“Too close to stop! Targets are Engineering, Weapons, and us!”
“Curry, evasive!”
The helmswoman was ducking and weaving with the maneuvering thrusters, trying anything she could to at least minimize the damage that was about to be wrought on the ship, but there was nothing she or anyone else could do. At the last second, Orlova saw a single missile ready for launch, and she fired it blind from the tube, hoping that it would home into something, reduce the damage by at least some degree.
Her world tumbled and shook as the missiles hit home, the ship thrown by the impact, lights flickering and going out as the internal power failed. Cracks appeared in her screens, and from above, she heard a loud grinding noise, and managed to dive out of the way just in time to avoid a huge metal supporting strut, thrown down through the overhead plating and slamming across the middle of the bridge, catching Major Marshall and Captain Diego in its path.
Before she had a chance to recover, she heard an all too familiar hiss, and decompression alarms began to sound out across the bridge. She glanced around, unable to see the cracks; if she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t seal them, and the auto-repair systems had failed.
“Everyone out! Evacuate the bridge!” she yelled, attempting to transfer control of ship systems to Engineering; the system refused to accept her commands, but she continued to work as the hissing grew louder. Pandemonium reigned all around as the crew raced to clear the room; Curry was pushing the Major through the door while Mathis held onto the override lever, preventing them from being trapped in a room that was rapidly becoming uninhabitable.
“Damn it!” she cried, mashing the keyboard with her fists. The system refused to accept the transfer of command to anywhere. Neither Engineering nor Weapons were acknowledging, and as a last, desperate try, she tried Shuttle Control. Finally the handshake worked, but the room seemed to be swimming as she entered the commands. A hand grabbed her on the shoulder; she turned to see Nelyubov.
“Come on!” he yelled, trying to tug her away.
“One second,” she gasped, continuing to work until at last a series of green lights lit the panel. Only then did she permit herself to be half-led, half-dragged from the room, Mathis still jamming his palm onto the override until the last second, waiting for them to get away. As she staggered into the elevator, the door finally slammed shut, isolating them from the deck.
She looked around the elevator; Diego and the Major were unconscious, and by the look of their wounds, that was a mercy. Ballard had managed to acquire a rather nasty gash across her forehead, blood spilling into the air in tiny droplets as Mathis reached for the first aid kit. Reaching across, she tapped a button for the shuttle bay, and anxiously waited for the elevator to move. Somewhere outside, a battle was still raging.
Chapter 23
Marshall’s eyes widened as he watched the missile strikes on Hercules, his fingers bled white where they gripped the arms of his chair. Caine gasped as she looked at the status monitors, but remained focused on dealing with the wave of missiles that was still heading for them, four of them maintaining their course track.
“Anything from Hercules, Weitzman?”
“Nothing, sir. No response to my calls.”
“What about telemetry?”
Prentis turned from his engineering station, replying, “I’ve managed to get some telemetry readings from Hercules, sir. Heavy damage to the bridge, moderate damage to the engineering decks. Some superficial damage near weapons control.”
“Someone got a missile off at the last second, managed to fratricide the damn thing,” Caine said.
“I can guess who,” Marshall replied. “Keep trying to raise someone, Weitzman.”
“Aye, sir.”
Turning back to Zebrova, he said, “I want a damage and rescue team in a shuttle ready to go now. You take it; and if...my father is incapacitated, take command.”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, sir,” and turned for the elevator. Just as the doors closed, the communications technician looked up.
“I’ve got Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, sir.”
“Carpenter? How bad is it over there?” Marshall replied. “Put her on.”
There was a loud crackle in the background as the scientist began to talk, “Thank God I’ve got someone. I’ve been trying to get through for the last…”
“I need a status report of some kind, Carpenter.”
“You can’t get the bridge?”
“No.”
There was a brief pause, but before Marshall could respond, she said, “I’m in the aft engineering compartment. Damage control teams are working, but there’s a hull breach between me and the rest of the ship.”
“Can you give me a ship status report?”
A different, gruff voice sounded, “Sergeant Wilson here, sir. H-Drive still functioning, and we can maneuver. Missile systems weren’t damaged in the attack – I think it looks a lot worse than it was, sir, our backup systems came through fine.”
“Sir?” reported Spinelli. “Hercules is drifting to port. Looks like a rogue thruster.”
“Did you hear that, Sergeant?”
“I haven’t got ship control functions, sir. Someone on the bridge transferred them, but I don’t know where to.”
“That means someone was alive up there after the impact,” Marshall said, nodding. “Do what you can, and keep me informed.”
“How are those missiles doing, Deadeye?”
“Two to go. Getting close.”
Tapping a button on his chair, Marshall said, “All hands brace for missile impact. Helmsman, I want this ship to dance!”
“Aye, sir,” Tyler said with relish as he started to work, sending Alamo into a series of ducks and dives. The missiles were through the final wave of electronic defenses, and Caine was attempting to work miracles with the electronic systems, but there wasn’t that much she could do. At least these were the last missiles in the air – until the impending arrival of the battlecruisers.
“Those two are going to hit!” Caine said.
The ship shook as the missiles slammed into the hull. Tyler had just managed to complete a particularly intricate maneuver, putting the warheads far from their targets, but the alarms sounding from the rear station didn’t appear to be good news. Unclipping himself from his chair, he drifted over to Prentis, looming over his shoulder.
“Well?”
“Wait one, sir.”
Marshall glanced up at the status display, looking at the tactical situation once again. The missile fighters were retreating, running back for the carrier; they’d been almost untouched in the battle. There was a chance they might continue to be a factor if they could rearm in time, but the battlecruisers would be into the fight in a matter of moments. The pilots had done their job, poking at Alamo and Hercules, wearing down their defenses. As he looked again at the gaping wounds in Hercules’ hull, he shook his head, wondering what Alamo looked like from outside.
“Getting damage control reports in now, sir.”
“And?”
“No combat-critical damage, sir. We’ve got hull fractures on the aft crew quarters, all personnel have been evacuated as a precaution but the blast didn’t get through the armor. The other hit knocked out our long-range communications, but I think it was aimed at our sensors.”
“So we can see what’s coming, we just can’t talk to them. Is that going to stop us contacting Hercules?”
“At this range we could do it with a hand communicator, sir,” Weitzman said. “I’m still trying to raise someone.”
Nodding, Marshall turned towards the helm, saying, “Excellent work, Tyler.”
Steele, looking up from her station, said, “Shuttle Three reports team loaded, ready for launch.”
“Hold on that for the moment, not until we have a better idea what’s happening on Hercules.”
&n
bsp; “Got another reason, skipper,” Caine said. “Those particle beam fighters are coming around for another pass!”
“Looks like they’re trying for Hercules,” Spinelli said. “Going for the wounded bird.”
“She’s still got claws, and so do we. Get a salvo up into the air; they haven’t got any cover now.”
Caine looked up, watching lights on her missile status board switch from red, to amber, and finally to green, then depressed a trio of buttons. Alamo rocked gently as each of the missiles left the bay, homing onto the approaching fighters. She worked her controls with a hunter’s grin, sending them past layer upon layer of countermeasure protection as they closed on their targets.
“Sir, Senior Lieutenant Zebrova is asking again for permission to launch,” Steele said.
“Tell her no, and tell her why.”
“Damn,” Prentis said. “We just lost a hull seal in one of the damaged areas. Ten crew quarters now exposed to space.” He looked up. “No serious damage, though. Damage control teams are already in the area cleaning up the mess now.”
“Keep me informed, spaceman.” Marshall looked out across the battlefield, waiting. The missile fighters were retreating, pulling back, getting themselves to the relative safety of their home vessel; the pilot in him remembered how reassuring it was to find himself back in a launch bay, though all it really meant was that his protection was someone else’s problem. He looked again at Hercules, still arcing away from its previous cause, jets of atmosphere periodically blasting out from the hull. Then he smiled; those were controlled releases, someone bringing the lumbering battlecruiser back onto its course.
“Fighter impact in ten seconds, sir.”
“They’ve given up!” Spinelli said. “Pilots have ejected.”
That was almost a relief; no matter what the cause, it was never a pleasure to be the cause of the death of a brave man, and they were dropping like flies today already. As the missiles slammed home, the two particle beam fighters disappearing from the sensor track, he permitted himself to briefly relax.
“Final damage report is in, Captain,” Prentis said. “Nothing new of importance. Some minor damage to the network, all the emergency systems are working well.”
“No combat-critical damage?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Laser’s charging fine, sir,” Caine added. “We now have a full salvo of missiles in the bay.”
“Good,” Marshall said. “What about Hercules?”
Weitzman shook his head, “It’s a mess, sir. I’m getting too damn many reports now – every Private with a communicator is trying to give me the news.”
“Filter them over here,” Prentis said. “I’ll try to sort it into some sort of report.”
“With pleasure, John, and the best of luck to you.” Turning back to Marshall, he continued, “No other officers though. I’ve no idea who is in command over there, or if anyone is in command at all. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter reports that she should be able to head into the main area of the ship shortly.”
“You can’t give her the command, sir,” Caine said.
“I don’t think we’re quite that desperate yet. What’s your general impression, Weitzman?”
The technician paused for a second, then said, “Command and control is blasted to hell, sir. Their internal communications system must be out, and no-one’s set up a new network yet. My guess is…”
“Say it, spaceman.”
With a sigh, he said, “My guess is that we’re looking at a total decapitation, sir.”
“I see. Steele, shuttle status?”
“I’ve got Shuttles One and Two ready to go, sir, empty for evacuees. Hercules has two shuttles as well, and the hangar bay wasn’t damaged; between them all I’d say we could get all of their personnel out in a single pass.”
“Time to combat range with the battlecruisers, Spinelli?”
“Twelve minutes, sir.”
“Right. Steele, get them…”
“Sir!” Weitzman said. “I have Sub-Lieutenant Orlova for you, from Hercules’ shuttle bay.”
A smile crept across Marshall’s face, and he replied, “Put her on.”
“Orlova to Alamo. Do you read?”
“This is Alamo Actual, Sub-Lieutenant. What the hell is going on over there?”
“Sorry about the delay, sir, but I had to set up an alternate command center. We’re using the shuttle control stations, it was the only place I could switch control to before the bridge became uninhabitable.”
Caine looked at Marshall, who replied, “You had to?”
“The bridge was hit at the height of the battle, sir. Major Marshall and Captain Diego were both wounded, and Captain Lane was knocked out when the engineering decks were attacked.”
“Other casualties?”
“Four dead, all in engineering, and twelve wounded, most of them too seriously for us to handle over here. Our sickbay is rudimentary at best.”
‘Our’, Marshall briefly mused. It hadn’t taken Orlova long to become attached to her new ship; he wounded if Alamo would feel a pang of jealousy at that.
“That doesn’t leave you with many people, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“Twenty-two, Captain. What’s the situation with Alamo? We’re still blind over here.”
“Alamo got through essentially undamaged. We have twelve minutes left until we make contact with the battlecruisers.” He looked across at Caine. “Recommendations?”
“A crew of twenty-two and damage to critical systems?” she said, frowning.
Marshall nodded, opening the channel again, “What’s your judgment, Sub-Lieutenant?”
“We’ll have Hercules back under full control by then. Our weapons are undamaged and we still have seventeen missiles ready to fire. I have made contact with Sergeant Wilson in engineering, and the maneuvering thrusters are still operational.”
Marshall glanced across at Prentis, who shrugged, shaking his head, “It’s hard to tell, Captain. I’m having real trouble making anything of this, but I do know there is a lot of confusion over there.”
“Should I give Shuttle Three clearance to launch, sir?” Steele asked.
“Eleven minutes and thirty seconds, Danny,” Caine said, one eye on the status monitors.
“Let’s get One and Two up, and take the rescue team out of Three; they’re going to need the room. Sub-Lieutenant Orlova?”
“Sir?”
“It’s time to abandon Hercules. Slave what systems you can to Alamo, then get the hell out of there.”
“Sir, Hercules is still up for the fight. We can get everything back on-line in the time.”
“Sub-Lieutenant, don’t make me give you a direct order.”
“And don’t make me disobey it,” she replied. Marshall’s eyes widened, and Caine struggled to mask a smile.
“Orlova…”
“Our hendecaspace drive is fully-functional, and I have sufficient crew to man the ship for the coming action. My intention is to get the wounded over to the medical facilities on Alamo immediately; that will just about use up our shuttles.”
“Do you really think that she’ll hold together for the jump?”
“With a crew on board ready to fight for her? Yes, sir.”
Caine nodded, quietly saying, “I’m not sure you have much of a choice on this one, sir.”
“Captain?” Orlova said.
With a deep sigh, Marshall said, “Very well. Sub-Lieutenant, you may proceed as you think best.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“We’ll take care of your wounded. Get them here as fast as you can.”
“Will do, sir. Have a good fight.”
With an air of finality, Marshall said, “I’ll see you at the other side. Good luck. Alamo out.” He looked across at Caine, “What chance does she have?”
“Sir,” Spinelli said. “Hercules reports that the first shuttle is clearing the decks now, the second to launch in one minute.”
The elevator door opened, and Zebrova drifted back out onto the bridge, saying, “What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t risk sending anyone over there, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied.
“I should go over and assume command, sir. You can’t leave it to a Sub-Lieutenant, no matter who it is.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “We don’t have the time.”
“I’ll say we don’t, sir!” Spinelli said. “Fighter launch from the carrier, I’m making nine craft in three waves. All missile carriers by the look of it. They’ll be here in two minutes.”
“Where are they aiming for, spaceman?”
“Best guess is Hercules, sir, or possibly the shuttles.”
“Caine, get some missiles into the air, give them something to think about. Tyler, turn us to provide support to Hercules.” He looked up at the display, “We’ve got to give those shuttles some cover.”
“We can’t, Captain,” Zebrova said, her eyes also fixed to the screen. “We already lost half a minute when we turned back before to assist Hercules; the firing window is getting close to five minutes now.”
Tyler hesitated at his station, “Sir?”
“Danny,” Caine said, “She’s right. We’re going to suffer badly enough as it is.”
“Belay my last order, Mr. Tyler,” he said. “Continue on course to the egress point at best acceleration. Caine, get those missiles into the air now, and another salvo in the tubes; I want those fighter pilots to have something to think about.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied, and Alamo rocked again, six times. Marshall looked at the tactical display again, watching the shuttle slowly move to catch up, burning at maximum speed; he hoped the pilot was a good one, with potentially a dozen missiles to dogfight with.
Battle of Hercules Page 19
