by Brian Dorsey
“Let’s hope you can.” Renux paused, looking toward the tactical displays, as he stood from his chair.
“Sir,” interrupted the Tactical Officer. “Two Terillian corvettes accelerating at combat speed toward our direction.”
“But you may not need to,” he continued. “We are crippled and the Ters have to know it.”
“Sir,” added the Tactical Officer, “Estimate their guns will be in range in ten minutes.”
“They should already have boarding teams on the way,” mused Renux. “Tactical, mark status of transports being launched from their ships,” he ordered.
“Sir,” replied the Tactical Officer. “Sensor are only picking up the two corvettes, one sloop, and Foxtrots and Alphas…no transports.”
“Very well,” acknowledged Renux, gritting his teeth. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “It looks like they are going to finish us off with their big guns.” He looked toward the tactical plots again. “They’ll be on us before we can complete the sequence.”
Renux turned toward his Tactical Officer. “Miss Garret, direct the Officer of the Deck to set an evasion course from the approaching ships at best possible speed. We need to increase their closure time.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the Tactical Officer as she turned and transmitted the order to the Bridge.
“Aren’t they running the risk of destroying data if they slug it out with us?” asked Jackson.
“Yes. Unless they’re more concerned with killing us than collecting intel,” pondered Renux.
“They’re protecting something,” concluded Martin.
“That’s my guess,” agreed Renux. “And it’s probably on Golf 2.”
“Were we able to get a message spin-burst out?” asked Cresius.
“We sent a message with the original contact but we lost long range high-speed comms with the first wave. The distress signal and self-destruct protocol will send off pulse messages but it will take days to reach our forces.”
The deck rumbled under Martin’s feet and the lights flickered. Combat went dark. For a second, everything was silent. Then the lighting returned and Combat returned to a low roar.
“Tactical, what did we lose?” demanded Renux.
“Checking, Sir,” answered the Tactical Officer.
“Engineering, Bridge, this is the Tactical Officer, report status?” she ordered.
Martin waited impatiently for the report. In a few seconds the Tactical Officer turned toward Commander Renux.
“Sir, aft reactor is down. All systems are on emergency power. Engineering reports max speed available is .2 if we divert power from all non-essential systems.”
“And without the main battery?” he asked.
“Without main battery, max speed will be 0.35 based on our current momentum.”
“Damn it,” cursed Renux. “I’m not dropping the main guns. They’ll be on us in minutes.” He turned toward Martin and the other Guard officers. “It looks like you won’t have the opportunity to take any Rangers with you, Captain Jackson. They’ll be on us in ten minutes or less. We will inflict some damage with our main gun but their fighters and the plasma guns on those ships will rip us apart.” He slammed his fist into the panel on the armrest of his commander’s chair. “If we only knew what they were doing and were able to get a message off, we wouldn’t die in vain.”
Martin felt the frustration welling inside her. She knew death in the Dark Zone was more often than not the way most Guardsmen met their end, but to go without spilling a drop of Terillian blood angered her to her bones. She inhaled deeply and tightened her jaw as she thought about her and her men stuck on the dying ship, impotently waiting out their destruction. Then it struck her. “Sir,” she almost shouted to Renux.
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“I may have a plan,” she answered as she activated her tactical circuit. “Yates, this is Martin. Is our transport still intact?”
‘It’s good, LT,’ came Yates’ reply. ‘But the pilot and navigator were killed in the same explosion that killed Seleze and Treat.’
“Sir,” continued Martin as she turned back toward Renux, “Request to take the remaining transport to Golf 2 and recon. If we can make it to the surface, we might have a chance of finding out what the Ters are up to.”
“How will you know where to go?” asked Cresius. “Scans of the surface are not complete.”
“The archives show the Ters had a base on Golf 2 during the war. If we set down far enough away to avoid attention and then move toward the old base…it’s a long shot…but it’s still a shot.”
“And if you find something?” asked Renux.
“We can send a low frequency message from the transports comms system. It’ll be slow but any Humani force moving this way would hopefully pick it up before or just after entering the system.” She paused to look toward Jackson to ensure he approved of her plan. A nod confirmed his approval and she continued. “We probably won’t make it back. Shit, we might not even make it to the surface but at least it’s a chance to make this mean something.”
“Interesting plan, if you had a pilot,” replied Renux.
“I’m qualified,” answered Martin.
“She is,” answered Jackson.
“And the navigator?” asked Cresius.
“Don’t need one,” replied Martin. “I just need to point the transport at the planet and pin the base location to the transport’s NAVSYS. It’s just a rollercoaster ride after that.”
“You won’t make it to the second day down there without your environmental gear,” said Renux. “You will freeze.”
“The gear’s already onboard,” smiled Martin. “I had the men pack it yesterday so it would be ready if we needed to go in a hurry.”
“Sir!” shouted the Tactical Officer. “First Terillian corvette will be in range in five minutes.”
Martin saw the commander inhale deeply and curl his lip in contemplation.
“It’s better than nothing,” added Jackson.
“Do it,” ordered Renux. “But take Lieutenant Varus with you.”
“Varus?” asked Jackson.
“He’s our comms officer. He could be helpful in sending out a message.”
“Corporal Sellers can send that message,” replied Martin. “Or me. Or any Guardsmen.”
“Lieutenant Martin,” replied Renux sternly, “Lieutenant Varus is—”
“Let me guess, the only other First Family officer onboard,” she interrupted.
Renux rose from his chair, “Captain Jackson,” he spoke. “A transport will fit seventy men, will it not?”
“The Guard transports are slightly smaller, Sir. They can hold fifty.”
“And at best you have forty Guardsmen, correct Captain Jackson?” continued Renux.
Although he was addressing Jackson, Martin could tell by the cold stare the commander had locked onto her that he was speaking to her.
“Yes, Sir. And our environmental gear will take the space of five men.”
“Excellent. Then there will be enough room for Varus,” declared Renux.
“Sir,” interjected the Tactical Officer. “Firing range in three minutes.”
“Yes, Tactical,” snapped Renux. “You have authorization to fire when they are in range. There is nothing else we can do.” He turned back toward Martin. “Tactical, inform Lieutenant Varus he will report to the hangar bay and be under operational command of Captain Jackson.”
“Who are the other four?” asked Martin to Renux.
“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”
“Well if Varus can abandon his post when the ship is about to be lost, why can’t four others? Are you sure you don’t have some other First Family officers hiding in their staterooms?”
“Lieutenant Martin!” shouted Renux. “You will follow my orders. Now leave my bridge and carry out your orders.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied through clinched teeth as she saluted. “I’ll be on the shuttle. I’m leaving in five minu
tes so everyone that’s coming better fucking be onboard,” she added with a derisive look toward Jackson.
Turning toward the exit, Martin activated her tactical link to both Guard platoons. “1st and 2nd Platoons report immediately to the hangar bay and board 1st Platoon’s transport. We launch in five minutes.”
Martin picked up her pace to a sprint as she raced past medics tending to wounded, damage control and repair teams trying to keep systems online as long as they could, and other crew members trying to fight the ship. As she ran, her blood boiled from the anger racing through her. She was sure each crew member she passed was probably more valuable than this Lieutenant Varus that Renux had dumped on her. But, unlike a First Family son of Alpha Humana, these commoners would stand to their posts and die bravely for their people.
Frustration still hung over Martin as she burst into the hangar bay and turned toward the transport. She raced through the hangar past medical teams tending to the burned and wounded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a firefighting team combating a massive fire which had engulfed the other transport. Blocking the carnage from her mind, she continued on and soon rushed into the open access of the remaining transport. She quickly surveyed the troop compartment. Her platoon, what was left of it, were strapping themselves in for the launch.
At the far end of the compartment stood Sergeant Yates.
“Yates,” she shouted as she walked toward him. “Status?”
“Still no report from Alama or Alpha Team from 1st Squad. There was a hull breach near their position and the area was sealed off.”
“Damn it…the others?” she asked.
“No other casualties. Our current strength is eighteen including myself.”
Martin paused for a moment. Only a year ago, 1st Platoon was thirty-one strong. “Any word from Cresius?”
“He’s in route with eleven of his men,” replied Yates.
“Good. Get our guys and 2nd Platoon ready for launch. We’re out of here in three minutes.”
“Roger, LT,” replied Yates. “Where’s the pilot?”
“You’re looking at her,” said Martin with a smile as she turned toward the ship’s cockpit.
Martin quickly made her way to the pilot’s chair and slid into position, locking her shoulder straps in place. “Think,” she said out loud trying to jog her memory as she looked over the myriad of control panels, each covered with toggles, switches, and buttons. “Reactor startup sequence,” she read aloud as she removed the cover and activated the remote auto startup of the transport’s reactor. “That should take about…think Martin…fifteen minutes…too long.” She looked quickly over the panel to her right. “Solid state power…there ya go,” she said as she manipulated three switches to direct emergency power to the ship’s systems during the reactor startup. She heard motion behind her but focused on the panels.
“Everyone’s onboard,” said Jackson.
Martin turned to greet Jackson. Beside him stood a thin, pale, anxious-looking fleet lieutenant. “I take it you’re our communications genius,” said Martin as she turned back toward the control panels.
“I am Lieutenant Seq—”
“I don’t care,” interrupted Martin. “Just go find Sergeant Yates and get strapped in with the men,” she added without looking away from her panels.
“I should be here,” replied Varus. “As the second ranking officer and senior flight officer—”
Martin spun around in her chair to face Varus. “Look, Lieutenant, unless you can fly this transport, I’m the senior flight officer so you either get your ass back to the troop compartment or I’ll have Sergeant Yates set your ass outside and you can be the senior flight officer watching this transport fly away.”
“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” barked Varus.
“Lieutenant Varus,” said Jackson. “There is no time for this. Please take a seat in the troop compartment and we’ll address this later.”
“And we will speak of this later,” huffed Varus as he turned and exited the cockpit.
“And we will speak of this later,” mocked Martin. “Asshole,” she added as she activated the short range defense system for the transport. “Thanks for getting rid of him,” she said to Jackson as he strapped himself into the navigator seat.
“Don’t thank me,” shot back Jackson. “There was no reason to send Varus back with the troops other than to be an asshole but there’s no time for this shit.”
“Fine,” grunted Martin as she moved her hands over another panel. She knew Varus could have stayed in the cockpit; there were two other chairs. She just didn’t want him to.
Trying to forget about Varus, she looked over the controls. “Where are you?” she said to the controls.
“When’s the last time you flew?” asked Jackson.
“Six months ago…in a simulator…there you are!” she said as she dialed in a power setting and depressed the two ‘EMERGENCY IGNITE’ buttons to start the transport’s engines on emergency power.
“When was the last real flight?” asked Jackson as the transport’s engines began to hum.
“I dunno…eighteen months?” she said as she leaned over Jackson’s chair and punched a code into the NAVSYS.
The NAVSYS file opened and she selected another code from a menu then hit the ‘UPLOAD’ button.
“What are you doing?”
“Pulling up the coordinates for the old Ter base from Draxius’ archives to add it to the NAVSYS database before I disconnect the umbilical.”
“You actually know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” she added with a smile as she pushed herself back into her chair using his thigh for leverage.
Martin’s body slammed into the pilot’s chair and was then thrown forward against the straps across her torso. Catching her breath, she looked out through the transport’s viewing window. The fire from the nearby transport instantly extinguished and anyone in the hangar not in breathing gear collapsed as everything not secured to the deck slid toward the starboard side of the hangar.
“Damn it,” declared Martin as small pieces of debris flew past the transport’s window. Looking to her right, she saw a massive hole in the starboard side of the ship with debris, gear, and bodies flying through it. “Shit!” she declared as she flipped the internal gravity drive to active and started the ventilation recirc system.
“That can’t be good,” said Jackson. “The enemy ships must be in range.”
Martin heard the metallic scrapping of the transport against the magnetic moorings as the vacuum of space began pull on the ship.
“Definitely not good,” she answered as she ejected the umbilical and powered up the transport’s engines. “Hold on,” she warned as she flipped the switch releasing the mounting locks.
The transport lunged toward the void created by the blast but Martin reacted quickly, adjusting the thrust to overcome the pull of the vacuum of space. Almost instantly, she had the transport in a low hover. “Well that was fun,” she said, still focusing on the controls.
Slowly turning the nose toward the hole in the ship, Martin watched through the window as a massive ballistic panel slammed down from the overhead of the compartment, covering the hole. Slowly backing off the thrust as atmospheric pressure returned to the hanger, she then swung the ship toward the launch area. As she did, she noticed the fire by the transport reignite with a brilliant flash.
“I think it’s time for us to go,” declared Jackson.
“No shit,” replied Martin as she activated the transport’s communications link. “Draxius Flight Control, this is transport Bravo. Request launch order.” Receiving no reply, she called again. “Flight Control, transport Bravo, over? Flight—”
She paused as the Flight Control compartment came into view from her window. The ballistic window appeared to have been shattered. If they weren’t prepared for the hull breach, they were most likely dead. “Warfare on a ship sucks,” she said out loud, anxious to get h
er feet on the ground…any ground. “Draxius Combat Center this is transport Bravo. Flight Control appears out of commission, performing manual launch.”
‘Roger, Bravo,’ replied the Tactical Officer. ‘This is Tactical. You’ll need to enter the atmospheric barrier boundary at a hover. The control system is down so there’s no stepped pressure drop. As soon as you pierce the boundary, it’ll slingshot you out the other side so be ready.’
“Thanks for the head’s up,” replied Martin.
‘Roger,’ replied the Tactical Officer. ‘Bravo, Tactical, over…’
“Go Tactical,” answered Martin. She grew puzzled when no one answered. “Go Tactical,” she repeated.
‘Tell them we died well.’
“Your families will speak your names with pride,” said Martin as she closed the link with Combat and turned toward Jackson. She could barely contain her rage. “She and the others die at their stations bravely while that jackass back there gets to go home to mommy and daddy Varus.”
“If it makes you feel better,” said Jackson. “We’re all probably gonna die.”
“It might,” she replied matter-of-factly as she inched the transport toward the launch area.
Martin stopped the transport as it aligned with a red station marking signifying the edge of the atmospheric boundary. Beyond that marker, a system of fans and exhaust systems slowly transitioned the normal atmosphere in the hangar to the vacuum of space as ships entered and exited. With the system down, a massive amount of air was forced through the first boundary acting as a three-meter barrier between the atmosphere of the ship and space.
As she gently nudged the transport to the edge of barrier, Martin saw a Terillian corvette drift into view through the launch corridor. Martin watched as the enemy continued to move by until it filled her view of the launch area. She saw several dark discolorations on the ship’s outer hull. “Looks like Draxius is putting up a fight,” she said, noticing an area with debris pouring out of a hull breach.
Passing through the barrier, the shuttle shot out into the darkness of space as two Terillian fighters suddenly flashed in front of the transport on a strafing run of Draxius.
