When he set foot down on the hull and his boots had made a solid lock, the other marine jumped over.
Leaning forward to touch helmets so they could communicate, the voice of the other marine came clear, if perhaps a touch distantly.
“You’re lucky to be alive, marine,” she shouted, “no more hot dogging it while you’re on my watch! The nearest boarding tube is over that-a-way,” she said jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “follow me and no more shenanigans.”
Before he had time to say anything, the other marine had already broke the physical connection and took a flying leap in the direction she’d pointed.
Without his communicator working, there was no way for her to know he wasn’t just another marine, as he always made sure his suit was the exact same model as that worn by his privates. Sometimes sharing the exact same danger as the rest of your marines was actually beneficial to the health and survival rate of an officer, especially when snipers started singling out the leaders.
Shaking his head, he turned to follow her. Deactivating his magnetic boots he took a flying leap, and then once again fired his harpoon at the hull to help reel himself in.
Reaching the boarding tube about the same time as a handful of other marines, he squeezed forward to cycle through the lock.
Inside the ship, it didn’t much resembled the majority of pirate ships he’d had the displeasure of boarding. At first glance it was generally cleaner and somewhat more functional than the average, run-down rogue ship.
Flashes of light up ahead indicated a firefight of some kind was in progress. The same marine who’d saved him from the hull slapped him upside the head and he turned to focus on her.
“We’re going to take the engines and seize control of the fusion generators,” she barked, leaning her helmet forward so they were in contact once again. Then pulling back abruptly, she used hand signs indicating he was to take rear guard on the impromptu fire team she was now leading, before taking off down the corridor at a trot.
The Colonel narrowed his eyes. He’d just have to wait until he found a fallen marine with an undamaged helmet and make a swap. Until then, it was time to make like a line beast and hammer some pirates under the decking. This reminded him of his younger days…unfortunately.
Chapter 12: A Hug and a Snuggle
“Roll the ship,” I yelled as the Lucky Clover shuddered under another barrage of turbo-laser fire.
“That’ll just slow us down, Admiral! We’ll never make it in close,” screamed DuPont, holding the ship steady against my orders.
I was about to shout out in frustration when my Tactical Officer grabbed my attention.
“The Command Bridge is trying to lock us out,” he snarled, picking up the microphone at his station. “Belay that last set of instructions Gunnery and keep firing on those battleships!” Laurent barked into the pickup before turning to me.
“Helm is not responding to my commands, the ship is starting to roll,” exclaimed DuPont as his fingers flew over the control console before him.
“Get a system analyst on the job and get me back control of my ship!” I ordered furiously at the communications section, “and inform the Lancer Colonel that he is to send a team to the Command Bridge. Then get me Captain Heppner on the horn!”
“Aye aye, Admiral,” said the Communications Technician.
A few moments later an image appeared on my screen, it was Captain Heppner.
“What kind of game are you playing at, Captain,” I demanded drawing myself up into my most furiously regal pose.
“I assumed the Flag Bridge must have been damaged, Sir,” Heppner said acting surprised, “otherwise, why would you fail to roll the ship?”
“Keep your hands away from the controls while we’re in the middle of combat Mr. Heppner, or you’ll soon find yourself without a job!” I said heatedly.
“Of course, Admiral. Now that we know the reason our ship is taking unnecessary punishment is not because of battle damage, my team is more than willing to stand aside,” he said dryly before cutting the connection.
“I have control of the ship back,” declared DuPont, and even though I’d wanted him to turn the blasted ship in the first place, I was just about ready to tear the head off my parliamentary captain with my bare hands.
“Tell the Colonel to belay that order,” I instructed the internal communications tech, “and get his men ready for a boarding action instead.”
The Lucky Clover bored in like a Tirelian Mining Beatle, shrugging off blows that would have seen a lesser ship reeling away with broken shields and venting atmosphere.
So far, the hundreds of screamer warheads within and just outside its shields were making it impossible for the station and its fire-linked batteries to get an automatic lock on us, and the station was firing concentrated barrages off into cold space without hitting us. The battleships docked to her hull were another story entirely.
Several of the pirate gunners appeared to be quite skilled, and the closer we came, the more accurate their fire. Their sensors must have been operating on a different frequency from the ones we had programmed the Screamers to scramble.
“I’m instructing Gunnery to focus on counter battery fire, Admiral!” exclaimed the Warrant Officer Laurent.
“Do as you think best, Mr. Laurent,” I said, grimly holding onto the Throne as the ship shuddered around me.
“Reinforce our forward shields with everything we’ve got,” I instructed the Shield Operators. “Helm, I want to get in so close we’re practically hugging those enemy battleships, get us snuggled in so close the station can’t risk firing on us for fear of damaging their own battleships.”
“If you can make a hole in those shields, I can get us in so close we’re practically touching hulls,” DuPont said tightly.
“You let us worry about those shields, Mr. DuPont,” I said tightly, “you stay focused on getting us in close.”
Every time something on the order of just over a hundred long-ranged station based weaponry (including several over-powered turbo-laser batteries) fired in our general direction, I had to suppress a shudder.
“Why are they still missing us,” demanded Tremblay, “even with the screamers they should have been able to lock onto us by now.”
“Monkey Boy,” Laurent drawled, “didn’t just give us frequencies for our screamers to jam, he also showed us where several of their key sensor arrays and data link conduit nexus were located,” Laurent paused just long enough to give Tremblay a derisive sneer before turning back to his task, “it was one of the prime targets assigned to the advanced teams,” he threw over his shoulder.
My Chief of Staff flushed red. It must have hurt him each and every time he had to hear something positive about our erstwhile Primarch.
Chapter 13: In The Gun Pits
“Grease monkey !” screamed the Chief Gunner, leaping onto the turbo-laser and going to work with his multi-tool.
“Chief!” yelled a rating.
With another couple torques of his space wrench, he pulled out the overheated focusing crystal. “Catch,” he barked, tossing the priceless piece of the focusing array down toward the rating whose hands were already busy holding another crystal.
As soon as the rating managed to catch the steaming hot crystal and juggle it into a bag he was holding, Bogart impatiently gestured at him.
“Here, Chief,” said the rating, handing up the new focusing crystal array.
“Run that crystal to the workshop and then get back to your duty station,” he snarled, already turned back to the turbo-laser, multi-tool in one hand and space wrench in the other as he screwed the new focusing crystal in tight.
“We’re supposed to run a diagnostic and test fire the gun before using it for combat purposes,” reminded the gunnery’s mate in charge of this ships weapon.
“Run the diagnostic and then fire as she bears,” snapped the Chief of the Gun Deck, “the local fire control computer will compensate after a few shots!”
A
miniature explosion followed by an electrical arc momentarily lit up the gun deck. It must have been a near miss since the automated bulkheads hadn’t slammed down, isolating the gun from the rest of the deck.
Rushing over, the Chief saw men leaping from a heavy laser mount, super heated hydraulic fluid flying everywhere.
Jumping on the fire hydrant sized manual cut off wheel set about twenty feet back from the gun, he started turning it, so as to shut down the flow of hydraulics to the damaged gun.
When the spray had slowed down to a trickle he straightened, grabbing at the communications device on his hip.
“Let's see some counter battery fire, boys; we need to shut down those enemy gunners!” he ordered over the short range comm. device, before closing it back up and looking around. “Grease monkey ,” he screamed.
It took several moments before a rating popped his head up and then came running over.
“Fix that leak, man,” he instructed, pointing at the series of broken seals that had been spraying super heated fluid around the gun deck.
Ignoring the sudden pain he felt in his forearms where several large droplets of fluid had burned through his heat-resistant uniform and down into the flesh and muscle beneath, he headed toward the nearest turbo-laser mount.
Slapping the gunners mate on the shoulder he pulled the reluctant gunner out of his seat and slammed himself down in the other man’s place.
Looking through the firing screen, he swept the gun along the station mounts before lining up on a Dreadnaught class battleship still hard-docked to the Omicron.
Seeing a flash of fire from a heavy laser mount, he took careful aim. Exhaling slightly, he depressed the firing studs.
The turbo-laser whined in response as fire and atmosphere flared briefly from the area he’d been aiming at, before abruptly cutting off when the other ships automatic bulkheads sealed off that gun from the rest of the gundeck.
He grinned, knowing there was one less enemy weapon to worry about.
Leaping back out of the seat, he slapped the gunner he’d just displaced on the shoulder, “She’s all yours again, gunner,” he barked, then jumped back off the gun mount.
At the other end of the deck, he could hear bulkheads slamming down over the whine and sizzles of every still-active gun on the deck firing.
“Saint Murphy’s firing Broadside, but those pirates will know they’ve been in a fight before we’re done with them, boys!” he roared.
The gun mount crews within range of his voice gave out a cheer that was more roar than anything else, one that was soon picked up by other crews up and down the deck. Stamping their feet and giving vent to personalized battle cries, the crew of the starboard gundeck roared defiance at the pirate scum their Little Admiral had brought them here to teach a lesson, and it was one those pirates would not soon forget!
“Pour it on, lads,” screamed Chief Bogart, rushing down the line toward the next problem that was beginning to develop.
Chapter 14: A Desperate Maneuver
“Focus all our fire on the shields of the Omicron; we need to burn a hole large enough for the Clover to pass through,” Instructed Warrant Officer Laurent leaning over a consol in tactical, “and make sure to pass the proper firing coordinates down to the gun deck.”
The Clover continued to roll in, undeterred by the pirate fire, closer and closer until within what felt like moments the aging battleship was at the edge of the Omicron’s shield field.
“Turn the ship to expose the full broadside to their shields,” bellowed the Tactical Officer, “and prepare for emergency deceleration!”
“We’re going too fast,” warned Helmsman DuPont, “if we don’t slow down we’re going to have to swing wide to miss the Omicron, or we’ll crash into the Station!”
“Get me Engineering Officer Watson on my screen,” I barked.
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the same petite, black haired, Caprian beauty who had broken into my quarters not that long ago. Realizing where my mind was wandering in this moment of stress, I instinctively ducked to the side before realizing Akantha hadn’t noticed.
“Yes, Admiral,” the voice of the Engineering Officer came over the speakers built into the Throne, snapping me out of my temporary respite from the pressures of command.
“Pretty soon this ship is going to need to slow down, and by that I mean stop as closely on a dime as possible if we’re going to get in close to the station without giving them the chance to blow our engines to pieces,” I said evenly, looking the old Caprian royalist in the eyes.
Watson was already shaking his head, “We’re already giving you everything she’s got, Admiral. If you don’t want to crash into the pirate base, I suggest you turn the engines and start decelerating hard,” he said.
“As I said,” I began irritably, “if we do that, our engines will get shot to pieces; we’re going to need more power for a quick deceleration.”
“Not happening, Admiral Montagne,” he said flatly, “either slow down or change course. If you keep us pointed at that station, we’ll crash right into her.”
“I see,” I said harshly, slamming the disconnect button with my fist. “Communications,” I barked, turning back to Lisa Steiner the petite Comm-tech.
She held up a finger, “I’ve got Captain Heppner on the line,” she said, bouncing in her seat with nervous energy.
“Cut the line! I don’t have time for his parliamentary nonsense right now,” I barked, slashing the air with my hand, “what I need is—”
Once again she cut me off.
“But Admiral, wait!” she insisted looking alarmed.
“What,” I snapped glaring at her.
She started to wilt and look a little desperate around the corners of her eyes.
“The Captain-n-n,” she stuttered at my look of nearly unbridled fury, but then woman fully carried on, “he says he can stop the ship for you, if you’ll only let him!”
“How in the name of Murphy and all his Demonic hordes, does he know about what I….” I started out hotly but trailed to a stop. I stopped for a moment to think instead of just react and didn’t like what I came up with.
“Put him on,” I ground out, bitterly certain I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear.
“Admiral,” Captain Heppner began, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smile as I looked at him.
“Captain,” I bit out, “we’re a bit busy up here, so if you’ve something you’d like to add to the mix, please make it quick.” If anything, his almost derisive smile got even more smug around the corners.
“I hear you’re interested in slowing down the ship, faster than conventional wisdom says possible so we can reach the Omicron before they have time to wreck our engines,” he said sounding professional. “The team over here has been looking at the problem and my Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander La-Skald, is more than capable of affecting the desired maneuver… if you give him the authority to make some drastic changes to the Grav-plate routing and Shield systems.”
“We don’t have a lot of time to monkey around with critical systems,” I said sharply.
Heppner shook his head at me, “He can make the necessary adjustments in short order, a matter of minutes only. Just so long as you give my team the necessary permissions both down in Engineering and here on the Command Bridge to coordinate the effort,” he finished, leaning back in his chair and looking far too competent and in control of the situation for my tastes.
Not particularly liking the man, this Captain that old cousin James had foisted off on me, but needing to acknowledge the services he and his people were offering at this critical moment, I paused.
“Thank you, I’ll issue the orders,” I said giving him a royal nod and a seated half bow, “Have your man relay to my Helmsman DuPont the expected time to effect these modification and when he should be prepared to initiate this full-stop maneuver, Montagne out,” I said, even as the Captain opened his mouth, no doubt to suggest we use his Helmsman instead of min
e for this full stop maneuver of his. I was having none of it though, and stomped the cut off button with my thumb before he had the chance to speak.
“Mr. DuPont,” I snapped, turning to the Helmsman, “prepare to coordinate with the Battle Bridge and Engineering; the Captain says he knows a way to stop this ship on a dime.”
DuPont looked up from what he was doing for a moment, looking bewildered. “What?” he asked.
“But under no circumstances are you to relinquish control of the Helm,” I instructed him sternly.
“Sir! We need to slow down now or plot a course to avoid Omicron,” he insisted, and behind him the Navigator’s head bobbed up and down in vigorous agreement.
“Heppner and his men seem to feel this ship can do otherwise,” I said waving my hand dismissively, “just focus on your task and be prepared to slow down rather suddenly.”
The Helmsman opened his mouth once again but I slashed my hand through the air and turned away.
“Officer Laurent,” I continued, speaking rapidly, “as soon as we’re through their shields, instruct our gunnery deck to switch back to counter battery fire. It’s imperative that once we’re in close we survive long enough to drive our attack home!”
“Counter battery fire, aye,” Laurent confirmed, crouched over a tactical console. He didn’t even bother to turn his head as he spoke, instead choosing to focus on getting us in through those shields in one piece.
It was a task I was willing to admit was more important than holding the hand of one Jason Montagne and following proper bridge protocols.
“Heavy concentration of energy build up,” reported a Sensor Operator, “they’re about to fire!”
The weight of fire was so heavy this time that the line on the main screen representing the Station’s coordinated fire seemed twice as wide as ever before.
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