by Rob Buckman
Now he sat in the Captain's seat with everyone looking to him to get them through, yet he didn't have a clue how. This wasn’t something they taught at the academy. The ship steadily heated up, adding to their misery, making breathing almost impossible. With watery eyes, hacking and coughing, they held on as second by second they plunged headlong into the dense atmosphere. The shuttle bucked and shuddered, skewing from side to side and somewhere below they could hear the scream of the inertia compensation generator attempting to counter the stress. Mike muttered a silent appeal to heaven. If it gave out they'd all be turned to strawberry jam at this speed. At last, the helmsman pulled the nose up and he felt the retro thrusters kicking in. The hull groaning like some monster in distress as loose objects careened across the cabin to smash into the forward bulkhead. Something hard slammed Mike's shoulder, adding to his growing list of pains. He groaned aloud as the safety harness attempted to cut him in two, half-wishing they'd crash just to end the torment. He heard more than one scream during that eternity of torment, but like all things, it came to an end at last.
"2500 feet, Sir." The helmsman called, sounding as if he was shouting from the other end of a long dark tunnel. Mike clawed his way up the tunnel back to life.
"Too high!" Take us down as low as you can. Down to the tree tops." Mike wheezed, trying to see passed the red and white stars pin wheeling before his eyes.
"Aye-aye, Sir."
"Operations - vent ship!" Fuzzy brained from lack of oxygen he groped around for what else he could do. There had to be fifty things he was missing, orders he should give, yet he draw a blank.
"Aye-aye, Sir - venting ship." Then a thought struck him.
"Weapons," he croaked, "can we drop something to make it look like we crashed?" Coughing and wheezing, he wiped tears out of his red-rimmed eyes, his mind working out a way to escape despite the condition of his body.
"Yes, Sir, we can drop a mine. At this altitude, it will impact in about ten seconds." The weapons rating gasped, sounding like an asthmatic old man.
"Let's make sure we're out of the blast radius, then."
"It should leave a scar on the landscape as it goes in, Sir."
"Even better, set the safeties for three seconds after launch and execute on my command – helm - get ready to cut to port the moment I give the order." Panic or lack of breathable air constricted his chest. Could they do this before a Sirrien ship turns up? Did they have time? Would they be out of the blast radius?"
"Aye-aye, Sir - three seconds it is." Mike tried to wave the smoke out of the way, peering down at the terrain map and a good place to drop the mine. Through watery eyes he spotted something, blinking to clear them.
"Helm - come to Red 265 now," he waited a split second, "weapons! Execute."
Mike grabbed the arms of the shock frame a moment before the ship jerked violently to port, and hung on for dear life. For a few seconds before he lost the picture Mike saw the mine smash its way through the treetops, then drop over the edge of a gorge. A moment later the night sky lit with a flash as the one kiloton mine detonated on impact with the opposite wall, the shock wave punching them like a giant fist.
"Helm - slow to maneuvering speed - get us down into that gorge as quick as you can."
"Aye-aye, Sir." The shock straps bit into his shoulders hard enough to make him groan, but not as tightly this time as the helmsmen slow the assault craft and dropped it over the rim of the deep gorge.
"Maneuvering thrusters only helm - get us as far away from the blast zone as quick as you can before someone turns up to investigate – tactical - sing out the moment you spot anything."
"Aye-aye, Sir." They chorused. "I'll do my best with the sensors I have left, Sir." The tactical answered.
"Do what you can." Mike smiled at the rating over his shoulder in encouragement.
Everyone on the bridge held their breath as the helmsman maneuvered the ship at high speed through the narrow gorge, weaving passed outcrops and up-thrusts. Minute by minute the air in the cabin cleared until at last they could breathe normally once more.
"Contact - 10 miles and closing fast!"
"Helm - find a shady spot to put her down - now!"
The helmsman knew what he meant. Even with only maneuvering thrusters they could still be spotted. Something scraped along the port side, rock on metal as they dodged passed deadfalls and giant rocks. Then the ship shuddered as they hit the bottom of the gorge, jarring them in their seats. That was only the start. The helmsmen jockey the ship forward, bouncing over the rocky bottom, killing speed. A crash landing would have been smoother as the ship skidded, bumped, scraped, and banged down the bottom of the gorge. Suddenly the forward screen vanished under water and for a moment Mike thought they'd crashed into the river. Not good with the number of holes in their hull. With the VR helmet on, the helmsman view was better than the rest, even with the enhanced infrared imaging on the main screen. With the last few thumps and a grinding crash, they were down and motionless.
"Kill all electronic emissions – everything." Mike snapped the moment they shuddered to a stop, breathing a sigh of relief along with the rest of the crew. All they could do now was pray they could kill their EM signature before the Sirrien ship turned up.
“Helm – signal ‘finished with engines’”
“Aye-aye, Sir, finish with engines, it is.” The helmsman tapped his panel, and the traditional bells sounded electronically as he sent the signal to the engine room. A few seconds later, the acknowledgement came back and silence settled over the ship. For a moment they were plunged into total darkness, and it took three heart stopping seconds before the red battle light came on and everyone breathed again.
“Good work Chief,” Mike sighed, “now tell me where the hell we are?”
“Under a waterfall, Sir, but it's not Chief, just standby helmsman.”
“Not any longer. You’re now the Chief-of-the-boat.” Mike nodded and rolled his head back, thanking whatever god’s there may be. The Helm seat creaked as Conner Blake turned his massive frame around, grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, Sir, if an Ensign can promote me to Chief-of-the-boat, I guess that’s makes you Captain then, Captain.” Mike had to laugh, somewhat nervously at the absurdity.
Mike sagged in his seat. At least they were still alive. He was only Captain by virtue of him being the senior officer aboard. Chief-of-the-boat or Senior Rating Blake probably had more experience, and training to sit in this seat than he did.
“We’ll sort out the niceties of rank and promotion once we get back to base Chief. That is if we get back.” Mike wiped his face and ran his hand through his short hair, feeling as if he’d been pulled through a drainpipe backwards.
“Aye-aye, Sir.” The helmsman chuckled.
“How come you picked this particular spot to set down?” Mike asked, eyeing the bulkhead uneasily, hearing the hull creaked and groaned as it settled.
“It’s a waterfall, Sir. It’ll cool the hull so we don’t stand out like a virgin at a whore’s wedding,” Conner Blake grinned broadened, “it will also act as an electronic shield to hide what’s left of our EM and heat signature.”
“Shit! I should have thought of that.” Mike muttered, seeing the obvious. It was also one of the things he desperately tried to think of during their descent. It only pointed up the fact that Conner Blake should be sitting in this seat, not him.
“No problem, Sir. You had your hands full with other things just then.” Conner answered kindly as if reading his thoughts.
“It was something I wouldn’t have thought of in time, Chief, thanks.” Mike wiped his face again, seeing his hands shake. He quickly grabbed the armrests of the command chair, hoping no one noticed in the dim light.
“You’re welcome, Sir. Now what?” Conner Blake asked.
“First. Let's take stock and clean this mess up while the opposition decide if we’re dead or alive. Ops - let me have a damage assessment as soon as you can.”
“Aye-aye, Sir.�
�� Other than that, he couldn’t think of what else to say. His academy training hadn’t included anything like this.
They watched the sensors and even in passive mode seeing the enemy do two cursory passes over their hiding place, both at high altitude. Clearly the Sirriens brought the deception of the supposed crash appeared as they soon turned away and climbed back into orbit. In a remote area like this it wouldn’t be easy to land to check, nor worth the trouble if it was a crash site. There wouldn’t be any left of the ship to investigate, let alone survivors. By the speed at which they left it was clear they had pressing engagements elsewhere. They'd probably turned any search and recovery of the crash site over to the locals. They watched the sensor screen for another hour, but other than two ships orbiting the moon a few times before departing, no one showed any interest in this particular patch of ground. Mike was just glad there were no surface defense systems here as he feared. From the little he’d seen on their frantic descent, this moon looked as if it was covered in jungle. If so, so much the better. That meant they wouldn’t have to fight their way through the local military or civil defense force to extract the survivors.
“Stand down people – Ops - keep a check on those sensors, just in case.”
“Aye – aye, Sir.”
You could hear an audible sigh of relief echo around the flight deck the moment they heard the stand down order. At least for the moment they were safe, and more importantly, alive. One thing that worried Mike was the radiation level. Even if a small intersystem ship like this had crashed, the fusion bottle would have definitely blown. Background radiation would be a lot higher than that left by a mine. Whatever the reason the search ship sensor officers didn’t spot the discrepancy, Mike was thankful. Out of the ship’s crew of ten, four were dead. Of the remaining six, two had minor injuries. Conner Blake, Mike, and two others were uninjured. Of the ten Marines, two were down with injuries but still able to perform light duties. So much for the quick rescue and the triumphant trip home, Mike thought as he looked at his bedraggled command. At length he went to his tiny cabin and changed. He thought of putting on a clean uniform, then changed his mind, opting for a BDU and his Grandfather’s battered leather flight jacket. He didn’t bother with his rank tabs, if the crew didn’t know he was by now, they never would. Grabbing a battle lantern from its bulkhead socket, he cracked the forward airlock hatch and stepped out into the thundering wet darkness.
The lantern beam cut a bright shaft of light in the darkness; highlight wet rock, misty air and rumbling wall of blue-green water. Hefting the lantern, he walked gingerly down the ramp and began surveying the hull damage, fearing the worse. The shimmering vale of the falling water soaked everything, and as CPO Blake said, cooled the hull very quickly. Right now it was only warm to the touch. With consummate skill, Conner Blake had tucked all but the tail end of the hundred foot ship neatly under the falls and from even a short distance they were completely invisible. Even the part that didn’t fit inside the cave was obscured by falling water. From above it would probably look like rocks or debris. Mike surveyed as much of the ship as he could without going near the waterfall. Even so, he could see they’d taken extensive damage. Especially to the main communications and sensor array, they were gone.
‘So much for calling home.’
A gaping hole next to the suit locker bore mute testimony to the stupidity of overconfidence, and he was thankful that only Kelso, Thurman, and two others died. The two crewmembers caught by flying fragments were critical, but the ship’s medic had them on life support. If they could make it out of here without sustaining addition damage, say to the power systems, there was a good chance he could get them home to a proper Medical Center. The only thing remaining of the right, upper Phalanx, point defense laser turret, was a blacked hole. The left one had taken collateral damage as well, so getting into any sort of fight or running battles with anything larger than a rowboat armed with bow and arrows was out of the question. After his survey, he explored deeper into the cave behind the falls, finding it a little damp, but clear of debris. Deeper in, away from the roar of the falls he found a cavern and a place where the crew could stretch their legs while waiting for any remaining search to die down. Mike explored a little, then came back to the cavern and sat down on a rock with a sigh, mentally rather than physically tired, wishing he had a hot cup of coffee. He needed a break, time to think, time to work out a plan of action, if there was one. Try as he might, he could think of anything else to do but carry on the way they were going.
His mind drifted for a moment, and he thought back to where all this had started. It seemed like a great idea at the time, now he wasn’t so sure. Leaning back against the rock wall he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh and brought his mind back to the present situation, considering what he’d done up to this point. It might not be the right, but at least it was forward motion. With a little luck, they might just be able to pull this off, or at least get to the survivors and pull them out. What on earth he was going to do next to get them out of the system, he hadn’t a clue. His head still hurt from breathing fumes and the puzzle just kept going round and around in his tired brain. Then, as a genie might appear to grant a wish, new promoted CPO, Conner Blake turned up carrying a large thermos.
“Thought you might like a hot drink, Sir.” he said, handing the thermos over and looking around the cave with his battle lantern, humming softly to himself.
Conner Blake was a bear of a man, almost as wide as he was tall, as they say with a face that looked like a blind stone-cutter had chiseled it out of a block of granite. Even his dark tan couldn’t hide the scars where he’d taken life on the chin. His Irish accent gave away his planet of origin, not that Mike cared where he was from.
“You’re an angle of mercy Chief, that’s just what I was thinking of.” Unscrewing the cup, Mike poured himself a cup.
“I sweetened it a little with a spot of Brandy, Sir.”
“Good, now I know you are an angel. Just what the doctor ordered,” Mike sighed, taking another swallow, “how are the repairs coming?” He drank half a cup, feeling the coffee and Brandy working their magic immediately. Conner looked at him a moment before saying anything.
“Our backup system is holding for the moment, Sir.”
He looked at Mike a moment as he sat there, sipping his coffee and nodded slightly, as if answering some unheard question. It said something that Mike hadn’t reacted negatively to the added ingredient in the coffee. Some Officers would have had a shit fit over that, and probably put him on report, again.
“What’s the progress of getting the main systems back on line?”
“Not good, none of the usual spares were loaded.” In the gloom, Mike ears got red, and he hoped Blake wouldn’t see his discomfort in the dim light. He did.
“Not your fault, Sir. I was watching Leftenant Kelso and CPO Thurman. They didn’t exactly make your life easy.”
Conner could see the young man’s discomfort, knowing duty can be a harsh mistress. He also couldn’t make out this young man. On one hand, he seemed as green as grass, on the other… Conner shook his head to chase the thought away. It was almost as if he was two people in one.
“That’s no excuse Chief. I was in charge of loading those supplies...”
“...And you were out on your feet from exhaustion and forgot,” he finished for him, “so we live with it.” He added with a pragmatic shrug, dismissing the whole thing.
“It still goes in my report Chief.” Mike wasn’t one to dodge responsibility, his grandfather taught him that lesson all too well. It was his job and he’d failed to do it. The excuse he was tired didn’t wash.
“Sir!...” Conner stopped and looked directly at Mike for a moment, “permission to speak plainly… off the record?” He said at last.
“Permission granted, Chief.”
Had he looked up before he gave permission and the expression on Conner’s face, he might not have been so quick to give it.
