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The Achilles' Last Stand

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"The Achilles' Last Stand," a tale of desperation by BrokenHero0409

As the Achilles limped home from the site of the last battle of the last war its masters would ever start, a junior officer on the night shift brought up the idea of taking the Achilles and retreating into deep space. Maybe build a colony, so at least some of the Empire's grand and ancient culture would be preserved. News of this talk reached the captain the next morning, as the Achilles entered orbit over C-Sig, the Indomitable Fleet's emergency rally planet. The captain, a worn man of fifty, assigned understaffed work crews with insufficient parts the futile, nearly impossible job of bringing the Achilles back into fighting shape. Meanwhile, the captain called his senior staff into his office, to discuss the option of leaving the war.

He directed them to seats at the perimeter of the room. They perched on tables that once held mementos of the captain's career; all had been sacrificed to the matter reclamation system, to create parts, ammunition and food for the crew. The room was starker than it should have been. When they spoke, even in the hushed tones of the battle-shy, their voices echoed.

"I'm sure you've all heard the crew talking by now," the captain said, watching the spectacular view of the planet turning below. He stood next to the small porthole; being captain had its perks. "If not, then I'll tell you myself. There seems to be a schism forming between those who want to stay and fight and those who feel that discretion is the better part of valor."

The ship's pilot sneered. He was missing two of his front teeth, and half his face was a mass of barely healed burn scars earned at the battle before last; his panel had blown up in his face. "Those cowards," he muttered.

The first officer's leg was broken, and this was all that saved the pilot from a brisk slap to the face. "Watch your tongue, Lieutenant," he said, glancing at the captain nervously.

"It's all right, John," the captain said wearily. He ran a greasy hand through his thinning hair. Before the war, it'd been thick and strong. "I appreciate your position, Lieutenant, and I wish it were as simple as letting the people who want to leave do so, but we need everyone we have just to keep the Achilles flying."

"So we have to choose, one way or the other," the fresh-faced weapons officer said. She showed no outward battle scars, but her cabinmates claimed she hadn't been sleeping well. She looked to the communications officer, a nervous city-dweller from the megloplanet of Movas. "What have you heard from the rest of the fleet?" she asked hopefully.

Comm shook his head. "What 'rest of the fleet'?" he asked, bitterly. "If you haven't noticed," he gestured at the porthole. "We're the only ship of the Indomitable Fleet to make it back so far. Right before the battle, I got word of the Shining Silver Flotilla engaging an enemy fleet over Tarsus, but I haven't heard anything come out of that sector since."

"The Fourth and Ninth Automated went silent over a week ago. There's nobody left! We've lost –" he suddenly remembered the captain, who'd turned from the porthole and was regarding him coolly. "I mean, it's too soon to tell. About the Indomitable, at least."

The chief engineer was down in the maintenance sections, coordinating the exhausted repair crews and listening in over the intercom.  Now he spoke up. "Sir, I hate to say it, but I don't think there's a chance in hell that the Achilles can survive another battle like that last one. We're low on everything we need, and right now most of our combat power is being channeled through life support and the Jump Drive." The officers heard a rustling sound; the chief was shuffling reports. "I've got estimates here that suggest we'd need a month of repair time just to get our survivability over 50%."

The weapons officer sighed. "Then it'd be suicide to go back to the front. In a month, the enemy will have secured the battle lines too well." She looked around at the stony faces of the other officers. She couldn't look the pilot in the eyes. "I say we retreat," she murmured. "I don't want to die."

At this, the medical officer exploded. "You don't want to die!?!" she yelled. "What about the thousands of other crews that have given their lives for the Empire? Do their sacrifices mean that little to you? That you would just flee?" The doctor was nearly at the age when officers with as much experience as she had were sent to administrative postings. Or they had been, before the Central Authority on Terra Prime fell. The enemy bombarded the planet with trans-uranium warheads for hours. The doctor's husband and son had both worked at the grand ancient military academy in the Imperial City, the first city to taste the nuclear fire. The captain knew the loss had sharpened the doctor's resolve, but at the expense of her reason.

"That's enough, doctor," the captain said, turning his powerful gaze on her, and then shifting his eyes back onto the tableau outside. His shoulders were slumped. "We need to have a rational discussion about our options."

"Excuse me, sir," the chief called over the comm. "But have you considered any kind of guerilla action? Once we get the ship back into readiness, that is?"

"You tell me, Chief. Can the Achilles handle those sorts of hit-and-run operations?" the captain asked, tiredly. "We're not the fastest ship in the fleet…"

"No sir, that'd be the Jefferson," the chief said.

"…Nor are we the strongest or the most heavily armed."

"The Ghengis, sir. Or maybe the Reagan."

"Exactly," the captain said. "The Achilles is at his best when he's got the fleet behind him. When he's supporting the dreadnoughts."

"Fleet's toast," muttered Comm, glancing at Weapons.

"I don't think we'd even have or be able to scrounge the supplies we'd need," Weapons said. "But that goes either way—guerilla or retreat."

"Who cares," the pilot said. "The Fleets are burning in space, the Empire's dead. We might as well take as many of them down as we can before they get us. I mean, if it's inevitable, then why fight it. Blaze of glory, like the real Achilles."

The first officer looked around. "So we've got two votes for fight and two for retreat. Chief? What about you?"

There was silence over the comm. for a moment, then the chief hesitatingly responded. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'll make sure the ship does what you need him to, captain, whichever you choose."

The first officer turned to the captain, who hadn't moved. His eyes were pressed tightly closed. "Captain, you know I'll support you in whichever decision you make…"

"We may not have time," the captain turned away from the window at last. Behind him, in the distance, the command crew could see space boiling with the opening of dozens, maybe hundreds of jump gates.

"All senior officers report to Command," the junior officer on duty called over the comm. His voice was raw with panic. Nobody in the captain's office moved. They were transfixed by the legions of fresh vessels crewed by their implacable enemies appearing before them, in the last safe place.

"Navigation," the captain called up. "Open a gate towards the Bloodied Eye. We'll try to lose them among the cascades." He turned to the weapons officer, who was pale and shaking. "Arm the last of the radial impact mines and charge up whatever shields we can muster." He looked at his staff and nodded their dismissal.

The first officer stayed behind. "Captain, what have you decided?"

Before the captain could answer, the pilot, back at his station, called back down. "Captain, we've got Jump Gates opening all around us," he said grimly. "I'll do my best…" Outside, an Enemy Battlecruiser beamed targeting lasers at the Achilles. Moments later, the ship rocked under the opening salvos.

The Achilles' taped-together reactor surged. They could feel it, even though it was meters below them. The Battlecruiser turned away, back toward the planet, but a smaller Destroyer powered up to follow them. Above, the Achilles' last few weapon emplacements opened fire, splashing bolts of electricity across its powerful shields.

The captain of the last active ship of the Indomitable Fleet of the Shining Empire of Humankind turned and stared back through the porthole. The Enemy was training their celestial ionizers at C-Sig, unleashing crimson hell upon the lavender world. The captain could imagine the domed cities below evaporating, followed by the inhabitants of the last free Imperial planet. "We fight our way out and run, John," the captain said. "It's all we can do. There's nothing else."
Here's a sci-fi story I wrote a year or so ago. It's part of my "Mixtape" Project, where each song is based somehow on a song or song title. This story is obviously based on "Achilles' Last Stand" by Led Zeppelin.
© 2011 - 2024 brokenhero0409
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