Spearing the Dragon

THIRTY

SCORPII SYSTEM
       Lilleven strode inside an operations deck set on fire. The very pregnant Chief of Operations Varanger shouted orders while his eyes were drawn to the viewscreen. An impact almost drove him from his feet, grabbing the doorframe behind him. He stared at the pristine white vessel on the screen with sharp, sleek lines that seemed to emit its own glow.
"Where are my dreadnaughts?" Varanger screamed as crewmembers shouted to each other.
"Is it just one vessel?" he asked the room, Varanger turning to face him with dark features.
"Where the fuck have you been? I need someone to communicate with these assholes—"
He gave her a tolerant look.
       "Is a conversation really necessary? They see the fleet from Midgard—"
"Well, do something! Where's that girlfriend of yours?"
"She's not ready—"
Her olive-toned face filled with fire, easily reminding him of an incensed goddess.
"She better goddamn well get ready! The fight is here! I need everyone here, pulling their weight!"
"Chances are, this is just the beginning," he said in a grave tone before he turned and left. She growled in frustration before turning to a nearby lieutenant, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform.
"Get Ashton up here and make it snappy."
He stumbled a little when the six foot one, slender Egyptian-Norwegian pregnant woman released him as she strode toward the control board. She armed the guns, a technician looking up at her with panic.
"Shouldn't we wait for the other vessels to report in before we start shooting—"
"Get with the fucking program, Liebermann," she cut him off. "That ship isn't going to wait until we have a development meeting."
She released a volley, full throttle, hoping the modifications they'd made at Lillevenn's suggestion would be enough to dent their hull. She could have used Ragnar, not to mention Farmiga and William. She hadn't planned on fighting a war six weeks from her due date, but she would do whatever necessary to win it.

"Where are we on guns?" Lieutenant Remy Archambault called to one of his crewmen in the well.
"Locked and ready, sir. Target their engines?"
"No, lock onto the aft section."
"Targeting the engines would end them—"
Remy looked up at the sleek white vessel.
"Strike the shepherd, the sheep will scatter. I want every elf in their command center dead in the next few minutes."
"Yes, sir," the technician said, complying with his wishes. Remy turned to another corporal standing nearby with a device, his fingers sliding over the screen.
"Where is Lieutenant Havard?"
"Prepping for launch."
Remy turned away from him, tapping his com, switching to a pre-arranged channel.
"Havard, come in."
"The dock doors are opening," she responded immediately.
"Godspeed, sweetheart."
"You too, love."
She cut the communication and he turned back to the viewscreen where the white monster hovered. Only a single vessel concerned him. He walked up to the same corporal.
"Have we established contact with the rest of the fleet?"
"No, sir, something is jamming our coms."
Remy gave the screen a grim look.
"We're on our own then. Fine. Einar, have you fired yet?"
The technician looked up from the well with a concerned expression.
"No effect, yet."
"Fuck. Time to switch to Plan B."
"Already?" the corporal beside him asked. "Shouldn't we wait until more of them show up—"
Remy gave the screen a hard look.
"Einar, target minor sections of the vessel. Maybe they'll be less defended. If we have to kill them with a thousand little cuts, we will." He looked to the corporal beside him. "Inform Lieutenant Havard of the ineffectuality of our weapons against their aft and my orders thus far."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get Plan B in the works."
He turned and strode toward the entrance of the operations deck.
"Personally? Shouldn't you send someone—"
"I know how to handle them," Remy said in a low voice as he passed into the hall.
"I've got a hit!" Einar announced but Remy never slowed his pace.

"Our firepower is just bouncing off, Lieutenant," said one of her crew members at the control board. Iriane Dahl gave the viewscreen keen brown eyes.
"We use flamethrowers next," she said calmly. A few crew turned to look at their little commander in confusion.
"Flame requires oxygen—"
"I'm aware of the basic rules of physics, Reynmann. There's some type of oxygen inside the vessel."
The crew looked at each other in confusion before looking back at her.
"How will we get it inside?"
"By blasting out their commander center."
"How will we—"
She looked at one of the female technicians to her right.
"Bring us close to the aft section. I want us close enough to kiss."
"Lieutenant—" one of the other techs started.
"Yes, ma'am," the female said excitedly.
"When we get close, I want the SBI initiated. Send 150 kilos of KKV straight for their command center."
"150 is well above safety parameters—"
Iriane turned to give the young man a cold look.
"We want to win, not play footsie with these elves. Keep your recommendations for something useful, please." She nodded to the female technician and her fingers slid over the controls quickly. They moved closer to the enemy and Lieutenant Dahl stood with a stiff spine, watching the white terror come closer.

Ingrid strode onto the operations deck in black uniform and heavy boots, her eyes drawn to the large ship looming in the viewscreen's center. Varanger turned from a side control panel.
"Good. Lillevenn said you weren't ready."
The strange creature in black with horns on her head gave the screen a dominant look.
"What's the heaviest explosive you have on this vessel?"
Varanger gave her a measuring gaze.
"Those weapons drain the ship's systems and this early in the fight could prove detrimental—"
"This might be the only part of the fight if you don't hit them hard. Nuclear?"
A technician turned to look at her warily, Varanger's sharp brown eyes never looking away from her.
"I'd like to survive this war," she said evenly. "Those weapons would damage both of our vessels—"
"Chances are, it wouldn't destroy them, but it would damage them. Deploy it at a distance where it wouldn't affect our fleet."
Varanger raised an eyebrow. "That would take some fancy calculations."
"I could do it," Sergeant Philip Ashton said, turning from his station with his implacable features. He looked at Varanger, who considered a moment before she nodded.
"You'd have to calculate the distance of the rest of the fleet as well so we don't knock out our own ships."
"On it," he said abruptly, his fingers sliding impossibly fast on his control board. Varanger looked at the girl before her with begrudging approval.
"What can you tell me about them?"
"They're arrogant but have superior strategists at their disposal."
"Doesn't sound good for us."
The Dokkalfr-Ljosalfr turned her head to look at her with unsettling lavender eyes.
"We'll have to combat their clever maneuvering with brutal tactics."
"Balls to the wall, eh?"
Ingrid looked at the screen.
"It's all we Dokkalfar know. Can you get me a ship?"
Varanger gave her a hesitant look.
"We have a squadron in route—"
Those eyes looked at her again.
"I don't plan to shoot at them."
"I don't think Lillevenn would like—"
The girl four inches shorter than her walked up to her, the strength in her eyes unflinching.
"I say what I will and will not do," she said in a low voice, Varanger nodding in approval.
"Jesper," she ordered, one of the techs turning to her. "Get this one a fighter."
Ingrid turned and swiftly left the operations deck, Varanger looking after her thoughtfully.

Ingrid walked into the threshold of the mostly dark observation deck where Lillevenn stood before a large viewscreen, watching the battle. He looked to the polished floor beside him.
"I'm surprised you even came to see me first."
Her eyes warmed on his back.
"Did you think I would leave without you?"
He returned his gaze to the battle, Ingrid warmed further he didn't even express concern for her.
"We both know I'd be useless in all that metal."
"Even flaccid you can do wonders," she said as she appeared beside him, seeing his smile in the light of space.
"Which is when?"
She smiled. "I'm sure it happened at some point."
He took her hand and kissed it.
"I don't think I would be much help."
"I need you, Lil."
He looked at her curiously.
"I didn't think a Dokkalfr needed anyone."
"You're an immortal with skills that rival those in the bedroom. I need you with me."
His moss-green eyes turned fond.
"And if I get myself killed? Surely a Ljosalfr could manage it."
"You wouldn't let that happen. You're a survivor."
"Hmm," he said, looking down at the floor.
"I hate to rush you..."
He raised smiling eyes at her.
"This is going to end terribly."
"Just think of the victory sex afterward," she said as she smoothly slid her arm through his, leading him toward the doorway. "I've heard Dokkalfr can get pretty wild."
He smiled. "You're always pretty wild. I fear for my life every time."
"No need to flatter me yet, dear," she said with dancing lavender eyes. He smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. She looked at him with an adoring gaze as they walked to the hangar bay, not for his compliance, but his absolute faith in her though he didn't think her ready.