Torian Reclamation 2: Flash Move (36 page)

As the enemy fleet reformed, Jol2 kept his eyes on the schematic screen. He was looking for nine new objects to appear at the rear of their position. It needed to happen soon. They had just reassembled. Can’t wait too long.

There they were—nine new blips.

Jol2 raised his eyes to the cockpit window and peered at the enemy in the distance. The lit-up rings of the ITF1 distortion field generators appeared behind them. They were back to back with the bulk of the enemy fleet, and close. Good boys. It was perfect. In another moment, their dags intensified again and vanished.

At that same instant, explosions erupted at the rear of the enemy position. The ITF1’s got them. This was a good hit, a synchronized close-range REEP cannon strike. Jol2 counted 15 large explosions and dozens of smaller ones before they began scrambling out of their formation. Some of them lit up their virtual dags and vanished into bent space; others fired local propulsion and streaked across the far side of Cardinal-4 in the direction of Amulen. No need to tell the High General what was happening. This was going to be a face to face fight now.

“Request two squadrons to break and fall in with me at the station,” Jol2 said. “I want to offer some support from a side angle.”

“You got it,” Olut6’s voice replied. Within a few minutes those two additional squadrons of Torian fighters were with Jol2’s.

The rest were in a large frontal formation just outside Amulen’s orbit, with their backs to Amulen.

The enemy ships approached the Torian fighter fleet fearlessly. They were greatly outnumbered, but came anyway. Then more fire rings appeared, as the ships that had dagged out rematerialized alongside them, helping with the odds somewhat—but the enemy fleet was still no more than 2/3 the size of the Torian fighter fleet. That didn’t matter so much once they broke apart into individual dogfights, which was what the enemy obviously wanted. Usually, whatever an enemy wants you don’t want—but the Torians couldn’t afford a sustained face to face standoff against a possibly suicidal foe and risk losing the majority of its fleet. It was a test of fortitude and Jol2 knew the Torians would have to break first.

The firing began. Missiles at first, then as the enemy came closer lasers joined in the fray. Ships were again exploding on both sides. Some of the enemy fighters turned and flew patterns in the rear of their position, guarding against another attack from behind. Jol2 knew the High General wouldn’t risk the ITF1’s in this type of action.

Jol2 radioed instructions to the three squadrons that were with him and quickly moved in. They came at them from the side, as planned. The rear guard of the enemy was waiting and engaged them. Still, the side-attack was disturbing to the enemy position and some fire penetrated deeper into their pack. They broke in all directions as a result. The Torian fleet did the same, and the dogfights were on.

Jol2’s copilot was a skilled gunner. He had a knack for identifying the most dangerous target and hitting them first. Having a copilot gunner was a luxury only the squadron leaders were afforded. The rest of the conventional fighters were singly-manned, so those pilots had to shoot and fly at the same time. The Earthlings were typically the best fighter pilots, but only a few were currently serving in the Torian military, being that they were mostly between generations now. Jol2 wished he had more of them.

Jol2’s ship took some laser fire, but not at close enough range—or sustained long enough—to do much damage. His ship took out one enemy fighter themselves and assisted in one other destruction before the high command radioed for all Torian fighters to regroup around Cardinal-4. In a few minutes, they were there. The enemy also regrouped, keeping their distance from the station.

Jol2 flew his ship around the back side of the station to survey the condition of the fleet. From there, he saw the ITF1 fleet. They were all in orbit over Banor. Jol2 knew why. They must be ready to try to blow the attack satellites. In order to do that, the new frequency bombardment defense system had to be turned off. It was a tricky proposition, but a necessary risk. If the drones managed to fire their weapons before the devices the spacewalkers planted fired, they would pop them out like corks. This was going to be a contest of who could shoot faster. The Torian command had the advantage of knowing the instant the protection field was turned off. Timing was everything.

Suddenly, the space around Banor erupted in huge yellow fireballs. It was spectacular. Jol2 tried to count them. Ten or eleven, at least. It worked, and it was the most beautiful site Jol2 had ever seen.

But then the long, devastating red light missiles reappeared in two places. They only got a few shots off, though, before they stopped again. Two of the attack satellites had survived. Only two. That was a high success rate. Hopefully, the last two would both be blown in the next attempt.

Happy, Jol2 swung his fighter up over the top of the fleet facing the enemy position. The dark ships were sitting out there, as if taunting, begging for another engagement. They would shortly get their wish.

But something was happening in the space above Amulen now. A fleet of fighters had deployed from somewhere. Jol2 could see them, so they weren’t the enemy. They looked white, and were of a narrow single-hull design with short wings. They approached the enemy from behind.

“Request the identity of the fighters coming from Amulen,” Jol2 radioed. “Looks like we may have gotten some help.”

“Confirmed,” the dispatcher’s excited voice replied. “We have positive ID. The fleet scrambling from Amulen is Latian. Repeat, those are Latian fighters at the far point.”

“Let’s move in with them,” Jol2 said back. “If we go now, we can catch the enemy in a pincer movement.”

“Go, Captain!” Olut6’s voice said on the radio.

Jol2 led the attack. It was a straight-out reckless run directly at the enemy. Well, perhaps not that reckless when you had an entire fleet right behind you. The timing looked right. They would come into firing range at about the same time the Latians would from behind. This should be extremely effective, and the resulting scatter would give the Torians and Latians the advantage in the resulting dogfights—as they figured to be the pursuers. Hopefully, the enemy ships would all dag out and go home when they realized an allied force was now against them.

The engagement began. Jol2’s gunner scored a hit and sent an enemy ship spinning out of control. He fired at the next closest ship above them while Jol2 checked the schematic to see what the Latians were doing on the opposite front. If the attack was coordinated, they should quickly scatter the enemy formation.

There was no fighting in the rear. Jol2 looked up. He saw the Latian fighters continue to come up alongside the dark ships on the far side now. Their white hulls were easy to see. They weren’t firing, though. They positioned themselves next to the enemy. That was odd.

Then they fired on the Torians.

“The Latians are aiding the enemy!” Jol2 screamed into the radio. “Repeat! The Latians have joined forces with the enemy! They’re engaging us!”

Watching the third round from the player’s box in the stadium seats was fun—or at least it would have been, if Jumper wasn’t so apprehensive about playing in the semi-finals. He scolded himself for being nervous. That could easily throw him off his game. He needed to get it together. But he was so close now. So very close. Only needed to win the next game to make the finals.

Being the only Earthling at the event was something of a letdown. Alan and Kayla should be here. Uncle Brandon, too—although Jumper knew Brandon probably wouldn’t sit for this. But there were no other humans in the stadium. It didn’t feel right. They weren’t that far away, either, with the Earth colony only a few hours’ drive away. Jumper wished he had sent word to some of his other friends to come out and watch him. But he knew they wouldn’t come. They weren’t like him and Alan, and rarely left their comfort zones. What a pathetic way to live.

Jumper watched the three games in progress, looking for clues in the way the remaining contestants played that might help him formulate strategies against them. But it was hard to concentrate. His mind kept wondering. He found himself gazing at the giant final game set often.

It was so cool. Oh, to have the opportunity to play on that. He had a real chance, too—just needed to not blow the next match.

He noticed now that the top of the big frame had small metal antenna-like protrusions. They looked like laser conductors. The game set itself didn’t have a defense weapon built into it, did it? That seemed like overkill. But, Belle-ub was an overkill kind of a guy.

Jumper kept catching himself staring at it and daydreaming. He had to force himself to watch the games in progress. Of the six players on the field, he didn’t know which one he preferred to play against in the next round. He supposed it didn’t matter. They all had to be good to make it this far.

One of them was the Sinlo Mountain champ. He was still in it, and playing well. Jumper was especially drawn to his game and rooting for him. But did Jumper want to play him? If the Sinlo champ was the last winner declared in the current round, he would be Jumper’s opponent in the semi-finals.

The pace of these games was slower, since there were no time incentives left. It got to be the middle of the afternoon before the first winner was declared; one of those aliens who wore the helmets with the blinking lights. That could make for an intimidating opponent, someone whose eyes you couldn’t see. He had a sizeable cheering section, but those aliens were restrained and only stood to calmly applaud—as if his victory was expected.

Shortly thereafter the second game finished, and it wasn’t the Sinlo champ’s table. His would be the last game to complete in the third round, which meant Jumper would have to play him if he won.

That’s what happened. The crowd went wild. Jumper’s opponent in the semi-finals was the local hero. Most of the spectators would be rooting for him. Add to that the fact he seemed highly skilled. None of this helped Jumper’s confidence.

After a short interval, the semi-finalists took the field. It felt like everyone present was against Jumper. But, maybe it was better that two Torians wouldn’t be in the finals, after having invited all these guests from all over the galaxy.

The four semi-finalists sat at the two special slightly-larger game frames. These were set up on low platforms, above the field level, next to the huge final game set—one on each side of it. Jumper found it invigorating to be sitting so close to it. His momentary intimidation turned back into determination. He wanted that seat. Wanted it bad. But how best to get it?

His opponent nodded to him from the other side of the frame. Jumper nodded back. There was a mutual respect between them, which was nice.

“Looks like we finally get to play that game,” he said. “I don’t see any cliff here for you to go flying off of.”

Jumper smiled and wished him luck. Jumper was the curved pieces because of the time reward. The crowd noise increased and the frames lit up. It was on.

Jumper decided to play conservatively in the beginning and see what developed. That proved to be a mistake. His opponent played along and was well versed in the more conservative game developments. He made no mistakes and soon the frame was one-third full of pieces, forming a solid defensive structure which offered no chance at morphing off into one of those gambit variations Jumper so excelled at. This would be a battle of attrition.

Despite the video screens constantly flashing red, the mostly-Torian audience cheered the Sinlo champ’s moves too loudly. Jumper was irritated by that at first, but noticed his opponent actually became more distracted by it than he did. He was becoming prone to looking up at the crowd, nodding, and waving in acknowledgment.

In other words, being on stage was going to his head. It caused lapses in his focus. Jumper might be able to use that against him.

There was a lesser-known move available that resembled a standard move in the current position. It was slightly out of place, and would present a bridging opportunity for Jumper if his opponent failed to study it properly and took the expected defensive reaction for the “normal” move instead. Jumper placed his piece there as routinely-acting as he could.

His opponent took the bait. Some of the crowd must have seen it because the cheering was a little less after the Sinlo player’s next move.

Jumper had him. He carefully played the rest of it out until that subtle bridging move built into an overpowering pattern. The Sinlo champ sat there looking like he expected to be thrown off a cliff. He probably had not lost in a long time.

“Aren’t you glad we didn’t play in the mountains?” Jumper asked.

“In the mountains, there would be no crowd to distract me. Extat. This is why we want to be left alone up there.”

Jumper had done it. He was in the final game.

*

The Latians joining the enemy took the Torians by surprise. The battle became heated, with dogfights and groups of two or three ships engaging each other all over the space between Amulen and Cardinal-4. Debris began cluttering the space as more ships on both sides were destroyed. The Latian transport ship fleet removed themselves from Amulen orbit and were last seen headed in the direction of the Torian sun.