Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 0630 Zulu

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Script

135 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

The Radar man peers at his screen.


THE RADAR SCREEN: A dozen or more points of light now
appear on the far side of the screen, dead ahead.


RADAR MAN
I'm getting a dozen more targets,
behind the battle ship.


GERALD
They're bringing in reinforcements.


SANSKY
We should be flattered
(over intercom)
Torpedo room report.


SC. 136 OMIT

137 INT. TIGER CLAW - TORPEDO ROOM

Amid smoke and general chaos, Rodriguez grabs the com.


RODRIGUEZ
(over intercom)
Tubes three and four damaged,
autoloaders not operational.


138 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

SANSKY looks out the big windows, silent, yet not afraid.
There's a certain preternatural calmness to him that one
might even equate with relief.


RADAR MAN
Captain! I'm getting a coded friend or
foe acknowledge from the new
starfighters! They're ours, sir!


SANSKY
It's Deveraux's wing!


139 EXT. BETWEEN MOONS

In attack formation, the Confederation wing of Rapiers
and two Broadswords comes in behind the dreadnought and
destroyer.


140 INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - DEVERAUX

A half dozen targets present themselves on her heads up
display.


DEVERAUX
All right ladies, all Rapiers except
Maniac and Blair, engage those Dralthi.


FORBES (O.S.)
See you later, nugget.


MANIAC (O.S.)
Watch your ass, Rosie.


141 EXT. BETWEEN MOONS

The Rapiers peel off two by two and engage the oncoming
Dralthi fighters. The sky is alive with spiraling
missiles and laser fire as the starfighters begin their
deadly dance.


DEVERAUX (O.S.)
Broadswords, follow me in. Maniac,
Blair. Cover us!


The two BROADSWORD bombers head for the larger Kilrathi
ships.


142 INT. BROADSWORD COCKPIT

Paladin grimly adjusts his course, and throws open
several switches.


PALADIN
Roger that. Beginning bomb run.

143 EXT. DREADNOUGHT AND DESTROYER

The Kilrathi ships launch a barrage of torpedoes, which
streak toward the damaged Tiger Claw.


144 INT. TIGER CLAW - VARIOUS STATIONS

The torpedoes slam into the shield and send shockwaves
throughout the ship, causing major destruction. Then
below decks, a TORPEDO PEENTRATES, and EXPLODES.


ENGINE ROOM: Men and equipment are ENGULFED IN A FIRE BALL. Engineer Davies is sucked out into the void!

SC. 145 OMIT

146 EXT. TIGER CLAW

There is a gaping hole in the side of the ship. Gas, fire
and debris spew out, surrounding the ship in a miasmic
cloud. The ship begins to yaw and roll.

147 INT. TIGER CLAW - BRIDGE

Several crewmen are injured on the bride. Sansky is
badly wounded and his head is covered with blood. Gerald
stoops to help him.


OBUTU
(relaying reports)
The hull has been breached at level
three. Steering loss, eighty percent.


GERALD
Sir! Sir. Medic to the bridge!


SANSKY
(weakly)
What's Deveraux doing?

148 EXT. BROADSWORDS & THREE RAPIERS

The Broadswords are on a bombing run. Deveraux's Rapier
leads them in...


Four Kilrathi fighters -- Salthi -- move to intercept.
Deveraux shoots one out of the sky with a missile! Blair
gets another with his lasers...


MANIAC
Hay! Save some for me...


Maniac shoots a Salthis' wing off. It spirals into the
last Kilrathi fighter, both go up in a fireball!


MANIAC (CONT'D)
Buy one, get one free!


Cannon fire starts reaching up towards the fighters.


DEVERAUX
It's getting hot. It's up to the
bombers -- let's get back out there.


The Rapiers veer off. The Broadswords continue on their
bomb run.


PALADIN (O.S.)
(over radio)
Thanks for the escort
(to Knight)
Steady on course. Wait for them to
launch a torpedo. They'll lower their
shields just before.


The sky fills with laser blasts and tachyon cannon fire.
The Broadswords countermeasures counter automatically
activates a variety of weapons, fireballs, tiny
electronically fired missiles, etc. STILL THE
BROADSWORDS ARE TAKING HITS.

149 INT. BROADSWORD COCKPIT - KNIGHT

As the target looms closer, the wall of anti-starcraft fire terrifies him.


Knight
They're throwing up too much flak!


The Broadsword is rocked.


Knight (CONT'D)
I'm hit!


PALADIN (O.S.)
(over radio)
Almost there. Steady.


But there is another blast and Knight DISAPPEARS IN A
FIREBALL!

150 EXT. NEAR DESTROYER AND DREADNOUGHT

As Knight's Broadsword disintegrates, Paladin veers away
from the fireball.

151 INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - DEVERAUX

Deveraux is engaged with two Krant, weaves hard right,
left, pulling six g loops. She fires two missiles. Behind
her, one of the Krant explodes.

152 EXT. RAPIERS AND KRANT

The second Krant is firing more accurately at Deveraux.
Then Blair appears from underneath, and rips the Krant to
shreds with tachyion cannon fire. He blasts through the
debris.


DEVERAUX (O.S.)
What took you so long>


BLAIR (O.S.)
I took the scenic route.

153 INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - BLAIR

Blair is scanning the sky.


BLAIR
Where's Paladin?


MANIAC (O.S.)
No visual contact. Son-of-a-bitch
booked!


DEVERAUX (O.S.)
The battle ship's preparing to launch.
Torpedo tubes opening.

154 EXT. DREADNOUGHT

The huge vessels forward tubes do indeed dilate open.


BLAIR (O.S.)
(angry)
They'll have to lower their shield.


The dreadnought passes close to the broken hull of the
first destroyer...


Only then does Paladin's Broadsword appear, practically
clinging to the wreckage.

155 INT. BROADSWORD COCKPIT - PALADIN

Paladin, looking very grim, hastily reactivates his
electronics, and moves in behind the battle ship.


PALADIN
Baker leader, get your fighter clear of
the pulse wave!


DEVERAUX (O.S.)
Roger that. Maniac, Blair, Break
contact! Return to ship!


156 EXT. BETWEEN TWO MOONS

The Three Rapiers veer off sharply, kick in afterburners,
and streak toward the Tiger Claw...


The Broadsword, practically on top of the battle ship
ignites its own after burners, and LAUNCHES A TORPEDO...


Then it rockets toward the nearest moon, laser and cannon
fire following it.


Torpedo impacts the battle ship. Everything disappears
in an INTENSE WHITE LIGHT. Seconds pass, the light dims,
and a huge explosion breaks the battle ship in two.
Instantly, a shockwave starts to spread out, hits the
destroyer.


The destroyer ins knocked on its side and collides with
the bow half of the much larger Battle ship. A fire
starts amidships, then the destroyer's ammunition begins
to cook off. IT EXPLODES AND BURNS.


157 EXT. BROADSWORD - PALADIN

Shockwave gains on the bomber, catches it!

158 INT. BROADSWORD COCKPIT - PALADIN

The pulse wave hits, and all electronics fry and go dead.
Paladin begins to spin as if he were in a dryer. His hand
reaches the manual eject controls, and jerks the handle.

159 INT. BROADSWORD - PALADIN

The ejection pod tumbles free of the Broadsword. It slowly rotates away from the stricken bomber, which grows smaller and smaller. Then it impacts on the surface of the airless moon in a cloud of ancient dust.

160 INT. PALADIN's POD

The cockpit section of the Broadsword, encased in the pod, rotates down toward the surface of the meteor-pocked moon. Paladin's head has a gash, and blood streams into his eyes.


PALADIN
Well, it was fun while it lasted.


He tries to reactivate his electronics and fire the boosters, but nothing works. The white surface of the moon draws nearer. Then he accepts it, grins, remembers a few lines from his school days.


PALADIN (CONT'D)
(murmurs; half smile)
"...My mind misgives some consequences,
yet hanging in the stars, shall
bitterly begin his fearful date with
this night's revels..."


A SUDDEN, BRUTAL JERK steadies the pod and stops its
rotation. Paladin is astonished. He looks down at the
moon, then blinks up at the underbelly of Blair's Rapier,
and the faint illumination of a tractor beam. BLAIR PEERS
down at him, salutes.

Storyboards

Novelization

CHAPTER 19

UNITED
CONFEDERATIONCARRIER TIGER CLAW
ULYSSES CORRIDOR
MARCH 17, 2654
0630 HOURS
ZULU TIME
6.5 HOURS FROM
CHARYBOIS QUASAR
JUMP POINT


"Mr. Obutu? Prepare to power down the entire ship," Gerald said, sliding
back into his command chair.
"Power down the ship. Aye-aye, sir." A layer of sweat dappled Obutu's
face, but his voice did not waver.
Sansky, noting the renewed hope in his crew, rose to pace the bridge.
He did not share their faith in the plan, despite having suggested it.
Powerless and adrift, the Tiger Claw would become an object of curiosity
to the Kilrathi. The dreadnought's captain might bring his ship in close
enough for the Claw to launch a sudden, point-blank torpedo—providing
that Mr. Rodriguez and the DCC got a tube back online.
Or, as Sansky more likely figured, the big cat would note the
power-down, bare his fangs, and, without a second thought, blow the
Tiger Claw into a memorial.
"Captain," Sasaki called excitedly. "I'm getting a friend or foe
acknowledge from the new starfighters. They're ours, sir."
"It's Deveraux's strike force," Sansky said, guarding his emotions. The
tide had still not turned.
But Gerald smiled back at the opportunity. "Mr. Obutu. Belay that
power-down. And find out how that DCC is doing in Secondary
Ordnance."
"Aye, sir."
Flying in wedge formation, Deveraux's fighters, still just pinpricks of
light, soared in behind the Kilrathi dreadnought and destroyer. For a
moment, Sansky wished he were in one of those cockpits, responsible only
for himself and his wingman, able to sit straight and tall, the crosses of
command gone forever.
* * *
As a half-dozen targets presented themselves in Blair's HUD, instinct
drove his gloved finger over the primary weapons trigger. He listened
intently for the order to break and attack.
Deveraux hadn't said much since giving in to Taggart's pleas. They had
returned to the Claw at full throttle, and when Forbes had sighted the
destroyer and dreadnought, an odd mixture of relief, regret, and
anticipation had filtered into the voices of Blair's comrades. Taggart had
been right, but being right meant that the Tiger Claw had already faced a
more powerful force sans some of her best fighter pilots. Although Blair
and company would now join the party, the Claw hardly stood a chance.
"All right, ladies. All Rapiers except Maniac and Blair engage those
Dralthi."
Blair bit back a curse. "Commander, I didn't come out here as an
observer."
"Relax, Lieutenant. Drama equals danger plus desire, and it's about to
become dramatic."
"See you later, nugget," Forbes told Maniac.
"Watch your ass, Rosie."
"Thought you had that covered," Blair said, unable to resist the barb
yet wincing just the same.
The rest of the strike force peeled off in pairs to confront the Dralthi
fighters streaking in at the wing's one o'clock low. Spiraling missiles and
criss-crossing laser bolts produced a dense, expanding web that promised
to snag any pilot who broke rhythm or got cocky. One look at the gauntlet
instantly humbled Blair, and he grew fascinated by the sight of so many
fighters dogging each other, grazing each other, navigating through a
tangled mess of technology splayed across the otherwise simple,
unassuming vacuum.
The furball had been born.
"Broadswords, follow me in," Deveraux said, her stony gaze infectious.
"Roger that," Taggart responded. "Beginning the bomb run."
"Maniac? Blair?" she called. "Cover us."
Wrenching her Rapier into a forty-five-degree turn, Deveraux raced
under and ahead of the Broadswords. The bombers throttled up and swept
in behind her. She rolled to level off, spearheading the quintet.
Blair had difficulty judging his distance. He yo-yoed to Taggart's seven
o'clock after accidentally riding the crest of his wash. Recovered, he
guided his targeting reticle over a distant fighter launching from the
destroyer's forward flight deck. A beep told him he had the lock, and his
thumb slammed down the secondary weapons button. Rays of simulated
sunlight passed over his canopy as an Image Recognition missile let loose
from his wing. Two more missiles joined his as Maniac fired upon another
Dralthi rising from the dreadnought.
"And here comes the flak barrage," Deveraux said.
The capital ships' big turrets spat and coughed up triple-A fire that
hung like handfuls of cotton balls tossed in zero G. And worse, the
dreadnought's torpedo tubes opened to fire a salvo at the Tiger Claw,
whose deck shields already cushioned rounds from dozens of strafing
Dralthis.
Blair flipped his gaze to the image coming in from his missile. It finally
reached, identified, and sliced the enemy fighter in two. Semicircular
wings spun away to collide with the destroyer in a copper-colored
shimmer.
Concurrently, Maniac's missiles kicked over a trio of Dralthis, two
striking directly, a third falling prey to his wingman's fireball.
Maniac's face popped up on Blair's left VDU. "Three more kills for the
Maniac, folks." Then he turned his head and sobered. "Hey, man. Look!"
A mere kilometer stood between the Tiger Claw and the four Kilrathi
torpedoes.
From his position, Blair could do no more than watch.
* * *
Weakening phase shields, twenty-one centimeters of armor plating, and
three meter-wide hull compartments stood between Engineer Davies and
the void.
He never saw the torpedo coming.
It burrowed through the shields, impaled the twenty-one centimeters of
armor, then exploded with a force that hammered through the hull
compartments, bending durasteel like taffy.
Thrown a half-dozen meters across the engineering deck, Davies landed
with a sharp thud and heard his arm crack. Broken. Then a whoosh filled
his ears, rising into a wolf's howl as recycled air fled through a tremendous
breach in the hull. A hand slapped his back, gripped his uniform. He
craned his head to see big Oxendine, the engineer who could smell fear.
He clutched a turbine ladder and began wresting Davies toward it. Davies
looked at the man, wondering why he bothered.
But Oxendine's determination trivialized the animosity between them.
In his gaze Davies saw no more than a man trying to save him. And for a
second he felt good, really good about the company he had kept, about his
faith in others, about his significance. Some people never knew that much.
A long tongue of fire licked across Oxendine's arm. His grip on the
ladder faltered, fingers straining against searing heat until—
Davies thought he heard Oxendine shout, but he couldn't be sure. He
tumbled several meters across the deck, then felt his arms and legs dangle
in midair. A blunt object struck his back, another his leg. He tried to
breathe. Tried. After a quick glance to the still and distant stars, he shut
his eyes and waited for it to happen.
* * *
Sansky's command console tore apart, and a jagged section flew up at
him before he could block it. His head snapped back as the bulky panel
struck his forehead so hard that he swore it had torn a chunk out of his
skull. His face, once sticky with sweat, now felt warm and slippery. He lay
back on his chair, his neck growing numb, his breath ragged. He fought to
lift a hand to his face, but the effort felt too great. He took in a bit of
smoky air, coughed, then felt as though he were spinning through the
chair.
Behind him, Obutu's voice penetrated the bass-drum booming of
lower-deck explosions. "The hull has been breached at level three. Steering
loss: eighty percent. Drone repair crew activated. Estimated recovery
time: six minutes."
"Sir?" Gerald asked, standing somewhere nearby. "Sir? Medic! Medic
to the bridge."
"Gerald," Sansky managed, gurgling blood. "What's Deveraux doing?"
* * *
"Blair? How's our six?" Deveraux asked.
"Clear for the moment," he replied, not that his report really mattered.
The radar display—a living, breathing thing—could change in a heartbeat.
The proof lay in front of him as four Salthi light fighters broke from
their box formation to intercept the bombers. Blair tracked their velocity
at nearly one thousand KPS, their afterburners stoked. Forward-swept
wings fixed to their broad, flat fuselages in an inverted V pattern gave the
fighters a low profile while maintaining a respectable level of intimidation
through design. One Salthi didn't pose a huge threat to a Rapier. But like
killer bees, if you faced enough of them, they would drop you through
attrition.
A Dumb-fire missile flared below Deveraux's starboard wing, then went
from zero to 850 KPS in three seconds—enough time for the Salthi pilot
she had targeted to curse her, beg for Sivar's forgiveness, then experience
a more corporeal wrath.
As Deveraux's Salthi vanished in a short-lived conflagration, the fighter
nearest it scissored across Blair's field of view. He dove after the Salthi,
lined up on its six o'clock, then fixed his cross-hairs on the green circle
leading the fighter. Target locked! He dished out a flurry of bolts from his
rotating nose cannon. The first salvo struck the Salthi's shields, crooked
fingers of energy scattering across a light blue hemisphere. Another volley
stitched a pattern across the Salthi's cockpit, and the ship flipped into a
barrel roll before bursting apart.
"Hey! Save some for me," Maniac said.
Pulling up from the Salthi's still-flashing rubble, Blair saw Maniac
shoot off the third Salthi's wing. The cat inside fought for control but
couldn't help spinning into the fourth Salthi flying toward it. A white-hot
fireball enveloped both fighters.
Maniac howled with glee. "Buy one, get one free!"
Cannon fire from the cap ships scoured Blair's path as he strained to
regroup with the bombers. He jammed the stick forward, plunging in a
sixty-degree dive to evade.
But the autotracking systems aboard the cap ships refused to abandon
their quarry. The thick, deadly bolts returned, raking space along his
Rapier's portside.
"It's getting too hot," Deveraux said. "It's up to the bombers. Let's get
back out there."
Blair pulled up, flying below the bombers, then banked hard on a new
heading for Deveraux's six. He switched to his aft turret camera and
watched the bombers zero in on the destroyer's starboard bow.
"Thanks for the escort," Taggart said, then addressed Knight, who had
assumed point for the run. "Steady on course. Wait for them to drop
shields and open tubes."
Triple-A and tachyon fire clogged the space around the bombers as
their defense computers automatically released clouds of chaff and decoy
missiles. Three of the destroyer's tur-reted cannons went after the
countermeasures, but the others spat their venom at Taggart and Knight.
The lightning of reflected rounds writhed across their shields. Blair
couldn't believe that they held course. The wall of Triple-A began
terrifying him, and he wasn't alone in that feeling.
"They're throwing up too much flak!" Knight screamed. His
Broadsword's starboard wing grazed the expanding edge of a Triple-A
cloud. Rivets popped as the wingtip tore off, violently rocking the bomber.
"I'm hit!"
"Almost there," Taggart said, trying to calm the man. "Steady now.
Steady."
Tachyon fire chewed into Knight's Broadsword, tearing open its belly to
expose its synthetic bowels. Knight released a strangled cry as the bomber,
now engulfed in flames, shattered across the destroyer's bow.
Taggart veered away from the flickering aftermath and vanished from
Blair's screen.
In the meantime, Deveraux had engaged a pair of Krant fighters, who
braked hard to get on her six. Blair guided his Rapier about 800 meters
above the destroyer, then circled back to assist her. She wove left and
right, dodging pairs of laser bolts, her tactics tight, efficient,
practiced—but not enough against two Kilrathi pilots. The cats struck
direct hits, and her shields glittered as bolts dissipated over them. A few
more strikes and they would have her.
On full afterburners, Blair roared up behind the two Krants. Before he
could lock a target, Deveraux pulled into a six-G loop parallel to his
position. She leveled off and liberated a pair of IR missiles. One Krant
swallowed a projectile, but the other blew chaff and pulled into a loop of
his own. Deveraux's missile took the bait, detonating harmlessly.
Blair craned his neck to spot the Krant, now on Deveraux's tail, cutting
loose a dense storm of fire. Her shields absorbed a half-dozen rounds
before dying. Bolts passed over her canopy, each one tightening the gap as
the cat adjusted its bead.
Narrowing his gaze, Blair locked on to the Krant, then lost the lock as
Deveraux banked sharply. He considered firing but without a lock, friendly
fire might do her in. Instead, he dove beneath them, his glance shifting
between the radar display and the cap ship fire that seemed to lace up the
space below. He yanked the stick back, thundering into a hard climb.
Directly ahead stood the Krant, with Deveraux just off its starboard
quarter. The targeting brackets in his HUD found the Krant, as did the
smart targeting reticle.
Envisioning himself as a durasteel dragon, Blair incinerated the enemy
fighter with a combination of laser and neutron fire. He spiraled up
through the rubble to emerge just as Deveraux doubled back.
"What took you so long?" she asked.
"I took the scenic route," he said, glancing down at the dreadnought.
"Where's Taggart?"
Maniac broke into the channel. "No visual contact. The son of a bitch
booked."
"And that dreadnought's opening her tubes," Deveraux said.
Indeed, the huge vessel's tubes dilated open, and Blair beat a fist on his
canopy. "Their shields are going down. We could've had them now."
The dreadnought's bow, shaped like two pairs of clamps forming a
cross, raised as she passed over the first destroyer's wreckage. From one
hundred meters below, the destroyer's tattered hull still glimmered,
conduits jutting out like jagged teeth amid coils of lingering gas.
And from within that gas and those teeth, a ship appeared, a
Broadsword, maneuvering thrusters firing to turn it up toward the
dreadnought. "Baker leader. Get your fighters clear of the pulse wave,"
Taggart said.
"Roger that. Maniac? Blair? Break contact. Return to ship," Deveraux
ordered.
Unsure of how Taggart would get himself clear of the pulse wave
himself, Blair obeyed orders, lined his navigational crosshairs on the
distant dot of the Tiger Claw, and started toward it, though only at
half-speed. He focused his attention on Taggart, who flew bravely toward
the dreadnought.
James "Paladin" Taggart lifted a shaky hand to fire the Broadsword's
two piggyback torpedoes. Then he touched another button, releasing the
other two bombs from their belly racks. HUD reports indicted that all four
of the mighty rockets had targeted the unshielded dreadnought.
Holding his breath, he lit the afterburners and climbed away from the
cap ship, Triple-A and cannon fire punching holes in his vaporous wake,
his gaze locked on the scrolling numbers showing his distance relative to
the target. He began to shake his head. Then a proximity alarm beeped.
He looked up to spot the Jovian-like planet's third moon, its heavily
cratered surface lowering into view.
The torpedoes struck the dreadnought.
A nanosecond later, the entire Area of Operations stood under a tarp of
intense white light for one, two, three seconds…
The light dimmed to unveil a huge explosion tearing through the
dreadnought, its hull breaking up as the widening rings of the blast wave
stretched into space.
Caught unaware, the Kilrathi aboard the destroyer attempted to
maneuver their vessel away from the wave, but the ship tacked only a few
degrees before the inevitable force hit. The destroyer listed badly to port,
then collided with the first destroyer's hull, producing fires amidships that
began cooking off its ammunition. An internal blast erupted through its
hull, breaking off the bow in a fountain of sparks and jetting gas.
Taggart's grin didn't last long as he tracked the wave encroaching on
his airspace. It swallowed his exhaust, seemed to gain momentum, then
struck his engines.
Displays crackled, fried, and went dead as the Broadsword groaned and
took its beating. The bomber rolled onto its side, driving Taggart's head
into the console. He felt the sting of a gash, and blood trickled into his eye.
Blinking, he saw that the ship now barreled uncontrollably toward the
moon. He seized the manual eject lever and jerked it down.
After a double click and a faint blast of air, the cockpit ejection pod
shot free, slowly rotating away from the doomed bomber, ushered to the
fringes of the weakening shock wave by sputtering retros.
The Broadsword impacted with the moon's surface in a cloud of ancient
dust that would take days to settle.
Before Taggart could regain full control of the pod, he found himself
caught in the third moon's gravitational pull. Rocking to and fro, he
increased retros and tried to pull up from the cratered uplands. The retros
teased him for a moment, then whooped and fell silent. He threw a toggle
several times, trying to reactivate them. "Well, it was fun while it lasted."
As the gray-and-white surface hurtled toward him, he told himself that
he had lived a glorious life, that while he had never been an Arthur or a
Roland, he rested assured that he had inspired a young heart or two. And,
he reasoned, by influencing just one soul, he had, in effect, changed the
course of history. James Taggart had accomplished what he had set out to
do. He had lived the warrior's life and would die the warrior's death.
Nothing could be more fitting.
He grinned, remembering a few lines from his schooldays: "My mind
misgives some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin
his fearful date with this night's revels…"