Captain Hawkins (The Jamie Hawkins Saga Book 1)

by H. Alesso

  “We’re taking fire in engineering, as well, Captain,” was the reply.

  Hawkins men fought fiercely despite having had only their handguns against their opponent’s battle armor and heavy rifles.

  Notwithstanding the advantages of a prearranged trap, the Q-ship’s Special Forces hadn’t expected to face such a tough crew. They found progress difficult.

  Over the din of battle, William’s harsh querulous voice could be heard, “I warned you that this was suspicious—too easy. Now we’re trapped. How’re we going to get out?”

  Hawkins scolded himself just as passionately. He, too, wondered how they would get out.

  He had his men lay down covering fire while he and a few others tried to rush the one hatch in the compartment. The breakout attempt confirmed that they were surrounded and heavily outgunned—the fight was vicious and terrible—they were taking causalities without accomplishing anything. They fell back into the depths of the compartment.

  Hawkins had to admit there was nothing more they could do. He called, “Gunny can you fight your way forward to help us.”

  “Captain, I’ll try, but I think it’s more of a case of you coming to get us.”

  I’ve led my men into ruin.

  The Special Forces had the two groups of rebels isolated and pinned into small compartments without room for maneuver.

  Hawkins contacted the Destiny, “We’ve been ambushed. Bring the Destiny closer and send reinforcements.”

  However, before these plans could be executed, the second element of the Jaxon trap now sprang into action. The nearby stealthy frigate, the Pollux, powered up and closed to attack the Destiny.

  Hale reported, “Captain, a Jaxon frigate is fast approaching our position. They’ll be within firing range in a matter of minutes. I can’t move closer, or send reinforcements. They’ll pick off our shuttle before it could reach you. Hold on until I can defeat this ship.”

  As the Destiny sparred with the frigate, Hawkins and his men fought a long violent firefight on the Q-ship. But their ammunition was running as low as their options.

  After nearly half an hour, the Special Forces commander ordered his men to cease fire. It was clear that the rebels were close to breaking.

  He yelled, “Rebels, you are completely surrounded and outgunned. You’re doomed. I’m giving you ten minutes to surrender, or we’ll finish the job.”

  Hawkins gazed at the faces around him.

  I can’t work miracles.

  “I knew that one day your reckless actions would be the death of me,” said Williams, overwrought.

  Another man said, “It wasn’t the Captain’s fault.”

  Williams continued his truculent denouncement. “Wasn’t it? Whose fault was it then? We didn’t take a careful look before we leaped. We rushed in unprepared, as always, based upon wishful thinking.”

  Hawkins said, “This isn’t the time for recriminations. We have to find a remedy.”

  “How? What do we do now?” asked one man.

  “There’s only one way,” said Williams.

  They all looked at Williams, trying to divine what he meant, for none of them could think of even one way out of the situation.

  Williams said, “The only way out is to surrender.”

  One man shouted, “I’m sick and tired of your endless cynicism, your perpetual whining, and pessimism, and . . . and . . . if you wanted things to be easy, you should’ve quit long ago.”

  “Bah! I wish I had,” screamed William.

  Hawkins said, “Enough! Surrender is not an option.”

  He stood in the center of the men and turned around slowly to fix his gaze on every man’s face, in turn.

  He said, “If we surrender, this ship will join the Jaxon frigate in its attack on Destiny and destroy, or capture her. As long as we can keep fighting, we can forestall that calamity.”

  Williams said, “But we’ve no choice. We’ll be massacred.”

  “Stop!” exclaimed Hawkins, angrily.

  Williams shouted back petulantly, “We’re pinned in this compartment, Mitchel is pinned in engineering. The enemy has superior numbers, armor, and weapons. We’ve only our handguns and we’re nearly out of ammo. What’ll we to do when we run out, rush them with bare hands?”

  Hawkins turned to the short squat man, his face boiling over with outrage, “Williams if you’ve a mind to surrender, you have my permission to go to the compartment hatch with a white flag and surrender yourself. I’m sure the Jaxon soldiers will give you safe conduct to their prison cell.” Then he scolded, “And the Devil take you—and anyone else who’s of a like mind.”

  There was silence.

  Hawkins fixed a frigid stare on Williams and said, “I, however, shall not be joining you.”

  Williams cast his eyes down—shame faced—unwilling to glance at the men around him. Everyone stepped away from him and he found himself alone in the center of the compartment. Sounding contrite, he mumbled, “No, sir, not me. I’ll not dessert my friends and comrades.”

  “Very well, then,” said Hawkins with a renewed flourish. “I want every one of you bilge rats, to find a deep hole or whatever cover you can, because I’m going to bring this place down around your ears.”

  Bewilderment crossed their faces as they scurried to find cover.

  Hawkins contacted the Destiny and said, “Hale, we’re desperate and nearly out of ammo. We’re about to be overrun. There’s only one chance left. I order the Destiny to blast this ship with everything she has.”

  Those around Hawkins took a moment to comprehend the order. Hawkins' desperate plan was an uncompromising one. They squeezed down into any hidey holes, they could find.

  Hale took several seconds before he fully appreciated the order. He asked, “Will you repeat the order, Captain?”

  Hawkins repeated the incredible order.

  Hale said, “Aye aye, sir.”

  Hawkins called Mitchel and told him what was coming.

  The Special Forces commander yelled, “Time’s up. Surrender or die.”

  Hawkins called Hale and said, “They want our answer.”

  Hale didn’t respond.

  What could he say?

  Then the holocaust descended.

  The Q-ship was hit with two powerful broadsides from the Destiny that tore through the ship. The unprepared Special Forces men were cut to pieces by the devastating energy blasts piercing the hull in dozens of places—renting, burning, blasting, and gashing the insides of the ship from stem to stern.

  The compartment Hawkins and his men were confined in actually helped protect them from the worst effects of the blasts. Nevertheless, some of Hawkins’ own men were among the wounded.

  Williams stood up after the second broadside. He managed to shake off the debris covering his body and muttered, “That was a harebrained scheme.”

  Another man asked, “Did it work?”

  Hawkins said, “Let’s make our way to the armory and find out.”

  The remainder of the Special Forces men hurried, scurried, and shouted, as they tried to regroup, but after the barrage Hawkins led his men to the ships armory and rearmed themselves.

  The Special Forces men never regained the initiative. They never realized what shape they were in until they were forced to surrender to Hawkins, in ones and twos, and became his prisoners.

  While the Destiny continued its duel with the frigate, Hawkins turned the tide on the Q-ship and gained control. He organized his men to take control of engineering and the ship’s weapon systems. From the bridge he directed the Q-ship closer to the Jaxon frigate. He pretended to be the Special Forces commander and sent the frigate a message saying he was coming to help them attack the Destiny.

  At the critical moment, both the Destiny and the Q-ship turned together and delivered devastating broadsides into the Pollux.

  The Pollux engines were damaged and any chance of escaping was gone. She put up a strong defense, but it was clear she was now outgunned and outmaneuvered. The ene
my frigate surrendered in less than hour and Hawkins led his second boarding party of the day to take possession of the frigate. T

  hough his pride was wounded after falling into the trap, Hawkins felt vindicated when he renamed the converted eight-gun Q-ship, the Liberty, and together with the frigate, named Pollux, he added them to the tiny, but now expanding, rebel navy.

  CHAPTER 18

  A Reckless Gamble

  The eight men seated at the wardroom table wore distressed nervous faces with tense furrowed brows, dark pensive eyes, and twisted pursed lips. They held their breath. Hawkins was at the head and all eyes were on him—each face prickled to see his next move—everyone waiting in tingling anticipation for what they thought was the only possibility to save him from certain loss.

  Hale was on his right, Gunny to his left, and Joshua sat at the other end. Every officer had his poker face on—because this was Saturday night, and Saturday night was ‘Poker Night’ aboard the Destiny.

  Located aft of the officers’ quarters, the wardroom was designed to accommodate the majority of the ship’s officers in one sitting. It was where the officers took their meals, relaxed, and socialized. The computerized food dispenser provided the scheduled meals from the fresh and synthetic food stocks. There were centuries-old traditions and many unwritten rules associated with wardrooms aboard naval ships, but on this rebel vessel, things were a bit unusual and perhaps more than a bit unorthodox.

  With all due deliberation, Hawkins took a sip of hot stim-coffee. He inserted a voucher into the food dispenser and punched in an order for a few snacks. Of course, these weren’t real snacks, merely some synthetics with artificial flavoring, but needs must. He offered the snacks to those around him and several joined him in munching and chewing, all the while eyeing the chips in the center of the table.

  The ante pot was filled with chips—and these chips possessed real value to every person there, because they represented food vouchers—vouchers that could be used for the small stash of real food available on the Destiny. Without a voucher, a person was stuck eating the ill tasting synthetic nutrient bars.

  So the stakes were high by spacemen’s standards.

  “What are you going to do, Jamie?” prodded Hale who had a considerable number of his chips already pushed into the pot. He fingered his remaining chips, shuffling and rippling them, absentmindedly.

  Hawkins gazed at his opponent confidently, in no hurry. He took another long sip, appearing disinterested. Then, he reexamined his hole cards, as if he had no idea what they were.

  He enjoyed the occasional opportunities to interact with his officers outside of their professional duties. He found that playing games revealed a great deal about their personality—who was daring—who was timid—who learned from their mistakes.

  On Saturday night, they played dealer’s choice which included five-card stud, seven-card stud, and No limit Hold’em.

  This hand was No limit Hold’em and there were a lot of chips in the pot.

  As card games go, Hold’em was in a class by itself. It’s a complex game that requires a lot of guessing and a lot of guts. While everyone gets lucky at some point, in Hold’em, it takes more than luck to be a consistent winner. It requires special skills and an aggressive gambling nature.

  To Hawkins’ mind, poker was more about the people, than the cards they held. It was often about making the right bet, at the right moment, against any particular opponent.

  The question is; Am I right about Hale?

  For bluffs one needed guts, a good read on his opponent, and a stone face. While some played tight, others played for fun, and some played to win the approval of others. However, everyone wanted to win more vouchers.

  Hawkins was good at putting the heat on his opponents by forcing them to make tough decisions. He typically raised with any kind of decent hand, or any kind of draw, knowing that his opponent might try to bluff and he might catch them out.

  In this hand, Hall was his only remaining opponent. Hale’s hidden hole cards were Ace-King, while Hawkins hidden cards were Six-Seven, both Spades.

  The flop was three cards face up; Four-Five-Ace.

  Everyone was still waiting for Hawkins’ play.

  He made a large bet.

  Hale re-raised, confident with his paired Ace.

  Hawkins considered the pot odds.

  There’s a good chance Hale will fold, but even if he calls, I can still draw to a straight.

  Hawkins went all in, pushing his large stack of chips into the middle of the table.

  He’d made the choice tough for Hale. Hale liked his aces, but he worried about the drawing possibilities to a straight. He saw that the price of poker was very expense for this hand.

  Hawkins saw Hale’s troubled expression.

  Bluffing is as much art, as science.

  Hale studied his hand, one more time, and decided there would be a better opportunity, later.

  He folded his hand with a sour expression.

  Hawkins laughed, “You’re looking at the many ways you can lose, and so you retreat. I look at the few ways I can win, which are enough for me to attack.”

  There is no room for sympathy in poker.

  After playing against Hawkins for a while, his opponents learned that he was an unusually aggressive player. It enabled him to win a lot of pots, because if an opponent played back at him, they knew he might go all in, and they would have to make a tough choice, they didn’t want to face. However, Hawkins always played hands that gave him an out, a possibility that if it hit, he would have the best hand. His style deceived and confused many opponents.

  Gunny slouched in his seat, elbowing extra room from Mitchel on his left in order to fit into his seat. Mitchel, as always, sat straight up perpendicular, a result of his military background as a midshipman at the space academy where he learned his engineering. His uniform was actually as close to regulation as was possible, given the makeshift dress code on board.

  Hawkins made a mental note to come up with some proper rebel insignia.

  Gunny stuffed a handful of snacks into his enormous mouth.

  The smell wafted about.

  The green hanging curtain over the wardroom door was pulled back as a messenger handed Hale a report on the ship's personnel. He read the report and noticed that Joshua had fallen behind in his Midshipman qualifications.

  “How are the studies?” asked Hale.

  Joshua’s smooth boyish face was often found reading poetry and novels, rather than tech manuals. His hopes and dreams had changed over the last year, but in his heart he kept his devotion to the rebel cause.

  He shrugged uncomfortably at being the focus of attention at the table.

  This was not the response the ship’s executive officer desired. He tried again.

  “Midshipman Morgan, how are your qualifications going?”

  “Oh, um. Yes, sir. I’m making progress,” he started, and then the flood of miscellaneous information deluged them. “I got a diagram for the ship’s electrical system and was studying that, but then, I was called to stand watch, as Assistant Officer of the Deck, and then I got assigned to oversee the maintenance and repairs of the auxiliary water pump, and then . . .”

  “Hold on. Hold on,” laughed Hale, getting more than he bargained for. There was laughter around the table. “Maybe we’d better discuss this after the game.”

  The next hand was dealt and Hawkins looked down at Q-J. He bet heavy. Gunny and Mitchel called to stay in the pot.

  The flop came; K-8-9. Gunny made a moderate bet. Mitchel called, as did Hawkins. The fourth card was 2 and all checked. The final card was 3. Gunny checked. Hawkins assumed Gunny most probably had top pair and was playing it slow. Mitchel made a big bet and Hawkins guessed that he was trying to steal the pot after a busted straight draw. Thinking about his opponents, Hawkins believed if he bluffed big, that Gunny would fold thinking his top pair was beat, Hawkins could then win the pot by having the best high card against Mitchel who most likely
had been trying to fill a straight with J-10.

  Hawkins bet big. Gunny seeing both his two opponents betting heavily, reasoned as Hawkins predicted and folded. Mitchel threw all his chips in, hoping to bluff Hawkins out. Of course, Hawkins called and won with a Queen high.

  Hawkins explained his play to his shipmates, as an example of the science of bluffing, as opposed to an empty bluff. They nodded, but he doubted if they appreciated his convoluted thinking.

  Gunny tried to compensate for his loss, by smashing a large handful of snacks into his mouth.

  “Got enough there Gunny?” asked Mitchel. “You must have growing pains.”

  The room erupted in laughter.

  He turned to Mitchel and chided, “I used to be an engineer, but that was before they discovered I was a grown man.”

  There were chuckles.

  “It’s always like this in the wardroom, lots of hungry mouths to feed,” said Hale.

  “I’m going to use my chips for something before their all gone. This’ll hold me for a bit,” said Gunny, as he cashed in several voucher chips in the food dispenser and built himself, a man-size sandwich with baked ham and two slices of real bread, baked fresh in the ship’s galley from the basic ingredients which were also part of the booty of their last raid.

  There was a lot of noise from the passage outside the wardroom where some of the crew was debating where the ship was headed.

  “How’s weapons training going?” asked Hale, looking at Gunny.

  “Good. I can see my way to getting all weapons fully operational before the next set of target practice drills. Are you getting anxious to schedule that?”

  “I already have, so if you’re going to make your word good, you need to be ready within forty-eight hours.”

  Gunny paled, but gave a grudging, “Will do.”

  Hale asked, “How about the engineering repair schedule?”

  Mitchel frowned, now that the attention was turned to him. He said, “I wish to report that engineering is nearly up to date on repairs and maintenance.”

  “Nearly? That’ too bad I was going to recommend some R & R for your team, but if their still too busy . . .?”

  “I wish to report that engineering has completed all essential repairs and we are ready for R & R.”