Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus

by Phillip Nolte

  "It's not as crazy as it sounds, Commander; we detected some huge energy spikes and we were pretty sure that the Tunisian crew had managed to disable the weapons on the destroyer before the terrorists killed them."

  "I see," said Kresge, "You said there were boarders?"

  "About a dozen of them managed to get into the station but by the time we left, station security had killed and captured several them and had the rest of them bottled up near the main airlock. The Security Director told us to leave while we could because the boarders were expecting reinforcements. From what he was able to learn by interrogating a couple of the captives, you can expect a similar attack on this system sometime soon."

  "I guess it was just a matter of time," replied Kresge, "What about the personnel on the mining station?"

  "They should be fine for the time being, Commander. Most of them are Spacers and they planned to retreat into the rock if more terrorists show up. The terrorists will get way more than they bargained for if they try to go after those miners, believe me!"

  Kresge nodded in understanding as he listened. "What happened then?" he asked.

  "The Station couldn't call out for help because the bastards destroyed the Stage two communications. We left Piedmont a little over a week ago and tried to get to the Stage II communicator in Patagonia but this same batch of terrorists had just come through that system a couple of days earlier. They'd wrecked the communications platform and most of the planetary shuttles. There were people stranded all over the system. It took us several days to gather up as many of them as we could and get them transferred to the asteroid colony. We stopped here to ask you guys for some help over at Catskill-Soroyan but Patagonia is probably in even worse shape."

  "I hope they can all hold out for a few more days, Captain O'Connell," said Kresge. "I don't have a single ship to spare and things are going to hell all over the Quadrant! As far as we know the Santana Nexus itself was also attacked just a few days ago. We have reason to believe that it is currently in enemy hands."

  "What? How?"

  "We don't have a lot of detail," said Kresge. He thought he could trust these newcomers but, without knowing for certain, he deliberately left out the fact that two of the ships currently in the Scrapyard had actually escaped the attack. "We do know this: The Federation Navy has been responding to crisis situations all over the Quadrant for the last two weeks or so. They were down to two destroyers standing guard at the Nexus when a Meridian destroyer captain defected and several other ships joined up with him in a surprise attack on the Nexus. The Naval Command staff managed to escape somehow but, until we know better, we're pretty sure that terrorist forces are currently in possession of the Santana Nexus."

  "Where do we go now?" asked McConnell.

  "Do you have provisions?"

  "Yes, we do. We had just loaded up our ships and were getting ready to head back to the zone in the asteroid belt that we were mining before the attack came. Just pure luck, I suppose. The supply ship with us still has about half of her cargo as well. In fact, this system was supposed to be her next stop. The remainder of her cargo is earmarked for the New Ceylon station and the Federation Navy."

  "It's nice to get some good news for a change!" said Kresge. He thought for a moment. "You're more than welcome to join us here for a time if you like. You should be safe for a few days at least. I assume your mining ships are set up for long term occupancy?"

  "That we are, Commander. I think we'll take you up on your offer. It would be nice to stop and collect our thoughts for a bit before we decide what to do next. Maybe we could even be able to help some if you do wind up getting into a fight. These mining ships are pretty stout."

  "I'll keep that in mind," said Kresge. "Welcome to the Nacobbus System. You'll find us in the Scrapyard, in the L-5 point of New Ceylon's orbit, if you didn't already know. Contact me again after you've completed your microjumps. We'll have a spot ready for you. As soon as you get settled in, I'd like to meet face to face."

  "I look forward to it, Commander. Donegal out."

  Chapter 46.

  On board renegade destroyer Skorpios, somewhere in the Heard's World Star System, December 11, 2598..

  "Are you ready to jump, Achmed?" said Captain Noori, his agitation obvious. "We must get as close as we can to that cargo ship."

  "I have stretched the microjump parameters to the smallest allowable margin, Sir," came the reply. "We must execute the jump in exactly...," the astrogator consulted the chronometer on his console, "forty-five seconds and counting, Sir."

  The Captain made an announcement to the rest of the crew over the ship's intercom.

  "Prepare yourselves, we jump in..." he waited for the count, "...thirty seconds."

  The navigation officer counted down the last ten seconds and the stolen destroyer flashed into Whitney pseudospace for just under half a minute. The ship phased back into normal space and immediately after the short interval needed for the crew to recover from the effects of the jump, began to search for the armed cargo ship that had embarrassed them so thoroughly just a few hours earlier.

  "I have them, Captain," said the tactical officer. "They are five thousand kilometers ahead of us and three points to starboard."

  "Can we catch him before he reaches the macrojump region?"

  There was a longish pause while the tactical officer ran some intercept scenarios on his computer.

  "Yes, we should be close enough to engage him about ten minutes before he will be able to jump out of the system."

  "Full power, Achmed," shouted the Captain. "I will have that ship! As I said earlier, we shall see who has the advantage this time around!"

  ***

  Onboard UTFN Auxiliary Ship Greyhound, somewhere in the Heard's World star system, December 11, 2598.

  "Damn it!" Harris, swore. "They just phased out of microjump! How close are they Chief?"

  After a short pause to complete some rapid calculations, Perry Allen replied, "Not good, Lieutenant! They're only about five thousand kilometers behind us!"

  "That means we might have to fight him," said Harris, shaking his head. "Can't we go any faster?"

  "The reaction engines be runnin' at one hundred and eight percent," said Hawkins, over the intercom. "I'll push them to a hundred and ten but we daren't be pushin' her any more than that, Lieutenant."

  "Do what you can Hawk," replied Harris. "It might make all the difference."

  The crew of the Greyhound felt an almost imperceptible surge of acceleration and the sounds emanating from the overworked reaction engines intensified.

  "How soon before he gets within firing range?" asked Captain Murdock.

  "I make it just short of an hour," said Allen.

  "Can we jump before he gets within range?"

  "I can't be certain," said Allen, "but it'll be close. Near as I can figure, we'll still be maybe ten to twelve minutes short of the jump point when he comes within extreme weapons range."

  "What about the shields, Hawk?" asked Murdock. "Have you been able to figure out why they went down last time?"

  "I be thinkin' so, Captain," replied the old engineer, still over the intercom. "The shields be pullin' power off from the same circuitry as the weapons. There be power aplenty for the shields but the circuit breaker that be protectin' the power plant cut off the shield when the power draw be exceeding the breaker's safety parameters, just like it did with the beam weapons."

  "Can't we bypass that damned breaker?" asked Murdock, her eyes glued to the viewscreen.

  "Maybe. Let me and Frank be checkin', Captain," came the reply. After a short pause, Hawkins added, "Could you maybe be sendin' Caleb Jordan down? He be havin' a lot more experience with these rejiggered systems than we do."

  With a nod of affirmation at the Captain, Caleb left the bridge, headed for engineering.

  "He's on his way, Angus," she said. "Find out what you can. Then meet me and the rest of the Command group back here on the bridge in ten minutes."

  Murdock
and the rest of the Greyhound's officers had been waiting for just over five minutes, nervously checking the progress of the enemy ship every few moments, before Hawkins, Talbot and Jordan came on to the bridge. Waiting with Murdock were Carlisle, Harris, Kelly and Hanna Jordan.

  "What did you guys find out, Hawk?" asked Murdock.

  "Well, Captain, I think we can be routin' power to the shield so that we won't be trippin' that breaker, only..."

  "Only what, Hawk?

  "Only I'll have to be disconnectin' the guns, Captain. It be guns or shields. Sorry, but 'til we be makin' some modifications with materials we ain't havin' on hand, we canna be havin' both."

  "Sorry, Captain," said Talbot, "but I agree with Hawk. It'll have to be guns or shields."

  There was a short silence while the other members of the command group digested the news. Carlisle, her tactical mind always a jump or two ahead of everyone else, was the first to speak.

  "Our enemy doesn't know that," said Carlisle. "Maybe it won't matter."

  "Won't matter?" said Murdock. "How can you say that, Tamara?"

  "Due to your foresight, both of our capacitor banks are fully charged, Captain," said Carlisle. "The beam weapons are ready to fire whether we have main power or not. We know that from our last encounter. That gives us eight pulses. If we use them carefully, make each one count, we have a damned good chance of holding them off long enough to be in and through the jump point before they realize that we can't recharge our weapons."

  Murdock thought it over for a few moments, her look grim.

  "You could be right," she said, slowly shaking her head. "Maybe that'll buy us enough time. I sure as hell don't like it but I don't see any other option. Take whoever you need and get busy with those modifications, Hawk. We don't stand a chance in hell if we don't have shields."

  "Just so you be understandin', Captain," said Hawkins, "we'll nay be able to operate for very long with shields on full power. I'll have to be bypassin' everything, includin' life support, to be makin' this work."

  "Will we still be able to jump?"

  "Aye, that we will, but that'll be our next challenge."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We got the jump module on standby so we won't be havin' the same problem we had last time, but I'll have to be cuttin' the shield for ten, maybe fifteen seconds to be toppin' off the power to the jump module."

  "Anything else you should be telling me?" she asked, eyebrows raised in mild exasperation.

  Hawkins shrugged, the concern he felt obvious from his expression. The Captain relented. "It's not your fault, Angus. Like I said, it'll have to do. Get to work on the modifications now, we've been watching them and we know they're going to catch us before we can jump. They'll be in range in about...," she glanced at the display on her command console, "...forty-five minutes."

  Hawkins took Harris, Carlisle, Caleb Jordan and Talbot and the group headed for the engineering deck.

  Once there, Hawkins supervised the disconnection of the weapons modules from the power plant.

  "Too bad we didn't put a switch or two in here to be isolating these systems if we were havin' to," he said.

  ***

  The stolen destroyer, with her slightly superior power to mass ratio, continued to gain on the modified cargo ship as both ships hurtled towards the Whitney jump point that led out of the Heard's World system. As the enemy came into extreme weapons range, he wasted no time demonstrating that his weapons were now fully functional. The destroyer began firing her main batteries when she got within a couple thousand kilometers of the Greyhound. Two pulse beam bolts flashed past several hundred meters above the cargo ship.

  "They've begun firing their weapons, Captain," said Harris.

  "Shields are holding at full power," said Hawkins, over the intercom.

  Having demonstrated the highest level of skill with the beam weapons among the members of the Greyhound's crew, in one short practice session and in their previous encounter with the enemy destroyer, Carlisle was in the gunner's chair, manning the beam weapons.

  "I have him in my sights, Captain," said Carlisle.

  "Carlisle? Do not return fire until you're sure you can hit him, we can't afford to waste a single shot!"

  "Aye, Aye, Captain," came her reply.

  Fortunately for the crew of the Greyhound, the extreme distance combined with the lack of experience on the part of the destroyer gun crew and the fact that their sighting mechanisms had been tampered with meant that the accuracy of their fire was blessedly dismal. The Skorpios fired fully ten pulses before finally scoring a hit on the old cargo ship. Even then, as had been the case during the first encounter between the two ships, the shot was probably more luck than skill. The Greyhound's shield flashed a dark, silvery purple and the old ship lurched violently as the impact struck home.

  "Steady, everyone," said Murdock, "Hawk, what's the status of the shields?"

  "Better than I be expectin', Captain, We can be takin' a few more hits."

  "How far to the jump zone," asked Murdock.

  "We won't be able to jump for at least another ten minutes, Captain," said Allen.

  Carlisle, ever the military historian, suggested that they take a page from age-old tactics utilized by wet Navies during the projectile age.

  "Captain?" asked Carlisle.

  "What is it, Ensign?"

  "I suggest we aim for the splashes."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Wet Navy skippers used to avoid getting hit by steering towards the splashes of the enemy's last salvo of projectiles. With the enemy correcting their aim after each shot, the chance that they would hit the exact same spot with their next shot weren't very good at all. Steer the ship towards the spot where their beam went by last time. They'll probably miss us."

  "Good thinking, Ensign, It's sure as hell worth a try!"

  For the next five minutes, Murdock and the bridge crew guided the Greyhound towards the imaginary spot where the enemy beam weapon had been aimed when the last pulses had passed the old ship. The strategy seemed to be working. The Skorpios fired another ten pulses without scoring any hits.

  "Approaching the jump point," said the Captain. "We jump in two minutes."

  "Permission to begin returning fire, Captain," said Carlisle.

  "Permission granted, Ensign, just make sure you save at least four shots to keep them distracted while Hawkins drops the shields and charges up the Jump Module."

  "Got it, Captain," replied the Ensign.

  The enemy ship had drawn close enough that it looked frighteningly large in the magnified view through the battle periscope in the transplanted Bofors turret as Carlisle aligned the crosshairs of the port side beam projector on the bridge area of the old destroyer. The shot was relatively easy to line up as the enemy didn't appear to be taking any kind of evasive action at all. With the Captain's admonition to keep four shots in reserve firmly in mind, Carlisle took careful aim and waited with her finger on the trigger mechanism. When the ship remained steady in the crosshairs for two full seconds, she triggered the weapon. The shields on the enemy ship lit up satisfyingly as the shot hit home.

  The enemy's fire became even more erratic as the Skorpios belatedly began to take evasive action. Their rate of fire slowed down and their marksmanship, which hadn't been exactly stellar before, became even worse. Carlisle kept her guns trained on the enemy ship and, despite their attempts to evade, managed to hit the ship with two of her next three shots as well.

  "His evasive maneuvering must've slowed him down, Captain, He's holding at about two hundred kilometers. We hit the Jump zone in one minute."

  "Carlisle?"

  "Yes, Captain?"

  "Begin firing your last four pulses at that ship, as fast as you can. Hawkins, prepare to drop the shields."

  Carlisle targeted the enemy ship and increased her rate of fire to as rapidly as they could manage with their makeshift equipment. With the gun crew still having to manually switch one of th
e charged capacitors on line for each shot, their maximum rate of fire was one pulse every twelve seconds. The Ensign had plenty of time to align her next shot while the gun crew went through their preparations and she continued to make small adjustments to her aim between shots. Her accuracy continued to be excellent with one hit and one near miss before the Greyhound dropped her shields in preparation for the Jump to Whitney psuedospace.

  "Dropping shields... Now!" said Hawkins.

  Carlisle fired her next to last shot and was pleased to see it score yet another hit on the Skorpios. Since the Greyhound had begun firing, the destroyer crew had failed to even come close to hitting the old cargo ship. She drew a bead, preparing to take the last shot...

  "Jumping in...three...two...one...Mark!"

  Carlisle felt the Greyhound phase into hyperdrive. The enemy ship she had been drawing a bead on suddenly dissolved from the view in the periscope as the Greyhound phased into the murky embrace of Whitney psuedospace.

  "Is everybody okay?" asked Murdock.

  A cheer went up from every member of the Greyhound's crew.

  Chapter 47.

  UTFN Reclamation Center, on board the Meridian Imperial Diplomatic Ship Istanbul, December 12, 2598.

  "Commander?" CPO Marvin Jenkins called out softly. Jenkins was looking over the shoulder of the tactical officer on the bridge of the Istanbul. It was early, just after 0530, but Kresge had been too keyed up to sleep any longer and rather than fidget in bed and keep Irene from getting any sleep, he had gone to the bridge to check on the latest developments.

  "What is it, Chief?" replied Kresge.

  "Could you come over here for a minute? We think we might've found something."

  Kresge grabbed his cup of New Ceylon Arabica and headed over to the tactical displays to have a look at the plots that Jenkins had been working on.

  "Okay, what am I looking at?"

  "Well, some of this is speculation...but we still think you'd better take a look, Sir."

  A three dimensional plot of the Santana Quadrant floated in the air above the display. The Istanbul's tactical officer, a Meridian Imperial Navy Lieutenant named Jalpa, took over the briefing.