The commander guided the ship sideways. The alien ship fired again, impacting the mine positioned right in front of it. The explosion sent the ship spinning away.
“Shield,” the commander ordered, and the Traxinstall disappeared. “Navigate to the jetsam beacon and recover our supplies.”
“The enemy ship still lives!” the navigator exclaimed, not believing his own eyes.
“Launch a magnetic mine. Once the supplies are secured, take us back into the field—toward the other end this time. It’s best not to remain on the battleground once victory has been declared. On to the next phase of this operation.”
“Maybe it would have been better on the bridge,” Bon Tap lamented as he cradled his broken arm. A gash down the side of his face dripped his blue Malatian blood.
Bundin was splayed across the two small tables in what passed for the mess deck on Ramses’ Chariot. Lights flickered. The ship was spinning slowly through space, but at least the gravity system was intact.
K’Thrall, whose carapace had protected him, offered to help extricate the others from where they’d been thrown.
Slicker found herself on the wall, her ability to defy gravity on full display, but one of her legs dangled helplessly while the other three did the work of supporting her. Chris was out cold. K’Thrall lifted him from the deck and laid him beside Bundin.
B’Ichi stood. “Ain’t this some shit?” he said, using the human vernacular as he pointed to a rip in his heating suit. He started to shiver, to the point that he was unable to do anything else.
The Podder flailed his legs until K’Thrall rammed a shoulder into him to drive him off the table, sliding him to the deck. Once upright, Bundin leaned close to the Keome and used two of his four tentacle arms to pinch B’Ichi’s suit shut.
“Duct tape,” Bundin requested.
Slicker slowly climbed down, found a roll of duct tape—standard issue for all warriors, and common in every space on a Bad Company vessel—and started to tear off strips. In short order, they had the Keome’s suit repaired.
“Let’s take a look at that cut,” K’Thrall told Bon Tap, demonstrating a soft side that no one had seen before. Doubling a napkin, the Yollin pressed hard on the wound. “Head injuries usually bleed at a rate disproportionate to the actual damage, so it looks worse than it is.”
He applied duct tape to hold the napkin in place before looking at the Malatian’s arm.
“Stop the bleeding, start the breathing, protect the wound, and treat for shock,” Slicker recited the training that had been driven into them as part of being a warrior under Colonel Walton’s command. “I’m thinking we don’t have time for the shock part.”
“Don’t go into shock,” Bundin deadpanned.
Slicker’s arachnid eyes whirled at the humor of his statement. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
“Dionysus, status,” Bundin requested, hoping the AI was still with them.
“Automated systems are engaged. Engines are offline as a precautionary measure while diagnostics are run on the converters, inverters, and power relays. Shields are in place, and the ship is in one piece.”
“Is this what the seventy-fourth percentile looks like? It’s that place between where we didn’t get destroyed and we survived, but the how well we survived part wasn’t clearly articulated.” Bundin left it at that.
Dionysus tried to take the edge off the crew’s angst. “The weapon was extremely powerful. A lesser ship would not have survived.”
“You’re going to feel a little strain,” K’Thrall said. Slicker grabbed the Malatian from behind and the Yollin yanked his broken arm, stretching the tendons until the bones aligned and settled into place. Bon Tap screamed until the shrill pitch assaulted their senses.
K’Thrall slapped him on the head. “Stop that.”
Bon Tap gasped and panted.
“You could have let me know.”
“So you could tense up? Nah. We don’t have time to babysit, and if you scream like a Yollin schoolgirl again, I will jettison you out the airlock.”
“No jettisoning,” Bundin clarified. He worked his way to the table, where Chris was starting to stir.
“I must be in space,” he mumbled.
“What?” the others said as one.
“I’m seeing stars.”
“He’s fine.” K’Thrall pointed to Slicker’s leg. “Let’s take a look at that.”
“Who would have guessed that K’Thrall would be the squad’s medic?” Slicker turned to put her damaged limb on display.
K’Thrall knelt to take a look. B’Ichi grabbed her and held her tightly.
“Let me go, buffoon!”
“Aren’t we going to do that thing you did to Boner?”
“No.” K’Thrall shook his head. “This is something completely different. It seems to be dislocated, but I’m not sure if the tendons are torn, or if Ixtalis even have tendons.”
“We do, but they’re not like a humanoid’s.”
K’Thrall gently pushed the leg joint back into place despite Slicker’s wincing and grunting. “Duct tape.”
With B’Ichi’s help, they taped the joint into place while keeping her leg supported.
“You won’t be running any marathons, but that should keep it stable until we can get you into a Pod-doc.”
Chris Bo Runner held his head while keeping his eyes closed. “Did we fire at it?”
“Good question. Dionysus?” Bundin relayed.
“Yes. We fired the pulse cannon that is under development. The enemy ship was hit multiple times, and at one point, it vented atmosphere. Unfortunately, we detonated a mine danger-close before the enemy ship cloaked. I detected another anomaly right before we detonated the mine, and have maneuvered us out of the estimated path.”
“We hit it and hurt it. Are we able to contact the War Axe?”
“They are on their way. Colonel Walton has directed us to recover those supplies at all costs.”
“Did he ask how we were?” Bon Tap asked, still suffering from spasms caused by the throbbing pain in his arm that radiated through his whole body.
“He knows that you are all alive,” Dionysus replied. “He also knows that there is a new mine out here, floating around, invisible to our sensors. I’ve developed my estimate of its course and transmitted that to the fleet so that they remain clear.”
“Good that a second mine didn’t hit us and we’re still alive. Everything else is gravy,” Chris muttered from the table. He made no effort to open his eyes or move, just draped an arm over his face.
“I’ll go to the cargo bay to ensure the recovery goes well. B’Ichi, you’re with me. K’Thrall and Slicker, to the bridge. We have a mission, and we are not going to let the colonel down. Boner, you stay here and take care of each other. Chris? Don’t die on us. Join them on the bridge when you’re up to it. Otherwise, keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Aye, aye, Corporal,” Chris said with a weak salute. Bon Tap nodded before pouring water for himself and the Harborian.
“Let’s see what he was willing to die for,” Bundin said as the squad members executed their orders.
“The big ship is returning,” the navigator reported, “and it appears to be assuming station on the far end of the field.”
“Like jockeys on ramsteeds preparing to joust?” the commander speculated. “Now that he has restored his energy, he thinks that he is in a position to best us?”
No one replied. The commander was learning that when he shut down any input from his crew, they stopped providing it. He had started to miss the weapons specialist. The upstart was the only one who was honest, and his comments helped the commander to understand.
“Specialist Katamara to the bridge. I want your opinion on what the enemy ship is doing.” There. He had told the entire crew that he couldn’t do all the thinking for them. That he was fallible. He had recruited the best and the smartest for this mission, then treated them like drones. With the last engagement and the damage th
ey’d taken, his mortality was front and center in his mind.
Not only would he die, but he’d also take the ship and the crew with him. On Myriador, they would simply be the ship that never returned. There would be no glory, just a forgotten plaque on a nondescript wall gathering dust. Crying families. A government payout.
The recovery of the supplies was quick. The crew breathed a collective sigh of relief, until they found that twenty percent of the crates had been destroyed by the big ship’s massive railgun. That meant reduced rations for almost a full year, but they could go home.
All of them.
“Heading into the field,” the navigator said with more energy than before. Hanging the supplies over their heads like a guillotine to get them to perform their duties had not delivered the zeal and commitment the commander had hoped for. In fact, it had had the opposite effect. The crew was cowed and docile.
The crew had been afraid. The commander had felt fear, too.
The bridge’s hatch opened, and the weapons specialist walked through.
“Katamara,” the commander started. The bridge crew tensed. Most didn’t think the commander knew their names, let alone said them aloud. “The big ship went into the asteroid belt and has now returned. It took no action when we attacked the station.”
The weapons specialist was on edge. “Please allow me to contemplate the information, Lord Mantis.”
The commander waited while they both studied the tactical display.
“The enemy ship is accelerating beyond what is possible!” the navigator exclaimed.
“If he is doing it, it is not impossible,” the commander corrected. “It’s not possible for us, you mean.”
“The ship has come to an abrupt stop and is ejecting what appears to be bits and chunks of asteroids. They’ve fired their capital-grade weapons at the asteroids.” The navigator leaned close to his scope. “They’ve sent a massive debris cloud toward the minefield at two percent of light speed.”
“I guess that answers what they’re doing,” Katamara said. “Physical objects like gravel and dust will show them where all of our shielded mines are.”
As if to confirm his statement, the debris cloud passed a mine, creating an eddy out of the dust. A single shot from the primary weapon destroyed the mine. The big ship followed the cloud at a discrete distance, blasting the exposed weapons as they went.
“Move us out of the debris cloud’s course.” The commander crossed his arms, resting his third arm in the hammock created by the other two. He clacked his fangs in frustration. “Take us behind that ship, as close as you can get us.”
The large ship dashed forward and released more stone, firing again to accelerate the smaller particles. The navigator adjusted their trajectory to keep the Traxinstall out of the path of the debris.
A third cloud was formed, and the ship seemed to revel in destroying the mines. It happened so fast that the Traxinstall hadn’t gotten where it needed to go when the alien ship accelerated toward the shipyard at a pace where the Myriador vessel couldn’t keep up.
“Break off pursuit,” the commander ordered. “Take us to their Gate.”
The ship maneuvered away. The commander needed time to think.
“Let us plan our next series of attacks,” he told the weapons specialist. “The goal for this next phase is to destroy as many of the enemy ships as possible while limiting our own exposure. We have repairs we need to finish before we go face to face with the enemy.”
“I could not agree more, Lord Mantis.” The weapons specialist was unsure of the commander’s new direction. He expected it was to scapegoat him for the mission’s failure, but on Myriador, the captain was always blamed.
Always.
“If we destroy the big ship, the others will fear, and then we’ll have them, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
Captain San Marino stood next to Terry Henry Walton as they studied the tactical grid like two master chess players. Each appearance of the alien ship was highlighted with a virtual pin and color. Where the minefield had been was displayed in yellow, with pinpoints of light where each mine had been.
The attacks were a flaming red that married up with the damage that had been done to the station or to a ship. In the void of space between the shipyard and the station, a lone red flag stood out, with multiple pins surrounding.
The short but intense battle that Ramses’ Chariot had fought with the alien destroyer.
Terry expected the next report via Smedley from Dionysus.
“The alien supplies are gone, Colonel.”
“Understood.” Terry clicked his tongue as he disappeared into his own mind, trying to fill in the knowledge gaps with speculation that wasn’t outrageous.
“But some material has been recovered that is foreign to our space. I believe that it is from something destroyed when the War Axe’s mains hit the enemy ship.”
“Ramses’ Chariot hit that bastard, too.” Terry never took his eyes from the display. “We have a ring of steel around the station. The minefield...”
He pointed to a large gap.
“The mines were laid in a regular pattern,” TH said, still pointing, “so why is this gap here?”
“He recovered them,” Micky said matter-of-factly.
“He laid the mines and then started recovering them. He threw a cloaked mine at the Chariot, which is what I suspect he did to these two ships here.” The red flags highlighted destroyed two ships that had been in cold storage and the heavily damaged but minimally crewed Harborian battleship.
“Passive mines and active mines.” TH scratched his arm and wondered about when the last time he had taken a drink of water was. “There’s only one enemy ship. He’s not trying very hard to kill us, except the Chariot, and that was all about those supplies. We hit him in the storage hold, and he lost his stuff. He didn’t need it right away, so he dropped a beacon on it. When the Chariot found it, he had a huge ‘Oh shit!’ moment, and then it became two junkyard dogs scrapping over the last chicken leg.”
“If only he’d talk to us.”
“I don’t think he can,” Terry replied.
The hatch to the bridge opened, admitting Char and Cory. Terry smiled. He knew what he was fighting for. He didn’t need it to be in the middle of the battle or after a tragic loss. He was fighting for his family, and for those with families.
“If he can’t talk, how do we get through to him?” Micky asked.
“That is the million-credit question.” Terry waved at the ceiling as he did when trying to get Smedley’s attention. “Ask Ted, Smedley. I don’t want to interrupt him again.”
Char and Cory both snickered at Terry’s mannerism. A man of the future, stuck in the past. Whenever a comm link was established with Colonel Terry Henry Walton, Smedley added static and clicks although there were none just to make the old Marine feel more comfortable.
The two women joined Terry and Micky at the front of the bridge. Cory surreptitiously put her hand on her father’s neck. Immediately, the soft blue glow began. Cory shot knowing eyes at her mother. Char’s look of concern outweighed how tired she was.
“What’s with all the touchy lately?” Terry ducked out from under Cory’s hand and dodged out of the way. He assumed a position on the other side of Char, keeping her between him and Cory.
“We care about you. That shouldn’t happen when Cory touches you. We need to get you into the Pod-doc to figure out what’s going on.”
“Later.” Terry put his foot down.
“Stubborn jarhead.”
“The one you’ve fallen head over heels in love with because I’m me.” Terry smiled, dodging as Cory reached for him again.
“I’m sure that’s it. It couldn’t have been that you relentlessly pursued me from the moment you laid eyes on me until I finally settled.”
“You’re a fucking werewolf! I thought you were going to kill me in my sleep,” Terry countered.
“Maybe I still am.” Char raised one eyebrow and
tipped her head down to look at her husband.
“You have the patience of Methuselah.” TH made cow eyes at the purple-eyed werewolf.
“Enemy ship? Still out there? Still can’t talk to him?” Micky droned.
“Right,” TH replied, returning his attention to the tactical plot. “Where are you now?” he asked the enemy.
“We know where he wasn’t. He either evaded the dust cloud or wasn’t there in the first place. I have to say, although I was skeptical about filling my hangar bay with rocks, the end result was well worth the effort. We were able to eliminate the minefield, and if the premise that he was recovering them is correct, then we cut his supply of weapons to use against us.” Micky snapped a quick salute. “I salute you.”
“Thanks, Micky. That was the only arrow in my quiver. I got nothing else,” Terry said using the colloquial speech he reverted to for self-deprecation.
“You don’t have to know everything,” Char suggested. “Smedley, what did Ted have to say?”
“He would not answer,” Smedley said, enunciating each word.
“Time to put on my alpha hat,” Char said. “Coming?”
Terry didn’t feel like he had a choice. “Hold the fort, Micky. I’ll be right back.”
“Hold the fort. Let me say that again: hold the fort. Like when I told you to hold the fort, and returned to find you missing from the bridge? Have no fear, Terry Henry Walton, I will be on the bridge when you get back.”
“What? Nothing got blown up. We were fine!” Terry left the skipper behind as he and Char headed for Combat Information, where Ted was deep in thought. Cory trailed behind them. TH quickened his pace to keep her from getting too close.
“I want to take out that big bastard,” the commander said.
“Chasing his tail, we lead him into a magnetic mine. How many of those can he survive?”
“I don’t want to fathom a guess. We need to hit him when he’s not looking and shove a mine in through his front door. The hangar bay on that ship is perpetually open.”
Destroyer: A Military Space Opera (The Bad Company Book 5) Page 11
