— David —
"This corpo FUCK thinks he can steal my spot, MY SHOT!" A Nomad raged.
David didn't even know his name. He was still responsible for listening to the gonk's 'official' complaint. 'Cause that was what commanding officers did. Apparently.
Responsibility and shit. If David was honest with himself, it made him want to bite iron. Not a good time, not this part of it. Necessary, maybe, but certainly not fun. All Gonks were their Gonks in the end, especially now in victory, but no one forgot what they were before. Nomad, Corpo, Streetkid; Night City had never been united like this before. Even after a month of war and unimaginable victories to their names, there were still teething pains.
"I don't see why this vagrant thinks he deserves the spot more than I do," The Corpo gonk on the other end of the complaint just shrugged.
Outwardly, David was listening as a good superior Gonk officer should. Internally, he really wanted to shoot these bantha-brained gonks and move on to more important things. Unfortunately, the spot they were talking about was his business. It would inevitably be part of the opening strike of the Moon War's next stage, its interlunar orbital stage.
Not that it was a truly relevant part of David's plans. Just another shot at the starfighter corps. But pilots from all corners of the Gonk Cartel were lining up to slot in, like chrome at the ready. Gonks wanted their chances at glory, their chances at becoming Legend. And there was enough tension in the air that David was having to step in more often than he would've liked.
"I don't get it," David eventually said. "What's the deal, chooms? Why can't you both fly?"
That question brought both sides of the complaint up short. Nomad and Corpo looked at each other, and Nomad was the first to speak, "We… uh… We can? You ain't givin', like, priority to the corpo bastards for all their pretty chrome or whatever?"
"I could say the same about you, Nomad," The Corpo snorted. "Trying to slot yourselves in everywhere. There are other pilots who are just as good as you lot. Even if I'm Kiroshi, I can still fly."
David took a deep breath, "… Alright. It's still a new sitch. I get that. The Gonk Cartel uniting Night City takes some getting used to… We're all trying to find our places right about now."
He trailed off into a cutting glare, "But Gonk-dammit, Gonks! Don't waste my time before even asking if there are enough spots for both of you! Fuck OUTTA here! You're both flying! We need all the wings we can get! And for wasting my time, you're both getting assigned to the first wave! Lucky, fraggin' lucky, you gonks!"
Anywhere else, that order might've been met with trepidation or outright fear, being put on the expendable front lines of a coming lightning strike. Night City was built different, though. Both the Nomad and the Corpo were suddenly grinning at the chance they'd been given. The chance to ride the void-cutting Edge. They didn't give a single fuck for the very real chance of flatlining, just eager to get in on the action, the violence in the void.
"Hells, yeah! You ain't so bad Gonk Chief!" The Nomad exclaimed.
"No wasting time, I like that," The Corpo nodded.
"Except for mine," David grumbled back. "Get the frag outta my sight before I decide to strap you two to the prow of a starfighter and let you fly that way."
The eager idiots left his office, and David let his head fall to thunk against the desk in front of him. He had an office now… Came with the responsibility and all that. It was just as bad as David had been anticipating.
Gonks like those two knew where to find him now, and he had to make at least a show of hearing them out. It was only right. They'd be flying and flatlining for him soon enough, after all.
"Pain in my 'ganic fucking ass is what it is," David grumbled to himself.
David didn't blind himself to the cost of his plan. It'd be bloody, brutal fucking violence in the void. Gonk pilots would die. They'd be vaporized by turbolaser fire. They'd meet the business ends of concussion missiles and proton torpedoes. They'd find themselves spaced — frozen and boiled alive in mere moments. And they'd do so by his plan of battle.
Shit was heavy…
The Gonk pilots knew what they were signing up for, though. They'd be willingly stepping into the void. They'd be flying to flatline and be flatlined in turn. So David would damn-near personally make sure every casualty the Gonk Fleet took was repaid twice or thrice over for the Hutts.
He'd been working around the clock to secure their coming victory. To make it inevitable, no matter the cost. He had back-up plans for his back-up plans, covering his ass as well as he could, and was prepared to use and discard them as necessary once they'd made contact with the enemy.
He'd been setting up systems that would save lives: teams of remote overseers to coordinate targeting and battle data, deepdive netrunners for sensor warfare, a mostly bottom-up command structure for freedom of operation, and whole platoons of Trauma Team volunteers with the ships to get them where they were needed most.
His pilots were organized into the squadrons and ship companies that worked best together, all with protocols in place for efficient communication, delegation, and concentration of forces.
In the short time they had to prepare, he and Linth had even pieced together a tactical doctrine that best suited their force composition: centered on all-out focus fire against much bigger ships to pick their foes apart piece by piece, the advantages of lightning mobility and adaptable diversity of command on the attack, and flexible defense in depth when they had to give ground.
The Gonk Fleet didn't have the capital ships for more traditional fleet actions. So instead of trying to do something they couldn't, David and Linth pushed to focus on and exploit what they did have: individual quality and quantity. They focused on starfighters and bombers and gunships and combat freighters — a whole corps of smaller ships and the piloting culture to make the most use of them.
They had limited time to make David's overarching 'void-knife-fight' strategy work for them. Wait too long, and they'd open themselves up to gettin' cut first. Then again, rush into things, and they'd be utterly taken apart by what was essentially one of the last remaining professional (if mostly untested by gonks with the spine to stand up to them) navies in the galaxy.
The Hutts had that going for them. Their fleets weren't light work, not at all. They were the void-and-oppression-bearing fists of the Hutt Cartels. Where the Republic had dismissed most of its professional navies, the Hutts retained much of their historic power in the void. They hadn't fought an actual war like this in many millennia, but they certainly still had the resources to do so.
Leading the war effort in the void as he was, David had to respect that fact. He couldn't dismiss the Hutts as he might dismiss them on the ground, where they relied on huscle and droids and gangers and slave soldiers, rarely ever fighting or competently commanding for themselves. But even a slug could command ships effectively, and in the current age, they probably boasted some of the most learned and (one-sidedly) experienced naval officers in the galaxy, as low a bar as that was.
That was the reason David had to devote so much time, energy, and overall effort to his Gonk Fleet. Without overarching organization and structural command, their Gonks would put up a good fight… but they'd ultimately die and be pushed out of the void, likely for good. If his strategy was to work, if his Legend was to be made, David needed to aim the knife at the sluggin' jugular himself.
Responsibility, though… Shit washeavy…
Not in a way he was used to, either. Space fighting was almost nothing like fighting on the ground. Nothing like Edgerunning gigs or raiding contracts. Logistics was king in the void. Logistics of supply and command and tide-turning data.
A single pilot would rarely make all the difference in an overall void battle, unlike how a Legend would make all the difference in violence on the ground. Nah, the difference would be made with effective commanders and captains, squadron-level tactics, and the firm strategic spine of the Gonk at the top.
His time was spent organizing and planning, not training. Not chroming up or honing his aim with a blaster or making himself as physically fit as possible. It came down to his mind, not his body. While he did still fly, even his individual skill as a pilot would come second to his skills as a commander — his intuition, adaptability, and ability to read the battlefield.
It was exhausting in a way David hadn't experienced before. But also fulfilling, in the same way. Thousands and thousands of Gonks were his to command. They'd live and die — fly and flatline — by his commands, his plans, and the structures he put in place.
"And there's something special about all of this, choom…" David chuckled to himself.
"Aye, there is, laddie," Linth's voice intruded on his privacy.
David looked up to see his spacin' mentor — practically his adopted uncle at this point — entering his office. The old spacer had that familiar smirk on his face, the one he was rarely ever seen without. He walked with utter confidence in himself, even now as they worked to organize a knife strike at the Hutts' necks in the void. Nothing fazed his wrinkled old ass.
"What's up, Unc?" David asked. "Come to pawn more work off on me?"
"No, no, no, my boy!" Linth chuckled. "Everything's just about ready. As ready as you're going to get it, at least. I came to spirit you away for a break! Don't go working yourself to the bone on the eve before we rocket into battle, boyo."
"I'm not!" David argued, maybe a bit petulantly. "All of this is important! The Gonks are counting on me, big choom! Dagger squadron still needs to be topped up on missiles and torpedoes to fight properly, Sheath squadron still has those issues with internal composition to see to, and so many comm protocols need to be signed off on that I'll be up all night!"
"Important, sure," Linth nodded. "But all I'm hearing is grunt work and formalities. Your newly appointed lieutenants can handle it. Trust in them, boyo. You need the rest of the night off, maybe spent with that lovely Togruta girlie of yours. Besides, I have something you'll want to see."
He finished with the flash of a charming grin, wiggling his brows to tempt David into indulging his curiosity. Unfortunately, it worked.
David grumbled, "This better not be throwing me and Taati into another of your brothels to 'sink or swim', old timer… Not my scene, choom, and Mom would kill you and then me if you did it again."
Linth smirked, "Aye, that lovely girl of yours was much more enthusiastic about that little push than you were, wasn't she? Might not be your scene, but it certainly was hers~…"
He chuckled when David blushed and glared, and continued, "It's not, though. This is about new toys, sure, but not that kind. The new ships have arrived. Just in time. We'll be ready to go tomorrow. It's just about your time to shine, boyo, so come see what you'll be working with, yeah?"
David perked up at that news, "Ships? The capitals or just the Arasaka void-iron?"
"Both," Linth informed him. "But mostly Arasaka tonnage. We only managed to get a Corellian Gunship and another Marauder to match mine on such short notice. The rest is all from our ally's shipyards, and they delivered just as they said they would."
"Alright, alright, I'm getting up," David gave in to Linth's suggestion to take a break.
Before he left with Linth, he punched the intercom button on his desk, "Taati? I'm duckin' out with the old timer. You got everything here?"
Taati's casually husky voice never failed to send shivers down David's Sandie-chrome spine, "A break, baby? Finally! Most everything should be handled here, and I'll delegate the rest. I'm coming with you."
… He had a secretary, now, even if it was his input. And his secretary had secretaries, to boot. Wild, wild, wild to be moving up in the world.
David wasn't about to argue with his mainline, though. She sounded like she was half an hour away from storming into his office and dragging him out by his cock for a break anyway. If Linth hadn't shown up and convinced him, she likely would've. A part of David was very disappointed that he'd missed the chance…
They exited his office to find Taati already standing and waiting for them. She looked as preem as ever. Beautiful brown skin, golden markings on her horned lekku, and gorgeously lively green eyes. And that body, body, body… Purely 'ganic, but she wasn't from Night City like him. So that just made her softer and more real in his eyes.
Nah, she didn't just look preem. She was preem. Nova like no one else, in David's mind. She could be gentle when he needed it and vicious as any predator when the mood struck her. She'd been a Hutt slave for much of her life, but somehow, she'd never lost the wild freedom of her people.
It was short-circed to think that they'd be going mainline for only a few months now. They'd been through enough together, though, with Taati supporting him the whole way from the Gonk Founding to their Gonk Victory, that David would gladly flatline for her. From a 'mere' dancer in the late Zorba's court to a Gonk at the top with him, she'd risen to every occasion David could ask of her. It was a romance deserving of Legend, and he'd damn-sure give her that Legend.
She circled him once as he came to meet her, rubbing up against him the whole way around like a big cat of some kind. Mainlining a Togruta input was certainly an experience. David cherished every taste of her culture that he could get. Even (or especially…) when she called him her 'Hunter worth building a tribe around', or…
"My Hunter," … For short. "Working like this, you'll get yourself killed in the coming. I hope I don't have to tell you how that isn't allowed…"
Hunting was the most important aspect of Togruta culture, and the packs that did it were of a closer kind than whatever primal stock Humans had risen from. They could pair-bond, but mostly, they preferred to pack-bond.
David was fascinated by the culture he was mainlining into, and upon researching it, he found Togruta society occupied a preem middle ground between Gank 'family unit' packs and Human 'multi-family' social tribes. What made them most special, though, was that they were still living it.
Even after reaching the stars, many of her species still preferred those traditional lives of intimate packs and tribes, and the purity of the hunt on their homeworld. Taati came directly from that world, that culture. She was shaped by it before being stolen in a slave raid, but she never forgot. She was still a Togruta hunter at her core, and that she recognized him as one as well meant the world to David, even if he still wasn't sure how to feel about her ambitions to 'build a tribe' around his 'high-value hunter' ass…
"I've got no plans to flatline, Taati," David smiled reassuringly back at her. "I won't. This 'hunt' is just the beginning. Like Atom said, we have a lot more work to do after this."
Taati wrapped herself around him, soft as silk with corded hunting muscle beneath her skin, practically purring, "So long as you remember that, I'm content. Indeed, there is much work to do… Both for your Gonks… and us, My Hunter~…"
"Ah, the love of the youth," Linth exaggerated a sigh. "C'mon, you two, we've got ships to see, and a surprise in store for our boyo here."
David rolled his eyes to hide his blush but didn't let go of Taati as they followed Linth. He led them through the ever-expanding Gonk HQ complex. It occupied just about all of Watson, now, with whole megabuildings dedicated to just about each of the Core Gonks. Sstala's bureaucracy had two.
The Gonk Fleet had two as well, but one of the megabuildings had been hollowed out wholesale to make room for a truly massive, multi-leveled hangar to base the fleet out of. It was there that Linth led them. They stopped on the penthouse floor, all empty space now except for the structural supports and with one wall that'd been removed entirely as the hangar's entrance.
"I took the liberty of distributing our new stock," Linth said. "It's not first-come, first-served, but you wouldn't know that from looking at the lines and scuffles down below. Our Gonks are as lively as ever, and ultimately, I had to give them free rein to test out their new mounts. Look out the window, boyo."
David did, and saw a chaotic airshow that extended for miles in the air above the hangar megabuilding. It was all free flyin' and mock dogfights with brand new void-iron. There was a certain beauty in motion to the chaos, though. David was half-tempted to hop in a cockpit and join in.
"The Tengu Super Heavies are the hefty flatwings you see flying out there," Linth explained. "And the Oni Gunships are… well, the ones with all the guns. Good shit, that. Looks like it has enough firepower to tear three times its tonnage in half. Arasaka's design team really takes the Night City philosophy to heart."
"Any iron is good iron," David nodded in complete understanding. "More iron is even better iron. Arasaka might have holdings elsewhere, but Night City is still where their Emperor stays. They're part of the culture, and the culture is a part of them."
"As you say, boyo," Linth smirked before continuing his report. "This first shipment is supposedly half of the initial total they agreed to supply — 500 Tengus and 100 Onis. The other half is still coming, but it'll take another trip to get them all here.
"Emperor Saburo came through as a proxy, too, just like he said he would. The Corellian Gunship and second Marauder are in orbit right now, maintaining position on the dark side of the moon to keep them a nice surprise for the Hutt fleet. That Gunship is a solid little frigate, and I'm quite fond of my Marauder already. A second can only be a good thing.
"Crewing them, though…? That's a bit of an ask already. Only a few of our pilots have what I would call sufficient capital-class experience. I've snatched them all up, and we're almost lucky we only got the two new capital ships, 'cause I can't crew another right now without significant investment in training. Panam has the Gunship, and I gave the second Marauder to your Mom, kid."
"Mom?" David blinked. "I didn't even know she could fly!"
"She's dead set on pulling her weight," Linth nodded. "Said if her boy was flying, she'd fly too. I wouldn't put her as a starfighter pilot, but as the captain of a capital? Yeah, she's got the head for it, and I've been running her through operations as my second all week."
David paused and turned the idea over in his mind, "… Huh. I honestly don't know what to feel about that. Not like I can stop her, though, not Mom when she sets her mind to something."
Taati clearly did know how to react, however, grinning wide enough to show sharp teeth, "The Matriarch joins the hunt!"
David barked a laugh, "The slugs don't know what's coming for 'em!"
"Oh, no, they really don't, boyo," Linth agreed with a knowing grin and chuckle. "Something else came in today, too. Something that needs to be seen to be believed. That hangar back there, come on now~…"
David followed, his curiosity piqued. He caught sight of the spearhead-shaped ship as soon as he came in, and could only let out a low whistle.
"That's one smooth-looking operator, choom."
"Glad you think so. It's yours, boyo," Linth told him.
"Mine?" David startled slightly. "Oh… Mine… Guess I do need an upgrade on the old YT-1250 if we're going into a real orbital war. Wasn't expecting something straight off the shipyards, though."
"Only the best for our fearless strategist," Linth shot back. "This is the Yuurei-class, that experimental stealth corvette the Emperor told us about. We're only getting two of them, and you've got one, David-boyo."
David stopped and looked back over his new ship with more discerning eyes. Some 80 meters long, it was sleek — smooth — like he'd first thought, lookin' like the starship equivalent of high-end chrome. The nose came to an almost vicious point from all angles, and all the panels were perfectly in line with each other. It looked designed to cut through both space and sensors, fitting for a stealth ship.
It was painted mostly white, with black highlights to make the color pop that much more. Like a ghost, a Yuurei. On any other ship, David would've thought the color would stand out against the blackness of space, but on an experimental stealth corvette…? Well, he assumed the insane minds of Womp-Rat-Works had a few tricks up their sleeves.
"And her iron?" David asked. "What are we looking at?"
"She's got a triple of capital-class turbolasers mounted on each of those fore hardpoints to either side of the cockpit," Linth pointed out. "One more triple toward the back, on that aft hardpoint, for a total of nine barrels of plasma-spittin' glory.
"There's also a supposedly experimental beam weapon on its spine — pure coherent light to drain shields like nothing else —, and further tiny point-defense lasers that will pop out of the paneling when you need them most. There's a proton torpedo tube on the belly, with room to pack 20 starship killers in it. And for the cherry on top of the firepower sundae, she's got a massive spinal rail-gun pointed right out of her nose, shooting 50-pound tungsten slugs at about… 22% the speed of light…? Am I reading that right?"
"By the Force-damn void, boyo," Linth shook his head in amazement. "That rail-gun alone will crack shieldless capital ships over its damn knees in just a volley or two. The beam cannon should take care of the shields beforehand, too. And if all that fails, you've still got the turbolasers to match our Corellian Gunship. This girl's firepower's gonna be disgustingly beautiful in action. Those Womp-Rat-Works boys are scary, scary fuckers…"
"Scary, scary fuckers for our enemies," David grinned. "For us, they're just handing out all the best toys. Like, Gonk-daaamnn, old man, I can barely believe my ears."
"What about the… how do you say, 'soft' factors?" Taati asked. "This ship is not her weapons alone, is she?"
"Nah, that's the scariest part," Linth agreed with a shake of his head. "She's a hidden dagger to sever any ship's spine. A damn-near instant-KO machine. She's got both visible and sensor cloaks, the passive sensors to target any signal without revealing itself, and they apparently fitted it with a comm suite to command a whole fleet now that they know what she'll be used for. It's all supposed to be 'experimental', but considering Womp-Rat-Works' success with the Mektons… well, I'd bet on this new beauty."
"She'll come outta nowhere, drain shields with the beam, and snap spines with the rail-gun," David was practically shuddering with glee as he imagined just that playing out.
"And she doesn't lose out in mobility, either. She's honestly small for a corvette — which just makes the firepower she packs that much more terrifying… — but her black-budget reactor will pump enough juice to make those engines of hers stress the inertial dampener systems," Linth explained. "She's young, she's hot, and she's a void-damned menace, boyo. Perfect for you."
David's face split into a grin that hurt his cheeks, "Hell. Fucking. Yes. She is. I hope you don't mind, Taati-love, but I might just have myself a second mainline here."
Taati rolled her eyes, "She's a beautiful ambush hunter, David, but don't go falling in love with something that can't give you younglings to grow the tribe."
"Y-Younglings-?!" David sputtered.
"Don't worry," She patted his cheek, both comforting and teasing. "I'll make sure you keep your cock in your pants while we ride her."
"I-! That-! … We?"
Taati cocked her head at his confusion, "You would leave me out of this glorious hunt? Your first?"
David hesitated, sensing danger in her tone for some reason, "Uh… no…?"
"Good answer," Taati indulged him with a fond but exasperated look. "You may fly. I will coordinate your comms. The wider hunt must not falter because you find yourself busy with your prey."
"Experimental as she is, she crews 10. Nothing compared to my Marauder ball-and-chain's 52 minimum crew, but then this young Yuurei lady is cutting edge like she never was," Linth helpfully pointed out.
"Perfect," Taati nodded. "Plenty of room to grow."
David may have paled slightly at the idea, pictures of a whole crew — a tribe — put into his mind. Linth just chuckled.
"That's for the future, boyo. Focus on the here and now, on this young stunner and all you can do with her. She still needs a name, you know? Any ideas that would do her justice?"
David paused to think for a moment, "… SPECTRE… SPECTRE in the Shard. 'Cause after tomorrow, the Hutts will be telling horror stories about her. Ghost data that makes any slug ship scared to travel alone. They'll be checking their sensors non-stop, and it won't help them one bit. There will always be a SPECTRE in their Shards…"
IIIII
"Plugged in. Reactor online. Engines: spooling on our time. Flight controls: all green. Sensors: pingin' back preem. Cloak systems… Confirmed. We're a SPECTRE. Taking her out," David narrated the start-up sequence of his 'flagship' for only the second time.
He'd taken SPECTRE out yesterday after she'd arrived. A nice date to get to know each other, input-output style. She flew like a vibroblade in his hand, cutting through air and near-orbit void like nothing else. She reacted when he reacted. He thought. She flew.
That was part of the benefit of going to a corp that knew Night City for their starships. For most other starships, Night City pilots often preferred to modify them to accept chrome and neural interfaces. Being able to chip straight into their ship was an advantage that no pilot worth their chrome would give up — a major aspect of what made Nomad pilots so good, so valued on Nar Shaddaa and off it.
But with Arasaka, the interface plugs came built-in. In mere moments of prep, the newly distributed ships could become part of their pilots. Honestly, David would never understand why chrome wasn't more widespread outside of Night City. Pussy-ass off-worlders too scared to go under the ripper for such marked improvement in what they could do…
'Oh, but you're losing a part of yourself!'
'Oh, but you'll become more droid than flesh!'
'Oh, but who would be crazy enough to willingly undergo surgery like that?!'
Whatever. David was mostly 'ganic, except for his Sandie and basic chrome like a neural port and optics, and still, all he heard were excuses. It was your chrome, dumbass, still you. It was chrome, not droid junk. And Night City was short-circed enough to do it, 'cause all of them understood how to be hard, living lives that demanded it from them. There were other places and peoples that recognized the greatness of chippin' in (the Ganks, for example), but most of the galaxy still needed that chrome awakening.
Their loss. Night City was just better. Built different. Legend.
He nodded to Taati beside him in SPECTRE's cockpit, and she connected him to the fleet's comm network so his voice could reach everyone, "We're going hot, Gonks. Keep to the script at first, but don't be afraid to get creative once we get into the Sharp End. Keep your ears open for mission control, trust your squadron leaders, and fly. Let's slammit on."
SPECTRE was the last ship off the ground. His lift-off signaled the beginning of operations. In force, they'd make for orbit and traverse the void between Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta. The Hutt Fleet were holding a ready position for the defense of their homeworld, but they'd been doing so constantly for a quietly tense week now.
They'd be on edge, wondering if an attack would even come. Then, when the Gonk Fleet swarmed into the void from the dark side of the moon, their sensors would light up with almost a thousand pinging signatures. The Hutt fleet would have to scramble back to actual battle readiness. And David had no intention of letting them get there without a fight.
Four squadrons of starfighters — 10 ships apiece, split between Z-95 Headhunters and Nimbus Starfighters — would escort another four squadrons of heavy starfighters, gunships, and bombers — the Tengus and Onis, rounded off by a fair selection of CloakShape Fighter-Bombers — out ahead at full speed. They were the first wave, the sucker punch with laser cannons and concussion missiles and proton torpedoes. And all they really had to do was delay and cause chaos, 'cause the main swarm of the fleet would be only minutes behind them, massed in actual defensive and offensive formations and backed up by capital-class void-iron.
David intended to be right up there beside the first wave. Lead from the front, neh? But he wouldn't strike with them. He'd use SPECTRE's cloak to slip into the ranks of the Hutt fleet and stab his 'significant fraction of the speed of light' vibroblade into their spines while they were occupied with the arriving main wave.
With the word given, the game was on. It was time for violence — void violence. Their Gonk brothers and sisters had done their part on the ground. Now, it was on the fleet to slammit on. The void between Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta would never be the same again.
A thousand ships swarmed Nar Shaddaa's orbital lanes from the dark side. What they lacked in tonnage, they made up for in skill, motivation, and sheer fraggin' gusto. They'd win this day — they'd fly, or flatline trying. 'Cause they had something to fight for, something to believe in. They were part of a Legend in the making, and every pilot who went out in a blaze of glory here would be remembered in Night City forevermore.
The first wave began to pull away, throwing their throttles to three-quarters. Headhunters and Nimbuses screamed silently through the black. Onis and Tengus and CloakShapes were right on their heels.
David was right up there with them, concealed under SPECTRE's cloak. The experimental ship poured power into its thrusters like a ghost of the Megalight per hour variety. David felt acceleration push him back against his seat as it overcame the ship's inertial dampeners. And still, he gave her more juice, even more permission to fly.
"Let the hunt begin~…" Taati grinned viciously. "The prey doesn't know what's coming for them."
"This is the big one, baby," David replied in kind. "The slugs will know our names. They'll learn to fear the SPECTRE in the Shard.
Behind them, some 100 squadrons of starfighters, bombers, gunships, and personal Gonk ships formed up, and three capital-class Gonk ships maintained the fleet's spine. Linth was captaining one — his Marauder —, Panam another — her DP20 Corellian Gunship —, and Mom the last — a new Marauder to call her own. They had defensive and strike starfighters around them, and enough firepower of their own to take care of a Warbarge if they coordinated their efforts. Missile and torpedo stores were stocked to their brims. Turbolasers would bark plasma fury. And the sensor nets were alive with deepdive netrunners to make sure the data of the battle would always fall on their side of the chaos.
The Hutts would find trouble there, for the last. Their sensors would betray them, raided by Gonk netrunners in a way they couldn't combat on the fly. Pings would be spoofed — they were likely already seeing a phantom for every real ping in their systems. Targeting data would be fed back to the fleet through mission control. Their Gonk siblings in the net would keep the Hutt fleet blind, deaf, and vulnerable.
The fleet's comms were filled with chatter — orders and adjustments and data shared between the fleet and the Gonk controllers on the ground. Taati listened in and filtered it with a keen touch. Anything she thought David needed to hear, he heard. And the rest was discarded as unnecessary, giving him the freedom to focus on flying.
SPECTRE lived up to her name. They were invisible, even to the naked eye. If someone happened to look their way in the vastness of the void, they wouldn't even see a blur. She was a ghost of the void, even without the Gonk netrunners running their sensor warfare. Just like with the Mektons, Womp-Rat-Works lived up to its insanely effective reputation. 'Prototype' was just a word to them, one that said they hadn't yet figured out production, but that their proofs of concept were already very real.
Far ahead, the Hutt fleet began to move. It was sluggish, trying so desperately to get something of a formation going for them. David recognized their panic from there. Both in the slow, hesitating movement of the fleet's ships and in the Force as Hutt bridge crews in their hundreds suddenly saw the storm coming their way.
The first wave burned forth with consistent acceleration that could make a corpse feel alive. They burned with bloodlust, a collective eagerness to make themselves Legends. Starfighters and bombers and gunships raced through the void as if they had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
The Hutt Fleet that defended Nal Hutta for now numbered half a dozen — 6 Warbarges of various massive tonnages. The flagship — still limping after its retreat from Nar Shaddaa at Gonk hands — reached a kilometer in length as the largest. The second largest was 'only' 700 meters, and the rest were closer to 500.
Each of the Warbarges carried its own squadrons of fighters, 50 each on the most ideal of days. That possible '300 fighter' total was anything but ideal now, though. It'd been ravaged in the battle that had already raged on Nar Shaddaa to herald Gonk victory. And as data from their deepdive netrunning infiltrators came into the Gonk comms, the true number of enemy fighters was updated with exacting precision.
Ideal: 300 fighters and other small craft — consisting of M12-L Kimogila Heavy Fighters, G1-M4-C Dunelizard fighters, M22-T Krayt Gunships, and HH-87 Starhoppers. Real: 181 fighters and other small craft — now mostly consisting of HH-87 Starhoppers, the lightest fighter the Hutts had to call upon.
Put bluntly, they were shit, with shit iron — only a pair of light laser cannons. The Gonk starfighters would tear them apart. Already, orders were being adjusted to focus fire on the remaining heavy starfighters — the much more intimidating Kimogilas with their heavy laser cannons and missile tubes, and the Dunelizards with their medium laser cannons and warhead launcher.
Those remaining fighters were scrambling from the Warbarges' hangars. But they were slow to do so. The first wave would be upon the Hutt Fleet before the majority of their starfighter cover could get out to defend them.
"Looks like our first wave Gonks won't get much chance to go out in their blaze of glory," David almost chuckled to himself. "The slugs can't even do that right…"
Without throttling down at all, David adjusted his cloaked course away from the swarming first wave. He was still right up there with them, but he wasn't about to get SPECTRE's fine invisible ass caught in the crossfire. As he pulled away on his own, he checked the rest of the void-set battlefield in his experimental sensors.
The fleet wasn't the only orbital defense the Hutt homeworld boasted. There were shipyards around Nal Hutta, with defensive firepower to match any space station defense platform. But David had arranged their attack so that it came in on the other side of the planet to the emplaced orbital defenses. The Hutt fleet would find no aid there.
And they'd find no aid from the planet, either, it seemed. Planetary defense weapons from the ground had been a concern, but not much of one. The Gonk Fleet simply didn't have the right tonnage for them to be properly devastating. Massive super-iron like that was best used against actual capital ships, not corvettes and small craft like the Gonk Fleet.
Even their 'capital-class' ships would be quick enough to avoid an ion blast from the surface. Any weapons there were scary, but ultimately toothless against the current Gonk Fleet.
The planetary shield that they knew Nal Hutta boasted was more of a concern. It would stop their inevitable assault on the planet dead in its tracks. Their surprise attack helped there, though. Even as the battle in orbit raced toward its first engagement, the shield below hadn't been raised.
It would be. That much was considered inevitable. They already had other plans — less… direct plans — to deal with the planet's shield. But if the crews on the ground were too slow about it, the Gonks might be able to get a few strikes off on valuable targets while they could. That was David's secondary priority in the battle, with SPECTRE's rail-gun uniquely suited to getting damage through atmospheric interference in an orbital bombardment.
First, though, David wanted a Warbarge KO on his rep. It wasn't optimal. But the shock and fear that his hidden, back-breaking, spine-shattering strike could cause would be. He valued that over doing damage that ultimately wouldn't matter after Atom's plans to deal with the shield via ninjutsu were put into action.
A chorus of cries came over the comms, distracting David from his assessment and considerations.
"Let's SLAMMIT ON!"
"Night City Stands! Nar Shaddaa Stands Free!"
"To be LEGEND!"
"See you Gonks on the other side!"
They came from the first wave, the nigh-suicidal starfighter escorts specifically. The Gonks had made contact. They were getting into it now.
Nodding to Taati, she patched David through to First Wave so he could spare them a few final words before action, "Show these slugs how Gonks fly, chooms."
Even amongst the first wave as they made contact with the enemy starfighters, the Nimbuses raced ahead. They were disgustingly fast little fuckers. 4,800 Gs of possible acceleration if those engines were pushed to the redline, twice what the already quick Z-95 Headhunters could pull. Even for Gonks, their Nimbus pilots were insane. And they showed it to full effect.
In an accelerating second that would've flattened a Hutt without inertial dampeners, they zipped and zoomed straight into the veritable mess of Hutt fighters that were trying to coordinate a defensive line — more of a loose cloud in space, really. Half of the Nimbuses ignored it completely, splitting between the Hutt fighters with daredevil flying.
The other half swooped out and back in to come at the defensive line from all angles. The lighter Hutt Starhoppers tried to turn and follow the first Nimbuses that blew straight past them. As they did, they fell victim to the swooping seconds.
The Nimbus's light laser cannons may have been light, but they were still laser cannons. Searing, vaporizing bolts of plasma swept over the Starhoppers as they made themselves vulnerable.
Coordinated fire made the light fighters' shields fail almost instantly. And everything that followed burned holes straight through them like their hulls were flimsy paper.
Reactors were hit, going up in brilliant blue bursts of fusion, going critical in fractions of a second. Starhopper wings sheared straight off their frames. Internal stores of tibana gas sparked into void-born plasma balls that utterly consumed the ships they were supposed to arm.
And for an unlucky few, their fighters didn't go up in flames, instead being breached and having their pilots sucked out into the vacuum of space in vivid mists of freezing vital fluids.
All of the Nimbuses raced past the defensive line, then, after delivering death to their light fighter counterparts. Throttles were suddenly cut.
The nimble ships pitched themselves back around toward their enemies. Those insane engines flared to life once more, canceling momentum and rocketing the speedy fighters right back the way they came.
The remaining Starhoppers and their heavier sister-fighters seemed sluggish in comparison. They swarmed in the chaos of a successful first strike, trying and utterly failing to present a united front. Then, the Headhunters joined the fight.
They might've boasted less overwhelming acceleration than the Nimbuses, but they were still going speeds measured by the kilometer per second. And the Headhunters were even more nimble compared to the Nimbuses' sprinting focus.
Concussion missiles preceded the pack of Headhunters. Racing streaks of rocket smoke through the black. They locked on and homed in with a certain fury to them that couldn't be ignored. Where the Nimbuses took the Starhoppers, the Headhunters took the Kimogilas and Dunelizards.
The heavier fighters' shields stood up to the missile sucker punch, but barely. Explosions light up the defensive swarm from within, splashing and wreaking havoc on sensors.
The barrage of overwhelming concussive force threw off the entire flight of fighters. Even flying through the void, every ship the missiles struck somehow stumbled.
Then, like the second run of Nimbuses, the Headhunters split and came back in from all directions. Linked laser cannons spat plasma at weakened shields and disoriented targets. The lingering shields fell quickly. The armored hulls beneath were introduced to the burning fury of a star made miniature.
Not a single one of them appreciated the kind introduction. David smirked to himself as he watched through SPECTRE's passive sensors.
The burning scars on tiny specks in his physical view screen could even be seen with the naked eye. To say nothing of those reactors that suddenly blew, or the ammo stores that added to the almost scenic brilliance of plasma.
Three dozen Hutt starfighters had managed to get organized enough to put up that initial defensive screen. After the first wave's fighter escorts were done with them, an even dozen remained, and none escaped unscathed.
They wouldn't escape at all. Nimbus and Headhunter alike wheeled themselves back around — pitching, rolling, and burning — to take more bolt-shaped bites out of the survivors.
Now, however, more Hutt fighters were scrambling and getting themselves into some semblance of order. They rushed to join the skirmish that was already lost for their comrades.
David watched with pride as First Wave's fighter escorts didn't get sucked into the heat of things. They regrouped, with only a few losses to their squadrons from the heavier Hutt fighters, and fell back in with the heavy fighter-bomber-gunship squadrons of the first wave as they caught up.
Their foot was in the door. And that was enough to clear the way for the rest of the first wave to focus on their target. David identified it for them, sensing — just knowing — which Warbarge was most primed to fall to them.
"Designation Slug-1," Taati called to the first wave over comms, pinging their systems with targeting data. "Second biggest in the pack, yet our prey is weak."
"It's still lagging, chooms," David added. "Chaos on the bridge. They don't know what the fuck is happening. Don't let it get into position with the rest of the Warbarges."
Slug-1 was just about drifting already. It was the weak link, not even able to get itself under control, much less join its sister Warbarges in any formation. David could fraggin' feel the chaos on that bridge and amongst its crew. He could practically see the scene through the Force. Its Hutt captain was shouting contradictory orders — panicking — and just making everything worse.
The Gonk First Wave flew together, its heavier ships bracketed and protected by the insane Nimbuses and nimble Headhunters. The Hutt fighters scrambling to intercept them weren't nearly so organized or coordinated, coming from six different ships, six different chains of command screaming in their ears. Hutt command, too…
Some of them reached the incoming First Wave. But they did so as individual squadrons. The Gonk escort fighters picked them apart practically at their leisure. With the Oni Gunships to back them up, they didn't even take losses to the Kimogilas that outweighed the Nimbuses and Headhunters twice over.
The Onis were the first of the Arasaka void-iron to get a piece of the void violence. It mounted a pair of quad-cannons on either side of its cockpit, weapons that were usually relegated to capital-class starfighter defense, and a twinned pair of honest-to-Gonk turbolasers on each wing.
The only things it lacked were missile or torpedo tubes. It was a pure gunship — the escort within the first wave's heavy squadrons — and that purposeful focus of design showed its advantages when its counterpart Krayt Gunships in the Hutt fleet simply… ceased to exist under, not heavy laser cannon or even quad-cannon fire, but full-fledged turbolaser fire.
Even then, the real blade of the first wave wasn't the Nimbuses, Headhunters, or Onis. It was the CloakShape Fighter-Bombers — flying tanks mounting proton torpedoes to spare —…
And the Tengus.
The flatwing Tengus mounted four heavy laser cannons, twinned on each wing, a tube specifically for concussion missiles, and another two specifically for proton torpedoes. It could duel starfighters with the heavy laser cannons and the concussion missiles. And it could punch way above its weight with 12 proton torpedoes — six in each tube — released two at a time.
Nimbuses, Headhunters, and Onis cut the path. CloakShapes and Tengus followed it to the target of their coordinated bombing run. A few more of the Gonk escort fighters fell along the way, and a few Onis were left limping but not destroyed.
Through it all, though, the spear accelerated. Nothing the Hutt small craft threw at them could stop the coming strike.
Hidden and watching through all of the first wave's run, David began to position SPECTRE for best effect. He took up a cloaked place near the designated Slug-1 and made sure all his surprise iron was aimed. Then, he nodded to his mainline hunting partner seated beside him.
Taati gave the final word, "First Wave, you are weapons free. Good hunting."
The whoops, hollers, and howls that came back from First Wave would've been more expected from the Ganks, David thought with some amusement. His Gonks were just that eager to let their iron fly. And fly it did.
The blackness of the void lit up with proton flares. In front of the bombing run, a new star lit up Nal Hutta's orbit. All together, the brilliant off-pink lights were actually blinding to both eyes and sensors, and David found himself blinking pink spots out of his eyes.
60, 120, 180, 240 proton-scattering energy warheads were tallied by SPECTRE's sensors, as the Tengus released them in four volleys, two at a time. Another 40 were added in similar single-release volleys by the CloakShapes.
Some 30 were pulled off their homing course by panicking Hutt small crafts. Most of them still found a target, even if it wasn't the Warbarge, and went up in scattering bursts of light that now looked more bloody than pure pink.
Another 150 were picked off by the Warbarge's point defense systems, or were pulled off course by chaff, or were successfully targeted by the less panicked screening fighter in an honestly valiant and impressive effort. That still left 100 proton torpedoes racing at the Slug-1's shields as they were frantically raised to full-emergency power.
Hutt Warbarges were tough warships, tougher than their size would otherwise indicate. They forwent some iron to stock more in both shields and physical armor. Much like a Hutt. Not packing too much punch, but un-Gonkly hard to put down.
Slug-1's shields flared and flared and flared under the constant and brutal onslaught. They shone solid, energy made quite literally physical as it strained to keep up with warhead after warhead.
The Warbarge's engines even cut out completely, power redirected into the shields. Everything the ship had was pumped into desperately holding on for dear life.
It was a hell of an effort. 70 proton torpedoes smashed into the ship's shields before they finally, finally gave. That had to be a record of some kind in David's mind.
But they did fall. They wouldn't be coming back, either. The actual shield generators must've outright disintegrated under that overwhelming assault assault. And that left the remaining 30 torpedoes to slam into the armored hull with nuclear violence.
Armor slagged. Superstructure buckled. Internals exploded from the outside in. The kinetic force alone physically pushed the 700-meter Warbarge out of its stalled position, shifting its whole orbit. Molten scars reached the opposite flank from where the proton torpedoes struck true, and the impacted flank was just gone entirely.
And still, just as they'd seen with the flagship Warbarge being driven off Nar Shaddaa… Slug-1 survived.
It wasn't pretty. It probably wasn't even salvageable or fated to last much longer than a day. But in that immediate aftermath, it still lived in death throes. And desperately, spitefully, it tried to turn its remaining guns and crippled systems onto the Gonks that killed it.
David could almost respect the spite… if it wasn't being turned on his Gonks, that is. Slug-1 had another thing coming if it thought to take good Gonks down with it. Still cloaked, still unnoticed, SPECTRE took aim.
At David's mental command, her cloak fell. Her experimental beam cannon warmed, and went blazing hot in an instant. A beam of coherent light straight from the heart of a star went live, springing across the killzone nigh-instantaneously. Where it struck, Slug-1's remaining armor plating evaporated into metallic steam.
Slug-1 buckled further, death throes seizing her for good. Then, SPECTRE's 'significant fraction of the speed of light' vibroblade twisted into the Warbarge's deepest wounds. She recoiled as the rail-gun barked, pushed backward through the void by reciprocal force. And Slug-1 shattered.
The ship's spine was cored straight through. It snapped clean in half, broken over the tungsten knee of a projectile slug to zero a slug-ship. Shockwaves shattered the rest of the already damaged superstructure into a million pieces. Durable armor that (at least somewhat) stood up to an obscene proton torpedo barrage was made as brittle as glass. Already-futile death throes were cut abruptly short.
Taati still had them plugged into First Wave's comms. Even from those nigh-suicidal, eager-to-be-Legend Gonks, there was only shocked silence. Until David's chuckle rang out over the comms, through First Wave and the rapidly arriving main Gonk Fleet.
"No kill like overkill, chooms. One slug-ship down, five more to flatline. Don't go falling behind me and SPECTRE here, neh?"
IIIII
[AN: This is only about half of the chapter I had planned for the void war. I was planning to get through it in a single chapter. That obviously didn't happen lol. But next chapter will pick up right where we left off here, and the knife fight in space will continue. After that… Politics from the Republic, and the introduction of a certain Miss 'Chosen One'…
(I haven't decided what she'll actually look like yet, but this is a good enough placeholder for now)]