The Stone Guardian hammered into the enemy ship, layers of hull colliding and melting away. Throughout the ship, corridors in front of the impact points were packed with bodies. The ship had been vented of all atmosphere and everyone was maglocked to the floors, walls, and ceilings. As the ships struck, charges at the front of the impact points fired to clear away any existing debris and the maglocks all released, throwing the assault teams forward.
Heat washed over him as he fell through fire and death, into the enemy ship. He struck a bulkhead and spun, feeling a moment’s disorientation as he went from vacuum into the Elven ship’s atmosphere, where gravity was once again a thing. He hit the floor turned it into a roll, blades springing from the hands of his suit to decapitate the two luckless elves that had happened to be walking down the hallway he fell into. Then he let his instincts take over, slinging his assault weapon to his shoulder as his fire team dropped in around him.
They fought their way to the bridge, killing the crew and the ship along the way. Elven ships were not made- they were grown. They were living things that the elves formed bonds with, and they fought their own battle against invaders, shooting out limbs to spear a leg, or swallowing troopers whole. But a human in a suit of drop armor was a force unto its own.
The ether coursed through him and his suit, filling his brain with the battle rage, sharpening senses, and improving his reflex. Cap crashed through the doors to the bridge, ducking the barrage of fire that cut one of his squadmates in half. Without thought he whirled around the bridge, shooting and cutting and killing.
It was over in milliseconds, and he stood in the middle of a blood spattered bridge, the rest of his squad coming through the door. That felt wrong- they had been right behind him Surely it had been longer than that.
“Plake” someone murmured into the now silent bridge as they looked at their Captain standing in the middle of the carnage.
Cap spun and thrust his hands into the nearest console, seeking to capture and subdue the ship’s mind. It met him, snarling and furious. The blood of it’s lifemate was splattered all over him. It was a brutal, but short battle. The ship struck with the ferocity of a wounded animal, flaying his mind, ripping at him. But, as great a beast as it was, it was wounded, tired- dying. He subdued it easily and within seconds was directing its guns into the sister’s and brother’s of its fleet, seeking out softspots that it knew on instinct. Shredding through engine cores and shields and armor. Other ships joined him as other fire teams took them over and mastered the ship's minds.
It was far from over, but the battle had turned: his human battleships joined the captured ship formation and his crew fed them targeting data from the elven ship’s information core, the elves had led the assault, so he had more of their ships, but he saw some dwarven and fae vessels in their ranks as well as they turned their fire power on the allied fleet.
Captain Stone’s lead Dreadnought, the Drake, was now in comms range and was sending him sensor data. It had worked. They had lost over 15000 souls doing it, but the Elven and Faye fleet had lost a lot more than that. The commander of the decoy fleet that had been sent behind the enemy line to keep them busy had taken the initiative and closed with the rest of the Allied fleet. The surviving ships were burning hard for the station.
His com chirped- it was the Drake. He ignored it and opened his assault team channel, “How we doing?”
Drop troopers were a reserved lot- stoic and not prone to show emotion. In the close confines of his helmet, his eardrums nearly burst at the cheers and jeers that came back.
“Your the craziest son of a whore that ever crawled out a cunt Cap!”
“Goddesses bloody slit that was amazing Cap! We are five by five.”
“Let’s plake up another one Cap! Golden Captain boys and girls!”
“Who needs plaking battleships boys!?”
“Hell of a plan Goldie!”
They had been dead to rights, with no chance of survival. Now, they were waiting for a pickup and watching their side mop up the pieces. The Captain of the Stone let the thrill of survival wash over him along with the aftereffects of the adrenaline. The joy thrilled through him, sending a rush along his spine.
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Captain Griffin walked onto the bridge, “I owe you a drink Captain Stone.”
He smiled sadly at her, “I wish I would be able to collect on that, Captain.” She nodded gravely. They both knew he was dead. Red brands meant disloyal thoughts. White meant disloyal actions. Nobody had ever seen gold ones before, but he was not optimistic about his chances.
The Drake hailed again, this time a double chirp for urgent. He sighed and told his HUD to put it on the viewer. Captain Drake was an old weathered sailor with a permanent scowl, although Stone thought the corners of his mouth were a little higher than normal. “Captain Stone, we are nearing your location and ready to receive your strike team. I have a long range cargo hauler standing by.”
Stone nodded, “Very good Captain, we would be obliged for the pick up. Why is the hauler standing by?”
Drake cocked his head, puzzled, “Fleet command was already informed of our victory sir, and is currently enroute. I thought it best if you were... elsewhere when they arrive.”
Stone nodded very carefully not saying what could not be said, “Thank you very much Captain Drake, but I am still in command of the fleet. I may not relinquish said command until I am dead or until the Lord Eringar relieves me. I would appreciate it if I had the use of some quarters on the Drake to prepare to relinquish command back to my lord.”
Drake’s eyes widened in surprise and his brand glowed a very light red, “Please sir, get on the ship. We are all alive because of you. To allow you to die now would…”
Stone shook his head, “This is my choice, Captain. We fight, we kill and we die,” he recited softly, “We can’t choose who we fight, we usually can’t choose who we kill, but now I can choose how I die. Don’t take that away from me Captain.”
Drake nodded, “Pickup in five, sir” and cut the comm.
Stone realized the laughter and celebration had stopped and the troopers and crew of the Stone were looking at him solemnly. His assault team channel had been open. They stood there in silence for a while, until Communications held his fist up to fist heart. The solute of a Dragon to a Dragon. A gesture forbidden to human hands. One by one all around him, fists went to hearts. He grinned returned the gesture, and then the Drake was there, docking with the captured vessel
Griffin stepped up next to him, “I am sorry sir. About Second, I mean.”
He nodded and the memory that he had been keeping at bay hit him- the memory of seeing her transponder winking out on his hud. She had been leading the assault on engineering, and it had been hard going.
"Wish she had lived to see this" Grif said
He nodded again, looking at the hundred or so burning enemy ships, "It is a pretty sight"
She chuckled and their suits were close enough that he could see her head shake, "You haven't figured it out yet, have you?"
Cap frowned, "Have you decided to start speaking in riddles in your old age?"
She sighed, "Sir, the Drake is a Dreadnought." She said, as if that explained everything.
He was too tired for this shit. He opened his mouth to tell her to speak clearly. And then closed it again. The Drake was a Dreadnought. He had just given orders to a Dreadnought captain, and they had been followed. He had been giving orders to Dreadnought Captains, destroyer Captains, all of them. Without a second thought.
Dreadnoughts were the highest ranking ships, and thus the Captains of those ships outranked all others. Because of the Brands, it was impossible for anyone of a lower rank to issue orders to a higher rank: there was no warning or pain. They just died.
Griffin held up her closed hand, "What is regulation 345?"
He answered automatically, "Do not split your forces when outnumbered"
She put up a finger, "What is regulation 4627?"
Again he answered automatically, even with his brain trying to wrap itself around the previous answer, "Drop troopers are forces dedicated to planetary and stationary body assault. Use as anything else other than ship security is prohibited"
"And just to make sure you are paying attention: what is regulation 121?"
"Naval officers and staff shall not, under any circumstances, participate in ship to ship boarding actions" he felt like a starship had exploded next to him all over again.
Three Fleet regulations that he should not have been able to ignore. But he had. The inside of his helmet glowed a soft gold as his mind whirled. No one should have been able to follow those orders. But they had. He thought about that, thought about the glowing Brands of his staff as he had laid out his battle plan. He thought about the entire fleet of ships that he had seamlessly and effortlessly taken control of, without any argument.
"Captain, what did you think of my plan?"
Griff grunted, "I thought is was a desperate, stupid, and horribly misguided plan." And her Brand flared red. Her eyes tightening was the only indication of the crippling pain she must be feeling. The pain of insulting a superior life form. A dragon.
"Well. Plake" the Brands didn't give a Goddesses tear about things humans said to other humans if they weren't giving out or accepting orders. There was only one race of beings for which the Brands activated if the lack of due respect was detected.
Griff nodded, "They are going to take you apart and put you back together a thousand times to figure out what you are."
He sighed “We serve, Captain. Always.” But from now on, as the Goddess as his witness, he would choose how he served. The architect of the Ambush at Kal Amore Station stepped onto the The Drake and went to a quiet room to await his fate.
