by D K Evans
"Ford," Ellery's voice crackled in his ear, "You've got sixty seconds. We're going to try to leave whether or not you're clear of the danger area."
"Don't worry," a bead of nervous sweat ran down Ford's back as he spoke, "We've got this."
He turned back to the hole and threw away the cutting torch.
"One last chance to impress," he told Sub.
"How could I refuse?" the other man said icily as he bent once more and grabbed the girder.
Again, it made it within a few inches of the lip of the crater before stopping. Sub was almost at the limit of his strength. Ford lunged downwards and wrapped his gloved hands around the beam, shifting to get a solid grip on it. He knew it was hopeless, but given the circumstances, he had to try.
"Push!" he instructed, as he heaved it towards him.
His legs and back burned in protest as he pulled the column of twisted metal towards himself, huffing and puffing inside the confines of his helmet. To his amazement, the beam started to move. Despite his comrade's superhuman strength, his own tiny contribution was making up the difference. Inch by inch, the beam rose until it cleared the edge of the hole. With one final effort, Ford wrenched it to the side and they let go, watching as it slammed back down and harmlessly slid away, scraping the paint from the hull.
"We're clear," he said into his microphone, grabbing Sub's hand and pulling him out of the pit.
"Understood," Ellery told them as the engines roared into life at the other end of the ship, "Now get yourselves inside, we're leaving."
Ford beckoned for Sub to follow and they made their way back along the hull of the ship. With increasing speed, the broken and tangled innards of the fueling station slid by them as the carrier reversed back along the tunnel it had gouged out of the facility. They made it to an airlock as the ship emerged into open space.
"Thanks for helping out," Ford said as he ushered Sub inside, "We couldn't have done this without you."
"There wasn't much of a choice," Sub replied, "Either sit in my cell and wait for certain death or go outside and wait for possible death. Life is just a question of mathematics, after all."
"That's what I love about you, man," Ford nodded, "You're always so full of cheer."
Before following him into the airlock, he turned and watched the station falling away from them, the first fires of entry into the planet's atmosphere beginning to dance across its hull as a series of small explosions rippled across it. Nearby, another warship was passing them. Ford smiled as he recognized the Rebellion insignia painted on its hull.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Horsk looked out from the bridge at the battle in front of him. The fuel station had detonated in the planet's upper atmosphere, sending burning fuel hurtling outwards in a rainbow of multicolored fire. Just as he had predicted, the Rebel fleet had wreaked havoc on Pharn's ships. Even the admiral's own flagship was burning, venting gas and firing its engines in short uncontrolled bursts as it too plummeted down towards the opaque swirling clouds of the gas giant. The rest of their ships were in disarray, some futilely trying to stand and fight whilst others were scattering in all directions as Rebel attack craft pursued them.
"Sometimes it hurts to be right," Horsk murmured.
"Sir?" the communications officer looked up from his station across the bridge.
"Nothing," he said before reconsidering, "Actually, hail what's left of our fleet."
"We're still locked out of the command channels, sir. We won't be able to authenticate our communications unless Admiral Pharn allows..."
"Ah to hell with authentication! Broadcast on an open frequency. We just need what's left of our forces to hear."
The communications officer nodded and tapped his console. Horsk heard the familiar hiss of the bridge's transmission system warmly crackling into life.
"This is Commodore Horsk aboard the Labrys," he announced, rising from his seat, "Admiral Pharn is unresponsive, therefore I am taking command of all ships in this area of operations. All Federation vessels are to disengage and conduct an immediate retreat. All ships of frigate size or smaller are to provide cover for our remaining capital ships as they exit the area. Any captains who see fit to shirk this duty will have to answer to me directly. We will lose no more of our people this day."
Horsk walked across the bridge and handed his data pad to one of the warfare officers, who began broadcasting the instructions it contained to friendly ships.
"You will be receiving jump coordinates and rally points momentarily," he continued, "Good luck, and may the Council's favor be with you."
Horsk returned to his seat as the cruiser swung around, leading the solemn procession of battered ships out of the system. The warfare officer returned his tablet and he started using it to go through footage of the battle. Horsk stopped as he watched a video of the station falling out of orbit. He slowed it down to a frame-by-frame pace and zoomed in. To his surprise, he saw – rising out of the flames – the grainy image of the stolen corvette that Councilor Volurm had sent him to hunt down.
Horsk sat back in his seat. The Councilor wouldn't appreciate his failure to destroy his quarry. But as he glanced at the tactical map and saw more and more friendly ships joining his convoy, he reflected that perhaps there was still a way he could make amends. His finger traced the outline of the Rebel ship as he started to silently think.
-
"Welcome aboard the Free Star, I'm Admiral Ryan. It's good to finally meet you!"
Ellery shook the Rebel commander's hand and looked around the command ship's hangar uncertainly.
"Meet us?" she asked.
"Of course! You're the guys who took out that listening post in the Ovlapis system a few weeks back, right?"
"Right..."
"Well you guys really stirred up a hornet's nest," Ryan smiled, "Federation radio chatter went crazy! All kinds of senior people were pissed off. Whatever you did, you sure ruffled a few feathers. Good work!"
"Thanks," Ellery nodded as Ryan led them towards the exit, Duuven, Hubbard and Ford trailing at a distance, "I wouldn't have thought that you guys would have had time to play spy games, what with every Federation ship in the sector hunting you and all."
"Nonsense!" Ryan gave her that same toothy grin, "We've had some troubles, yes, but until today, we'd mostly kept our distance from the Feds, fighting on our terms only. I know that things can be pretty wild for Rebel cells operating on their own, but here in the fleet, it's usually a lot more relaxed."
"Yeah, today didn't really fit with my idea of 'relaxed' either."
"No, it was almost a disaster. If it wasn't for your quick thinking, we could have walked straight into a trap. I've gotta say, putting yourselves in harm's way like that really impressed a lot of people around here. Baiting the Feds into springing the ambush early with your own ship? Incredible! But then using that station as a shield? That was a work of genius!"
"You're too kind!" Ellery laughed nervously as she turned to exchange a bemused look with the rest of them.
They reached the edge of the hangar and a door opened to reveal an elevator. Four Rebel troopers in smart uniforms stepped out and saluted, before standing aside like some kind of honor guard. Ryan paused in the doorway.
"Now look," he said, "I hate to rush things along, but upstairs there are some people from command who would like to meet you. Shouldn't take long."
"Whatever they need," Ellery nodded, gathering her thoughts.
"In the meantime, your crew can enjoy some of the facilities we have on board. There's a bar on the starboard side that's quite popular. Then we can see about integrating your ship into the fleet. Just some software updates and such."
"Great," they stepped into the lift and she shot a warning glance at Duuven and Hubbard, "Don't have too much fun."
Then the doors closed and they were gone.
"The hell was that supposed to mean?" Ford asked.
"Eh, she wants to make a good impression," Hubbard grunted, "Probably doesn'
t want us tussling with the locals. Apparently bar fights are 'frowned upon' in most navies these days."
"But why would you even need to be told?"
"Well you never know when the opportunity for a bit of pugilism might arise."
Ford rolled his eyes. Taking advantage of the lull in the conversation, one of the guards stepped forward and thrust a data pad towards them.
"The hell is this for?" Duuven asked.
"Ship systems integration, sir. We need to sync your ship's information with the rest of the fleet's."
"Can't this wait?" he asked, trying to step around him.
"No sir," the guard blocked his path, "Admiral Ryan would prefer to get this started right away."
"I've only just arrived..."
"That's fine, we only need a few basic details about your vessel to get started."
Ford smirked as he watched the vein in Duuven's temple start to bulge. The data pad chimed and a computerized voice rang out.
"Please state your ship registration number."
"Five-two-charlie-four-alpha-hotel-nine," Duuven sighed.
"Authenticated. Registration: five-two-charlie-four-alpha-hotel-nine," the data pad replied, "Please state your ship's name."
"Uh..." Duuven faltered, "We haven't really got around to officially naming..."
"I like 'Rosemary'," Hubbard butted in, "Always thought that was a good name for a ship."
"Shut it," Duuven hissed, "We're not calling my goddamn ship 'Rosemary'."
"Authenticated," the data pad flatly replied, "Vessel name: Rosemary."
"Delete that!" Duuven told the guard, "Delete that right now!"
"Sorry sir, but once this kind of information is filed with the system, it needs approval from a senior-ranking officer before the data can be expunged."
"Well who do I talk to?"
"No idea. I've never heard of somebody getting their own ship's name wrong before, sir," the trooper shrugged, "Maybe Admiral Ryan could approve a change?"
"Oh you wouldn't want to bother him with this, Duuven," Hubbard shook his head, "It'd make us look like idiots. That'd piss Ellery off for sure!"
Ford put his hand up to cover his smile as Duuven's face started to turn a weird shade of pink.
-
Ford looked up as Ellery entered the bar and came over to join him at his table. He'd chosen a window seat to get a good view of their surroundings. The Rebel fleet was forming up alongside the command ship and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen so many different fighting ships in one place. Most of the motley assortment of cruisers and frigates were old Federation designs that had been looted and reactivated, but others were just civilian ships that had had some weapons bolted on and a new coat of paint before being sent out into space. Even some of the surviving freighters from the fuel station had joined up with them, too desperate to risk a journey out of Federation space.
"Enjoying the view?" she asked, taking a seat.
"It'd be nicer if I knew where all these ships are going."
"Command's working on that at the moment," Ellery replied, "Most of the ships could do with refueling and some repairs, so I'd guess that'll be the first priority."
"And what about us? Are we sticking around?"
"Seems that way," she said, "We've brought some badly needed fighters that could come in useful. Why? You underwhelmed with all this?"
"No. I guess I'd never thought about what would happen once we finally found the fleet. Didn't expect it to be this quiet afterwards. Not having some kind of objective just makes me feel... restless."
"Well it won't last for long. Admiral Ryan says that he's got some kind of mission in the works for us. Apparently it's pretty important. So enjoy the peace and quiet whilst it lasts."
Ford nodded and looked out the window, watching the smaller ships flitting to and fro between the larger ones like mosquitos in a sunbeam.
"What did they make of Sub?" he asked at last.
"They went over the interrogation footage and physical scans," she said, "But given his past conduct, we agreed that he doesn't pose a threat."
"Seriously? The guy's a purpose-built killing machine and you don't think he's a threat?"
"Ryan's of the opinion that as long as he's willing to work with us, he's a potential asset," Ellery explained, "Their analysts have taken a look at that map we confiscated from him and so far they've made no sense of it. It doesn't match with any data in the records. Could just be junk."
"Junk that the Singularist League would be willing to kill for?"
"You don't even have any definitive proof that he is from the League. But the point stands, until instructed otherwise, we're to let him walk free."
Ford just shook his head and went back to staring out of the window. A familiar sight came into view as a corvette festooned with jury-rigged docking points and covered in damage drifted by.
"Well," he shrugged, raising his glass, "Here's to the Rosemary."
"I'll drink to that," Ellery chuckled.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Hi,
Hope you enjoyed the second installment in the Assault Squadron series! I had a blast writing it, as it has allowed me to flesh out some of the wider details of the setting and tease at some others (namely the workings of the Federation and shining a little more light on the factions within it).
When it came to writing Commodore Horsk, I was trying to go for a far more rigidly militaristic vibe than the main characters possess and had a lot of fun writing the Federation characters. Personally, I think having a competent 'bad guy' can really make a piece of fiction much more compelling and the more relatable they are, the better. Horsk is definitely going to make a comeback as the series moves on and will have a bigger role to play.
This time, the writing/editing/formatting process has been much easier, so there should be fewer glitches. I'm also going to put much more time aside for writing, so the next installment will be out as soon as I can physically complete it!
If you finished reading this book, please don't hesitate to leave a review, as it really helps out with gauging people's reactions.
Until next time!
D K Evans