by Daniel Gibbs
Both pirate craft took numerous hits on their forward shields and tried to veer off. They were too far into the Greengold’s kill zone and blew apart one after the other. The result was enough to put some fear into the ones that remained. For the moment, they stayed out of range.
Determined to be the last one to land, Justin circled the Greengold. Her point-defense emplacements continued to blaze away into the void, keeping the pirate fighters at bay. The most critical threat to the carrier was the bombers, safely ensconced behind the fighter screen. Justin briefly considered trying to interdict them but saw no way that wasn’t suicide—well before reaching the target.
“Alpha Two to Alpha One. I’m down, sir.”
Justin checked his HUD, noting that he was finally the last craft in space. “Roger that, Alpha Two. I’m looping around for a combat landing.” He toggled his commlink channel to flight operations. “Alpha One to the boss. Request emergency docking clearance in hangar A.”
“Clearance granted, Alpha One. Emergency arrestor field two is charged.”
Justin had no time for the standard landing procedure. Instead, he flew toward the arrestor field at seventy percent of top speed. Five seconds before coming into contact with the arrestor field, he reversed thrust, slowing his Sabre dramatically. The invisible energy beams caught his craft and swung it around before depositing it safely on the deck. “Alpha One to the boss. I’m down.”
“Acknowledged, Alpha One. Nice flying out there.”
Justin popped his cockpit canopy open and swung his legs over the side as a portable ladder appeared, provided by a helpful crew chief. A moment later, his feet hit the deck plates, and he had to grab the nose landing gear strut to avoid falling over as the Greengold shook. He stared out of the giant transparent forcefield-protected area into the void.
The battle continued as a wave of pirate fighters sent bolt after bolt of purple xaser fire into the carrier's shields. Streams of blue energy erupted from the CIWS emplacements, shooting down several incoming missiles that exploded in quick flashes of light.
Then they were suddenly in a wormhole.
Justin turned away to avoid being sick from staring at the sides of the artificial construct. He let out a breath and took his flight helmet off. My God, that was too close.
“Are you okay, sir?” Feldstein asked as she appeared at his side.
“Yeah. Did we lose anyone else besides Hawkins?”
“Two KIA, including him. Several injuries, one serious.” Feldstein narrowed her eyes. “It could’ve been a lot worse, though. Green and her friends owe us big time.”
Justin shook his head. “They’d do the same for us. Okay, maybe we can get them to stop the ridiculous sound effects for a few days.”
“We live in hope,” she replied as she rolled her eyes.
“Get everyone together for debriefing. I’d like to understand what we can do better next time.” He glanced at a mass of civilians huddled together. Bile rose again.
“Yes, sir.”
Justin Spencer rarely felt outmatched by an opponent, but he couldn’t help feeling they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth. Not all of us. Remembering Hawkins, he realized he hadn’t made friends with or engaged much with the young pilot outside of training, briefings, and combat. I stick with Alpha because Alpha’s been lucky enough to come home. A thought that perhaps avoiding interpersonal relationships because of fear of hurt was a cop-out came to Justin, but he pushed it down. He would have time for introspection later.
First, he had a job: defeat the pirates and ensure the lives lost weren’t in vain.
6
A few hours later, the thunder of combat had barely faded from Tehrani’s mind. She sat at the front of the table in the deck one conference room, directly aft of the bridge. Wright and Whatley sat on one side, while Justin sat on the other. A million thoughts ran through her mind, all focused on the obvious—How did a Coalition Defense Force carrier battlegroup almost have its rear end handed to it by pirates?
“Before our guest arrives, XO, give me a damage report update,” Tehrani said. Her head throbbed. I should visit the medical bay and get something for it.
“Neutron beams back online, Skipper. The rest is going to be a few hours. Probably need a visit to space dock to repair our forward and port armor fully.” Wright smirked. “You know, Canaan’s shipyard complex is eventually going to get tired of patching up our ship, especially if we keep getting the same areas shot up.”
Tehrani wasn’t in the mood for jokes and didn’t crack a smile. “Instruct Hodges to use whatever manpower he needs to get us back to fully battle-ready condition.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Major,” Tehrani continued, casting her gaze toward Whatley. “Status of our fighters?”
“Two pilots lost,” Whatley replied. “A few Sabres damaged and out of circulation.” He narrowed his eyes. “I had replacements pulled out of storage. We’re ninety-five percent combat effective, once refueling and rearming operations are complete.”
“Captain Spencer, what’s your assessment of the enemy?”
Justin’s face clouded over. “In what way, ma’am?”
“Combat tactics, training, technical capabilities,” Tehrani replied. “The basics. What are we facing here?”
“I didn’t recognize the model of fighters they were flying, ma’am, but the pilots we face were well trained, used advanced maneuvering tactics, and seemed to have capabilities near ours. I believe point-defense support from the Greengold and the Marcus Luttrell kept Alpha and Beta from being annihilated.”
“Those are strong words—”
“Ma’am, our adversaries have craft with better performance than League of Sol military equipment.”
Tehrani stared at him for a moment before flicking her eyes to Whatley. “Do you concur, Major?”
“I see no reason to doubt Spencer’s assertion, ma’am.”
“Options, then, gentlemen?” Tehrani bit her lip.
“Consolidate our forces and get these pirates or whoever they are to do battle on our terms.” Wright quirked his nose. “Even better, get them in range of the Astute and her Starbolt missile tubes.”
The hatch swung open unexpectedly, and a private—a master-at-arms—strode in and came to attention. “Ma’am, I have the civilian you requested.”
“Thank you, Private.” Tehrani looked past the young man into the passageway beyond. A middle-aged woman stood, and though she’d clearly tried to clean herself up since coming aboard, her hair was still streaked with blood, and black marks stained her face. Someone had issued her a pair of CDF battle dress uniform fatigues. “Come on in, Miss…”
“Lorea Salazar.” She spoke in a monotone, almost like a robot, as she walked into the conference room.
“Please, join us. I’m the commanding officer of the Zvika Greengold, Colonel Tehrani. These are my senior officers, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened.” I know shock syndrome when I see it. She gestured to an empty chair. “Have you been to the medical bay?”
Salazar nodded. “They patched my wounds.” She nearly collapsed into a seat and briefly put her hands on the table until they shook so hard as to make noise. “I’m sorry. We are not used to fighting—not like this.” Salazar placed her hands in her lap.
Tehrani turned back to the master-at-arms. “Stand watch outside, Private. I’ll let you know when you can escort our guest back to her quarters.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” The youngster came to attention briefly then stepped out and shut the hatch.
Silence came over the room.
“Miss Salazar, what was your position on the Hadley?” Wright asked in a soothing tone.
The civilian glanced up. “Third mate. Captain Gebara…” Salazar sucked in a breath. “He perished in the first few minutes along with the first mate.” She closed her eyes. “I apologize. I’m not myself.”
Tehrani set her hands on the table. This woman needs a therapist, n
ot a grilling about the most traumatic event in her life. Allah help us. We have to know what’s going on. “We understand. Combat is something the officers and crew of the Zvika Greengold encounter almost daily, but it’s not something most merchant spacers ever see.” She tried to curl her lips into the warmest smile she could muster. “Whatever you can tell us, Lorea, will be helpful.”
“We were performing our Lawrence drive cooldown.” The monotone continued. “Two ships jumped in and attacked us without warning.” Salazar lifted her eyes and squinted. “We begged them to let us jettison our cargo, but they kept shooting. Captain Gebara tried to fight back.” A single tear fell down her face. “Pirates aren’t unfamiliar out here on the frontier, Colonel Tehrani.”
Wright leaned forward. “Are you saying these pirates didn’t act like normal ones?”
Don’t lead the witness. Tehrani shot him a look, hoping she wouldn’t have to say something.
“Cargo is valuable, especially luxury goods. That’s one of the reasons the Hadley stuck with ore. It's difficult to move unless you have a larger ship.” Salazar shrugged. “I don’t think they wanted what was in our holds. They were going for the destruction of our vessel. We weren’t even offered terms. Pirates always offer terms.”
Wright sat back, his brow furrowed. “I see. Anything else of note?”
“We lost half the crew.” Salazar pursed her lips. “What will you do with us, Colonel?”
“Right now, you’ll be treated by our medical staff, and we’ll put you off the ship at the nearest port of your choosing. This is a military vessel, however. It could be a few days,” Tehrani replied. She decided it was best to avoid clueing the woman in to the fact they could be fighting the pirates again at any moment. Or the League, for that matter.
Salazar sat mutely and nodded. She still presented the appearance of someone in a trance.
“Did you take a copy of your ship’s sensor and log data?” Whatley asked. His voice was gruff, as usual, but he seemed to try to inject some warmth into his words.
“Corporate policy is to collect our black boxes in case of loss of vessel.” Salazar turned to him. “I followed policy.”
“We’ll need to see them as soon as possible,” Tehrani interjected. She tried to smile. “Your forethought could be what we need to get justice for your crew.” The gesture seemed hollow.
Salazar narrowed her eyes and took on a hard expression. “When you find them, promise me something, Colonel.”
“If it is within my power.”
“Kill them. Every last one of them.” More tears came to Salazar’s eyes. “They butchered defenseless spacers who did nothing to deserve that fate. Many were lost to the void, without suits.” Her eyes glinted with anger. “Anyone capable of such a crime deserves no mercy.”
Tehrani inclined her head. “I give you my word as a CDF officer. When I find those who perpetrated this attack, they’ll be dealt with harshly.” She carefully worded her reply to avoid a promise she couldn’t and wouldn’t keep.
“Thank you, Colonel.”
“I think we’re done for now.” Tehrani gestured at the door. “If you’ll step outside, the master-at-arms will take you back to your quarters and see to any needs, including food.”
Salazar stood. “Thank you for coming to our rescue. I only wish you’d arrived a few minutes earlier.” She appeared only moments from complete mental collapse and turned on her heel to leave.
When the hatch shut a few seconds later, Whatley was the first to speak. “Soldiers, even enemy soldiers, I can respect in combat.” He gritted his teeth. “Thugs and criminals? Kill ’em all and let God sort it out.”
“I can almost get behind that,” Wright replied. “But, no.”
“We’re not the judge, jury, and executioner, gentlemen,” Tehrani said. Who am I kidding? If it were my crew, I’d move hell itself to get justice. No, revenge. “Regardless, we need some of them alive to figure out the broader picture here. Because some random pirates flying military hardware doesn’t add up.”
“Could be the megacorps.” Wright put his hands on the table. “They hate the Terran Coalition because we don’t allow them to do business in our space, for the most part. The Hestian Business Council comes to mind.”
Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of that before.”
“It’s a conglomeration of megacorps headquartered on Hestia—human-settled neutral planet a few hundred light-years beyond our border. Real tough customers. Treat the underclasses like indentured servants at best, slaves at worst.”
“Why do you know so much about neutral human-world politics?”
“I’ve told you before, Skipper. I planned to buy a freighter and go into business for myself in a few years. Knowing the lay of the land is only intelligent.”
It was the kind of logical sentiment she’d come to expect from her XO. Tehrani pressed her lips together. “Okay. We’d better get back to repairs. When the comms geeks get done with the black box from the Hadley, perhaps it will shed some light on where these pirates are based. Anyone have anything else?”
Whatley shook his head, as did Justin.
“I’d like a word privately, ma’am,” Wright said. “But I’m good for this meeting.”
“Very well. Dismissed. XO, I have a few minutes now if you want to talk.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Whatley stood, followed quickly by Justin. They walked through the hatch, and Justin closed it behind him.
As it clicked shut, Tehrani turned to Wright. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve got a suggestion.” Wright smirked. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Oh no.” She grinned in return. “Out with it, Major.”
“Well, we’ve got a friend over at the Coalition Intelligence Service that owes us a favor, right? Agent Grant.”
Tehrani’s face blanched at the mention of the CIS external activities division operative. He’d left a bad taste in her mouth the last time they’d worked together to deal with the covert League space installations hidden deep in Terran Coalition space. “I don’t want to work with that man again. Ever.”
“Skipper—”
“He admitted to me that he’s a high-functioning sociopath. I got the distinct impression he enjoys playing with others’ lives. All part of some big game.”
Wright harrumphed and leaned back in his chair. “Ugh.” He leaned forward. “Okay, as distasteful as it may be, Grant still owes us. Either that or go back to General Yukimura and ask for some G2 support.”
“To what end, Benjamin?”
“Waiting for whoever these guys are to hit another freighter and hope we get there in time isn’t a viable strategy, ma’am.” Wright softened his expression. “Banu, you and I both know something else is going on here. Whatever it is—a larger criminal syndicate, megacorps, one of the alien empires taking advantage of the war, or the League—I promise you CIS has an entire team of people on it. We both know CIS and CDF don’t exactly play well together.”
“Well put.” I vowed never to speak to the odious Agent Grant again. “Okay, I’ll swallow my pride and send him a TS/SCI info dump on our situation.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Wright closed his eyes for a minute. “Gah. I want some food and shuteye.”
“That sounds like a plan for me too. Join me in my mess? I’m sure the chef can whip something up. Sandwiches, at least.”
“Well, whatcha waiting for? Let’s get some grub.” Wright sprang from his chair.
Tehrani did as well and walked out the hatch first. She tried to clear her mind, but her headache didn’t seem to be going away. After we eat, I’m getting something from the doc shack.
Sokratis Papoutsis slowly sat down at his desk, which wasn’t just any desk. It was a trophy from an exceptionally well-off Galter whose ship he’d captured a few years earlier. The good old days, back when I did what I wanted when I wanted and hit the rich where they deserved it—in the keister. He stared at the tablet i
n front of him. It contained a list of their losses in the last twenty-four hours, all from combat against the Coalition Defense Force.
The hatch to his office swung open. “Boss, got a minute?”
“Come in, Parish,” Papoutsis growled. Ronald Parish was, in effect, his right hand man.
“The gunboat was a write-off, boss. Should probably scrap it and use what’s left for spare parts in the others.”
Papoutsis closed his eyes. “Our benefactor made clear continued support would only come from our successes.” Since debuting their new fleet, Papoutsis had been knocking off several freighters a week.
“There’s a difference between fighting cargo vessels with next to no weapons and military warships.” Parish’s voice sounded like a whine.
“I realize that, but our benefactor doesn’t. Our latest orders are to carry on our campaign as quickly as possible. The rare earth mineral–bearing ships must be eliminated.” Papoutsis had his suspicions about why—clearly, whoever was paying them wanted to hurt the Terran Coalition. The individual or, more likely, individuals behind the payments had taken extreme care to avoid leaving fingerprints. All contacts were done with cut-outs, with payments made via direct credit chip and completely untraceable.
Parish paused. “Normal payouts to the families of those killed?”
“Yeah.” Papoutsis narrowed his eyes. “What did you find out about the CDF vessel?”
“It’s a small escort carrier. No more fighters on it than we carry and less anti-ship weaponry. We could probably take her if we got them in the right place at the right time.”
“An ambush. It would have to be an ambush. If we were lucky, without the rest of their battlegroup.” They’d spotted several frigates operating around the region and engaged a destroyer. CDF vessels were tougher than anything they had, one on one.
