Salvage Fleet

by Kevin Steverson

  “Clip?” Harmon called down to the Defensive Bridge. “Are you two ready?”

  “Yeah man, we’re cool,” Clip said. “This time I have backups for the backups for Jayneen.”

  “Zerith?” Harmon called down to the power plant. “How are you and the ladies down there?”

  “We are prepared.” Harmon heard him spit out a hull. “For battle. Kyla hass it operating perfectly here, and Vera says the enginess are running at optimum output.”

  “All hands, all hands,” Harmon said over the speakers across the ship. “Battle stations, I repeat, battle stations.”

  “Bev,” Harmon said, sitting back and watching the timer, “target that dreadnought. I want all salvos locked in on it. When they come within main gun range, we’ll fire and start turning. Target the dreadnought with the cannons as well. We need to chop off the head of this thing.”

  “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant answered. “Missile range in three minutes. Pulse cannons in seven.”

  On the main screen, Harmon could see the dreadnought getting bigger, and he felt the ship vibrate as twenty missiles launched. He glanced at the sensor screen on his console and could see the middle of the column taking missiles from the Kashkal. He wished he could watch that part of the battle to see what his allies did, but there was no time. He would have to study it once the battle was over.

  “Sir,” the weapons officer said, “we have time for one more launch before engaging the cannons. I will continue to fire missiles when they are loaded.”

  “Sir,” the tactical officer called out, “the dreadnought has fired fifty missiles at us!”

  Down in the Defensive Bridge, Jayneen announced the missile launch by the dreadnought at the same time.

  “I see it,” Clip said. “Brickle has these.”

  “Take them, Brickle,” Harmon ordered.

  Using the controls on the console in front of him, Brickle had the two modified shuttles fly across the path of the incoming missiles, dispersing mines as they went. He then put in coordinates that flew the shuttles back around to place mines in front of where Task Force TDF would be engaging the Squilla. Once the mines were dispersed, the shuttles would lock in on the landing pad at Rinto’s Salvage Yard on Joth and be on their way.

  The first salvo of missiles from Salvage Title were beyond the mines when an incoming Squilla missile set one off. When it blew, it set off a chain reaction, and two hundred small mines went off, emitting a rolling electromagnetic pulse that caused every missile in the dreadnought’s first salvo to sputter and shut down. Missiles went off in different directions as the electronic guidance systems stuttered and ceased working. Several of them struck shields, but did not explode.

  Shortly after, the next salvo of twenty missiles passed through the chaos and continued to their designated target. The electromagnetic pulse of the mines didn’t last long and wasn’t an issue for Salvage Title’s missiles.

  “Hey, man, we gotta let Van know his mines work,” Clip called up.

  “That was pretty impressive,” Harmon admitted.

  “They’ve fired another salvo of fifty,” Jayneen announced.

  “Launch eight salvos of shotgun missiles,” Clip ordered. “You know the game, have them blow two seconds away from the crossing point.”

  “Yes, sir,” Position One said. “Thirty-two missiles away.”

  “Firing the pulse cannons, sir,” the weapons officer announced. Every being on the ship felt the shudder, and the next, one second later.

  “Start turning,” Harmon ordered.

  The ship’s thrusters shut down and Salvage Title turned and fired a broadside. Four of the huge pulse cannons went off, one second after each other. The ship started turning again.

  “Forty-four missiles destroyed,” Jayneen announced. “Six incoming.”

  “Engage the defensive lasers!” Clip ordered. Lasers mounted on small turrets all over the ship began engaging at the maximum effective distance, as well as the lasers on their escort ship, the light battlecruiser Desert Shade. The missiles were quickly eliminated.

  “Sir,” tactical said, “of the two salvos, four hit the shields of the dreadnought. It appears to have absorbed the damage, but the pulse cannons are starting to get through now. The Desert Shade is now launching missiles. The rest of the task force is engaged, and Task Force TDF is engaging the column’s flank. It’s hard to keep up.”

  “That’s why I have to trust the commanders and captains,” Harmon said. “Now we fight our battle.”

  “Sir, the enemy has launched fighters,” the tactical officer announced.

  Harmon hit the button on his comm. “Salvage Fleet, launch all fighters! Launch all fighters!”

  * * *

  “Here we go!” Hank said to Stan. They were both grinning. Stan, sitting at the helm, rolled the ship a couple of times, getting the feel of it again, and they shot off to engage a light battlecruiser, the weapons officer launching salvo after salvo of fifteen missiles as they went.

  “Hey, cut over there,” Hank said, pointing at a heavy battlecruiser engaged with both Basher and Sweet Pea. The agile frigate Skrittle shot over the top of the heavy cruiser, across the obvious clear-steel portals of its bridge, and down the other side. The six missiles that had locked on it continued forward, and instead of hitting the frigate’s shields, they struck the heavy battlecruiser’s. The last two penetrated.

  “Oops!” Hank exclaimed to the enemy. “You just shot your friend.”

  The entire bridge crew laughed along with the brothers, though the lone female Leethog at the communications console looked a little nervous. She wondered again at her decision to do a favor for her friend Veratiloolog and work on the bridge to help keep an eye on those two. A bridge full of male Leethog was a recipe for disaster.

  * * *

  “That’s the way, lads!” Captain Rogers exclaimed. His ship was engaged with a heavy battlecruiser. Several of his missiles had hit the enemy ship’s shield, and he had just seen one more hit near the ship’s bridge. He didn’t know where they came from, but he thought he saw the small frigate Skrittle dart across the entire ship.

  His ship Basher had taken a few hits, but the shields were holding at sixty percent, and between his defensive lasers and the ones mounted all over Sweet Pea flying in formation with him, they were putting up a dizzying defensive screen.

  “Hey, Captain Rogers,” Cameron said on the main screen. The young ship owner pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Watch this.”

  The screen shifted back to an outside view. Moments later, a large explosion occurred near the engines and the beginning of the Squilla heavy cruiser’s thrusters. The Rincah warrior would swear he saw giant blue sparks leap across the rear of the hull of the ship like lightening. The thrusters sputtered and went out, and the ship lost momentum and stopped firing its missiles and lasers, which had just started against Basher’s shield.

  “Let’s go get another one,” Cameron said excitedly. “Look, there’s another big one!”

  Captain Rogers saw Sweet Pea roll away. “Aye, lad,” the seasoned Rincah warrior said. “We’ll be flying with you.”

  * * *

  Aboard Nazrooth One, Urlak LeeKa looked over the battle through the clear-steel portal of his bridge. All four of the Nazrooth ships had fired several salvos of missiles at the dreadnought along with Salvage Title, but now it was time to take on one of the following ships.

  He saw what he was looking for. A Krift heavy cruiser had caught up with the Squilla and was coming alongside. He watched it fire a salvo of missiles off to his starboard. It must be engaging Task Force TDF. He made his decision.

  “All ships,” he called over his squadron’s net, “maintain the formation and stay on me. We will engage the Krift ship.”

  At this, his young pilot, not quite a graduate of the Kashkal Flight Training class, though she held the highest marks, bared her teeth, and guided the ship toward the designated target. They would begin firing missiles at the much larger ship,
and trust the shielding overlap and defensive lasers for protection. Once they were within main laser range, all four ships would use the Concentration Tactic and take out its power plant. As one, they turned.

  * * *

  “Commander!” exclaimed the tactical officer two on the Squilla dreadnought Whirlpool. It almost came out as a scream. “Another fleet has come around the desert planet. They used the planet’s gravity and are coming at our flank at an incredible speed!”

  “What!” shouted D’Varote as he stood up on all eight legs on his platform. “This cannot be!”

  D’Varote looked at the sensor screen and saw them. Twenty ships in two formations were coming fast. This mission may not succeed, he thought.

  “What type of ships are they? Are they more of those ships like Salvage Title? Search the Net for anything on them,” he demanded.

  “System Commander,” the tactical officer said, his eyestalks cast downward. “I found a reference to a reference. It describes the readings as Kashkal. It cannot be right. The kashka is just a myth…a conspiracy theory from the other side of the galaxy.”

  “What is a kashka?” demanded D’Varote.

  “Supposedly the leader of a race of fighters who live to do battle, and are rarely if ever beaten,” the young officer said. “If the Kashkal are real, we will all die.” He said the last as if it were true.

  “Nonsense!” D’Varote laughed. “No race lives to fight, not even Squilla. Whoever the Tretrayons have allied with, we will exact revenge on them as well. Let the fleet know to be prepared for a flank attack, and prepare to launch missiles on Salvage Title.” He waived his small claw in dismissal. “We will kill the head of this thing.”

  Moments later, D’Varote sprang to his legs once again on his platform. “What do you mean you don’t know what those ships were? They looked like shuttles. What did they do? Lay mines? Answer me!”

  Shortly after, he watched in disbelief as his entire salvo of fifty missiles went crazy after a string of small explosions between his ship and the accursed Salvage Title. The incoming missiles were not affected, and the rapid lasers on the ship struggled to stop them. Four missiles impacted against the forward shields.

  “Forward shields down to sixty percent,” said Tactical.

  “Sixty?” shouted D’Varote. He felt the impact as raw energy begin hitting the forward shields. He could see for himself as the level dropped faster than could be repaired. Several more missiles hit from other ships as well. Then he saw most of the next salvo of fifty missiles from his ship explode or go spinning off. He knew then it was a lost cause. He stood and rushed off the bridge. He had to prepare the Isolation Option.

  * * *

  As the larger ships lay into one another, both in passing and as they veered around to continue the fight, once again an entirely different battle was fought. Fighters as squadrons, pairs, and singles dove over and under the larger ships. Whole squadrons were taken out, dogfights intermingled, and some fighters crashed into each other while doing it.

  There were Kashkal fighters with their strange shape, and Sleek fighters from the salvaged ships, both the old and newer models piloted by Leethog. Squilla fighters, struggling to compete with the Sleek fighters, much faster Krift ones, Tretrayon fighters, and a handful of Bentwick fighters, all slugged it out. Occasionally a unique fighter unlike any other would flash by, taking out the Krift fighters. Those came from the Lormell ship Sweet Pea. It was complete chaos to any observer.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Sir,” the tactical officer said to Harmon, “the dreadnought has ceased firing its laser. Its power plant appears to have ceased functioning, and it is drifting.”

  “Thanks, Adam,” Harmon said. He looked over at Brickle. “Give me the status.”

  “Forward shields at forty percent, stern at thirty, port is at fifty, and starboard is gone. We took three missiles, one to the repaired section. The pulse cannons on that side are inoperable. Medical informs me that we have seventeen killed in action, two missing, and the flight officer says there are three fighters destroyed.

  “The staff sergeant reports the damaged area is now sealed, and they are working on the blown shield generators. Zerith says Fusion Plant Two is down, and he doesn’t know if he can keep Four operating. We are running on two engines.”

  “Zerith! Zerith!” Harmon called down to the power plant.

  This time Kyla answered, “Captain, this is Kylatilaarnot.”

  “Kyla, are you alright?” Harmon asked, concerned. “Talk to me.”

  “Sir,” she said tiredly, “Master Chief Warrant Officer Farnog is back in the engine room with Veratiloolog. We may lose another engine. There are injuries, but no one has died.”

  “Frost!” Harmon exclaimed, wiping the blood off his forehead. He had hit his head while attempting to cross the bridge to put out a console fire. They were now using the weapons console as helm. The helm had arced and started burning. He sent Lena, the main pilot, to Medical to get her hand looked at. The pilot from the night shift had replaced her and was making sure the controls switched over.

  “Adam,” Harmon asked, sitting back in his seat, “what do we know?”

  “Sir,” the tactical officer said, scratching his head, “from what I can see, all of the Squilla ships have been destroyed or rendered inoperable. Six of them may have been shut down deliberately, since they are broadcasting surrender. The last Krift ship is still firing lasers sporadically at Urlak LeeKa’s ships, which are still in operation. He has demanded the surrender of that Krift ship twice now. I think he will destroy it if they don’t give in.”

  “I can see Windswept is intact,” Harmon said, looking at his screen. “What’s their status?”

  “They were hit with just one penetrating missile. All power plants and engines are functioning, though I don’t have a casualty list or number of fighters lost.”

  “Windswept, Salvage Title,” Harmon called over.

  “Harmon,” Evelyn answered, “are you okay? Salvage Title looks bad from here. You were venting atmosphere.”

  “I am,” Harmon answered, relieved to see her. “We got it sealed, and we’ll be okay now. If you and your crew are okay, I gotta run. I need to check the whole fleet.”

  “I understand, out here,” she said, smiling, and the link cut.

  “What’s the status of the rest of Task Force Salvage?” Harmon asked the tactical officer, who had been gathering information as Harmon made his calls.

  “I have a better grasp of the situation, sir,” he said. “Starting with our escorts, both Basher and Sweet Pea are intact. Cameron reports two engines and a power plant out. He says nobody died, though. His exact words were, “Nobody died and stuff.” Desert Shadow took two hits and is running on one engine. Lieutenant Yatarward reports that he lost most of his engine room techs. His chief engineer is injured, but it is not life-threatening.”

  “I’ll need to let Big Jon know she’s fine,” Harmon thought out loud. “What about the brothers?”

  “The Skrittle is untouched,” he answered. “The brothers are cruising around, looking to see if they need to take out any targets. We lost the destroyer Sandstorm, the light battlecruiser Mirage, and two frigates, Sandpit and Rockpit. The medium battlecruiser Desert Wind is running on one power plant.”

  “Kashkal’s Legacy, Salvage Title,” Harmon said after checking his comms unit for the right network.

  “Captain Tomeral,” Rick Kashka answered. “It has been a great day to do battle.”

  “Can you give me your status?” Harmon asked, confused by the greeting.

  “The Kashkal have lost one ship, Kashkal’s Swift Strike. Its crew will be remembered in honor. There are many ships that must be repaired if we are to use them in battle again, and some crew members must be replaced across the fleet. All in all, it has been an honorable fight, and the Kashkal are pleased. I am pleased. The tactics used were sound. It has been many years since we have fought as a whole. It does
us good to remember our purpose.”

  “We won. Without you and your fleet, we couldn’t have done so. I’m grateful.” Harmon said.

  “It is I who am grateful. You gave us a contract. Contract is life,” Rick said. “You have much to do as the commander. I will leave you to it, Captain.” The link cut.

  “Sir,” the comms officer said, “you have a call from Captain Opawn.”

  “Thanks, put her on,” Harmon said, wiping his forehead again.

  “Harmon,” the Task Force commander of the TDF asked, “are you alright?

  “Yeah,” Harmon answered, “this is just a scratch. You got a status for me?”

  “I do,” she said, deflated. “We lost five ships, including the renovated fighter carrier. I think they were gunning for it because we used it against them. Tretra’s Pride, TDF Carthon and TDF Varnot are the only ships still in operation. We’ve begun rescue operations. There are many on TDF Brunner awaiting rescue. There are only about a quarter of our Tretrayon fighters left. They were no match for the Krift fighters. That design needs to be scrapped. You can bet I’ll be bringing that up with General Wilton.”

  “Keep me updated on the rescue attempts,” Harmon said. “We’ve started that over here as well. Out here.”

  One last call to make before I call General Wilton, Harmon thought. “Cube, Salvage Title.”

  “Salvage Title, Cube.” Harmon heard the sound of a large boom as Mike answered. “Make it short, we’re kinda busy here.”

  “Do you need reinforcements?” Harmon asked, preparing mentally to do just that.

  “No, I think we got it…yeah that was the last of them…you’re cleaning that up, Bradford,” he heard Mike yell.

  “Ok, we’re good. What’s up?” Mike asked as if he wasn’t just in a firefight.

  “I was calling for a status update,” Harmon told him, puzzled. “What exactly was going on over there?”