This day Jek Porkins dies

(Being a true tale of heroism, teamwork and triumph against impossible odds.  Smatterings of embellishment abound.)

The rebel assault fleet finds itself impatiently massed inside the main hanger bay of its remote outpost.  This is the day they had been waiting for.  So many comrades had been lost in previous skirmishes, so many lives pointlessly squandered, cast into the vacuum against a seemingly intangible foe.  So vast, yet ephemeral, was their target.

But today, confirmation had been received that their primary target had been sighted.  It called out to them.  They, in turn, yearned for it.  There would be more lives lost on this day, yet it was the end result that mattered.  At nearly any price. 

No... at any price.

The signal is quickly relayed for imminent emission.  Jockeying for position and rife with anticipation, the assault fleet begins the long, fast flight that will eject them from irascible inactivity towards the epic conflict certain to ensue once their destination is reached.  Going through the minds of so many individuals, though they had been endlessly reassured in the briefings leading up to this point, is the possibility of an impermeable barrier preventing them from reaching their main target.  It had happened before.  A hopeless flight into oblivion would spell certain doom for them all.  Most of them were doomed at the outset, but not without a purpose.  Others would take up the fight after them should they fail in this endeavour just as they, now, were filling the void left by a myriad of fallen compatriots.

Nearing the end of their initial sub-light flight, the assault leader begins to call all the wings to order.  "All wings report in," is broadcast to the fleet.  A nearly palpable sense of calm can be felt imposing itself on this seeming small band of warriors.  What had been an impressive armada back at the base, now, when set against the nether regions of space in which they find themselves fast approaching a well-defended foe, almost seems to be a pitiable force.  Still, the unification of a group of individuals bent exclusively towards a single purpose is a force with which to be reckoned.  This one is no different.

A trace of excitement still evident in his voice, a junior member of the fleet is the first to return the call.  "Red Ten standing by."  This being the first live mission for Red Ten, Red Leader smiles to himself at the enthusiasm evident in the voice that comes over the broadcast.  Hopefully his ability is on par with his exuberance.  The smile quickly fades and changes to a grim line of consternation as he directs his eyes forward towards the growing target.  The young man will not likely survive this encounter.

This first is followed by a regular stream of responses, each sounding more confident than the last, each garnering strength from his comrades. 

"Red Seven standing by." 
"Red Three standing by." 
"Red Five standing by."

Jek Porkins, a senior member of this elite team, having bided his time to ensure he was assigned to this particular mission, calls in his response.  "Red Six standing by."  His voice ill-conceals an air of pomposity distinctly heard over the com-links of his flight mates.  This serves the dual purpose of instilling some awe in the junior recruits at the man's seeming nonchalance as well as tolerant condescension in the older, better trained, veterans.

As the rest of the squad members and their wingmen call in their readiness, their leader prompts them all for the beginning of the next act in the saga about to unfold in the confined vastness of space.  "Lock S-foils in attack positions."  A brief pause ensues as all units ready their craft, and themselves, for the engagement that will soon be upon them.  Seeing the fleet obeying his commands with the alacrity bred at a seeming genetic level, his following ordinates become suffused with the excitement that already infects all his comrades.  "We're passing through the magnetic field.  Hold tight!  Switch your deflectors on.  Double front!"

Through the in-flight preparations that had been taking place to this point, still the fleet had been advancing on the target.  Only now, when the focus of all was directed towards their monolithic goal, did its vastness fully register.  "Look at the size of that thing!" comes the ejaculation from Red Two.

"Cut the chatter, Red Two," is the curt order from Red Leader.  But he too is slightly overcome with the daunting task ahead of them all.  He does his best to remove any sense of doubt or uncertainty from his voice.  "This is it boys!  Accelerate to attack speed."  Each tiny vessel is loaded and armed with a payload that must be delivered to the exact right spot before time runs out in order for this endeavour to bear fruit.  Else all is for naught.  Only one of them needs to succeed.  Penetrating the outer defences was not going to be easy.

"Red Leader, this is Gold Leader," crackles across the void and into the headsets of the fleet.

"I copy Gold Leader."

"We're starting for the target shaft now."

Feeling suffused with a nearly irresistible urge to head directly for the target area himself, Red Leader instead exhibits restraint and his training comes to the fore as he relays his intentions to play the initial supporting role.  "We're in position.  I'm going to cut across their axis and try to draw their fire."

The ensuing swirling, chaotic mass of conflict which engulfs the participants requires full concentration and application of skill in order not to be numbered among the fallen.  The first of these, ironically, is Red Six.

As Jek Porkins casually flies his vessel over the surface of the target, his hindquarter is struck by an unseen attack and the flickering, dodging motion of his craft rapidly deteriorates from skilled dog fighting manoeuvres to plummetting out of control.  He is prompted by his squad mates to save himself.  "Pull up."  Porkins insists in return that he can handle it.  He is urged a second time, much more frantically.  "Eject!  Eject!"

"No, I'm all right... I'm... Ahhhhhhh!..."  His last transmission quickly cuts off to hissing static; all that remains of him is lifeless debris floating listlessly through space.  The hubris so recently exuded is now replaced, on his singed, bloated corpse, by a rictus of shock and horror.

Though he is the first, there are many more rebel fighters that start falling victim to the increasing efficacy of the leviathan's ability to defend itself.  Gold squad fails mortally in its fledgling attempt at the target.  Red Leader, flanked by veteran wingmen and slightly more successful than his predecessor, is similarly despatched.

A new resolve settles itself into the surviving members of the force.  Red Five, new to the fleet, takes a lead.  "Let's close it up.  We're going in, and we're going in full throttle.  That ought to keep them off our backs."

His wingman, a little dubious at the plan of attack, hesitates.  "At that speed, will you be able to pull out in time?"

Red Five finds some small element of humour in this macabre flight into peril and, smiling at the double-entendre, decides to add a little more.  "It'll be just like Beggar's Canyon back home."  Being the best pilot in the Outer Rim Territories breeds its own distinct sort of confidence.  And with a push on the throttle, Red Five, flanked by his two wingmen, begins his dive towards the target shaft.

Trouble finds them immediately with the surface defences concentrating on the new wave of invasive strangers.  His wingmen defending the rear, Red Five focuses on finding the perfect point of entry for his payload.  The chaotic whorls of activity and conflict surrounding him suddenly start to coalesce into a comprehensive whole, each individual dance of death taking place in the vicinity contributes to the overall mosaic of Light versus the Dark.  Awareness inundates him in that he is merely one element of a greater whole and, armed with this knowledge, creating his own place within, rather than having it thrust upon him, becomes so much more obvious.  Understanding dawns with an indescribable incandescence and he knows precisely what must be done.  Exactly where and exactly when.

Suffused with this new knowledge, Red Five changes his tactics.  Though still trepidatious about his chances, and with comrades being picked off to either side, his now unfettered determination yields the strength of spirit and sureness of hand necessary to do what must be done.  Dodging attacks while maintaining an unerring course for his goal, he comes closer.  He has sustained near debilitating damage in order to get to this point, he has lost both of his wingmen, but the time is nigh.

Coasting through a preternatural island of calm in the storm that rages unchecked around him, he realises that the place is here; the time is now!  He unleashes his payload at the only vulnerable point he can find on this prodigious target and waits...

And waits...

And waits...

And...

And...
.
.
.

LIFE BEGINS!!

From among the scores that had begun, it was the efforts of just one that ended up making a difference.  A vas deferens.

Or, in other words, my wife and I are officially trying for our second baby now.  Glove's off, goalie's been benched.  I will be sure to update again when the, umm, Death Star explodes.

Comments

[Paula]

Simon, as I read this, my thought was 'Enough already...get to the point!' An important consideration for the job ahead, as well ;)

Paula

[wil]

Have a good weekend, Simon. And don't forget to come up for air, now and then. ;)

[Penny]

Vas deferens....nice touch... don't suppose you do sci-fi writing on the side??? You're "up" to the task ahead...Harden your resolve and penetrate the imprenatable... Leave your mark...nuff already...Penny

[Tina]

Think I'll go out and rent Woody Allen's "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask." Now, whatever made me think of that .... ?? Happy Hunting !! Tina

[fv]

If at first you don't succeed...

[Paul]

One shot in a million, huh? What do you suppose he meant by, "blow this thing so we can all go home?"