Soaring European Classical

The starfield was a resplendent array of colors. A nebula made of cobalt colored gas lit up the area behind the enemy’s grand fleet. The big mass of swirling red clouds that was Altairis Five could be seen, but at this distance it was the size of a coin. A human fleet slowly moved toward the alien force, it would be spotted soon.

The bridge of the human’s flagship was a multi leveled array of command centers and intel stations, all of it built around a central area. In the center of this section the command chair sat on a raised platform. The man on the chair wore a black uniform with a high collar, shiny medals and colorful ribbons covered his chest.

A lift crawled up the wall, stopping on the same level as the commander. A petty officer jumped off of it, jogging over to the platform. “Admiral Hurlant, we count thirty battleships and five dreadnoughts on our scopes.”

The admiral smiled, “Good, begin the attack.”

The look on the petty officer’s face said that he didn’t think that this news was such a good thing. In spite of this he saluted and said, “Yes, sir,” before running off to relay the order.

The admiral studied the holographic maps and readouts in front of him. Buttons and dials that were built into the arm rests of the chair allowed him to select different displays and data sets.

Admiral wasn’t his only title. He was a count, though he had not been addressed as such for a long time. During wartime he was an officer before he was a nobleman. No matter what role he found himself in, he was a loyal servant of the Aerath empire.

He put a hand to his prominent chin, which was a trait of the Hurlant family line. So were his sharp cheeks, olive skin, and dark curly locks. Nearly black eyes burned with intelligence and pride.

There was a finality to it. Regardless of how this battle went, the war with the Tarji would be over. All of those years, all of those lives; thousands of ships built, millions of troops trained, worlds conquered and retaken and fallen again; it had all come down to the outcome of a single battle.

The attack started. Massive energy beams swept across the enemy fleet, obliterating smaller support vessels, burning away the shields of the big combat ships. Armor piercing rounds from railgun turrets punched deep into hulls, jets of fire burst out of the holes. Armor plating was burned away, carving ghastly wounds into mighty warships. One vessel was cut clean in half, the two pieces floating away from each other.

The hostile armada returned fire, unleashing massive broadsides. Admiral Hurlant watched the status display in silent horror as ship after ship blinked out, signifying their destruction. He had known that people would die, it was inevitable. This knowledge only helped so much, only blunted the blow so much. In spite of his pain, he didn’t let it show, let a confident smile stay stuck in place.

How will the Tarji commander respond? the Admiral wondered. It was the one question that would decide the outcome of this battle. When faced with an attacking force, which was less than a third the size of their own force, how would they react? After all, there had to be more to it than that. It couldn’t be as easy as that, there had to be some kind of trick, something else in the works. What the hostile fleet’s leadership guessed that unknown threat was would dictate their actions.

The two sides continued to exchange fire. Beams and pulses of energy raced across the void. Plasma weapons burned into hulls. The conning tower of one vessel was turned into liquid metal as a beam was walked from the bridge to the superstructure. The forward blade of an Aerath battleship exploded when the power cells that fed its beam weapon were ignited. Squadrons of starfighters dodged point defense weapons as they carried out strafing runs or became locked in vicious dogfights.

A message came in from the sensor section, “Enemy fleet changing course. They are heading toward us!”

There it was, the move that the admiral and the majority of his command staff had predicted. The Tarji would sacrifice their ability to lay down devastating broadsides in the hope of avoiding whatever nasty surprise was in store for them. They would move in close, get into knife fighting range, slugging it out at point blank. Getting mixed in with their opponent was a good plan, it would keep them safe from any large-scale attacks, while still allowing them to engage and destroy the human fleet. It was like a group of ground troops negating hostile artillery or air support by fixing bayonets and charging the enemy lines.

Admiral Hurlant pushed the button that activated the intercom, “Stay on course. Coms officer, send out a transmission on the general frequency, ‘Avenge Kilimar.’”

From out of the gas cloud a formation of sleek starships raced toward the Tarji fleet, aiming their guns at the enemy’s exposed backsides. The trap had been sprung.

The flotilla of high-speed battle cruisers was all that was left of the Kilimari navy. They had escaped the Tarji conquest, living to fight another day. This would be their last battle. The reason why the Tarji had ignored the gas cloud was because it did tremendous damage to a spacecraft’s hull. The Kilimari cruisers would fall apart on the molecular level within hours. But it didn’t matter, because the battle and the war would be won or lost long before then.

They sped in with righteous fury, targeting engines and fuel tanks. The precision strikes crippled over a dozen Tarji warships, which drifted out of formation. Unable to maneuver, enemy craft were outflanked and picked off one by one. A hostile dreadnought went wildly off course, ramming and destroying one of their own battleships.

The Aerath and Tarji fleets met, trading broad sides at point blank range. Their formation compromised and unable to coordinate fire, the Tarji vessels were blasted to pieces. What was left of the Tarji fleet came out the other side battered and flaming.

The petty officer made is way to the command chair, still shaking, “Admiral Hurlant, Tarji grand fleet has been reduced by ninety percent, remaining ships are retreating in the direction of Rigel Orlang.”

“Let them go.”

“Sir?” the petty officer asked incredulously.

“Yes, that is a likely location of their fifth taskforce. We are in no shape to tangle with them. Best to preserve our ships. The battle is won; now we have the advantage. I have no doubt that the Tarji will sue for peace. A peace that will be on our terms.”

“Of course, sir. What are your orders?”

“Get the Kilimari crews aboard whichever ships have room. Then proceed to the orbital docks at Vultuna.”

“Admiral, Obis Prime is much closer.”

“That is true, petty officer. But that also makes it a much more likely destination and therefor a much more likely target for avenging Tarji fast attack squadrons.”

“Yes, sir. Good thinking, I will see to it.”

“Thank you, petty officer,” the admiral’s confident smile turned into a jubilant grin, “Cheer up, we just won the war.”