First Strike

by Richard Turner

Sheridan and Cole waited in the cargo bay with the remainder of the Marines. All of their personal gear and equipment was piled neatly on the floor, ready to transfer over to the first shuttle that would dock alongside the Churchill. While most of the soldiers relaxed, Sheridan and Cole stood at the back of the packed room discussing what was about to happen next. They expected to be scattered to the four winds, going wherever they were needed. Sheridan had lost his initial concerns and had grown to trust and respect Cole’s experience and advice. He intended to ask whoever was in charge of the replacement pool to ensure that they stayed together. With a Kurgan attack coming, he didn’t want to go into battle with someone he didn’t know.

  “Well, sir, I guess this is it,” said Cole, looking over at a couple of soldiers tossing a football back and forth.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is,” replied Sheridan.

  “Whatever happens next, trust your men to do their jobs and no matter what, you have to be the one to make the decisions. Listen to the counsel of your NCOs, but when all is done, you’re the one in charge. That’s why you wear that gold bar.”

  “I never thought it would be this way. I always imagined being posted to the First Division and being a platoon leader somewhere in Earth’s solar system. Now less than a week out of the academy, I’m light years away from home and about to land on a planet that is about to be pounded into rubble.”

  “Yeah, those poor schmucks in the First Div don’t know what they’re missing,” said Cole, grinning.

  A voice boomed over the ship’s intercom. “Second Lieutenant Sheridan, please report to the armory.”

  Sheridan glanced down at his watch; they were due to arrive at Derra-5 in less than five minutes’ time. “What the hell?”

  “Come on, sir, let’s stretch our legs one last time,” Cole said, standing up.

  A minute later, they stood outside of the armory. Garcia and Agnar were on duty. On the floor, sitting with his hands on top of his head, was Tartov.

  “What’s going on here?” asked Sheridan.

  Garcia said, “Sir, PO Tartov tried to gain access to the armory. When we told him it was out of bounds, he became agitated and insisted that we let him inside. He tried pulling rank, but Sergeant Cole’s orders were quite specific: no one other than an officer was to be granted access to the room.”

  “When I said no, he struck me,” added Agnar.

  “Dumb move,” observed Cole.

  “What happened next?” asked Sheridan.

  “Sir, he left me no recourse, so I struck the PO and then forced him to sit on the floor. I would have cuffed him, but we don’t have any.”

  Sheridan could see a shiner beginning to fill in just under Tartov’s right eye. “What have you got to say for yourself, PO?”

  Tartov looked down at the floor.

  “Hey, the officer asked you a question!” snapped Cole.

  Tartov didn’t respond.

  “Pick him up,” Cole ordered Agnar.

  With as much effort as picking up a small sack of potatoes, Agnar lifted Tartov up and turned him to face Sheridan.

  “PO, answer my question. Why do you want access to a restricted room?”

  Tartov stammered, “Sir, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Sir, there was a saboteur onboard the California,” explained Tartov. “I lied when I told you that I passed out in the engine room. The truth is that I was found trying to steal a pistol to protect myself. When I wouldn’t come quietly, I was detained, sedated, and placed in a survival suit. I think they were going to put me in the zero gravity brig when the Kurgans attacked.”

  “What made you believe that there was a Kurgan spy on your ship?” asked Cole.

  “Sergeant, I’m a computer technician. A couple of days before we were attacked, I was running a backup on the ship’s computer files and found a couple of odd-looking messages hidden in some of the outgoing transmissions. When I took a closer look at the transmissions, I saw that they were our flight plan and the composition of the convoy. The kicker was the fact that the information was being sent out into space toward the Disputed Zone.”

  “Did you tell the captain?” queried Sheridan.

  “I did, and when the ship’s communications officer checked my findings, the messages weren’t there. It was as if they had been deliberately erased from the vessel’s databanks.”

  “PO, why didn’t you tell any of us what happened?”

  “How do I know you’re not a Kurgan spy?” responded Tartov.

  “Sir, we need to tell the captain,” said Cole, ignoring the PO’s last comment.

  “I agree,” replied Sheridan. “Garcia, remain at your post. Agnar, you can accompany us with the PO to the bridge.”

  The mood on the bridge was tense. The countdown clock on the tactical screen displayed thirty seconds before their scheduled arrival above Derra-5.

  “Anything new from the planet’s ops center?” Lefol asked her communications officer.

  “No, ma’am, there’s just a lot of traffic from other ships jumping into orbit.”

  Lefol looked over at her first officer. “Terry, by now we should see a ton of transponder signals on the screen. I don’t see any. What do the ship’s sensors say?”

  “Ma’am, there’s nothing on my screen. It’s as if the area around Derra-5 is devoid of anything.”

  Lefol’s gut told her to be wary. Something wasn’t right.

  The navigator began to count down. “Ten-nine-eight . . .”

  The comms officer turned in his seat and called out, “Ma’am, I’ve just lost Derra-5. We’re being jammed.”

  “Seven-six-five . . .”

  “Emergency course correction now!” yelled Lefol to the helmsman.

  The order was given a second too late. Like a red wave rippling down the side of the ship, concealed explosives detonated, crippling the Churchill. The hull buckled and tore open. In the blink of an eye, the crew in the engine room were sucked out into the cold vacuum of space, as were all of the Marines still in the cargo bay. Smaller blasts crippled the jump engine and the ship’s communications array.

  The Churchill came out of its jump. Alarms sounded throughout the ship.

  Lefol’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a Kurgan armada bearing down on Derra-5. There wasn’t a single Terran warship on the screen. The Churchill, like many other vessels, had been lured to Derra-5 and mercilessly attacked as it arrived.

  “Helmsman, report,” called out Lefol.

  “Jump drive inoperative.”

  “Sublight drive?”

  “Still functional.”

  A plan instantly jelled in Lefol’s mind. “Full speed ahead! Fly right through the bastards. Navigator, plot a course for the capital.”

  “Ma’am, I’m showing multiple hull breaches,” reported the first officer. “If we enter the planet’s atmosphere there’s no guarantee that we won’t lose the ship.”

  “Understood,” calmly replied Lefol. “We’ll go for as far as we can and then abandon ship.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” replied the first officer as the vessel raced straight toward the Kurgan blockade.

  “Jesus, what was that?” asked Sheridan as the ship shuddered and then shrieked and moaned like a banshee.

  “The hull’s been breached,” said Cole gravely.

  “I told you,” cried Tartov.

  Lefol’s voice came over the intercom. “All hands, this is the captain, prepare to abandon ship, I say again, prepare to abandon ship.”

  Cole grabbed Sheridan by the arm. “Come on, sir, we’ve got to make it to the nearest escape pod before it’s too late.”

  Sheridan hesitated. “What about the rest of our troops?”

  “They know the drill. If they’re not already making their way to the pods, they never will.”

  Together, Cole, Sheridan, Agnar, and their prisoner ran for their lives.

  As Lefol had hoped, the sudden acceleration of the Churchill toward the Kur
gans had confused the swarm of fighters hovering around the larger warships. Although her vessel lacked any offensive capability, it was equipped with a full suite of countermeasures. Using the front of the Churchill as a battering ram, Lefol ordered her helmsman to keep going regardless of what got in their way. Several Kurgan fighters were smashed to pieces when they failed to get out of the way of the charging ship.

  Their luck was measured in seconds. As soon as the Kurgans recovered, a swarm of fighters, like sharks attracted to blood, dove after the stricken vessel.

  With a loud jolt, the Churchill began to enter the atmosphere. Within seconds, the hull started to glow red from the intense heat of re-entry. Although more than capable of operating inside a planet’s atmosphere, the Churchill was severely crippled and would die soon. It was just a matter of when.

  “Distance to the capital?” asked Lefol.

  “Five thousand kilometers,” replied her helmsman.

  “Keep together, baby, keep together,” said Lefol under her breath.

  “Kurgan fighters on our tail. They’re locking missiles on us,” announced the first officer.

  “Fire countermeasures,” ordered Lefol.

  From pods all over the Churchill, chaff and super-heated flares shot out from the ship, hoping to confuse the incoming missiles.

  A dozen missiles streaked through the sky toward the Churchill. Seven fell for the countermeasures, veered off and harmlessly detonated. However, five of the deadly projectiles locked onto the hull of the doomed ship and kept coming.

  “Engage ECM,” ordered Lefol.

  The first officer depressed a button on his console. Instantly, the ship’s electronic countermeasures activated. Designed to block an incoming missile’s radar, the ECM created an electronic bubble around the Churchill. As they entered the bubble, one by one the missiles were jammed.

  Lefol thought they were going to make it when she saw two missiles slip through the protective screen and continue to close with the ship.

  “Launch the escape pods,” said Lefol firmly, knowing that no one on the bridge was going to make it off the ship alive.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” responded the first officer. “Launching the escape pods, now!”

  Sheridan had just buckled himself into his seat when he saw the door to the pod close. His heart began to race in his chest.

  The craft was not even half-full. Garcia and one of Churchill’s crewmen had managed to join them with only seconds to spare.

  A second later, the pod shot from the side of the doomed vessel. Hurtling to the ground, they would be vulnerable the whole way down. Built for survival, each craft could land via parachutes inside a planet’s atmosphere or could sustain life for up to a week in space.

  “All pods away,” reported the first officer.

  At least someone got away, thought Lefol.

  Closing her eyes, she awaited the inevitable.

  The first Kurgan missile struck the Churchill near the engine room, obliterating the stern. A millisecond later the bridge disappeared in a blinding flash of light as the second hit home. Like a rock, the ruined ship plummeted toward the ground. Rather than risk coming in range of Derra-5’s ground to air batteries, the pursuing Kurgan fighters turned away and climbed back up to the growing armada of ships. They had taken another Terran vessel, the fourth one of the day. Their invasion was going perfectly to plan. Within hours, the ground forces would disembark their troop ships and begin the drop to the surface.

  Derra-5 and its hundreds of thousands of citizens was now on its own.

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