Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 0630 Zulu

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

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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…"