Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 0600 Zulu

Script

117 EXT. TIGER CLAW - NEAR JOVIAN PLANET

The Tiger Claw makes its way amidst giant asteroids.

Three moons orbit the huge gaseous planet in the

background.

118 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

SANSKY stands alone. In his hand he plays with Tolwyn's

ring. His thoughts are impossible to discern.

CLOSE ON SANSKY: a BEAD OF SWEAT trickles down his

forehead.

The Tiger Claw cruises between a small moon orbiting the

huge Jovian planet in the background. A thick series of

rings glow dimly ahead of the ship. Rapiers glint as

they maneuver while escorting the carrier through the

"pass" between the two barren moons. Panicked voice cuts

over the intercom:

PILOT'S VOICE

(over intercom)

Bogies inbound. I say again--

(static)

I'm hit! I'm hit! Mayday!

Sansky doesn't move. Gerald bursts onto the bridge.

GERALD

Who's breaking radio silence?

RADAR MAN

(turning from screen)

I read multiple targets inbound!

OBUTU, the Officer of the Watch turns to look out the

huge windows. GERALD follows his gaze.

THEIR POV: Dozens of small glinting dots, and three

larger ones, appear from behind the moon.

GERALD

Battle stations! Launch all fighters!

OBUTU

(relays commands)

Battle stations! Battle stations!

The bridge light switches to an EERIE RED GLOW, as the

alarm sounds.

SC. 119 OMIT

120 INT. TIGER CLAW - FLIGHT DECK

Pilots and crew sprint across the deck toward their planes as the huge flight doors open and the force field curtain activates.

AI VOICE

Battle stations! Launch all fighters!

121 EXT. BETWEN JOVIAN PLANET MOONS

The Confederation Rapiers fiercely engage the oncoming

Kilrathi fighters. The sky is soon full of individual

dogfights. The RADIO CHATTER of the various pilots as

they engage choke the airwaves. A Rapier is hit, and

spirals past, on fire. A Krant fighter disintegrates.

122 EXT. TIGER CLAW

Rapiers leap from the decks into space and streak toward

the distant battle. A Broadsword bomber blasts through

the air lock curtain into space.

123 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

OBUTU

All fighters launched, sir.

GERALD

(to Sansky)

Sir?

Sansky snaps out of his trance -- suddenly all business --

SANSKY

Shields up!

OBUTU

All shields are engaged.

SANSKY

Torpedo room! Prepare all tubes!

124 INT. TIGER CLAW - TORPEDO ROOM

Rodriguez loads and locks a torpedo...

125 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

AI VOICE

All tubes ready to fire.

RADAR MAN

I count three dozen Kilrathi

starfighters, two destroyers, and one

battle ship, sir!

SANSKY

(to Gerald)

That damned Taggart was right.

GERALD

Maybe he knew something we didn't.

RADAR MAN

Torpedoes incoming!

GERALD

Brace for impact!

126 EXT. TIGER CLAW

TWO LARGE, STRANGELY CONFIGURED TORPEDOES streak through

the blackness and EXPLORE against the invisible force

shield with an awesome burst of energy.

127 INT. TIGER CLAW - HANGER BAY

The shock wave from the explosions rock the ship, sending

men and heavy equipment flying and rolling across the

deck.

SC. 128 OMIT

129 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

Impacts on the force shield directly in front of them

continue to send shock waves through the Tiger Claw.

GERALD

Give me a target, Mr. Falk!

RADAR MAN

Target acquisition imminent....We have

a lock!

GERALD

Fire tubes one and two!

Officers and crew watch as two white traces from the

rocket propelled torpedoes streak toward the distant

dots.

130 EXT. KILRATHI DESTROYER

The torpedoes SLAM INTO the weak shields of the destroyer

and EXPLODE. The shock wave breaks the destroyed in half,

spewing a huge gas bubble and debris into space.

WIDER: The Battle ship moves up, parallel with the

second Kilrathi destroyer, launches torpedoes.

SC. 131 OMIT

132 EXT. TIGER CLAW

The huge torpedoes slam into the force shield, explode!

133 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

The shaking and shock waves cause widespread damage on

the bridge.

OBUTU

The force shield is suffering a forty

percent failure. Battery room reports

a fire. Torpedo room reporting damage.

Unable to launch.

Sansky picks himself up off the deck. What now?

134 EXT. TIGER CLAW

Kilrathi fighters -- Dralthi and Krants -- are now just outside the shield, battling Rapiers.

Storyboards

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

Novelization

CHAPTER 18

UNITED CONFEDERATIONCARRIER TIGER CLAW

ULYSSES CORRIDOR

MARCH 17, 2654 0600 HOURS ZULU TIME

7 HOURS FROM CHARYBOIS QUASAR JUMP POINT

Rolling Admiral Tolwyn's ring between his fingers, Captain Jay Sansky

transported himself 700 light-years away from the bridge of the Tiger

Claw and the Jovian-like system it now approached. He put himself back

in his holopic, back on graduation day from the academy in Houston. He

and Bill Wilson had driven out to the desert preserve with two bottles of

champagne and four years' worth of memories…

* * *

"Was it really worth it?" Wilson asked, leaning on the hood of their

borrowed military hover.

"For once the years didn't go by fast. God, the exams. The sacrifices.

What did we do, Bill? Sell off our youth?"

Wilson roared with laughter. "I was talking about driving out here. We

could've drank and said our good-byes at my place. But no, you wanted to

come all the way out here to see your desert one more time. Well, here it

is." He waved his bottle over the wind-swept sand, then took a long pull.

"Truth is, this might be the only thing left when I return. The people?

They'll all be gone—and maybe the academy with them. I need something

to come back to."

"Hang on to your memories. This planet might be gone." He raised his

bottle to the sky. "There's a force out there much greater than our

experience. And we think the stars are our destiny, Jay. I think we're

wrong."

"Then why are you going?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's already too late to say no. Or maybe I just

want to prove that we don't belong there."

Sansky lifted his own bottle in a toast. "Then here's to going—for

whatever reasonand coming back."

"We're going to change the universe, Jay. I know that."

"Okay. But let's get drunk first."

* * *

A bead of sweat trickled down Sansky's forehead, as though he still

stood in the desert's unforgiving heat. The mottled gas giant returned to

view, two of its moons floating to port, a third peeking out behind the

planet. A wing of Rapiers flew point, escorting the Tiger Claw through a

broad series of rings composed of billions of water-ice particles and rock

fragments ranging from 5,000 to about 79,000 kilometers away from the

planet. Two other tenuous rings orbited much more distantly.

"This is Black Lion Seven to Pride One. Getting a lot of interference

from the belt. Scope's clear, but I don't trust it, roger."

Sansky shifted to the comm console, where Lieutenant Commander

Obutu stood at Comm Officer Sasaki's shoulder. The screen showed the

reporting pilot, Major Jennifer Leiby, her eyes narrowed, her face cast in

the blue glow of display units. "Copy that, Seven," Obutu said into his

headset. "Continue the sweep, manual as necessary."

"Aye-aye, sir. Think I see something now. Wait a minute. Is that…

Bogies inbound. I say again—" A burst of static stole her words. "I'm hit!

I'm hit! Mayday!"

Through the viewport and out past the Jovian-like planet's third moon,

a speck of light burned briefly.

"Who's reporting in?" Gerald asked, bursting onto the bridge.

"Major Leiby," Obutu answered. "But we've lost contact."

Gerald's lip twitched. "What?"

"I read multiple targets inbound!" Radar Tech Harrison Falk said. The

twenty-year-old stood before his tall, transparent screen and looked to

Sansky, his face stricken.

Sansky regarded the viewport as Gerald and Obutu strained for their

own view.

Dozens of small, glinting dots—and three larger ones—materialized

from the cover of the third moon.

As Sansky turned back, Falk had already begun plotting the enemy's

course. Obutu shouted commands to the security patrol pilots. The

helmsman pulled up an evasion course on his screen. Then Gerald bolted

to his command chair, dropped into it, and, after a nod from Sansky,

shouted, "Battle stations! Battle stations! Launch all fighters!"

Despite the bridge's frenetic energy, Sansky felt a strange calm settle

over him. The enemy attack force charged toward them with only a wing

of Rapiers to stop it, but his calm would not yield to fear. And that wasn't

so strange, after all. It was the calm you feel while lying on the ice at the

moment before freezing; the calm you feel while staring into the

headlights of a massive transport about to strike you down; the calm you

feel while surrendering to fate after too many years of fighting it. Bill was

right… Bill was right.

* * *

"Get those goddamned flight doors open," Flight Boss Raznick shouted

into the comm. He stood at his desk, glaring down through the Plexi at the

techs running frantically about his deck.

"I'm on it, sir," a jittery Specialist Mistovski replied. "But the pressure's

low on the left side. Once it's open, I don't know if we'll get it shut again."

"If we don't get it open, you won't… never mind! Just prioritize, young

man. Prioritize!"

"Yes, sir."

"Peterson!" Raznick called.

"Here, sir."

"Are we clear yet?"

"I got one more tanker and another plow to move."

"Then why are you talking to me? Get on it!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Raznick? Where are my fighters?" Commander Gerald asked through

the comm.

"They're hot. Ten seconds to clear."

"What's the delay?"

"Problem with one of the hangar doors, sir." Raznick looked to the

doors, now yawning open. "But it's been resolved."

"Good. Let's see if you can beat your record."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Raznick's record: six launches per minute. But that included

preflighting. He flipped on the deckwide intercom. "Attention pilots.

Quickshot launch procedures are now in effect. I want seven birds off my

deck in one minute. Do you read me!"

"We read you, sir!"

* * *

Sansky took one more look at the wave of enemy ships, then retreated

to the captain's console, where he watched the attack as though it were a

holo. The security patrol engaged the incoming fighters, converting the

gas giant's ring system into a furball more deadly than any he had ever

witnessed. Dralthi fighters double- and triple-teamed Confederation

Rapiers, while the enemy's Krant medium fighters darted like furtive

wasps between ice and stone, vectoring toward the Tiger Claw. The

viewports soon flooded with the images of individual dogfights, of fighters

from both sides being run off-course to collide with asteroids. The

carrier's eight dual laser turrets oscillated and sent shudders throughout

the ship as they fired upon swooping targets while intermittently throwing

up clouds of scintillating flak. Rapiers and Broadsword bombers arrowed

away from the flight hangar to join the explosive fray, some torn to

ribbons less than a kilometer from the ship and chain-detonating others.

Beyond the launching counterassault, on the fringe of the hastily drawn

battle line, awaited the still-indistinct Kilrathi capital ships. Paused now

so that their fighters could soften up the Claw, they would soon spring for

the kill.

"All fighters launched, sir," Obutu announced, his voice sounding

hollow and several lifetimes away.

Someone touched Sansky's shoulder. "Sir?"

Gerald's concern, an emotion he rarely displayed, brought Sansky back

to the bridge, to the memory of his rank, his job. All was not lost—or

gained—yet. "Shields up!"

Obutu looked at him, puzzled. "Sir, shields already standing at

maximum power."

"Good," Sansky said, unmoved by his redundant order. "Torpedo room.

Prepare all tubes!"

* * *

"Got her down?" Spaceman Rodriguez asked, lifting his voice over the

squeal of alarms that still echoed through the secondary ordnance room.

"Weapon is set," Galaway answered as he jogged toward her.

The torpedo sat on its loader, ready to slide smartly into its tube.

Rodriguez threw open the hatch, then thumbed the autoloader switch. The

loader hummed as it delivered its cargo. Once the weapon clicked into

place, he closed the hatch and waved Galaway on to the next tube.

Rodriguez had been taught that the manual loading of torpedoes on

capital ships, while seemingly archaic, not only resulted in an unparalleled

level of safety but also upheld a centuries-long tradition of naval

teamwork. And, Rodriguez thought, touching the torpedoes before they

went out personalized the war; it put him on the front line instead of in

the ship's bowels.

"Tired yet?" he asked Galaway.

"No way."

"Good. After we win this battle, let's you and I celebrate. We're going to

salsa."

She grinned slyly. "You just want to dance?"

* * *

An automated voice rattled through the bridge's speakers: "Torpedo

launch status: nominal."

"I count three dozen Kilrathi starfighters, two Ralari-class destroyers,

and one dreadnought," Falk said, studying the holographic images on his

display. "The cap ships are advancing at one hundred and twenty KPS.

They'll be in firing range in four seconds."

Sansky glanced obliquely at Gerald. "That damned Taggart was right."

"Maybe he knew something that we didn't. And if he did, then I'll brig

him for withholding information."

"Worry about your bruised ego later, Mr. Gerald. Helm. Come about."

"Torpedoes incoming!" Falk cried.

A pair of Kilrathi torpedoes trailing thin plumes of exhaust followed a

lazy curve, then shot headlong at the carrier.

"Launch countermeasures," Sansky said.

Falk nodded as the chaff clouds illuminated his screen.

"Countermeasures away and… shit, sir. Sorry, sir. Torpedoes still on

course, targeting port bow."

"Sound the collision alarm," Sansky ordered Gerald. "Rig the ship for

impact."

Slashing through shards of ice and fluttering rock chips, the projectiles

increased velocity as they came within fifty kilometers of the ship. Forty…

thirty…

"Oh, God," Falk moaned. "Impact in three seconds."

The first missile exploded over the carrier's phase shields, tossing up

lightning-laced rainbows of energy and debris that fell mercilessly upon

her superstructure. Sansky clung to his chair as the second torpedo hit,

and the bridge seemed to wheeze as the bomb throttled it. Falk shouted

something unintelligible. Gerald grunted. Obutu demanded a damage

report even as the blast wave persisted.

* * *

Down on the flight deck, Specialist Jones rushed to his feet, then he and

Olivia sprinted toward a half-full missile rack that had broken free from

its bulkhead straps.

A second impact tossed them back to the deck, and the bulkheads

seemed to clap with the volume and vigor of an enormous god. The rumble

gave way to a piercing screech.

"Watch out!" Boss Raznick screamed over the intercom.

Jones stared into the faces of dozens of missiles as the entire rack that

housed them fell forward. He threw himself back, fleeing crab-like as the

three tons of explosives and durasteel hit the deck, missing him by a

half-meter. The resulting concussion tossed him nearly as far away.

He looked around, chills rippling, heart slamming his ribs. Where was

Olivia? Ohmygod. Ohmygod. "Olivia!"

"What?"

After a glance over his shoulder, Jones sighed.

"Gentlemen! I want a crane in there now!" Raznick said. "I want that

rack up and battened down in ninety seconds!"

Jones gave Olivia a nervous stare, then got to his feet. "I'll be right

back."

"You're kidding me. No way. Not now."

He charged toward the lift doors. "I'll be right back!"

* * *

Aftershocks reverberated through the bridge. Sansky caught his breath

and said, "Do we have a reply, Mr. Gerald?"

"We do, sir. Give me a target, Mr. Falk."

"Target acquisition imminent," Falk said, his voice cracking. "We have

a lock!"

Gerald beat a fist on his palm. "Fire tubes one and two!"

Like unleashed bloodhounds, the two torpedoes sped away from the

carrier, drawing chalk lines across the Jovian rings.

"Captain, I have visual from a Rapier near the destroyers," Comm

Officer Sasaki said.

"On my screen."

The Rapier pilot spiraled through an incredible hailstorm of flak and

laser fire, hurling himself toward the enemy destroyer, then pulling a six-G

climb to break away. The image switched to his aft turret as two

torpedoes slammed into the destroyer's weak shields and penetrated her

hull armor. Twin shock waves undulated through the ship's port side,

dividing her amidships with underwater slowness. She spewed a huge,

debris-laden gas bubble into the vacuum as hundreds of smaller

explosions dotted her plastisteel innards. For a moment, Sansky thought

he saw the Kilrathi themselves, giant bodies floating free and clawing for

that green fog they breathed.

"Two direct hits, sir," Falk reported to cheers from the bridge crew.

The Rapier pilot kept broadcasting images, and Sansky slipped back

into his alluring calm as the dreadnought turned parallel with the

remaining destroyer.

Her tubes opened.

A pair of torpedoes lanced out.

There would be no stopping the Kilrathi now. And a man, Sansky

thought, must be true to his heart, especially at the end. If he could

manage that, then an apparent defeat would become a resounding victory.

No one else would understand, but he would. And that was all that

mattered.

Voices grew faint, muffled. Gerald shouted something about

countermeasures. Falk's reply lacked hope. Then everyone screamed in

unison as the enemy torpedoes struck a one-two punch across the phase

shields.

Sansky rode the first shock wave, then fell to the deck as consoles

crackled and smoked above him in a sudden choreography of chaos.

"Comm is off-line!" Sasaki exclaimed. "Rerouting bridge to secondary."

"The phase shield is suffering a forty percent failure," Obutu added.

"Battery room reports a fire. Torpedo room reporting damage. Unable to

launch."

Sparks danced on Sansky's shoulders as he climbed back into his chair.

Just outside the viewport, the remaining Rapiers struggled to lure the

dozens of Dralthi and Krant fighters away from the Tiger Claw.

"I'm reading eight more targets from behind the dreadnought," Falk

said.

Gerald made a lopsided grin. "They're sending in reinforcements."

"We should be flattered," Sansky said. He opened a comm channel.

"Torpedo room. Report."

Spaceman 2nd Class Rodriguez, his eyes red from the smoke pouring

into the station behind him, leaned toward the camera. "Tubes three and

four damaged, sir. Autoloaders not operational. And we can't get back to

one and two. The bulkhead's collapsed."

"Get me one tube back online, son. Can you do that?"

"I'll try, sir."

"Jesus… we can't fire?" Gerald said, springing to his feet. "Mr. Obutu.

See if Mr. Raznick can spare some people to form a damage control crew

in Secondary Ordnance."

Obutu nodded and spoke quickly into his headset.

"Captain, scanning the cruiser," Falk said. "She's opening tubes."

"Of course she is," Sansky said calmly. "Of course she is." A shadow fell

over him. He gazed into Gerald's solemn face. "Commander?"

"The situation is dire, sir. If we're going to die, I suggest we ram this

ship straight up their asses."

"That's a brave if not eloquent thought, Mr. Gerald. But we'll never get

in that close."

"So we wait here to die?"

"Watch that tone, Mister."

"For God's sake, Captain. Jay. Let's go down fighting."

"I agree, sir," Obutu said, then looked to Gerald. "Damage control crew

on its way to the secondary ordnance room."

"Gentlemen. I have no intention of dying. Rolling over and playing

dead… maybe."