The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  “I've been shot at before, captain.”

  Waugh nodded once before turning away.

  Nathan carried out an immediate diagnostic of all systems. Within four minutes it confirmed that all systems were green across his board. Happy with the results he realigned his sensors to the bow opticals.

  His main screen gave him his first live view of the huge enemy ship. Yes, there you are, you Pruessen bastard.

  “One minute to optimal firing range, captain,” O'Donnell said.

  “Very well.” Waugh slipped into the combat chair. “D-O, ship to ship.”

  “Channel open, captain.”

  “To Badger class Pruessen vessel. This is Commodore Waugh of the Athenian warship Truculent. I order you to cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. If you fail to do so I shall fire into you.”

  “This is Captain Foss of the independent trading vessel Picaroon.” His tone was atypically civilized for a headhunter. “I am holding twenty-three Francorum civilians aboard my vessel.”

  “I am aware of that, Captain Foss. Heave to immediately and prepare to be boarded. Consider this your last warning.”

  “Typical Athenian arrogance, but no matter. If you want the Francs come and get them.”

  Waugh drew her hand across her throat. “D-O, I'm going downstairs.”

  Demianski acknowledged with a short nod as the captain dropped into the combat sphere.

  “Captain, optimal torpedo range,” O'Donnell said.

  "Very well helm. It's my boat."

  “Aye, captain, your boat.”

  Minutes ticked by as the captain positioned Truculent for attack. A flash erupted from Picaroon's single stern launcher. Waugh fired a three second pulsar burst. Picaroon's torpedo disappeared in a blaze of silver fire.

  “WEO - captain.”

  “Matrakas,” said the Weapons Engineering Officer.

  “Type thirteens in all tubes thank you.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  Nathan nodded to himself. The low yield type thirteen's would easily neutralize Picaroon's shields, but were not powerful enough to endanger her interned passengers.

  The squeal from the targeting computer confirmed the lock-on to the enemy ship. The boat bucked as six torpedoes burst from the forward tubes. They tracked the fleeing vessel’s every sluggish avoidance maneuver. Pulsars struck out from Picaroon but headhunter technology could not match the torpedoes’ sophisticated evasion countermeasures. The torpedoes surrounded the enemy and detonated simultaneously. Nathan averted his eyes as six thermonuclear explosions flared from his screen.

  Sensor readings indicated that more than sixty of Picaroon's shield blisters had been overloaded by the massive blast.

  Picaroon maintained course for the Rio Grande. She rotated through her longitudinal axis, bringing her bow to bear on Truculent. Two flashes erupted from Picaroon’s nose. Without altering course Waugh picked off the incoming torpedoes with pulsar fire.

  Closing to energy weapons range with any vessel involved inherent dangers. Although the Badger was an obsolete vessel, it retained the capacity to hurt Truculent. After all, a drunk holding a knife could do far more damage than a drunk without a knife.

  The captain methodically picked away at Picaroon's defenses while deftly evading the headhunter’s pulsar fire. One by one Picaroon’s weapons fire trickled to a splutter then died. Nathan would never forget one moment of Waugh’s virtuoso performance.

  “Tactical, report,” Waugh ordered.

  “All offensive and defensive weapons destroyed,” Hookes said. “Hard radiation on the hull makes internal sensor readings foggy but I confirm zero plague emissions. There are five internally shielded compartments on Picaroon. It is likely one of them contains the civvies. I am collating readings and will transmit same to the boarding party.”

  Nathan switched through his menus until he located the marine detachment. They had slipped out of the boat bay, slid their LB under the monitor's shields and latched onto the topside. There they applied full engine power until their speed matched Truculent’s.

  “When you're ready, LT,” Waugh said.

  “Departing now, captain.”

  Two marine Spartans did not constitute an army. However, two marine Spartans and twenty top-of-the-line type K14 combat 'droids, armed to the teeth with the best light weaponry in the League, came damn close.

  Three minutes later the packed landing boat latched onto Picaroon's port midships hatch. COB Scaroni would use her universal tumbler to unscramble the locking code of the enemy’s outer hatch. Then, may the Lord have mercy on their souls. The marine's code with headhunters was one of giving no quarter. Nathan’s teeth set. Go for it marines. Kill them all.

  “Hatch cracked,” Jakovich reported. “Opening now.” A short pause. “Corridor clear. Boarding vessel, now.”

  “Watch your step marines.”

  “Always, captain.”

  Contrary to the marine's suppositions, headhunters were warm-blooded mammals indistinguishable from human beings on sensor readouts. The marines relied on Hookes’ educated guesswork to lead them to the civvies.

  Nathan followed their progress on his sensors and imagined the scene in his mind. Nathan picked out the individuals from their comm emissions marked by green icons. The COB and CPO Lerner on the landing boat’s flight deck. Leo standing by the hatch with pulsar rifle in hand, observing. Next, a great mass of green mechanical signatures marched relentlessly through the corridors, occasional red icons falling to bursts of fire. Within the storm of metal bodies, two humans directing the mission.

  The standard complement of a Badger class varied between having fifty to sixty crewmen. The marines were justifiably confident of their ability to deal with the larger force.

  So far resistance had been surprisingly moderate. The marines expected to take care of business with little difficulty. After all, the enemy were nothing more than a ragtag bunch of pirates. Nathan frowned. Why is my back throbbing so painfully?

  “LT,” Hookes said, “I detect a large concentration of warm bodies in section one-niner on your current deck. I read no energy emissions. It could be the civvies.”

  “Roger that,” the marine acknowledged. “Proceeding to section one-niner.”

  Nathan's back flared, causing an involuntary gasp to escape his lips.

  “Are you all right, ensign?”

  Nathan had been concentrating so intently on the unfolding scene he had not noticed the captain step behind him to observe the mission on his more-detailed screens.

  “Yes, captain.” The fire between his shoulders continued to burn ferociously. What should I do? Tell the captain? Tell her what? I have a sense of impending disaster? Nathan knew danger lurked in the shadows of the very near future. Not for him, but for the boarding party.

  “Something's not right here, captain.” His eyes stayed locked to his readouts.

  “Are you exercising another hunch, ensign?”

  “I can't explain it.” He committed the cardinal sin, abandoned his screen and stared at the captain. “This feels wrong.”

  If anyone could appreciate the value of good instincts it would be Donatella Waugh. Nathan had his premonition pain to warn him and she had thirty years on the deck of a monitor. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Lieutenant Jakovich, report.”

  “Approaching section one-niner, captain.”

  “Lieutenant Hookes, is there anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Captain, I read twenty live bodies. No weapons signatures.” Hookes paused briefly before adding, “In fact I detect no energy emissions at all on that deck.”

  Nathan caught the fleeting exchange between the captain and D-O. It was as if two minds connected for an instant. The commander's head shook ever so slightly.

  “Lieutenant Jakovich, withdraw to the landing boat.”

  “We’re almost there, captain.”

  “Lieutenant, withdraw immediately.”r />
  “Very well, captain, we ar …” The transmission ended with a forbidding abruptness.

  Nathan gaped at his screens. The energy signals from the landing party had vanished. Astonishingly, all signs of life had disappeared from the enemy vessel. What the hell?

  “Lieutenant, respond.”

  Nothing.

  “Tactical, what's happening?”

  Bewilderment replaced Hookes' normally composed features. “I'm not sure, captain. I'm detecting nothing from Picaroon’s interior. I can’t explain it.”

  “Luis?”

  “Nothing,” he said bitterly. “I have tried every channel, all overrides. I can't raise them.”

  Nathan examined his screen to assure himself that Picaroon had not self-destructed. Landing Boat one remained tethered to Picaroon. From the outside everything appeared normal.

  Several silent, agonizing minutes passed before a scratchy attempted transmission came through. The D-O’s face creased in frustration as he attempted to clean up the signal.

  LB one disengaged from Picaroon.

  “… one respond. I say again, Truculent, this is landing boat one.” The distress in Scaroni’s voice made her words difficult to read. “Am returning to the boat now. Require immediate medical assistance. I have wounded aboard.”

  “Bring her home, COB,” the captain said, “we’ll be ready for you.”

  “Roger that. LB one out.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Orson fought to control his temper. He longed to slowly garrote every idiotic headhunter aboard. Picaroon's bridge crew grinned like panting dogs. Foss scowled at their behavior. At least he knew the score.

  “Helm,” Foss said, “ETA at the frontier?”

  “Sixteen point two hours, captain.”

  “Captain,” Weiss said, “permission to secure from Alert Condition one.”

  Foss bared his teeth. “Why in God's name would I do that?”

  “We beat them,” the XO said. “They won't follow us across the border, so we're clear. The crew has been at Alert Condition one for six hours and I think – ”

  “I don't give a fuck what you think.” Foss’ infuriated voice thundered against the bulkheads. “Comm Officer, pipe me throughout the ship. All departments, including crew quarters.”

  “Aye-aye, captain. Inter-ship channels open.”

  “This is the captain,” Foss continued in the same uncompromising tone. “We still have an Athenian monitor on our stern and I for one do not take these Athenians for granted. They have an exceptional reputation. All platoon leaders prepare for boarding party action." He paused and sighed heavily. "All departments will remain at Alert Condition one until further notice. That is all.”

  “Captain,” the xo said, “you don't seriously think they’ll attempt another boarding after the pasting we gave them?”

  “There is nothing more certain in the universe. They are Monitor Corps.”

  “In that case we’ll capture or kill them,” Weiss said. “Either way we’ll get a good bounty from this mission.”

  Foss ignored him. Orson suspected that, like himself, Foss resisted the urge to agree. With what Picaroon had up her sleeve the Athenians were as good as dead.

  CHAPTER 49

  Commodore Waugh rested her hands on the briefing room table. She had lost people before but never like this. Sergeant Redpath sat to her immediate left. His dark, rigid façade could not disguise his monumental rage. Doc Kelso had treated Redpath’s superficial wounds and Waugh spared him what recovery time she could. She had never seen the veteran marine so shaken.

  “All right Rusty, let's have it.”

  “It was a standard boarding op. Any of the pricks who stuck their heads up, lost them.” His eyes glazed over as he recounted the nightmare. “Resistance minimal. Our scans showed zero weapons emissions, no booby traps, nothing out of the norm. It was too easy. I should’ve known something was wrong.

  “We got your comm. and began pulling back to the boat. Picaroon’s internal power went down. The ‘droids froze. Their power readings were in the green but they didn’t respond to commands.” Redpath drew his sidearm and tripped the selection stud to stun. Officers leapt aside when he raised the weapon and fired. The energy dissipated harmlessly against the far bulkhead. “On Picaroon this did not fire. A full charge in the mag but nothing happened when I pulled the trigger. Same with my rifle.”

  “Energy dampener?” Waugh suggested to her D-O.

  “Sounds like it. We’ve been trying to develop one for years. How could a pack of savages get their hands on such advanced technology?”

  “We’ll leave explanations to the science division,” Waugh said. “Go on Rusty.”

  “Lieutenant Jakovich and I fixed bayonets and began to withdraw. The hatch to section nineteen opened. There must’ve been twenty of them. It reminded me of one of those old Gothic horror vids. They were armed with swords. Swords for fuck’s sake. They came at us in waves, screaming like wild animals. The landing boat was within sight but we couldn’t break free of the surrounding pack. The LT took a blade to the chest but fought on. We were barely holding our own but we couldn't win against those odds. We were dead meat. Then the boat crew came out for us. The COB, Chief Lerner and … young Mister Saunders. They punched a hole through the pack and held them off while we made a run for the boat. The LT had taken another hit to the arm and was bleeding out. I dragged her into the LB. The boat crew were bloody magnificent. They used their rifles as clubs and fought like warriors. They almost made it back to the hatch when Mister Saunders fell.

  “They hacked into him like wild beasts.” Rusty’s haunted gaze dropped to the deck. “If we tried to rescue him we would have been overrun and lost the boat. We had no choice but to seal the hatch and withdraw.”

  Luis slid a tumbler of rum along the table to the marine. The double shot of courage disappeared in a single gulp.

  A deathly silence enveloped the crowded room.

  Waugh took in the room. The faces of Truculent’s senior officers were set in uniformly grim, determined casts. “Does anyone feel like going home?”

  Redpath’s back straightened, a murderous glint lighting his eyes. Waugh saw the same spark burning from every eye in the room.

  “Very well. We’ll finish what we started. Now that we know what we’re up against we’ll make the bastards bleed.” She rubbed her eyes. “It’s time to review our available assets.”

  ***

  With Lt Hookes in the briefing room, Nathan occupied the Tactical Station. Ensign Allan Mattich had the helm, Lt Alderman took up the Operations Station and had the Conn. Everyone was vigilant to any change from Picaroon. Allan grimly concentrated on his readouts, his fingers never far from the firing studs. The sinister side of Nathan’s mind hoped Picaroon would try something. Allan and Leo had been friends for three tours. In Allan's current mood he would likely obliterate the headhunter from existence if she twitched. That was fine with Nathan. As for the civilians? Far better they die quickly now than to spend the rest of their lives as slaves.

  Leo's smiling face intruded into Nathan’s thoughts. The image brought with it a terrible pain Nathan had not experienced in many, many years. He forced the tragic picture from his mind and worked the problem.

  Nathan examined Picaroon’s sensor logs while absently rubbing at the bump on his right eyebrow. The dampening field had been disengaged. Throughout the enemy ship pockets of sensor darkness confirmed various sections had been security sealed. A level one security field surrounded the engineering section as well as the bridge and forward weapons bays. Somehow the enemy found a way to generate the energy soaking field without affecting gravity and life support. Throughout the rest of the ship red icons indicated roving patrols.

  Five key areas had been marked as possible sites for the missing civvies. What lay behind the double-ply battle armor and internal shielding was anyone’s guess. Only a direct assault would provide the answers. The enemy's e
nergy dampener field awaited them. If they could not solve that problem the boarding parties would be massacred. For Nathan the real impact came not from the discovery of a new form of technology, but in the reality that Lt Jakovich would probably die from her wounds, and Leo was dead. The image of Leo’s young wife and tiny son pushed into Nathan’s thoughts. With an angry shake of his head he pushed the picture aside.

  Nathan rubbed his hands across his face, digging the heels of his thumbs into his eyes. What’s taking them so long? The senior officers had been locked in the briefing room for hours. Talk, talk, talk. The headhunter would slip across the Rio Grande into the safety of Pruessen space in less than fourteen hours. They needed to return to Picaroon and kill every last headhunter. Nathan held his head in his hands, taking deep, steadying breaths until he brought his murderous rage under control. As his hands slid from his face the bridge hatch opened.

  Moe stepped onto the bridge followed by Meta and Ozzie. They leaned against the tactical console. Moe stared at him reading his confirmation. She spoke for all of them in a low, morose voice.

  “The rumor’s true then. Leo …”

  Nathan nodded. The middies hung their heads.

  “Don't you dare!” Nathan’s savage tone caused his friends to recoil. “Don't you dare grieve for him. Not yet! Not till we trade blood for blood.”

  “I’d like nothing more than to get my hands on the bastards who did this,” Meta said. “But you don't seriously think they’ll take us on a boarding mission do you?”

  “They better not try stopping me.” His comm beeped and he keyed the larynx mike. “Telford.”

  “Have the middies arrived, Ensign Telford?” the D-O asked.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Show them in.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.” He glared at his friends, knowing full well how they reacted when his fury surfaced. Well bad luck. They’ll have to get over it and grow up real fast. “If anyone wants out of this, say so now.” His friends shook their heads. “Good. Let's see what the skipper wants.”

  Nathan led them across the bridge to the briefing room hatch, stopping by the Operations Station. “Sir, permission to leave my post.”