LostMetal
Mean of production
(So the two other submissions are space battles. Let's be original and do- nevermind it's also a space battle...! Anyway, enjoy!)
Cardinal let out a last breath as himself before giving in to the MMI. A sudden flash happened, colors moved fast, noises filled his ears for a second, then nothing. He was in.
His sight got less and less blurry, shapes and colors moved slowly, precise, minimalistic vector graphics, accompanied by doses of information a normal human mind couldn't take on flashed before him. Cardinal wasn't him anymore. He was still alive, and still there, sat and strapped in the tight cockpit of his machine; but at the same time, he was the machine. And he loved it. Quickly, he felt the presence of his wingmen join him.
"Quinlan here, checklist done, I'm plugged."
"Crossbow, plugged and ready."
"Shell, plugged as well."
"This is Cardinal, I'm in."
The soft voice of the flight operator resonated in the squadron's hivemind like, collective consciousness, "Longbow Squadron, you are free to take off. Good luck." The instant she finished her sentence, a simple thought and a move of Cardinal's left thumb on the joystick triggered the cruiser's catapult to release the pressure and send his fighter out of the launch bay. The pilot felt his body struggle under the sudden acceleration from 0 to 120 meters per second for a little moment, but did feel bothered a bit, his mind being closer to the Mark-IV Hammerhead Attack Craft than to his flesh.
Crossbow took off from bay 8-D a second later, then Shell followed, and finally Quinlan who took off behind Cardinal from 8-E.
The wing took a V-shaped formation quickly. There were no orders, no words between the pilots. They knew what to do, and most importantly, they knew what their wingmen thought.
Longbow squadron turned and right flew above the carried in a perfectly calculated trajectory, grazing the ships hull at only a couple of meters of distance. It was not for show, it was not for fun, it was just the part of the perfect attack path the combined mind of the pilots and their ship's computer came up with.
Around them, a seemingly endless battlefield was filling the void of space, their lasers and missiles mixing their lights through the clouds of debris, filling the blackness of space with red, orange, and yellow tints, giving to the whole sector a certain hellish look. But in this fiery mess of a battle, Longbow squadron knew exactly where to go. Their minds were calculating quick corrections to their trajectory on the fly new wrecks constantly adding themselves on their path.
A minute later, their target got in sensor range, a Sharaf Class Torpedo Frigate, recognizable by its signature pointy shape. Boosting toward its periapsis and slowing down. This was a common manoeuver to shake pursuers: by slowing down to the minimum speed for a stable orbit, the ship could either force bigger spacecraft to overshoot it or have fighters go way too fast for a normal attack run and make their task way harder. Cardinal didn't care. the Longbow squadron armed its weapons and boosted toward their prey at full throttle.
Technically, in space, weapons had a virtually infinite range. But it was always better to get as close as possible for maximum efficiency. the slightest grain of dust can reduce the power of a laser, and the further from its target a missile is fired, the easier it is for their target to intercept it.
20 Kilometers.
Because of the Frigate's manoeuver, they couldn't allow themselves to slow down. Not only would this make them an easier target, but they would get too slow to maintain a stable orbit, and would have to burn through way too much fuel to get back to their carrier. There was only one way to hit them, and they knew it. This was going to be tight... the usual.
12 Kilometers.
Cardinal initiated the last correction to his attack path, as each pilot had a precise point to strike. The ships of Longbow squadron slightly split each orienting themselves toward their targets. Cardinal waited a second before pressing his index finger on the throttle up button. He could almost feel the wind running on his skin from the speed, but this was just an illusion, his brain trying to make sense of what his eyes, as the ship's array of sensors, were seeing. Cardinal shrugged off this distraction and committed his whole self to his target.
6 Kilometers.
The Sharaf frigate fired a volley of interception missile. A quick sweep of the Hammerhead Attack Craft's active identified the projectiles in a second -an eternity to Cardinal- and shared the data with the rest of the squadron. 4 Sayf Type Interception Missiles, meant to take down the incoming attackers, as well as 12 Dire Type Rockets, meant to intercept incoming menaces by exploding in a flurry of small projectiles all around them, harmless to most ships but deadly to missiles. If Longbow squadron ever wanted to scratch their enemy, they would have to go through those rockets before. Cardinal initiated small evasion manoeuvers, his RCS changing the ship's course by a couple of centimeters, as he could not allow himself to move too much without missing his target. Hopefully this small move would be enough.
2 Kilometers
The Sayf Type Missiles came into interception range. Cardinal activated the Hammerhead's Laser Anti-Missile System. In an instant, the ship targeted the closest missile and unloaded 200 kW worth of energy, just enough to take it down, in laser, with pinpoint accuracy on its target. The first one was down. A sudden spike of data suddenly flooded Cardinal's mind. A couple of milliseconds allowed him to pinpoint the cause, Quinlan had been hit, his spacecraft blowing up instantly, his pilot releasing in his sudden death a mess of random information and feelings in the collective consciousness of the squadron.
1 Kilometer
Cardinal took a second to get back to his senses and focus again on his flight, a second too much. the moment he got back into the machine, his sight was met with the nose of one of the Anti-missile rockets. The projectiles they unleash are harmless to ships... Not the rocket themselves. The rocket went through Cardinal's ship, tearing up it's left side like paper. The pilot winced in pain, as he suddenly felt slightly numb, his life support administrating a dose of painkillers straight in his blood, his body probably harmed. But he still lived, that's what mattered.
100 Meters
Hopefully, his trajectory had only been slightly altered from the impact. Cardinal grazed the frigate and finally fired his missile, boosting again to escape from it and rejoin with the rest of his squadron as his projectile were left to the do the jobs.
"We got him..." Cardinal reported back to the fleet as he looked back toward the frigate. His missiles hitting just below the bridge had caused a catastrophic chain reaction, a trail of flameless deflagration opening the ship's hull, exposing its insides, getting dislocated from the sudden decompression. Finally, the ship's thruster let out a wave of burning fuel before blowing up too, "...Target down."
His sight got less and less blurry, shapes and colors moved slowly, precise, minimalistic vector graphics, accompanied by doses of information a normal human mind couldn't take on flashed before him. Cardinal wasn't him anymore. He was still alive, and still there, sat and strapped in the tight cockpit of his machine; but at the same time, he was the machine. And he loved it. Quickly, he felt the presence of his wingmen join him.
"Quinlan here, checklist done, I'm plugged."
"Crossbow, plugged and ready."
"Shell, plugged as well."
"This is Cardinal, I'm in."
The soft voice of the flight operator resonated in the squadron's hivemind like, collective consciousness, "Longbow Squadron, you are free to take off. Good luck." The instant she finished her sentence, a simple thought and a move of Cardinal's left thumb on the joystick triggered the cruiser's catapult to release the pressure and send his fighter out of the launch bay. The pilot felt his body struggle under the sudden acceleration from 0 to 120 meters per second for a little moment, but did feel bothered a bit, his mind being closer to the Mark-IV Hammerhead Attack Craft than to his flesh.
Crossbow took off from bay 8-D a second later, then Shell followed, and finally Quinlan who took off behind Cardinal from 8-E.
The wing took a V-shaped formation quickly. There were no orders, no words between the pilots. They knew what to do, and most importantly, they knew what their wingmen thought.
Around them, a seemingly endless battlefield was filling the void of space, their lasers and missiles mixing their lights through the clouds of debris, filling the blackness of space with red, orange, and yellow tints, giving to the whole sector a certain hellish look. But in this fiery mess of a battle, Longbow squadron knew exactly where to go. Their minds were calculating quick corrections to their trajectory on the fly new wrecks constantly adding themselves on their path.
A minute later, their target got in sensor range, a Sharaf Class Torpedo Frigate, recognizable by its signature pointy shape. Boosting toward its periapsis and slowing down. This was a common manoeuver to shake pursuers: by slowing down to the minimum speed for a stable orbit, the ship could either force bigger spacecraft to overshoot it or have fighters go way too fast for a normal attack run and make their task way harder. Cardinal didn't care. the Longbow squadron armed its weapons and boosted toward their prey at full throttle.
Technically, in space, weapons had a virtually infinite range. But it was always better to get as close as possible for maximum efficiency. the slightest grain of dust can reduce the power of a laser, and the further from its target a missile is fired, the easier it is for their target to intercept it.
Because of the Frigate's manoeuver, they couldn't allow themselves to slow down. Not only would this make them an easier target, but they would get too slow to maintain a stable orbit, and would have to burn through way too much fuel to get back to their carrier. There was only one way to hit them, and they knew it. This was going to be tight... the usual.
12 Kilometers.
Cardinal initiated the last correction to his attack path, as each pilot had a precise point to strike. The ships of Longbow squadron slightly split each orienting themselves toward their targets. Cardinal waited a second before pressing his index finger on the throttle up button. He could almost feel the wind running on his skin from the speed, but this was just an illusion, his brain trying to make sense of what his eyes, as the ship's array of sensors, were seeing. Cardinal shrugged off this distraction and committed his whole self to his target.
6 Kilometers.
The Sharaf frigate fired a volley of interception missile. A quick sweep of the Hammerhead Attack Craft's active identified the projectiles in a second -an eternity to Cardinal- and shared the data with the rest of the squadron. 4 Sayf Type Interception Missiles, meant to take down the incoming attackers, as well as 12 Dire Type Rockets, meant to intercept incoming menaces by exploding in a flurry of small projectiles all around them, harmless to most ships but deadly to missiles. If Longbow squadron ever wanted to scratch their enemy, they would have to go through those rockets before. Cardinal initiated small evasion manoeuvers, his RCS changing the ship's course by a couple of centimeters, as he could not allow himself to move too much without missing his target. Hopefully this small move would be enough.
2 Kilometers
The Sayf Type Missiles came into interception range. Cardinal activated the Hammerhead's Laser Anti-Missile System. In an instant, the ship targeted the closest missile and unloaded 200 kW worth of energy, just enough to take it down, in laser, with pinpoint accuracy on its target. The first one was down. A sudden spike of data suddenly flooded Cardinal's mind. A couple of milliseconds allowed him to pinpoint the cause, Quinlan had been hit, his spacecraft blowing up instantly, his pilot releasing in his sudden death a mess of random information and feelings in the collective consciousness of the squadron.
1 Kilometer
Cardinal took a second to get back to his senses and focus again on his flight, a second too much. the moment he got back into the machine, his sight was met with the nose of one of the Anti-missile rockets. The projectiles they unleash are harmless to ships... Not the rocket themselves. The rocket went through Cardinal's ship, tearing up it's left side like paper. The pilot winced in pain, as he suddenly felt slightly numb, his life support administrating a dose of painkillers straight in his blood, his body probably harmed. But he still lived, that's what mattered.
100 Meters
Hopefully, his trajectory had only been slightly altered from the impact. Cardinal grazed the frigate and finally fired his missile, boosting again to escape from it and rejoin with the rest of his squadron as his projectile were left to the do the jobs.
"We got him..." Cardinal reported back to the fleet as he looked back toward the frigate. His missiles hitting just below the bridge had caused a catastrophic chain reaction, a trail of flameless deflagration opening the ship's hull, exposing its insides, getting dislocated from the sudden decompression. Finally, the ship's thruster let out a wave of burning fuel before blowing up too, "...Target down."