lt. Smith for the sight before him. Three Chig groups in offensive triangular formation flanked by 88 Hammerheads filled his HUD. Like rams in a battle for dominance, the two forces slammed together at violent speeds. Purple tracers arced out from both sides like a windswept rainstorm, ripping planes apart and forcing ejections. The quick closure did not allow any missile-locks. Smith used all his concentration to stay on West's wing as they looped over to face the nearest enemy.

West quickly nailed two Chigs with three missiles. Missile warnings were incessant in everyone's cockpit. Smith released chaff at West's command. Eager to be more than a chaff- dispenser, Smith squeezed off a few bursts of cannon fire whenever a Chig crossed his path. During one of these bursts, he did not notice the Hammerhead sneak into firing position behind him.

The radio chatter was so frantic and confusing that Smith was oblivious to the warnings from his mates. As a streak of purple tracers flashed past his craft, he realized his error. Smith jerked his plane to avoid the fire.

"Bogey on our six!" cried West. "Jink, Smith, JINK!"

The missile-lock warning blared in Smith's helmet. "I'm locked up!" The pursuing AI Hammerhead launched a missile at Smith.

"Missile!" Smith screamed as he released chaff and broke away from West in a high-g maneuver. Smith knew that he had disobeyed orders, but a hard turn was the standard evasion maneuver for missiles.

Chig fighters swarmed onto West as soon as they saw his wingman leave his side. West cursed at Smith as he dodged fire from all directions. Smith did not hear the curses because impacting rounds on his fuselage drowned them out.

"I'm taking hits!!!" Cannon fire from the trailing Hammerhead tore at his wings and engines. Each round that found its mark made a distinctive crumpling impact sound. Flashes of purple tracers darted past his cockpit windows.

As Smith's fighter twisted to evade the pursuer, he strained to prevent blood from pooling in his legs. As his turns became tighter and tighter, the AI who followed him only became more proficient at predicting Smith's next maneuver. The AI laughed as he fired the final deadly cannon burst into Smith. A stream of purple tracers ushered in the cannon rounds to Smith's left engine.

"I'm hit! I'm hit! Engine fire! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!" cried Smith. This was not the warfare he imagined when he enlisted in the Marine Corps. This warfare was all too real and impersonal. To be shot down by these pretty purple streaks was ridiculous; to die, impossible.

The AI saw that his prey was sufficiently damaged and turned his attention to another fighter. Smith drifted away from the furball leaving a trail of debris.

West could only afford a glance at Smith yet he clearly saw Smith's left engine ruptured on the topside. Fuel arced out towards his left wing and blazed white-hot as it reacted with the leaking oxidizer.

"EJECT, SMITH, EJECT!!!"

"Engines off. Losing pressure everywhere! Controls frozen!" Smith did not want to eject until he was convinced that the plane was un-recoverable. Almost every light on Smith's damage status panel was red and flashing angrily. The dominant feature of the cockpit was its confusing jungle of noise. The engine fire hissed with fury. Warning beeps and klaxons became an orchestra for Bitching Betty's opera. The cockpit warning voice read off a list of damaged systems before endlessly repeating just one word: eject. Convinced that his plane was doomed to destruction, he finally decided to eject.

"Ejecting!!!" He slammed his torso against the seat, closed his eyes, and pulled the ejection lever. Both his experience with simulated ejections and common sense told him that something was wrong. A quick check to the damaged- systems panel revealed a malfunction in his ejection system.

"BAIL OUT!" West worried that he had been killed by a cannon round, shrapnel, or decompression. He could not check on Smith as he evaded hungry fighters that were swarming behind him.

"Negative, negative, malfunctions everywhere. I'm losing her." As the engine fire continued to flare out his plane's left topside, the armor of his Hammerhead began to buckle and pop in the heat. Smith frantically checked his six as he thought the sounds might be incoming hits. The underlying titanium skeleton of his fuselage groaned as it bent the left wing downward. As an oxidizer tank shifted, it was punctured by a protruding piece of armor. The tank sprayed its contents onto the left wing. The flames happily leapt to consume this new food, completely engulfing the wing in their warm embrace.

"Christ! Somebody help me!" He tried in vain to disable the warning sounds- that function too was damaged. He wanted to laugh since every system of the plane was damaged except for the damage-status system. As the computerized flight- stabilization of the Hammerhead began to fail, Smith's fighter slowly rotated along its length. The slow roll became a spin as he lost all stabilization. As the star Hercules passed into view, the cockpit alternated light, shaded, light, shaded... faster and faster. Smith was afraid to check on his left wing- he could hear the flames consuming it. As the fire edged forward along his fuselage, the hissing drowned out the cockpit warnings. The first whiff of smoke plunged Smith into a pit of fear. Without even knowing it, he urinated in his flight suit.

"Cockpit fire! I'm getting smoke!" He alternately checked his damage status panel and his left wing. The cockpit was now brightly lit from the flames outside his left cockpit pane, which appeared to be melting. West was amazed that he had not burned up yet- the entire left half of the plane was engulfed in a white fireball.

"Hang in there, Smith, just sit tight!" West disengaged from combat for a third time in an attempt to help his wingman. Each time he disengaged, however, a new enemy would jump onto his six and attempt a missile lock. West searched his memory to think of some procedure or anecdote to resolve the catastrophic engine fire burning away in Smith's fighter. Each procedure and flowchart pointed to ejection.

The cockpit quickly filled with brown smoke. He could no longer see his instrument panels or the cockpit panes. "This is it, I am going to die," thought Smith. With shaky hands, he disconnected his airflow hose at the back of his helmet, hoping to end his torment. As he straightened up in his seat and released the flight controls, he began to silently repeat the cadences that had distracted his mind from pain during boot camp. Unknown to Smith, a hydraulic hose underneath his left armside panel had just failed and was leaking hydraulic fluid onto a smoldering electrical cable-bundle. As the line of fluid drew its circle, the fire spread further. The smoke pouring from the panel became black and obscured the cockpit. But this was no matter, for he remained enclosed in his chants, eyes firmly closed, head wagging with each line of the cadences he learned in boot camp.

"Smith, listen to me! Try to vent your oxidizer with the bypass valve. Repeat, vent your oxidizer!" There was no response.

"Smith, listen..." West tried to remain calm and forceful. "You've got to vent your oxidizer! Your *wing* is on *fire*!" Still no response.

"SMITH! REPORT IN!"

"Aaaaaaaaa-" Smith awoke from his trance. Pain was shooting throughout his arm. His flight suit was on fire from his shoulder to his elbow. The left forearm panel was melting and its flames licked near his elbow.

"MY GOD I'M ON FIRE!" he shrieked as he tried to stamp out the flames with his right hand and forearm.

"Smith, use the extinguisher! In between your knees!!!"

"AAAGH! MY ARM! MY ARM!" The pain, although intense, was not the cause of his panic. To see a part of his body being slowly destroyed made him nauseous. He had lost all control. He would now die squealing like a child, but he didn't care. At that moment watching his arm burn he didn't care about anything but survival. As bits of skin pulled away from his arm and dangled from his right hand, the world ended for Lt. Robert Smith. There were no Chigs, no West, no 58th, no McQueen... there was only pain and the dancing yellow flames. The flames rose and licked at his face while he contorted his helmet to avoid them. The entire left cockpit panel burst outwards in flame and he slid his body to the right. Smoke stung at his eyes, yet he closed them from fear. The electrical system and its backup had finally failed. His own cries, the warning sounds, the commands from West, the radio chatter of the furball so far behind him, it was all lost to the hissing flames.

Part of the panel above his left rudder pedal melted away and poured out a jet of flame onto his left leg. Smith jerked his legs upward and lunged against the forward cockpit pane in a desperate attempt to break free. The plastic-armor panes designed to resist 20 mm cannon rounds would not budge. As a tremendous flash of fire filled the cockpit, he rammed his helmet into the right-side cockpit pane. The Ace of Spades knew that there was no salvation at this point. "Omen of death, indeed," echoed in his mind as he inhaled the acrid smoke like a drowning swimmer finally accepting the inevitable. The unbearable heat and smoke drew his head downward, resting in one final everlasting prayer. One by one, the cockpit panels exploded outward as hot gasses built up behind them. Hot shrapnel stung and sizzled at his charred flesh, but he felt nothing. The engine oxidizer tanks ran dry moments later and instantly killed the flames on the wing and engine. The fire in the cockpit raged on, completing the cremation.

"GOD-DAMNED ROOKIES! When will they learn?" West turned back towards the dogfight behind him. He hated Smith for making so many errors. He hated the flight instructors for giving wings to a pilot like Smith. And most of all, he hated the Chigs for bringing so much death into his life. The King of Hearts let loose his rage as he launched his remaining missiles at enemy Hammerheads. The furball before him was a gruesome exhibit of death and destruction. The 3rd Esperian Squadron was merciless, destroying enemy ejection units that drifted helplessly. Chigs occasionally exploded for no apparent reason as remote missiles from the Lincoln and Valley Forge hit their targets. Like a glistening spider web, the dogfight was criss-crossed by lines of purple tracers. West soon added to the web with his own cannon fire.

The battle was brief, yet it destroyed 80 enemy Hammerheads, 60 Chig fighters, and 26 Earth Hammerheads. The remote missile system had proven exceptionally deadly in its first combat trial. The last eight surviving AI pilots cowardly ejected- knowing they would be rescued by Earth forces. West felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to shoot them where they stood. In a celebration of victory, the Luftwaffe pilots began singing a bar song, "Menschen ueber alles! Menschen ueber Chigs!..." McQueen listened to the mysterious prayers of the Esperian pilots as they spoke in unison. West requested an immediate salvage crew for Smith's plane. McQueen dispatched a tug-vessel to recover his remains. Rescue craft zipped through the now quiet battleground and secured friendly ejection units. Damaged Hammerheads limped back to the Valley Forge and Lincoln. A chaplain lipped silent words for those who would not be returning.

A teletype printer deep in the bowels of the USS Lincoln chattered away at a piece of paper. A communications officer watched as it ejected a message with the heading: SECURITY- ALPHA, PFO. The officer sealed the message and made his way to the bridge.

McQueen was discussing the Saratoga's condition with Commodore Ross on the radio when the communications officer entered. The officer looked for Captain Brown and approached him.

"Captain, new orders direct from High Command, sir."

Brown took the message and broke its seal. McQueen watched for Brown's reaction. His posture expressed relief, yet his face obviously showed anxiety. Brown tore off the bottom half of the message and handed it to the navigational officer.

"Helm, set a course for the Ceres system. Flight control, bring in the friendly ejection units- double-time... forget the AI's. Repeat, do not pick up enemy ejection units. Recall all salvage tugs. We have no-"

McQueen interrupted. "Captain, I have a dead pilot out there still in his plane. And we cannot just leave the AI's out there." McQueen noted the irony of that statement.

"Close it, McQueen. I've got my orders."

"Sir, if I divert the tug to the Saratoga-"

"Everything is moving out, McQueen. *Everything*."

"The Saratoga?! Look at these reports, sir!" McQueen turned to the workspace beside him and raised a fistful of damage report print-outs.

Brown only shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The Lincoln, the Valley Forge, the Saratoga, we're all moving out." Those that could turned to look at their Captain.

Captain Brown stood there for a moment, savoring the brief peace they had won. He scanned the room, looking into the faces of his bridge crew. McQueen realized what the Captain knew already. He knew why High Command had authorized the use of remote missiles. He knew why they could not afford time to rescue the Silicates or retrieve the remains of human pilots still careening into the void. And he knew what planet awaited them in the Ceres system.

The words of Captain Brown slipped softly past his lips. "God help us all. It has begun."