Smoke on the Wind
Pirates of the Badlands
Series Book 7
Sean Benjamin
Copyright
© 2019 by Sean Benjamin – All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
Letting go means to come to the realization that
some people are a part of your history
but not a part of your destiny.
— Steve Marboli
~ ~ ~
They say time heals all wounds
but that presumes the source of the grief
is finite.
— Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare
~ ~ ~
We accept the love we think we deserve.
— The Perks of Being a Wallflower
by Stephen Chbosky
Dedication
For my wife Lynnda
It’s been a long road but I could not have a better travelling companion.
Table of Contents
Smoke on the Wind Pirates of the Badlands Series Book 7
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Author’s Note
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Epilog
Glossary
About the Author
Author’s Note
People die. The survivors adjust and the world moves on. Often, some survivors may never truly adjust, but the world still moves on. These are hard but accurate facts about getting through life. In war, this truth is driven home with a sledgehammer as people dying is an everyday occurrence. Battles result in casualties on both sides. In combat, it doesn’t matter who the good guys are or who the bad guys are. There are the living and the dead. People killed while fighting on the right side are just as dead as people killed on the wrong side.
Historians, reporters, and observers try to make sense out of war. From an insulated place provided by time or distance, that might be possible, but war is, at its essence, senseless and unreasonable. That essence is fighting, and that fighting is chaotic and, to a certain degree, uncontrollable. These traits may be mitigated slightly by rules such as the Geneva Convention and the participation of humanitarian organizations within the war zone, but it always comes down to killing and destruction done haphazardly. One can have a plan, but a favorite saying in the military is no plan survives contact with the enemy. That is how battles are fought—semi-controlled mayhem. Calm narration and neat maps may describe the battle perfectly in the aftermath but will not capture the substance of the event while it is happening. Within the fighting is a frenzied anarchy that cannot be accurately related to someone who has never experienced it.
Battles are always individual experiences, and when warriors talk of them, it is always on a personal level. Nobody is considering the “big picture” or contemplating grand strategy while bullets are flying at them. They are focused on surviving the next few seconds, one more minute, another hour. It is only after the fighting ends that the battle is put into some sort of context to the overall situation. National goals and aspirations may be the objectives of leaders and countries and may be expounded on endlessly in the press and by the involved government departments, but for the battle’s participants, there are only two goals: the immediate military objective and survival. Sometimes those two aims are mutually exclusive and the individual has to decide which one matters the most.
Introduction
Pirate Flotilla One has enjoyed much success in recent weeks. The Brie light cruiser Fusilier has been destroyed so the loss of Redemption is avenged. Heinous acts that happened on Bolindale long ago have been addressed. The Sunrise Grange has lost their connection within the Goldenes Tor royal family along with a large percentage of their market in the Badlands.
In addition to these wins against the enemy, there has been progress away from the battlefields. A pirate settlement has been established on Agra 5 and all squadrons are putting their families there. Four new freighters will be added to the ranks of Flot 1. The first freighter, the former Tristan, has been renamed Griffin and is ready to enter service. Soon four destroyers will join the flotilla to form another squadron under Llewellyn Terrant. Griffin will be her supply ship. The Royal Navy base on Agra 2 is fast becoming a reality, and Royal Navy Captain Lisa Cassidy has proven to be a valuable and dependable ally.
The Goths have abandoned their convoy system after the pirate raid at the Crystal Communications Array. They had even taken on the rehabilitation of the prison system on Bolindale. The pirates continue to avoid Goth ships and bases as they will not be the first to break the detente established by Blue Squadron’s actions at Kiraloch. Goth Admiral Cynthia Hochstadt has begun to realize that success on the battlefield may not be possible, but success in winning over many of the people of the Badlands might achieve her goal of besting Raferty Hawkins.
Of course, all participants know this detente cannot last. However, this period of relative calm ends not because of actions in the Badlands but due to an event in the Aurora Empire.
Chapter 1
“Get some covering fire on Hurricane! She’s taking a pounding!”
The remaining Royal Navy ships in the thin line shifted fires to support the last battlecruiser. Hurricane bravely maintained offensive fires to hold the closing enemy at bay. It was a losing proposition, but she was giving it her best effort. The ships continued to fall back under the withering enemy fire. A light cruiser absorbed continuous hits. Already wounded, the latest salvo was a death blow. The ship rolled to port as one engine exploded and escape pods started coming off.
Captain Skyler Mallory’s heavy cruiser, Mackenzie, had been in the thick of the fighting. The ship had given more than she got, but what she got was significant. Damage control parties were at work throughout the ship and crew casualties were near thirty percent. Two missile launchers and one gun were off line and several compartments were venting atmosphere. Mallory was surprisingly calm as she sat in her command chair directing her ship’s firepower. She figured you get that quiet, serene feeling when the end is in sight and inevitable. Despite that situation
, she quickly ran the scenarios through her mind. Every one of them ended badly, but that was a foregone conclusion. It wasn’t about victory anymore. That particular desirable outcome was overcome by events long ago. It had gone bad from the start. There had been more enemy ships, more incoming fire, more casualties, more everything. The only thing there hadn’t been more of was time. It had already run out for many Royal Navy ships and sailors and was rapidly dwindling for the remaining few. Task Force 1 was obliterated and Task Force 2 was a fading shadow. The mission now was about saving ships and people for the next fight. The supply and repair ships, along with several warships damaged early in the battle, had started running over three hours ago, but their slow speed required a last stand by somebody to ensure their escape.
As the last large ship of the Royal Navy forces still engaged in combat, Hurricane was attracting the majority of the OrCon’s attention and ordnance. Despite the best efforts of her comrades, the Zeke battlecruiser was taking hit after hit. Her speed dropped rapidly. Her captain now appeared on all tac freqs. He talked quickly as he knew his time was limited. “Retreat to the first line of wreckage and stand there. I will hold here as long as I can. As senior officer by date of rank, Captain Mallory in Mackenzie has command. Godspeed to you all.” He cut the transmission. Skyler Mallory spoke over tac net. “I have command. We will reform in the first line of wreckage. All ships, move now at best speed. That’s an order.”
Sky knew some of the ships were damaged and wouldn’t come anywhere close to flank speed, so the line would quickly dissolve. It was not a great answer, but there were no great answers now. There was only survival and momentary survival at that. If she held the line of ships together and they retreated at the speed of the slowest ship, none of them would reach the wreckage site. There would be no rear guard, and the enemy would blow through the few remaining ships and run down the cripples and the supply and repair ships.
As ordered, ships quickly broke ranks and moved to the distant wreckage line at individual best speeds. Several ships would get there. The damaged vessels would do the best they could. Hurricane was taking multiple hits each second now. Her own return fire was ebbing. Her time was almost up. Escape pods had been coming off of her for two minutes now as the captain had ordered all nonessential crewmembers to depart. Being a prisoner was better than being dead.
Mackenzie was at reduced speed herself but still was faster than some other ships. She arrived at the initial line of Royal Navy casualties and took up a position behind a demolished heavy cruiser. This point was where the battle had first been joined by Task Force 2. Now it would be the site of the last stand.
She spoke over the command net. “All ships with at least seventy percent flank speed capability will depart in two minutes. All ships with less than seventy percent will begin putting out pods and shuttles with as much crew as you can spare. Departing ships will take in as many escape pods and shuttles as possible aboard your ships.”
Everyone knew what the order meant. Those ships retaining the majority of their propulsion capability would run to catch the support ships and defend them if the enemy gave a prolonged chase. Those ships with less than seventy percent capability would form the rear guard in the wreckage.
Ships now deployed throughout the wreckage, taking cover behind their unlucky comrades from the initial fighting. In battles on Old Earth, the living often stacked the dead in front of them for cover. Many things evolve in warfare over time. Technology, tactics, and weapons have all changed radically. Other things never change. Sky briefly noted there were no escape pods among the wreckage. The earlier exodus of supply vessels and crippled warships must have retrieved them as they retreated. Thank goodness for one small accomplishment.
Captain Jack Wilson, captain of the destroyer Topsail and commander of Destroyer Squadron Twenty-Two, or rather what was left of DesRon 22, glanced at his screens. He quickly scanned Mackenzie. Her number one engine was burning up according to the heat sensor returns. There was not a chance in hell she was anywhere near seventy percent power. Wilson touched a comm button.
“Sky, we can hold with top speed ships here and give you all a running start. We can then disengage, withdraw, and catch up to you.”
Wilson knew it was a dumb idea even as he said it. The OrCons would never let them disengage and depart uncontested. The enemy would pursue them and destroy them in open space. However, he needed something. Anything.
Mallory came up on screen. Despite the dire circumstances and the grim future, she smiled at Wilson. “Jack, do you want me to point out all the flaws in that fantasy that you’re calling a plan?”
“Hell, no. I knew it was stupid before I said it.” He paused and then muttered, “Goddammit, Sky…” His voice faded.
Mallory continued to hold her smile and talked in a soft voice. “I know, Jack. Nothing for it. Take a few minutes and pull in as many pods as you can and then I’m sending all the fast runners along. You will have command.”
Wilson’s moment of pity for their circumstances was short-lived and long gone now. He knew there would be plenty of time afterwards to feel sorry about this fiasco and what it cost, but he had to be all business now. “Roger that,” he said with authority as he signed off.
Mallory now gave orders over the fleet frequency. “All fast runners, you got one minute left so get pods onboard ASAP.” She spun her chair to the OpsO station behind her. “We are getting people off our ship, right?” The OpsO nodded. “Both shuttles are launching now and pods have been going for thirty seconds.”
Departing ships deployed magnetic strips to pull in floating pods while just-launched shuttles set up approaches to the shuttle bays of those ships. The soon-to-be rear-guard ships were down to minimum crew manning. The newest ships had the old magnetic retrieval strips but also had the new recovery system that generated a local magnetic field that pulled pods and shuttles directly to the hull as the ship passed near them. Pods and shuttles were quickly brought in by the departing ships. They got them all as departure time was upon them.
Hurricane had made the most of her last stand by holding off enemy ships long enough to give a few minutes’ respite to her companions. She was a drifting tomb now, but she had done her job. The departing Royal Navy warships left the wreckage site in pursuit of the support ships as the oncoming OrCons were beginning their first assault on the holdouts. Mallory directed her rear guard of twelve ships. As sixteen fast movers got underway to depart the wreckage field, Mallory scanned the engine heat signatures of the remaining ships. She saw the heavy cruiser Shannon looked to be in good shape. She called the ship over the tac channel. Shannon’s XO, Lyle Fenner, came online. “The captain was wounded, and we put him in our shuttle. What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“What’s your engine output?” Sky asked hurriedly.
“Sixty-eight percent,” came a quick answer.
“Close enough. Go.”
“It’s not seventy,” countered Fenner.
Sky stared at him. “I order you to depart with your ship, Commander. Now.”
The XO nodded. “Aye, ma’am. And thank you.”
Sky nodded. “And thank you and your ship for all the work you did today.”
“It wasn’t enough,” the XO responded.
“No, it wasn’t, but that is not your fault.”
“Good luck, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Good luck to you and Shannon.”
Shannon’s helmsman had heard the conversation and had turned the ship and departed while the conversation was still going on. Shannon’s OpsO had heard it also and had deployed magnetic strips and engaged the magnetic field to pull in any pods that may have been overlooked. There were none. The lone heavy cruiser now raced to join the other departing ships.
Sky watched the ship depart thankful that one more would get away to fight another day. She had to keep the remaining ships in place to have a viable rear guard, but she was glad to make one last gesture. She was rather amazed at how calm she was. Th
ere was only one way for this to end, but she was at peace with it. She knew everyone would do their jobs, and her motley group would give a good account of themselves. She thought briefly of Queen Alexis and then Raferty Hawkins. She would miss them. Sky mentally shrugged. This was the life she picked, and the upcoming event had always been a possibility. She shook off the brief bout of melancholy and returned to her floating screens. The OrCons were moving to the attack. Sky flashed back to her earlier thoughts of there not being enough time. A commander can always buy more time. She just had to be willing to sacrifice the ships and crews to pay for it. Her small force was about to prove that truth.
The rear-guard ships began to fire at the oncoming OrCons. Mallory had her ad hoc force concentrate on the closest targets to keep the enemy from trying to push through the rear guard and pursue the departing vessels. Two onrushing OrCon destroyers were quickly battered and withdrew. The remaining OrCons learned from the mistake and tried to maneuver around the rear guard. The Royal Navy ships shifted positions amidst the graveyard and gradually spread out to ensure the OrCons couldn’t slip around their flank. Nobody had any doubt as to the eventual outcome of this fight, but the Zekes would make the OrCons pay for the privilege of getting by them.
Jack Wilson turned his aft hull camera to point back at the battle and looked at the rear guard as they fired from the wreckage of their fleet. Hiding among the ship corpses while holding off the enemy, the rear guard was putting out a decent volume of fire given their paltry numbers. He knew they would do their job—their last job.
He shook his head. It was all a waste of damn fine ships and damn fine people. God, we are commanded by fools! He smiled a small, cold smile. At least their commander, Admiral of the Union Grayson Volney, had had the good manners to die early in the fight with Task Force 1. That particular fool would not be around to screw up future operations. There was a glimmer of a silver lining in this very dark cloud.
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