by David Tatum
Kimiko smiled gently at the lieutenant. “Thank you, Mr. Shay. I’ll be certain to mention you to my husband when I see him next.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Shay replied, bowing his head slightly. “I—”
“Emergency transmission from Flag!” the Keppler’s Communications Officer called. “All ships stop.”
“All stop, now!” Shay ordered. “All hands, to your stations.”
“Initiating maneuvers,” came the reply from the helmsman. Kimiko heard the gentle whirring sound caused by the vibrations of the quantum wheel coming to life and spinning the ship around. They were in hyperspace, so it took even longer to turn and decelerate than usual, but they finally came to a halt and spun back around.
“What is going on?” Shay asked.
“Apparently, the Pascal has detected something on its sensors, but I’m not sure what, sir.”
“Well, take a look. Sensors?”
“Passive sensors do detect an anomaly. However, active sensors show that the ‘anomaly’ is actually a collection of warships. Readings are indistinct, but I think I’m reading a battleship, four frigates, and a dozen corvettes.”
Shay’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve got the best sensors in the fleet, and all we’re getting are indistinct readings? We—”
“Particle cannon fire!” the communications officer cried. “And rail guns – headed our way! Sir, orders from Flag. Scatter and head fo—”
“Evasive maneuvers!” Shay snapped. “Get us the hell out of here! Mr. Toms, r—”
Suddenly, the bridge exploded around them. Kimiko felt something hit her hard, and then all she saw was blackness.
——————————
EAS Chihuahua
“Captain, ships sighted at extreme range on active sensors,” Rachel called. “It looks like we’re a little late – I’m detecting weapons fire.”
“Are all hands at battle stations?” Burkhard replied.
“Yes, sir,” Emily answered him.
“We’ll save the shields for the last moment, then, to maximize maneuverability,” Burkhard replied. “Clear for action, and ready the particle cannons.”
“Rail guns?” Rachel asked.
“Not possible with the shields up,” Chris reminded from his engineering station.
“So? We should have them manned in case the shields go down,” Rachel replied.
“Rache... how many ships do the enemies have?”
“Approximately twenty,” Rachel replied after checking her scans. “One battleship and an undeterminable number of smaller vessels – at least a dozen, probably more.”
“Twenty,” Chris replied. “If our shields go down... do you really think the outdated rail guns of a hundred year old corvette will help against twenty warships?”
Rachel grimaced. “I suppose not.” She paused, then went back to work. “Captain, update on the situation. All seven science ships and the tender Violet are attempting to retreat, but the situation doesn’t look good for several of them. The corvette Yellowjacket and light cruiser Camel are all they have for defense, but they are proving to be an ineffective rear-guard. I’m detecting serious damage on three of the science ships – the Keppler, Pascal, and Discovery.”
“Get us between the science ships and the enemy fleet,” Burkhard said. “Mr. DiMarco, prepare as wide a spread of particle cannon fire as you can.”
“I think I know what you want, sir,” DiMarco replied. “Firing plan already laid in and sent to the helm.”
“Yellowjacket has been destroyed, sir,” Rachel called, her voice breaking slightly. “No life pods detected.”
Burkhard swallowed. “And the science ships?”
“They’re not moving very fast,” Rachel sighed. “And the Keppler is at a dead stop. Her engines are out.”
“I think the Colonel’s wife was on board the Keppler, sir,” Emily noted hesitantly.
Burkhard’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Time to intercept?”
“Thirty seconds,” Rachel replied. “Twenty... nineteen... eighteen...”
“I think we’d better aim to stop right in front of the Keppler,” Burkhard said, watching the main screen’s display. “Looks like the bulk of the enemy fleet are closing in on her.”
“Twelve, eleven, ten...”
“Beginning deceleration,” Wolf called.
“Seven, six, five...”
“Camel is launching life pods,” Jeff Cohen snapped from the backup tactical station. “She’s done for, sir.”
“Two... one...”
“Shields!” Burkhard snapped. “Come about! Brace for impact!”
The hum of the quantum wheels was louder than before as they strained to maintain the shields under the direct, full-powered fire of one of the six frigates closing on the Keppler. The Chihuahua was a little rattled, but she survived intact... and so did the shields.
“They really work!” Cohen gasped. “Thank God, they work!”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, boys and girls,” Burkhard growled, staring at the screen. “We still have to return fire... and we’ll have to expose ourselves to do it. Mr. Wolf, let’s see if we can’t do just that, shall we?”
“Turning to outflank them, sir,” Wolf replied, grinning cockily. “Firing... now.”
Were an observer looking from space they would have seen nothing, but the ‘visual’ presentation on the screen rendered the particle cannon fire as two fans of white flame jutting from the turrets with three additional steady streams of pure energy emanated from the chase guns. It was, perhaps, the strongest barrage of fire launched from a single starship in recorded human history. The fire was spread so widely that there were quite a few missed shots, but many more hit. In one brief moment, six frigates flared into six tiny stars and then were nothing.
“My God... we can actually do that?” Rachel whispered.
Even Burkhard was moderately startled at the amount of destruction his ship was able to deal out. A glance at the tactical screen, however, snapped him out of it. “We can’t let them escape if we want our counterstrike to be effective. And one of them is a battleship... I can guarantee you that one will be a lot tougher to kill. Don’t get overconfident.”
“Plus, they can still harm us,” Chris added. “Computer analysis of our shield performance is complete. Concentrated fire of several ships could conceivably penetrate our defenses down to our armor. Not to mention we’ve still got an unshielded band all around the ship they could get lucky shot into, and it’s pretty hard to target them without revealing our biggest vulnerability.”
“And there are the science ships to consider,” Rachel pointed out. A quick check of the tactical display had her adding, “Though the enemy seems to have broken off pursuit of them to concentrate on us.”
“Keppler is still unable to move,” Cohen reminded everyone. “She’s completely disabled. I doubt she could even leave hyperspace.”
“Then we’ll keep the enemies on us and off the Keppler,” Burkhard snapped. “Mr. Schubert, let’s go after that battleship, shall we?”
“Yes, sir!” Schubert replied. The Chihuahua danced under his fingertips, performing a fancy variant of an Immelman Turn to keep the shields towards the most likely angles of incoming fire. “Rache... that battleship. Quantum wheel or fusion drive?”
Rachel frowned at the data readout. “Scans are still scrambled. From the heat signatures, I’d guess she’s a fusion drive. Why?”
Schubert grinned. “Just what I was hoping. Captain, preparing to strafe the battleship from the fusion drive blind spot.”
“Fire as you bear, then,” Burkhard agreed.
“Firing,” Wolf said. The Chihuahua nimbly spun around once more, maneuvering faster than any of the Pleiades’ warships despite the need to maintain their shields. She slipped through presenting only shields to the battleship until they were covered by the wake of its own engine exhaust, before turning to present its particle cannons once more.
Again, whi
te lances of energy flared out from her bow, but the results weren’t quite as spectacular. Terrible gouges seemed to tear through the battleship’s hull, but its much thicker armor absorbed most of the damage. The Chihuahua zigzagged its way through the strafing run before once again turning their shield to face their enemy. “Well, it didn’t kill ‘em.”
“No, it didn’t,” Rachel agreed, studying the sensors. “But I believe we’ve knocked out their main turret... and we definitely killed their electronic warfare package, because I can see them clearly enough to determine that.”
“Come about for another pass!” Burkhard ordered. “Let’s finish her off before—”
He couldn’t finish his sentence as the ship rocked around him, sparks flying, as the concentrated fire of the battleship and seven of the remaining frigates slammed into – and partially through – the shields.
“Damage report!” he called instead.
“That penetrated, but the shields diffused the worst of it,” Carol Verne said from the damage control station. “Reports are still coming in, however. Most of the damage appears to be superficial... although the shields were heavily strained. I don’t know if we can deal with another shot like that before we conduct repairs.”
“Well, then, we’d better kill that battleship before they can do it again, hadn’t we?” Burkhard snapped. “Mr. Schubert?”
“Coming about,” Schubert said. As the Chihuahua turned, he fired a few potshots at the frigates and corvettes now swarming around them.
“Receiving rail gun fire,” Rachel piped in. “No effect. It seems they don’t quite understand how our shields work, yet.”
“We don’t even understand exactly how they work, yet,” Chris piped in. “Until this moment, it was only a theory they could stop a rail gun hit.”
“Positioning for another strafing run,” Schubert said. “Weber, prepare evasive maneuvers for me, will you? I’m not going to be able to concentrate on piloting when I’m firing, and there’s some threat this time from their chase armaments.”
“Will do,” Weber said from the other helm station.
The particle cannons went to work again, once more tearing into the battleship. Weber carried the ship in, rotating in a spiral pattern to avoid return fire. The Chihuahua shuddered as one shot got through, but she was easily able to dodge most of them.
“Damage?” Burkhard asked.
“Structural only,” Carol said. “A support beam for the hyperspace sensors was hit. There’s a slim chance we could lose them if we take too stressful a turn.”
“Noted,” Weber snapped. “But I’d rather lose the sensors than the ship, thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” Carol replied. “No further damage reports. Sick bay mentions some bumps and bruises, but no casualties.”
“Looks like we’ll need a third pass to kill that beast,” Schubert said. “Guns coming to bea—”
Chris’s panicked voice suddenly called. “Wait! Cease fire!”
The particle cannon silenced. “Done. What’s the problem?” Schubert asked, startled.
“The overheating problems for the particle cannons were effectively solved by the new design,” Chris said. “But they seem to need a little fine tuning. The sustained fire overwhelmed the energy backwash absorbers’ ability to keep the weapons from overheating. I can fix the problem, but not in the middle of a battle – we need a minute or two for the cannons to cool down, or we won’t be able to fire them again at all.”
“Don’t let the enemy know that,” Burkhard snapped. “Schubert, I want you to make it look like you’re just repositioning us for a better run, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Beginning maneuvers.”
The Chihuahua began a complicated spiraling maneuver... but, just as it started making a high stress maneuver, everyone could tell something was wrong.
“What the hell?” Cohen snapped, nearly falling out of his chair.
“Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Emily complained, then preceded to vomit all over the floor.
“Engineering! What’s wrong with the ship?” Burkhard asked, trying to maintain a stoic demeanor while trying to keep his lunch in. “I’ve never experienced enough wrenching to induce... motion sickness.”
Chris’ voice wavered as well when he responded. “I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with the artificial gravity systems. Not my specialty, I’m afraid.”
“Ensign Evans reports that he’s personally going to lead the team to fix the problem,” Verne reported from her station in damage control.
“Wayne?” Chris spat. “He’s no good in a crisis!”
“We’ve better... ulp... hope he is,” Burkhard replied. “In the meantime... Mr. Schubert? Would you please keep the maneuvering smooth enough to compensate, if at all possible?”
“I’m already maneuvering as smoothly as possible,” Schubert complained.
“Wolfie,” Weber, looking rather green from her own station supporting him at the help, said. “I know how hard it is to make evasive maneuvers of the sort we’re doing... but I also know you can keep things a little more gentle on those of us who don’t have your cast iron stomach. If you don’t smooth things out, I’m going to puke all over you.”
“Hm, yes, dear,” he replied. The spirals started widening as he reduced the rate of turn, and the corresponding feeling of the ship in motion lessened to a bearable level. The bridge crew could still feel it, however.
“Evans reporting, sir,” Carol called. Usually, she didn’t give status reports unless asked, but she figured this was one time everyone would want this one whether they asked her or not. “The repairs were simple – a circuit board that was apparently damaged when we were hit, and it can be easily replaced – but he needs to recalibrate the system that compensates for the artificial gravity generated by the centrifugal motion of the ship when turning. He says it will take him twenty minutes.”
“That’s bullshit,” Chris replied. “Send Yannis Langer down to help him – what he needs is a computer tech who knows all the shortcuts. And Petty Officer Linda Flint, as well – just in case something else goes wrong, I want someone who can fix it fast... and he can’t.”
“Is that an order, sir?” Carol asked, amused. The Captain was the only person officially authorized to make such a request, but obviously Chris didn’t care. Burkhard didn’t look like he cared, either.
“No. It’s an ‘if you don’t want to be puking your guts out for the next twenty minutes, you’ll do as I say,’ situation.” Chris snapped.
“Yes, sir,” the damage control officer replied, laughter in her voice.
At least someone’s enjoying themselves, Rachel thought. I suppose this whole gravity control problem is helping us forget how bad this situation really is... which might just be a good thing. She squinted at the screen. “Captain, the enemy is halting their pursuit. I think they’re turning to head back for the Keppler, sir.”
“Damn,” Burkhard growled. “Mr. Desaix, are the guns cooled off enough?”
“Particle cannon ambient temperature still reads higher than ideal,” Chris replied. “But they should be able to manage another strafing run without overheating. Luke, reduce firing rate by three hundredths of a second per shot – that should keep them from getting too hot.”
“Will do,” Luke DiMarco replied from his station at weapons control.
Burkhard grimaced, although he kept the distaste out of his voice as he gave an order he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to give. “Good. Mr. Schubert, if you would be so kind as to bring us back into an attack vector as quickly as possible, I will pardon you from Ms. Weber’s wrath.”
A slight chuckle arose from the bridge, although there was a grim undertone to it as they realized what they would have to endure. Schubert, however, just grinned.
“Yes, sir. Engaging the enemy.”
“Hold on for five seconds,” Chris called.
Burkhard groaned. “What now?”
&
nbsp; “Since the battleship’s electronic warfare package went down, the engineering computer has been able to analyze them for weak points. It’s just coming through now. Feeding you a new firing pattern.”
“That’s my job!” DiMarco protested.
“No time,” Chris said. “Sending to you now, Wolf.”
“Firing pattern loaded and locked in.”
Burkhard snorted. “Finally. Fire as you bear!”
This time, instead of ripping through random points of the thick armor hide and doing largely superficial damage, the particle cannons started making pinpoint hits in areas where the armor was weakest. Rachel, watching the tactical screen and not the rendered image on the main screen, gasped.
“My God...”
“What—” Burkhard started to ask, and then the ‘visual’ image caught up with her tactical readouts. It was immediately apparent that they had tunneled through into the battleship’s fusion plant, as the hull was ballooning out. It rarely happened, but the phenomenon of exploding fusion plants was fairly well understood. Most of the time, surrounding ships were safe when another ship was destroyed... but, when a heavily armored ship’s fusion plant exploded, the armor itself would shatter and be sent flying at speeds comparable to a rail gun. That many ‘rail gun hits’ could easily destroy a small ship like Chihuahua. “Mr. Wolf, get us the hell out of here!”
“Too late for that!” Schubert snapped. “Let’s just hope the shields hold!”
Several people were tossed out of their chairs as he threw the ship into a hard right turn, putting the shield between the ship and the explosion. Almost as an afterthought, Schubert also managed to position Chihuahua between the explosion and the immobile Keppler.
