Combat wings were leaving or arriving every few minutes, fighting in the conflict zones close to Almagro Port. Watching these battle hardened ships would have been a dream for teenage fanboys, but of course it was a fanboy free zone. Everyone on Silk Stocking was the real deal and had serious work to perform.
An attempt to create a New Caribbean was underway - a pirate haven in this busiest of busy sectors. Local governments were overwhelmed, corruption was endemic, and many political leaders were taking bribes to turn a blind eye to the menace. The alternative for those who stood up to the intimidation, was often death.
The Old Worlds were becoming a mess. Law enforcement had been weak for a decade, the sector's once respected military a disgrace. Many looked towards Alioth for leadership, but that buck was passed straight back like a hot potato. That merely served to encourage the criminal gangs. The Old Worlds were a thorn in the side for the Alliance, its great and good would have been glad to eject these most famous of star systems from the club.
Cometh the hour, cometh the man - or in this case a woman.
Victoria Wolf was used to dealing with pirate threats the only way they understood: with overwhelming force. She was also familiar with the inaction from the hallowed halls of Garden City.
"The Alliance is more than just twenty stars centred on Alioth," she'd pleaded in council meetings once again. Unfortunately, that was exactly what many on the council wished it still was. "These systems need our leadership and support." She'd argued those points once before. Surely this time would be different. The Jewel of the Old Worlds was at stake, the famed high technology system of Leesti.
There would be no military response from the Alliance.
Victoria and her advisors had watched events unfold in Leesti, Lave, Reorte, and Tionisla. They'd listened to traders running from the region, scared for their lives. Agents had been sent to watch and learn. Assets quietly entrenched themselves in key places, the Silk Stocking was one of them.
They'd been too late to save Leesti, it fell on April 1st of all days. The fall of Reorte three days later was the last straw. Tionisla looked to be next - "That must never happen!" Victoria said defiantly.
Victoria had her pieces in place. The seven hounds of hell were to be unleashed and the pirates would never know what hit them.
Below decks on the Silk Stocking engineering crews had been working flat out for hours. Each inbound wing of four fighters had to be re-fueled, re-armed, and minor scrapes and scratches patched up quickly to get them back out to the front line. The engineers had spent most of their careers practicing for this scenario, but these weren't drills, and for many this was their first taste of war.
Malcolm McLaughlin was an old hand and watched proceedings from the control room. As Deck Officer the smooth running of these operations was his responsibility. On a normal day he'd be sat in the big control chair at the back, watching all the screens before him, each with its own operator, but he had oversight. Today he was pacing, he hadn't sat in hours. He could feel the sweat dripping down his spine under the bright yellow jersey that signified he was boss. A towel hung over the unused chair, occasionally he'd wipe the sweat from his forehead. It was one of those days.
He looked calm and in control, he was an officer afterall. But appearances were sometimes deceptive.
'Don't let it show,' he reminded himself, 'the troops need to see you in control.'
The lifts had barely stopped moving all morning, and those fighters weren't exactly light. The hydraulics were as stressed as he was. The engineering teams would have to strip down everything over the next few weeks to recover the carrier from these ops. That would wait.
"Sir we have a warning light on lift four," his engineering chief reported, "that oil leak has returned by the looks."
"Thank you Chief, log that with Mr Nixon if you will." The Head Mechanic would have a long list of maintenance jobs tomorrow, they were in for a busy week or two. Nevertheless, they couldn't afford the down time right now. It would go on the list with the other dozen problems that had come to light in the last few hours. Silk Stocking's flight deck was being pushed to the limit like never before.
Steam was filling the hanger bays as the hydraulic lifts vented with each use. In normal times, those gasses would disperse, but with so much traffic back and forth it lingered and clouds were forming. They needed downtime urgently - there would be none for a few hours yet.
"Welcome home Wolf Pack," McLaughlin heard Madeline greet yet another combat wing approaching the flight line. She sat in the ATC chair next to the one he'd abandoned. They had Red Wing almost ready to leave too, between them that would take up the eight primary landing pads of Silk Stocking. "You are cleared on pads 5 through 8, make your damage report ASAP."
One of the screens in front of him showed the schedule on the flight line. Wolf Pack arriving, Red Wing departing, Gold Wing in transit to the CZ and Black Knights following behind Wolf. Active in the CZ were Griffen Fleet and Silver Wing.
That all four pads were designated to the Wolf Pack was music to McLaughlin's ears. He never wanted a short wing returning from battle, even if it meant one fewer bird for his deck crew to manage. So far this morning, they'd lost only one ship, and that had been mechanical problems causing a diversion to a nearby star port.
He looked down at Madeline and received a thumbs up - no issues with the four imminent arrivals, just basic diagnostics of the ships and a quick turn around. She was already back on the comms launching the next wing. It was monotonous and non-stop and both of them knew something was going to break soon. You can't push people and machinery this hard for this long and run like clockwork forever.
"Sir, we are now ammo critical," his Chief Armourer shouted across the control room. "Any news on that re-sup?"
"Thank you Ms Barton, give me numbers."
"At current usage, six more flights, sir. We're getting pretty desperate."
That wouldn't necessarily bring everything to a crashing halt, but switching to energy weapons would slow operations significantly. 'No bad thing, perhaps,' McLaughlin caught himself thinking. The Python re-supply ship was due any time, it was already late. The schedule screen showed pad 15 reserved for it, plus 11 and 12 for its Viper escort. The flight line was going to get even busier soon.
"Madeline," he turned to his ATC once more, "instruct out going patrols to conserve kinetic munitions, please. We need to buy ourselves a little more time for the Python to arrive."
"Aye aye, sir."
That would not be a popular call.
Another screen told him the status of the newly arrived wing as the engineering team checked out the birds. Wolf Pack, that was Cochrane's boys, fresh from the centre of the conflict zone. They weren't part of Silk's regular squadron, one of the militia wings temporarily attached for this mammoth operation. But boy could they fly - and fight. McLaughlin almost felt sorry for the pirate forces they were going up against. Of the six combat wings involved, Cochrane's wolves had notched up over a third of the kills. They were vicious.
Three of the four wolves were flying on fumes to make it back to the carrier. They'd cut it very fine. Mr Vincent would handle that though, fuel supplies were no problem - for now. A few superficial scratches to Cochrane's Python flashed up on the screen, nothing he'd requested to be dealt with. His wingmates were much the same. Coyote's Chieftain had a hull puncture, but no big deal. Had he been on a cargo run that would have been important, he wasn't, so it was ignored.
"Avoid hull damage," they'd been told in the briefing earlier that day. "We'll have enough birds in the zones to cycle out for shield regen, but we won't have time on Silk for major repair work." The message had been simple: "Don't put your ships at risk - or you, and possibly your entire wing, is out of the fight for the duration."
There had been a few moans at that. Fighter pilots liked to take the fight to the enemy. Cochrane in particular was known as a hard fighter who regularly returned from ops in a bad state.
"You should see the other guy," he'd shrug off any criticism of damage. "One must always do one's utmost."
When operating out of a Fleet Carrier though, tactics had to change somewhat. They didn't have the workshop space to repair damaged birds with the flight line this busy.
"Be conservative, but kill the bastards," was the statement to close the briefing. That had turned moans into cheers, and the fly boys had left with conviction.
"StarWolf, how are you doing out there?" he asked Cochrane over the comms.
"Tactically good, I haven't seen the strategic picture though."
"We're running low on kinetics, the delivery hasn't got through yet."
"Hmpf, that's a bummer," was the not unexpected response. Rail guns were Cochrane's speciality.
McLaughlin's screen flashed green for Wolf Pack. All birds refuelled and rearmed, the deck crew reported back.
"You're good to go, StarWolf." And with that Madeline directed them back out for yet another combat patrol.
A minute later they were lifting off and boosting for the jump zone.
"StarWolf, your Wolf Pack is clear of the carrier, you are free to jump," Madeline announced. "Happy hunting boys." Cochrane's three wingmen locked on to his nav computer and the countdown began.
In the control room, McLaughlin noticed a commotion at the patrol desk. The CAP officer had one ear piece pressed firmly against the side of his head, face screwed up in concentration.
'Something's up,' thought McLaughlin.
"Jugs, repeat your last, over," CAP requested while turning towards McLaughlin. "Jugs, you're breaking up, repeat please." He pointed aggressively at ATC and mimed "Hold them" at McLaughlin.
"Madeline," he grabbed her shoulder, "hold Wolf Pack!"
"StarWolf, StarWolf, abort jump; say again abort jump!" McLaughlin pointed at CAP handing over control of Wolf Pack.
"Silk, StarWolf, jump aborted. Standing by."
"StarWolf this is CAP, we have intruders at two seven zero dash four three, Gremlin three is in trouble, can you assist?"
"Copy CAP, on the way."
"StarWolf, Apex, we have laser flash on that vector," they heard Wolf 2 confirm in the control room.
Four patrol Vipers "Gremlins" were stationed at intervals around the carrier about 100 clicks out. This dramatically increased effective sensor range for the carrier, allowing intruders to be discovered in good time. It had the down side of leaving each Gremlin dangerously exposed. With the tide of battle swinging against the pirate forces, it was inevitable that they'd try to find and then attack the carrier - the source of their woes.
"What do we have, CAP?" asked McLaughlin.
"Sounds like two Anacondas minimum, plus a bunch of smaller attack ships," he relayed the detail Jugs had provided. "Jugs is pretty beaten up her signal isn't receiving well."
"Get her back on deck, let the Wolf Pack deal with them." Patrol Vipers weren't heavy combat ships. Small, fast and nimble they could run rings around the inbound Anacondas, but would get ripped apart in a head to head battle.
"Jugs, SCRAM SCRAM SCRAM, acknowledge. Wolf Pack is inbound, over." The cavalry was charging to her side.
A cackle of static was all they heard over the control room speakers. It was impossible to decipher what was said.
"Gremlins, this is CAP, be advised we have intruders with Gremlin 3, over," CAP was now busy directing his groups. "Hold your stations, but keep your eyes peeled and for God's sake, report any contacts early."
"Gremlin 3, Silk, you are allocated pad 14. Rescue crew on standbye, over." Madeline would direct home the injured bird.
"CAP let's get the reserve Gremlins in the air," McLaughlin ordered. "No point getting caught with our pants down."
"Roger, Deck."
Next: The Cavalry