Dreadnaught: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Omega Taskforce Book 5)

by G J Ogden

  “The shuttle is away, Captain,” Razor called out. Sterling saw the vessel race ahead of them on his console. “Commander Banks has control.”

  “Setting a collision course now,” said Banks from the helm control station. “The weapons are charged, but with all power diverted to the engines, I’ll only get one good shot.”

  “Target their weapons, Commander,” said Sterling. “Our priority is to stop that alien bastard from punching a hole in the Vanguard’s reactor. If it does then this is all for nothing.”

  Sterling felt a thump through the deck and knew instinctively that the Invictus had fired another volley from its main plasma rail guns. He switched the image on the viewscreen to track the blasts, then watched as the energy hammered into the aft section on the Raven.

  “Direct hit,” confirmed Shade. This time even the normally unflappable weapons officer was unable to contain her excitement.

  “Great, shot, Lieutenant, that should get their attention,” said Sterling, thumping his fist onto his console. Moments later, the Sa’Nerran Raven adjusted its course and began heading directly for them.

  “I think we pissed them off,” commented Banks staring down the nose of the alien warship on the viewscreen. Then an alert chimed out from her console. Banks checked it quickly and glanced back to Sterling. “Our closing velocity just rocketed, so I need to reduce speed, or we’ll overshoot both the Raven and the Vanguard.”

  “Understood Commander,” replied Sterling as another alert chimed, this one from his console. Curiously, however, the alert wasn’t a warning - it was the familiar chirrup of an incoming message. He frowned and prepared to put the communication though. “Let’s find out who we’re dealing with.”

  The viewscreen switched and Sterling found himself face-to-face with Emissary Lana McQueen. Straight away, he was overcome with a burning desire for violence. His pulse quickened, his hands clenched into fists, and he could feel the skin on his face burning hotter.

  “I had intended to deal with you after incapacitating the Vanguard, but since you’re obviously so eager to die, I’ll kill you now,” McQueen snarled.

  There was none of the old Lana McQueen in the woman’s voice or demeanor. The playfulness that usually characterized his fellow Omega Captain had been replaced by spitefulness and cruelty. Now, her expression was as hard and as leathery as a Sa’Nerran warrior’s.

  “That’s no way to greet an old friend,” Sterling replied, doing his best to stall the emissary. He was keeping half an eye on his console, tracking the position of their combat shuttle.

  “Neither is opening fire on my vessel,” McQueen replied, with a haughtiness that didn’t suit her. “Exactly why are you here, anyway? You can’t hope to crew a dreadnaught, not with the dregs of a crew you must have left on that ship after the pasting we gave you at F-COP.”

  Sterling forced himself to smile, though all he actually wanted to do was wrap his hands around McQueen’s throat and choke the life out of the traitor.

  “Oh, I’m just out here for a pleasure cruise,” Sterling replied, figuring that an absurd answer was as good as any other. McQueen didn’t need to ask why he was there. It was obvious.

  “You forget who you’re talking to, Lucas,” McQueen hit back, becoming bitter again. Sterling hated that she was still using his first name. It was a familiarity that no longer existed between them. “I know your mission and what you’re capable of. The question is, what do you want with the Vanguard? What little scheme has Admiral Griffin cooked up this time?”

  Suddenly, Sterling had an idea, and ironically it was McQueen’s mention of Admiral Griffin that had given it to him.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” said Sterling, standing tall with his hands behind his back. “She’s on the shuttle that’s heading toward you now.” Sterling shrugged again then added, “Call her an emissary of the United Governments, if you like.”

  McQueen’s eyes narrowed. Prior to being turned into an Emissary of the Sa’Nerra, Lana McQueen knew Sterling as well as anyone. Their casual on-off liaisons had also allowed the former Omega officer to get far closer to him than Sterling allowed most people to get, with the exception of Mercedes Banks. McQueen knew when he was lying or hiding something. However, the woman staring at him now was not the Lana McQueen he had known. She may have possessed the same body and the same memories, but she did not have the same instincts or personality. Sterling was banking on this fact to allow his hastily-concocted ruse to work.

  “I had wondered why you’d launched that pathetic little shuttle at us,” McQueen replied, eyes still narrow and suspicious. “But why would Griffin come here? And why has she not contacted me herself?”

  “You know Griffin, it’s always cloak and dagger with her,” Sterling replied, shrugging. “She said it was something she could only discuss with you. Why the hell else would I be all the way out here? Like you said, I don’t even have a tiny fraction of the crew that would be needed to get the Vanguard up and running again.”

  The combat shuttle had already approached closer than Sterling had expected it to get to the Raven. He glanced over at the helm control station and saw Banks frowning back at him, clearly confused by the sudden turn of events. However, his first officer had the wherewithal to go along with Sterling’s improvisation and had not yet opened fire on the Raven with the shuttle’s cannons.

  “Hail the shuttle,” McQueen said, speaking to a warrior out of view. She looked back at Sterling while awaiting a response. “There is still time for you to join us, Lucas.” This time, Sterling sensed a flicker of the old Lana in her voice. “You can still stand by my side as an Emissary of the Sa’Nerra. Together, we can begin a new era.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Sterling said, ramping up the sarcasm level to maximum. “What’s the salary and benefits package like over there?”

  McQueen shook her head. “You’ll regret mocking me, Lucas. I promise that before this war is over, I’ll see you begging at my feet.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Sterling hit back.

  A waspish hiss filtered through the speakers on the bridge and McQueen’s eyes flicked across to the unseen warrior she had communicated with her earlier. Her expression twisted with rage and her furious eyes turned on Sterling.

  “You lie!” McQueen roared. “There is no-one on that shuttle.”

  “You should know that diplomacy isn’t really my style,” Sterling hit back. He glanced over to Banks, who was poised and ready to act. “Fire…”

  Sterling shut off the communication link with the Raven and the viewscreen switched back to an image of the Sa’Nerran warship. The Vanguard now loomed large in the background, while the combat shuttle still hurtled toward the phase-four alien warship like a cannonball. Plasma flashed from the shuttle and the Raven was hit dead center on its primary weapons array. Moments later the Sa’Nerran vessel returned fire, crippling the combat shuttle with a single shot. However, it hadn’t destroyed it completely. With burning wreckage still hurtling toward it, the Raven took emergency evasive action, but it was already too late. The flaming debris from the shuttle collided with the alien warship, ravaging its hull and dealing catastrophic damage to the vessel.

  Banks whooped from the helm control station and even Shade showed a glimmer of a smile, but Sterling could see the Raven wasn’t finished yet. The alien vessel, now itself on fire with atmosphere venting from multiple hull breaches, turned and began a run for the Vanguard.

  “Lieutenant Shade, take it down now!” Sterling called out, fearful that McQueen was about to make a suicide run.

  Shade reacted instantly, but plasma had already flashed out from the aft cannons of the Raven. Sterling cursed and gripped his console tightly as the blasts hammered into their already-battered hull. Alarms rang out on the bridge and Sterling saw half of his damage control console turn red, as if the ship was hemorrhaging.

  “Primary rail cannons offline,” Shade called out, raising her voice to a shout to be heard over the clamor on
the bridge. “Turrets are also down.”

  Then a torpedo snaked out from the rear of the Raven and Sterling felt his stomach tighten into a knot. “Point defense cannons to maximum!” he called out, hoping that the assault from the Sa’Nerran vessel hadn’t also disabled their defensive weapons. Smoke was filling the bridge, clouding Sterling’s view of the screen. However, he could still feel the point defense cannons firing through the vibrations in his captain’s console. The Invictus was rocked by another hard explosion, and even more of the damage control readout turned red.

  “Helm controls are sloppy, I’m losing control,” Banks yelled from the front of the bridge. “Major hull breaches, all decks. We’re dead unless we can set down.”

  “Set down where?” Sterling called back. “We’re in the middle of the damned Void!”

  Pumps began to clear the smoke from the bridge and Sterling saw that Banks had updated the image on the viewscreen. It was now showing one of the Vanguard’s docking garages.

  “The port landing garage in section eleven, deck nine still has pressure,” Banks called out. “It’s our best shot.”

  Sterling studied the readings on his console, spotting an obvious error by his first officer. “The port garage is over the other side of the ship from where we are, Commander,” he called back. “Why not put us down in the starboard garage?”

  Banks spun her chair around to face the command deck, and fixed Sterling’s eyes. “Because the starboard garage is where McQueen is crash-landing the Raven.”

  Sterling cursed and thumped his fist against the console. “Very well, Commander, take us in,” he called back.

  Suddenly, another series of alerts rang out and Sterling saw that his damage control console was flashing like a malfunctioning traffic light. Hull integrity was failing, their engines were overloading and they were bleeding atmosphere into space.

  “I need you to hold this ship together until we can dock, Lieutenant,” Sterling said, turning to his chief engineer. “What else can you give me?”

  “We’ve already lost half of our reaction chambers,” Razor called back. “Even if I shut down all non-essential systems, it won’t be enough to maintain integrity,” she added, flitting from console to console.

  “That’s not good enough, Lieutenant, I need something more!” Sterling hit back.

  The Invictus’ chief engineer turned to face Sterling, and he could see in her eyes that she had an answer. Razor did not wear the panicked expression of a woman who had been put on the spot and had drawn a blank. She had a solution, but Sterling knew it was one that would carry a heavy price.

  “I can hold the ship together, sir, but only if I completely shut down power to two full decks,” Razor said. “That means everything, sir. Gravity, life support, everything.”

  Sterling understood what Razor was saying. He’d hoped that Crewman First Class Morgan Clay would be the only member of the Invictus crew he’d have to sacrifice that day. However, it seemed that more blood was required.

  “Do it, Lieutenant,” Sterling replied, careful to ensure his voice conveyed no hesitation or doubt. “Do whatever you have to do.”

  Razor nodded and returned to her stations. Seconds later, Sterling saw decks three and four lose power. This was immediately followed by a corresponding rise in hull integrity and regenerative armor integrity. He knew it still might not be enough, but they’d just played their last card. All they could do now was hope their hand was strong enough.

  “I’m on final approach,” said Banks as the Vanguard’s port docking garage hurtled toward them on the viewscreen. “We’re coming in hot; this is going to be rough.”

  “It always is, Commander,” Sterling called back. He then tapped his neural interface before gripping the sides of his console with all the strength he could muster. “All hands, brace, brace, brace!” he called out through the link to all the remaining crew of the Invictus.

  Sterling was confident that all on board would hear his latest order. Yet he was equally sure that not all of those who did would live to hear him give another.

  Chapter 5

  Bone Putty

  The Invictus slammed hard into the docking garage of the Vanguard and began to carve a deep furrow through the landing deck. Unable to fully brace himself against the force of the impact, Sterling was shunted into his captain’s console. The metal edge of the console dug into his stomach, squeezing the air from his lungs. It was like he’d been kicked in the back by a mule and sucker-punched in the gut by a prize-fighter at the same time.

  “Thrusters to full reverse!” Commander Banks called out, though her words were barely audible over the screech of metal grinding on metal.

  Sterling pushed himself up and saw the end of the docking garage still approaching through the viewscreen at a ferocious velocity, despite the effort of their thrusters. Checking his console, he noted that their inertial negation systems had all but failed. He cursed, realizing that their inevitable sudden stop was going to hurt like hell. Suddenly the Vanguard’s emergency safety barricade sprang out of the deck in front of the Invictus. With no time to react, Sterling was propelled over the top of his console as the ship hit the barrier and ground to a halt in a fraction of a second. Time seemed to stand still as he sailed through the air, helpless to influence his fall. Then his back thudded into the viewscreen and he tumbled to the deck of his bridge in a crumpled heap.

  For a time Sterling neither saw nor heard a thing, until the cries of Commander Mercedes Banks finally roused him. Ears ringing and eyes blurry, Sterling was pulled up to a sitting position. He could feel the powerful grip of his first officer’s hands holding his body.

  “We’re down, Lucas, we made it,” Banks said, though he heard the voice in his mind rather than through his ears. “But we hit the landing deck hard and we’re in bad shape.”

  Sterling squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face. Then his vision and mind began to clear and instead of a ringing, he could hear the wail of alarms, the hiss of escaping gas and the crackle of fires.

  “Damage report…” Sterling croaked before trying to stand up. Pain shot through his entire body, paralyzing him like he’d been pumped full of snake venom.

  “Take it easy, Captain, you took quite a bump,” said Banks, still holding onto him tightly. “You’re actually damned lucky that you hit the viewscreen and not the bulkhead,” she went on, glancing up to the display wall above Sterling’s head. “It’s a malleable material, designed to flex and give so that it doesn’t crack under the stresses of combat.”

  “Unlike me…” replied Sterling, managing to push himself to his feet, with the help of his first officer. He winced again as another jolt of pain gripped his body, focused around his left arm and shoulder. “Though I think a few of my bones just got liquified,” he groaned.

  “It looks like you have a fractured wrist or arm, and probably collarbone too,” Banks said. “Graves is on his way up here now.”

  Sterling staggered away from the far wall of the bridge and saw a human-shaped imprint in the viewscreen. Banks had been correct – if he’d hit the bulkhead instead then he’d almost certainly be dead. In contrast, landing on the viewscreen was like being body slammed onto the mat of a wrestling ring. It still hurt like hell, but there was enough give in the material to soften the blow.

  Sterling turned from the inoperative viewscreen and peered around the smashed remains of his bridge, looking for his other two officers. Incredibly, Lieutenant Shade was still at her post, or what was left of it. She was holding a portable fire extinguisher and working to douse the flames that had sprung up around her station. Lieutenant Razor, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Razor?” Sterling asked, hoping that they hadn’t lost their remarkable engineer in the crash.

  “She’s a little battered and bruised like the rest of us, but she’s okay,” Banks replied. “She’s in the aft engineering crawlspace, trying to manually initiate a reactor shutdown. All the consoles on the bridge are s
hot to hell.”

  Fingertips then appeared around the edge of the bridge door and it was manually forced open by enough to allow a body to fit through. Commander Graves squeezed through the narrow opening, carrying a medical kit. Sterling could see that the ship’s medical officer had also not escaped the crash unscathed. His uniform was torn and scorched in places and his face was raw with cuts and grazes. It looked like he’d been thrown through a glass window or wall, which Sterling figured may have even been the case.

  “What’s the butcher’s bill, Commander?” said Sterling, as Graves set his kit down and began to scan Sterling’s left arm and shoulder.

  “Unknown at this juncture, Captain,” Graves replied, while pressing a small medical injector to Sterling’s neck. “All I know is that my remaining medical staff, bar one junior doctor, are all dead, and that I passed seven more bodies on the way up here. The elevators are all out of commission, so my apologies for the delay.”

  Sterling laughed, which only caused more pain to shoot through this body. “I think that under the circumstances I can forgive you, Commander,” he said. Sterling found it remarkable that his medical officer was still able to mind his Ps and Qs despite the ship crumbling around them.

  “You have non-displaced fractures of the ulna and clavicle, Captain,” Graves went on, removing a number of devices from his medical kit. “You are fortunate that they are clean breaks,” Graves added, picking up one of the new instruments and preparing it. “I will be able to repair the breaks sufficiently well to allow you to continue functioning as normal, at least until I can tend to them more fully.”

  Graves pressed the new medical device to Sterling’s collar. There was a pneumatic-sounding thud and he felt a brief sensation of pressure. Sterling flinched, expecting pain to again race through his body, but there was none. Graves then applied the same device to an area of his left forearm, which resulted in the same pneumatic-sounding thud and no pain.