Flight Deck
Carrier Hakaga
Hari System
Na’scar brought his new Vaktoth to a complete stop. The new heavy fighter was a mark better than the Hhriss he had been flying for the previous three Kahrik. It boasted heavier cannon and more missiles than its predecessor. It even had the capacity to carry an anti-ship missile. After a few successful tests of combat, it would probably replace the old fighters. Na’scar was not a pilot to get too sentimental towards his craft. What mattered most was victory, and the Terrans had few fighters that could match the Vaktoth. Even the Sabers would have problems matching them in an even fight.
What mattered more than fighter specifications were the pilots behind the stick. In Na’scar’s far-from-humble opinion, the Terrans had few pilots that could match his own skill. He popped the canopy of his fighter and took in a breath of fresh air. Fresh was a relative term in this case. The stench of industry filled the flight deck. The Hakagas possessed six separate flight decks, all connected to a central bay if one deck was knocked out, the flight crews had little difficulty in transferring fighters to the next deck. That was not what impressed him. The fact he could breathe at all on the flight deck was welcome. He served on carriers without atmospheric curtains. He could see the logic behind leaving the deck open to space, but the tedium of traversing pressure locks grew old with time.
His own flight crew rushed over to his fighter. The Kilrathi male was a fighter by nature, and balked at such tasks as maintenance. Only the draconic discipline of the Imperial Navy, and knowing their own lives were on the line should they fail, could force a male to do females’ work. Without order imposed upon them, a gathering of males is nothing but a gaggle of violence, a small war just waiting to happen.
“An excellent landing,” Norash saluted as Na’scar climbed down the ladder. Norash served as his chief technician.
“Did you expect anything less?” he asked with a slight smile. It was more good-natured than predatory in nature. Unlike the relations between many officers and underlings, that of the pilot-mechanic was far more cordial. Treating a male whose responsibility it was to maintain ones’ own fighter like a mere slave was never a good idea.
“With your permission, I shall make my leave,” declared Na’scar’s gunner, Sslar.
Na’scar acquiesced with a wave of his hand. Since the Vaktoth could double as a bomber, designers saw fit to add a gunner to keep the Apes off the pilot’s back. In space, Na’scar had good relations with his gunner. However, his gunner was not an officer, and as such they remained distant when not in space. The Hhriss lacked such a gunner, and was often destroyed from behind. Sslar had yet to prove himself in combat before Na’scar, but his performance thus far was more than acceptable. Not a single drone had yet to touch his fighter from behind.
“Did he expect anything else?” laughed another pilot, rapidly approaching.
Na’scar turned his head to glare at the other pilot. “I am the best pilot on the ship.”
The other pilot snorted. “More like second best.”
“I think you have the order confused, my brother,” Na’scar growled at Srati. The two were only minutes apart in age and often argued over who had been born first. Like most born brothers, the two had left their Pride of birth at the same time and struck out to make their mark on the world. They still had a Kahrik or two to go before the manes were as shaggy and magnificent as a King’s. When the upcoming battles were won, they would strike out again, this time to claim a Pride of their own.
Neither Na’scar nor Srati understood just why the Terrans had agreed to stop fighting. They were winning—after a fashion. Destroying the enemy’s supply lines did not strike either brother as a proper way to kill a foe, but it proved to be an effective one. The previous ship they served upon had a chronic shortage of everything, especially arms. It was the great weakness of such a centralized war effort to have all of the war production controlled by the Eight, and often centered around their capitols. Sometimes Na’scar thought his race could learn something from the Apes, such as having military production capacity on all their worlds. If an Ape ship ran low on arms, it could just stop at the nearest Confederation world and buy some.
Terran pilots had earned his respect during his time in the cockpit. They were capable and clever creatures, able to think one step ahead of their Kilrathi counterparts. They were unlike their propaganda likeness, and any rookie pilot who thought of the Apes as a prey species usually ended up too dead to realize his error. They were truly worthy foes. Na’scar frowned at the past tense of the idea. They were worthy, but now? How could such a tenacious of foe simply stop the fight? Perhaps their resolve was not what Na’scar once thought.
Srati growled back at his brother. “If I were second best, it would only be to the Prince.”
Na’scar could not argue that point. He did not know for certain which ship of this newly assembled fleet that Prince Thrakhath would choose as his flag. He hoped his own, and he hoped the Prince would take to space in his Bloodfang. To fight alongside such a skilled pilot would be an honor. He overheard some of the Lord Officers speak of how Thrakhath was no Gilkarg when it came to grand strategy, but even they admitted he was a superb pilot.
Na’scar knew only what he needed to know insofar as strategy went. As with any pilot, the Lord Admirals point out a target, and he destroyed it. His part in the war was that simple. “Third best, at the most,” Na’scar admitted. Na’scar would best any pilot that faced him in combat, even his own brother. They faced off in the simulator more times than he could count. According to the computers, their skill was about even.
“The next battle will settle the issue,” Srati declared. As with simulators, their kill score was even as well. Both had claimed three-eights and two Terran fighters shot down.
“Remember brother, for the upcoming campaign, those Apes shot down by your gunner won’t count,” Na’scar took a cheap shot and he knew it. Taken in the wrong context, such a jibe could be an accusation on his bravery. As the codex says, only cowards are shot in the back. Of course, when the codex was written, bombers had yet to be invented. Srati’s gunner could kill an Ape just as easily if his pilot was diving on an enemy carrier.
“Where do you think we’re headed this time?” Srati asked. The admiralty was tighter lipped than usual concerning the upcoming battle. Though the Apes solidly bought the whole stop fighting order, those in power did not wish to risk any information escaping to them. In order for victory to be secured, the attack must be a complete surprise. Though why any Terran pilot would be surprised by the Empire’s plans was beyond either pilot. Perhaps this was because the Imperial Pride was not known for being devious. That honor was reserved for the Ki’ra Pride, and their Commissars. “Back to Enigma?”
Na’scar growled his disagreement. “With a fleet this large? No, that would be a waste of ships. I say we’re headed for the Vega Sector, to punch through their forward defenses. We could take that sector within a Kahrik.”
At least he hoped it was Vega. He did not relish the idea of returning to the Enigma Sector. He killed many Apes in that sector, but always on the defensive. His first battle was at K’tithrak Mang, which ended in the station’s destruction. He only killed a loan Ape in that battle. His score grew during the strike on Pembroke in the following Kahrik. That battle was a failure as well, but he killed three more Terrans. Aside from two major battles that ended in failure, he and his brother served on a Snakier-class carrier patrolling the Epsilon Sector. They were both spared the shame of Vukar Tag—to say nothing of the Terran’s attack on Kilrah, which fell on the backs of the Kilrah Pride and a few other nobles.
“Wherever it may be, I hope the pilots there are better equipped than the pirates and colonists we’ve been killing lately.” Before their previous carrier was ‘decommissioned’ as per the treaty, their foes were frontier Terrans and some Firekkans. Both were brave and capable pilots, but they flew junk. The Scimitar was removed from front-line service many Shrik ago, and the Firecats—he could not help but laugh when he thought of how those disintegrated after a single shot. When his brother asked what was so funny, Na’scar explained.
Srati laughed as well. “Yes, the manned drones. Wherever we strike, the Terrans are sure to deploy more worthy targets. I’ve heard their new Thunderbolts are even better than their Sabers. Perhaps to settle on who is the better pilot, we shall see who kills one of those first.”
Na’scar grunted, accepting the challenge. He could hardly wait to face his next foe.