Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 1 - 2100 Zulu

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Script

9D INT. CONCORDIA - BRIDGE

CLOSE ON a video monitor. On it, we see a playback of
Wilson on the Pegasus station. Image shakes as he speaks:


WILSON
This is Admiral Bill Wilson, Pegasus
station commanding officer. Forty
Kilrathi capital ships are closing.
Station has been breached. They want
the NAVCOM. Repeat, they want--


Concussion and Wilson spins, puts his back to the
monitor....transmission ends in fuzz.


CAMERA PULLS BACK to reveal Admiral TOLWYN standing on
the pristine bridge of the massive battle ship, COMMODORE
RICHARD BELLEGARDE behind him.


SUPERIMPOSE: CONCORDIA BATTLE GROUP, MARCH 15TH, 2100
ZULU TIME. 42 HOURS FROM EARTH


BELLEGARDE
The Pegasus NAVCOM? My God, if they
have it--


TOLWYN turns towards an open area.


TOLWYN
Tactical. Give me the Vega and Sol
sectors.


A holographic projection of Vega and Sol sectors
materializes in front of him. Pegasus, a small blue dot
is near the center. Around it are dozens of star systems
peppered with red and blue dots, indicating the position
of the CONFED and Kilrathi fleets.


Behind Pegasus, we see the Ulysses Corridor funneling
towards the massive Charybdis Quasar.


A hundred yellow lines--avenues through space-time--
emanates from it, lead into Sol sector. One, thicker than
the rest, leads directly to a solar system with nine
planets.


TOLWYN walks inside the hologram. As he nears the solar
system, a single blue planet, Earth, enlarges, floats
there, spinning slowly.


TOLWYN
What is the fleet's position?


BELLEGARDE
We're spread all over the sector. The
earliest our advance elements could
reach Sol is forty-two hours. And that
is piecemeal and taking risks with the
jumps, sir.


TOLWYN
And with the NAVCOM they can reach
Earth in under forty through the
Charybdis Quasar...
(ironic smile)
A mere two hours could decide the
outcome of this war.
(pauses, decides)
Signal all ships to mark our course and
make full speed for Earth....I need to
know what the Kilrathi are up to,
Richard. I need eyes and ears, and I
need intelligence. Do we have any
ships left in Vega?


BELLEGARDE checks the situational display on his monitor:


BELLEGARDE
Just one, sir. The Tiger Claw. But
she is out of communications range, and
a drone will take two days to reach her.


TOLWYN checks the display, motions to a small red dot in
Sol Sector.


TOLWYN
Who's this?


BELLEGARDE bangs on the keyboard, readers:


BELLEGARDE
A requisitioned merchantman, sir. The
Diligent.


TOLWYN
The Diligent?


BELLEGARDE
It's captained by James Taggart.


TOLWYN
(thinks)
Taggart.


BELLEGARDE
Enroute to the Tiger Claw with two
replacement pilots. Lieutenants Todd
Marshall and Christopher Blair.


TOLWYN
Open a secure channel to the Diligent
immediately. I need to speak to her
Captain --


BELLEGARDE
Right away, sir.


TOLWYN
(peering at readout)
and this 1st Lieutenant Blair.

Novelization

CHAPTER 1

CONCORDIA
BATTLE GROUP
MARCH 15, 2654
2100 HOURS
ZULU TIME
42 HOURS
FROM EARTH


In classic battle group formation, the Confederation-class carrier
Concordia, flagship of the 14th Fleet, glided majestically amid five
cruisers, five destroyers—including the formidable TCS Beowulf-—and ten
support ships. The pride of the Confederation Navy, the Concordia
stretched into space nearly 984 meters and weighed in at an imposing
73,000 tonnes. She doubled as a dreadnought so she could stand up to
Kilrathi cruisers and destroyers in a one-on-one fight. Three heavy flak
cannons discouraged light fighters from becoming intimate, and eight
anti-matter guns warded off attacking Kilrathi corvettes, heavy fighters,
and bombers. Fore and aft phase shields guarded her from an assortment
of Kilrathi weapons, as did her 500-centimeter-thick armor. She carried
120 fighters piloted by the most respected and experienced officers in the
fleet.
Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn suspected that every time the Concordia
appeared before the Kilrathi, she turned their alien blood cold.
As she should.
Twelve fighters presently on security patrol veered off to allow a
changing of the guard. Tolwyn shifted away from the external monitor and
scratched at a graying sideburn, then at his neck. He loved the smell of his
new cologne, a thank-you gift from his nephew Kevin, but the damned
stuff had the strange effect of making him itch only when he wore his
uniform, as though chemicals in the cologne reacted with the fabric. This
effect had, of course, not been mentioned on the cologne's label, nor had
Tolwyn remembered the last time he had served as a human catalyst for
an unlikely chemical reaction. He tugged at his collar, swore, then stepped
across the carrier's wide, pristine bridge to lock gazes with Commodore
Richard Bellegarde, who had just exited the lift. Stocky, with neatly
trimmed dark hair, Bellegarde had thus far been an excellent officer but a
poor liar. He assumed that no one knew of his alcoholism nor his frequent
extramarital affairs, both born of a midlife crisis that threatened to ruin
him. Tolwyn hated to see a man slowly destroying his life, but he would
keep on his side of the line. At least for now.
"Did we get it, Commodore?" Tolwyn asked.
Bellegarde nodded vigorously. "It's just been decoded." He hurried
toward a video monitor at the commander's station. Tolwyn fell in behind
him.
The screen lighted with a shaky image of Admiral Bill Wilson, whose
eyes pleaded as he spoke. "The NAVCOM command codes were somehow
overwritten. We can't shut it down, can't destroy it. Station self-destruct
programs have been locked, passwords changed. Jesus, I'm sorry, Geoff.
I'm so damned sorry." Laser fire pierced the air around Wilson. Small
explosions lit the shadowy Command and Control room behind him. Then
static whisked away his face.
Tolwyn repressed the urge to pound his fist on the commander's chair,
having learned long ago to govern his emotions, use them as a tool, and
never let them overwhelm him. He stood there, focusing on his breathing,
clearing his thoughts, then guiding them toward an appropriate response.
Contrarily, Bellegarde paced the bridge, muttering to himself, rubbing
his jaw. Were his thoughts visible, they would be wildly orbiting his head.
He whipped around and faced Tolwyn with a madman's glare, releasing a
short, bitter laugh. "I've been considering ways Wilson could've protected
it from them. But he… think about it… the Pegasus NAVCOM. My God, if
they have it—"
"Calm down, Richard. Let's assume they have it," Tolwyn said, his voice
a placid lake. "Now, what shall we do about that? Speak to me,
Commodore."
Bellegarde snorted. "Go after them."
"Exactly. And I'm sure the Kilrathi counted on that." Tolwyn turned
toward the open expanse of bridge between the commander's station and
the lift. "Tactical. Give me the Vega and Sol sectors."
A swirling holographic projection took shape as overhead lights
dimmed. Dozens of star systems appeared in each of the selected sectors,
their tiny planets rotating in real time about their suns. Glowing blue orbs
indicated the positions of Confederation capital ships. Red orbs
representing Kilrathi cruisers, dreadnoughts, and destroyers dotted the
display like blood. The Pegasus Station's last known location stood as a
small blue dot at the core of the celestial maelstrom. Behind it, thin white
lines formed a tube depicting the Ulysses Corridor. The tube funneled
toward a small but comprehensive model of the Charybdis Quasar.
Hundreds of yellow lines emanated from the quasar's back, each
representing an avenue through space-time. One yellow line, much thicker
than the others, led directly to the Sol system, to Earth.
Tolwyn walked into the projection, intent on the images surrounding
him. As he neared the Sol system, the holograph zoomed in on Earth,
illustrating the precious planet in sharp detail. A hurricane swirled off
Florida's east coast. Clouds blanketed California. Lightning backlit the
thunderheads. Tolwyn glanced sidelong at Bellegarde. "What is the fleet's
position?"
The commodore stepped closer to the holograph and gestured toward
the blue dots. "We're spread all over the sector." He rushed to the
commander's station and tapped in coordinates on a touchpad. Then he
looked up and shook his head. "The earliest our advance elements could
reach Sol is forty-two hours. And that's piecemeal and taking risks with
the jumps, sir. If we do make it within that time frame, we'll be breaking
every Confederation jump record."
"And with the NAVCOM, the Kilrathi can reach Earth in forty hours
through the Charybdis Quasar." The irony tasted so bitter in Tolwyn's
mouth that it made him cringe. "A mere two hours could decide the
outcome of this war."
"That's not true, sir."
Tolwyn furrowed his brow. "What?"
"Even if Earth falls, we still have the fleet and support from the rest of
the Confederation."
Stepping to the edge of the projection, Tolwyn locked gazes with the
commodore. "What is it you fight for, Richard, if not Earth?"
"Permission to—"
"Granted."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Earth's not my homeworld. I'm aware of its strategic
importance, but I don't place as much emphasis on it as those like you
with family connections in government and industry."
"But it's the world of your forefathers. Think of Scotland, of Glasgow.
That accent still lingers in your speech. You cannot deny your heritage."
"Sometimes I wish I could."
Tolwyn looked away, glaring into nothingness. Then he abruptly faced
Bellegarde with renewed steel, his tone a direct challenge. "Signal all ships
to mark our course and make full speed for Earth."
"All ships to mark course and make full speed for Earth. Aye-aye, sir,"
the commodore said tersely. He spun on his heel toward the situational
display on his monitor.
"Richard. I suggest we lay our political differences aside for now. I
suspect we'll return to this conversation later."
Bellegarde kept his back to Tolwyn. "Yes, sir."
Tolwyn stared at the holograph once more, his gaze directed to the
Vega sector and traveling past McAuliffe to Trimble to Baird's Star. "Now.
I need to know what the Kilrathi are up to. I need eyes and ears, and I
need intelligence. Do we have any ships left in Vega?"
"Checking." The commodore's fingers worked quickly on his touchpad.
As Tolwyn waited, he realized that with the luck they had been having,
the answer would surely be no. In that event, he needed to devise an
alternate plan, one that would somehow get Warning and Control mission
fighters in close enough to run intelligence on that Kilrathi fleet—but
fighters deployed from where?
"We have seven capital ships in that sector, sir," Bellegarde finally
answered. "The closest one to the Pegasus Station's last known
coordinates is the Tiger Claw. But she's in the Enyo system and out of
communication range. A drone will take two standard days to reach her."
Tolwyn moved toward a blue orb that quickly materialized into an
image of the Bengal-class carrier Tiger Claw, 700 hundred meters of
Confederation fury. Dammit. If they could only alert her. He winced once
more over the taste in his mouth.
Then he accidentally spotted a tiny dot on the projection. Granted,
whatever ship it represented lay in the Sol sector, but judging distances
and factoring in a jump point, it might be within communication range
and might be able to reach the Tiger Claw in time. He pointed at the dot.
"Who's this?"
Bellegarde studied the holograph, then typed on his pad. "It's a
requisitioned merchantman, sir. The Diligent."
"The Diligent!" Narrowing his gaze, Tolwyn watched as the dot grew
into the rather bulky, purely functional form of the transport vessel. What
she lost in appearance she gained in strategic position.
"She's captained by James Taggart," Bellegarde added.
With that, bad luck and operative words like "might" got burned away
by Tolwyn's recognition. He had been meaning to check on Taggart's
whereabouts. Now fate had stepped on the bridge to whisper the
coordinates in his ear. "Can you pull up her log?"
"Already have. She's en route to the Tiger Claw with two replacement
pilots: First Lieutenants Todd Marshall and Christopher Blair."
Blair. Another name from long ago. In their quest to end humanity's
future, the Kilrathi had inadvertently summoned up two distinct figures
from Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn's past. If nothing else, the immediate
future would prove bittersweet. He stared through the merchantman's
ghostly hull and said, "Open a secure channel to the Diligent immediately.
I need to speak to her captain—"
"Right away, sir."
"—and this First Lieutenant Blair."