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Description
Ash shot a glare at the explosion. Thanks to his swift evasion, it was nowhere nearby - but it had still been closer than he would have liked. (He was still being half-squeezed by the anti-g bladders inside his suit - that turn had pushed the thrusters close to their limits.)

This was supposed to have been a simple training patrol. The squadron had pulled out from the carrier-group several hours before. Just a straightforward slingshot manoevre around the dead ball of rock that was INHS +55 2236 b, then back to the fleet. Give the squadron a thorough work-out, and give the new sensors a bonus run over the planet. Lots of calibration data for Maintenance to pore over. All very straightforward and honestly a bit boring.

Then as they approached the planet, something had locked on.

Apparently, the last time the halo machine-culture had swarmed through the galaxy, they'd left a little surprise buried somewhere on this lifeless rock. It wasn't clear what exactly the robo-drones were guarding - possibly some long-dead mine, or an abandoned command post. But whatever it had been, the drones were still active.

It was amazing how fast it had happened. They'd come pouring out of a hole in the planet's ground, a wave of flack-rounds speeding ahead of them. The squadron had had bare minutes of warning before the drones were closing.

And one of them had just tried to blast Ash's Fang out of the sky. Twin explosions bloomed silently in the darkness behind him.

'One thing you never, ever do,' Ash muttered to himself. 'And that's fuck with a dragon.'

Least of all a very grumpy dragon who was sat in the cockpit of a state-of-the-art fighter spaceplane.

A few minutes ago, some piece of debris had smashed through the canopy. Luckily it had been moving fast enough that it had gone straight through. If it had stopped inside the cockpit, that much kinetic energy would have done a lot of damage. Instead it had vanished off into the night, taking most of its punch with it.

The cockpit was depressurised now, as empty as the space outside. But that's what Ash's suit was for. He wasn't worried about that.

One of the displays was blinking. There it was! The little halo drone was dead centre and in his crosshairs.

'Got you,' Ash murmured to himself, just quiet enough not to be picked up by his headset.

Halo tech was ridiculously advanced. Their ships could pull ludicrous accelerations. Their sensors were horrifyingly-acute - previous surveys had found no hint that anyone or anything was active on the planet. But, the halo machines had a few crippling limitations. One was lag - their networked machines coped poorly when bandwidth was limited. The finite speed of light also caused them problems in space battles, letting their networks fall out of sync and introducing confusion to their electronic order. And then there was the fact that ultimately, they were machines, and thus lacking in a certain degree of creativity and surprise. Put the factors together, and living pilots were still competitive against them, as proven by three failed galactic invasions.

Ash moved his thumb onto the missile-trigger. He had two left, then it was onto the lasers.

The little icon was flashing on the display. It was time to remind the halo that the galactic disc was not theirs for taking. Not today, not ever.

His thumb pushed down on the button...

Description
Ash shot a glare at the explosion. Thanks to his swift evasion, it was nowhere nearby - but it had still been closer than he would have liked. (He was still being half-squeezed by the anti-g bladders inside his suit - that turn had pushed the thrusters close to their limits.)

This was supposed to have been a simple training patrol. The squadron had pulled out from the carrier-group several hours before. Just a straightforward slingshot manoevre around the dead ball of rock that was INHS +55 2236 b, then back to the fleet. Give the squadron a thorough work-out, and give the new sensors a bonus run over the planet. Lots of calibration data for Maintenance to pore over. All very straightforward and honestly a bit boring.

Then as they approached the planet, something had locked on.

Apparently, the last time the halo machine-culture had swarmed through the galaxy, they'd left a little surprise buried somewhere on this lifeless rock. It wasn't clear what exactly the robo-drones were guarding - possibly some long-dead mine, or an abandoned command post. But whatever it had been, the drones were still active.

It was amazing how fast it had happened. They'd come pouring out of a hole in the planet's ground, a wave of flack-rounds speeding ahead of them. The squadron had had bare minutes of warning before the drones were closing.

And one of them had just tried to blast Ash's Fang out of the sky. Twin explosions bloomed silently in the darkness behind him.

'One thing you never, ever do,' Ash muttered to himself. 'And that's fuck with a dragon.'

Least of all a very grumpy dragon who was sat in the cockpit of a state-of-the-art fighter spaceplane.

A few minutes ago, some piece of debris had smashed through the canopy. Luckily it had been moving fast enough that it had gone straight through. If it had stopped inside the cockpit, that much kinetic energy would have done a lot of damage. Instead it had vanished off into the night, taking most of its punch with it.

The cockpit was depressurised now, as empty as the space outside. But that's what Ash's suit was for. He wasn't worried about that.

One of the displays was blinking. There it was! The little halo drone was dead centre and in his crosshairs.

'Got you,' Ash murmured to himself, just quiet enough not to be picked up by his headset.

Halo tech was ridiculously advanced. Their ships could pull ludicrous accelerations. Their sensors were horrifyingly-acute - previous surveys had found no hint that anyone or anything was active on the planet. But, the halo machines had a few crippling limitations. One was lag - their networked machines coped poorly when bandwidth was limited. The finite speed of light also caused them problems in space battles, letting their networks fall out of sync and introducing confusion to their electronic order. And then there was the fact that ultimately, they were machines, and thus lacking in a certain degree of creativity and surprise. Put the factors together, and living pilots were still competitive against them, as proven by three failed galactic invasions.

Ash moved his thumb onto the missile-trigger. He had two left, then it was onto the lasers.

The little icon was flashing on the display. It was time to remind the halo that the galactic disc was not theirs for taking. Not today, not ever.

His thumb pushed down on the button...