Comrades, Credits and a Decent Bacon Butty

[onca]

*BAMM*

“We’re hit!” bellowed robot head in a panic.

“Shields down to 90%,” said Pete as he ducked and weaved the Lass amid the Gallics’ weapons fire. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. “This next bit will hurt more. Engaging cruise engines.”

“What?” said robot head. “I thought we were giving ourselves up!”

There was a whine deep in the Lass as the cruise engines began spinning up. The ship lurched as it lost forward momentum, all power being drained to engage cruise, and leaving the Lass slow and vulnerable for a few crucial moments.

“Not a chance.” Pete glowered at robot head. “Of course, we wouldn't be in this pickle if some dumb schmuck hadn't disengaged cruise in the first place."

“But we'd been caught by a Navy patrol!" protested the head. "The jig was up, and I naturally assumed we were surrendering.”

“You blasted can of bit-rotted chips! You assumed wrongly.” Pete's face had turned red.

*BAM* Another shot hit the ship, then another. Robot head wailed.

“Shields down to 76%”, said Pete, as he did his darndest to dodge weapons fire, made all the more difficult by the drop in speed caused by cruise spinning up. “You never, EVER, drop out of cruise unless I tell you. I swear I’ll get you for this, head.”

A volley of weapons fire strafed the Lass, sending it reeling. “Cripes, shields down to 35%,” said Pete, an edge rising in his voice. “They must be packing shield busters. This is gonna be close.”

Suddenly the Lass sprang forward, pushing Pete back in his seat and sending robot head tumbling off the console into his lap. The Lass’ speedometer started ticking ever upwards. “Cruise engaged, at long last,” said Pete with relief. “We'll be out of weapons range in no time, and those fighters are too small to carry cruise disruptors. We’re safe now.” He looked down to his crotch. “No thanks to you.”

Robot head looked up from Pete’s lap. “Won’t they just follow us?”

“This old bucket has a few surprises yet,” said Pete as he plonked robot head back on the console roughly. “She has a tricked-out engine core. We’ll put quite a few clicks between them and us by the time we reach the other smog field. Then we’ll lose ‘em for good.”

The Gallic fighters continued to fire on the Lass even as it sped out of range. A lone shot hit the ship; Pete did not bother flinching.

“The Gallic ships are engaging cruise to pursue, Mon Capitan,” said robot head.

“I told you not to worry, we’ll outrun ‘em.”

“How far to this other smog cloud?”

“About 20 clicks. Just sit tight, head, while I think of a reason not to boil you in oil.”

*******

The West Leeds Smog Cloud loomed ahead, a great oily slick in space, bigger and dirtier than the one the Lass flew out of.

“We’re nearly home,” said Pete.

“The Gallic fighters are still in pursuit," said Robot head, “although as you predicted, they have dropped back quite a way.”

“Yes, and that surprises me,” said Pete. “I thought they would have broken off pursuit and resumed their patrol. They must really want us bad.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the load of munitions we have in the hold?” said robot head curtly.

“Yes well, if they scanned us, which they probably did, such a cargo would put a red flag against us for sure,” said Pete. “Anyhow, it’s all moot. We’ll lose them for good in the smog before long.”

An alarm being beeping on the con. “Ah, Captain,” said robot head nervously, “a new group of ships just came in range, off to our left. They are vectoring on an intercept.”

“Designation?” said Pete, although he already knew the answer.

“One moment… Oh goddess! More Gallic Navy ships.”

“Alright, keep your mandible on,” said Pete. “We’ll simply bypass these tossers and lose them in the cloud, just like with the others. But whatever you do, head, do not disengage cruise! You hear me?”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

As the Lass hurtled towards the safety of the smog cloud, the new group of Gallic ships took up an intercept position dead ahead.

“All right, just as we planned,” mumbled Pete. “Head,” he added more loudly,
“any more data on the new group of ships?”

“It’s… bigger.”

“What do you mean ‘bigger’”, demanded Pete. “More fighters?”

“No, I mean they aren’t just fighters. It’s a gunboat patrol. Four fighters and a gunboat, all heavily armed, and all right in our flight path!”

“Crap!” said Pete. “A gunboat is big enough to carry cruise disruptors, not to mention the extra firepower. This is getting harder than I anticipated. Dammit!”

“What do we do?” said robot head in a panic. “We must surrender now, it’s our only choice.”

“My shiny chum, it’s gone too far for that,” said Pete, “You’ll be melted down, and I’ll end up gracing some Generale’s table with an apple in my mouth, if what I hear of Gallic cuisine is anything to go by.”

*******

The safety of the smog cloud was so close Pete thought he could reach out and touch it; but they might as well have been a million clicks away, as the Gallic gunboat lay in between them like a huge guard dog, flanked by its fighters.

“What’s the range on the gunboat,” said Pete.

“Four clicks, and closing fast,” gibbered robot head.

“Right, that’s close enough.” Pete turned the Lass 90-degrees, skirting the edge of the smog field.

“The gunboat has altered course to intercept,” said robot head. “They’re still closing. They’ll be in weapons range in--”

“Of course they are,” said Pete, “which is why we’re gonna do this.” Suddenly Pete swerved the Lass 90-degrees back and headed directly towards the enemy. The gunboat was still some distance away, but it steadily grew bigger as the distance closed. Its big guns swiveled to aim at the Lass.

“Captain,” said robot head, “I’m no military tactician, but shouldn’t we be heading away from the large enemy ship, rather than on a collision course with it?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know what strategy you have in mind, but I think it should be filed under ‘s’ for ‘suicidal’.”

“As I expected, they’ve dropped out of cruise so they can fire weapons,” said Pete. “That will give us just enough of a time window to scoot past and be in the smog cloud before they can resume pursuit. Of course, I may have to dodge a little.”

“And what happens when they fire a cruise disruptor?” said robot head. “Our ‘scoot’ will become a ‘lumber’.”

As if on cue, the cool voice of the con announced, “incoming missile”.

“Ah, Captain!” said robot head in alarm. “They’ve fired a cruise disruptor.”

A speck appeared just below the gunship, a glint of metal and flame. It grew larger with alarming rapidity as it homed in on the Lass. Pete kept his course.

“Why are we still moving towards it?” wailed robot head.

“Shut up!” snapped Pete. “The engines are behind us, remember? If the disruptor missile hits our front, the engines will be out of range of its explosive yield.” He added with a mumble, “hopefully.”

*******

Even Pete winced as the missile struck the forward shield of the Lass at hypervelocity, right before his face. There was an explosion which rocked the ship and produced a spectacular geyser of glittering chaff and energy; but also harmless, as the Lass’ cruise engines did not falter. They continued on their trajectory towards the enemy.

“You see that, robot head?” Pete said. “That’s what they call ‘skill’.” He chuckled, although his gloating was cut short. The Gallic gunship, now at virtually point blank range, sat huge and menacing in their path. Suddenly there was a bright flash from the ship.

“They’ve fired their main gun!” screeched robot head. “We’ll be barbequed.”

Pete was caught off guard. A great sphere of energy hurtled from the gunship directly at the Lass. At the last second he rolled the ship; the scintillating penumbra of the sphere glanced along the Lass’ ventral shield, illuminating the cabin momentarily, but causing little damage.

“That was a bit close,” said Pete, his voice shaking a little.

Now the gunship’s secondary turrets opened fire on the Lass, a rapid succession of energy bolts hurtling by. Meanwhile the escort fighters had rounded to outflank the Lass, firing their guns from behind. But with its superior speed and Pete’s erratic maneuvering, none of them landed a serious hit on the little freighter.

Pete steered the Lass on a near-collision flyby over the gunship; as they dashed past its bridge they could see some very startled Navy officers. Pete raised a finger at the commander.

The gunship and its fuming commander now behind them, there was nothing in front but the safety of the smog cloud.

“Haha! There we go, head,” chortled Pete. “Head?” But robot head sat silent, its eyes replaced by fields of blue filled with white hexadecimal numbers. It had fainted.

“Anyway,” Pete went on, “they’ll have to come about if they want to fire another cruise disruptor. We’ll be out of range by then.”

Robot head came back online. “Are we dead?”

“We most certainly are not, old chum.”

Incoming missile.

"Oh Goddess, another disruptor, and we're not yet out of range," wailed robot head.

"Not to worry, plastic brain," said Pete. “Deploying countermeasure flares." A line of metal balls dropped out from behind the Lass; they sat in its wake dormant for a second, then each one burst into flame. The disruptor missile struck one and exploded at a harmless distance.

“Hmm,” said Pete, “looks like Gallic gunships turn quicker than I thought. Something to remember.”

*******

The first tendrils of the smog cloud curled around the Lass. Pete sat back casually with his hands behind his head.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Captain,” said robot head. “The Gallic patrol has powered up cruise and is in pursuit. Again.”

The smog grew thicker; the pursuing ships were barely visible on the rear monitor. “Bah,” scoffed Pete, “As I already explained, between the smog and our greater speed, they won’t be able to detect us before long.”

In fact the smog was much denser than the first cloud they had flown through; it was now so thick it was impossible to even gauge where the Leeds sun was. Occasional clumps of muck bounced off the Lass’ shields. As Pete predicted the Gallic ships disappeared from the scanner before they were a mere two clicks behind.

“There we go, head,” gloated Pete, “safe and sound.”

“That’s well and good, Captain”, said robot head, “but where are we going? We can't hide in this cloud forever.”

“I have input a list of coordinates into the nav. Just follow them in succession.”

“But these coordinates just take us on a random and circuitous course through the cloud,” said robot head.

“Yes, we’re taking the scenic route.”

“The scenic route?”

“I can’t have those garlic-sniffing louts extrapolate our destination from our last trajectory, or follow our ion wake through this cloud, can I? I’m covering our tracks, tin head.”

“Makes sense,” mumbled robot head.

Pete stood up. “Right, I’ll be in back. Let me know if you're in dire need of a hero again.” He produced a hanky wiped his sweaty brow, and made his way out of the cockpit.

“But how will we know when we’ve reached our destination?” robot head called after him.

“We’ll know when we bloody well get there!” Pete called back.