“Cup of coffee for your thoughts, sir?” Sowles asked.
“Just reviewing the casualty list again. We lost four more sailors,” Alexander replied. “What the hell have we got to show for it?”
“Well, Captain,” Sowles started. Chuck being an old Navy sailor, Moore had noted that it was difficult for COB to address the captain of the boat by anything other than “captain.” While some called him General Moore at times and some Captain at times, Chuck always referred to him as Captain. It was a Navy tradition, not a Marine one. Alexander had often gotten a kick out of that. “If you ask me, and I know you didn’t, each time we face the Chiata, the more prepared our soldiers get to face them. Which is something, sir.”
“I don’t know, Chuck.” Alexander thought about it very briefly. “Is it something enough for the cost?”
He has a good point, Alexander, Abigail thought to him.
I know. I know. But, very costly, he thought. What is the casualty total now? Fifteen thousand and growing?
Not sure about that, sir. It is possible that the AIC-imprinted clones could be reimplanted into a new clone if they survived. I’m just not sure how that works and what their procedures are in such cases. I’m not sure they have such procedures in place yet. Even so, more than fourteen thousand were completely lost, AIC and all, Abigail explained. Alexander let his attention drift back to the COB.
“Well, Captain, I don’t truly believe you believe that. But if you don’t think you know, I’m going to tell you that I do know. This engagement is very critically important. We’re going to face these bastards someday soon in an all-out winner-take-all fight for our homeworld. I’d like to face them with a battle-hardened and pissed-off crew when that day comes, sir.” The COB made sense, Alexander thought. Perhaps, at least, that was something.
“Let’s hope we can find a way to keep the bastards from ever getting to Earth.” Alexander grunted and bolstered himself up a bit, even if it was for appearances only. “I mean, that was the whole point of coming out here.”
“Roger that, Captain.” Sowles agreed. “Roger that. If I may, sir . . .”
“Speak your mind, Chuck. You haven’t been with me long enough to know that I’d rather have it straight in the face than blown up my ass.” Alexander could tell the Chief was nervous about whatever it was he was about to say. “You’ll never get a reprisal from me for telling it like it is, COB.”
“Okay then, sir.” The man hesitated only slightly as he seemed to be sizing Alexander up. “Well, I know we just got our asses handed to us, Captain. And coming into that place at all was brash and bold and took hundred-millimeter armor-piercing balls. But this here, sir, this what you’re saying right here, this, isn’t the man I’ve read about in the history books. This isn’t the man that according to legend went barrel-assing and screaming like a demon from hell into an enemy camp of over a hundred Separatists after being stranded in an e-suit and wounded for more than a month and killed them all with his bare hands. This isn’t that guy. Or this isn’t the man who during the Exodus fought a Seppy tank to a standstill on the Martian desert while unarmored and using just an HVAR. Or who fought off an army of crazed terrorist robots at Disney World. Or, from what I hear, singlehandedly defeated an entire swarm of maniacal buzz-saw bots to save a squad of AEMs including one younger Moore, the CAG, and one of our Fleet captains. This right here, sir, this, isn’t that man.”
“Are you getting to a point, COB?”
“With all due respect, Captain, I just made my point. The crew is banged to hell and gone, but they’d go through it a hundred times over as long as they know that the great man of history, the great United States by God Marine Corps General Alexander Badass Monster Killing Motherfucking Moore is leading them into it. Pardon my French, but Captain, we’re all volunteers and could resign whenever we’d like, but we choose to follow you, sir, into whatever shit you want to take us into, death be damned. And it is a disservice to that fine Marine mecha jock stranded on that God-forsaken planet to be anything less even for the briefest of seconds that it takes to walk from the elevator to the Captain’s Ready.”
Ooh-fuckin’-rah, General! his AIC cheered in his head. I like this new COB.
Alright, enough of that shit, he thought.
The two of them turned the corner to the Captain’s ready room and Alexander stopped and held out an armored gauntlet to shake the COB’s hand. Alexander’s days as a politician still ran deep within him. The COB shook his hand and then stepped a half step back and saluted.
“If that is all, Captain, I have a boat to get back in order,” Chuck said proudly and all businesslike.
“Chief. I think you just did that.” Alexander returned the salute with clenched jaw and steeled eyes and a fire behind them that was starting to grow. “That’ll be all for now, thank you. I’ve got some shit to figure out.”
The COB snapped his hand down and turned on his heels back down the corridor. Alexander stood silent for several seconds and watched almost catatonically at the flurry of activity throughout the hallway of the ship. His ready room was off the bridge to the starboard side but on the same floor at the top of the command spire. Any activity happening here would be somehow related to fixing problems between the bridge and the Combat Direction Center, which was a few decks down. The COB was right, the ship and crew were battered and beat, but they weren’t beaten. They were absolutely not fucking beaten.
Alexander shook his head and turned to his office. The door slipped open with a hiss and he stepped through, letting it close behind him. He fell back against the door and fought the urge to weep. Even though it was an overwhelming urge and single tears formed at the corners of his eyes, General Alexander Moore gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, drew his fists tight, and then he managed to blink them back.
“Princess, I’m coming,” he snarled inwardly. “You Chiata bastards get ready to meet whatever fucking maker you pray to.”
Abigail, get me a line to my wife.
Yes, sir!
“Joe, how are you feeling?” Fireman’s Apprentice Clark Rogers wouldn’t leave his side. No matter what errand Joe sent the kid on, he finished with vigor, and, like a puppy, crawled right back under his feet.
Or maybe that was the wrong metaphor, Joe pondered briefly. The kid was more like an overprotective mother hen. He was constantly asking if he was okay and if there was anything else he could do for him. Joe appreciated the effort and the concern, but enough was enough.
“Rogers, you see that BFW over there hanging on the tool rack?” Buckley pointed it out.
“The red one, CHENG? You need it?”
“Yes. I want you to go over there and pick the thing up and then come over here and bash me in the fucking head with it until my brains splatter all over the fucking floor and I quit flopping like a goddamned fish.”
“CHENG? Are you okay, sir?”
“Fuck no, I’m not okay, Rogers!” Joe shouted. “I got my Goddamned arm ripped right out of the fucking socket and now I’m sitting here with a gob of dried up fucking organogel and e-suit seal layer goop as a replacement while I’ve got my one good thumb up my ass waiting for the hyperdrive to explode and kill us fucking all. And all the fucking while you and Amari and every other sailor on this ship keeps asking me every two goddamned seconds if I’m fucking alright!”
“CHENG?” Rogers was startled and Joe could see the rest of the engineering team peeking around the corners, turning their heads in his direction, or in Amari’s case, taking several steps towards him.
Joe, his AIC started to interject.
Don’t you fucking start on me too! he thought in the harshest mindvoice he’d ever used.
“So, let us just get one thing fucking straight right motherfucking now! For fuck’s sake!” Joe raised his voice even louder. “I am NOT fucking O motherfucking kay! Got it? Good. So don’t fucking ask me again. Nobody ask me that shit ever again.”
Joe could see that Amari was considering saying something, but
he gave her a look that warned her to just back the hell off. Then he turned and motioned at the dancing cable with trillions of watts of power surging through it that was flashing with Cerenkov radiation, ionizing the air around it into a plasma, and buzzing like a tweeter that aspired to be a woofer, or was it the other way around.
“Now that we got that shit out of the way, this fucking thing right here is going to explode in about three minutes, which is a damned good thing that we are approaching the rendezvous coordinates in about thirty seconds. It is time to bring it down before it brings itself down and us with it. Then, we back out and turn the repair bots on full with the new conduit designs and parts. They can derad the place and work the replacement. We’ll be down for an hour. Anybody wants to get something else done, grab a snack, and maybe wash off some of the blood, soot, and radioactive charred carbon shit off, or hell, I dunno, go see about getting a new fucking arm, then would be the time.”
Joe, I’m concerned you might be going into shock, Debbie warned.
Oh, shut up. I’m not in fucking shock, he thought. Then a page opened up in his mindview with his vital signs and a definition of being in shock appeared there.
Acute stress disorder—sometimes referred to as acute stress reaction, mental shock, psychological shock, and sometimes just shock, is a psychological condition arising in response to a terrifying or traumatic event and in many cases events following serious bodily injury or threat thereof. The condition is not to be confused with circulatory shock which is a different life threatening condition.
Would you stop that shit, Debbie? he thought, and the hyperdrive counter clock in his mind approached zero.
Several tens of seconds had passed and still nobody had said a word. But Amari did step back behind the control panel and throw a circuit breaker. The cable stopped dancing and humming and fell with a great thud to the floor. The power flowing through it had stopped. Seconds later the vortex projector started to dim and the event horizon it was projecting ahead of the ship collapsed, and just like that, they were stranded in space. Countdown clock was at zero and position calculations showed they came out of hyperspace into reality space accurate to within a tenth of a light second from where they had wanted to be.
“We’d better leave the SIFs on it for a while or it will explosively vaporize. The damned thing is hot.” Sarala Amari pointed at the cable and warned the rest of the team. “Now, I’ll take care of the bots, Joe. Fireman’s Apprentice Rogers, why don’t you take the CHENG down to medical for a cup of coffee. He likes it black and thick as fucking mud with two sugar packs and no cream. You might see if you can find him a fucking chill pill to go with it.”
“Roger that, Chief.” Roger looked at Joe and then looked back at the big fucking wrench attached to the tool wall. “You coming, CHENG, or do I get the BFW?”
Chapter 19
February 19, 2407 AD
U.S.S. Sienna Madira II
Rendezvous Point, 10.5 Light Days from Target Star System
700 Light-years from the Sol System
Monday, 6:15 P.M. Ship Standard Time
“What do you see out there, STO?” USMC Brigadier General Sally “Firestorm” Rheims sat in the captain’s chair while General Moore was taking care of other business elsewhere on the ship. She wasn’t sure what the General was doing exactly, but it wasn’t her job to ask, either. Firestorm had her visor open and could smell the remains of the long since chemically extinguished fires. There was a mix of air freshener and burned metal and plastic aroma that reminded her of worse battles, if there was such a thing.
“The remains of the first attack wave are twenty seven hundred kilometers to port. All DTM battlescape views and blue force tracks should be updated now, XO,” the Science and Technology Officer USN Commander Tori Snow replied while looking up from her console. “Long-range sensors report no other vessels or signs of artificial machinations within several light years, but the way things have gone so far today, there is really no way to be certain, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Commander Snow.” The XO raised an eyebrow to the new STO but wasn’t sure she could see it through her helmet. “COB, now would be a good time for one of your famous pots of really bad coffee.”
“I can send the quartermaster’s apprentice to get you some of that uppity stuff they sell in the mess, or if you seriously think you can handle it, XO, I’ll get some started?” The COB smiled at her. “But, be warned, as long in the tooth as this day is, you’ll need an elephant tranq to get any shuteye later.”
“Just happen to have an elephant tranq in my room, COB.” Firestorm laughed a bit. “If you don’t mind making some, I’d love a cup.”
“Sounds great, ma’am,” Chuck said. “My AIC has already got it brewing for you.”
“I don’t know about you, XO, but I for one am glad to be in reality space for a minute,” the Air Boss said. “Without the QMTs I realize how much I hate hyperspace.”
“Uh huh,” Firestorm grunted. Then she checked her DTM blue force systems and they had indeed been updated. There were five supercarriers sitting in formation. And with the addition of the Madira there were now six. Firestorm knew two had been destroyed, but two were unaccounted for. She pulled up the list in her mindview before her eyes.
U.S.S. Sienna Madira II—significant damage, repairs initiated
U.S.S. Margaret Thatcher II—significant damage, repairs ongoing
UM61 Alpha02—fully functional, minor repairs ongoing
UM61 Alpha 03—significant damage, major fire alarms, atmosphere loss in forty percent of the ship.
UM61 Alpha 05—significant damage, repairs ongoing
UM61 Alpha 08—moderate damage, repairs ongoing
“Jeeesus! Talk about a shit sandwich.” Firestorm said. “What the hell happened to Four and Six?”
“Comm, get on the horn and call around and see if we can get some info on that.”
“Aye, sir.” The Nav replied.
“Sir! Look!”
At that moment UM61 Alpha Zero Three erupted in blue and purple plasma from the forward hyperspace projector structure. A partial event horizon opened and sucked the bow of the ship forward almost as instantly as the horizon had formed it, then collapsed, squeezing the front quarter of the supercarrier into nothingness. Orange and white plasma vented from what was left of the ship’s front half and then it erupted from within from bow to stern. The ship poured open like a disemboweled pig, throwing parts in every direction. The explosion raced up the command spire, and then what was left of the ship vanished into a field of flying debris and death that was now impinging upon the rest of the fleet ships.
“Nav! Get us fucking clear of that!” Firestorm shouted. But they were too close and there was little they could do but ride it out. “All aux power to forward barrier shields and SIFs! Standard prop all back full!”
“Sorry, XO, all propulsion is down for the drive replacement,” the STO said.
“Well then, hold on to your shit, cause this is gonna be violent.” Sally grabbed the edge of the captain’s chair and gritted her teeth while at the same time mentally triggering the ship-wide warning klaxons.
“Warning! All hands brace for impact! Warning! All hands brace for impact!”
There was nothing left to do but sit tight and ride it out. Sally popped her visor in place and bit down on her bite block with anticipation, and then common sense took hold and she calmed slightly.
“STO! Get me Doppler on that debris field and ETA to impact! Now!” Firestorm ordered.
“Aye!”
The debris from the exploding supercarrier spread out fast in a three-dimensional spherical wavefront. Almost instantaneously with the explosion, three other hyperspace tubes appeared and the Thatcher, UM61 Alpha Zero Two, and UM61 Alpha Zero Five vanished, leaving just the Madira and the remains of the exploded Three in local reality space. The Madira had no hyperdrive capability at present. She was dead in the water and going nowhere.
Klaxons sounded throug
hout the ship as the debris field approached. Large chunks of the supercarrier the size of hovertanks and even larger filled space in front of it. Firestorm watched for what seemed like an eternity, but her AIC had put a clock in her head that said nine seconds and ticking.
“Commander Snow!?”
“Yes, ma’am. Got it. The centroid of the blast was two thousand seven hundred and one kilometers distant and the radar tracks show the blast front at seventeen kilometers per second. Impact is estimated in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds and counting. Clock is transmitting DTM.”
“Two minutes and a half to figure this shit out.” Firestorm punched the com. “XO to CHENG.”
“Acting CHENG, CPO Amari here, XO. CHENG is in medical.”
“I need Aux Prop now, Amari!”
“Sorry sir, there is no way. We are sitting still for at least an hour.”
“Not the fucking answer I need, Acting CHENG! We’ve got a debris field closing on us fast!”
“Understood, XO. All we can do is route as much power to the shields and SIFs.”
“Do that then. XO out.” Sally shook her right knee up and down a few times impatiently trying her best to think. She pounded her fist against the arm of the chair and let out a sigh.
Give me trajectory curves of the largest debris that are going to hit us, she thought to her AIC.
Right away, her AIC responded by displaying the field in her mindview and then showing the large chunks headed their way. Several pieces the size of hovertanks, in fact, a few of the pieces actually were hovertanks and other mecha, were headed right for the bridge and other parts of the port side of the ship.
“We’ve got to do something, XO,” the Ground Boss shouted over the alarm. “Fast!”
“I know.” Sally grunted gutturally. Then it hit her. “Fight fire with fire! Gunner! Target and fire the DEGs at the largest pieces of debris! Wide dispersal.”
Kill Before Dying (Tau Ceti Agenda Book 5) Page 18
