Homeguard

by Jason Cordova

  “Thank you again for your hospitality, Captain,” Andrew said before turning and glaring at Jack. “Who you calling little? At least I can tie my own shoes.”

  “When you’re my size, you can hire midgets about your size to tie them for you,” Jack countered easily with a gruff laugh. “What do you want to do first, eat or sleep?”

  “Food?”

  “We can do that.” Jack grinned. “It’s a Navy ship, so it’s not as good as a fancy restaurant, but it’s serviceable. Just don’t call the men ‘cookie.’ They like to refer to themselves as ‘Food Application Technicians.’”

  “Really?” Andrew looked at the big man skeptically.

  “Really.” Jack nodded slowly. “They get real angry if you call them cookie.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’ll leave you be.” Captain Ezell smiled. “Dismissed, Chief.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” Jack said and grabbed Andrew by the shoulder. “Let’s chow down.”

  Forty minutes later, filled with the best food Andrew had eaten since his mother’s cooking on All Gallow’s Eve at his family’s farm, they arrived at Jack’s berthing. It was along “Chief’s Row,” and was decidedly lacking in any junior enlisted. Down the hall, the big man explained as they entered the berthing space, was Officer Country.

  “Chiefs don’t go to Officer Country,” he said. He motioned at the spare bunk. “Go ahead and crash in that one. Chief Sammartino moved into his own berthing space a few weeks ago.”

  “Thanks,” Andrew said and promptly flopped onto the bed. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, silent. “Hey, Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for pulling me out of Special Projects,” Andrew said, his tone earnest. “I’m glad you got your dad back, too.”

  “I’ll introduce you sometime,” Jack said. “Get some sleep. It’s going to get crazy around here in a bit.”

  * * *

  “General Quarters, General Quarters!” the intercom blared throughout the ship. Andrew, who’d been dozing fitfully, jerked awake. Across the berthing space, Jack was already on his feet and lacing up his boots. He glanced over at Andrew and grunted.

  “Told you I can tie my own shoes,” Jack stated as he finished tying a double knot.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Andrew muttered as he covered his mouth. A giant yawn escaped, and he closed his eyes as tears formed. Wiping his face with his forearm, he looked around the berthing area as Jack began to move about. “Now, what do I do?”

  “Captain said you’re my responsibility.” Jack shrugged as he reached into a locker and pulled out a small rebreather. He tossed it to Andrew, who snagged it out of the air without hurting himself. “You know how these work?”

  “Put it inside the buttoned-up collar, fasten securely, pull hood over head as it deploys,” Andrew said as he affixed it inside his shirt. “Good for six hours. Use only if a loss of pressure occurs.”

  “Okay, show-off.” Jack smiled. “Glad I don’t have to give you a rundown on every step. Takes forever, and I’m really not a patient man.”

  “How does yours work with your beard?” Andrew asked, genuinely curious.

  “Though this amount of gloriousness is difficult to contain,” Jack explained as he stroked his beard, “the hood of the rebreather goes over and protects both me and the beard. I just have to be careful about lighting anything near my face afterward because of the pure oxygen molecules trapped in the magnificence.”

  “Right,” Andrew said, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Seriously, though,” Jack said, as he finished attaching his rebreather, “as long as you can demonstrate a complete seal of your hood and it doesn’t look like shit, the Navy doesn’t care about a beard.”

  “I wonder if the Dominion Navy feels the same way,” Andrew wondered idly. Jack laughed and shook his head.

  “They don’t.”

  “Where’s your duty station during General Quarters?” Andrew asked the giant.

  “On the bridge, of course,” Jack explained. “Easier to protect the captain on the bridge if we have to repel boarders. Plus, I make one hell of a damage control specialist. I can hump a retardant hose solo.”

  “So let me get this straight. What you’re saying is I have to come to the bridge with you?”

  “Captain Ezell did say you’re my responsibility,” Jack replied, his grin wide. It seemed to Andrew the giant lived for adventure and terror, and violence to him was a state of being. “Hurry up and get your shoes on. We’ve got business on the bridge.”

  Andrew complied, and soon the two men were jogging down the corridor toward the bridge. Around them, men and women hurried to their designated posts, and while there was a general nervousness in the air, Andrew couldn’t see any obvious signs of fear. It tied back to what he’d observed while he was on the bridge. These sailors were eager to prove their worth. Andrew had a sinking feeling that whatever Dominion fleet was at Ceres wouldn’t enjoy what was coming.

  “How are you able to move this fast?” Andrew inquired as they stopped outside the bridge. The SEAL looked back at him, confused.

  “What, because you shot me?” he asked. Seeing Andrew’s confirming nod, Jack shrugged. “I have a meaty butt. Like I said, our tech is also a little more advanced than yours.”

  “Can I ask you something else?” Andrew paused for a moment, uncertain. “How do you cope?”

  “With losing my men in the raid?” Jack asked. Andrew nodded. Jack inhaled and paused, thinking. After a moment of silent contemplation, he explained, “I’ll grieve, eventually. It hurts now, but I also know one day we’ll all be in Valhalla and able to drink together, fight, feast, and have all the trappings of warriors. It sucks that I won’t get to do that now, but it helps, knowing one day that’ll change. I mourn for their families more, though. That’s something I live with in my heart, and I’ll have to face it in the darkest hour of the night. In each letter home, I have to remember most of them had loved ones, children. Their faces torment me, their tears lash at my soul like a psychological whip. But I have a job to do, and that hour of self-loathing is going to have to wait its fucking turn.”

  Andrew nodded. He’d been in a similar situation years before with his old partner, Agent Joe Buckley. It had been horrible, but Andrew and Joe had both understood there were lives to save, and Joe had ended up dying, while Andrew had rescued the slaves from the human traffickers. The subsequent internal investigation had been absolutely brutal, as he’d been forced to relive the moment time and time again. The worst part had been when Andrew had to tell Mama Buckley why her son wasn’t coming home for dinner. Sitting in the cheery kitchen in the dwindling daylight on Kurma, explaining to the elderly woman how her son had sacrificed himself to save the kidnap victims, had nearly broken Andrew’s heart.

  Andrew shook away the memory. Some ghosts were better left in the past.

  “Besides, we’ve got another battle to fight,” Jack continued. “It never ends.”

  “Maybe one day,” Andrew offered.

  Jack laughed and shook his head. “Gods, I hope not,” he said, “because then violent men like me will need to find new, actual work. I’m not too handy with a rake, you know, though I do know how to take out the trash.”

  The duo entered the bridge where Captain Ezell and her crew were already at their duty stations. Andrew, not knowing what else to do, stood next to Jack, feeling stupid and useless. Captain Ezell glanced over at him before shifting her steely gaze to Jack. The chief shrugged half-heartedly.

  “He’s staying with me, as ordered, ma’am.”

  “Taking my orders very literally, I see.”

  “Always, ma’am.”

  “Very well,” Captain Ezell said and turned her attention back to the bridge crew. “Now hear this. We’re not looking for a fight. However, be prepared for hostilities. We don’t know how Admiral Rankapurta will respond to Typhon Fleet showing up unannounced at his door.”

  “Fleet?” Andrew asked, looking at Jack.
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  The chief smiled. “You didn’t think the Iroquois would do something this crazy alone, did you?”

  “Helm, come to zero-one-zero degrees. Lee helm, raise your point to two and hold steady,” Captain Ezell ordered as she settled back into her command chair.

  “Coming to zero-one-zero degrees, aye, ma’am,” the helmsman called from her station.

  “Raise point to two and holding, aye, Captain,” the lee helmsman confirmed right after.

  Captain Ezell nodded as she continued to look at the tactical board on her chair. Leaning to her right, she glanced at LCDR Wandrey, who was watching her sailors at their stations like a hawk. “Ops, how’s the layout?”

  “Two task forces on radar, designating Task Force 1 and Task Force 2,” Commander Wandrey replied instantly as she brought up a new display on the large vidscreen on the wall. Small blips appeared with number and letter designations as the ships were assigned easy identifiers. “Standard defense layout for the planet, ma’am. Looks like all of Second Fleet is here.”

  “As we expected,” Captain Ezell murmured thoughtfully. “Comms?”

  “Message prepped and ready, ma’am,” a young ensign called back, his voice nearly cracking. Captain Ezell didn’t laugh or even smile, Andrew noticed, but there was definitely a twinkle in her eye.

  “Very good, Comms. Send it.”

  “Sending package now, ma’am,” the ensign responded.

  Captain Ezell leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers, her eyes locked on the large screen ahead. “I pray to the gods they listen to reason and stand down.”

  “Don’t they outnumber us, Captain?” Andrew asked in a quiet voice after making certain nobody else was paying attention. Captain Ezell looked at him briefly before nodding slightly.

  “If the task forces were together, sure,” she allowed. “But look at that monitor and recall just how big space is. With full burn, Task Force 2 could eventually catch up to Task Force 1, in four hours, give or take. If we attack—and I’m hoping we don’t have to fight, since that’s not why we’re here—we could engage Task Force 2 in an hour. That would give us three hours to engage and then retreat before TF1 could arrive to provide relief. They’re simply too far apart to support each other properly.”

  “I see.” Andrew nodded. He then noticed something else on the screen. “The moon being between the two could also prohibit their comms and slow down their approach. Hell, it could mask you, if necessary. You’re lucky that’s where it happened to be when you came through the gate.”

  “A good tactician doesn’t leave anything to chance,” Captain Ezell stated, a wry smile on her face. “And Lieutenant Commander Wandrey is an excellent tactician who makes her own luck. My only concern is if their Watcher picks ours up before we can find him.”

  “You have a Watcher ship?” Andrew asked, surprised. Captain Ezell laughed lightly.

  “Every Navy has their version of a Watcher ship,” she told him. “The Domai, the Caliphate, even the Abassi. We’d be remiss in our duties if we didn’t have the equivalent. Yes, we have some.”

  “Conn, Comms!” the young ensign called out. “TF1 has received our comms transmission. TF2 has yet to acknowledge receipt. Awaiting instructions, ma’am.”

  “Ops?” Captain Ezell turned slightly in her seat to look at LCDR Wandrey. “How do things look on your end?”

  “Plot’s still firming up, ma’am,” the operations officer replied. “I count eleven, that’s one-one, ships in TF1. No solution on TF2 at this time, Captain.”

  “Very good.” Captain Ezell nodded. “Let’s hope they see reason and listen to our message. I’d really like to have Edward on our side if we’re going to raid Ma’al-naar, or even be able to afford safe passage to occupy Lagertha.”

  “Missile launch detected!” Commander Wandrey called out. “Multiple tracks, bearing three-five-six degrees, zero point. Range 18,000 kilometers and closing fast.”

  “Damn you, Rankapurta,” Captain Ezell swore softly, low enough that only Andrew and Jack could hear. “You arrogant, insufferable ass.”

  “Saracen has jammers up and running,” Commander Wandrey reported. “Electronic countermeasures are up on the Aldea and the Arrow. The rest of the fleet is staying quiet per your orders, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Comms, relay the following to the Belfast.” Captain Ezell looked at the young officer. “Commence Apate-2.”

  “Commence Apate-2, aye, Captain,” the ensign confirmed before sending the message.

  Andrew, knowing better than to ask, watched the scene unfold on the bridge, in awe of the way the crew moved. It was nothing like he’d ever seen before. Nobody was panicking, and everyone was doing their job. The level of professionalism couldn’t be matched by the Dominion Navy. Maybe a hundred years ago, but not in the charged political climate currently tearing the Dominion apart.

  “Comms, order the fleet ahead full,” Captain Ezell said after she consulted the tactical display on her armchair. On the vidscreen, Andrew watched as a single ship remained slightly ahead of the rest of the fleet. Near the rear, three ships designated on the monitor broke off from the mass formation of the fleet and began to angle on a wide vector toward the southern hemisphere of the planet.

  That must be whatever Apate is, Andrew guessed as he watched the trio move further away on the vidscreen.

  “Conn, Ops,” Wandrey called. “Count five-seven-three missiles inbound. ETA is five minutes.”

  “They must have the new upgraded fish,” Captain Ezell murmured. “Confirm those numbers, Ops.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Andrew began to tune out the voices on the bridge as he watched the display, which told him much more than he could have gleaned from the captain. TF1 was pushing ahead, closing the distance between them and the Constitutional Alliance fleet. TF2 was beginning to move as well, but it was clear they wouldn’t be able to engage for a while. Both task forces of the Dominion Navy were marked in red, while all fourteen ships of Typhon Fleet were in green. Hundreds of small white dots leaving TF1 and moving to intercept them were undoubtedly the missiles LCDR Wandrey had been talking about. He squinted. That was a lot of missiles.

  The display began to change, and the ship in the lead, labeled the CAS Saracen, began to angle slightly south as the missiles drew closer. Instead of locking on to the mass of Typhon Fleet, over half chased the beleaguered ship. Andrew felt sick as he realized the ship was a destroyer, a relatively small ship. If more than four missiles hit it, the ship was toast.

  “Conn, Ops. Second salvo inbound!” Wandrey called. “Three-three-zero missiles, same course and bearing as previous.”

  “Coming in hot and dumb,” Captain Ezell said. “I thought you were better than this, Admiral.”

  With the Saracen bearing the brunt of the missiles in the first wave, Andrew was surprised when missiles began to suddenly disappear from the screen as they reached the space where the small destroyer had previously been. Dozens simply vanished from the screen, then a hundred. Andrew looked at Jack, who smiled.

  “That’s not your average destroyer,” Jack said. “Captain Irving’s laying down targeting foils for the missiles to charge. They think they’re hitting a full-sized destroyer, when they’re blowing up some foil in space.”

  “Clever,” Andrew stated. “But eventually the task force commander will notice.”

  “Eventually,” Jack agreed. “But by that time, we’ll be within knife-fighting range.”

  “Conn, Ops. We got a hit on a suspected watcher location,” Wandrey informed the captain, the barest hint of excitement coloring her voice for the first time.

  “Where at, Ops?” Captain Ezell asked.

  “Argos reported a small distortion of space at grid kilo-one-three, ma’am,” Wandrey replied. “Lost it at kilo-one-two, but the Argos is dropping charges in the area of kilo-one-one.”

  Captain Ezell’s brow furrowed as she watched the plotting track. “That makes no sense. Why would he come at us and not
watch from a safe distance?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s seeing?” Andrew suggested in a quiet voice. “Or he simply doesn’t believe it.”

  “That’s a hell of a thought,” Captain Ezell said, her voice pensive as her dark eyes continued to watch the display.

  Now the display showed the watcher ship, the CAS Argos, between the location of TF2 and the CAS fleet. It wasn’t too far from Ceres’ moon, Eshu, and was obviously hiding in the umbra to mask its signature. Undoubtedly the Dominion watcher ship was doing the same, and a deadly and silent game of cat and mouse was being played. In this game, though, the only prize for second place was probable death.

  It was both fascinating and nerve-wracking to watch. The missiles that had been in pursuit of the Saracen were mostly gone, leaving only six missiles still targeting the small destroyer. That number dropped to three, then two.

  Captain Ezell’s face was creased as she tracked the display. “Come on, John…come on,” she whispered.

  A bright bloom erupted next to the destroyer. A second one followed. The tracking showed the Saracen still there, though. Andrew heard the captain exhale in relief.

  “Tactical, what’s our range to optimum firing distance?” Captain Ezell asked a young woman seated near LCDR Wandrey.

  “Five seconds to optimal firing solution, ma’am,” came the quick reply. “Spinning up all tubes with missiles now.”

  “Belay that,” Captain Ezell said. “I want a mix of missiles and ECM decoys. Give me two missiles for every decoy, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, ma’am, changing firing solution now.”

  “We still have over three hundred missiles inbound in that second wave,” Jack reminded Andrew. “Just because we can’t see them because of the screen provided by the Saracen doesn’t mean they aren’t there. These will find gaps in the foil wall, no doubt. Then our ECM monkeys will earn their money.”

  “In range now, Captain,” the lieutenant at tactical called.

  “Tell the New Haven, Aldea, and Arrow they’re cleared to fire, Comms,” Captain Ezell ordered. “All other ships, launch missiles in waves with a mix of ECM decoys. I want them blind to what’s coming until it’s too late.”