“While he was doing that, I piloted this monster out of the system to here,” Bradford said. “We decided to come help about an hour after you headed toward the gate. Did you rescue the boy and that old man?”
“My troops did,” Harmon said. “They’re safe. For now, as long as we can stop the invasion.”
“So,” Mike asked, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head, “where do you want us?”
“Good question,” Harmon said. “Can you hold tight just out of the gate effect zone, and I’ll get right back with you? I have a question I need to get an answer for first.”
“Can do. Bradford, put her in reverse…” Harmon heard before the link cut.
“Comms, patch me through to Rick,” Harmon said, looking over at the comms officer.
“Captain,” the kashka said, “do you have word of the invasion timeline?”
“No, not yet,” Harmon said. “That’s not why I called. Are you familiar with the ship type known as a Merwick Cube?”
“I am,” Rick said, intrigued. “There are very few still in operation. I know of one used by a company that deals in military equipment in this section of the galaxy. I have never had any dealings with them, but in our line of work, it pays to know where weapons or ships can be acquired.”
“That company is where I acquired some of our ships, including the Nazrooth destroyers commanded by Urlak,” Harmon said. “They just arrived in system and have agreed to help.”
“You continue to bring in more allies,” Rick said. “This is good. They are human, are they not?”
“The owners are,” Harmon said. “The reason I called is this—has anyone ever fired missiles through the gate when it’s not in operation?”
“Through the gate?” Rick asked. “I do not recall it happening in my studies of war. It is too dangerous. If a missile hits the gate structure itself, gets through the shields, and damages it beyond use, it would mean isolation to that system until the Bith arrive to repair it. That could be decades. It is not a tactic I would recommend.”
“Hmm,” Harmon said, thinking. “It was a thought. I want to park Cube somewhere, so it can get off several missile salvos at the invasion fleet as they go by. I thought sending them right up their thrusters would be a good idea.”
“I admire your thought process,” Rick said. “Radical tactics are hard to counter, but that is one you should steer clear of.”
“What if I had them park at the edge of the asteroids out by the farthest planet from the star?” Harmon said, brightening. “They’ll come through the gate at a speed that’ll prevent them from turning to engage, and it would leave them exposed to defensive platforms if they turned over and slowed or tried to swing back.”
“That is a much safer option,” Rick agreed. “Yet, it still falls into radical tactic territory. As much as my race has learned through the years, I can still learn more, and this upcoming battle is something my race will study for centuries from now. I like it.”
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“We are ready, my King,” System Commander One D’Varote said. He was stood on the commander’s platform of the super dreadnought Whirlpool, the largest ship ever built by the Squilla. Normally it did not leave the Squilla system, but King C’Rabi had decided he was going to send every warship he had for the invasion of the Tretrayon system. He would not hold it back, nor the other nine ships that made up the rest of the system’s defensive fleet. Even the newest ship out of the shipyards was going.
“Are the Krift ready as well?” King C’Rabi asked.
“Queen Vermell assures me they are, my King,” answered D’Varote. “All twenty of their ships have arrived and are in formation behind our fleet. We will be one continuous wave of destruction, seventy-one ships deep. It will be glorious. I will bring you Captain Tomeral’s head, or sufficient pieces of his ship, Salvage Title, so that you will know of your victory.”
“Yes!” the king exclaimed, rising up on the royal platform, “and after victory, you will rain devastation across the entire system. You will employ Operation Isolation.”
“My King?” D’Varote asked, shocked. “Are you sure you wish this?”
“Do not question me!” King C’Rabi shouted. “You. Will. Employ. Operation Isolation. Am I clear?”
“Yes, my King,” D’Varote said quickly, his eyestalks lowered in deference.
* * *
Jayneen woke Harmon from a sound sleep. “Harmon,” she said, “are you awake?”
Harmon had the ability to go from a sound sleep to coherency almost immediately. It was something members of the military learned. For many, it was also an ability that never went away, once their time in the military was up.
“I am now,” he said, running his fingers through his hair as he sat on the edge of his bed. “What do you know?”
“I’ve continued to monitor the communications in the Squilla system,” the AI said. “I don’t sleep, you understand. The command to exit the Squilla system was just given to the invasion fleet by their king. The invasion fleet will be here in approximately four days and five hours.”
“Alright,” Harmon said. “Let the night watch on all ships know the estimated time. Six days from now, we’ll be engaged. Verify the timing with the Kashkal, will you?”
“I will,” Jayneen said. “I’m sure they already have the calculations complete. They’re very good at this.”
Harmon nodded. “That’s why, when I briefed my plan, I just let them know where I wanted them to hide and left the rest to Rick. The tactics they use will be up to them once they meet the enemy, but you can bet I plan to learn from them.”
Several hours later, Harmon stood on the bridge with Clip and Zerith. They were near the spare console, now set up to operate the automated mine layers, discussing the best way to utilize them.
“We could have you operate them, Jayneen, but I need you in the Defensive Bridge with Clip,” Harmon said.
“Yess, and I will be needed in the power plant,” Zerith agreed.
“Who will operate them if I don’t?” Jayneen asked. “You can’t, Harmon; you’ll be extremely busy.”
Harmon looked around. The main crew for the bridge were in their positions, running the ship and preparing themselves for the upcoming battle. He couldn’t pull one of them and give them additional tasks. They would be better served in the positions they were familiar with. He was already short one being. He had sent Sara to be the chief engineer on the Bentwick ship they had acquired.
He looked over at Big Jon, near the entry to the bridge. The staff sergeant raised his hands and said, “Don’t look at me, sir, that’s way above my pay grade. Besides, I’ll be busy putting out fires and running the emergency repair crews.”
“What about Brickle?” Zerith asked.
“Yeah, man,” Clip agreed. “The dude is a good pilot and a great technician.”
“True,” Harmon said. “The ships are fully automated, so it’ll be easy for him to familiarize himself with the controls here. It’s mostly monitoring, once the guidance is given. We won’t need him to pilot Hauler during the battle. It’ll be tucked away in the corner of the bay.”
“Right on,” Clip agreed. “Even with the improvements, Hauler has no business out there in battle with real warships.”
“Zerith,” Harmon decided, “when you get back down to the power plant, send him up. Clip can get him familiar with it, and I’ll let him know what we need them to do. It’ll be fine. What can go wrong?”
“Dude!” Clip exclaimed.
“I’ve heard that before,” the AI said. If Jayneen had had a head to shake, she would have.
“You sshould sstop ssaying that,” Zerith said as he started peeling a piece of bright blue fruit and walked out without looking back, eating the peeling as he went.
* * *
Evelyn looked around her bridge. It still amazed her that she was in command of a fighter carrier. In the last few months, she had gone from
being a recon platoon leader to an officer in command of a ship that was over twenty-two hundred years old, yet was far more advanced than any ship her home world of Tretra had ever built. It even included fighters that required a race with the capability to use four hands simultaneously to pilot them.
She was grateful for the Leethog pilots who had volunteered to fight for a system that was not their own. They came initially for the combat experience, something they couldn’t get in the Leethog Fleet. They had stayed after gaining that experience, though, because they knew it was the right thing to do. No race should be subjugated. Realizing the Squilla intended that, many more had volunteered.
As she looked around, she noted her bridge crew worked together as if they had been doing it for years. The Humans, Prithmar, Caldivar, and Leethog officers were competent and confident, and that was all any commander could ask for.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Evelyn asked Lieutenant Joslyn Whaley.
Walking with a slight limp, JoJo said, “You couldn’t keep me from this bridge even if you assigned the task to Sergeant Clyde. Though I still can’t believe Harmon promoted me to lieutenant. I don’t even have a degree.”
“Harmon does things his own way,” Evelyn said, shrugging her shoulders. “He always has. A degree from a university doesn’t make one a leader. It may help to put someone in that position, but there’s a huge difference between being in charge and leading. He feels you’re up to the challenge. He believes in you, and so do I.”
“Ma’am,” Gunny Harper added, “I’ve worked with a lot of officers in my career. They’re right. I’ve been watching. You take in a situation, ask your non-commissioned officers and technicians for their input, and then you decide without being wishy-washy. You don’t always do it the way an NCO suggests, and you shouldn’t. When you’re in charge, the final decision is yours. If you ask me, that’s the makings of a good officer.”
“Thank you, Gunny,” JoJo said.
“It doesn’t hurt that you’re tough as nails, either, ma’am,” Gunny added, grinning. “I know a lot of Marines that would still be flat on their backs after injuries like yours.”
“Hell, I wish she woulda stayed in bed,” Twiggy lamented as he walked into the bridge. “Dang redhead.”
“And don’t you forget it,” JoJo told him. “Are we up in the bays?”
“We’re ready as we’ll ever be. I had one of the mechanics rig a line for my suit, too. We’re gonna have to keep all three bays open during the battle so damaged fighters can land, and we can reload missiles and fuel if the battle lasts that long. I’m not about to get sucked into space, though, you can bet on that.”
“We have the destroyers Windstorm and Sandstorm flying escort,” Evelyn said, “so even with the bay doors open, we shouldn’t have to worry about anything, and shielding is stronger on that side.”
“That, and Sergeant Clyde has the tank operators ready to give any potential boarders a nice little surprise,” Twiggy said. “Ah think they hope someone tries.”
* * *
Sitting in his seat on the bridge of the older Bentwick ship, Harmon had decided to name Desert Shade, Marteen was thinking about his recent conversation with Harmon. After this battle, Harmon was planning to promote beings to the ranks they should hold, matching their positions. Well, if he does that, I’m going to insist he takes a rank higher than captain, he thought.
“Big Nick,” Lieutenant Marteen Yatarward asked, “you alright? You look a little nervous.”
“Of course I look nervous!” the big man exclaimed. “You let Captain Tomeral promote me, and now I’m a stinking officer, and the executive officer of a light battlecruiser. What kind of friend are you? I should have known better than to go have beers with an officer.”
“You couldn’t land me a spot on a corvette somewhere? Maybe a dropship, even? We’re only flying escort for the flagship of the company! The one ship that every stupid Squilla in the entire Squilla Fleet wants to blow into little pieces. How the hell would I not be nervous?”
“It’ll be fine,” Marteen said, smiling. He ran his fingers through his uncut green hair. “Harmon knows his stuff.”
“Yeah,” newly-promoted Lieutenant Nicholson said, “but I don’t know mine! There’re places on this ship I haven’t been to. Nooks and crannies…I got lost going to the power plant today. Thank God Chief Warrant Officer Sara found me wandering around.”
Marteen busted out laughing. “You’ll learn it all. The main thing is, you work well with everyone, and you know how to lead them to get things done. The rest will come. Trust your troops.”
“Yeah, well,” Big Nick said, settling back in his seat. “She didn’t have to show me every one of her teeth the whole time she was leading me to the power plant…and she was hissing at me.”
* * *
“We have a ship!” Stan said to Hank, grinning. They were sitting in their seats on the bridge of the Skrittle, the renamed Dalgit frigate capable of spewing tons of missiles quickly.
“I know,” Hank said as he reached up to high-four his brother. He was sitting in the commander’s seat. They had flipped a wrench, and the open end had pointed toward Hank when it stopped bouncing. He got to be the commander for this battle.
“Well,” Stan said, looking over his shoulder, “sort of. That warrant officer sure is bossy down there in the engine room. Who is she, anyway?”
“I think Kyla picked her. She is new from our stopover at Leethog,” Hank said. “But she will have to stay down there when the battle starts, so we can fly how we want!”
“Shhh,” Stan said. “Not so loud.”
* * *
“Hey, Captain Rogers,” Cameron said, calling from the bridge of Sweet Pea. “If it goes sideways, do you wanna fly with us?”
“No, lad,” Captain Rogers answered, standing in the bridge of his own ship, Basher. “There’s no ship I know of what can fly with that one of yours. Besides, I don’t see it going sideways. Captain Tomeral has a sound plan, and I’m to be believing we’ll come out on top. We might even get to board a crab ship or two.”
“Well, if it does,” Cameron said, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “I’ll make sure we watch out for you. I want to take some karate lessons from you. Keeyah!” Cameron made a slicing motion with his hand, knocking over the drink on the arm of his seat.
“Aye, lad,” the Rincah warrior said, laughing, “I’ll teach you a thing or two, but it’s not that ancient form of fighting you’ll be learning.”
* * *
“Sir, we’ve reached the distance you designated,” said the tactical officer on the bridge of Kashkal’s Legacy, the heavy battlecruiser Rick Kashka used for his fleet’s flagship.
Unlike most system fleets, Rick was the captain of his flagship as well as the ranking officer in his fleet. He was probably the only leader of an entire race that commanded and fought in its fleet. The Kashkal had never been a race that tried to keep their leaders out of harm’s way. It was a source of pride for the fighting race that the kashka placed themselves in the same path of danger as everyone else.
“Notify the fleet and begin turnover procedures,” the kashka said. He settled back in his seat and observed the activities on the bridge. He knew that every ship in his fleet, from the heavy fighter carrier Kashkal’s Wings, to the lone mine layer Kashkal’s Funnel, was operating at the same efficiency. There was no doubt in his mind that his youngest offspring had the four Nazrooth destroyers operating the same way by now.
It was time to let Captain Tomeral know they were ready. This would be a battle worthy of study. He had been going over what he could extract from the Net about the recent battles Captain Tomeral and his ship had been in, and he was impressed. To use the Turning Ship Tactic, having never been taught it, much less studied it, was impressive. It was an obscure tactic known to Rick, but it hadn’t been used anywhere in decades that he knew of.
It was very unusual for one to be an innovator in battle; it was almost rare, actually.
Captain Tomeral was proving to be just that. Deep down, Rick Kashka had a feeling this would be unlike so many of the other times his race had fought for credit. Something felt different, and he couldn’t place a claw on what exactly it was.
“Comms,” he said, “reach out to our ally.”
* * *
On Cube, Mike Melton adjusted his light battle armor slightly. I need to do more pushups, he thought, and push up away from the table a little more, too. He looked over at his business partner and friend, Mike Bradford. Bradford wasn’t putting on his battle armor. He was getting into his pilot suit with the connecting helmet.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked him.
“Putting my suit on,” Bradford said as he set his unlit cigar down so he could put his helmet on. He opened the visor and stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Why?”
“Hello…battle armor,” Mike said, indicating his own gear. “We’re going to tear into that fleet with a ton of missiles, but there’s a good chance someone will come back around and attempt to board us.”
“Good,” Bradford said. “And when they do, you can find me in the big bay in Stomper.”
“Nice,” Mike said, realizing Bradford’s intentions. “OK, I’ll lead the Tralge, and if anyone gets into the inner compartments, we’ll run them your way, and you stomp them.”
Stomper was a piece of war machinery they had picked up several years ago. Bradford had been working on it in his spare time, along with Tim and a host of the Smilps. They had several of them, but only one was in working order right now. Stomper was a four-legged walking armored personnel carrier. It had four small turrets that fired kinetic rounds. They hadn’t gotten around to repairing the turrets yet, though, and they didn’t have the ammunition for them anyway. Its body was about the size of a medium tank, and Bradford had discovered he could walk around and just flatten things with its huge foot pads. He had even learned to kick things with a front leg.
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