Chapter 7

During the next eleven days the convoy repelled multiple pirate raids. Somehow the Pirate lords got wind of the convoy, but the attempts to stop and raid it had little result. Long before the attacks were carried out, the Viper patrols and sensor systems of the escort fleet had already seen the raiders coming. All it achieved was thinning the pirate fleet numbers while they barely delayed the resupply fleet. With the combined effort of the imperial escorts and Invictus they managed to destroy four frigates and multiple Cobra Destroyers. Apparently the pirates didn't count on a tough escort with swarms of strike craft bearing down on them like a swarm of angry bees.

When the convoy was not in combat, the Invictus ran drill after drill while keeping up patrols. Mainly because of this. Commander Widmann came to see the value of the Battlestar and found respect for its commander. With Invictus controlling the space around, the imperial escorts were free to move as they saw fit, increasing their options tenfold.

When the convoy arrived at the edge of the system, all of the Invictus' crew had a sight to behold.

Far in the distance, behind dust clouds and debris one could see the immense concert of flashes and explosions of a battle being waged. Every now and then, a keen eye could make out the ships silhouettes before disappearing again. Closer to the lines there were ships flying off and on towards their objectives.

On the staging ground behind the lines there were multiple ships waiting for their precious supplies. Though most ships were massive in size, they drifted with majestic grace towards the convoy.

Now however came the stage where the resupply fleet was at its most vulnerable.

In the CIC both senior officers were busy leading patrols and keeping the resupply operation covered.

The Invictus had positioned herself on the flank while the other escorts surrounded the other directions. Though no enemy was present at the time, every man was at his station and all guns were raised from their nests.

"I don't like sitting around like this John." Colonel Howard remarked. "We're a sitting duck out here."

"We are way behind the frontlines Colonel."

"Are we? We have at least half a dozen ships of the line stationery out there with buckets of ammo strapped to their hull. All it takes is one torpedo, one lucky shot to get through and the ship lights up like a firework show!"

"Why do you think we have so many Vipers patrolling out there? Take it easy Howard. If anyone is out there we'll find them before they get too close."

"Have we received our orders yet?" Lieutenant Goradin stepped up to the conn while buttoning up his collar.

"Not yet. The last we've heard was two days ago, us covering the resupply operation. Haven't heard from him since." XO Howard answered.

"It shouldn't take too much longer. Mourndark isn't one to let ships just sit around while they could do something useful. Though I must say he doesn't really value carriers. He values armour and cannons over strike craft. In his eyes carriers are more of a burden than an asset."

"Knowing this, where would he station us?" Price asked while pulling out the situation map.

"We would never be placed in the main fleet. No offence but in his eyes this ship is still a wildcard. My guess would be either the Rear guard or the Vanguard." Goradin noted while pointing at the respective positions on the map.

"We would be ordered to either cover the rear, or scout on ahead of the main fleet. In that case we'd be looking for mines, traps, any sign of offensives and the sort."

"As long as we stay out of those asteroid fields we should be ok. DRADIS is useless in there."

"What do you mean?"

"With so much stuff flying about in those fields the system can't see the difference between a spacecraft and an asteroid. Besides, even if it could see ships, the only thing the bad guy has to do is hide behind one of those rocks and we'd never know. The same goes for our fighters, so if we go in there we have to rely on the Mk1 Eyeball. Our IR sensors may spot something, but the enemy can hide from that as well."

"If we can't go in we have to make the other guy come out."

"Indeed Daemus. We have to lure them out to be precise."

In the past twelve days Mercer Trune had been flying almost non-stop. The classes about Viper tactics and flying the actual patrols next to his training were exhausting. His instructor set the bar very high and kept pushing him further and harder. Somehow he wondered how some imperial squadrons would look and function if men like Bingo trained the men. He never raised his voice unless absolutely necessary, always remained calm and didn't scold you if you made a mistake, save for a grave one.

But if you failed to meet his expectations he didn't shout or scream like most Imperial taining officers. He just looked you in the eye with utter disappointment, which in its own right was worse than the former.

In any case, although the training was exhausting, he got a better feeling for his Viper the longer he flew it and grew to like it. He still prefered his Fury over the tiny craft, but he began to see its charm. The first few flights he still struggled to control the craft just after launch and needed a minute to straighten out. This was of course coupled with his signature hurricane of bad language which earned him the nickname "Storm". Though he found this habit strange he did prefer this to 'Nugget', which was still his first nickname. Even though the difference of culture and uniform separated him from the other pilots, he was treated with respect. The others pulled a chair over and asked him to join in off-duty card games and the occasional drinks while sharing stories. Though this ship has hardly seen combat outside of this sector, a lot of pilots were veterans of some hostile action.