Beauty and the Fleet (Intergalactic Fairy Tales Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Robert McKay
Hands, Sting, I want you working the perimeter to keep them from getting through the artillery zone. I want Gadget and Pickle with me circling the main body of the Flight, watching for missiles aimed at Harbinger. The rest of you, keep standard dogfight formation as best you can. Shoot everything that's not a Talon out of the sky. This is going to get damned hairy. Keep an eye out for wreckage. If you get low on ammunition, sound off."
The radio was silent for a moment and Beatrix could imagine Torch running his hand over his face, trying to find the right words of encouragement.
Hands broke the radio silence. "And try not to get your asses shot off!" Beatrix could almost here the wink in his voice.
"Close enough," said Torch, a genuine laugh coloring his tone. "Weapons hot and fire at will."
They didn't have to wait long. The five massive warships were upon them almost immediately. Beatrix glanced at the other Flights visible around the impressive bulk of Harbinger. She could only see the occasional glimpse of a Talon on her far side. The enemy ships were surrounding them, so everyone would get a pretty equal taste of the action. The battleships were staying outside of artillery range, as expected. Strangely, though, they hadn't launched their Raptors before approaching.
"Hold steady," said Torch over the radio. "We lose every advantage we have if we go outside of Harbinger's range before we take care of their Raptors."
Beatrix shook her head at his feigned optimism. She knew he was laughing at himself as soon as he let go of the broadcast button. She didn't buy it, but she was a realist. The majority of the pilots she knew were optimists, feeling like the war was already won in their minds. They just had to do their best and see it through. It was for them that Torch was speaking. If he talked to them like they had a chance, they would believe it and by some miracle, they might survive. As for the pessimists, they were fucked either way. If you went into war with that kind of mindset, nothing would save you. Sooner or later you would find some way to prove yourself right and die horribly.
"I've got dibs on the grey one!" shouted Hands over the radio as he edged up next to Beatrix and gave her his biggest grin.
"They're all grey, you moron," said Beatrix, rolling her eyes.
Then there were the delusional; to them, the war wasn't really happening. They were just out playing a really crazy game of make-believe where anything that wasn't them was a blip inside a computer's hard drive. Nothing could ever harm them. They had as many lives as they could buy game tokens. Or something like that. She was never really sure which one Hands was, but she preferred to call him a silly optimist rather than believing the alternative.
"I called dibs, so I guess the rest of you will have to find something else to shoot at."
There had been a lot of conjecture over the years as to the lack of deviation in the enemy's ships. Every single one of them was a uniform slate grey with no external markings to differentiate them. The Talons were mostly uniform in shape, but they all had a different number on the tail to mark them, making repairs easier to track. There were also slight variations in models. Some older pilots preferred to keep their original Talon as long as command would allow, eschewing the latest technology for absolute familiarity. They firmly believed in the mentality that you don't mess with success. Then there were the paint jobs. Each Flight of Talons was painted differently so that communications channels could be color coded to make inter-Flight communication easier. The dominant color of Beatrix's Flight was blue with little yellow accents on the wings and tail.
The fact that none of the Colarians' ships had any of these things was baffling. It was one of the questions that was always asked in interrogations of the few prisoners Nedra had managed to take over the years. The Colarians never answered. They never
The radio was silent for a moment and Beatrix could imagine Torch running his hand over his face, trying to find the right words of encouragement.
Hands broke the radio silence. "And try not to get your asses shot off!" Beatrix could almost here the wink in his voice.
"Close enough," said Torch, a genuine laugh coloring his tone. "Weapons hot and fire at will."
They didn't have to wait long. The five massive warships were upon them almost immediately. Beatrix glanced at the other Flights visible around the impressive bulk of Harbinger. She could only see the occasional glimpse of a Talon on her far side. The enemy ships were surrounding them, so everyone would get a pretty equal taste of the action. The battleships were staying outside of artillery range, as expected. Strangely, though, they hadn't launched their Raptors before approaching.
"Hold steady," said Torch over the radio. "We lose every advantage we have if we go outside of Harbinger's range before we take care of their Raptors."
Beatrix shook her head at his feigned optimism. She knew he was laughing at himself as soon as he let go of the broadcast button. She didn't buy it, but she was a realist. The majority of the pilots she knew were optimists, feeling like the war was already won in their minds. They just had to do their best and see it through. It was for them that Torch was speaking. If he talked to them like they had a chance, they would believe it and by some miracle, they might survive. As for the pessimists, they were fucked either way. If you went into war with that kind of mindset, nothing would save you. Sooner or later you would find some way to prove yourself right and die horribly.
"I've got dibs on the grey one!" shouted Hands over the radio as he edged up next to Beatrix and gave her his biggest grin.
"They're all grey, you moron," said Beatrix, rolling her eyes.
Then there were the delusional; to them, the war wasn't really happening. They were just out playing a really crazy game of make-believe where anything that wasn't them was a blip inside a computer's hard drive. Nothing could ever harm them. They had as many lives as they could buy game tokens. Or something like that. She was never really sure which one Hands was, but she preferred to call him a silly optimist rather than believing the alternative.
"I called dibs, so I guess the rest of you will have to find something else to shoot at."
There had been a lot of conjecture over the years as to the lack of deviation in the enemy's ships. Every single one of them was a uniform slate grey with no external markings to differentiate them. The Talons were mostly uniform in shape, but they all had a different number on the tail to mark them, making repairs easier to track. There were also slight variations in models. Some older pilots preferred to keep their original Talon as long as command would allow, eschewing the latest technology for absolute familiarity. They firmly believed in the mentality that you don't mess with success. Then there were the paint jobs. Each Flight of Talons was painted differently so that communications channels could be color coded to make inter-Flight communication easier. The dominant color of Beatrix's Flight was blue with little yellow accents on the wings and tail.
The fact that none of the Colarians' ships had any of these things was baffling. It was one of the questions that was always asked in interrogations of the few prisoners Nedra had managed to take over the years. The Colarians never answered. They never
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