The Last Galactic Warrior
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Science Fiction,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A story based on the concept of Interstellar Defense League, redone to make a little more sense. The story of Ben Powell, a lone Warrior involved in a massive interstellar war.

Ben was startled awake, a loud horn blaring in his ear.

"Alert!" the speakers announced piercingly. "Three seconds until crash!"

He reached for the controls as quickly as he could, punching up a position and status report onto the main display. As all the crash avoidance indicators were glowing green, he breathed a sigh of relief, activating his communications return channel.

"Not very damned funny," he murmured. "What if I had reflexively jerked the controls and taken the ship out of autopilot, huh? Then I could have really crashed, damn you."

For a few seconds, there was nothing but laughter playing back over the speakers in the small cockpit. Finally, the source of the laughter began talking.

"Oh come on, Ensign," the comm. officer replied, suppressing her laughter. "Just a harmless joke... you shouldn't have been sleeping on the job again anyway. Besides, you're at five thousand meters... unless you're the worst pilot I've ever met, there's no way you're going to crash one of the most sophisticated fighters in the history of the Navy from that height."

Ben rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, shaking his head at the idea that an officer would resort to such a childish prank. He tapped a series of buttons near his arm, a thermos of hot tea rapidly materializing in front of his hand.

Taking a few sips to calm his nerves, Ben breathed another sigh of relief. It was every pilot's worst nightmare to have the alarms in his fighter start going off when he was unprepared.

"You will pay for that, Lieutenant. Just wait until I catch you sleeping during the night shift again..."

"Now, now, now," Lieutenant Morrison said in a teasing voice, "we really shouldn't be talking to our superiors like that, should we Powell?"

Ben smirked. "You may be a higher ranking officer than me, but that doesn't make you a superior one. There is a difference."

"Fly-boys," Lieutenant Morrison groaned.

Ben just smiled, taking a few more sips of his tea. "Hey, this fly-boy is busting his ass to keep you ground personnel alive. Try to show some gratitude... at any given moment, I may have to fight off a fleet of Liodammians to save all of you sorry excuses for soldiers."

Rebecca Morrison could not restrain the snort of disbelief that burst its way out of her lungs. "A fleet of Liodammians? Yeah... that's likely to happen. On a military controlled world... fifty light-years from the front line... with the entirety of the Third Fleet surrounding the planet? Sure. Keep dreaming, fly-boy."

Ben was about to fire back another quip, when a beep from his sensor system caught his attention. "Rebecca, hold on. Possible contact."

He frowned. He was on a standard high-altitude patrol, searching for any enemy craft that might have slipped past the blockade and managed to land somewhere on the planet. Generally, this was cake work in the extreme. It was impossible for anything smaller than a Super-Battleship to penetrate the Third Fleet's net of defenses.

"Contact status and designation?" Lieutenant Morrison asked, now all business.

Checking a few of the energy readouts, Ben frowned again. It read as a shielded source of energy, with sensor dampening fields active. It was sheer luck that he had detected whatever it was that he had detected.

"Status: unknown, but presumed hostile," Ben announced. "Declaring Code Three battle status. It might be nothing more than a stray research vehicle from the fleet, but I have to make sure first. Designating contact Sierra three."

"Understood," Rebecca replied quickly, "Code Three battle status is confirmed. You have permission to investigate contact Sierra three, but do not engage: I repeat, Ben, do not engage."

"Roger," Ben confirmed. "Going in to take a closer look."

Ben took the fighter off autopilot, grabbing onto the flight stick. With the slightest of twitches on the stick, the fighter soared downwards, closing in on the unknown contact.

"Contact appears to be on planetary surface," Ben informed headquarters, "but I am still unable to gather any real specifics on it. However, based on the power readings, I would have to presume it is some sort of ground installation. I doubt any vessel big enough to generate this kind of energy field would be able to sneak past our forces. HQ, is there anything operating in this area that I need to know of?"

"Negative, Ensign" the Lieutenant replied, "There are no other League forces within two hundred fifty kilometers of your present position."

Ben flipped on the supplementary power supply, preparing to activate the dispersion grid. He also brought the plasma cannons online and stowed his tea.

The energy sensors gave out a single beep of alert; however, Ben had already seen them. Through the hardened metaplastic compound of the cockpit, he made out the wave of incoming energy pulses.

"Oh shit," he muttered. "Computer, activate dispersion grid! Full power to the control surfaces and maneuvering jets!"

He tried as hard as he could to maneuver out of the way of the pulses, but there was no chance that he could dodge such a large volley. The energy was moving too quickly, and the fighter was not capable of more than 8g's of acceleration within an atmosphere.

One of the energy pulses collided directly with the front of the fighter, another grazing its left wing. A dozen assorted alarms were going off within the cockpit, the shielding almost failing.

"Mayday!" Ben shouted into his comm. system, "Mayday! My fighter is damaged! I have lost twenty-eight percent of my flight control, as well as forty percent of my thruster power. One of my cannons is offline, and my combat sensors are completely nonfunctional. Pilot needs assistance. Mayday!"

The hiss of the speakers was not very promising. The channels were jammed.

"All right," Ben muttered as he struggled to control the large fighter, "just stay in the air, you big bitch, and I'll give you a fresh coat of paint when we get back on the ground..."

"Alert," the computer announced, "three rapidly moving missiles are closing in from behind."

"Computer," Ben ordered, "transfer all available energy to the rear dispersion grid. Deactivate all malfunctioning control surfaces, and distribute maneuvering power evenly across the fighter."

Ben sent the fighter into a downward spin, releasing counter-measures as he went. He watched his sensors nervously, the missiles quickly meeting up with the three drones he had released.

Two of the missiles veered off to impact with the drones. The remaining missile soared through the explosions, homing in on Ben's fighter.

"Shit!" Ben exclaimed. "I can't keep this up much longer. Computer, estimate the yield of that missile."

The computer calmly rattled off the information. "Missile is a Type IV anti-fighter, Interstellar Defense League standard. If it has not had its warhead modified, then it contains enough antimatter for a highly concentrated two hundred kiloton explosion."

"Sorry," Ben said as he pulled his flight helmet down fully to cover his face, "but I'm getting the hell out of this thing."

He slammed his hand fiercely against the glass covering the eject button.

Nothing happened.

"Ejection system malfunction," computer announced, "missile will impact within three seconds."

The missile came within a meter of the fighter's dispersion shielding before it exploded. A bubble of white energy engulfed the fighter, sending it hurtling towards the ground.

"Computer!" Ben shouted, while trying to pull the fighter up from its mad dive as fires broke out around him, "activate all emergency thrusters! Slow our descent!"

It was too late. The fighter was upside down, and Ben could clearly see the ground rising up to meet him. As if that was not enough, he could also make out the second incoming volley of energy pulses.

"Ejection system power supply successfully switched to auxiliaries," the computer announced.

Ben slammed his hand again at the ejection button. The canopy of the cockpit explosively blew off, his seat roaring outwards. A wave of energy pulses passed mere meters below his seat, impacting the fighter.

Explosions filled the air around him.

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