World In Turmoil

5: Calculated Negotiations

Over the furthest mountain, sored a dark brown jet, yellow stripes accentuating its wings. Up, and over, and then down. Gliding low into the vast valley.

"This is Yellow leader, we're coming up on... holy..."

The megalithic cloud of soot and ash in front of Sergeant Lennard, was a spectacle of horror to behold. Lengths of flame just rearing their heads above the sea of smoke.

"LENNARD? Are you alright?" came the cry from command.

Realising that his sudden radio silence would have freaked out more than a few people he blurted, "Yes, sorry-sorry-sorry I just... I can not confirm the integrity of the city, Command."

"Why not?"

Banking the jet left, to circle the smoldering metropolis, he responded,
"It's... enveloped in smoke."

"Dear creator..."

"I can however confirm that the LSN dreadnought and it's escort force is maintaining its position over the metro."

"All right... can you report on the force's composition?"

"Sir I'm now warship expert. But they have flak and I..." There was a pause, and then a small laugh of surprise,
"Infact... Speaking of weapons. Limited thermal scanning is reporting that the enemy craft have powered down their armaments... Hmm... Alright, give me a second."

Pulling back on the jet's controls, he pulled it into an upward dive. The engines gave a glorious roar as it propelled the jet higher and higher into the sky. Until it sat comfortably 5 kilometers above the fleet.

Lennard, gazing out the side of his cockpit, struggling to look past his mask, said
"Yeah, Command do you have some paper ready for this?"

"Lennard shut up. Data. Now."

As he turned the jet onto its side, what was he supposed to do? He was watching his city burn.

He paused for a second, taking a short relieving breath, and continued,

"Alright. I can see what look like six short and rectangular Beta-Classes. Rippers?"

"Right."

"Four long Betas, sort of like a triple decker cruise liner?"

"Sintinators."

"Ah. Right. Two Dementors. Sort of like a T with a curved back?"

"Or a C with a long hyphen... Dementors..."

"And..."

"And?"

"An Orion-Class Ferolder Mk3B..."

"..."

"...Sir? Hello?"

"...Dear Creator..." Said the voice on the other end, squeaked in comprehension,
"A Ferolder...? ".

Lennard fidgited in his seat as he scanned the scene.
"Didn't you pick that up on Technical-Radar?"

There was some incoherent mumbling in the background, and a begrudging voice interjected into the conversation, "It's a warship. It's designed not to be picked up on radar."

"Let me apologise and ask a different way Rosen."
Lennard took a small breath, and bellowed.
"HOW THE HELL DID THEY SNEAK A CITY SIZED MEGA CRAFT ONTO A CITY?"

Technical officer Elon Rosen went quiet, with only the silent exchange of the Commanders glare towards Rosen piercing the quiet.

Out of the corner of his eye Lennard saw the exhaust of the rest of his squadron crest the eastern mountain.
"That reminds me, Yellow B to H report in."

"Yo bossman, Yellow Bee reporting in!"
"Yellow Sea reporting in."
"Yellow D reporting in."
"Yellow E reporting in."
"Yel F reppn' in."
"Yellow G reporting in."
"Yellow H reporting in."

After mentally ticking everyone off, Lennard finally looked down at his comm's console. On it, was a little still image of his kids, and a box, with a No-Identification Communications request sitting politely within it's digital borders.

"Ah... Command. I'm getting an unencrypted NoID comm pinging my ship. It's requesting me to patch into a non-secure channel."

Once again there was a muffled duel of words, and the victor sprung forth, "What? A NoID? What the hell?"
There was a soft, but strong thud, accompanied by a silent yelp.
"Elon, if you bloody... get back to your seat."
There was a muted apology, and the commander returned,
"Okay, Patch in. We can monitor the communica from here. But get back to this channel ASAP."

"Yes sir."

Taking his right hand precariously off the stick, he tapped the console and swapped channels.

"Unidentified Protectorate jet. This is Superior-Captain Redforest, requesting permission to chat with your superior."

"No can do sir. I don't need you tracing communication links."

"Pilot. We know exactly where you came from. We have the location of every Military installation in this solar system. We're not here for you. Though, your efforts to protect your comrades is admirable."

"Bugger you, you..."
...traitorous asshats. Lennard nearly spat. But, it probably wasn't the brightest move right now,

"Madman."
He substituted, cringing at how pathetic it sounded.

The silence of Redforest was deafening. Then, he began, slowly, and deliberately. Gaining volume as he spoke.
"Just let me talk with your commander. I don't want to spill any more blood today. But so help me, I'll rip your little soddened existence from the skies and SMASH IT TO THE GROUND!"

Realising his pathetically small odds of survival, and the lack of any other choice, Lennard switched to the 'smart' move,
"Jinna bleck, all right. Let me just get the all clear."

With forced hospitality Redforest spat, "Thank. You."

Once again Lennard performed the daring comm's switch,
"Commander. I have an issue. The LSN commander wants to speak to you."

"I heard it all Len." There was a apprehensive grunt, "Patch me through."

"Sir? Are you sure? They could trace the comm and triangulate the location of Base."

"I know. But if it means rescuing whatever's left of our people..."
There was a pause, and an audible sigh,
"Yes. I must."

"... Alright boss... relaying you to the NoID Channel."
As Lennard patched his commanding officer through, he thought for a terrible moment, grimacing, at what horrors anyone still alive down on the surface must be going through.