GateWar Interludes

“Maintain formation! Do not allow yourselves to become separated! United we stand!”

It was a minor annoyance to have to shout to be heard over the pickup, but a near hit to his bridge had damaged that. He would put up with it, not that he had much choice. He couldn't after all transfer to another ship in the midst of a battle.

“My Lord, formation is holding, but the left flank is weakening, the Drakh may be able to force their way through soon enough”

Maktenos nodded, his eyes flicking quickly to the relevant tactical display. The Jaffa was right, good for him.

“Pull forward a Cheops, three Ha'tens and six Ha'taks from the rear to reinforce”

That should be enough, it would have to be enough, the reserve of vessels he had placed to the rear to reinforce any faltering sections of the battleline was already severely depleted. With these latest vessels being moved to the front, the reserve now consisted of five of his own pride, the Ha'ten class and sixteen Ha'taks.

The ship rocked, and Maktenos stifled a grimace, glad that the extra belt he had ordered added to his command chair had kept him rooted to his seat but more then a little annoyed at the necessity. No-one had yet figured out an inertial dampner which could keep up 100% with the effects of combat however.

The ship rocked again, but this time he caught the source out the corner of his eye.

“Concentrate fire, all Command group ships to concentrate on target Hostile-81”

He watched with grim satisfaction as the target vanished, abruptly boiling into oblivion under the weight of fire from the one-hundred and twelve surviving ships of his command squadron.

That would teach them not to fire upon him.

But still… this was a battle of attrition and he hated those. He couldn't afford those, too many trained and skilled warriors were lost each and every single time, the ships were secondary, far easier to replace but trained warriors… Whether she liked it or not, Pierce had taught him that at least.

He glanced over each tactical display, and then nodded slightly.

“Pull the last of the reserve forward to join the Command Group. Pull the rear guard forward and the flanks in… I was us in tight formation, move weakened ships to the centre, we're going to stage a breakthrough”

Of course, however much he didn't want to lose trained warriors, be they Jaffa or Human Trustees, he had to weigh that against the needs of the battle, of the war. One thing the System Lords had never figured out, thankfully, the uses of a cost/benefit analysis.

In this case, best to finish of the battle, fast.

“Inform all ships I want concentrated and coordinated fire, intention is to smash the centre of the enemy formation then move onto the flanks”

Of course, neither had they figured out that if you tell a warrior what you want done, it usually increases their drive to complete the mission, and their efficiency, and in a battle like this, every edge counts”

“Ships in position sir, formation is tight but the Drakh are beginning to capitalise on the easier firing solutions offered”

Maktenos nodded, that was expected. After all, it was far easier to fire at a tight formation then a loose one, if you missed your main target you stood a much greater chance of hitting somebody else instead.

“All ships… ahead flank! And maintain your formations!”

Of course, this was the part he hated the most. He could set up a battle as best he could, push the odds in his favour. He could dictate strategy and purpose… but in the end, it always came down to individual Captains, individual ships and how they reacted to what was happening around them.

In a real furball like this, there was nothing a Commander could do except sit back, watch the fireworks and chew his nails to the quick…

If they remembered their training, their orders then they would have a much greater chance of survival…

If…

Maktenos watched, mouth chewing the nails of his host as the icons represented ships on his tactical display met and blurred into one another. In seconds, the bulk of the tactical displays vanished. Too many close contacts, too much fast manoeuvring to really tell who was who.

All he was left with was a solid blue ball of his forces, surrounded by the glowing red of hostiles, the Drakh. He ignored the rocking, shuddering of the ship around him, it was insignificant, if there was truly a danger the crew knew well enough to warn him, he had to maintain sight of the displays.

“We've lost momentum… damnit” he cursed, then tapped the transmitter back on, “concentrate fire forward”

He waited a beat, just to see some indication on the displays that his order was being displayed, then barked, across the bridge this time, “Ahead slow, press us against the Drakh centre, hard!”

He turned his gaze back to the displays, unconsciously chewing the nails once more. Then he noticed it, a slight shift of his blue forces against the marks of space, a compression of the line of Red vessels.

They were moving again, not being held stationary by the press of Drakh Vessels around them. Good.

He smiled wider, the line of blue vessels in front of the fleet was dimming, losing its intensity… then, the displays reset and for that small segment of the battle alone, individual ships started to appear.

“Press forward!” he bellowed, anxious to make himself heard. If they could break through…

Then, almost in an instant they were through, and Maktenos almost smiled as he realized that he might just win this.

“Turn formation! I was us on the left flank before they start to consolidate!”

His gaze resting firmly on the displays, he forced his hands firmly into his lap; disgusted somewhat by the iron taste of blood within his mouth from the depredations he had caused his hands. His blue turned, on masse, charging towards the thinner of the two red threads on the display.

Maktenos hid a gleeful grin… massacre. His forces were showing their better training, their faster responses clearly. His fleet had tightened up, turned and was charging on the Drakh who were only know starting to turn towards his forces.

They weren't fast enough.

The flank forces hadn't reformatted fast enough and had been… well, flanked he thought joyfully. The solid centre of his fleet was bearing down on the thin edges of the Drakh, they would be able to just rollover most over the Drakh ships, they might even kill the whole flanking force…

He watched, grinning, almost bouncing in his seat, as the display showed the results, his solid blue core hit the thin red line… and the red line just vanished.

A part of him felt sorry for the Drakh who were being massacred just because they were stupid enough to follow the dark ascendant, but he ignored it. It was him and his people or them, and personally, he chose them each and every time.

He frowned, sitting forward, more seriously contemplating the displays in front of him… the larger of the two Drakh flanking forces was heading, his own battlegroup was in danger of being flanked… yes he had weight of numbers now but it wouldn't be pretty.

“Signal the rearguard and right flank fleets to finish them off, command group and left flank fleet will deal with the oncoming”

Maktenos grimaced, his fleet was turning… had in fact turned fast enough to meet the oncoming Drakh, but the formation seemed to have lost a lot of its cohesiveness, already he could see the emblems of a few individual ships on his flanks. That wasn't good.

He tapped the transmitter, shouting into it to be heard once more, “all ships, tighten formation!”

He hoped they just needed to be reminded… but he knew that many of his Human servants would be starting to get tired now, this battle had lasted… Damn, three hours now in total.

He wanted this over.

The thin blue line met a more concentrated red line on his displays and Maktenos once again forced his hands into his lap as he tasted blood in his mouth.

Once again, it was attrition. This time however, the Drakh had the tighter fire, the more concentrated fire and Maktenos started to be really worried that he might actually lose this.

Then, with startling suddenness a wave of blue poured across the screen, slamming into the thin red line of Drakh and with a smile, he recognised the insignia for the rearguard and right flank fleets buried in the mass of vessels.

Mission complete, one massive wave of Drakh reinforcements wiped out. He would love to be the fly on the wall when Anubis was informed about this.

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