The U.S.S. Confederacy plowed through the storm of laser fire and torpedoes that dashed across the battle scene from every which direction, originating from the multitude of Spacecom vessels and aimed at the handful of Huradas motherships that awaited in orbit as the fleet of small craft penetrated the planetary defense shield and began the strategic assault.
" You see that bulging dome at the top of the ship? I want ten Destroyer Torpedoes locked on to that target. Fire when ready." ordered Ertipel to her weapons officer while pinpointing on the main viewer the singular target that, like many other specific regions of the Huradas vessels, was becoming a strategic attack location. Surely there were weak spots, and Ertipel was not about to let any possible points of attack go unnoticed. Moments later, a volley of torpedoes blasted away from the forward launchers and dove towards the dome, only to be absorbed into the hull without effect.
Meanwhile, Kryslon Prime regressed into a state of panic and chaos as the populace began to take measures in light of their impending doom. Five starships from the Spacecom assault fleet lowered themselves into orbit then into the lower atmosphere of Kryslon Prime to assist in the last-minute evacuation, while millions of lost and fearful people scurried madly about searching for means of transport or in the case of the ignorant, shelter. The city of Corellez bustled with activity not seen since the Great Wars of the Empires those many years ago. People gathered their belongings and rounded up their families, trying to retain a sense of order amid the chaos that had infiltrated their lives. Transports ascended skywards overloaded with passengers, merchant fleets lowered themselves at ports and docking bays planet-wide to fill their volume with people, mass transit services ceased their relentless shuttling from town to town to aid the evacuation.
High above raged a battle to save the homes of these innocent people, people who did not deserve to be killed by a foe they could not fight, an enemy far too mighty to bow down in mercy or stand back in pity to shed a morsel of sympathy - so enraged with its own strength and power it saw nothing else. For the Huradas there was no pain - no assimilation, no annihilation. The Huradas saw nothing. And with this blindness they suffered no guilt or grief of the people they exterminated; their power was infinite, their conquest complete, their destiny approved and stored away into the grand vault of time and space, the vault of history. And in that history would be stories of great warriors who battled, eyes widened with courage and power, against the blind beast who relentlessly fought one warrior then the next - attacked and assaulted endlessly for the devestation and the wounds could not be seen by the blind beast. An eternal champion of death, of destruction and evil. A blind beast whose war would never end, until the universe itself was engulfed by the sea of death of his own creation.
It could not be that simple. Surely there was motivation behind the brutalization of entire civilizations. But reasons were not relevant now. A war had begun. A war had to be fought. And a war would be won. By whom remained an unwritten chapter in the history of Saladium.
Aboard the Confederacy, Captain Ertipel and Commander MacKenzie paced back and forth across the bridge floor while the battle continued to rage, deeply ensnared in thoughts that occupied their minds and sometimes stole from matters of the confrontation. At this point strategy had lost its edge as the list of attempted maneuvers grew with every other moment. Even MacKenzie had exhausted his exceptional library of maneuvers that would have certainly astounded the most cunning of Tars Commanders, perhaps even his true Captain, Alexander Malarek. Indeed, a man who came to the forefront of MacKenzie's thoughts as the battle raged without the leadership of Spacecom's best starship Commander, and best starship.
Ertipel startled MacKenzie. " Where the hell's Lodestar anyway?"
" I was just wondering the same thing." replied MacKenzie. " Malarek wouldn't miss out on this. He knows where his ship belongs and where his leadership is needed."
And as the madness of the confrontation grew with every laser shot and every torpedo fired, the Huradas motherships in orbit shifted gradually into position to deploy their planet-bound crafts, aimed at the crucial faultlines that held the body of Kryslon Prime together - the grooves that would be wedged apart in a final devestating blast of energy, throwing the world of Kryslon Prime into oblivion in a million billion fragments. The worst of the destruction was not merely a question of its magnitude, or of its deathtoll or material cost, but of its seeming inevitability. It was going to happen, everyone knew it. It had ripped apart the Akotarsan Empire, it would rip apart the Confederacy. It could not be stopped.
As the smaller craft dispersed from the motherships, Ertipel and MacKenzie simply observed in quiet disbelief and frustration. The Huradas were executing their plans so precisely and with such success, despite Spacecom's best efforts, that no one dared to speak and break the painful quietude that lurked as the Huradas edged ever closer to accomplishing yet again what they had accomplished already too many times in Saladium. It was not the first planet to be targetted and wiped out, and likely not the last. If there was to be an end to the terror, neither MacKenzie nor Ertipel could see it now. Every weapon at their disposal had been used, every maneuver attempted, every idea tested and tried - yet to no avail. Whatever needed to be done to destroy the Huradas eluded Spacecom to the extent that even Admiral Hudson maintained silence. Whatever unconventional methods that had not yet been thought of or already executed against the Huradas simply were not viable options. The countdown had begun. There was no time. Given another two minutes, Kryslon Prime would be gone, and with it the home of an entire civilization.
MacKenzie collapsed into his chair in desperation. Ertipel glanced back at him briefly, but long enough to demonstrate to him that she too shared his fears. She stepped back towards the comm. station and contacted Hudson personally.
" Admiral," she started solemnly. " We're running out of time."
Hudson, in a mood that paralleled that of the fleet - of grim defeat and desperation - managed to provide a pitiful but somewhat reassuring smile, not of pleasure but of offered hope. " There are no other alternatives now. Whatever choices we may have once had, have now been expended. The time has come."
Ertipel swallowed hard. " Aye, sir."
She closed the channel and directed her gaze immediately and fiercely at the view of the Huradas fleet, and its horde of faultline beacon ships that would become the deadly focal points to the massive destruction that was about to be unleashed. " Raise shields and bring Hull Layering Integrity Fields to maximum strengths. Helm," she paused briefly, just enough for her to reflect on her decision and that of the Admiral, " Lay in a course headed directly for that Huradas mothership and accelerate to ramming speed."
MacKenzie looked back at her and caught her trembling, minutely visible beneath her rigid and powerful command voice. The Helmsman quickly swivelled in place and shot a look of utter disbelief at the Captain.
" Ramming speed, sir?"
" You heard the order." confirmed MacKenzie. He knew there was no other choice.
Ertipel took her place, holding firmly the armrests with both hands. She looked at her First Officer and nodded.
MacKenzie returned the nod of consent, then pushed the comm. button to his right to address the entire crew. " This is the First Officer speaking. We have orders to begin ramming. Begin ship evacuation immediately. All non-essential personnel and passengers, follow standard evacuation procedures and head to your designated escape pods. This is an emergency."
And as shipwide systems maintained their full alert status in the heat of battle, the crew began to siphon away from the ship operation sections, headed down corridors and passageways, crawling through emergency escape hatches and hopping into life-supporting pods. Without regard for personal effects or valuables, the crew shuttled through the hallways in escape of the highly probable doom that awaited those who remained on board.
Within moments, life boats and personal escape pods began to emerge from the outer hull of the Confederacy, shooting out from various ship locations, dashing into the lonely and foreboding expanse of dead space surrounding the now cursed Kryslon Prime. Other vessels followed suit, as hundreds of thousands of life sustaining escape craft sprung free from the hitches connecting them to their originating starships, floating aimlessly into the void of black surrounding and encompassing the terrible site whose destruction was imminent. Indeed, this time the Confederacy flag would not be torn to shreds by the Tars, or spat on by militant rebel Manojarrans, but burned into non-existence.
" Sir, the Huradas ships are firing up their main weapons. Key faultlines have been clearly marked out by the lander fleet - if we wait much longer it'll be too late." warned Trenton.
" The crew has been successfully evacuated, Captain." informed MacKenzie, careful not to push Ertipel any further into the already impossibly tense moment.
" Good." she admitted plainly. " The less that die, the better."
Ertipel looked quickly at the computer countdown on the display panel to the left of her. Sixty seconds. She glanced at MacKenzie, and with eyes widened by a deadly mixture of fear, hatred and basic vengeance, she gave the word. " Execute."
The engines fired up on the stern of the Confederacy and shot the massive vessel menacingly towards one of the many Huradas motherships still in orbit. Dashing forth at full Impulse, the ship approached at deadly ramming speed, pulling its strengths inwards and focusing the integrity fields of the hull on the bow and forward port and starboard sides.
The remaining crew of the Confederacy braced themselves for the impending impact. MacKenzie grabbed ahold of his armrests and clamped his body as best he could against the relative steadiness of his chair and console. Ertipel imitated him in time, as did the others, while the ship cruised head-on towards the Huradas ship.
" Viewer off!" she ordered quickly. " Brace for impact!"
She closed her eyes and waited. The crash was coming, she knew it was soon. A few more seconds, just a few - exactly how it would feel to be on board a kilometer long battering ram and feel the impact was something she could not fathom, nor anyone else for that matter. Ramming was traditionally a last-resort method, even more than it was at this point, the aftermath typically a combination of a large Hyperspace engine core explosion resulting in starship debris being scattered throughout the cosmos. Yet, even with the new Crombi hull installed, no one was certain of its effectiveness, and while the ramming was deemed not lethal, it was not a recommended daily test for a starship hull either. Certainly, the ship might survive, but no one person could claim nearly as much confidence in their own survival.
The ship closed in fast. Ten thousand meters, five thousand meters, one thousand meters, zero meters.
Despite their best efforts to brace themselves, people and equipment were torn from place and tossed helplessly through the air. The crushing effect of impact threw the helmsmen out of their consoles and onto the floor. MacKenzie crashed up against the far bulkhead, Ertipel smashed headfirst into the central command viewer in front of her chair, while the others were similarly battered against walls and equipment. While no one was dead, the crash was not without its consequences.
" Forward hull integrity has been compromised. Hull breach is imminent." warned the shipboard computer. Ertipel grappled to return some sense to the blur the bridge had suddenly become. Soothing her aching head, she pulled herself up and crawled back to her command chair. MacKenzie tried to follow, but had to resort to propping himself up againt the wall he had crashed against, having been severely hurt by the physical impact. Ertipel climbed into the chair and straightened herself before verifying the damage reports chanelling in from the thousands of shipboard sensors.
" Damn." she muttered, still trying to regain her breath. The hit had been painful for them, but the damage to the Huradas was undetectable. The Confederacy had successfully plowed into the side of the mothership, brutally ramming into it yet almost instantaneously rebounding on impact. " Prepare for ramming speed. Execute."
There was no time to lose, and certainly no time to recover from the pain. She clasped ahold of her chair again, clenched her teeth and pressed her eyelids shut against what was to come.
" Hold on!" she cried in unbelievable anguish. MacKenzie drooped gently down against the floor and wrapped his arms around a nearby console footing. The hopelessness of the situation was so apparent, so deathly obvious, that every move they made was merely a desperate action made on the fragile hope that they would succeed. A hope so fragile, so delicate and weak, that MacKenzie could do little more than await the end. Death appeared welcoming now. Regardless of the evident uselessness of their efforts, they had no other choice but to continue. Ramming every last piece of this once gallant and glorious Spacecom ship, rip her apart to the very end until there would be no question as to how many alternative options remained - for there would be none.
The Confederacy slammed against the Huradas ship with such force, such physically bone-shatteringly powerful force, that unless something or someone divine intervened, there would have to be damage - on both sides.
And yet again the bridge was strewn with broken equipment, broken bodies and broken lives. MacKenzie, from his position sprawled pathetically across the bridge floor, looked about for signs of returning life. Delarus and Trenton from the helm lay motionless next to the rear bridge turbo-lift entrances, Bigsby sat deathly still at his communications station, head bowed low, blood covering his uniform and face. Unable to see the Captain, MacKenzie crawled slowly across the floor, dragging his now limp arm at his side, trying to avoid placing any weight on those parts of his body that were bruised or broken. Spotting her command insignia lying alone on the floor not far from the command chair, he crawled further towards the other side of the bridge where, indeed, Captain Ertipel sat, curled up against the bridge bulkhead. He called her name. He called again.
The bridge had become sickly still, filled with smoke and haze filtering through the red alert lights that flashed waves of blood-pulsing energy, energy of battle that disgusted MacKenzie. He grappled with a piece of torn uniform on his leg and ripped it off to secure his broken arm, then made his way gently towards the command chair.
" Computer," he started, clearing his throat quickly. " Ready Hyperspace engines. Ahead one quarter Impulse, and engage Hyperspace drives on my word."
The computer complied, and soon the mangled ship began to move towards the Huradas again. MacKenzie waited peacefully as he prepared himself for what was to come. Jump into Hyperspace close enough to the Huradas and he stood a chance of tearing them along with him. Doing so would most certainly destroy the Huradas, he was quite confident of that. Just as sure that he too would go with it. But before he gave the computer the command it awaited, he took a good look around him, and about the bridge. Equipment and bodies littered the command center, but such a horrid mess did not affect him now. He had to take action, no one else could. He was alive, alive long enough to do what needed to be done. He would not fall that day as Captain of someone else's ship, for that is what he had suddenly become for these short moments, but as a Spacecom officer - a defender of the Unified Confederacy of Interstellar Authority. A defender of Saladium.
The Confederacy sped up towards the Huradas ship one last time. Once in range, the Hyperspace engines flared up on the stern and blasted forth the energy needed to propel the Confederacy into the superlight dimension. But as planned, the U.S.S. Confederacy never made it there. As she swung by the Huradas, the Hyperspace field eneveloped not only the Spacecom vessel but an enormous piece of the Huradas vessel, pulling the two massive objects into each other, resulting in an explosion of collosal magnitude.
And the network link between the orbiting Huradas fleet was broken. With one ship missing, the assault would have to be postponed until a replacement was made, or the orbits were altered to accomodate for the loss of one satellite mothership. This alteration was made expediently. The countdown had been stopped by the loss of the Confederacy, but only briefly. The choices left were simple and straighforward for those few ships that did not follow the Confederacy's bold first moves - they too would now have to make the ultimate sacrifice. And they did.
The U.S.S. Intrepid maneuvered carefully towards another Huradas ship and engaged her Hyperspace engines within range. Tearing the two ships apart, the effect was as devastating, and just as necessary.
The U.S.S. Varastobil followed suit. Blasting into Hyperspace just next to a Huradas brought down that fine ship. Just behind her dove the U.S.S. Lougheed into the mouth of death, as did the dozens of other Spacecom starships that stood to protect the Unified Confederacy, in orbit of Kryslon Prime that fateful day. And as the Huradas ships disappeared from orbit, so did the Spacecom ships. One after the other: the Pulsar-Explorer, Sunfire, Voyager-Titan, Terra Nova, Concord, and the Saranoma.
Among those, were the hundreds of other ships that, unbeknownst to the Kryslon Prime war fleet, had done the precise same desperate act to save Saladium at almost every major Confederacy planet. Kryslon Prime was not the only Huradas target. To Admiral Hudson, it was. But it was too late for him to fight the last battle when the Huradas fleets began to arrive at Manojarr and Fellnar, Shadenan and Mesobtin, Lynzron and Pepsilon. Huradas fleets that were attacked and obliterated by Spacecom back-up exploratory, science, and medical ships - determined to put an end to what, indeed, the devil had unleashed upon them all. But they kept coming, their numbers mounted. A war that could not have possibly been fought initially, had become a war of attrition. And when Spacecom starfighters found themselves making the suicide dives of kamikaze fighters, like those who had fought those many centuries ago on Earth, it was time to quit. There was no defense now. It was no longer a time to fight, but a time to hide.