From Darkness

[Manticore]

LAMBERT

The space surrounding Planet Hamburg had been plunged into pure chaos with the arrival of a full fleet of Rheinland capital ships. Hopelessly outgunned, the Liberty forces struggled to hold the line against the overwhelming counterattack.

It was not going well.

“All hands, abandon ship! We’re going – “ the panicked cry of the captain of one of the Archer-class siege cruisers was cut off as his ship abruptly detonated in a wash of nuclear fire - her fusion core overloading.

“Tighten up that formation, damn it!” Polstari was doing his best to keep the unit under control, but the situation was rapidly deteriorating.

From the cockpit of his Guardian, James Lambert had a front-row view of the disaster as he dodged and weaved, barely given a chance to return fire against the swarm of Wraiths pursuing him. A small part of his mind found it ironic how quickly the tables had turned on his squadron – for now they were outnumbered at least three to one by the Rheinland fighters.

“Bombers headed for the flagship! Thirteen, Five… get over here!” Peterson’s voice, surprisingly calm.

Lambert wrenched his flight stick and his fighter responded, rolling hard to the right and then thrusting hard up towards Peterson’s green blip. Sure enough, three Fafnir heavy bombers had entered a loose formation and were making a torpedo run at the China Lake. Peterson, despite the two Wraiths hot on his tail, weaved across their formation from the left, Vengeance laser cannons spitting blue lances. He scored several hits on the large targets, but took several from his pursuers in the process. His Guardian screamed past them, already dodging more green fire from the Wraiths.

“Hit him now, I got his shield!”

Lambert didn’t think about the risk, he just reacted by lining up his firing approach. Kicking his ship up, down, left, and right with reaction thrusters, he chose the closest target – already exposed without shields thanks to Peterson – and opened up. The first burst went wide, but he quickly adjusted his aim even as the Fafnir pilot weaved. Lambert strained to line up the dancing target reticle as he drew within three hundred meters…

He blasted past just as the Fafnir disappeared from his scanners and his computer automatically targeted the next ship in line. Lambert scored a couple of glancing hits on the second bomber, and then he was past the formation as well.

His ship shuddered and an alarm chirped inside of his cockpit. SHIELD FAILURE flashed onto his console in angry red letters as he pulled the flight stick around in a dodging pattern once again.

“Good shooting, Lambert,” Peterson said, confirming the kill Lambert hadn’t seen for himself. “China Lake, torpedoes inbound on your port flank!”

“We see them,” Polstari’s voice replied, as the enormous dreadnought rolled and desperately pulled its prow up in a dodging maneuver. One torpedo lost lock and wandered off, but the second remained zeroed in on the center bulk of the Liberty warship.

At the last possible moment, dozens of bursts of fire from the dreadnought’s point defense cannons cut swaths of orange fire across the ship’s entire port broadside, catching the torpedo on final approach and detonating it well short of the dreadnought’s hull. Before the crew could celebrate, a large ball of green energy from a Rheinland Cerberus cannon smashed into Polstari’s ship on the bottom edge of the prow. It burned through several layers of armor and then honeycombed decks with effortless ease as escaping air and debris blasted back out from the wound. The dreadnought looked to writhe in agony as her helmsman desperately brought her about to bring the starboard broadside to bear on the advancing Rheinland capitals.

Lambert glanced down at his scanners just as two more Kappas flashed off amid screams over the squadron comms.

“Damn it all… all fighters regroup near the caps!” Peterson shouted.

Then a quiet voice came onto the task group comms for the first time. “Admiral, we need to retreat.” It was Falkland.

Lambert narrowed his eyes as he finally picked out the shape of the Mesa Verde, holding station a solid klick back from the other capitals and safe from everything except a few pestering Rheinland fighters. It was hard to know for sure in the twisting mess of the dogfight, but he thought Falkland had intentionally placed himself further away from Altona and closer to the lane home than any of the other Liberty ships.

There was a disturbingly long pause before Polstari responded. “No, we’re not leaving the marines. Major, pull your men back – Falkland, prepare to recover them!”

There was a burst of static on the comm, then the raw sound of a racking cough. “Sir, we… we’re pinned down here. Getting ripped to shreds.” Major Baugh’s voice was distorted by the echoing bursts of gunfire in the background.

Falkland spoke up again, voice level and reasoned. “Sir, I must protest the undue risk of your ord-”

"Lieutenant Commander, you have your orders. Follow them," Polstari stated coolly.

Still weaving his flight stick with his left hand, Lambert reached down with his right to flip over to the marine unit’s comms once again. His ears were immediately bombarded by the sounds of screaming panic. There was mass confusion among the marines, and now Major Baugh was a confirmed casualty, along with most of his command staff. There was no order structure left in place, and by the sounds of it, the men on Altona had been reduced to small pockets of disorganized resistance.

Much as the situation out here was rapidly devolving towards.

As he brought his fighter around again, Lambert saw the Mesa Verde reluctantly kick into motion, lumbering towards the maelstrom of action near Altona. He knew the ship's interior would be empty, as every single marine aboard had already been sent over. Thus there would be no reinforcements, only a few shuttles that could do nothing but wait for any troops to emerge into docking bays or access hatches.

A new voice on the task force comms, this time the gruff voice of Gunny Brack. “Admiral, Gunnery Sergeant Brack. The situation down here is not good. There’s not many of us left fighting, and at least for my boys, it’s gonna take time to get out for extraction – if we even make it.” His voice was weighed with the solemnity of a man who realized his chances of survival were bleak.

“Do you think you can get your men out of there, Gunny?” Polstari’s voice was grim as he contemplated the decision.

“If I were a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t put money on it, sir.”

Polstari let an audible sigh hiss between his teeth. “Very well.”

“We’ll give ‘em hell for you, Admiral. Get your men outta here.”

“All units, fall back to the Bering gate. Repeat: all units fall back.” Polstari’s order was crisp and unwavering, even as another Liberty gunboat blew apart in the chaos.

Lambert clenched his teeth in rage. They were just going to abandon all the marines – all his marines – here in Hamburg? Leave them to be killed or captured without even trying to pull them out?

“All fighters, cover the capitals.” Peterson ordered.

Lambert ignored him, opening up a private line to the China Lake’s bridge. “Admiral, you can’t just leave those men there!”

Polstari’s face appeared on the comm screen, eyes tight with stress as he glared at Lambert through the feed. “Lieutenant, I’ve given my order, and I expect you to follow it.” The dreadnought shuddered, and the admiral had to brace himself with both hands. “If I send anyone in to pull those men out, they’ll get slaughtered waiting for the recovery ships to get back aboard. There’s no choice now but to save who we can.”

The admiral looked up, cursing under his breath as another one of his cruisers flickered off the scanners in a ball of incandescent light. “Polstari out.”

The screen flickered off with an air of finality, and Lambert’s gloved fist clenched around the flight stick as another pair of Wraiths slipped onto his tail. Slowly, the remains of the task group began to pull back towards the gate, leaving the surviving marines to their fate aboard Altona.

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