"From this distance,” Palmer asked before looking out the viewport at the Salaxian ship. He smiled and looked back at Harper. “Yes, sir"
"Good,” Harper replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Hard to starboard.”
Glenn failed to destroy the Salaxian fighter in the first shot. It had released flares and turned back on him. The pilot showed incredible skills in comparison to the other fighters, but Glenn’s rage at the loss of his wingman powered his pursuit, and after 15 minutes, he successfully eliminated the ship.
After confirming that all the Salaxian fighters had been destroyed, he closed his eyes in remembrance of his good friend. His mourning was quickly interrupted as Parker called in over shortwave radio, “All fighters, we need you to weaken the facing side of Salaxian dreadnought. Strafe the hull, then break away. ”
Glenn didn’t respond, but turned his fighter towards the target and increased speed. As the fighters neared the ship, he called out to his fellow pilots. “Attack formation Sigma, cannons only.” The fighters slipped into a single file line on a parallel path to the dreadnought. As each fighter reached the Salaxian ship, it continued its trajectory and turned towards the dreadnought before opening fire.
As Glenn made his attack run, he noticed a structure protruding from one of the ships of hull breaches. The technology was alien to him, but he quickly recognized it as a computer core. When his attack run was over, he turned back towards the ship. His mind raced with the possibilities that would open up if they could get their hands on the databanks of a Salaxian ship.
One well aimed missile strike could dislodge it with little or no damage. Before reaching his target, Parker was on the radio again. “Resolution is preparing to fire. All fighters, clear the area. The shots aren’t going to be very accurate.”
"Negative, Resolution, there’s a vital piece of equipment we need to save,” he replied.
"Orion, you are to clear the area immediately. That’s an order.” Glenn switched the radio off and continued towards the computer core. As the Resolution aligned itself with the dreadnought, it unleashed a flurry of explosive shells against the Salaxian hull. After several minutes, the barrage of explosions reduced the Salaxian dreadnought to a field of debris.
Chapter 6
Funeral for a Friend
June 13 2213
1530
Rutilicus System
Harper limped down the corridor from the bridge. When the adrenaline had worn off, his injuries from the fall became more apparent. Nothing appeared to be broken, but his left leg was badly bruised from hitting the railing, and his head and chest ached from the sudden stop on the flight operations console.
He had manned the bridge until their relief arrived, then left Parker in charge. The flight deck crew was busy recovering fighters, backwards, as the aft door was still the only thing holding the atmosphere in on that side. As he entered the elevator, he half collapsed against the side wall and pressed the key for G deck. He tried, but was unable to banish the thoughts of what would happen when the Resolution arrived at the U.N.C. space station orbiting Vega II.
It was the fleet’s worst kept secret that members of the U.N.C. military council would jump at the first opportunity to scrap the carrier project. How would the Council see the performance of the Resolution in its first Salaxian encounter? Performed above expectations, or resulted in unacceptable losses?
The door on the elevator slid open as he straightened himself, clearing the visible look of disgust from envisioning the Resolution in dry dock being stripped for parts. Sick Bay had yet to report back on the Captain's condition, which is why he was on his way there now. He had considered having his own injuries checked when he arrived, but seeing engineers working in the corridors with cuts and bruises of their own, he thought it better to simply check on the Captain.
When he walked in, he was immediately accosted by the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Arthur Dunfee. "Hold still,” he barked as he positioned Harper for the medical scanner.
Harper flinched at the cold chill the device sent down his spine as it scanned. "Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary," Harper gasped as the scan dipped below his lungs
"Nonsense," the doctor replied." You’re the acting commanding officer of the ship. I can't have you collapsing from internal hemorrhaging." As the scan finished, the doctor consulted the scanner monitor and shrugged. "You seem to be all right. All things considered."
"Doctor, the Captain?
"Oh." Dunfee looked around for a moment before signaling Harper towards his office. When the soundproof door closed behind them, Dunfee turned to him with a somber look. "The Captain is dying."
"What do you mean? Can’t you do anything?"
"When the wire ladder impaled him, it destroyed his liver and partially severed his spine. The live power line also burned out most of his internal organs."
"But he is still alive?"
"Miraculously, but I don’t expect him survive the hour."
Harper looked over at the darkened critical care unit. “Can he speak?"
McLeod didn’t seem to notice when Harper entered the room. As the curved glass doors closed behind him, he stared at the motionless form on the medical bed. "Captain," he called quietly as he approached.
"Commander. Did we beat them," McLeod asked with surprising clarity, given his condition.
"Yes, sir. All enemy vessels destroyed. "
"Good." There was an extended period of silence where neither of them was sure what to say. McLeod was the first to break the silence. “John, don’t let them take the ship."
"What?"
"Don’t give up the ship, John. Resolution is the last hope for humanity, and you’re the only one worthy of taking command.”
"But, you said I wasn’t ready."
McLeod laughed, which seemed to cause him severe pain. "I said there was more you could learn. Even without the extra experience, you’re more for fit for command than any other officer in the fleet."
"Do you really believe they will let me stay in command? After your recommendation against it?"
"You’ll still have one ally…when I’m gone… she will make sure…"
McLeod convulsed in pain and went limp. His head rolled to the side as he released his final breath. Harper gently closed the Captain's eyes, and stared at him for a moment.
For the first time in his career, Harper felt lost. This wasn't a situation that the academy had prepared him for. Not really. He knew what protocol dictated, but was unsure how to support the crew under the pressure of this loss. For that matter, he wasn't sure how to emotionally handle the loss himself. So, he did what he usually did when he found himself overwhelmed. He buried it.
* * *
Glenn pulled off his helmet and gandered at his catch. The three-story tall Salaxian computer core was resting on its side, next to his battered fighter. The explosion from the Resolution’s final attack had flung the core, and his fighter, several hundred kilometers away, but he managed to recover and tow the hulk of Salaxian tech back to ship. He felt a sense of pride as he took in the sight. Maybe, he thought, this will bring meaning to the deaths of everyone we lost today.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Harper walking briskly towards him. He looked angry. Glenn turned towards him, and by the time Harper stopped, they were face-to-face.
"What the hell were you thinking, major," Harper barked under his breath.
"I don’t know what you mean."
"You were given a direct order to clear away from the dreadnought."
"We've been over this already, today, Commander. My job as CAG is to make decisions in the field. I decided that passing up the chance to retrieve the Salaxian computer core was unacceptable. I risked only my own life to accomplish that."
"Your decision almost cost us another fighter craft, another pilot, and it cost you your position as CAG. I don’t need a senior officer who can’t follow orders. Consider your flight status suspended until further notice."<
br />
Harper began to walk away before Glenn called after him. "I’m requesting the decision to be reviewed by the Captain."
Harper stopped in his tracks. There was a long pause before he turned back around. "The Captain is dead," he exclaimed, clearly louder than he intended. He looked around at the shocked crew members who hadn’t heard the news till now. "Thanks to one of your pilots bringing his dogfight too close to the ship."
With that remark, Glenn snapped. Without thinking, he swung a closed fist towards the unsuspecting Commander, sending him to the floor. It took a moment for the nearest MPs to register what had happened, but two of them quickly had Glenn in a tight grip.
Harper pulled himself up and wiped the blood from his busted lip. "Confine him to quarters." He marched back towards the elevator kicking over a toolbox as he went.
* * *
Harper felt like he had barely closed his eyes when he woke to the sound of his alarm. He looked over at his wall clock.
0600
Rubbing his eyes, he gazed out the viewport. Resolution had already arrived at the station orbiting Vega II, and the repair crews from the station were assisting his own engineers with the work that had begun during the trip. He was relieved that U.N.C. brass had allowed him to sleep for the few hours they had likely been there. He laughed at his own courteous assessment. In reality, these high-ranking officers would just be waking up themselves, and saw no need to sacrifice their own sleep.
His brief joviality was ended when his eyes were drawn to his dress uniform, which he had set out before he turned in. As he stepped into the shower stall, he tried to push thoughts of the passing of 8 pilots, 10 crewmembers, and the Captain, out of his mind.
Though he would likely be stepping back into his role as first officer by the end of the day, the responsibility of the eulogy came down to him. Harper had dreamed of becoming a Captain someday, but had never considered days like this. He was a military officer, not a public speaker.
He went through his routine, mindlessly vacuuming away the moisture and donning his dress uniform. When he stepped out of his quarters, he nearly collided with Miles. She looked like she had passed on sleeping, and had even dug in on repair work herself.
She handed him a data pad, which he skimmed through while she spoke. "We almost have her back to fighting shape, sir. The flight deck containment field is repaired and I made some design improvements that should prevent a repeat of what happened."
"Good," he replied as they started walking. "Make sure the wire ladder on the bridge is reinforced this time."
"Already done. Most of our hull breaches are sealed, missile launchers and tactical sensors should be back online shortly after the funeral."
Harper turned to her and smiled while returning her data pad. "You've done an excellent job. I think those last few items can be handled by your crews, so consider yourself off duty. As soon as the funeral is over I want you in your bunk."
She nodded knowingly, giving a quick salute which he returned, and walked away. Harper pulled out his personal data pad and began skimming for notifications, which were mostly changes to the manifest. In spite of their arrival in the middle of the Sol standard night, the station crew had accommodated a lot of Resolution’s needs in a short time. Eight replacement fighters and various spare parts approved by Gallagher, a munitions replenishment approved by the quartermaster and…
The last notification, the first one to come through, caught his eye. He ran to the elevator and made his way to the hanger deck. There, he found Gallagher supervising repairs on a fighter.
"Gallagher," he shouted. Gallagher turned to him and Harper could see that he was straining to keep his composure. He was very close with his crew, including those lost when the containment field collapsed. "What happened to the Salaxian computer core that Major Glenn dragged in?"
"The second we docked, it was taken by a crew from the station."
"On whose authority?"
"Well, I approved the transfer, but I had no choice. I didn’t recognize the authorization code, but the computer said checked out. Even tried to research it, but it’s above my pay grade."
Harper touched the code on his own screen, but all details on the code with the exception of its clearance level was marked top-secret. Something about it seemed familiar, but his head was still too foggy to remember why. "Mine too, apparently." He had an uneasy feeling. For the time being, he was responsible for the ship, and things were being removed without him being kept in the loop. "Did the crew that took it say anything?"
"Nope. They were a tight-lipped bunch."
"Very well. As you were."
* * *
An hour later, Harper was standing next to the caskets on the flight deck. Draped in the flag of the United Nations and Colonies; a field of white with the blue U.N.C. logo. Each was stitched with the name and rank insignia of the crewmember inside. Most of the caskets were actually empty, as the majority the crewmembers they lost were sucked out into space, or lost when their fighters were destroyed. Harper knew the pilots had put a flight helmet in each of the lost pilots' caskets, emblazoned with their call sign.
Glenn, having been released from his confinement, was standing next to one of those caskets. Harper felt a pang of guilt, knowing his comment the previous evening had touched Glenn personally. It wasn’t until after Glenn had nearly broken Harper’s jaw that he had learned the pilot that crashed into the bridge was Glenn’s wing man. Harper having been a pilot himself, knew all too well the way that loss would feel.
The forward most casket was that of McLeod. As Harper approached it, he saw the mysterious admiral from the drill at Tennant I step away. He was certain he saw the glint of a tear in her eye. Two shuttles were waiting forward of the podium to carry the caskets to their various final destinations. While many of them would be going to the Sol system, McLeod’s would be going to New Edinburgh, a small moon in the Hartnell system.
Harper tried to envision the mountainous farming colony from the many conversations about it in the Captain’s mess. He had never been there, but McLeod had always assured him it was beyond anything he could possibly imagine. As he stared at the casket of his mentor, he thought, that is what he died trying to preserve.
Harper stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. All of the officers and crew members gathered on the flight deck stood at attention. "At ease." He looked out at the sea of faces while he found his words. He’d been in battles with more losses than this, but had never seen so much loss in the hearts of his crewmates. By some chance, this ship had brought the souls here very close together, in a very short time.
"It is never easy to lose our brothers and sisters in arms. After nearly a century of war with this alien menace, our skin has not grown thick, nor have our hearts have gone cold. I believe that we as soldiers on the front line, know better than anyone what is at stake. Not because we see the Salaxian ships. Not because we see their weapons and their power, but because we all too often lose that which we are trying to save others from losing. These brave men and women were our friends, our family, our fellow soldiers. They came from all walks of life. From many different planets and moons, but they were all fighting to save family and friends on their own colonies, or even Earth, from the pain that we feel today. The most important thing to remember is; now that they are gone, their burden is ours. We are no longer fighting only for the people that we love, but the people that they loved. So let us do it right. Let our minds not be clouded with rage, or thoughts of revenge. We don’t have time to fight for the dead. We are fighting for the living."
Harper stepped down from the podium and saluted the leader of the honor guard. The honor guard leader returned the salute, and the ceremonial loading of the caskets into the shuttles began to the sound of bagpipes. A small smile played across Harper’s face. McLeod would be pleased.
After the ceremony was complete, and the shuttles had taken off, the crowd began to disperse. Harper heard footsteps thudding heavily on
the flight deck floor behind him, and turned to find himself face to face with Fleet Admiral Patrick Conway. He looked irritated. "Congratulations on your promotion, Captain," he said sarcastically.
"Promotion? You mean I’m not being replaced?"
"We had a replacement standing by, but I was overridden. Speaking of which, Admiral Cotton is waiting for you in the ready room." The malice dripping from Conway's words left no mystery to how he felt about being used as a messenger. "I need you to approve these crew assignments immediately. You’re not getting anyone else." With that remark, seeming to have successfully reasserted himself, he turned on his heels and stomped away.
Harper gazed warily at the ready room windows. He had the uneasy feeling that McLeod had left him with more than just the command of the ship. Perhaps now he would learn the secrets of the mysterious admiral. As he stepped into the elevator, he felt the sensation that he now knew the meaning behind the metaphor of falling down the rabbit hole.
As Harper stepped into his ready room, he found that he still felt like a visitor. The presence of the admiral in the Captain’s chair didn’t help the matter. He approached the desk, and she turned from her view of the flight deck, standing to greet him. He quickly noticed her most distinguishable feature, which he had failed to realize when discreetly viewing her from flight operations monitor.
She towered over him at a height of at least 7 feet. He accepted her offered handshake and remained silent. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, John. Tavish spoke very highly of you. Please take a seat."
Harper was taken aback by a superior officer he didn’t know using his first name, but did as he was told.
"I wish I could say the same, but I didn’t know you existed until the drill in the Tennant system.”
“Yes, well, that is by design. Even the other fleet admirals don’t know what I do. Simply that when I speak, they should listen."
"So, what gave Captain McLeod the privilege of knowing what the fleet admirals don’t?"
Resolution: Bad Star Page 8