The Rebel Faction

“Well, it’s an interesting proposition,” replied Shipwright in response to the Commodores question. “The plight of humanity within the Galactic Coalition seems perilous at best.”

The four had slipped into a natural, easy discourse. With drinks in hand and casually contributing a few light anecdotes, they had broken the ice. Though superfluous in their word play, beneath the subtle, perhaps guarded exchange of joust and parry, these two men seemed to have much in common. Behind the gentle game of speak and listen, listen and speak, Lance Shipwright and Corise Lucerne were forging an intangible, unconscious bond based on a deeper shared understanding of the Galaxy and their roles within it.

Within the first ten minutes, before anyone could say anything of any real value, the two men had cornered the conversation between them. Perhaps sensing this, their female counterparts, d’Foose and Thorn alike, began a series of independent tangents that seemed to revolve around and delve into the ideas put forth by their superiors.

There was an immediate rapport between them.

“It is a strange irony; the place of humanity. We influence the Galaxy and it shifts accordingly. Humans spawned the Empire and it was humans that rose up against it in defense of the multitude of aliens whose rights were being so blatantly violated. And now it is humans who have become the minority… at least, here.”

Lance waved a hand at the assembled guests milling about. He sipped his drink.

“I am not a human elitist, Commodore. I am, however; interested in seeing the rights of humanity upheld and protected even within a Coalition that is becomingly increasingly… alien,” said the Vice Commodore in an even, diplomatic tone of voice. “The Gestalt Colonies are predominantly human. By design or nature…”

“But I digress… a strong military ethic and powerful sense of political identity. These are the things I believe that humanity needs to cling to if we want to avoid the long downward spiral. I do not believe that the New Order is a viable alternative, however.”

“The Colonies have been criticized for what outsiders perceive to be a Post-Imperial ideology and, indeed, even I have to agree that this is not a totally unfounded, groundless observation.” Vice Commodore Shipwright shrugged. “Which is why I believe it is important for entities like ours to connect with one another.”

“We represent a declining trend in the Coalition.”

At this point, sensing a dramatic tension around the subject, Captain d’Foose spoke up.

“What do you think of the Colonial?” She asked the Commodore.

“What do you think of the Colonial?”

Corise took a sip of his Cambrian wine, and leaned back. "When I first saw your ship, I was tempted to think that it was a former Imperial vessel of some sort; because of its dagger-like hull, although I have to say that the black hull and the superstructure set it apart from most Imperial vessels. I have to say, I do not believe I know enough about it to say any more."

Corise returned his attention back to the Vice-Commodore.

"We have much in common then. Kashan has had the same problems within the Coalition. As our culture was developed from the military of the Old Republic, we have a very similar ideology to your own, and to some aspect, that of the Imperials.

In all candor, I'm inclined to admit that many of us are also expansionists, a product of our culture; it shows in our shipyard facility which has been continually building cruisers for well over twenty years and in the mandatory term of military service after graduation; yet another reason for those within the Coalition to think of us as being more related to the Empire rather than our true allegiance."

He sipped his wine a little more.

"Do you know any others like us within the Coalition?"

“Why the wedge bow?” Commodore Lucerne asked of the other. They had established a fairly familiar rapport and thus; dispensed with the trivial politeness generally due their stations. Neither spoke the word sir, nor differed in rank to the other. “It is, as you said, very Post-Imperial.”

“Why the wedge bow?” asked the Commodore.

“It is, as you said, very Post-Imperial.”

Corise nodded. The Wedge-style bow was a proven design. For decades, the Imperials had used the design, not only because it was beautiful, but primarily because it allowed a clear field of fire for all of the ship’s weapons in a forward arc. It was a very efficient design in terms of using firepower, although that design also meant that the volume was also reduced for its size. The Seraph design philosophy was the other way around; to maximize volume for more starfighters, weapons, troops, and so forth. The limitation with that philosophy was that it construed the hull in such a manner that it was impossible for all of the ship’s weapons to be concentrated in the advantageous forward firing arc. Corise abruptly shook his head as his revelry of thoughts was interupted.

“I wonder; Do you think we might be able to arrange a tour before the conference wraps up?”

Corise casually nodded.

“But of course,” replied the Kashan man, glancing at his chrono, “we have time enough right now if you wish.”

Captain D’Foose swiped another strand of her hair out of her face and smiled. “I wish I could, but I have to head back to the Colonial to check up on her.”

“And I’m suppose to be at a diplomatic meeting in a few minutes,” noted Christina, “so you’ll have to excuse me. It was nice to me you, Vice-Commodore. Adieu.”

With their other companions off, the two men entered the Seraph via a standard air-lock that descended from the cruiser’s hangar bay. The dorsal bay of the vessel was filled the various vessels of the Kashan Navy and Army. Lines of Deathsabers occupied the majority of the hangar’s space. With the exception of a flight of Deathsabers readying for a routine Combat Air Patrol, the black craft rested on the floor with their wings folded upward in a manner similar to that of hawkbats, albeit the reverse in being rightside up. In the rear of the room, there were a quartet of the venerable Y-4 transports and a squad of the new Sentinel-class Medium Tanks. The men walked up to a S9 Deathsaber.

“This is the S9 Deathsaber, which makes up the bulk of the Kashan Starfighter arm. It’s a multi-purpose stealth fighter that is stationed thus far on all the Kashan Defence Fleet’s ships…”

Aboard the Colonial, bridge crew beating to the call of battle, the roar of klaxons and the glare of pulsating red glare of tactical illumination drummed. Standing at the head of it all calmly overseeing the chaos was Captain d’Foose. She had called action stations and counted the seconds.

Her executive officer, the XO, repeated the ships various stations reporting in across the ships internal communication network before finally confirming all points ready.

“The flight deck confirms; set for launch, pilots in craft.”

As if on cue the Colonial swung her forward guns into position.

The enemy had not planned well, but they had come in force. Even so, approaching the destroyer as they had from such distance, the Colonial was easily nimble enough to swing her wedge shape bow towards the opposing line. A natural advantage of her angular design was that, in bow forward conflicts, the ship could bring most of its weapons to bear on a single target.

“Scramble the squadron,” ordered Captain d’Foose.

Depicted as green dots accompanied by relevant tactical information, a dozen blips moved away from the Colonial which, according to her own sensors, was the middle of the Galaxy while everything kept moving away from the center. Everything except the enemy line; drawn against the destroyer and arranged in a staggered V were the opposing vessels, themselves drawn as red blips of various size many of which presented little or no relevant tactical information.

Three of the ships were easily identifiable. A Marauder Corvette, chalking in at almost two hundred meters over half a century old, sat to one edge of the formation. A similarly classic DP-20 held the middle while, to its port side and out about half a click, a deadly looking Nebulon G destroyer lurked with its own bow pointed ominously towards the Colonial. Behind, and visible in profile, was a vessel the sort with which Captain d’Foose had become all too accustomed.

“Have the alert fighters form an Alpha screen at seven fifty off the bow, weapons free,” she said. “Shields up, divert an additional twenty percent to the forward arc.”

While none of the ships currently tagged presented too much of an obstacle for the Colonial-class destroyer, her squadron of starfighters and the considerable force of a Seraph-class cruiser with its own fighter squadrons, they could, in theory, become a clear and present danger if properly coordinated. This was not what had put d’Foose on edge.

“Tag the rear position Dauntless-001, send to the Seraph.”

“Aye sir,” called the XO. “We have a line to the Seraph.”

Captain d’Foose grabbed the microphone.

“This is the Colonial…”

She paused. Lance would be listening on the other end… aboard their ship, not hers… where she could not protect him. She felt suddenly uncomfortable. Her mind buzzed.

The Colonial had a better position, relative to the unknown formation, and had likely received a slightly better sensor image of the refitted battle-cruiser lurking in the background. It was possible, just possible, that someone aboard the Kashan vessel had already identified the cruiser but all the same it was something to go on.

“… Commodore, I defer to you. The field is yours to command sir.” She did not bother to appraise him of her own condition, the Seraph had powerful sensors and was easily close enough to tell for itself (Captain d’Foose had not yet decided what, if any gender the Seraph best embodied). “We count one light-destroyer, a corvette, analogue and one Dauntless-class. I know the line well, Commodore. She looks armed, heavily armed.”

Tapping a key on her own console d’Foose began uploading her own information, factual and theoretical, to the Seraph. She keyed in the most recent sensor scans.

“And if I might say, sir... They look unfriendly.”

The Colonial unleashed an unholy fury upon the exposed broadside of the Nebulon G frigate. Her guns pumped and pounded while her missile racks dispensed wave after wave of explosive tipped projectile. Volley after volley, the destroyer pummeled the smaller and oddly shaped starship into quick submission.

“Her shields are going to break,” observed Captain d’Foose victoriously.

The Colonials computers said otherwise. It was tracking an energy spike on the frigates port side; the angle currently exposed to the deadly frontal firing arc of the destroyer. On board, desperate to protect themselves against the cooperative assault of Kashan and Gestalt starships, the commander had ordered his or her shield energy redirected to protect against the onslaught.

This was exactly what she had been waiting for. Captain d’Foose rounded on the flight commodore.

“Colonial squadron, commence missile strikes now.” A string of target point information, key strike locations on the now exposed starboard side of the vessel, were uploaded along with her commands. “Use the Kashan cannons for cover.”

A dozen clicks of confirmation came back affirmative. Colonial Squadron formed up for a missile strike against the frigate.

Propelled by unbelievably powerful engines and equipped with a dizzying compliment of missiles, the CF-105 Arrows formed up into a long line and dove towards the exposed starboard side of the Nebulon. The ships starfighter and missile defense came online, a half dozen auto-cannons in position to try and drive off the assault.

They were partially effective. A single interceptor, the lead pilots wingman, took a glancing hit and was forced to abort the run. Eleven other starfighters unloaded their missile compliment. Twenty five missiles per starfighter streaked towards the starboard side of the frigate. Its defenses managed to intercept a few, but the vast majority struck home.

A plume of explosive force ripe with flame and debris nearly split the ship in two along its narrow ‘spine’ shaped keel.

Stricken, the Nebulon lurched onto one side.

“All fighters are bingo for ammo and switching to cannons.”

Captain d’Foose nodded.

The Kashans were in position to lead the attack now. This would afford her forces a few moments to recollect themselves.

“Inform the Commodore that the frigate is out of the fight. I’m recalling half of my fighters to rearm.” As an afterthought she added an instruction for the remaining arrows to double up with the Deathsabers fighters. Reload and reaming would take at least five minutes with an additional one hundred eighty seconds launch and recover time.

Hopefully the Kashans would by her the time she needed.