First Lieutenant Randall Stevens a.k.a Tarzan, a pilot of the 3rd Strike Fighter Air Division, approaches the Alkarin formation until they reach 50,000 kilometers, then he and his wingman break off from the rest of the wing.

Looking at his networked targeting display, he taps a still green icon that turns yellow. “Charger,” he tells his wingman, “4 missiles each, then we’ll strafe him as we blow by.”

Innumerable calls of “Fox Three,” flood the link as well as that of Tarzan and Charger. 8 missiles streak aways from their crafts and spiral their way toward the target, 5 of which impact it along with the bright flashes of antimatter detonations.

Tarzan performs a ninety-degree snap-roll when laser fire from the ship lights up their shields, dropping them by 12%. Slicing through the center of the explosions, he calls out, “Guns,” as he opens up with the laser cannon and all three antimatter Gatling guns, strafing the monstrous ship from bow to stern along its port side. The AI suddenly yanks the craft out of the line of fire when one of their capital ships hits it with a full broadside, vaporizing a fifth of it and cracking it in half as the power fails on the ship.

He glances at his display and sees that the fire came from the dreadnought, HMS Sparta. ‘Jesus Christ!,’ he thinks, ‘We’d have been atomized if that had been us!’

Blowing out his breath, he highlights another capital ship and changes vector to intercept. Two pairs of enemy fighters fall in behind them, opening fire with missiles, which, thankfully, Sweety, his AI, takes out with the CIWS.

Cutting his engines, he flips end for end, applies full power even as he lines up on the first one, and his wingman targets another. He again calls out, “Guns,” as he opens up on the target, and a moment later, it disappears amidst the cloud of antimatter explosions. “Scratch one,” he states calmly as he’s changing vector to align with the next fighter, then two more fighters come in from ten o’clock high, lighting up his shields with kinetics and laser fire, dropping his primary shields by another 7%. Breaking right into a roll to get out of their line of fire, “Sweety, hit those two fighters with the CIWS.” A moment later, he feels the thrum of the CIWS firing as he realigns on the fighter and fires. “Scratch two.”

Charger targets the other two fighters with missiles as he calls out, “Fox three,” and he watches as they leap off the rails and streak to the fighters, impacting a second later. Then says, “Scratch two. We’re clear to reengage.”

Flipping over again, they realign on the ship and again target it with missiles. “Fighters incoming at 81 by -12,” Sweety tells him. “Roger that. They’ll have to wait for a mome… Fox Three.”

Between him and his wingman, 8 more missiles streak off their rails, spiraling in toward the battleship he targeted. ‘Easy now. Just let yourself go, just like in training,’ he tells himself. He nudges the flight stick to the left and frames an incoming fighter perfectly. The target cursor turns red in his HUD, and a strident beep fills the cockpit. Stroking the trigger for a couple of seconds, he sees it engulfed by the antimatter explosions of the rounds.

He jinks right as the lock-on warning blares in the cockpit, and a moment later, a missile streaks past him as his wingman locks up the other fighter and opens fire. It breaks hard, but Charger’s missile tracks him, and a moment later, it reduces the target to scrap metal and vapor.

“Good shot, Charger,” he calls out over the link.

Ratcheting the throttle up to full, Tarzan rolls his fighter to port, seeing a frigate directly ahead. Corkscrewing in, he calls out, “Guns,” again and vaporizes large sections of the frigate, which loses power immediately, and a few moments later, it explodes in a brilliant flash.

A destroyer 22 kilometers distant at 300 by 36, opens fire on him with a plasma cannon, dropping the shields by 44%. ‘Jesus, those are powerful,’ he thinks as he breaks starboard and performs a long, spiraling loop as he works to realign on the destroyer while avoiding the fire coming from it.

The destroyer crosses his bow, barely 10km away as he twists and turns to avoid the heavy fire coming from it. Yanking the stick to starboard, he rolls the fighter 180 degrees. He pulls the stick back, bringing the nose up in another turn that reverses his previous course.

Leveling the fighter out, his long S-turn realigns his fighter on the destroyer once again. He calls, “Guns,” as the rounds strike the ship, causing vapor and pieces of the ship to whirl past him.

“Tarzan, break hard port!” his wingman screams over the link. He immediately slams the stick left just as a large chunk of the destroyer slams into his starboard wing, throwing his fighter into a dizzying spin. Sweety immediately takes control, working to stabilize the fighter as kinetics and lasers pepper their shields. Primary shields fail, and the backup kicks in, but not before part of their starboard wing is blown off by several kinetic rounds. Sweety immediately ejects the remaining missile racks from the wing as she stabilizes the fighter and returns control to him. Moments later, the missiles detonate behind them. Sweat trickles down the back of his flight suit as he thinks, ‘That could have been us if she hadn’t ejected them.’

“Thanks, Sweety,” he tells her.

“Anytime, Randy,” she replies in her sweet contralto.

“How are we doing?”

“We lost about a third of the starboard wing, the starboard Gatling guns, and 16 missiles. Primary shields are offline for another 3 to 4 minutes while they cool down, but backups are functioning at 100%. Engines three and four have slight damage. Three is down to 88% and four to 93%. I’ve already compensated. We’re still in this fight.”

“Good.”

Captain Claude Lyon a.k.a. Thud, Tarzan’s wing commander, asks, “How bad are you hit, Tarzan?”

“Some damage to my starboard wing as well as engines three and four, but we’re still able to fight.”

“Roger that, but RTB if it gets any worse.”

“Roger, Thud… Charger, take lead. I’ll cover your wing.”

Charger pulls forward and makes a sharp turn across Tarzan’s nose as he rolls to starboard. He levels out and jukes to port as many kinetic rounds streak by him. Staying behind and slightly to starboard, he follows Charger in. A blue flash lights up the cockpit, and a screech comes from the speakers in the cockpit as the power fluctuates for a moment. The nose pitches up, and the fighter rolls into an extremely violent evasive pattern, pinning him against his ejection seat until the inertial dampers catch up to the sudden 500g maneuver.

The vast expanse of a carrier fills his viewscreen as he asks, “What the fuck was that?”

“That, my dear pilot, was an ion cannon,” Sweety replies.

“Spread the word to the other fighters, Sweety. What do you say we avoid being hit by those again?”

Her tinkling laugh fills the cockpit for a moment. “That would be my preference as well. That really hurt,” she replies

Over the next half-hour, he and Charger destroy a couple of carriers, another dreadnought, a couple of battleships, several battlecruisers and cruisers, over a dozen frigates, a couple dozen destroyers, and far too many fighters and troop dropships to count.

Once the last Alkarin ship is destroyed, Thud tells them, “Excellent job, everyone. Let’s go home.”

“Sweety, you heard the man. Set a course for home… Jesus, I need a drink.”

“I could use one too, Randy. Unfortunately, I can’t drink,” Sweety says, which makes him smile and chuckle.

　◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

In the CMCC bunker command center, General Jason Chambers breathes a sigh of relief when they see the final red icon disappear from the display. He raises his voice to be heard across the command center, “Good job, folks. Stand down to Defcon 3. Persephone, forward the battle and damage reports to me as soon as you’ve compiled them,” he tells the command center AI.

“Yes, Sir,” she replies.

“Persephone, I’d also like to see the battle reports specifically for the F-60’s. I’d like to see how they’ve performed,” Sora tells her.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Persephone.” Sora looks at Jason. “We’re heading back to the palace. Once you have the full report, come see me.”

“Alright. Would this afternoon be soon enough?” Sora nods. “Good, because I’d like to get some rest. I’m getting too old for this crap.”

She chuckles, “As if.”

He cracks a tired smile. “Have a good morning, Sora,” he says.

“You too, Jason. Get some rest, old man.”

He chuckles as she turns on her heel, walks over to her family, and leaves with them.

　◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

That afternoon, Jason is standing in front of Sora, the cabinet, and Kevin Jaques, the most senior member of Congress, briefing them on the morning’s battle.

“Even with over 3000 ships, they were badly outnumbered, to begin with, so they didn’t last long. Nor was there a single ship left that could report the loss of the fleet they sent to the Sol system.

“The Alkarins lost all 3050 ships, approximately 25,000 fighters, and 60,000 dropships.

“We lost 5 carriers, 3 dreadnoughts, 19 battleships, 42 battlecruisers, 56 cruisers, 193 destroyers, and 319 frigates, along with 5,907 Archers and 4,271 Makos.”

“What about the Strike fighters specifically?” I ask.

“Of the 600 Ares Strike fighters that took part in the battle, 63 were destroyed and another 145 badly damaged, but they accounted for 28.42% of the enemy ships destroyed. 34.13% if you count assists. Much of their total tonnage destroyed are capital ships.” Sora nods. “I think they’ve more than proven their worth.”

“That they have, Jason. They’re overwhelmingly effective. I assume you sent in the rescue ships to recover survivors?”

“We did. They’ve already picked up survivors, both ours and theirs, and returned. They arrived at 1019 hrs this morning. We have several thousand prisoners that we need to decide what to do with. The Military Police are having to physically restrain the xenobiologists that want to examine the Alkarins.”

“Build a prison facility on the far side of the moon. Once it’s finished, we’ll transport them there. Until then, build some prison camps on Mars in some isolated places, and house them there. Jason, make sure they get any medical attention they need. They are not to be abused or harmed in any way, understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Tell the Xenobiologists that they’ll get their chance to talk to and examine the Alkarins, just not right now. Did we pick up any of their commanders?”

“We have no idea. They don’t seem to use a ranking system in the traditional sense like we do. I’m sure we’ll figure out how they’re structured sooner or later, but for right now, as I said, we have no idea.”

“General, why did they send so few ships?” asks Kevin Jaques.

Jason’s eyes widen slightly for a moment, then he grins. “Sir, I’d hardly call 3050 ships just a few, but to answer your question, I have no idea. It could have been a harassment raid, a probe to see how fast we would react, maybe it’s just what they threw together, or maybe they just underestimated us. However, I highly doubt that it was that final possibility since they took one hell of a pounding when we sent Admiral Jessup to recover the HMS Odyssey and her crew.

“Either way, the Sol system would have been trashed had it been left up to you and Her Majesty hadn’t had the foresight to put a stop to your plans.”

“My plans?” he asks looking confused.

Jason nods. “Yes, your plans. It was what? 11 years ago when you tried to introduce a bill to abolish the military. Her Majesty stopped you.”

“How was I to know that they’d be needed,” he says acidly.

“It’s always the same with you people, and you never learn, no matter what history has to say about it.”

“Enough, General. I’m quite sure he is well aware of what a mistake it would have been,” I state.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, but you know if he’d have had his way, we’d have been unprepared for this.”

“I know it, and he does too.”

“How did the fleet upgrades work out?” Jenny asks.

He pulls up a chart. “As you can see, they faired much better than in our last encounter with the Alkarin. All of the ships we lost were 3rd generation or older. The 4th gen and upgraded 3rd gen ships took damage, of course, but much less than we assumed they would.”

“Why do you think that is, General?” Kevin asks.

“1. They don’t have shields. Whether they haven’t developed them, or simply just don’t use them, I don’t know, but without them, they are much more vulnerable, and that means that the upgraded weaponry disabled or destroyed them faster. Also, the new armor and additional shielding on our ships reduced any damage by an order of magnitude.

“2. The engagement ranges were much farther this time. They use a mix of ion, plasma, laser, kinetics, and missiles. One reason that we no longer use plasma cannons is attenuation. The further you are from your target, the less energy it can impart. The encapsulated antimatter rounds are much more effective.

“3. The Alkarin ships seem to primarily rely on kinetics for their long-range weapons, and they are deadly. However, they have to be able to hit us to do damage. Between the CIWS and shields, they are much less effective than they would normally be. We also network our ships, which allows us to share targeting information continuously, and the AIs can call on each ship’s defensive weapons to defend not only themselves but other ships as necessary. Does that answer your question?”

“It does,” Keven replies, “Thank you, General.”

“Were our ships boarded this time?” Jenny asks.

He nods. “Quite a few of them were.”

Jenny raises an eyebrow. “And? The new personal armor, how did it perform?”

“Extremely well. As you know, their swords and knives will cut right through the titanium composite we were using, but they can’t do that with the duraminium composite. We still lost sailors and Marines defending our ships, but again, nowhere near like we did in our first encounter with them. For now, we have a decisive advantage in personal combat. I don’t know how long it will take for them to adapt, but until then, we’ve got the upper hand.”

“Does anyone have any other questions or comments?” I ask.

“No, Ma’am,” they reply.

“Excellent. Everyone, thank you for coming this afternoon.”