by Britt Ringel
While fascinating, Heskan was less interested in their physiological structure and more interested in how to fight them. The marines had once again led in that endeavor. During Kite’s shipboard action, Gunnery Sergeant Holloway had inadvertently discovered that even though the aliens could survive in a vacuum, they could not fly in one. This loss in mobility had proved essential in defeating the alien threat on Kite. Supplementing the marine’s efforts to devise a defense against them, Lieutenant Jackamore had converted most of Engineering’s welding units into limited, ad-hoc flamethrowers but, at Chief Brown’s urging, Heskan was reluctant to let marines loose on Kite with them. “Those damn marines already blew enough holes in Kite to put her in a yard fer months, Capt’n. Do you really want some jarhead private runnin’ around with a flamethrower to boot?” the chief had grumbled.
In truth, the damage caused by the marines during the boarding action was not as bad as Brown had lamented. However, the explosive decompression of AMS Turret-55 had resulted in the loss of the weapon system. When added to the damage done by the impacts of two alien cutters, Kite had lost a total of three AMS lasers and an invaluable radiant stream laser. The escort destroyer was down to thirteen functioning RSLs and sixty-one AMS lasers, just eighty-nine percent of her original armament.
Heskan blew out a cleansing breath and refocused on the chronometer. Another twenty minutes had slipped by. Yielding to the inevitable, he got up from bed and moved toward his sonic shower.
* * *
Heskan stepped onto Kite’s bridge thirty minutes later to find Lieutenant Stacy Vernay already at her station. “You too, Stacy?” he questioned good-naturedly.
Feigning a big stretch and yawn, the first officer coyly replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain.” Her grin told him otherwise.
Heskan settled into his command chair and began to run through the various scenarios that might play out once they dove into Perdita. The worst-case scenario was an immediate attack by both alien cutters and the Hollaran ships his squadron was sailing with. The most benign scenario would be diving quietly into a deserted star system. Heskan had already prepared a CortRon order requesting status updates from Bolt and Curator, the two remaining ships under his command, the moment they emerged from tunnel space. The order included an additional reminder to keep weapon systems pointed away from their Hollaran “friends.” Lieutenant, junior grade, Jack Truesworth, sitting at the bridge’s sensor station, would transmit the order as soon as the squadron dove into Perdita. Heskan understood the request for Curator’s and Bolt’s status was unnecessary but he wanted to attach his subtle order not to provoke the Hollarans as a rider rather than send the reminder by itself. I can’t have the other captains thinking I’m nervous about them following orders, he reflected. Even if I am.
Heskan lost track of time reviewing his orders to the CortRon, the composition of the Perdita system, the reports about the alien parasites and the holo-logs of the battle in Kale. When Lieutenant, junior grade, Diane Selvaggio declared their imminent arrival at Perdita, he was surprised how quickly the final two hours had passed. He nearly ordered the ship into battle stations but discovered Vernay had already raised Kite to her highest state of readiness. “Sound the dive bell, Diane,” Heskan ordered and the two-toned alarm alerted Kite’s crew of their pending transition into normal space.
“Diving now, Captain,” Selvaggio announced.
Customary nausea hit Heskan in waves, causing him to shake his head in effort to fight it off. When his vision cleared, he stared intensely at the tactical display. Perdita’s red star was present along with her four terrestrial planets. Bolt and Curator had come out of t-space in formation and their positions rapidly updated on the tactical plot. Accompanying the friendly symbols were a trio of ominous representations of Lombardi’s heavy cruiser and her two light cruiser consorts.
Heskan confirmed his message had been sent and then continued to scan the tactical plot for the blood-red symbols that would signify hostiles in the star system. After dozens of seconds of fruitless searching, Vernay’s hope-filled voice questioned, “Nobody home, Captain?”
“I guess not,” he replied while cycling through his pre-recorded commands setting the squadron’s course, speed and formation. “Diane, make your course for the Iocaste tunnel point, fleet speed.” He sent the same command to his CortRon. “Jack, pan the SnapShot around to face the Kale tunnel point.” After a moment’s consideration he added, “Sweep it over the Hollarans as you go; I want to make sure their weapons are pointing at the tunnel point and not us.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Sweeping,” the sensorman confirmed. The optical array panned over the ragged but still deadly ships of the Hollaran navy.
“Looks good, Captain,” Truesworth stated. “Man, Lombardi’s ship sure has taken a pounding.” Indeed, the large shark-like vessel bore several jagged rents in her hull, some dating as far back to her action in Sponde. Several breaches were crudely patched to form ugly scars covering old battle wounds. Others merely had containment fields separating Phoenix’s precious atmosphere from space. Truesworth brought Kite’s optical sensor to rest on the tunnel point to Kite’s stern when his console beeped at him. “Incoming message from Phoenix, sir.”
Kite’s bridge wall screen split into halves to permit Lombardi’s striking portrait to fill its right side. Her shocksuit helmet mostly concealed her dark hair and face but her sour expression could be easily seen. “Commander Heskan, why are you pointing your weapons at us? I am having trouble enough convincing my ship captains to abide by our truce without your reckless provocations.”
What? Heskan seethed at the realization that at least one of his ship captains had ignored his subtle reminder. He shot an angry look toward Kite’s weapons officer.
Lieutenant Anthony Spencer rapidly raised his hands in submission. “Not Kite, Captain.”
“I’ll fix this, Komandor,” Heskan promised. “Jack, squadron-wide frequency.”
After a beat, Truesworth pointed to his captain.
Heskan cleared his throat and spoke, immediately regretting his word choice. “Attention CortRon Fifteen, all of the squadron’s weapons should be pointed toward the most likely threat.” He silently cursed his ambiguity for an instant before clarifying, “That would be the tunnel point, people. Need I remind you that the alien cutters pursuing us from Kale are destined to arrive in less than five minutes? Prepare for battle.”
Heskan looked back toward the wall screen and raised his eyebrows as he said, “Satisfied, Komandor?” Lombardi killed the transmission without further word.
The collection of Terran ships continued to power its way from the tunnel point at .2c. They sailed unmolested for another ninety-two seconds before Truesworth’s dreaded call came. “Tunnel disturbance, Captain. Multiple disturbances.”
Kite’s SnapShot focused on the area of space currently wavering with distortions as swarms of alien cutters transitioned into n-space. The hulls of the cutters were remarkably clean. No weapons were visible, no sensor arrays spiked outward and the smooth, nearly graceful shape of their bows was a stark contrast to the jutting, narrow drives impaled into their sterns. One by one, Heskan watched with concern as each of those smooth bows oriented toward Kite and then began its push to .35c.
Vernay adjusted her shocksuit helmet. “They don’t appear to be massing for an attack. They’re just operating independently and coming at us unorganized.”
“Just like in Kale,” Heskan agreed.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Vernay added. “If they coordinated their attack into one, massive wave, we’d never stop them all. What’s the time to RSL range, Lieutenant Spencer?”
“They’ll close to within RSL range in five minutes, thirty-three seconds. Then, after another thirty-three seconds, they’ll be in AMS range. Thirty-three seconds after that…” Spencer left the last sentence unfinished.
As Vernay dipped her head and began to work with the weapons officer to coordinate Kite’s defense
, Heskan reviewed the larger tactical picture. Curator and Bolt were already in a triangle formation with Kite, although each ship was positioned closer to the others than was standard protocol. The Gary-Vernay defense plan devised in Kale had worked well considering the odds and Heskan and his first officer had spent the last few days tweaking it to account for the fewer ships inside the formation. Five hundred cutters have dove in so far. At least the aliens aren’t coming at us in the numbers they did in Kale, Heskan thought with mild relief. Their cutters seem strung out more too.
Looking past his squadron on the tactical plot, Heskan saw Lombardi’s fleet had adopted a similar formation. Her ships were 9ls from the nearest Brevic ship. We really should group as one, tight formation, Heskan considered. Maybe if we survive this, I can talk with the Hollarans and see if they’d be willing to coordinate our defenses better. As the cutters raced toward Kite, Heskan pressed his comm console to call down to Auxiliary Control.
“Ensign Gables here. What do you need, Captain?” With the death of Kite’s operations section commander, Ensign Denise Gables had assumed the mantle. During Kite’s four days in t-space, she and Chief Brown had trained the section intensively with the remainder of Kite’s marine contingent in the tactics of shipboard engagements. During the boarding action in Kale, Kite had lost twelve marines, including her platoon commander. Damage controlmen from Operations now filled the empty squad positions. By virtue of Gables’ new position, she had taken de facto command of the platoon but was wise enough to let Gunnery Sergeant Holloway run the contingent.
“Are your marines staged, Ensign?” Heskan asked. The cutters were entering the 10ls barrier.
“Yes, sir. We won’t be caught spread out like in Kale. Gunny has B and C Squads near the bow and Sergeant Cooper’s A-Squad is just aft of us near Aux Con.”
“Good,” Heskan acknowledged. “Remember, I don’t want you or the rest of your Ops people leaving Auxiliary Control unless absolutely necessary.” He wanted the remainder of the operations section to act as a reserve to help repel alien boarders, if needed… but only as a last resort.
“Understood, Captain,” Gables responded through Heskan’s helmet speakers before he cut the channel.
Chapter 2
Gunner’s Mate Second Class Tyler Pruette’s right knee bobbed up and down in anticipation. The alien cutters would enter AMS laser range in thirteen seconds and his target was securely locked into his weapon’s console. The cutters were a gunner’s dream. They flew foolishly straight toward their targets and had only a .15c closure rate. Compared to the wildly evading missiles of the Hollaran Commonwealth with their twice as fast closure speed, the defense against the aliens was a test not in a gunner’s skill but in his weapons director’s target management ability. A daunting seven hundred cutters spanned the distance between Kite and the Kale tunnel point on his targeting display. Feeling somewhat comforted, Pruette knew that Lieutenant Vernay would be assisting the weapons section, and particularly Ensign Fong, with target allocation. From the corner of his eye, Pruette could see a secondary target designated for him to switch to once he destroyed his primary. We can beat these things as long as we stay cool, he reasoned.
The leading wave of cutters broke inside AMS range and Pruette immediately let loose a burst from his quad AMS turret. As expected, his shots ripped through the hull of the cutter, slicing several fragments off the formerly sleek ship. The craft began to tumble and quickly broke apart.
Pruette’s hands instinctively moved the targeting reticule to his next assignment and began the process of locking the new cutter up. As he waited patiently, a cutter’s symbol 1ls behind his current quarry flashed on his tactical display as his new secondary target. Two seconds later, Pruette’s reticule glowed green and he fired again. Pruette was only vaguely aware his target had split nearly in half as he busied himself with obtaining target lock on the next ship. Before his cursor locked in, a fresh secondary target flashed into existence. Half a beat later, Pruette’s AMS locked onto his primary and once again spit charged particles of energy toward the advancing swarm.
Pruette glanced nervously at the temperature controls of his turret while moving his reticule over to the next target. Not bad yet, he thought, but that won’t last long if I can’t give the battery time to cool. Those poor gunners in the RSLs… Pruette growled in annoyance as a fresh secondary target flashed on his screen, 1ls behind his current one. A heartbeat later, a tertiary target appeared.
* * *
“Falling behind, Captain,” Vernay warned as she dragged future targets into the queue of Kite’s RSL and LAZ managers. The leading edge of the cutters had encroached to within 2ls of the CortRon. The Hollaran ships, off to port and slightly ahead of Curator, were keeping in front of the alien tide marginally better. Heskan noted that occasionally a blast from a Hollaran Issic laser turret would stretch out from extreme range to swat down a cutter reaching for a Brevic ship.
Heskan analyzed the tactical plot as he asked, “Diane, is it possible for us to slip closer toward the Hollies to better sup—” He jolted sideways savagely; only the shockseat’s restraints prevented him from being knocked to the deck.
“Big hit, Capt’n,” Brown added needlessly. The chief looked down at his console before stating, “Looks like Deck One amidship by the main mess.”
“Call to Gables and get her marines up there,” Heskan ordered.
Kite shuddered again. A moment later, Brown announced, “That one was farther forward, Deck Two, near the forward enlisted quarters.”
We’re falling apart, Heskan thought. He felt a surge of panic rise inside him as Kite shivered, yet again. Stay cool, Garrett, the crew needs you calm, he chastised. Over the ship’s 1-MC, he heard three, loud honks from Kite’s collision alarm. The signal had been set up in t-space as an ad hoc alert in the event Kite was boarded.
“We’re slowing to point one-three-C, Captain,” Selvaggio warned. The F-2 enhancer effect generated by the alien cutters embedded in Kite’s hull meant the destroyer would soon fall from the Terran formation.
Heskan felt another quake run through Kite. He looked toward his first officer and swore, “Dammit, Stacy, you’ve got to keep them off us!”
His plea went unacknowledged. Instead, Vernay said rapidly into her mic, “Fong, Miller, make sure our portside batteries are firing at the cutters that are past us but still sailing toward Curator.”
Heskan returned his attention to the tactical plot. Kite seemed to be surfing on the crest of the mass of cutters flowing toward it. Little Bolt, CortRon 15’s last remaining escort frigate, was in even worse shape than Kite. The frigate sailed under .1c and looked to be taking a strike every few seconds. As the tiny ship staggered from impacts, her AMS batteries grew still. Past Bolt, the throng of cutters began to thin. We’ve got to hold out just a little longer. We’re nearly through. Heskan called down to Auxiliary Control. “Gables, get your reserve Ops teams moving. We’re almost out of the swarm.”
The young ensign’s voice sounded in his helmet speakers loud and clear. “We’re out the door, Captain. The ship is in lots of trouble. A-squad is moving your way. Two of our hits were close to the bridge. I’m taking my Ops folks aft while Holloway handles the bow.”
“The strikes are over,” Vernay said with relief. “There are still some scattered cutters coming at us but it’s a trickle now. Bolt drew most of the attention once she slowed behind us.”
Heskan nodded. “Work with Brown and make sure the bridge isn’t in danger.” He used the controls of his arm console to enter into a general comm frequency. “CortRon Fifteen, squadron flagship is Kite. We’re going to station near Bolt. Komandor Lombardi, I request that your ships remain near my CortRon to provide support with the remainder of the cutters.” Heskan quickly switched channels to speak directly with the ailing frigate. “Captain Kwan, are you going to be able to hold onto Bolt?” While waiting for an answer he suspected would not come, he heard Vernay ordering Selvaggio to bring Kite to within two lig
ht-seconds of Bolt.
Heskan twitched in surprise when Bolt responded. “Commander Heskan, this is Lieutenant Johansson on Bolt. I think I’m the acting captain right now. Bolt’s lost. I just signaled for the crew to abandon ship and in another minute I’m setting the ship for a core overload.”
Heskan winced. “Will you be able to fight your way to Engineering to set the power core and then get out, Johansson?” The tactical screen was clearing up as the handful of lingering cutters dribbled in to make futile, suicide runs.
“I’m Bolt’s chief engineer so getting in is convenient but negative on getting out. The core’s set to go, I’m just trying to give the crew as much time as possible to abandon ship and get clear of the blast.” Heskan heard commotion in the background of the transmission. “Punching the ELTI now, Commander. I don’t want to die with those things covering me.”
“ELTI Bolt, Captain,” Truesworth signaled. “The Hollie ships are closing with us.” He flinched. “Captain, one of the cruisers is targeting us!”
Oh, crap! Heskan recoiled in alarm. To his right, he heard Lieutenant Spencer ordering Kite’s weapons crew to target the Hollaran ships. Heskan blurted out, “Wait!” He punched at the general frequency channel but felt his shockseat restraints unclamp and a hand pull his arm away from the communications console before he could speak.
“We’ve got to go, Captain!” Vernay tugged at Heskan. “The bridge is being cut off by the aliens. We have to get to A-Squad before it’s too late.”
Heskan looked around the bridge; both the navigator and sensorman positions were vacant. Brown was talking animatedly into his helmet mic but rising from his shockseat. Ensign Rory Hamilton dashed by him on his way toward the exit. Heskan stood but yelled into the general communications frequency, “Komandor, don’t do it! You’re stronger with us than without us.”
