Flash Fic: Hot Hive

The briefing room lights dimmed as the main holo-plot snapped to life, showing a simplified representation of the Carrhae system. At the edge of the system, a blue sphere indicated the termination point of the warp line connecting Carrhae to the empty star system which the Terran Confederation had designated as a DMZ buffer between the Confederation and the Nhelior Dominion. Carrhae III, better known to its inhabitants as New Parthia, was ringed in gold, indicating an inhabited world. Task Force 44 sat at the trailing Lagrange point of Carrhae VII, an ice giant at the furthest edge of the system and the largest body nearest to the warp point.

Admiral Nicolae Farmer looked through the dim compartment at his wing and squadron commanders, the coarse haired black beard which had earned him the nickname "Bad Santa" seeming to drink in the light from the holo-plot. He reached over and tapped a key on the plot's housing. A picture-in-picture image appeared near the warp point, occasioning some murmurs from the assembled pilots. "Thought that might grab your attention," he murmured with a thin smile. He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. "Ladies and gentlemen, what you are seeing is imagery, less than 100 hours old, of the Nhelior Dominion's newest, biggest, and most heavily armed superdreadnought, identified as the NDF Suncutter. Incidentally, we owe a massive debt to Deputy Assistant Consul Laumer for getting us this information. He is apparently a god-tier piss artist. He basically got the Nheliori to hand over everything short of the design specs and a copy of the builder's plate just by pooh-poohing their officer corps. Once we return to port, you will each be contributing to the case of very, very good Scotch we will be sending him as a thank-you gift." Columns of alphanumeric text began scrolling up along one side of the image. "As you can see, she's not just big and ugly. She's big, ugly, and mean as all hell."

Farmer tapped a few more buttons. A representation of the Suncutter appeared in the blue sphere, then slowly began moving out. "We know that Dominion Fleet vessels have been scouting DMZ-156, in clear violation of the Stellar Demarcation Accord of 2874. Guess they figure that it's time to make a play for the Sellick Cluster. And they are of the opinion that the Suncutter is the sledgehammer that can break off sufficiently large chunks of the Cluster for their enjoyment. New Parthia is their first target. And people, we are going to do everything humanly possible to screw them over before they can line up the shot.

"Operation Apis is our plan to remind the Nheliori that bigger is not always better," growled Farmer, a feral gleam in his eye. "Strike wings, your first phase will be to undertake a series of 'Wild Weasel' attacks on the Suncutter to eliminate or radically degrade the target vessel's point defense installations. Once we've made a sufficiently large blind spot or ten, you will be tasked with BARCAP assignments to help thicken up missile defense. Tactical wings, your job will be to fly cover for Marine assault shuttles as they take advantage of the holes in the target's coverage. Once the jugheads get their boarding parties aboard, we'll be rotating squadrons to cover the warp point and blast the howling hell out of any backup the Nheliori might accidentally remember they should have sent. Interceptor wings, we're unsure if the Nheliori are going to try and get any ground troops off, so you're going to be running FORCAP patrols to make sure nothing slips by and touches down on New Parthia."

Farmer stepped forward a little, the light from the holo-plot giving him a grim, almost gargoyle-like, cast as he planted his hands on the edge of the equipment. "Understand me, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to do something worse than simply destroy their big shiny new ship. We're going to take it away from them in the worst possible way. We're going to sting them to death and leave the carcass to rot in the sunshine of Carrhae. We are going to show these idiots what happens when the big bad hornet tries to take on a beehive. Now, are there any questions?"

A hand went up from one of the strike wing commanders. Farmer nodded briefly in acknowledgement. "Admiral, Sir, what exactly are we supposed to do after lunch?" 

(This piece originally appeared on r/humansarespaceorcs)