Tales from the Service: The First Strike at Håkøya

2954-04-15 – Tales from the Service: The First Strike at Håkøya 

Still waiting on definitive news from Fifth Fleet. Reports are coming in of engagements, but it doesn’t sound like anything conclusive has happened. It seems they’re content to sit out a multi-week campaign in enemy battlespace, waiting for a ripe opportunity. 

This suggests to me the enemy force there is still fairly strong; if it were week, the campaign would have been over by now. 

When the burst of acceleration faded, Ansa Harper ’s controls unlocked and the weapons systems automatically began warming up. She brought her heading toward the pre-assigned rendezvous point, sensors searching for targets. So far, nothing had been cross-linked from Von Bismarck, but the destroyer had had only a few seconds more time to search itself. 

A quiet beep announced the arrival of a second Puma on the squadron net, as the ship launched Talon Six behind Ansa. Already her course and the ship’s were diverging, and Six had to turn through more than fifteen degrees of arc and go to maximum acceleration to form up behind her. 

“Resolution area is clear.” The cool voice of the flotilla commander announced. “Proceed with your assigned objectives.” 

Seven joined the net a moment later, but, needing to link up with his own wingman, he turned to follow Von Bismarck until Eight got clear. A Puma caught in the open by itself was at a severe disadvantage, as its single pilot would be overworked flying defensively and also trying to get its weapons into line. Doctrine stated that they joined up in twos for mutual support, and the twos joined up into sections of four rigs, which cooperated with each other in squadrons of three sections to achieve operational objectives. That way, nobody had to face the enemy alone. 

“Well, Five.” Six, who with a hard deck underneath him bore the ignominious name of Timothy Traverse, used the wingman channel, so Ansa knew she was about to hear something rather ridiculous. The man was a bit of a chatterbox on comms, “What do you think we’re in for?” 

“This is the big one, Six.” Ansa replied. She normally let Six prattle on, but didn’t encourage. Talking seemed to keep him calm, but it did grate on her nerves a fair bit. 

“You say that every op.” 

“And I’m either proven right or relieved to be wrong when we’re all back safe. Keep those sensors on scream. If I bet right this time, we’re going into the nest.” 

“You really think this is Håkøya? God, I hope not. Right into the meat grinder itself, and without the big guns.” 

Ansa sighed. There had been no sign of any of the battlewagons on the jumps into this operation, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming along. Fifth Fleet was under no need to move all as one unit, especially for such short distances. “You’ll know I’m right when you see them on the net.” 

“Sure.” 

Just then, insistent beeping announced the arrival on the sensor model of enemy contacts. These were a scattering of small chevrons at a long distance away, likely detected by the powerful sensors on the big fleet destroyers, but it still brought things into sharp focus. 

Ansa glanced at the geometry visible in the sensor plot. “Picket cutters.” She sighed. They had been expected, sure enough. Pickets weren’t a threat even to a destroyer squadron, of course, but they were certainly already transmitting force reports back to whatever lay in-system. 

“Looks like we’ve got one sitting overwatch over our rendezvous area.” Six highlighted the offending spacecraft. “If we wait for the whole squadron, it’s going to be taking potshots the whole time.” 

“Shame.” Ansa switched her targeting system over to strafing mode; Pumas carried limited stores, so the best tactic against larger thin-skinned vessels was to get in close and peck them apart with the nose gun. “We’d better go see to that.” 

After dashing off a quick update on the squadron net alerting the others of the problem and indicating that she and Six were going to try to solve it, Ansa turned her Puma onto an intercept course. The picket wasn’t trying to evade, which wasn’t too strange; Incarnation crews regularly chose to sacrifice themselves to delay an attack, or to gather as much sensor data as possible for their fellows. Sometimes it was a trap, too, but Ansa doubted that this time. This was just one cutter in a broad picket net stretched across the probable approach angles from Maribel. 

As they accelerated in close, a few flashes of desultory defensive laser fire impacted Ansa’s shear-screens. It was impossible to dodge light laser fire like that, of course, but it was also highly unlikely to do any real damage, even if it snuck through the shear-screens. Pumas had a reflective hull coating that could handle low-wattage laser strikes. 

The cutter, its main “weapon” being its sensors, had little else to answer the charging interceptors, however. They pulled off just outside its shear-screens. Ansa didn’t need to pull the trigger; the pass was so quick she’d have missed anyway. The computer pumped out three quick shots with the nose cannon as they passed, and Six’s did the same. 

“No damage.” Six, whose sensors were already pinging aft, announced. “Might take a few passes.” 

“Let’s try to wrap this up.” Ansa entered another strafing pass, this one angled to rake the little cutter bow to stern. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Spearpoint at Håkøya

2954-04-08 – Tales from the Service: The Spearpoint at Håkøya 

Ansa Harper’s palms itched as the jump timer on her console ticked down. She had nothing to do, of course; her Puma interceptor was clamped into the breech-end of Von Bismarck’s short launch tunnel, immobile until the jump completed and the hangar controller sent her hurtling out into the void. 

Technically, nobody except the skipper and the navigator were supposed to know where they were going, but Ansa had a fairly good idea. They had made two or three jumps so far, but she’d noticed that the stars visible from the destroyer’s ventral observation deck hadn’t changed much the whole time. There was only one target close enough to Maribel worth any serious attention. 

The operation was odd in several respects besides the choice of targets. Normally, the hangar on a fleet destroyer carried a flight of four Magpie gunships, with barely enough room for a few utility launches hanging as ready-spares. For this operation, Von Bismarck and its two sisters Richelieu and Rodney had sidelined their shared squadron and taken aboard Ansa’s Puma squadron, MLI-71, freshly rotated into the theater from a billet in Sixth Fleet. They weren’t trained to operate in independent four-ship sections, but given that the three ships they’d been assigned to were all jumping into action together, re-training had been limited to familiarization with the compact launch systems of a Montpelier-class fleet destroyer. 

While the first wave of any strike being filled out with light cruisers and destroyers was fairly normal, the briefing had indicated the first wave also included two light carriers, normally not front-line battle units. The mission assigned to these vessels was not disclosed.  

Though the briefing hadn’t included it, presumably Fifth Fleet’s core formation of six (seven, if they had the old Calais out of the yard in time) battleships and their panoply of support vessels were also joining this operation, if Ansa had guessed the target correctly. Their force alone was too big for this to be a mere diversionary raid. No, this was either a strike and hold on a soft target, or this was the big one for all the marbles. 

Ansa had place her bet on it being the big one with Von Bismarck’s crew bookie the prior shift, so either she was going to be right or she was going to be a fair sight poorer when she got back. There was also the possibility she wouldn’t make it back, but she preferred not to think about that option. The pilots who dwelled on it too much tended to be the ones who took it. 

“Jump sequence in thirty seconds.” The smooth, cultured voice of Von Bismarck’s computer announced. “Remain at battle stations.” 

Most likely, there would be no combat directly out of the jump, but it was possible. Fleets had run into their opposite numbers out at the edge of system jump shadows at least a handful of times in the history of space travel, however vast the area of space involved might seem. Regardless of the presence or absence of Incarnation ships in their arrival zone, though, the destroyer and its fellows were going to pump out their strike assets. It probably wouldn’t come to shooting for several hours after that. 

“Fifteen seconds.” The computer announced again. This time, a buzz on the comms channel accompanied the words, indicating that a klaxon had sounded on the ship’s intercom. 

“Launch rails are armed. Godspeed, Talon Five.” The hangar ops chief sounded nervous. 

“See you in a few, control.” Ansa didn’t blame the man for his uneasiness. He had at least as much a chance of buying the plot on this one as she did, if it was the big move everyone thought it was, and he had a lot less to do to try to prevent it. 

“Three. Two One. Initiation.” The ship’s computer intoned. 

Ansa didn’t feel anything when Von Bismarck passed through the spatial resonance fold created by its Himura drive, but then, she almost never felt anything during a star drive jump. Her Puma’s computer flicked to a different mode, and then a burst of acceleration no amount of inertial isolation could totally mitigate pressed her back into the crash padding. 

 

As some of you probably have heard, there is action this week back on the Coreward Frontier, with Fifth fleet going on the offensive in a major way. The media is calling this the Return to Håkøya, but it is probably more proper to call it the Second Battle of Håkøya. There seems to be little decisive news to report on that front, but this account came in from the first day of the fighting (which featured mainly skirmishing and maneuver).  

I am... to be honest, not entirely certain how it got through, but then, I am not certain how any of the news we get from this campaign is reaching us. Theoretically, Håkøya doesn’t have an active Hypercast relay station (which was disabled during the fighting when the system was occupied and hasn’t been online since). There’s definitely some sort of relay that’s giving us updates hours old rather than days, and personnel aboard fleet vessels seem to be able to send and recieve messages fairly quickly, but nobody has been forthcoming about how this works. Perhaps the fleet towed a temporary relay into the system, but if so, it’s not in range of comms systems on the planet’s surface. 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Distracted Siroccos

2953-04-01 – Tales from the Service: The Distracted Siroccos 

Edward Isaakson found himself leading the other two troopers over the ridge. A stand of blocky boulders a little off to the left from their intended path sheltered them from being silhouetted against the sky, but beyond these, they had little choice but to crawl on their hands and knees between the scrubby, tree-like shrubs which dominated the upper hillside. 

From a few feet away, these plants looked flexible enough to push aside, but they proved iron hard to the touch, immovable. Edward had no choice but to crawl along a sinuous path of least resistance, and soon lost any certainty that he was tacking toward the ravine they’d seen from the summit. 

Pausing for a rest and a stretch where the overhanging shrubs covered a three meter wide hollow in the hillside, the trio heard scrabbling behind them, and were soon joined by Lieutenant Ferrera, sans the bulky communications pack. He slumped down across from the other three, rolling his shoulders. “Regimental is getting in on the action. They sent a scout patrol our way, radios chattering, speakers blasting, sensors pinging.” He pointed to the other side of the valley. “But they’re not going to crest that hill.” 

“A distraction.” Nemes grinned, wiping dust off his face. “They’ll be on standby to scramble, all eyes that way.” 

“That’s right.” Ferrera nodded. “If we can get close enough, it’ll distract them enough that we can get our rockets off.” 

“They’ll have counter-missile systems.” Edward shook his head. “Point defense. Chaff. All on automatic.” 

“Most of those systems are disabled on the ground. At least on our air platforms.” Ferrera grinned. “And we’ll be so close they won’t have time to lock on.” 

“It’s still near enough to suicide as makes no difference.” Castellan shrugged. “If one of those birds gets into the air, there won’t be enough left of any of us for the burial duty to bother with.” 

“If they get airborne, find cover and stay there.” Ferrera gestured toward the dirt below them. "Our flyboys are probably itching for a piece of this action too, so those Siroccos will have time for only one or two strafes before they have to run for home.” 

This, Edward noted, was no refutation of Castellan’s concern. Still, the risk might well pay off – intact Siroccos, only superficially damaged, could possibly be turned around against The Incarnation. Edward grinned at the thought of watching enemy fortifications getting the sort of laser haircut usually reserved for the FVDA. 

Ferrera noticed Edward’s grin. “Something funny, Issakson?” 

Edward shrugged. “Not really, sir. Just wondering what it would be like to have a few Siroccos on our side for once.” 

“If we pull this off, we’re going to find out.” Ferrera gestured forward. “That ravine should be about another hundred meters on. Quiet from here on out.” 

The quartet crawled through the underbrush for what felt like three hundred meters before Ferrera disappeared suddenly into the little ravine they’d been seeking. The others followed him, finding themselves able to stand up at its bottom without showing themselves, if they didn’t mind walking in the muddy rivulet which had carved it out. 

From there on out, the approach was relatively easy. They were quiet the whole way, but as they began to hear the sound of idling aero-engines, they started to creep even more silently. Motion visible to the Siroccos’ onboard sensors was the chief concern, but loud noise could theoretically be detected as well. 

At last, they reached the place where the ravine spilled its muddy water out into a chattering brook running down a grass-overhung channel in the middle of the meadow. Their cover could get them no further, but it didn’t need to. The nearest Siroccos were lined up only a few dozen meters past the brook. 

Using hand signals, Ferrera instructed his troopers to lay down their carbines and then demonstrated the settings they should assign on their rockets: short range, heat-seeker, fragmentation, arming distance minimum. Edward clutched his five nervously; when the moment was right, all he had to do was pop up out of the streambed and hurl them one after another toward their targets. The little guided munitions should do the rest. 

He was just wondering how they would know when the distraction was being made, when Ferrera held up three fingers. They all held their breaths. He lowered one finger. Then another. 

When he dropped the third, all four leapt to their feet and began to hurl the cigar-sized munitions. 

The heroic actions of Lieutenant Ferrera and his patrol in disabling nine Siroccos on Mathelson came at a cost. All four of them were injured to some degree when three of the aircraft got airborne and strafed their position, and Private Nemes died of his wounds the following day. 

Unfortunately, the captured aircraft do not seem to have been turned around against their creators. Most likely, this is because, like Coronach interceptors, the controls of the Sirocco are integrated with Incarnation implant technology, which Confederated personnel are understandably reluctant to employ. 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Hidden Siroccos

2953-03-18 – Tales from the Service: The Hidden Siroccos 

As the quartet left their hilltop entrenchments, privates Nemes and Castellan hung back, discussing betting odds on whether the hike would amount to anything. Edward Isaakson tried not to pay them any mind, but Nemes still tried to get him in on their private betting pool. He demurred, less out of fear of drawing the Lieutenant’s ire, and more because he’d gotten this far in life without gambling, and this was no time to change that. 

Lieutenant Ferrera either didn’t notice his subordinates’ conversation, or didn’t care. He was focused on the terrain, guiding them along paths just below ridgelines and popping his head over the top occasionally to peer into the reverse valley. He seemed to have a good idea where he was going, and grew more and more agitated as they got closer to the spot. 

They had been walking for about an hour and a half when Ferrera waved the other three down, then crept forward on all fours to peer over yet another ridgeline. From the way he stiffened, Edward knew their quiet, uneventful patrol was at its end. He waved to the others to be quiet, then crawled forward to see what his superior was looking at. 

Sure enough, there were aircraft down in the next valley. He counted eight, all parked along the edges of a long meadow whose grassy turf was crushed down by the wakes and landing-skids of their arrival. He’d never seen a Sirocco from above, and the cockpit at the forward of the chevron-shaped lifting body seemed incongruously small. Obviously, there was little on top in terms of weaponry, only a small automated laser turret. Siroccos were ground-attack specialists, not fighters. The fan of lasers each could put out originated from gimbal mounts in the nose and below the wings. 

The other two FVDA troopers crept up behind Edward, and Nemes let out a low whistle. “Well that’s something you don’t see every day.” He whispered. “What’s the play, Lieutenant?” 

“Radio silence here on out.” Ferrera replied quietly. “They’ll be listening on every band for any sign they’ve been spotted. This is a desperate play, and those aircrew have got to know it.” 

“Why park them behind our lines?” Edward asked. He’d been wondering since they set out, and it seemed his superior had some idea. 

“Probably a decapitation strike.” The lieutenant waved for all three to retreat back behind the ridgetop. “Division or even corps HQ wouldn’t have any warning.” 

Edward tried to imagine the chaos that would reign on Mathelson if high-level headquarters simply stopped issuing commands and responding to comms, and shuddered. It might not spell disaster, but if the Incarnation was going to have any chance of reversing its fortunes on this world, that would be it. 

The four crept back a few dozen meters into the shelter of a copse of bent, wiry trees. Nemes and Castellan checked their carbines. Edward, who’d checked his at every brief halt all afternoon, took a swig from his canteen and nibbled a meal-bar, while Lieutenant Ferrera sat with his chin in his hands, scheming. 

“We’re going to bag those Siroccos.” Ferrera declared after a few minutes. “I think I know how. But we’ve got to do this carefully. If any of them get off the ground too early, we’re done for.” 

“Why can’t we just call in artillery?” Castellan asked. “The big guns would have that whole mess in pieces before any of them could get into the air.” 

Ferrera shook his head. “They’d start scrambling the moment we transmitted. By the time I had it explained to Regiment, they’d be gone. No, we need to hobble them before they know they’re spotted.” 

“Can we just get close enough to pick off the pilots, sir?” Edward asked, hefting his carbine. He was a decent shot, especially in single-shot mode; inside a hundred meters, he didn’t have any concerns about missing a man-sized target. 

“I didn’t see anyone walking around.” Ferrera shook his head. “They’re probably all still in their ships. And their cockpit canopies are armor-glass. Your carbine won’t punch through that even up close.” 

Edward nodded, settling back down. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. 

“No, the only way to get them before they get away is to get close enough to put a rocket into the intakes.” He pulled one of the cigar-sized infantry rocket out of a loop in his belt and held it up. “I counted twelve aircraft. We’ve got more than enough rockets.” 

Edward winced. True, he had five of the things in his pockets. Most FVDA troopers carried at least that many, except for the few who preferred heavier, much less adaptable grenades. Still, he didn’t want to get that close; Incarnation aircraft were studded with advanced sensors. “They’ll see us coming a long way off, Lieutenant.” 

“Most of their sensors point down.” Ferrera grinned. “They’re on the ground. Besides, the terrain’s on our side. There’s a streambed that goes most of the way down that’ll give us cover most of the way.” 

“This is the closest thing to suicide I’ve done all month.” Castellan grinned. “I’m with you, sir. Just promise me you’ll have your transmitter on deadman switch, so when we screw this up, Regiment knows it.” 

Ferrerra nodded. “A good point, Mr. Castellan.” He tapped a few controls on his wristcuff, then took the transmitter pack off the side of his backpack and set it down. “You three go look fora way we can get into that ravine without being spotted. I’ll be right behind you.” 

 

Though I mentioned the improvisation of our enemies, worlds like Mathelson where heavy weapons are in short supply also host some of the most innovative tactics and inhuman heroics in Confederated arms. In this instance, four FVDA troopers performed a feat of stealth and daring which would make most Marines blush – and though I am told medal awards are pending for their actions, in most cases, these heroics are unknown. 

Details
  • You are here:  
  • Home