Errand of Fury Book 1

by Kevin Ryan

  Intellectually, he knew that the Klingons would probably take the ship. The entire crew would do their best, but it would not be enough. The best Fuller could hope to do was to make the Klingons pay a heavy price for their victory. If this was the beginning of war, he had a duty to reduce the number of their enemies to give Starfleet a better chance in the fighting to come. If this was an expeditionary force testing Starfleet’s resolve, perhaps he and the rest of the crew could make the Klingons think twice about taking on the Federation again.

  Fuller hit the ladder first and scrambled up. He didn’t even bother to try the turbolifts now. The ship would be locked down in preparation for Klingon boarding parties. The turbolifts would be permanently disabled to make it harder for Klingon warriors to make their way around the ship.

  A blast struck the ship. Fuller held his breath, waiting for another.

  None came.

  Fuller was mildly surprised by this. He was certain that they had been hit hard enough to tear through the main hull’s underpowered shields. A single torpedo or a sustained disruptor blast would be enough to destroy the unprotected remains of the Endeavour, but no further attack came.

  They want the ship intact, he realized.

  “Don’t let them take you alive…” Woods’s words came back to him. Whatever the Klingons’ plans were for the Endeavour and its crew, Fuller doubted that he would have much choice in that matter. If he followed his training and did his job to its logical conclusion, he and the rest of the security forces wouldn’t last long against a Klingon boarding party. He remembered the quiet dignity of Woods and his staff as they faced their end. He hoped that he died as well. And more important, he hoped that he managed a final surprise for the Endeavour’s attackers, as those brave engineers had done.

  Fuller stepped out onto the deck and sprinted down the corridor, hearing Andrews behind him. The ship was quiet, with few people in the corridors. That made sense. He and Andrews had been the last to leave the engineering section. Everyone else had had time to get to his or her post.

  Their final posts, his mind supplied.

  Fuller reached the armory and saw an officer there. The man tossed him a laser pistol, which Fuller caught easily. Then Andrews arrived and caught his pistol. The officer behind the counter thought for a moment and handed both Fuller and Andrews another pistol each.

  “Take the extras,” he said, then Fuller saw that he had two more pistols laid out on the counter for himself.

  Extras…

  The ship maintained a store of additional weapons. And now, of course, there were a number of engineers who no longer needed theirs. Fuller felt the weight of each weapon in his hand and decided that he liked the idea that one of these weapons actually belonged to one of the fallen crew. He found the thought gave him strength. Next, the armory officer handed each of them a communicator.

  Nodding to the officer, Fuller checked his lasers to make sure they were set to heavy stun. Even given the high stakes of the coming battle, regulations forbade setting a weapon to high within a space vessel. The danger of a hull breach was too great, and the potential damage too catastrophic. And if Fuller found himself blown out into space, his life span could be measured in seconds—a few very painful seconds.

  Another ladder took them down to the level of his squad’s emergency duty station. He made his way to the outer corridor of the ship and followed it to the rear section, where the impulse engines were housed. The impulse level was two decks high and, as a result, had four potential entry points from four corridors—two on each side of the impulse room on each of the two decks.

  Fuller and Andrews’s squad was assigned to protect the upper starboard level. As they approached, Fuller could see Section Chief Rizzo and the others were all there. Rizzo smiled openly when Fuller and Andrews came around the bend. “Good to see you two. Commander Woods called in to say that you were helping wounded get out of the secondary hull. I’m glad to see that you made it.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was close,” Fuller said.

  “You know what we’re up against?” Rizzo asked.

  “Klingon boarding parties.”

  Chief Rizzo nodded. He gave the two lasers in each man’s hands a look and said, “I’m glad you came prepared. Take your positions.”

  The impulse reactor deck was a large room and looked like a smaller version of the engine room. Fuller was in a corridor that was level with the upper portion of the impulse deck. His corridor connected to a walkway that ringed the inside of the impulse room and overlooked the deck below as well as the large reactor equipment. Fuller could see the catwalk system that gave technicians access to the tops of the reactors as well as the hydrogen tanks.

  Inside the impulse room, Fuller could see crew members going about their business with a quiet coolness that he recognized. These people, he remembered, had worked very closely with Woods and the others who had been lost already.

  Fuller and Andrews walked to their designated positions behind one of the support pillars that ran next to the walls in this section of the corridor. These structures would provide the security teams with their only cover from forces advancing in their direction. Being the smaller of the two men, Fuller crouched down as Andrews took a standing position above him. They were in one of the rear positions across from the entrance to the impulse room. Directly across the corridor were two more people from their squad. And a few meters ahead of them were another pair on one side and Chief Rizzo on the other.

  There was a loud click behind him, and Fuller turned to look inside the impulse room. Everything looked normal as the engineers went about their business. Then a computer voice sounded over the intercom, temporarily replacing the red alert Klaxon, “Clear impulse room emergency doors.” Almost immediately, the thick blast door began to close. The door was large, covering the entire width of the opening to the impulse room, which was easily seven meters.

  There was a steady hum as the door moved slowly into place. Fuller could also feel the vibration in his feet. He knew the blast door was nearly indestructible. In fact, an enemy would have an easier time cutting through the surrounding decks or bulkheads than attacking the door directly. That level of protection made sense. The only chance the ship had in a battle situation like this one lay in the power generated by those impulse reactors. Their weapons, their life support, their only hope, lay in maintaining that power.

  Clearly, the Klingons had caught the Endeavour by surprise, but there would have been time to get out a distress call. That meant that help was on the way. If they could hold out, if they could maintain that power a little longer, there was a very slim but very real chance. Fuller only hoped that if help came, it came in force. There were still two battle cruisers out there.

  As the door slowly passed Fuller’s position, he caught a last look at the men and women working inside. He knew they were the real strength in that room, the real source of the ship’s power now. Protecting them was the single most important thing he would do in his life. He might die doing his job, but he was glad that he had found a task worth giving his life to accomplish.

  A few seconds later, there was a large metallic clang that told him the blast doors had met the floor of the deck below them. The impulse room was sealed.

  Less than a second later, the computer’s voice sounded over the comm system. “Intruder alert. Intruder alert.” The computer’s tone was calm and measured, though Fuller knew that they were facing more than mere intruders. This was a Klingon war party.

  Nevertheless, Fuller felt a calm descend on him. Part of it was his security training, which had prepared him for every possible contingency. And part of the calm came from somewhere else inside him. He had often wondered how he would behave under real fire. Now, he was pleased to find that his mind was clear and his body ready. He knew that he would do his best to make sure that the sacrifices already made by members of the Endeavour’s crew were not in vain.

  There was complete silence in the corridor for long secon
ds. Fuller could hear only the hum of the ship—louder than usual now that he was so close to the impulse room—and the sounds of his own breathing and heartbeat. The silence was finally broken by sounds of shouting and running. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that some of the shouting was not in English.

  “Let them know they’ve been in a fight,” Rizzo said.

  “I’m ready to give them hell,” Andrews whispered down to Fuller from his standing position. Fuller only nodded. Then he saw a green energy blast strike the wall of the corridor ahead of them. He recognized the color of Klingon disruptor fire, and his grip tightened on his laser pistol as he waited for the inevitable. Fuller kept his right hand and the pistol that he held in reserve behind the column, keeping only his left hand out and ready to fire.

  In training, Fuller had scored high in marksmanship with both his left and right hands. Andrews was left-handed. This allowed them both to shoot effectively with their left hands while keeping themselves partly protected by the cover of the support beam in front of them. Suddenly, Rizzo’s choice of placement for him and the others during training drills made perfect sense. Every edge, every advantage would be exploited now. And they might actually make a difference.

  The sounds down the corridor got louder and Fuller found that he could make out words spoken in English, as well as shouts and grunts that were definitely Klingon. Then a barrage of fire came his way, seeming to hit the corridor all around him.

  “Fire!” Rizzo shouted.

  Immediately, the laser weapon came alive in Fuller’s hand. He fired blast after blast, trying to aim the blue bolts at the source of the enemy fire. A thin haze of smoke started to form in the corridor around them as more Klingon disruptor blasts hit all around them. Fuller felt a blast shake the column in front of him. Then another. And another.

  Still, he had not seen any other signs of the enemy. And as more and more smoke filled the corridor, it became more difficult to see anything. The smell of smoke and scorched metal grew stronger. Fuller could also feel warmth on his face. The release of large amounts of energy from the weapons was increasing the temperature in the corridor.

  Fuller caught a glimpse of movement ahead of him. Before his brain registered the event, his hand had aimed and fired. More movement, another series of shots from his laser. His eyes became more and more useless as visibility decreased, but his ears told him that the enemy was not advancing. For a moment, he felt a faint hope that he and the others were succeeding, that they were somehow holding the Klingons off.

  He felt a vibration through the deck plating beneath his feet. Then he realized that some of the sounds of fighting he had heard were mostly coming from beneath them. It made sense: the Klingons were making an all-out attack on the saucer section’s primary power source—of course they would hit both decks at once. Though Fuller didn’t dare take a moment to turn his head, his ears told him that the squad a few meters to his rear who were protecting the other entry point on this deck were still coming under heavy fire. The same was happening on the deck below them.

  Suddenly, he realized that the Klingons must be hitting all four points as hard as they could. And they had the crews of two ships to draw from. Since the attackers had no doubt planned this attack in advance, they could have loaded their ships with warriors. In effect, they probably had a very large number of fighters to draw from—whereas the Endeavour had only its limited number of surviving crew. There would be no replacements, no relief. If it became a battle of attrition, the Klingons would win because of their sheer numbers.

  Unless they did the impossible. Unless they held out long enough for Starfleet to even the odds. Unless help arrived in time.

  Fuller had noted that the Klingons firing on him still had not advanced, and that was something. However, he knew that he and the others had to turn the tide of this battle to have some chance at survival.

  Leaning his body out farther into the corridor, Fuller brought his right hand and the laser pistol it carried into the open. It put him at greater risk, putting more of his body in harm’s way, but there was no helping it. He sensed Andrews doing the same and saw a flash up ahead as one of their beams hit something other than wall. Then a beam from one of the Klingons did the same.

  Fuller knew that his sense of time had been altered, and though the battle had seemed endless, it had probably taken only a few minutes so far. Still, he found it odd that he had yet to see an actual Klingon. From what he knew of Klingons, they were brutal and ruthless fighters who advanced quickly in battle by using overwhelming force. He had even hoped that their aggressive behavior would allow the defenders to inflict serious casualties early on. Yet here, the Klingons seemed content with the stalemate that had been achieved. Of course, they could afford to wait.

  Something about the situation bothered him, tugged at his consciousness. However, his attention was too focused on what was in front of him to worry about what might be driving the Klingons now.

  Fuller noted that the sounds and vibrations coming from beneath his feet were increasing in volume and intensity. The fighting on the lower deck must be more intense, he thought. Then it seemed to stop abruptly. Though the boarders firing on his position kept their attack steady, the deck beneath him went almost completely quiet. There was something odd about that, something troubling. He guessed that the defenders down there had been overrun. He remembered the chief engineer’s warning: Don’t let them take you alive.

  Had his crewmates just a couple of meters below his position been taken alive? He found himself hoping that they had made the Klingon attackers pay for their victory.

  Almost all at once, the enemy fire on them stopped. He saw movement through the haze but rejected what he thought he saw as impossible: the Klingons seemed to be falling back. Wary of a trick, he kept his fire up and saw that the rest of his squad was doing the same.

  But the tugging on his mind remained and he realized that something was very wrong. His instincts were screaming now.

  “Chief Rizzo—” he called out, but his next words were drowned out by a strong explosion, slightly muffled because it was coming from beneath him. The floor shook and then rocked beneath his feet. A moment later he found himself lying on the floor, still clutching both laser pistols. He quickly scrambled to his feet, not wanting to meet whatever came next while he was lying on the ground.

  He was at a crouch when the floor gave way beneath him. He was surprised that he remained both calm and aware as he went down. He realized immediately what the Klingons had done: they had used overwhelming force on the deck below and had then used simple charges to collapse the upper deck and take out Fuller and the Starfleet officers above. It was more clever than he would have given the Klingons credit for, given what little he knew of their tactics.

  Fuller chided himself for underestimating an enemy. He knew now it would likely be the last mistake he would ever make, because of all the hostile races in known space, Klingons were perhaps the least forgiving of error in warfare.

  Fuller felt himself falling for barely a second. Then he struck the floor hard and was immediately thrown back down to the ground. Without bothering to check himself for injuries, Fuller forced himself to his feet. He realized that the deck under his feet was now resting on the deck that had been below them. The floor around him was torn and uneven, and Fuller found that his legs were unsteady. Shaking his head, he refocused his mind and lifted his lasers. Then, scanning quickly through the smoke and haze, he got his first look at Klingon warriors.

  They were approaching his position quickly, shouting something that sounded like a battle cry. Fuller didn’t wait. He picked a target and fired both laser pistols simultaneously at one of the advancing figures. Then another. Then another. He depended on his peripheral vision to tell him that the Klingons had gone down since he knew that he had very little time and would not allow his vision to linger on a target.

  The same peripheral vision told him that there were a few other members of his squad on their feet n
ow and joining the fight. He was pleased to see Andrews’s familiar figure among them. A shot came from behind him and Fuller turned, choosing and firing at another target as he did.

  It was then that he realized that he was standing in the center of the ruined corridor, with no cover at all. He ignored the danger and kept up his fire, sensing by now that Andrews was behind him firing in the other direction.

  Two targets emerged from the smoke. He got off a shot at one of them and was noting with satisfaction that he had made a hit, when he felt a burning hot sensation in his shoulder. He realized instantly that he had been hit. As he felt his body flying backward in space, he remembered the talk among the cadets at training. Conventional wisdom was that Klingons had only one setting on their disruptors: Kill.

  Then the world was a swirl of color and movement that quickly went black. His last thought was that he had taken Woods’s advice—he had not let the Klingons take him alive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

  STARBASE 56

  2267

  IN THE SHIP’S GYMNASIUM, Fuller repeated the hand blows and kicks that made up the combination. Then he stepped aside as Parmet tried to perform the same movements. The ensign was making a serious effort, but he was slow and his coordination a bit off.

  “Watch me again,” Fuller said, and repeated the movements as Parmet studied him carefully. Parmet tried again and did marginally better. Parmet looked up at Fuller with frustration in his face. Frustration, and something else Fuller couldn’t quite place.

  “Sir, I appreciate your taking this time with me, but if you want to stop, I’ll be fine. I will just work by myself for a while,” Parmet said. Then Fuller recogonized the look that he had seen in Parmet’s face: determination.

  Fuller thought of his empty quarters and shook his head. He would rather keep himself occupied. And he might be able to teach Parmet a few things.