“I have them, Admiral,” the Communications Operator said eagerly, “linking them to your slate…now.”
“Lieutenant Priam at your command, Warlord,” reported a blond Tracto-an with an impossibly noble nose. If he hadn’t been looking at me with such eagerness and devotion, I would have taken an instant disliking to him. I was about to say something when my screen split and another person appeared on my screen.
“This is the Armsmaster,” another man, also sturdily built and with pale, white skin said irritably before recognizing me. I absently observed that not only had his nose been broken multiple times—which endeared him to me slightly—but he was most definitely neither a Caprian or a Tracto-an, “I mean, Senior Chief Eugene Hardy Atkins, reporting as ordered Admiral,” he corrected himself quickly, “what can the Armory do for you, Sir?”
“Atkins, Priam,” I said nodding gravely, “we don’t have a lot of time, so let’s not waste any more here; prepare to repel borders.”
The two of them stared at me for half a second, then I had the pleasure of observing two almost diametrically opposed reactions: instant alarm on the part of the Armsmaster, and a rising eagerness from my sworn Tracto-an.
“Yes, Sir,” the Armsmaster said his face hardening, “we won’t let you down.”
“We’ll crush our enemies in your name, Warlord Montagne,” Lieutenant Priam said joyfully, “I go now to prepare!” His image then winked out.
“If you could have a battle-suit brought up to the Captain’s ready room by a yeoman, that would be greatly appreciated,” I informed the Armsmaster before he also cut the connection.
“Admiral!” an orderly gasped, sounding out of breath as he ran up to me.
“What is it?” I glared irritably as I turned to the other man.
The other man thrust something into my hand and I stared down at it with growing disbelief. “What is this?” I said in a deceptively mild voice
“Your tea, Sir!” the Yeoman said triumphantly.
Shaking my head at the gall of interrupting me right after an important conference call, I put the small, porcelain rim of the cup to my lips. Savoring the smell for half a second, I then tossed back the whole cup in one swallow.
“An excellent blend,” I said absently, thrusting the cup back into his hands.
Chapter 13: Expecting Guests?
“Boarders, Sir?” Laurent said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice as soon as the yeoman took off at the run, for wherever it was that yeomen ran off to.
“There are too many Bugs ‘venting’ into space,” I said with a decisive nod, “we needs must prepare to squash them upon their arrival on our lovely hull.”
Laurent’s brow furrowed before smoothing itself out into an unreadable demeanor, but I could detect the hint of doubt quickly hidden by the other man.
So I turned to the new Captain. “When was the last time we encountered Bugs and it didn’t come down to a hand-to-hand fight?” I asked with a deliberate smirk, to let everyone watching around the bridge see my confidence. After all, what was the worst that could happen? That the by-now all-too-obviously-fallible Admiral Montagne was thought to be jumping at shadow?
Laurent continued to look at me impassively for a long moment, and then his face took on a determined look. He gave me a short nod and turned back to the bridge at large.
On the main screen, the Harvester was leaking a strange, bluish substance out its underside—right about where its launching bay and the Scout ship we’d destroyed had been.
“Gunners are to target these coordinates,” Eastwood shouted into his microphone, and I could tell he was getting excited by the new dents he was putting into his tactical console with the microphone.
There was a renewed flurry of fire from the gun deck, and seconds later the hind end of the Bug ship exploded.
Yes!” the First Officer yelled, breaking off the head of his new microphone in his rising excitement, “we must have lit off their normal space fuel source!” On the screen, the massive Bug broke into three unequal parts. The front half was now moving at a tangent to our position, while the back half had broken and quickly collided with the still-flaming engines attached to the blackened section where the Scout launch bay used to be located.
“Instruct our gunners to target the remaining Scout ships,” Laurent said, unnecessarily as it turned out, because even before he started speaking the previously simultaneous volley fire of the broadsides broke into a stream of individual fire as it looked like every gun on the ship that could be brought to bear on the little Scouts unloaded as fast as they could service their targets.
Cheers broke out all over the bridge, and even I couldn’t help pumping my fist in the air at the sight. Then the Captain’s voice cut through the sound of victory.
“Helm, prepare this ship for a new course and heading,” Laurent said.
“Yes, Captain?” our Helmsman asked swiveling around in his chair.
Behind me, the smaller blast doors of this ship cycled open and a yeoman came in followed by a grav-cart laden with the requested battle-suit came into the room.
“You are to advance at flank speed on a trajectory more or less five degrees behind the current location of the Bug Harvester,” Laurent said with a fearsome smile.
“Captain?” DuPont said questioningly, although he didn’t wait for a reply before swiveling his chair around and making the course adjustment.
“With alacrity, Mister DuPont,” Laurent said flatly, “please move this ship as if our very lives depended on it.”
Around us I could hear the sounds of celebration die down into a hushed silence and it took me a moment to figure out what the Captain was up to. When I did, I couldn’t resist a small smile.
“Trouble, Sir?” the First Officer asked, advancing on the command chair with his brows furrowed.
“Advise point defense to prepare to target a wave of Warrior Bugs determined to force a boarding action,” Laurent said evenly.
The First Officer’s eyes bulged and his hand dropped back to his data slate once again like it was a blaster pistol before realizing what he’d just done. Lifting his ‘gun hand’ and running it through his hair, the Easy Haven transfer glanced over at me with surprise and dawning comprehension.
“If you’re sure and certain, Sir,” he said switching back to look at the Captain, “there’s a lot of debris out there, and we’re running a risk of crashing into it.”
I started to open my mouth, but our new Captain beat me to it.
“You have your orders, XO,” Laurent said pointedly, his face hardening.
“Of course, Sir,” the First Officer replied, shooting me a more calculating look before shrugging and turning away.
“Clinton,” Laurent called after the new First Officer when I would have probably just let him stew in his own juices.
“Sir?” the XO replied questioningly.
“In my experience the Admiral is rarely wrong about these things,” Laurent said in a low voice, intended not to carry across the bridge.
“Orders received, Captain,” Officer Eastwood said professionally, “you can count on Tactical; it’s always better safe than sorry.”
I wondered if this was some subtle dig against the choice to move at ramming speed right down the throat of the Bug boarding force I’d spotted and the First Officer didn’t yet seem to believe in.
“You can never be too cautious, Eastwood; something you’ll learn if you serve with the Admiral here for any length of time,” Laurent replied. He then gave his first officer a pasty looking smile, “Besides, when the Admiral’s been wrong it’s generally because he underestimated a threat that no one else even spotted at all.”
“Oh?” I said, lifting a single eyebrow and giving the Captain a penetrating look. “Hardly a ringing endorsement, ‘Captain’ Laurent.”
“Too much truth to power, Sir?” Laurent asked with a sly wink and in an overly solicitous voice.
I huffed with outrage, and then remembered I’d posse
ssed a very same sentiment when dealing with Sir Isaac as a prisoner of Central, and for a moment I almost felt like my normal self. I opened my mouth to crack a sideways joke and at both of our expense, but mostly his, when I suddenly recalled myself. I reminded myself that I was a hardened agent of death on a mission of vengeance. My mood instantly soured and I turned away with a frown.
The destruction of the two remaining Scout ships was almost anti-climactic, each lanced through by turbo-laser fire and then bursting like an overripe fruit, with Bug guts and other unidentified, living ship parts spewing out into space as their ships decompressed…
“Now that the Bug ships have been dealt with, I need an update,” Captain Laurent growled, “what’s the status on our Shields, Mister Longbottom?”
There was a brief pause as the Shields Officer consulted his console screen first. “Another twenty minutes at least, Captain, before we can begin shield initiation,” the Ensign reported in a professional sounding tenor. “Damage Control can give you a better update, but Engineering already has a team working on the junction relay.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” Laurent said in dismissal.
“Yes, Sir,” Officer Longbottom replied faintly.
“Approaching debris field, Sir,” the Sensor Warrant reported briskly.
“Should I slow down, Sir?” asked Helmsman DuPont.
I leaned forward to make sure we didn’t slow down too much. I was ready to override anyone who thought it was going to be a sweet idea to slow down too much in a field of Marine Bugs.
“Steady as she goes, Helm,” the Captain said evenly and then turned back to the Sensor Officer. “Warrant, keep forwarding your latest figures over to the Navigator; Mr. Shepherd, please help Mister DuPont avoid the larger fragments…if possible.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” the pair at Helm and Nav coursed together.
“Contact,” shrilled a Sensor Technician jumping out of her chair.
“Multiple contacts, Sir,” the Sensor Officer reported.
“Size and number,” I snapped, jumping out of my chair to take a closer look at the screen.
“Admiral—” Laurent started, but I cut him off.
“How many of them are there?” I demanded.
“It’s hard to say, Admiral,” the Sensor Officer said after several seconds, “we have several thousand contacts.”
“Several thousand!” I spluttered unable to believe what I was hearing.
“Aye, Admiral,” the Officer replied, “however, we think most of them are ship fragments or decompressed Bugs.”
“Bugs don’t tend to decompress, Sensors—at least not nearly as easily as us humans do,” I said in a quelling tone.
Men and women around the bridge visibly gulped.
“Steady on, bridge,” I said confidently, “the Captain and I have a plan to deal with the majority of them.” I then leaned back in my chair and languidly crossed my legs.
“’We’ do, do we,” my former Tactical Officer said in a low voice, with a smile on his face for the crew.
“Of course,” I said easily in a matching tone, “we’re charging right through them. I expect a large number of Bugs to go ‘splat’ on our hull.”
“Splat?” Laurent said, rearing back incredulously before he chortled.
“Well, what would you call it then?” I inquired irritably.
“I was thinking more along the lines of ramming and getting through them quick, but your way works too, Admiral,” the Captain said shaking his head.
Seconds later, the ship shuddered faintly.
“What was that, bridge?” Captain Laurent demanded in a no nonsense voice, and although he sounded quite serious he lacked the sort of tension one would expect if he were direly concerned for the ship.
“We’re passing through the debris field now, Captain,” DuPont reported loudly. I could see the Sensor Officer who had just started to stand up to issue a report slowly sit down his mouth tensing with irritation, “I’m modifying our course as much as possible to avoid the worst of it while maintaining flank speed.”
Laurent nodded in understanding, but with his head turned to face his console I knew DuPont would never see him do so.
“Good work. Carry on, Helm,” I interjected firmly. It was important to keep my finger on the pulse of the crew, but equally important to reward good work with the appropriate praise.
The Ship shuddered ever so slightly once again.
“Hit another one, Helm?” I said with a patented, royal drawl to show my lack of concern. Not that I was really unconcerned, it was just important that no one thought I was. “Make sure we don’t hit anything too big, now.”
“No, Sir,” the Sensor Officer cut in with a sharp glance at the Helmsman, before turning fully toward me and lifting his chin, “sensors show we’re taking multiple hits to the bow. We’re only feeling the larger ones; our nose is pretty tough.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I muttered to Laurent in a short aside before lifting my voice to carry across the bridge when I observed several of the crew muttering unhappily to one another at this little bit of data, “a timely report, Sensors. Keep up the good work.”
Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes when the new Warrant Officer in charge of the Sensor section started swelling with pride, I deliberately turned to Captain Laurent. I was determined to present my well-practiced, ‘unconcerned-because-I-was-totally-in-control’ façade that seemed to fool my bridge crew so well in the past.
“Drive flares!” yelped a Sensor Operator.
“What?! Where?” I demanded, my head snapping around to the main screen looking for new enemy warships.
“There all right in front of us, Admiral,” the new Warrant in charge of Sensor Section said after a quick conference with his team, “they’re too small to be Scout ships, Sir,” he paused, “Sir! I think they’re some of those oversized borer/penetrator Bugs like the ones we had to deal with before. You remember when they tried to dig into our hull, Sir!”
For a moment I stared at him blankly, and then I remembered the last time I’d had to encounter a Bug boarding party—the time I got knocked off the hull!
“Tactical, clear my skies,” Laurent ordered, pounding a fist on the rail in front of him.
“Communications,” I snarled, “inform Lieutenant Priam and Armsman Atkins they are about to receive some guests.”
“Gunnery is to continue with point defense plan, rapid fire!” shouted Officer Eastwood, whipping his data slate out and pointing it his Tactical team before jumping back to his console.’
“Yeoman, with me,” I said jumping to my feet,
“Sir!?” replied the nearest orderly.
“Help me into my battle-suit,” I said, trotting over to the Captain’s Ready Room with an eager expression and slapping my hand on the ancient, touch-sensitive palm scanner.
“Sir?” she replied uncertainly, but I had no time for sluggish yeomen. Either she would follow me and help or I’d put a note in her file.
Pushing through the doors as soon as they cycled open far enough, I stopped for a few seconds to stare at my latest set of power armor. The Armsmaster had sent me one of the old, Confederation pattern suits like the Light Squadron came equipped with. But this one however didn’t look lovingly restored; it looked factory new!
For half a second I had a feeling of trepidation. Should I really be going into combat in an entirely new—at least, new to me—model of power armor. Then the desire to get out there and squash some boarders ran through me and the hesitation passed like a bad case of gas.
It was time to blow away some Bugs.
Chapter 14: Upgrades Can Be Annoying
The Yeoman eventually overcame her hesitation and came in to assist me into the power suit, but by the time I reached the outside of the ship it looked like there as a small war taking place on the hull.
Since most of the action seemed to be taking place toward the prow, I activated my magnetic boots and hurried forward as best I could.
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Something thumped beside me hard enough to cause my legs to vibrate. Wondering what could do that to a pair of power-armored legs, I looked left and slightly to the rear to see what it was. It took my eyes a moment to register what I was seeing; instead of some kind of giant, beetle-shaped Bug borer like I’d expected, all I could see was a bluish-purplish splatter. Then I saw a bit of carapace floating away from hull at speed, and I realized I was looking at Bug splatter.
With no shields to protect our hull and shrug off high speed attackers on the bounce, those Bugs that reached our ship but were going too fast to slow down and stop in time to land on us were instead splattering all over the outside of our ship, just like their smaller cousins on the windshield of a hover-bus.
I cracked a smile. At least none of them could claim they’d been thrown under the bus. Laughing at a joke even I could recognize as pathetic, I almost jumped off the hull when another Bug streaked in like a meteor to impact ten feet from me. Bug fluids, organs and unidentifiable body parts rained over me hard enough to wobble my footing, and it was only a quick grab at a protruding antenna kept me attached to the hull. The antenna didn’t look so good afterwards, bent at an angle as it was, but I could always get it fixed later.
Wondering if I, as an Admiral, should really be out here where one single Bug strike could kill me without the chance to retaliate—or at the very least knock me off the hull again, which wasn’t an experience I cared to have again—I hesitated. Then my face hardened; I wasn’t running for safety, and I certainly wasn’t hiding! If all I wanted was safety I might as well move my quarters down into a nice, secure cell in the brig. There was no such thing as safety anymore, and while I could run, I certainly couldn’t hide. My enemies had made it perfectly clear that they would keep coming for me. The only thing I could do was run as fast as possible, and then pound the living daylights out of them in a surprise maneuver when they caught up with me.
Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 13
