2954-04-29 – Tales from the Service: The Strike at Håkøya 

There can be no doubt at this stage that the result of the Second Battle of Håkøya has had a favorable outcome. Moderate fighting in that system continues as of the time of this posting, but reports from Fifth Fleet indicate that the main body of enemy forces was confronted and routed in the orbital space above the planet on the twenty-fourth and the twenty-fifth.  

Though few enemy heavy vessels appear to have actually been destroyed, battle damage forced enough of them to withdraw that the remainder was placed at too great a disadvantage to continue the defense of the system.  

This is probably not news to most of you, being as it is some days old as of this posting. The imminent recovery of Håkøya is excellent news, of course, but many war observers are expressing concern at the rather inconclusive nature of the battle, and the apparently large number of enemy fleet assets which were able to withdraw to fight another day. 

A warning chime sounded in Ansa Harper’s ears, pulling her out of her light catnap. Sleeping any way in a Puma cockpit took a small frame little bit of skill, but Ansa, having both, and trusting her autopilot, always tried to catch a few minutes on long time-on-target approaches. The computer or the comm would wake her if there was anything to pay attention to, but there never was. 

Naps in the approach and return to base autopilot runs weren’t uncommon; they weren’t even against regulations as long as one was prepared for rude awakening at any moment. Lead could always pump his volume in any pilot’s ears if he wasn’t getting the answers he needed, but the Puma’s sensors and helm were operating as an extension of Commander Ghadavi’s rig for those parts of a mission anyway. Ansa, and the rest of the squadron, were effectively passengers, until contact with the enemy anyway. 

Now, of course, the target was coming up, and it was time to get her bearings once more. The squadron formation hadn’t changed in the last hour, and the comms channels were silent, even the direct line to Six; most likely, he’d been reading something, since he regularly complained about the cramped cockpit not letting him stretch his legs out. 

Ahead, the gas giant occupied a third of Ansa’s view, and the target moon was already visible. The squadron had begun its deceleration from cruise, so it could do more than slash past the body at incredible speed.  

As their briefing before launch had suggested, the place ahead was a hornet’s nest of frenzied activity, most of it seeming focused on escape. Small craft were darting away in all directions in ones and twos, and a pair of lumbering haulers were struggling to break orbit, their predicted courses suggesting flight toward the inner system. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of organized defense, but that didn’t mean much. Incarnation forces caught at a disadvantage had a nasty habit of pretending to be weaker than they actually were, hoping to goad their Confederated opponents into making a costly mistake. 

“Would you look at that target rich environment.” Six muttered. “We’ll be out here all day cleaning all that up.” 

“Probably.” Ansa ran a quick systems check; everything was operating at peak efficiency. She could still see the light scorch-mark left on her wing by a laser strike from the picket if she craned her head to the left, but that seemed only cosmetic. “We’ll do this by the book. Nothing fancy, Six. We’ll both have plenty to claim when we’re done.” 

“I know, I know.” 

“All units, be advised. Command has placed priority on those haulers.” Lead’s gravelly voice broke in. “Three and I will take the first one. Five and Seven, target the second. All weapons free. Target their engines. Nine, Eleven, try to cut off that lead group of shuttles heading in-system.” 

“Juicy.” Six remarked dryly. “Been a while since we’ve gotten to fire ship-killers.” 

“Let’s make them count.” Ansa sighed; each Puma only had room for a single ship-killer torpedo in its weapons bay, as well as a much smaller smart-seeker for use against other strike craft. The bulky ship-killers were devastating, but unwieldly; it was very easy to waste them, if one was not careful. 

A chirp announced that Lead had released Ansa’s helm control back to her, and she quickly punched in an intercept course for the second hauler, helpfully identified for her as a blinking red crosshair on the holo-plot, matched by another such symbol on her HUD, though the vessel was still too far away to see. The ship was a blocky, ungainly thing, in the usual style of Incarnation logistics assets. According to the intelligence briefings on the type, they’d stolen the design, and even the shipyards, from the Kyaroh on the far side of Incarnation space, and devoted all their own shipyards to warship production. They were, simply speaking, lumbering, fragile vessels, but they required only small crews and were cheap to operate. 

“This should only take one good hit.” Ansa glanced at the tactical plot, guessing what other units might be in position to protect the hauler by the time they reached it. “Keep your helm slaved and focus on getting a clean lock-on. I’ll do the fancy flying.” 

“Aye.” This was a fairly routine procedure, when it wasn’t likely to come to a close-in fight with the Pumas’ prow cannons on the way to the target. Ansa would have liked to deal the blow herself, but it was Six’s turn to get the first shot in, and in any case, she’d get an assist on anything he bagged. As an added bonus, focusing on the temperamental ship-killer's lock on system would keep Six quiet, and permit Ansa to devote her attention to watching for potential surprises. There always seemed to be surprises. 

A moment after the squadron broke formation to pursue its various targets, the first surprise arrived. “Be advised.” Lead announced. “The computer just positively identified at least one Coronach escorting the lead shuttles. Expect them to hide around soft targets and jump you as you make your attack runs.” 

“You worry about the weapon launch, Six. Let me worry about the opfor.” Ansa switched her sensors to directional-identify mode, sending waves of radar pulses ahead. So far, the computer identified the handful of small craft around her target as repair tenders. This was not entirely comforting; the Incarnation’s rare, heavily armed Jericho strike bomber was about the same size as such vessels, and she didn’t want to fly into a surprise fan of phase-beams. Coronachs too, being tiny, could easily be hiding behind the hauler, waiting to strike. 

“We’ll come in from behind.” Ansa altered their course to sweep around to the aft quarter of the hauler. “Expect some fancy dodging as we get close. You’re free to launch when you’ve got a good lock.” 

“Aye, Five.” Six replied nervously. Going in slaved might be routine, but Ansa needn’t imagine the apprehension he felt; his life was in her hands now. For all the advantages of sharing the workload, that wasn’t something Puma pilots were ever comfortable with. “Warming up my torpedo now.”