Operation: Spitfire

[Sebastian Nobles-Stirling]

Bretonian Armed Forces

Queen Carina's Most Diligent Interdiction Wing

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The tension on the bridge was almost palpable. HMS_Dragoon was holding position at High Guard on the back side of Planet: Leeds while four military Clydesdales made their way to the surface.

When Commander Sebastian Nobles-Stirling had gotten an info copy of the message detailing the Gallic raid on California, he had deduced, correctly, that the Gallic presence in Leeds would be reduced as the they shifted resources to support their operations. Since Dragoon was in New London for a conference, he had been able to go straight up the Interdiction Wing's chain of command. Lord Brigadier Sonia had approved an operation on her own authority, and LogCom, in spite of the drastically short notice, had managed to provide the Clydesdales, loaded to the gills with supplies for the Resistance.

Now, the impromptu little squadron was conducting their own raid. The Wrecker class gunboat had come roaring in from the cover of the clouds and its cloak, hammering the planetary satellite network into scrap before anyone had time to realize that she was there. She'd been purpose built for this kind of work, sacrificing half her cargo space to reinforced armor and the cloaking technology. As far as most of the crew was concerned, she had just paid for whatever loss of salvage rights the privateers had suffered under because of those mods.

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While in Cruise, the Clydesdales were actually faster than the gunboat, so, once the area was secure, the swift little ships darted in to rendezvous planetside. On any other planet, this would have been a leisurely maneuver involving the docking rings, but, tonight, bow shields glowed with the strain of absorbing a high speed atmospheric entry.

The spry little freighters hit the bottom of their dive and flattened out. Shifting into a horizontal relationship to the local gravity well, they flew Nap of the Earth a quick fifty klicks away from where they had come in. In the middle of a forest clearing, the ships slammed to the ground on top of a beacon, shock absorbers and presser beams taking the impact.

Rebels were coming out of the trees almost before the shocks finished flexing. The main cargo bay doors swung wide, and critical stocks of arms, medical supplies and the thousand and one other bits an army needs to survive were rapidly offloaded. It helped that half of that gear was preloaded into hover trucks that could be driven out once they were clear of the restraints.

Gathered off to one side, wounded warriors and civilians eager to get away from the fighting waited. They'd been involved in the war long enough to not be panicky, but they were definitely eager to be aboard. Given the go ahead, they got inloaded as quickly as the emergency seating could be configured.

The entire operation took less than half an hour, and the convoy was roaring backing space.

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The Threat alarm started warbling, and Tactical, tense voiced, announced, "Incoming ship, Perilous class!"

Sebastian, sitting in the Command chair, nodded calmly. His accent, usually thick, was noticeably absent as he said, "Get us underway, Evasion pattern one! Pull us out and away from the planet. We don't want the Gauls anywhere near the freighters when they come up. Don't forget that forward gun!

Comm, get a burst off to the squadron with a SitRep.

Tactical, they've got us outgunned, so fight her smart!

Get to it, people!"

The various crew nodded, murmurs of, "Aye Aye", coming through the ship's com as they set to their tasks.

The Perilous, as predicted, opened up at maximum range with her spinal mount, but it was more to keep Dragoon honest than in the hopes of actually hitting. The range was too great to really hope to hit something as small and maneuverable as a Wrecker that far out.

Nobles-Stirling considered the situation as his ship began to corkscrew through space, drawing the Gaul away from the planet. The odds were good that they didn't know about the freighters since they hadn't come in until the sat coverage had gone down. If he could keep the bugger busy, they could get away clean, and that was important since they'd be coming out loaded with evacuees.

He'd need to play tag for a while, but a hungry smile played about the corners of his mouth as he contemplated adding that ship to Dragoon's kill count.

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They'd skittered and danced until they'd reached 45k from the planet, then Dragoon had turned back, the corkscrew still in effect, to engage. At that point, hellish energy had lashed out from both sides. The Perilous had more raw power, but the Wrecker's main gun combo was a Razor and Pulse cannon pair whereas the Gauls were just carrying standard guns. They'd jousted for a while, and somewhere in the middle of it, Tactical had announced that the Clydesdales were away.

Some hours later, Dragoon limped back into port. It hadn't gone all her way, but what was left of the Perilous' crew was in her brig. She'd be spending a week or so in the yards, but the successful mission was another small strike against the Gallic incursion.

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