by Chris Hechtl
He frowned and then got up and moved in to where Sedrick was leaning over his console swearing under his breath.
“Say that again?” he demanded, cutting Sedrick off.
Sedrick sputtered to a halt and then looked up at him helplessly.
“Sir, the mass readings on the cruisers are off. We are also picking up new emissions and the status is rapidly changing. Correction, we are now seeing small craft launching,” the CIC rating said, voice rising in tension.
The admiral turned to the plot and went over to it. He quickly zoomed into the cruiser force behind him and saw the cloud of craft deploying from it. With sick dread he realized what he was seeing. “Bombers,” he murmured. “It's a trick!” he snarled. “Recall the fighters!” he bellowed, turning to the communications rating.
“Sir, they won't have the fuel or time to hit them. The math doesn't support it,” Jeremy said urgently.
“Launch …,” Cyrano frowned. “Launch the reserve fighters. Hell, launch anything that can shoot. We need to change the fleet OPS now! Alert Obliterator that it's a trap! Move the screen back to cover our rear …”
As fighters began to launch in dribs and drabs, the bombers cut the distance in half. He was sickly certain time was of the essence, and he didn't have enough of it or fighters to spare. Guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but he fought it down. He had to think, but he was well aware that he didn't have the luxury of time anymore.
~~~^~~~
Admiral Mueller swore under his breath as he saw the craft form up. There were two solid three-dimensional wedges of fighters in front of them, about two dozen fighters in total. The rest had to be bombers.
“Guns, fire what we've got into that mass. We need to break them up. Launch the reserve fighters now! All ships prepare for torpedo runs!” he snarled.
~~~^~~~
Hurranna grinned as the fighters settled down on their headings. The grin was short-lived when she saw the wall of metal coming their way. “Incoming cloud!” she called out in warning and then began to jink along the course her Artoo plotted for her.
~~~^~~~
Trajan watched the plan play out and the real attack go in. It was out of his hands now; his improvised variant of Dawning Hunger's original plan was now up to the fliers millions of kilometers away. Each of them was in for a fight of their lives. All too many would lose that fight.
He hoped it was worth it.
He had known that De Gaulte considered the bombers as the biggest threat. That was why he'd decoyed them with that furball and the one currently breaking up ahead of them.
The decoys had drawn the enemy fighters off in the wrong direction.
But, the attack on the rear was just the first part.
“Order to the carriers. Time to dance. Drop stealth and launch on the enemy. I say again, Magnum Launch,” he ordered, leaning forward expectantly.
~~~^~~~
Hurranna moved in tight to the bomber she was escorting. One of her pups was gone; she couldn't spare the attention to figure out whom at the moment. Her entire world was on getting that bomber into engagement range.
Not just engagement range, but deep enough into the enemy's basket to make sure the ordinance was rammed home and not picked off by their point defense. That was the tricky dangerous part.
She especially hated how the bomber settled on a straight-line course during the final phase of her attack profile. The bomber she was escorting was lined up on an enemy dreadnought.
She corkscrewed around the other bird, using her guns, flares, chaff, ECM, missiles, and counterfire to protect the single-minded bomber on her final run.
The problem was, the tighter they were the bigger the target. And if one ship goes, the resulting detonation of their ordinance and power plant would most likely take the other with it.
“Torpedo one away! Torpedo two away! Both torpedoes hot straight and normal!” the bomber's bombardier called out.
“Up, up and away!” the pilot said, pulling up abruptly just as Hurranna passed on his port flank. She scissored away, running parallel to the dreadnought as she spat fire at them and the torpedoes. Both torpedoes were firing off chaff, flares, and decoys to protect themselves.
As she watched, one of the torpedoes hit the shields and erupted, tearing them down with incredible destructive fire as their shape charges penetrated the shields and seared the hull.
The second torpedo managed to get through the brief fire and flame and then rammed herself home just as a shot glanced against Hurranna's shields sending her spinning across the sky.
She recovered just in time, breathing in and out as her implants did their best to keep her awake. When she looked again, the dreadnought was on fire; her midships opened to space in several places. A second pair of torpedoes rammed themselves into her, tearing her apart in an eye-searing explosion that made her raise her arm instinctively and flip the ship over.
“Damn,” she said, blinking her eyes fiercely to try to get her vision back. “Just damn,” she said again over and over.
~~~^~~~
Admiral Scott Mueller had one moment to see the Belenus get torn apart and then it was Obliterator's turn. “Order all ships to get the hell clear!” he snarled just as frantic cries announced another bomber had locked onto his ship.
He turned to see it launch her torpedoes. A moment later two more bombers launched theirs as well. Their point defense picked off one torpedo and one of the bombers, but he was sickly certain they weren't going to get them all.
They weren't that lucky. Not by a long shot.
~~~^~~~
Captain Albu snarled as he saw the bombers tearing up the dreadnoughts. They were ignoring his cruisers, which he was grateful for. But he wanted a little revenge, so he fired a missile spread on the enemy cruisers and then launched his fighters. He couldn't do much to stop the attack but at least he could make sure the bombers didn't have a home to fly back to.
~~~^~~~
Captain Tocci saw the incoming fire. “Fight the ship,” she ordered her TAO, settling herself in the chair and preparing to receive damage reports.
“DCC, expect incoming fire. All hands, we're about to pay for our pleasures,” she said over the intercom. “Be prepared to handle it. So far two dreadnoughts are dust. The third is about to be dust. The bombers did an outstanding job,” she said and then cut herself off from saying more as the chatter in the tactical section suddenly intensified. “Captain out,” she said, taking her thumb off the intercom switch to pay attention to what was going on.
Chapter 56
A shot into the ship's midships cut through the shields of Skale and tore the flank armor open. The strike cut into the ship killing dozens of crewmen and cutting others like Nate Haskins off from the rest as it tore open the hull. The breach tore through a processing room that fed the bridge and command systems knocking the primary sensor feeds and communications out. Diagnostics quickly kicked in and some self-repair systems worked around the damage, but the ship was effectively deaf, dumb, and blind until something could be done.
~~~^~~~
“Hang in there. We're coming,” Renee murmured as she watched the cruiser squadron getting hammered. Three of the ships had been destroyed, another battered into a wreck. But the rest were still there.
“Alert the fighters and bombers that we can recover them. Put SAR on alert,” she said, turning slightly to the side to her XO.
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
~~~^~~~
“The breach has sealed the bulkheads between the nearest work parties and the damage. DCC parties are working on cutting their way through now. It's not easy,” the XO reported.
“Keep at it. We can't even get a feed from the other ships, damn it,” Captain Tocci growled. She noted green DCC crew behind the XO.
Each of the red-suited crew had a firefighter helmet and a green suit. Striped reflector strips on their suit glittered in the emergency lights. They were there for visibility in poor light. Each helmet had built-in infra
red sensors in their visor as well as cameras to augment the crewman's implant vision. Suit air conditioning was on to keep the crew member from overheating. It also served as part of their life support. The DCC suits were tough, with extra padding and thermal protection as well as modules and ports to allow easy swap out of tanks and other gear.
“We're working on it,” the XO replied with a nod.
“I hate being like this. We're a sitting duck,” the captain snarled. “Comm, see if we can get someone outside. If not, someone launch a ship. A shuttle, a drone, I don't care. We need some eyes and ears people!”
~~~^~~~
Nate came too woozily. He hadn't been fully knocked out, just knocked on his ass and momentarily stunned. He did a self-assessment as training dictated. He breathed in and out, letting his training and his implants control the fear and his respiration. He turned his lights on slightly and did a quick assessment. He was stuck in a pocket, cut off from the ship. A check of his HUD told him the compartment was vented to space. Not good.
He did a quick assessment of his skinsuit. He had about two hours of air onboard, plus up to an hour of internal supplies built into his implants. But the internals meant he'd have to shut down and more or less meditate until help came.
He assessed the situation and then called out, sending his IFF tag out and waiting for a reply. When none came, he moved out, gingerly moving debris. The deck still had residual gravity, no doubt from bleed off from the other decks. That was good. Also, the inertial dampeners were online; otherwise, he'd be a greasy stain on the bulkhead.
That image made him pause and swallow hastily. Suddenly the situation was all too real.
“Haskins, report!” he heard. The radio scratched.
“Yes! Yes! I'm here!” he babbled and then caught himself. “E-3 Haskins reporting. I don't see anyone else around me,” he said, following protocol.
“Can that! We need the ship's systems backup! The bridge is deaf and blind, kid! So get your shit together and get them back online pronto!”
“Yeah, sure, I'll just work that evolution,” Nate muttered, surveying the area around him. He found his tool kit but little else.
He could see stuff outside, stars and ships and stuff through the breach but his attention was on the panel in front of him. He was the only one in the area; everyone else was outside. Technically, he was trapped due to debris, but he was focused on the job. They needed to get the systems in the compartment backup and running like the PO said.
He pulled the warped panel and then swore. It was a tangled mess, no easy fix. There were broken wires and ODN cables everywhere.
He ran through the diagnostics until he found several problems. Wires had been ripped, easy enough to splice, but they had also been jerked out of their connectors. Hair thin wires, of various colors without any hint of which went where in the rat’s nest. Oh, sure, they were labeled, but who could read the tiny ass lettering on wires that thin?
He scowled as he tried to figure out a solution to the problem. There wasn't an easy one. He first worked on the easy fixes, knocking them down but apparently that wasn't enough.
“What's taking so long?” the section chief demanded. “I'd be done by now!”
“Working on it!” he said. He took the easy jobs first, patching the split wiring, soldering and taping them. But, that wasn't enough to get around the problems in the system. He pulled up the diagnostics again and then the wiring diagram. Well, that told him which wires went into which ports on the connectors. Okay, he could deal with that.
Unfortunately, it wasn't so easy. He tried to strip the wires, but it was a bitch working with gloves and his small tools. They were on a time crunch too, and the constant nagging from the chief didn't help. He hunched his shoulders, giving monosyllable replies as he tried to work the problem. It was just like in the pressure cooker he reminded himself.
“Come on, kid! I'd …”
“So not helping now! Working here!” he roared impatiently as he tried to work. When the chief sputtered and then got deathly quiet, he went back to focusing on the job.
He finally realized he had no choice but to bite the bullet. “Going off comms,” he said over the link before he inhaled and then exhaled slowly. He set his implants to vacuum and then broke the SEALs on his gloves.
Alarms wailed as air rushed out. He felt the cold bite his skin all over, but he ignored it. He let all the air in his lungs out and tried not to close his eyes. His training had taught him that if he did and the tears froze, he'd never get them open again.
The air rush made his ears pop and then there was blessed silence from the shrieks of the alarms. That lasted a few seconds until the implant alarms began to pulse in his vision. He pushed them to the side and then got to work.
His skin pricked and then went dead, but he got busy. He forced the shakes down; he had about thirty minutes of reserve oxygen in his implants to stay conscious. Of course, he was supposed to be standing still when that happened, but he had to focus. He hated how dead his fingers felt, but he kept moving.
~~~^~~~
PO Bert Daily used his command override to see what the kid was doing. He saw through the kid's feed and wasn't surprised by the hell the kid was in. But he hadn't locked up; as the PO watched, the kid was working on something. It took him a moment to realize the kid's gloves were off. Right around that time he noted the kid's internal alarms were going off, and the kid was sucking vacuum in order to get the job done.
He felt surprise and then grudging respect. “Okay, kid, get it done so I can give you an attaboy and kick your ass,” he muttered under his breath.
He turned at the sight of shadows in his peripheral vision and noted the work party stop and look up at him for orders. “Well, don't just stand there! Get your ass movin!” he snarled, waving a hand to get them back into motion again.
~~~^~~~
Nate worked fast, but by the time he was done, his skin and lungs felt numb despite his implants. He'd dropped the tools twice, but he'd gotten the job done. He double checked his work and then carefully pushed the connectors back into place. The green lights on the board told him everything was good, so he thankfully pulled his suit gloves back on and sealed them clumsily. He hit the air return and air; glorious air flooded his helmet and systems. He waited a beat and then inhaled and nearly passed out. His mouth and throat were dry and painful. He coughed, retching in pain as he started to breathe. His chest felt like it was on fire; the implants didn't seem to be helping much with the pain, just dulling it a little.
Finally, he realized he'd had the override on to keep himself functional. He couldn't turn it off though; he still had work to do. He tried to focus and work the problem.
He couldn't hear; it took him a moment to open the text box. A list of diagnostics came up. He checked them and then wearily got to work again.
It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder a few minutes later and saw another headlamp that he realized rescue was at hand. He turned to see the chief push him aside and then get to work. He gratefully moved out into the gangway, being mindful of his suit and the sharp edges of the shredded metal around him.
A PO put him to work moving debris until a medic pulled him out. At that point, he was ready to collapse. He wasn't certain why. The medic seemed to be pissed at the PO for some reason, but the chief waved the Veraxin to take him.
At first, he wanted to struggle and protest, his pride was still there, but the medic firmly picked him up with her lobster claws and he realized there was no point resisting any further. She tucked him in her arms and moved him to an improvised airlock. Once through she moved him to a triage station that had been set up.
~~~^~~~
“Systems back up! We've got sensors!” OPS reported.
The captain looked over to the feeds as they began to refresh. “Good. Then let's use them. Guns, can we get some action going?” Captain Tocci asked. “We need to coordinate our defense. I don't want to get hit again.”
�
�Already working on it,” the TAO stated, issuing orders to the crew.
~~~^~~~
Admiral Wong grimaced when he noted two of the battle cruisers drop their deception and begin to launch fighters. “Message to the flag. We've got more fighters and bombers than anticipated. Advise we change course and evade action,” he said, slowly sitting back in fatigue and frustration.
~~~^~~~
“They’re turning tail!” a pilot exulted over the net.
“Good. Let them,” Commander Bleakly said tiredly. “All ships, let them go. We've got friends to look after. Anyone who sees a pilot, call it in.”
~~~^~~~
Chief Sinclair checked on Nate and smiled at the kid. The kid had a respirator mask over his face and vacuum treatment bags on his hands. “You did good, kid,” the chief said, hunkering down to where the kid was laying on the floor, propped up by a bulkhead. When she realized the kid couldn't hear her, she switched to implant text.
“You did good. The medics got your vital signs when you breached your suit,” she said when he looked questioningly at her. She smiled as she saw the ah ha expression. Apparently, no one had told him. “Yeah, the implants tattle on you. Get used to it.” She shook her head and looked around to the busy group and then back to him. “Don't ever do that again unless you gotta. And I admit, that was an I gotta if I'd ever seen one,” she said gruffly.
He just shrugged in self-depreciation and then winced.
She reached out and squeezed his right shoulder once. “Welcome to the vacuum breather's club, kid. Admission is easy. Staying alive is harder. Doc said you'll be back on your feet in an hour. We'll put you on light duty.”
“I can …,” he tried to croak out, but she waved him off.
