by Nate Duke
It had been his last, desperate move.
I muttered a few words of farewell. I never thought I’d take death so ritualistically, but I admired the officers for their bravery. I would’ve let the men fight for longer. It would’ve made us die even more slowly and painfully.
“He won’t hear you,” Flanagan said insensitively. He didn’t crouch beside anyone or pay his respects to the dead. Instead, he kept his electric gun in his hand and picked a couple extra guns in case he needed them. “We must secure the ship, sir. Don’t know if we’ve got more Cassocks around or if they’ll shoot us.”
Flanagan waved his hand in the air to turn on the sensors. They showed five enemy frigates surrounding us. The captain’s logs mentioned three ships. The other two must’ve remained cloaked.
The North Star, a modern ship of the line, could fight against one frigate, maybe two if we were lucky. But outmanned and outgunned? We had no chances against five enemy ships. I’m not exaggerating; this is well beyond any crew’s limitations. Some men claim that a task is impossible to make it even more impressive once they achieve it. Fighting five frigates fairly was beyond anyone’s skills.
Wait. Who’s said anything about fairly?
The enemy had approached us in the middle of the night, when most of our crew had been asleep. I know there aren’t any nights in space, but modern ships stick to Earth times to simulate days and nights. Earlier models tried keeping on the lights continuously, but it made the men restless and messed up their biological clocks.
The case is: we were attacked at night, the enemy had sneakily dodged our sensors, and they’d killed our men without giving them a chance to fight back. Why did we have to play fair?
What do you mean the right thing to do?
A gentleman might play nice with his enemies. Officers are supposed to be gentlemen, but I’ve already told you: I’m an engineer. I lack the manners or the impulse to act nice. Those damned Cassocks had killed everyone aboard my ship, and they were going to pay.
“Beat to quarters, Flanagan,” I said. I stood back up and noticed the blood stains on my knees and shoes. I hadn’t even noticed the blood before, but the men must’ve fought hard before falling to the poison. It was still warm.
Flanagan stared at the badge on the left side of my chest: a white anchor over the silhouette of a spaceship heading out into space. Silver laurels circled my badge, marking me as a lieutenant in the Engineering Corps.
Engineers weren’t supposed to lead men into battle, but what did he want me to do? Wait until the Cassocks noticed that their own men were dead? They’d destroy our ship before we could even run. The core explosion had probably disabled our engines.
“Sir?” Flanagan said. He was trying not to sound insubordinate, but every single cell in his body tried to make him contradict my orders. He didn’t consider me capable of leading in battle. But how can a man of the sea openly doubt his officer’s skills? He doesn’t; he shuts up and follows orders. Flanagan was a vet; he knew how things worked when you ended up with an incapable officer.
Luckily for both of us, I was open to suggestions. I wasn’t going to tell him yet, though. First I needed to make the chain of command clear before everyone.
“You’ve heard me, man,” I said. “Beat to quarters and get an updated headcount. I’m in charge unless you raise one of the officers from the dead.”
Flanagan bit the inside of his mouth and his weathered face tensed. He was measuring me and considering punching my nose and getting rid of me before I caused any trouble. But we were outnumbered and unlikely to survive; what difference would losing yet another officer make? He nodded. “You’re in charge, sir.” He headed to the room’s intercoms and began instructing the crew.
“You’re in charge, sir?” Midshipman Gomez ran into the bridge and froze when he saw all the corpses.
The captain’s chair had stains of blood, and so did the commander’s. Most of the standing officers had fallen defending the bridge. The lad counted them with his fingers. His sugar high hadn’t waded, and he barely reacted negatively to the blood.
He eventually finished and approached me with an expression well beyond his years. “If they’re all dead and you’re the acting captain, does that make me the acting commander? And are we fighting the Cassocks out there? I’ve always wanted to lead a fight, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. And do I have standing rights? The captain didn’t let midshipmen on the bridge, but I’m the only officer left, aren’t I? Can I sit on the commander’s chair? Once they’ve cleaned it, of course… it’s yucky right now. And can I eat in the wardroom? It’s going to be empty now that you’ll use the great cabin.”
“God save us,” Flanagan muttered from the other side of the bridge. Midshipman Gomez didn’t offer many guarantees as a second-in-command.
“Religious?” I asked.
“No,” Flanagan said, “but looks like a good time to explore a new faith.”
Either Gomez hadn’t heard us or he didn’t care. He walked over to the beige officers’ chairs in the center of the bridge. They had high backrests and plushy armrests, and they were much more comfortable than your typical holo-cinema room. Gomez ran his hand along one of the seats and checked the plushy seat.
The kid had never seen death before, and he was already thinking of stealing a dead man’s chair! What kind of TV shows had he watched as a kid? At his age, I would’ve cried for days! Heck, if I’d been alone, I’d have curled up into a ball and hidden under a table.
“Nobody’s sitting anywhere or dining in the wardroom,” I said. “And I’m definitely not stealing the captain’s cabin, not even if the whole damned crew is dead. I haven’t seen the subcommander’s corpse, so we may already have an acting captain.”
“Doubt it.” Flanagan returned from the intercom and gestured at the screens to show several of the ship’s security cameras. Most of them had been disabled, but some showed corpses and more corpses. “Won’t find any survivors here, sir. Want the lads to check the hangars in case someone’s hiding in the escape pods?”
“Do it.” I gulped and tried to man up, but the dead crew was too much. I would’ve died if I hadn’t forced my men to stay up until late while we tweaked the fuel system. It had been a silly upgrade, but it had saved our lives.
And what could I do with my twelve year-old second in command?
As if my thoughts had called for divine intervention, Subcommander Adamson stumbled out of the captain’s emergency escape pod on the bridge. I’d heard of it before, but I’d assumed it was just an urban legend about the Navy: why would a captain need an escape pod on the bridge if captains are supposed to sink with their vessels?
Adamson was covered in blood from his stomach to his feet. One of his hands covered a large wound in his stomach, and he was pale. He stumbled backwards and sat on the floor beside the escape pod. He nodded in my direction… more or less. I don’t think he recognized me.
I crouched beside him. Flanagan and Gomez stood beside me, staring at the scene as if it were a tragic representation of our unavoidable fate. Adamson held my double-breasted jacket, marking it with four long red trails.
“Pity it’s black,” Flanagan said, referring to my jacket. “Won’t be easy to hide the blood.”
I glared at Flanagan, but he shrugged. He’d seen more death than me, but it didn’t give him the right to ignore a dying man’s last words.
The subcommander was agonizing. He needed a surgeon, but we’d found no surgeons alive and he assured that all the surgeons aboard the North Star were dead. The captain had pushed him into the escape pod before activating the poison gas, but it had been too late: Adamson was already mortally wounded.
The subcommander was wounded, but he wanted to warn us of what had happened.
Our men hadn’t noticed the Cassocks when they’d stalked our ship and boarded her in the middle of the night. They’d run along the corridors, entering rooms and murdering the men in their sleep. Some of the officers had heard the screaming and had run
to defend the bridge before the enemy had arrived, but the Cassocks had been too many.
The captain had ordered the engineers to arrange the core explosion and disable the venting systems, hoping that none of the Cassocks would’ve reached the lower deck. He’d been right, and we were alive because his plan had worked.
The subcommander gulped as he tried to gather the energy to continue his tale.
I was no doctor, but his end was near. No man needed to waste his last breath warning us; we’d manage.
“Don’t, sir,” I told him. “Keep your strength.”
“Won’t be of much use,” Flanagan said.
I glared at him, but he remained impassible.
Subcommander Adamson pressed my arm. “He’s right,” he said. “I’m dying anyway.” There was no fear in his voice, only tiredness and pity. Pity to die too soon, pity to never reach the rank of captain, and pity to hand command over to an engineering officer who would never manage to lead the North Star to safety. He might’ve been more optimistic than me about my own skills, though.
The men on watch had been caught without warning. The Cassocks hadn’t killed them; they’d stunned them and taken them to one of their frigates. They wouldn’t be dead yet, not until the Cassocks captured or destroyed the North Star. There was still hope, but not for the subcommander.
“Rescue our boys,” Adamson told me. His eyes were tired and dying, but he stared at me intensely. If I didn’t obey him, he’d return from death and haunt me.
Flanagan didn’t care that the man was dying or about his death wish. He told him that he disapproved of everything the captain had done, and that we’d have had more chances of survival if the captain hadn’t killed our own men as well as the enemy.
The subcommander agreed, but he remained respectful for O’Keeffe’s memory. He told us that the surgeons on watch must’ve been taken with several officers, and maybe even with part of our crew.
Fear overtook him as soon as he’d given me the instructions. His mouth distorted and he grabbed the neck of my jacket. “You’re in charge, Wood,” he told me. “Take our lads back home.” He pushed me back and his hand dropped listlessly to his side.
“What a dramatic death.” Flanagan turned his back to him and headed straight for the controls to run a systems check. He complained loudly at nobody in particular. “Why do officers take life so solemnly even when they’re scared shitless? You don’t need to keep the act when you’re about to die.”
Gomez stared at Flanagan. The sugar high might’ve subdued, but perhaps he’d realized the gravity of the situation.
“Thank you, Flanagan,” I said, starting to get annoyed.
He looked up with less skepticism in his face. Was he testing my officer skills? Had I passed?
As if command hadn’t been enough, I was now tasked with confronting five enemy frigates and rescuing our men. If we were lucky, we’d die trying. If we weren’t, we’d be captured alive.
Command meant one thing: I had to take charge.
Pardon the engineering analogy, but our situation was like the First Law of Thermodynamics: you can’t win, you can’t draw, and you can’t quit the game. It’s unfair, and it sucks.
Several of Flanagan’s men joined us on the bridge, and my engineers arrived too. They reported no survivors in the escape pods or anywhere else, but the ship didn’t detect over 100 men’s chips. They either weren’t on board or their chips had been damaged. They’d hopefully be alive aboard one of the frigates.
We couldn’t hope to openly board the enemy, and they would shoot us if we approached them aboard the North Star. How was a small group of men supposed to defeat five ships? I wasn’t going to board one of our fighters and fly there; I didn’t want to offer them free target practice.
Call me coward if you like; I’d rather stay alive than die a stupid death and become a dumb symbol of honor and devotion to my country. If you ever die for your country, don’t make it a dumb death; it’ll chase after you for the rest of your life… I mean for the rest of… forget it. Just don’t expect me to die unless I’m doing it for a reason. If the Admiralty doesn’t like it, tough luck. I’m an engineer: I’m selfishly rational and nowhere as impulsive as normal officers.
When I realized, the men were staring straight at me. They glanced at each other and shared doubts between them.
Okay, guys. I get it. I’m an engineer, not an officer. I’ve never led anyone in battle, and you don’t trust me. Would you like the 12 year-old to lead you instead?
I stepped forward, not because I wanted to get closer to them, but to look more in charge. I had no idea of what I was doing. They didn’t need to know.
I’d never fought a real fight before, but my hands wouldn’t tremble if I had to do my duty. At least I hoped they wouldn’t. You never know until the time comes.
I walked in front of the men and held my hands together in front of me.
Wait, officers are supposed to hold both hands behind their back.
Curse engineers’ disregard for protocol. I put my hands behind my back and held one wrist with my other hand. It should’ve made me felt officerlike, but the men raised their eyebrows.
“We can’t stay here and let those thieves plunder the North Star and strip her of all her pretty systems,” I said. Sounds officery enough? I was making it up on the go. It’s hard enough when you’re used to telling people to cut sheets of metal. Being boarded doesn’t help either. “I say we go out there and stop them.”
The men stared at each other, confused. Hadn’t they followed along?
Flanagan cleared his throat. Was he asking me for specifics?
I was no real officer, but I knew enough engineering to neutralize a ship with a bit of help. If the men helped me board a frigate, she’d stop posing a danger to us. I needed as much help as possible.
“Can any of you short-circuit a motherboard?” I asked Flanagan’s men. “Tinker with the engines’ fuel supply? Cause a nuclear reaction in the core?”
“No engineerin’ sir,” Kozinski, a large and brutish man, said. “But I swear I’m takin’ five Cassocks down with me when I fall, I do.” He spat in one of his hands and rubbed both together. He was unarmed, but as tall as a mountain and with arms thick like legs. He had a sewn upper lip from a fight the previous week. He picked fights more frequently than his face would’ve liked. “I’m not lettin’ ’em plunder us and go.”
“And what will you do, huh?” York slapped Kozinski’s chest with the back of his hand, making him back down. He was a small guy, almost half of Kozinski’s size, but he acted like those small dogs who keep barking at everyone and don’t realize that they might be kicked if they get too annoying. “Fight them with your bare hands? They won’t let you get close to them.” He nodded at me, seeking my approval. “We need to shortcut the motherbases and tinker the food supplies.” He shook his head as if he’d repeated exactly what I’d said, and his ruffled and unkempt dark hair fell over his eyes and down to his chin. He tried to speak again, but a strand of hair got into his mouth and he tried to spit it out.
Kozinski laughed at him. The man wasn’t too bright, and his laugh sounded even dumber. It was a deep who, who, who.
Awesome. So no engineering skills, no knowledge of engineering, and probably limited reading and understanding skills. I hadn’t expected the brightest of men, but where did the Navy press the men?
“The best of the best,” Flanagan murmured quietly beside me. “Let’s see if they can fight as well as they make fools of themselves.” He tried to grin, but his eyes were tired and worried. We’d both read the news on modern warfare and we knew what the Cassocks did to their prisoners. He didn’t need to talk about it. Neither did I. We didn’t want to become dog food, nor die by decompression.
I needed to plan something quick or I’d lose the men’s confidence.
Here was my plan: If we couldn’t approach the enemy ship openly, we’d have to use subterfuge and trickery. We lacked the enemy’s cloaking systems, but
we had many of their casualties and some of the transport shuttles they’d used to board us. We’d run into their ship, act like Cassocks, and kill our way to the brig. Once we’d freed our men, we’d activate the self-destruct systems and run out. We’d repeat the process with all five ships.
“Isn’t this against the Laws of Space?” Gomez asked innocently.
Flanagan chuckled under his breath.
That’s why I don’t like to have kids nearby. It was against the Laws of Space, but could I do? Fly openly towards the enemy and wait for them to shoot? I didn’t have the soul of a martyr. If they’d sneaked into our ships, I could sneak into theirs.
“If any of you don’t want to join me, I won’t blame you,” I said. “We’ll break a dozen international laws, and the Cassocks can hang us for treason. You know how they treat their prisoners, so I’m not scared of being hanged. I’m not letting them take 100 of us and maim and dismember them until they grow bored.”
York and Kozinski stared at each other and nodded enthusiastically. I’d convinced them. Flanagan stepped forward symbolically to stand by my side.
My plan wasn’t insane, was it?
I didn’t care. Time for us to put my plan to action.
“Are we ready?” I asked.
The men exchanged their classic doubtful glances.
All right, lads. You’ve made it clear: I don’t have a track record in battle. Want me to give you a pep talk or something? Would you rather have a midshipman leading you?
Oh, the officer pose. I squared my back, sucked my stomach in, and clasped both hands behind my back. “Are we ready, gentlemen?” I asked more energetically.
They all nodded and got ready to decontaminate the enemy ships. Decontaminating as in getting rid of all Cassocks.
Chapter 3
“My uniform itches.” Kozinski scratched behind his neck, just where his cassock met his skin. His costume was too small for his size, and his skin wasn’t used to the sturdy cloth that Cassocks wore.
“Speak in German or shut up,” York said. His camel cassock was two sizes too big, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. “And stop scratching, will you? Have you ever seen any Cassocks scratching themselves? No, you haven’t. You’ll get us killed.”
