“Gun three tested and ready,” I announced with a big grin.
“Secure from test,” ordered Bishop, “We’re in our patrol area. Noble and Oscar follow my radar sweeps to be sure we don’t miss any intruders.”
Climbing out of the gunner’s seat, I met Noble in the cabin. We pulled out small screens and followed along with the pilot as he searched our area. From time to time, one of us would get up and go gaze through the gun bubble at the nearby asteroid field. We said it was a visual inspection but really it was just sightseeing. Huge boulders moving around jostling for room among even bigger rocks. It was amazing. I figured it was the highlight of my joy ride on GunShip7. I figured wrong.
Two hours into out radar sweeps, Captain Othon received a radio call.
“Flight Shield 7. This is Combat Control,” a voice reported, “Prepare for new orders.”
‘Combat Control,’ I thought, ‘This can’t be good.’
Usually the cruiser’s defensive net was handled by Flight Control. It was only when an offensive mission went operational that Combat Control stepped in to take over.
“Shield 7 standing by,” Bishop replied.
“Shield 7. A revised vector is being sent now. Proceed and intersect with Shield 4. A new assignment will be forwarded.” Combat Control relayed.
“Prep for External evolution,” warned Bishop.
The engine rattled up and we jolted into a yellow blur.
I turned towards Noble and whispered, “I should be on the Tres el Fuerte. If she’s gone offensive?”
“Too late now Oscar,” Noble replied, “You’re along for the ride, like it or not.”
Chapter 6
Two hours later, we transitioned to Internal power and Noble called for Shield 4.
“Shield 7 to Shield 4,” he radioed.
“Shield 7, we show you to our right at five o’clock,” replied the pilot of GunShip 4.
I looked through my bubble and saw them as a small object far above us. After reporting the visual to Bishop, I again pondered my position. I was seriously absent without official leave from my gun stations on the Heavy Cruiser. Any combat action GunShip 7 got involved in would blow any chance of me hiding the fact that I’d left the Tres el Fuerte.
“We have you,” our pilot replied to GunShip 4, “What’s our new mission?’
“No idea, we’re still waiting for orders.”
We didn’t have to wait long.
Combat Control ordered, “Shield 4 and Shield 7, proceed to a new vector at half power Internal engines. You’ll be met in route by Shield 1. Your mission is to protect Shield 1 while it gathers information for a possible Marine operation.”
Given my predicament, there were many things wrong with the transmission. First was the involvement of Shield 1, an intelligence gathering Shuttle, that also acted as a forward command post for combat operations. Then, there was the possibility of a Marine combat action which meant there would be too many eyes on my joyriding adventure. Finally, in route had to mean we were traveling really, really far from the Tres el Fuerte. The further we went; the further I was from completing my Galactic Council Marine Corps’ career as a Sergeant.
“Combat Shuttles 4 and 7,” a new voice announced, “this is Shield 1. We have a report of an attack on a Mercantile Station. We’ll proceed on External engines for two hours, execute now.”
Three yellow streaks left the area on the recon mission as GunShips 4 and 7 along with Shuttle 1 headed for the distressed Mercantile Station.
The Mercantile Stations roamed the Galactic Council Realm in decade’s long figure eights. Their paths were half a light year from the home planets of Uno, Dos and Tres. They acted as moving warehouses for the collection and distribution of goods. Each station was as big as a moon with hundreds of decks for storage and docking for hundreds of Sloops, Shuttles, and space Tugs. Clipper Ships and Tramp Steamers were able to orbit the massive structures.
There were six Mercantile Stations in the commercial fleet and, while they didn’t have External drives, they did have the power of an Internal engine with a 200 cannon array. They were so big they were rarely attacked by Pirates. Although some had suffered the occasional Rebel uprising. It was tough to capture a vessel that was so big and so easily located. Nevertheless, apparently some group had attempted to take over one of the stations.
We dropped from External to Internal drive and a huge oval object filled our view screens. As the Intelligence Shuttle flanked by GunShips 4 and 7 approached the huge Mercantile Station, Noble and I climbed into our gun turrets. From here, I could see the actual size of the monster Station.
We flow straight at the dusty surface then angled up as if we were suddenly flying nape of earth over a planet. Our flight of three held equal heights above the thick layer of space dust covering the Station. In our wake, gray masses of the dust billowed up and hung above the station like rows of clouds.
“Shield 4 take a high station. Shield 7 you are low guard,” Shield 1’s pilot ordered, directing the flight elements to a formation, he preferred.
Shield 1 lacked the front mini guns and missile tubes of our GunShips. In their place were probes and sensors. On top, a plate lifted and several dishes emerged. The Shuttle was morphing into a unit for intelligence gathering. Its only offensive weapon was a single barrel and a camera on the right side facing me. I assumed the same set up was on the left side as well.
I watched as GunShip 4 emerged from beyond Shuttle 1. She began to climb. From the requested high guard station, 4 would be able to get a visual and report activity from over the horizon.
It would have, if it had reached the high guard.
Noble yelled, “Electronic blocking, we are being jammed.”
Bishop agreed, “Affirmed, our rocket targeting system and our ship to ship communications are being jammed.”
As he finished speaking a streak trailing smoke slammed into GunShip 4. A jagged hole erupted in its side and atmosphere escaped in a cloud of vapor. I watched as the craft rolled over and began to float towards the horizon of the Mercantile Station.
My guns pivoting, I searched for targets. Shuttle 1 veered towards me and blocked my line of sight to the surface. Finally, it nosed down and crashed into the Station.
I could hear Noble firing in controlled bursts and Bishop running his minis in a steady sweep. In the distance a low cloud of dust drew my attention. Four men rose from the dusty surface and stood, one holding a rocket tube, another a long rifle. My twins locked onto the men and the dust around them became pock marked, then, small explosions erupted. All four were ripped to pieces. I continued to scan and lay down fire at anything that even looked like a lump on the surface.
On the fourth mound to draw my attention, another four-man team rose to my challenge. Before the long rifle or the rocket tube could aim, my twins cut them into diced cubes of meat.
Only after accidently taking out one of the station’s communication nodes, did I feel the threat in my area was secure and free of enemy combatants.
“Left sector is clear of hostiles,” I reported, “three teams of four down. I counted four rocket launchers and four sniper rifles.”
“Right sector is clear,” Noble stated and gave an accounting, “Two teams of four down. I counted two rockets launchers and two sniper rifles.”
Bishop added, “One team of four down, armed with a rocket launcher and a sniper rifle. Two Navy Shuttles down.”
Noble asked the million Peseta question, “Who has that much fire power and trained assailants to take on the Galactic Navy?”
“Far above our pay grade,” Bishop replied, “that’s for intelligence to decide.”
As the pilot spoke, I took a second to look down at Shield 1. It wasn’t lying flat against the Mercantile Station. Its tail section was hovering while the nose was buried in about a half meter of space dust. The engine was alive which meant the environment in the cabin could support life.
“Bishop, we have possible survivors in Shuttle 1,
” I reported, “Can we drop down so I can get a better look?”
“Noble is your sector still clear?” the pilot asked Tian. A small quiver in his voice was the only sign the action had shaken him.
“Still clear,” advised Noble from the right side of our GunShip. His voice was NCO sunny and sure. Got to love leadership.
“Alright people, we’re getting low. Be alert for any more hostiles,” Bishop said as our GunShip began to settle. “Oscar get eyes on Shuttle 1, and let me know your evaluation. Once we have details, we get out of the jammer’s range, and report to Combat Control.”
“Rodger that Sir,” I replied as I rotated my guns and scanned the area.
We were a meter above the dust when Noble shouted.
“Targets are coming out of the access hatches,” he reported. Some of the icy calm in his voice had gone.
I focused on Shuttle 1. The glass in the cockpit was stained red. I couldn’t see more damage but the red was a bad sign. There were holes in the right side bubble and one of its cameras was twisted.
The report I was about to give was, there were no signs of life in Shuttle 1. The report would have continued to include the fact that targets were emerging from hatches in the Station. I would have recommended we get the hell out of there. Except, as I opened my mouth and keyed my communications, the right side machinegun on Shuttle 1 came alive.
“Shuttle 1 is active and firing,” I reported, “They’re about to be overrun.”
“Roger that Oscar,” Bishop said, “We’ll report to Combat Control once we’re away.”
“Request permission to assist them, Sir,” I suggested.
“Negative Oscar,” Bishop responded, “We’ll report once we’re clear of the area.”
“But Sir, there are injured Marines in her,” I begged.
Chapter 7
As the GunShip swung Bishop opened up with his minis and Noble echoed the fire with his twin, I hit the release on my harness.
“Air breach, air breach,” I shouted alerting them to the impending loss of air pressure.
With them warned, I unlatched my bubble, and shoved it open. The exterior of the Mercantile Station had almost no atmosphere, however, it did have some gravity. I jumped two meters and landed in the soft space dust. Once down, my pistol came out of the holster in time to rip two men emerging from a hatch.
I ran and fired at two more then I was at the bubble of Shuttle 1. As I popped open the hatch, I glanced over my shoulder. Shuttle 7 was circling so Noble could beat down the area around the crippled Intelligence Shuttle.
“For small gifts, I am grateful,” I mumbled as I climbed up onto the tilted deck of Shuttle 1.
Inside the compartment was painted in deep-red blood splatter. A gunner with one arm was leaning through the air curtain across from me firing the single and recording the action, I theorized. A glance at the cockpit and I knew the pilot was nonfunctional. His head was facing me while his shoulders were still harnessed to the front. Another crewman was stretched out with a hole in her chest. The other two in Shuttle 1 were crumpled in a heap in the center of the deck. Legs and arms twisted at unnatural angles. No blood from them thanks to the suits. But, there were loud moans escaping their lips, as they struggled to straighten the broken limbs.
I turned and looked back out of the right side bubble. Two rounds slammed into the glass. Using the single, I took out the gunmen. Too bad the camera was out. I’d have liked to see that video later. Provided, I had a later.
First rule of combat was to clear immediate danger, then triage life threatening injuries, and finally, remove the injured from the field of battle.
GunShip 7 was clearing the immediate danger. That left me free to tackle the one-armed gunner. I put a battle dressing on the raggedy stump and tied it off, tightly. After tossing him into a seat, I reached out, none too gently, and grabbed first one of the broken bodies then the other and buckled them into seats. The fourth and dead Marine, I took more time with as I reverently sat her lifeless form in a seat and secured her with the four-point harness. She wasn’t going anywhere, but she was going to get my respect.
I wasn’t sure if the cabin had air pressure so I hooked up the three living men to air hoses. Now I could turn my attention to two of my biggest problems. They both stemmed from the same issue. Number one, I reached around and unstrapped the dead pilot. One problem solved. The second issue was; I was the only able body on board. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was, I didn’t know how to fly a Shuttle.
I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I jumped out of GunShip 7. Well, nothing like hands on experience, I thought sliding into the pilot’s seat. First I lowered the blast shield to cover the shattered glass on the left view port. It looked as if a sniper’s bullet had entered through that side before lodging in the pilot’s head and helmet. The blast shield would seal the opening.
“Bishop, GunShip 7,” I called once I found and inserted the radio connection.
“Go, static, Shuttle, 1,” Bishop’s response was full of static. The dish on top of Shuttle 1 was powerful but it was barely over riding the electronic jamming.
“How do I get this thing off the deck?” I don’t know how much of my transmission GunShip 7 heard, but it was enough for a broken reply.
“Look, static thrust, static panel two, static to 12 o’clock, static other eight, static,” Bishop’s instructions came over as if in code, or slang Realm.
I think he was simplifying the directions and I appreciated it. However, at the time, I needed clarity.
“static Power to static drive,” he continued.
I pushed the power handles and the nose of the Shuttle dug a long trench in the Mercantile Station’s dust.
“Relax, static,” Bishop said, “Bottom two, static knobs.”
I reset the two knobs at the bottom of the panel and applied power. The Shuttle leaped away from the station. I didn’t reduce power until it appeared as a medium sized oval in my view screen. As we powered away, I heard a scream from the cabin. It was loud enough to escape the confines of a helmet. A rough ride but as I stated, I had no experience piloting a Shuttle.
GunShip 7 edged alongside me a few minutes later.
“A bit of overkill on the power Oscar. But you have successfully vacated the ambush area,” Bishop informed me.
Now he sounded like a profession. Sometimes in a crisis gentle understatement went a long way to easing tensions. I needed it.
I reported the injured and dead to Bishop. Noble broke in to suggest, no ordered me to check for leaks. His instructions led me to a patch kit and he walked me through locating and sealing several holes. As he explained it, you’ll arrive with lots of air, but frozen to death from loss of atmosphere. I followed his directions very closely.
Bishop came back on the net, “Fighters are in bound followed by a quick reaction force. We’re to stay on station for intel. I don’t know what’s up but Combat Control wants your Shuttle back at the Cruiser as soon as possible.”
The fighters would contain any Pirate ships trying to leave the station. The quick reaction force would have GunShips and Patrol Boats with two companies of Marines. I didn’t envy the Pirates once a herd of pissed off Marines arrived. However, the reaction force would have a medical ship, a converted Patrol Boat, with air locks for the transfer of wounded.
“Why not wait for medical?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Just follow the orders Sergeant,” Captain Othon stated using my rank to end any further questioning, “Now, here’s how to set your Internal drive.”
He explained the settings and how to use the homing beacon to locate the Heavy Cruiser. The instructions were exact until he got to the transition from Internal drive to the External drive.
“You haven’t any theory or basics so I’ll make it simple,” Captain Othon instructed, “You see the two clocks set above the two power gages?”
I searched the confusing array of dials, knobs, gages and levers. It took a few seconds but I finally
located the clocks and power gages.
“Found them, Sir,” I said with enthusiasm that I didn’t feel.
“Alright, you are about to be indoctrinated into the mysteries of space piloting,” he informed me. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “For a safe evolution you’ve got to try and match the power levels between the Internal and External drives.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard, Sir,” I said too quickly.
“Don’t get ahead of me,” Bishop scolded me, “I said try to match the power levels because you’ll also have to match the time on the clocks. Get the four instruments as close as possible before powering up the drive you need.”
“What happens if I miss time the, ah, evolution?” I asked with more whine in my voice then was professional.
“Well, if your transitioning to Internal, you’ll rip the engine out of the Shuttle, and leave it about a thousand meters behind you. On the other hand, if you’re going into External, you’ll stretch the Shuttle until you and the Shuttle breaks up into tiny particles. In other words, Sergeant, match the clocks and power levels as closely as you can. Got it?”
“Aye Sir, I read you loud and clear,” I replied.
“One more thing,” Bishop said, “We call the evolution a snap.”
“Why’s that Sir?” I inquired.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. I believe, I detected a chuckle. It could have just been static.
After tending to my wounded passengers, I climbed nervously back into the cockpit. Why Combat Control wanted this Shuttle back instead of waiting for a Medical Boat and a pilot, I couldn’t fathom. The thought occupied my brain and hide my real fear. What if I miss timed the snap and killed us all?
The power rose and I watched the gages. One moved while the other sat on idle. The two clocks had the same time showing. That was reassuring until one clock started to run faster than the other. I ran the power further up and the clocks drew closer together. After twenty minutes, I powered up the External drive.
Now the power gages were bouncing, sometimes matching, but a second later, I saw wide disparities. Meanwhile the clocks seemed to be chasing a time. One was slower and the other was catching up fast. I watch until the times almost matched and the power levels almost balance. I engaged the External drive.
Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station Page 3
