Dropship Prairie Hunter,
Degu System,
Royalist Allaince

While the Bumblebee raced for Degu IX, still a good thirty minutes away at the Mammoth’s best speed, Commander Hanna of the Prairie Hunter, manoeuvred her ship into a position from which she hoped to block the attack run of the enemy Fortress. Unfortunately, her speed and trajectory calculations were slightly off. Too late, she realised, the Prairie Hunter was coming about, with her nose facing the Fortress' drive section, mere seconds too late to stop it from burning for the dark side of Degu. The Overlord was buffeted by the ion trail that the charging pirate dropship left in it’s wake.

"Stravag!" Hanna cursed quietly to herself as she stared at the image of the receding Fortress on the main viewscreen.

She glanced over at the tactical officer, “Situation report, what can we still kill?” Her voice was laced with venom.

“We are unable to accelerate quickly enough to catch the dropship, but the pirate aerospace fighters have broken off from the rest of the formation and are closing rapidly. All weapon stations report manned and ready”.

“Excellent...they may fire as soon as they acquire targets”.

The Overlord shuddered as explosions reverberated along her hull. A shower of sparks erupted from the helm console and the helmsman was thrown to the floor with a yelp of pain. He quickly regained his feet and, although nursing a burned arm, proceeded to monitor what was left of his station. Hanna watched the young clansman's display of bravery with silent admiration, before turning back to her own station and activating the com link for the dropship's medical centre.

“Bridge to sickbay - we need a medical team up here”.

The tactical officer spoke up, “Commander, we are taking fire. The enemy fighters appear to be targeting our engines. Structural integrity is holding. Sensors confirm one kill...”

A sudden flurry of laser and autocannon fire erupted from the dropship's starboard side and three more fighters disintegrated into fireballs, just a few hundred metres away.

"...make that four".

The ship gave a sudden, violent lurch, shaking the bridge crew violently. Fortunately they were all either strapped into their seats or braced at their consoles and no further injuries were sustained. Hanna felt the vessel begin to drift and spin.

"Port stabilisers have been knocked out...attempting to compensate”, called the helmsman.

“Bridge to engineering - can you get a repair crew to work on the port stabiliser?”

"Aff, Commander", replied the senior technician, from his post in the engine room.

Hanna paused and remembered something, “Comms – what of the Royalists?”

“The Galactica has fired up her main engines and is inbound on our position. Adamov is aware that the Fortress broke through and he has informed Colonel Jenkinson. They are not too happy about it”.

“Neither am I”, said Hanna through clenched teeth. “Carry on, Ensign”.

“The Bumblebee is requesting we rendezvous with them, before we make planetfall, so we can co-ordinate our deployment. They have received word that pirate forces are already moving on Bonnet’s Gap. Alliance forces, including the Fife Brigadiers and the local militia are mobilising, but even their combined forces still add up to less than half of what the pirates can muster”.

Hanna nodded in response. “Helm, set a course to link up with the Volunteer Mammoth and take us to maximum thrust...we need to try and shake off these damn fighters", she said, using one of many expletives she'd picked up during the Cavaliers' time in the Inner Sphere. "Tactical, tell the gunners to put up a barrage of fire around the ship...we need to discourage these surats from pursuing us”.

“We may be about to receive some assistance, Commander”, said the communications technician, “I have Wing Commander Flashart on comms”.

Hanna swivelled in her command chair to look at the junior officer, “Put him on speaker, Ensign”.

"Aff, Commander".

The comms officer made the necessary adjustments, before nodding at Hanna.

“Wing Commander Flashart, this is Commander Hanna of the Prairie Hunter”.

There was a crackle of static, before Flashart's voice came through the bridge speakers, sounding slightly tinny. “Commander Lacey has been asking for you, Commander Hanna”. In the background muffled thuds could be heard as enemy fire found it's mark on the Wing Commander's craft.

“Copy that, Wing Commander, we are attempting to rendezvous with him. First, however, we need to disengage from these fighters. Can you assist?”

There was a muffled explosion on Flashart’s end of the link, then his voice came back with a more joyful tone. “Roger wilco, Prairie Hunter. We've just finished clearing the road for the Galactica and will be with you shortly”.

Typhoon Whiskey Lead,
Engaging Pirate Forces,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

Before Hanna could reply, Flashart switched frequencies to contact the Galactica. “Control, this is Whiskey Lead, launch 167 Squadron and have them burn for my location ASAP”.

The fighter control officer responded promptly, “Control copies Whiskey Leader, stand-by”.

“Roger, Control”. Flashart flipped his craft and kicked the Typhoon into overthrust in order to reach the Cavaliers' dropship as quickly as possible. “Whiskey flight, form up on me... we’ve got a bit more rubbish to sweep up”.

The rest of the flight radioed their acknowledgements, then Laurence got a surprise as he received a call from the Galactica's bridge. “Flash, this is Commander Rockford”. The Commander rarely used Flashart’s callsign, a sure sign of his concern. “We just heard from Fighter Control. Do you want the entire squadron deployed?”

“Affirmative, Commander. I don’t like the look of that dust cloud. The Fortress is an assault ship - doesn't have fighter bays. Also, those were relatively short ranged fighters, Commander...they had to have been deployed from somewhere close by”.

“Copy that, Flash. One Six Seven is airborne and en route. Best of luck to all of you”.

As Rockford cut the connection, Flashart took his fighter into a dive, deciding to play a game of chicken with one of the damaged Lightnings. As it began to loom large in his forward canopy, he opened up with his pulse lasers. “Right down your gullet…” he said, his teeth bared in a ferocious grin.

The x-pulse lasers' sapphire bolts, stitched a line of craters along the Lighting's nose and into the cockpit. The enemy fighter's canopy imploded as a pane of reinforced ferroglass fractured. The pilot was vapourised by more laser bolts and the craft continued on its way, blazing off into the distance.

HMS Galactica,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

“Captain Adamov, sir!” The Galactica’s sensor tech, Able Seaman Kim Sharma, raised her arm. “I’m reading a number of new contacts coming from the Maus-Harper dust-cloud. They appear to be small craft. I’m guessing fighters, but I can’t be sure on type or numbers at this point...they’re well masked”.

Adamov glanced at the cluster of new dots that appeared in the 3D representation of the space, generated by the bridge holo-tank. “Can you guess at how many?”

“It’s definitely more than a couple of flights...perhaps a wing”. Kim's hands danced over the keys on her console and adjusted a number of display settings. She turned to him, frowning, “I’m sorry, sir, but I just can't get a clearer picture at this time”.

“It’s okay, Seaman Sharma. Just keep me informed if the picture does get clearer”. The Captain looked at Rockford. “We’d best tell Flashart that he’s just flown into the lion's den”.

Dropship Bumblebee,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

Colonel Jenkinson, commander of the 13th Volunteer Battalion, more commonly known as the Cottingham Irregulars, was busy briefing his two companies, from the front of the Bumblebee’s huge cargo bay that was serving as a makeshift briefing hall. Using a jury-rigged holo-tank, borrowed from the Galactica's stores, as well as a series of projected images, he was explaining the mission ahead.

“As I said before, we have only two nav-points. The landing zone, and Fire Base Fox-Alpha. We will be dropping straight into what we expect will be an extremely hostile situation. Because of the incident during transit, we have been delayed and the Brigadiers inform me that they expect to be engaging the enemy by the time we get there”.

A mechwarrior raised her hand and Jenkinson acknowledged her. “Squeak?”

“Sir, what about the mercenaries? I heard that their dropship held back to engage some pirate aerospace fighters. Are they going to be joining us on the mission?" The woman was quite young and had a high pitched voice...hence her nickname. Although only moderately tall, she was thin, which gave her a lanky appearance and made her jumpsuit look a couple of sizes too large.

“Commander Lacey has informed me that the Prairie Hunter has now disengaged from the enemy fighters and is rejoining formation with us. We will be definitely be fighting alongside the Cavaliers this time around”.

A murmur of dissent swept the room, much as Jenkinson had feared. He switched off the holo-tank and faced his troops, raising a hand to silence them.

“Alright...alright! I know that some of you...“

The volume of noise from the assembled troops grew louder.

Jenkinson raised both hands and raised his voice to a shout. “OKAY - I SAID QUIET! THANK YOU! Now, most of you are not looking forward to serving with Colonel Nuyriev and his troops. However, we are their assigned liaison unit and we will carry out our duty no matter what. Trust me...they’ll warm to us. I never thought I’d get used to Patrice and now...well...”

This comment provoked a few laughs, but a nervous tension still permeated the hall.

“Colonel!” A silver haired warrior wearing shades shouted from the back. “We all know we were given this job because we’re Volunteers! Dammit, we’ve got just as much history as the Lincolnshire Regiment...or the Cuxhavens, come to that!”

The Colonel sighed. “Pee-Wee, that may well be the case, but can’t you see that by undertaking this task we are doing something special? Don't you think the "old faithfuls" would have been cock-a-hoop to get first dibs on this? This assignment is an honour...and we should treat it as such”.

‘Pee-wee’ sat back down and exhaled, evidently not entirely convinced.

“But sir, these mercenaries...” A tall warrior with unkempt red hair spoke up. “They don’t really get pirates. This enemy isn’t gonna let them play one-on-one like they’re used to, they’ll get themselves killed out there”.

Jenkinson sighed. “Doc, ‘these mercenaries’ have been out here for a while now. I think they know what to expect from pirate scum”. He smiled, “Besides, I often nearly get myself killed and you all put up with me”.

This got a laugh from the crowd, but while the Colonel outwardly forced a smile of his own, inside he was anguished over the lack of trust and harmony among his troops, now that the big moment had come.

As the noise in the cargo bay abated, her continued. “Okay then, you’ve all got your mission profiles and objectives? Good - now when this briefing is over, head to the mech bay, get your machines checked out and begin the start-up sequence. We’re about twenty minutes out now...that should give you plenty of time. I know I keep sayin’ it, but go through your checklists and be careful. I know a few of us still have mechs that haven't been fully refitted since our last fight...” he nodded at a few other mechwarriors in the hall, “...and I’ll know if anyone lets their battle computers shut ‘em down because of an improper start-up”.

The Volunteers began to filter out of the hall, chatting noisily. Jenkinson gathered his notes and joined the rest of his command lance who were still seated. He stared at them with tired eyes and they smiled back.

“Hey, chief”, said Patrice Delaquois, one of Jenkinson’s best, “We were just...“

The Colonel waved him off. “I know what you were doing”, he grinned, “I hope you’re all looking forward to seeing combat again...I know I am!”

“We don’t like pirates trying to get a free ride on the Alliance...we’re ready”, replied Major Santandez, finishing his coffee. “We’ll be down shortly, sir”.

“Alright...see you in the hangar”. Jenkinson saluted his men and left the room.

“Jeez, I don’t want to be too close to him later on”, said the fourth lance member, Lance Leftenant Josias ‘Dragon’ Gomez. “It gets worse every time”.

“Don't be too hard on him - it’s not his fault”. Santandez looked up at the clock on the wall and banged a fist on the table. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Who’s gonna watch his back?”

Typhoon Whiskey Lead,
Engaging Pirate Forces,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

“Copy that, Control”. Flashart was worried...a very rare sensation for him. “How long until the rest of the squadron reaches us?”

“Two minutes, Wing Commander. Can you hold them off until then?” asked Galactica's flight controller.

Flashart glanced at the distant engine glows zooming out from the cloud. They were still quite far away. “We’ll play hide ‘n’ seek until the others get here. Cheers, Control - Flash out”.

Squadron Leader Adamov coughed, “Sir, even with the whole squadron, we’ll be up against a shedload of enemy fighters. We don’t eve know what type they are”.

“Stay calm, Adamov. They’re pirates...how well armed can they be?”

“Sir, I think you spoke too soon”, called Kara Mace. “My sensors just identified the bandits. Good news - it’s less than a Wing. Bad news - we're still up against twenty-four, that's Two Four MiG-31F Banshees and they’ll be on top of us within a minute!”

Mace heard Flashart swear.

“We can’t loiter with the Galactica because they’ll rush the Prairie Hunter and we can’t hang around here very long either”.

He muttered another expletive. “How the hell do pirates get hold of top notch kit like Banshees? Oh sh...”

A volley of LRMs overshot Flashart's cockpit and he banked hard to the right to dodge the oncoming Banshee. “Okay chaps, look sharp...we just need to hang on for five minutes. You know your average MiG...fast, well armed, but bugger-all armour and not too agile. Just bear in mind that the 81F is one heavy bird, so she has integrity on her side! Don’t bother firing at ‘em yet, just keep them off your tails! Go! Go! Go!”

HMS Galactica,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

Captain Adamov looked on as a swarm of green dots joined the melee ahead of them and said a silent prayer for Flashart and his squadron. “Helm, what’s our ETA?”

“Sir, we’re pushing the reactors at one-hundred-ten percent. We’ll be there in four minutes, give or take, but the engines can’t take much more”.

“Take ‘em to one-hundred-fifteen...”, said Adamov, glancing up at the helmsman, “...and cross your fingers”.

He was mildly shocked to see the helmsman wringing his hands. The man was normally a rock, even under intense pressure.

Shaking his head, Adamov rattled off a string of orders. “All crew to battle stations. Charge the point defence grid and prepare to engage”.

“Aye sir!” replied Commander Rockford, who began passing orders to the bridge crew.

An electronic klaxon began to wail throughout the ship and the lighting changed from white to red. Crew engaged in non-essential work, dropped what they were doing and ran to their assigned action stations, bringing the mighty Battlestar to full combat readiness.

A low-pitched rumble echoed through the floor of the bridge and Adamov had a nasty feeling he knew what was coming.

The bridge the intercom rang for attention, "Engineering to Bridge".

Commander Rockford activated the com link at his station. “Bridge here. Ah, Chief...”

It was Chief Engineer Bernie Bosco. His face was bathed in sweat, both from the overheating engineering compartment and a mixture of anxiety and stress. In the background, Rockford could see engineers working frantically behind him, while he spoke. “You better do something up there pretty quick, sir, because there’s only so much we can force the ship to do. We are going to blow ourselves to kingdom come if we keep this up much longer!”

“Look Chief, we only need to red-line the engines for another couple of minutes. You just need to keep us going until then. Once we’re in the fray, we'll only need manoeuvring thrusters and you can turn the wick down on the reactors. Until then, we need everything you've got...” Rockford gave a semi-sympathetic smile and hung up.

"Dammit!" Bosco slapped the button to cut the link and wiped his perspiring face with his forearm. As he walked back to his station, several of his crew turned to look at him enquiringly. Bosco could only shake his head. "Bloody officers - they never listen". There were audible groans and exasperated sighs from several of his techs, but they nevertheless got back to work...only now, it was with an air of panicked disgruntlement.

Typhoon Whiskey Lead,
Engaging Pirate Forces,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

Flashart and his command flight were not doing too well either. Although they now had the backup of 167 Squadron, the enemy were still getting the better of them. Their fighters moved so fast they seemed to be everywhere at once! He had lost four craft already and his own Typhoon had taken several hits, one enemy missile destroying one of the medium lasers in his port wing.

He kept reminding himself that they only had to keep the enemy fighters engaged until the Galactica arrived, but he was beginning to wonder whether they could even last that long. The massive carrier was clearly visible in the distance, but seemed to move with agonising slowness.

Laurence shook his head as he narrowly avoided another missile volley aimed at his craft. The enemy pilots fought so well...worthy of an elite House unit, rather than a pirate outfit. He was also baffled as to how a bunch of Periphery lowlifes could afford such expensive rides.

Sighting on yet another enemy fighter, Flashart wondered at their unusual paint scheme...ghost-white with crimson highlights. He'd never seen one like it before. He fancied he'd already pegged the leader, having spotted a fighter sporting a crimson nose, wingtips and tail fins. Trouble was, there were too many other bandits for him to worry about.

The Wing Commander cringed inwardly, as he heard another scream over the radio net, abruptly cut off. Without seeing, he knew he had just lost another pilot. ‘Surely it can’t get any worse...’ he thought.

HMS Galactica,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

The Galactica's hull reverberated with a sound like distant thunder, struck by several volleys of missiles, as the enemy fighters began to turn their attention to the massive warship. Adamov remained stern-faced, despite the churning of his stomach, knowing they would be swatted like flies, once the Battlestar's full firepower could be brought to bear.

“Captain! I’ve got a friendly IFF signature coming from the dust-cloud!” the communications tech yelled with barely concealed joy. Adamov disengaged his mag-boots and drifted up the steps to reach the console at the back of the bridge.

“Are you sure?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The technician punched some buttons and a cornucopia of data filled his primary monitor. “It’s the RPFS Persephone - talk about a sight for sore eyes, sir!”

Adamov laughed and rejoined Rockford at the centre of the bridge. “I’ve never been so glad to see a gunboat. Let’s see the Peace Force put some of their hi-tech toys into action!”

Rockford's initial reaction was one of elation, but then the vessel's name rang a warning bell at the back of his mind, which moved him to call up the Ministry of Defence's latest shipping reports from the Galactica's archives. When he found what he was looking for, he felt a cold sweat prickle his brow, his stomach tightened and his mouth went dry.

He had to swallow several times before he could speak again. “Silence on the bridge!” He got to his feet and pointed to the tactical officer. “Seaman, mark the new contact as hostile!”

Before Adamov could even begin to protest, Rockford had moved over to him, hand raised in a mute appeal to allow him to continue. “Sir, the Persephone was lost three months ago on patrol around the Kamchatkan Rift rim. Her hull was never located”.

"Thats news to me", said Adamov, looking suitably chastened.

Rockford sighed. “Apparently, I’m the only one on this boat that reads the MoD's shipping reports”.

“Jesus…” muttered Adamov, “...and she’s heading right for our boys out there…”

Another rumble echoed throughout the vessel, louder than the first, accompanied by an intense vibration, followed seconds later by a muffled explosion.

Adamov looked around as Rockford hit the com link. “Bridge to Engineering! Damage report...what the hell just happened?”

Chief Bosco replied, sounding annoyed and exhausted. “Sir, we've lost the main drives. We have multiple electrical fires in the control room. Containment failure and plasma leak in Reactor One. We're struggling to maintain the particle stream in Number Two, which is currently at forty percent output”.

“Casualties?” asked Rockford, concerned for the crew working down there.

“I have seven injured, two seriously, but no fatalities as yet. Sick bay is responding”.

Adamov thought for a moment, before speaking to Rockford. “Recall all fighters. Get emergency repairs underway in Engineering - we've got to get Reactor Two back to at least sixty percent. We can't afford to be a sitting duck. Start launching salvoes from our forward missile banks. We may not do much damage, but I want to at least give 'em something to think about and keep their attention on us, instead of the dropships”.

He sat down heavily in his command chair, feeling the weight of command resting more heavily on his shoulders, than it had for some time. “Comms - transmit an SOS on the emergency channel to the Farpoint Station, requesting immediate assistance”.

The Galactica continued to shudder and reverberate to the sound of explosions, as the enemy fighters intensified their bombardment.

Adamov lowered his voice as he spoke to Rockford, "Lets pray they can scramble their aerospace wing in time, or we may not see out this day".

9. Rough Ride Dirtside

Dropship Prairie Hunter,
On Approach to Degu IX,
Royalist Alliance,
The Periphery

The Prairie Hunter, engines running at maximum thrust, had overhauled the Bumblebee and Degu IX now almost filled the main viewscreen. The crew took the opportunity to enjoy one last period of relative peace and quiet before the battle. The ride was appreciably smoother now they had disengaged from the battle and a lot less stressful, now that no-one was trying to shoot them.

Star Commander Hanna sat in the command chair, swivelled to face the holotank in the centre of the bridge and fumed silently. As far as following the mission profile went, she knew they were doing the correct thing, but it still offended her Clan sensibilities that they were effectively running away from a fight. Star Commander Levine was staring intently at the 3D display, depicting the Galactica, the enemy dropship and the swarm of fighters. The communications officer was monitoring the channels used by the Volunteers.

He turned to face Hanna, a look of concern on his face. “Hanna, I think you should listen to this”. With that he pushed a button to broadcast the transmission over the bridge speakers.

The voice was that of a female pilot, sounding very worried, “…twenty-four, that's Two Four, MiG-31F Banshees and they’ll be on top of us in a minute”.

Next, they heard Wing Commander Flashart curse. “We can’t loiter with the Galactica because they’ll rush the Prairie Hunter and we can’t stay here either…” This was followed by another expletive.

Levine switched his gaze from the holotank to Hanna. “Star Commander?”

“It is not our concern. Our priority is to land Star Colonel Nuyriev and his Trinary to assist the Alliance forces on Degu”.

“But you heard the commander of their aerospace forces. They may not be able to hold them off. If they come after us, we will be unable to land...unless you wish to risk being shot to pieces while we are on the ground”.

“What do you propose we do? We are too close to Degu now. It would be pointless to turn back now – we would never reach them in time”.

“We have to try. If we can draw some of their fighters away, it will give the Alliance fighters some breathing room, if nothing else”.

The helmsman spoke up. “Commander, we will be entering Degu’s atmosphere in less than five minutes. If we are going to turn back, we have to do it now”.

“I’m sure the Galactica is more than capable of...”

“Sir!” This was the tactical officer, “I have just picked up a new contact coming out of that dust cloud we passed. It appears to be heading for the Galactica”.

“IFF signature?”

“None as yet. Cannot identify. It may be another Alliance vessel, but our IFF systems still do not recognise many of their designs”.

For once, Hanna was struck with indecision. This was a new sensation for her and one she did not like one bit.

Just then the tactical officer shouted, “Star Commander, sensors have just picked up a massive IR spike at just over 500 kilometres, bearing two-seven-zero! Judging from the bloom characteristics, a warship has just entered the system”.

“Kerensky’s Blood!” Hanna breathed quietly. Whoever was in command of that ship was either very brave or very foolhardy, jumping in-system at a Lagrangian point, so close (in space travel terms) to the planet. While the ship was still too far away for the Prairie Hunter’s sensors to ID, the IR wave created by a jump was detectable for thousands of kilometres.

“Commander!” This was the comms officer again. “I have just picked up a distress call from the Galactica!”

Hanna’s eyes widened in surprise as the tech continued. “It was not aimed at us, but at a point outside the system. Our wideband receivers just managed to detect the edge of the transmission beam”.

“A ship that size does not request assistance when attacked by minnows such as those”.

“Perhaps they have internal problems?” This came from Levine.

She made up her mind. “Very well, Helm – reverse course and make for the Galactica at maximum thrust”.

She then signalled the comms officer, “Ensign, contact the Bumblebee and inform them our landing will be delayed somewhat”.

Her orders were met with replies of, “Aff, Commander”.

She settled back into her command chair and returned her gaze to the holotank, where she saw the large blue shape, representing the Galactica, besieged by a hostile assault dropship, another vessel of unknown origin and a swarm of aerospace fighters. The blue dots representing the Alliance fighters appeared to be just about holding their own...but for how much longer?

“Commander!” The comms officer sounded puzzled. “I have Star Commander Baris of the Sirius on comms, requesting to speak to Star Colonel Nuyriev”.

The Sirius was a Titan class dropship that carried the Cavaliers’ Trinary of aerospace fighters. Its presence in the Degu system was surprising, since they were supposed to be completing a refit, aboard the unit's support vessel.

Hanna was equally perplexed but shrugged it off. “Patch him through. I would like to know what in Kerensky’s name they are doing here...not that I am complaining”.

The comms officer complied and routed the call through to the console built into the command chair.

“Star Commander Hanna”, Baris sounded insufferably smug , as ever, “I trust you are well?”

“You may dispense with the pleasantries Baris”, replied Hanna dryly. “What are you doing here?”

Baris snorted, “Well, as you know, Galaxy Commander Drewsivitch was ordered to keep a close eye on us. When he found out you were deploying to the Degu system, he ordered the Darkfang to jump in system, using the L3 point, to place us on the far side of the star and hopefully far away enough from the operations area to avoid detection. He dispatched us to observe events more closely, to see how you co-operate with our new allies...it appears our arrival was most fortuitous”.

“Stravag!” muttered Hanna.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing”. She gave a sigh. “We have been working with Spheroids for over ten years now. If we have not learned how to co-operate with them by now, we never will”.

“Aff. I must admit, do not care for having someone watching over our shoulders, any more than you”.

“Well, it cannot be helped. We are in this situation and must make the best of it. As you so astutely noted, there is a battle in progress and our allies are in need of help. The Alliance warship we jumped in with, is being swarmed by enemy aerospace assets. Our mission profile dictates we make a co-ordinated landing and deploy our ground forces in conjunction with theirs. In any case, we are too far away and lack sufficient firepower to assist in any meaningful way”.

“Star Captain McTighe has already been briefed. She is preparing to deploy her aerospace Trinary as we speak...and speaking of Star Colonel Nuyriev, I have a message to relay from Galaxy Commander Drewsivitch”.

Hanna cut him off, “Whatever the message is, it will have to wait. The Royalist forces on Degu are in urgent need of reinforcement. We are resuming our rendezvous with the 13th Volunteer Battalion immediately”. With that she cut the link.

“Helm – bring us back on course for Degu. Comms – signal the Bumblebee that we are resuming planetfall”.

Once again, her orders were confirmed and she felt the dropship slow and begin change direction once more, as the pilot brought the Prairie Hunter through another 180-degree turn, as fast as the 11,000-ton vessel could manage.

Dropship Sirius,
Degu System,
Royalist Alliance

In the Sirius’ cavernous Number One aerospace hangar, Star Captain Trienna McTighe ran through the final checks on her Batu Prime. All systems showed green.

She toggled her radio's Trinary command channel, “Alpha Star, confirm status”. She was answered by nine other pilots calling out, “All systems nominal”.

She let Star Commanders Kyra and Ethan handle their duties, ensuring Bravo and Gamma Stars were ready for combat. Minutes later, they reported in.

“This is Bravo Lead, we are ready”.

“Gamma Lead, all pilots ready”.

Trienna switched to the dropship com channel. “Epsilon-Alpha to Sirius Control, requesting launch clearance”.

The aerospace controller at his station on the Sirius’ bridge looked over to Baris, who nodded. “Epsilon-Alpha you are clear to launch”.

“Affirmative, Alpha copies”.

McTighe brought her engines up to full power, released the brakes and the Batu screamed along the strip of decking that served as a runway, rocketing out of the bay into the blackness of space. Once clear she backed off the throttle until the rest of Alpha Star had formed up on her. The ten Clan fighters in their steel blue, light grey and white livery looked unlike any Inner Sphere craft. Once the last craft had joined the formation, Trienna engaged full power and the rest of the Star followed suit, rocketing towards the Galactica and the distant dogfight.

Star Commander Kyra exited the launch bay and cruised on low power until her flight of ten Turks had joined her. She then maxed her throttle and headed for the enemy Fortress dropship.

Star Commander Ethan followed the same procedure while his flight of Visigoths got airborne. The 10 OmniFighters then roared off in the direction of the unidentified vessel that had appeared from the dust cloud, with orders to determine whether the newcomer was friend or foe.

McTighe toggled her radio and selected a frequency given to her by the Sirius' air controller during the mission briefing. It was an open channel used by the Cottingham Irregulars’ air wing. “This is Captain McTighe, commander of the Coyote Cavaliers’ aerospace forces. I wish to speak with Wing Commander Flashart”.

Flashart responded at once, sounding rather harassed. “Good to hear a friendly voice on the net, Captain. We could use some help. These dashed pirates are getting a little too clever for my liking”.

“We are on approach vector one-eight-seven, ETA 1 minute. Please advise best course of action”.

Flashart gave a rather strained laugh, “Go for the ones painted like Christmas trees – you can’t miss ‘em old girl”.

McTighe heard a muffled explosion over the com link and a muttered curse. She glared at the swirling cloud of fighters as they rapidly drew closer and cursed the flamboyant Alliance pilot for his lack of respect.