Legacy

[Stryker]

Legacy

Prelude

Even as the first fighters swarmed us, I was thinking, “How the hell did I get into this?”

Snarling slightly, I tracked a target with my helmet targeting system. Banking hard right, I broke formation and swept in behind it as if made a pass at the poorly armed Mothership. Its mass drivers’ shells zipped out and smacked into the armored front. While they obviously did far more damage than our shells due to greater velocity, as shown by the blue ion acceleration trail, they still couldn’t penetrate the armor.

Watching the jinking, or dodging, the fighter was performing, I noticed a pattern, but there was definitely life behind it. Someone or something had to have ignored our pleas for friendship. Thus, now we were in combat.

Tracking, I squeezed the trigger twice and heard the mass-drivers chatter. The first burst mostly cleared high, and must’ve scared the shit or whatever fecal matter these beings used out of them. The second blew through the engine straight into the cockpit. As the plasma conduits blew, I was already looking for another target.

“All Sierra units, there are corvettes attacking the Research Ship. Take them out. India will cover the MS.”

Fleet Command’s computerized voice grated in my ears. I was part of Sierra, the Scout-class fighters that were optimized for speed and sensors. Even as my head wondered why Fleet Command was sending the smaller guns to take out the big corvettes as the bigger-gunned, heavier armored India-type Scouts combated fighters, my voice spoke.

“Sierra Three, coming in, full afterburner.”

Other voices rattled off numbers, but I was too busy facing my second target of the day to listen. A large corvette, it appeared to be armed with missiles. Fleet Intelligence was calling these guys the Turanic Raiders. This Turanic was going to be dead, whether he liked it or not.

With one hand, I reached over and activated full automatic fire. While more inaccurate than burst and massively more so than single fire, I would need it to punch through the armor. Targeting the craft, a slight bump from a scraping hit told me someone was targeting ME!

Spinning, I saw another Turanic fighter, cobbled together from pieces, or so it seemed. Even as both of us readied to fire, a blast from the MS blew it from the sky into chunks. I breathed a silent thanks and noted that it was the third mass-driver turret that had done it. I’d buy them drinks later, if I made it though this fracas.

The targeting computer told me that my target was at my five o’ clock high, readying to fire again at the smoking Research Vessel. I said, “Oh no you don’t.”

Even as I fired, it had noticed me, apparently. The missile it launched didn’t go after the wounded ship but instead plummeted after me.

I swore as the missile closed. I had shot through the cockpit, and the corvette was drifting aimlessly in space, but that missile didn’t give a damn. It was going to have me if it could.

I gunned the engines, and headed toward it at full speed. If I could duck under the turning envelope, I could escape.

Maybe.

As the range closed, quickly, oh so quickly, I yelled my battle cry. If I died, it was going to be with honor. If I died, they would remember me… hopefully. If I died, I at least took them with me.

Even as a silent bang in space showed that the missile had blown, I saw the shreds of the metal flying toward me in slow time. My fighter shuddered and shut down even as my vision clouded over into black.

[Stryker]

Here's Part One, enjoy.
---

Interlude 1

“Will he make it?”

“Perhaps. Doubtful. His wounds suffered and decompression make it so that if he ever wakes up, it will be to a lot of pain.”

“But there’s a chance?”

“I never said there wasn’t.”

Chapter 1

As my head slowly told me that I still lived, my body told me that it wasn’t thrilled at the prospect in tones of burning-, throbbing-, and, most of all, stabbing-pains. Even as the blackness stayed over my eyes, I didn’t want to open them. I wanted just to go back unconscious.

A voice penetrated my veil of pain, nonetheless. “Ah, we’re awake, a good sign.”

Even as I wondered who ‘we’ was, he continued. “You did very well. Two kills in your very first engagement and surviving to fight again. Very impressive.”

I dared to try and open an eye. The right one slid open, crackling slightly as the lashes parted, painfully. The speaker was an admiral, one who obviously knew nothing about combat, judging by his plethora of peacetime medals and the large gut that the wide belt tried to conceal.

“We picked you up with our Salvage Corvette, the Water Thief, as you got caught in the gravity well of Saliis, the seventh planet. You had been in decompression for your legs and arm for a small while, and your wounds were major due to their exposure to space. Once we got you back, the good doctors fixed you up alright.”

I dared to speak. A low rasp emerged, a sign of the time I had spent unconscious. “And the rest of the squadron? How did they make out?”

Turning away, the Admiral sighed. “Most were killed. Only one other survived, unhurt. India mopped up after you guys and lost three. I’m sorry.”

I closed my eye again as I asked the question I didn’t want to ask. “Who survived? Out of a squadron of 16 fighters, who survived?”

I could feel his gaze shifting back toward me. “Avalon Soban.”

Even as my eyes leaked tears for those lost, I was grateful that at least Avalon survived. We had been the best of the best, our entire squadron composed of those who could hack it. Now there was just two left… Sajuuk gave with one hand and took with the other.

I felt the Admiral leave, leaving me to my gurgling instruments and searing pain. I knew that those souls that had been lost had been lost for a purpose, and that I would remember them, simply because they had been so courageous to do what no one else dared and so valorous to fly combat when no one really knew what to do.

With that thought, a small drip on the left side told me something was being added to that intravenous tube. Quickly losing consciousness, I thought I could feel a female body come in and hold my hand as it shivered.

[Ben Tusi]

:up:

Pretty good. Could you mention what race your protagonist/narrorator is from, and who he was fighting against, or is there a later plot twist or some intresting form of the plot that woul effectivly reveal this at a more appropreat time?

[blackjack]

Seems to be a description of the first battle in HW... nice job, like it so far.

[Bajoknowiem]

Nicely done, I look forward to reading more.

[Weavern]

Once again we are going to make the BW's writers presence in this place :D We now have 2 writers here. Many more may follow. What we were exiled about long ago we shall retrive by the same weapons. Good work Stryker :up:

[Stryker]

Hmm, Blackjack is getting close to the truth... Must eliminate him. :evil:

Ben Tusi, you'll find out, this story is familiar to all who have played HW:hw:. I'm just remaking it from a different perspective ;):hwpilot:. Thanks to everyone, especially ShadowCat. BTW, What's your name at HWU?

Thanks again, this is a good response, I'm just afraid that I'll fall behind on the creation part of it as comared to the posting part...

[Stryker]

And seeing how I'm not being allowed to edit, I just realized that I asked you (ShadowCat) when Bajo is right there...

[ValleyForge]

Good job, love the fact that u used some of Xellos names for the ships.

[Stryker]

Yeah, I decided that it would be kinda cool, besides, it's a small tribute to him for his kick@$$ stories.

:hwpilot:

[Stryker]

Part 2, enjoy
----


Chapter 2

When I really woke from sleep and was able to walk around a week later, I discovered some things. No one really feared a problem of any enemies penetrating into the Kharak system, and Avalon had been back twice to talk to me as the Salvage Corvettes had been combing the battlefield. While Fleet Command had wanted to go back to Kharak immediately, Fleet Intelligence said that it would be better to collect info first. I agreed. Better to be ready next time. To do that, we had been constructing the new Blade-type fighters for self-defense. Two whole squadrons would be built, named Delta and Bravo, along with India squadron being rebuilt. Sierra would become a two-fighter scouting element, Avalon and me.

My recovery was going to take three more weeks, the docs said. This was only due to the advanced healing ‘bots that had been installed just a few weeks ago. Otherwise, it would take years, and my injuries would’ve possibly crippled me for life.

When the missile had exploded, it had detonated something really big. The warhead was equipped with a tracking seeker, apparently, that watched the target and directed the explosives to blow in a certain direction when the proximity fuse went off. Therefore, if it had blown straight on at the same distance, it actually would have shot less shrapnel at me, as the missile front was far less armored and detonatable.

As it was, the missile blew its entire side into me. My fighter was completely trashed. The warhead had detonated directly above the cockpit, and even the very tough ceramics couldn’t stop all the shrapnel. When I had gone down to see it, the entire fighter had been pretty much destroyed. Apparently Lady Luck was on my side that day, for not a single piece hit anything truly vital. The plasma conduits were completely untouched somehow, even as everything else was shredded, and if they had been pierced, I would have been the jockey to a space bomb.

Even though that happened, my body had still been pierced in twenty places, and several bones broken. My left arm had been pretty much completely destroyed, while my right arm had been shot a couple times. The helmet had stopped three fragments, and I thanked Sajuuk for small favors.

Next to it, I saw a large craft. I grinned. Even as I had been blown up, I had taken them with me. A small group of technicians were swarming over it, analyzing the equipment and missiles. One stood over a missile on a stand, and looked it over. Opening the panel, I heard, “We’ve got this all figured out. If we can replace what that fighter jock blew out, we can fly it again.”

Grinning, I turned away…

And the smile disappeared.

Gazing out into the huge expanse of the docking bay, my eyes fell on the wrecks of seventeen fighters. On a closer look, they were all the recoverable junk of the hulks of Scout-class fighters.

Moving to the first pile of wreckage, I saw a small emblem of a blazing sword.

I murmured, “Jared Fiirtan.”

The second was very intact… the pilot might have been inside, had I dared look. Instead, I placed my hand on a larger painting of a half-crescent moon.

“Meegan S’Jet”

The third was a mass of shattered pieces, but I knew whose it was.

“Sareeh Paktu.”

On and on, I went through the masses of metal and glass. Tears flowed like rivers down my cheeks. I repeated their names, over and over in my head. If they had been branded before in my mind, they were now permanently scarred.

As I gazed that the last four wrecks, I decided to ignore the last three. They had been part of India squadron, and I knew the pilots very little. But the first… she had been someone truly special.

My vision blurred even more than it had been doing as I picked up a small symbol from the jumbled junk. The arrow in flight was her mark.

Even as I knew she had been in there, my mind wouldn’t accept it. Goddammit, she was indestructible! For Sajuuk’s sake, why her? She was the one we had all looked to when we didn’t know what to do. She picked me, out of all the guys in both the squadron and the maintenance groups. She made me feel so damn good, and all I had wanted before the flight was a kiss…

I remember now, all that before the death flight, all those glances and everything I misinterpreted. Part of me wishes I didn’t, as it was painful, especially with her last sign cutting into my palm in my harsh grip, as I went back.

- - -

The Glares were nothing.

No, when I sent her those looks as she was with Jared Fiirtan and she didn’t care. Even when she kissed him, she didn’t notice the daggers sent her way. It wasn’t a huge kiss, but I still didn’t like it.

. . . - - - . . .

“Why do we always do this?”

“Goddammit, I don’t know. What were you doing with him?”

“NOTHING! I told you!”

“Alright, I believe you. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“No kiss for luck?”

No, she just turned her back and got in her fighter, and I got in mine, thinking nothing really of it.

. . . - - - . . .

A small explosion flashed off to my right. I ignored it. My target, that fighter, was jinking too quickly, and I was trying to get the pattern down. Even as a small shiny chunk of metal, something smooth and polished like my fighter flew past, my conscious didn’t register it, too busy in other thoughts.

. . . - - - . . .

Even as the missile exploded, my mind looked up at it, past it, toward something I hadn’t noticed before. A small jumble of wreckage, something that, according to our instructors, shouldn’t be there! They said that fighters basically disintegrated. Why was that one still crumpled up together, then?

- - -

I was surprised when I held a firm hand on my back. I expected no one to reach me when I was here, dare to touch me when I was obviously like this, or know that I needed comforting.

Blurred by tears, I looked over and saw Avalon, standing beside my kneeling form. A small drop fell on my still-bleeding hand from her eye. Feeling again, I reached up and pulled her down to me. We just sat there, holding each other, my hand bleeding over her back as we tried to grasp that the people we had lived with and cared about for the last year were all dead, save one.

[cenpjas]

Just thought I would mention that I am around reading this. (since the place is a bit quite).

-cen

[Mr-e-Man]

As am I.

BTW, Stryker, you may want to shorten that location. The moderators don't like them long...

[Stryker]

Yeah, I'll be working on this more, but currently I'm in a state of writer's block. I have ideas, but I'm not quite sure how to incorporate them.

and Mr. E-Man, what do you mean by location? I'm not sure what you mean by that.

[Stryker]

Ah, I see now. Sorry. I'll shorten it.

(too bad these boards won't let me edit... *Glares at comp screen*)