by PJ Strebor
“Smart boy,” he whispered. “Now to phase two.”
***
“What’s their condition, doctor?” Coppins asked.
“Captain Reinhardt will be up and about in a few weeks.”
Port Dortmund’s superior medical facilities had convinced Coppins to transfer his wounded here.
“And Commander Saxon?”
“I’ve operated, but to be honest I don’t know how he’s still alive. I pulled thirteen fragments from his chest and abdomen.”
“Thirteen?” Coppins asked.
“The three bullets fragmented upon entry. I managed to remove all of them but they did terrible damage. Frankly, he shouldn’t have made it off the table. Something in this man refuses to die. Remarkable.”
“So he may live?”
The doctor shrugged. “If I went by the book he shouldn’t be alive, so your guess is as good as mine.”
***
“What can I get for you, sir?” the barman asked.
“You wouldn’t have Oceanian beer by any chance?” Nathan asked.
“I have, but it’s pricey.”
Nathan nodded. After four days in the rain forest, twenty minutes under the hotel’s hot shower had washed away the bulk of his sweat and grime. He almost felt human again. A cold beer and a first class meal would complete the job.
The sensor suppressor harness, had chafed his skin during his trek to the hotel. He had to conceal it under his clothes until he found himself in a place surrounded by thousands of people. The beer arrived and he took a long sip and sighed.
Right. Tonight, I get the hell out of Dodge.
***
As the sun dipped below the horizon Nathan finished packing bags. A knock at the door. He grabbed his pistol, fitted the silencer, and held it behind his back. Opening the door the valet handed over his freshly cleaned Pruessen naval uniform. After giving him a generous tip he closed the door and dressed.
Fifteen minutes later he exited the cab at the Port Dortmund spaceport and with a bag in each hand strode across the tarmac. Being a civilian facility the security was practically nonexistent.
Five E boats were sitting on their skids with their fantails down. Nathan approached the closest attack boat and looked for a sentry post. Seeing none he strode up the ramp formed by the lowered fantail and into the boat. At the end of the boat bay a hatch opened. A Pruessen sailor stepped into the bay then propped in place. A man in his late thirties, a chief petty officer with the nametag Kellerman.
Nathan smiled. “How are you doin’.”
“Ah, good,” the chief said. “Whatcha doin’ here?”
“Transfer.” He held out his hand. “Vogel.”
The Pruessen took the offered hand. “I guess I better see your transfer orders.”
“Sure thing, Chief,” Nathan said, lowering the bags to the deck. Reaching inside his jacket, his hand closed around the handle of his Glock. He drew the weapon from its holster and pointed it at the sailor’s head. “Keep your mouth shut and hand me your sidearm. And Kellerman, do it slowly.”
Using thumb and forefinger Kellerman removed his pulsar pistol and handed to Nathan, who tucked it into his waistband.
“Take me to engineering. And get your hands down.”
The CPO lowered his hands but didn’t move. “You’re the one we’ve been tracking.” Nathan nodded. “You killed a lot of my crew mates.”
“They were trying to kill me.”
“No they weren’t,” Kellerman spat. “We’re all under strict orders to capture you. If anyone killed you they’d be dead themselves.”
“I’ve seen Pruessen hospitality before and I’ve no intention of being captured again.” He examined the stern faced NCO. “Are you chief of the boat?”
“Yes.”
“How many crew aboard?”
The Pruessen set his lips into a tight line.
Nathan sighed. “I could have killed you, but chose not to. If it makes any difference to you, I give you my pledge as a commissioned officer that I won’t kill you if you cooperate.”
“I’m no traitor, Vogel. Or whatever your name is. So you may as well kill me.”
“Very well, on your knees.”
Kellerman held his chin high and did not budge. Nathan moved behind the chief and kicked him hard in the right thigh. The Pruessen staggered forward and Nathan pushed his onto his knees. Placing his pistol into a shoulder strapped holster, he retrieve the pulsar and pressed the barrel against the Pruessen’s head.
“I’m sure you’re willing to die for your duty but if I pull this trigger, even on the stun setting, it will fry your brain. Probably not enough to kill you but you’ll spend the rest of your life as a drooling excuse for a man, wishing only for the bliss of death.”
Kellerman must be scared but also stubbornly determined. “Get on with it then.”
He might be Pruessen, but by god he’s got guts.
Nathan shot him in the middle of his back then dragged the limp body into a nearby storage room. Removing Kellerman’s external comm he fitted into his left ear.
“Now,” Nathan whispered, “if the layout of this boat is anything like a monitor, engineering should be on the next deck down.”
He assumed that the boat would have some crewmen on shore leave. But how many were left aboard? Taking the access ladder to deck three he made his way aft till he came to the door marked Engineering. It had keypad entry but the green light indicated that the hatch had been left unlocked. Nathan stepped inside. The set up was not dissimilar to a monitor. Far more cluttered and lacking in sophistication but everything appeared to be in the right place. A young ensign manned a station on the port side of the boat. Silently, Nathan stepped up behind him and pressed the barrel of his pulsar pistol against his throat.
“How many personnel left aboard?” he whispered into the young officer’s ear. The blood immediately drained from his face and his bottom lip quivered. Nathan pressed the barrel hard into his neck. “How many?”
“T- twenty.”
“Is your senior engineer aboard?”
He nodded vigorously. “Reactor room.”
“Turn around, Ensign.”
The terrified junior officer couldn’t be more than twenty-one. Nathan read his nametag.
“Winkler, listen to me very carefully. You can live through this day if you cooperate. Do that and I give you my word that you won’t be harmed. Understand?”
More vigorous head shaking.
“Very well. Now, what’s the condition of your buffers.”
“They’re at fifty percent,” Winkler said, rushing his words. “Captain always wants fifty percent in case of emergencies.”
“Right,” Nathan said. “Begin recharging them to a hundred percent.”
The Ensign pointed to a console. Nathan stood aside to let the kid do his work. The Pruessen worked diligently for several minutes. The hatch to the reactor room swished open. A full-grade commander froze in place upon seeing a man with a pistol pointed at him. Nathan gestured him forward with a crooked finger.
“What the hell are you playing at,” he glanced at the nametag, “petty officer Vogel. By God you’ll stand a general court-martial for this. Now stop this nonsense and give me that weapon.”
“Sure thing,” Nathan said, then stunned him in the chest.
Stepping up to the engineering console he saw that the power levels to the buffers were at seventy percent and rising rapidly.
“How long, Winkler?”
“About ten minutes, sir.”
“Have you done bridge orientation?”
“Yes, sir. It’s s-o-p.”
“Can you leave this to recharge.”
“Sir?”
“Does it have an automatic shut-off?”
Winkler nodded.
“Good, come with me.”
Making his way toward the bow, with Winkler leading the way, he came to the weapons bay. Nathan qu
ickly found the controls he needed. He poured power into the buffers of the two forward pulsars. Satisfied, he reset the security codes on the two entry points.
After retrieving his bags he headed to the bridge. They made it there without encountering any other crewmen. The bridge hatch was sealed so he had Winkler open it.
Nathan changed the security code and did the same to the other bridge access points and the briefing room hatch. The bridge layout resembled a monitor although the helm controls were crude by comparison. Instead of touchpad controls there were buttons and switches. It appeared that both navies favored a straight forward set up but this navy’s technology lagged decades behind that of Athens. While the buffers finished topping up Nathan activated the helm controls, which had been left on standby. He ran a quick diagnostic.
“Winkler, how long?” The young officer sat at the Pruessen equivalent of the D-O’s station.
“Almost there, sir.”
“Right. Seal the boat.” Winkler hesitated, until Nathan palmed his sidearm.
“Aye, sir, sealing the boat.”
“Make us space ready.” Nathan stood behind Winkler’s station patiently watching as the readings on the panel changed from red to green.
“We’re good to go, sir,” Winkler said. “Green across the board.”
Nathan strapped into the helmsman’s seat and brought the pulsars online. The boat lifted from the apron and he turned her away from the spaceport before taking her to two hundred meters. Hovering the boat he pointed her nose down and targeted the first boat. Fearing massive civilian casualties, he couldn’t employ torpedoes, which would destroy the spaceport and the nearby town. Under a massive wash of pulsar fire the first boat’s weapons array blew apart. The next one lost her port skid, heeled over and crashed onto the apron. He did the same to the other boats until they resembled beached sharks.
Try pursuing me now, fuckers. His smile turned grim.
Satisfied with his night’s work, he took the boat into orbit and pointed her due west.
Throughout the attack Winkler had sat at his station as if frozen in place. Nathan took his place beside the Ensign at the Captain’s station.
“We’re all dead,” Winkler said. A tear ran down his face.
“Open a boat-wide channel so I can speak to the crew.” He shook Winkler to snap him out of his shock then handed him his comm.
“Channel open,” Winkler said.
“What’s the name of this boat?”
“Our designation is E 692.” Winkler’s dull monotone and dead eyes indicated a state of shock.
Nathan keyed the comm. “To the crew of E 692. I have commandeered this vessel and fired on your squadron. From what I know of your navy’s policies there will be no going home for any of you. You allowed a single man to enter your boat and use it to attack your squadron. At very least you will all be charged with dereliction of duty and that means you’ll be handed over to the HRS. At worst you’ll face a court-martial and summary execution.”
He covered his mike. “Winkler, confirm what I said.”
Winkled cleared his throat and tagged his comm. “This is Ensign Winkler. Everything he said is true. The squadron has been badly disabled.”
“Very well,” Nathan said, “I’ll give you all an hour to think about your options. Bridge out.”
CHAPTER 51
When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.
Edmund Burke (1729-97) Irish born British statesman and political philosopher. Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents (1770).
Date: 13th October, 326 ASC
Position: E 692, traversing hyperspace. Northern Quarantine Zone.
Winkler confirmed. “As ordered, I’ve assembled the entire crew in the boat bay, sir.”. He had only partly recovered from the shock of what had occurred.
“Very well.” Nathan reached out with his senses. Hostility, anger and a deep and abiding sadness flooded from the skeleton crew. It could translate as danger or a weary acceptance of an untenable situation. Nathan could understand their emotions. They could never go home, so they could never be reunited with family and loved ones. Bad luck. He had been controlling his hatred for the square heads but the strain was growing. The crew of this boat had only the slightest taste of his loss. At least their families were still alive.
He headed for the aft lift with Winkler on his heels. Striding into the boat bay Nathan did a quick head count. Nineteen crewmen plus Winkler made the twenty he said were aboard. Nathan had locked the armory so none of the crew were armed. With Winkler’s help he had examined the crew’s jackets and knew their names and positions. Only two officers and the COB. The rest were NCO’s of varying experience.
“I am, for the sake of a name, Captain Vogel,” Nathan said. “I have assumed command of this vessel and intend to take her into League space.”
“Who made you Captain?” a crewman called out.
Nathan sighed. There’s one big mouth on every boat.
“I did, Petty Officer Blass. I stole the boat, so it’s mine. Now to the business at hand. There’s only twenty-one of us to tend this boat so I expect you, Chief Petty Officer Kellerman, to write up a roster that will properly utilize the crew effectively.”
“May I ask the Captain why me?” Kellerman asked.
“You’re the chief of the boat,” Nathan said. “Who else would I choose?”
Kellerman nodded glumly.
“Commander Bessell, report on the conditioning of the maneuvering department.”
“We call it engineering. Only Athenian monitor crews call it maneuvering,” Bessell said, his hatred barely under control. “Who are you?”
Damn. “Just someone who’s trying to get home. Now, report on the condition of your department, Commander.”
“We’re running at flank speed so we’ll need to recharge the buffers in seven hours.”
Nathan nodded. “Very well.”
He singled out the next one on his list. “Petty Officer Overden, you’re the only weapons technician left aboard, so now you’re the weapons officer. Rank Lieutenant.”
The Pruessen showed no emotion but Nathan suspected the promotion would please him.
“I understand that none of you are happy with the situation but if we are going to survive we have to work together. If we don’t, we’re as good as dead. You all might want to think about that.”
No happy smiling faces but pretty much what Nathan expected. They had just lost everything.
“COB, I’ll need that roster by twenty-two hundred.”
Another sullen nod.
“What about mess?”
“Blass, I just might nickname you cat.”
“Huh?”
“Curiosity killed him.” He ran his eyes over the crew. Their hostility burned beneath the surface yet was in conflict with their overriding desire to live. It all takes time. Baby steps.
“You want breakfast, fine,” Nathan said. “Blass, you’re cook for tomorrow. COB, make a rotation for every crewman to do mess duties.” He examined every face, noting sadness, rage and shock. “Any questions?” Most of them stared at the deck. “Very well, crew dismissed.”
The muttering started before Nathan had made it to the hatch.
***
Nathan finished examining the roster and nodded his approval.
“Well done, COB,” Nathan said. “I like the idea of having Overden training the crew to assist him in the weapons bay. If we’re attacked, and I’d be surprised if we weren’t, it may be the difference between living and dying.”
He examined Kellerman. Late thirties, professional, determined.
“May I ask a question?” the COB said.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you seriously think this insane scheme of yours stands a chance of working,” Kellerman said. “We’re dozens of light-years from the frontier and our navy will d
eploy every ship they’ve got to stop us.”
“That’s why we’re not heading south,” Nathan said. “And as for our chances, they’re on the slim side, but as they say a chance is better than no chance.”
“Who says that?”
“Dunno, maybe it’s just me.” Not a smile from the Pruessen but a slight relaxation of the stiff lips. Baby steps.
CHAPTER 52
Date: 14th October, 326 ASC.
Position: E 692, traversing hyperspace. Northern Quarantine Zone.
Nathan walked the boat twice a day, checking in with his overworked crew and assisting where he could. The crew’s hatred of him remained evident with every gesture and grunted reply. For the moment all he could do was feign disinterest and move on. He figured the crew would come around in time.
Forty minutes into his afternoon inspection he approached the engineering section by way of the main lateral corridor. His Prep burned. Here it comes.
Three crewmen appeared from a supply room, determined hatred written on their faces. Nathan palmed his sidearm. They took note of that.
“You’re a big man with a gun to back you up, aren’t you?” Holtz said.
Nathan sighed. He had been expecting an attack for some time. After what they’d all lost, a measure of revenge would seem to be in order. The time had come to mark his patch.
The three men tensed when he drew his sidearm then relaxed when he threw it behind him.
“Here I am,” Nathan said, arms wide.
They all drew knives and positioned for attack.
“Steak knives?” Nathan said, around a wry smile. “I’ve never been attacked with steak knives before.”
His blasé attitude got inside their heads, creating doubt. He could read it on their faces. Of all of them Holtz appeared to be the most determined. Nathan readied himself as the young petty officer moved toward him. The knife slashed at Nathan’s face. Grabbing the Pruessen’s arm above the wrist Nathan twisted the arm until the knife dropped to the deck. The other two came to their shipmate’s aid. Holtz swung a fist at him, Nathan blocked it and hit him in the throat. Grabbing his neck with both hands, Holtz staggered away from him. The three of them withdrew to what they considered to be a safe distance.
