Rescue at Waverly

by T J Mott

  For the first time in many years, he actually had pre-mission jitters. He hoped that it wasn’t too obvious to the Marines.

  The comm system brought him back to reality. “The Cassandra has successfully docked with the station.”

  “And the corvette’s men are still in position?” Thad asked nervously.

  “Affirmative. They have visual on the only path between the station proper and the cruiser’s docking arm. If anyone disembarks, we’ll see it happen.”

  ***

  For the next two hours, no one entered or exited the ship except for a few personnel who managed the refueling process. Thaddeus’s heart continued to pound uncontrollably and he was starting to feel sick from anxiety. The converted cruiser simply docked to refuel and transferred no cargo at all. Meanwhile, the Caracal and Panther very slowly coasted towards the station, taking their time to close the few light-seconds of distance. They wanted to keep up appearances that they were there to refuel, but they had no intention of actually docking. They had a large timeslot for their scheduled docking ports and no one aboard the Depot cared enough to ask why they were taking so long.

  “Cassandra is undocking now,” reported the acting operations officer. “They are vectoring away on RCS power. Shrike and Owl are recalling their men. They report no offloading of slaves or personnel.”

  Thad’s heart sank and a cold pit formed in his stomach. The easy scenario would not happen. He tapped the comm controls on his left wrist, allowing him to transmit on the Marine platoon frequency. “Platoon, this is Marcell. Adelia was not disembarked and the Cassandra is preparing to leave. Stand by for possible boarding action.”

  “Copy, Admiral,” Lieutenant Rossell acknowledged. All chatter inside the transport halted.

  The ops channel cut in again. “She’s ignoring our hails and throttled up her main thrusters. Now accelerating away from the station at fifty G’s.”

  He grimaced inside his helmet. “Copy. Signal the Panther and stand by for intercept.”

  They needed to intercept the target outside of the space station’s weapons range, but before she made a hyperspace jump. The Caracal’s officers were well-trained in computing a starship’s jump destination from the heat signature and phi radiation burst of many common starship designs, but the Cassandra was modified in too many unknown ways for them to have any meaningful profile. Besides, the task force’s drives had not yet cooled enough to allow anything more than a short jump. If the Cassandra jumped, Thad’s forces could not possibly follow.

  If that happened, Commodore Cooper might be able to relocate the ship within six months or so. By then, Adelia would almost certainly have been traded away. Thad frowned at the thought and felt the cold spread from his stomach to his entire torso. He had to succeed.

  Once again, he lost all sense of time. His mind was preoccupied by thoughts of Earth, and by thoughts of a beautiful woman from his past. He was now only moments away from retrieving her, but so much could happen in those moments. He felt his stomach churn uneasily within him, and he fought to remain still and composed. Vomiting inside his vacuum-rated helmet would not be the ideal way to start a hostile boarding operation.

  “They are still refusing our comm connection.”

  “Very well. Helm, begin intercept.” Captain Reynolds ordered.

  “Aye, Captain, beginning intercept.”

  Thad’s stomach knotted up even tighter. The next easiest scenario was to simply call up Cassandra over an encrypted channel and arrange to meet for a slave purchase somewhere outside Waverly’s space. But if they wouldn’t even accept a comm connection…

  “Closing on the target,” Poulsen reported.

  “Captain, they finally accepted comms.”

  “Good. Make sure Admiral Marcell is included in the channel.”

  “Comm channel open.”

  “Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked.

  “Starship Cassandra, I’m sorry I startled you,” Reynolds stated calmly. “I’d like to arrange to purchase some of your cargo.”

  “We have nothing for sale at the moment, and even if we did we don’t have the time to stop.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Reynolds assured him.

  “We’re on a very tight schedule. Leave us alone!”

  “This channel is encrypted…Listen, we want to purchase a small quantity of slaves. Can we meet nearby and discuss this further?”

  “We don’t carry slaves. That’s illegal here.” Thaddeus almost laughed. The cargo manifest that Gray Fleet operatives had hacked and downloaded weeks ago contained a very detailed list of its slave cargo.

  “Right,” Reynolds said sarcastically. “We are prepared to meet out in neutral space somewhere if that helps.”

  “What are you guys, some kind of undercover cops? I said I don’t have no slaves.”

  “Captain, he closed the channel. Acceleration increased to one hundred G’s, and heat signature suggests hyperdrive recharge at emergency rate.”

  Thad felt his heart flip in his chest and he began to taste bile. The Cassandra was not going to cooperate. “Dammit!” he shouted inside his helmet as he slammed one gauntleted fist against his knee. The Marines on either side of him, unable to hear his comm chatter with the operations staff, jumped at his sudden motion. “Keep closing on them and prepare to open fire.” He switched to the platoon channel. “Marines, stand by for boarding. Looks like we have to do this the hard way.”

  “We’re still closing,” Poulsen said.

  “Cassandra has increased acceleration to two hundred G’s. Uh, we’re getting a hail from Waverly Depot.”

  “Accept it and make sure Marcell’s linked in.”

  A new voice came through, this one sounding much more alert than the bored traffic control officer they’d commed earlier. “Starship Ardent,” the voice said sharply, referring to what Thaddeus presumed was the Caracal’s current alias. “You appear to be initiating an act of illegal aggression within our airspace. Stand down!”

  “Negative, Waverly Depot,” Thaddeus responded angrily. “There’s no need for you to get involved.”

  “Uh, negative, Ardent,” the voice said, sounding slightly confused. “Stand down now and we will be willing to overlook this.”

  Several seconds passed. The Caracal did not stand down, and the small frigate’s powerful thrusters allowed it to easily close on the much larger and slower cruiser. The voice returned. “New orders. Ardent, stand down immediately. Power down all systems except life support and prepare for boarding. You’re under arrest.”

  “That’s a big negative, Depot,” Thad replied. “We will not stand down. Stay out of this.”

  “Our voiceprint recognition system suggests that you may be Thaddeus Marcell. You are wanted for acts of piracy in Waverly’s sovereign territory and have active warrants. Power down and stand by for boarding.”

  A tone indicated the next transmission was over the local ops channel and not their channel to the Depot. “They’re launching their squadron. I count six Uhlan-class patrol ships undocking and they’ve ordered all local traffic to come to a stop.”

  “Dammit!” A cold pit once again formed in his stomach as he realized what he had to do next. “Captain Reynolds, I think we need to play our trump card. Unless you have any other ideas…”

  “No, Admiral, I think you’re out of options.”

  Thaddeus grimaced and switched his comm back to the Waverly channel. He didn’t really want to do this. He had tried to be reasonable, but being reasonable had not worked so far. “Waverly Depot, be advised I have warships docked inside your station!” he said harshly. “Call back your squadron. If you or anyone else in this airspace interferes with us, we will open fire on your station from the inside! Is that understood?”

  The channel remained silent for many seconds. A new voice returned. “Power down and prepare for boarding. If you do not comply immediately, we will disable or destroy your ship.”

  Thaddeus clicked his comm over to the ops channe
l. “Shrike, fire a warning shot. Burn some paint off their walls.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  A moment later the station responded. “This is your final warning. Stand down.”

  Thad sighed. He didn’t like the direction this was taking. Why couldn’t the Cassandra have agreed to stop outside the system for a quick transaction? That would have been so simple, so painless…so bloodless.

  “It’s time to quit bluffing,” he said to the command frequency. “Shrike, pick a landed ship of your choice and destroy it. Owl, stand by.”

  “Aye, Admiral. Opening fire.”

  “Their squadron has halted. I think we have their attention. Wait…Squadron has split into two flights. One is approaching us, the other is moving back towards the station.”

  “They’re hoping to attack us and the corvettes at the same time,” said Reynolds.

  The station cut in again. “Marcell, this is preposterous, even for a scoundrel like you! Stand down immediately!”

  The voice sounded genuinely panicked. Thaddeus knew his tactic was starting to work, and he smiled. “Ops, has the squadron been recalled?”

  “Negative. Three Uhlans are still on approach, currently two-point-two light-seconds out.”

  “Very well.” He gritted his teeth. “Shrike and Owl, you are weapons-free. Engage targets at your discretion. I want chaos inside that hangar. Continue until you receive further instructions.”

  Five seconds passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Thaddeus began to wonder just how stubborn the station personnel could be when they finally responded after almost a minute. A third voice joined the channel. “Marcell, this is Governor Gage speaking. Cease fire, we stand down!”

  “Confirmed, Admiral. The Uhlans have halted and are powering down.”

  Thaddeus smiled again. His tactic had worked. But he hadn’t recovered Adelia yet… “Shrike and Owl, cease your attack and stand by.” He clicked his comm back to the station’s frequency. “Thank you, Governor. Please keep your squadron powered down and the hangar doors closed until you’ve received further instructions. If you, or anyone else in the airspace move against us, my ships will open fire again. I recommend you relay that message to all system traffic.”

  “You’re a madman, Marcell. Take what you want and get the hell away from my station! The next time we see you, we will destroy you without warning! Gage out!”

  The hailing channel closed. Thaddeus realized he was both shaking and smiling.

  ***

  “Open fire!” Admiral Marcell’s voice boomed over the speakers in the Caracal’s Command Center.

  Lieutenant Commander Green focused on the arrangement of displays in front of him. The Chief Gunner needed a lot of information during a skirmish, so his station was one of the more complicated ones in the Command Center.

  Lieutenant Durant, the second-in-command of the Gunnery Department, sat to his right, with a nearly identical setup that allowed him to assist Green and double-check his work.

  The first display showed him a wireframe model of the Caracal, with each individual weapon highlighted in a color that indicated its status and readiness. He had two subordinates, one for each battery, that continuously monitored their bank of turrets and made sure this data was as up-to-date and complete as possible.

  The next screen showed a visual feed of their target, the Cassandra. The old converted cruiser was barely visible through the blinding plasma exhaust streaming from its main thrusters as they failed to help it outrun its predator.

  The next one showed a wireframe of their target, along with a status and a table of statistics which was rather vague and incomplete. As the battle progressed, the sensor crew would gain a better understanding of the ship’s layout, behavior, and systems characteristics and this data would become more accurate and useful.

  The next screen was a simple text chat record of the voice comms. There were comm staff who simply monitored the voice comms and transcribed everything in real-time, both for the official logs and for officers like Green who couldn’t risk missing an important order or update during the chaos of battle.

  The final display showed data aggregated from the helm and navigational sensors, essentially a simplified map showing the relative positions, headings, and velocities of all nearby starships, so Green could retain situational awareness of the battlefield.

  And now that the skirmish was beginning, Green was practically in control of the Caracal. Everything depended on his weapons being in the right place at the right time with the right data, and so navigation and sensors became subordinate to him unless the Captain had a need to override his orders. He smiled despite the battle that he was about to lead, realizing that for a little while, Lieutenant Poulsen was required to listen to him.

  A pair of foot pedals sat on the deck in front of him, used as push-to-talk toggles for his two main comm channels. He stepped on the left one, connecting his headset’s microphone to everyone in the Command Center. “Helm, keep the target directly in front of us.” Next he stepped on the right pedal, which linked him to the lieutenants who commanded and monitored each weapons battery. He rarely gave orders directly to the gunners, instead he issued general orders which would get filtered as needed and quickly move down the chain of command until it reached the correct gun operators. “Target main thrusters and fire.” His lieutenants acknowledged the order.

  At the station next to him, Durant studied the map, judging the starships’ relative positions and trajectories. “Target is accelerating too fast for cannons,” he clarified for the lieutenants who might not yet have up-to-date sensor data. “Use lasers and fire directly into the thruster nozzles.”

  Green nodded. Cannon shells were ballistic after firing, unable to change their speed or trajectory, and would never reach a target which was accelerating so rapidly. Their best choice right now was to fire energy weapons and try to burn out the containment fields within the thrusters. Once the target’s rate of acceleration was low enough, then he could bring his more powerful cannons into play.

  His turret status began flashing. Each laser turret cycled through a range of colors as its weapon fired, then paused to recharge. A series of laser beams lanced out at the Cassandra, powerful enough to ionize and illuminate the rarified hydrogen and dust which existed at the outer edges of the Waverly system. The beams intersected precisely with the target’s thruster nozzles.

  He glanced over at the target status display and noted with satisfaction that its acceleration had decreased by nearly 10%, a fact also called out over the main ops comm by the sensor operators.

  “Target’s turrets are coming online,” someone reported. “Topside aft turrets are rotating to bear on us.”

  “Attempting to move below their firing arc,” Poulsen said. But as she used the maneuvering thrusters to move the frigate downwards, the Cassandra rolled about its long axis, keeping the Caracal in view of the turret. “No good.”

  Green clenched his teeth and wished he had all three corvettes at his disposal. Marcell was a fool for removing the Owl and Shrike from their group, and he was still very worried about how this battle would go. “Captain, I recommend the Panther target its weapons systems.” Reynolds agreed and ordered such over the channel linking the two Blue Fleet starships.

  “Target’s acceleration reduced to one hundred seventy G’s. Central thruster is down to sixty-five percent of rated power. We are still gaining on them.”

  “Their turrets are firing,” the Damage Control Officer reported. “Laser weapons only. Scoring direct hits on our bow. No effect, armor is holding.”

  The Caracal’s lasers flashed again, converging on the opening in one of the Cassandra’s thrusters. “Target’s central thruster is offline! Acceleration down to one hundred ten G’s.”

  He tapped a button, opening the comm channel to all his gunners. “Good job, men. Target the other thrusters.”

  Suddenly the blinding glow of fusion exhaust disappeared from the visual feed, and the range to target began t
o decrease at an alarming rate. “Target has throttled down. She’s turning to fight us!” exclaimed one of the sensor analysts.

  “Matching velocity!” Poulsen shouted.

  Despite being partially disarmed, the cruiser had far more weapons than the Caracal. He needed to bring those weapons down as quickly as possible or the Caracal would get shredded. “Helm, yaw us and bring our starboard side to bear! Starboard cannons, load armor-piercing shells and target turrets!” He also couldn’t allow the Cassandra to escape. “Lasers, engage the cooling system. Target radiators, heat pumps, heat tanks, whatever you can do to bring down their cooling quickly!”

  His status display changed. The port side went completely silent as it rotated away, and eventually settled on green which indicated that all weapons were loaded, charged, and ready. The starboard lasers continued to flash as they fired and recharged, while the starboard cannons progressed through a range of blues as shells were loaded.

  He listened to the gun comms as the loaders reported ready and his lieutenants ordered a focus fire. Seconds later, he heard the fire command, and a staccato sequence of loud bangs blasted within the Caracal’s hull as the guns fired nearly in unison. The turret displays flashed from green back to a dark blue that slowly lightened in hue as the guns were loaded and readied for the next salvo.

  But one of the guns remained dark blue. “Cannon 2, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “The loader’s jammed. We’re trying to clear it now!” A moment later, an annotation reading LOADER JAM appeared on that gun’s status.

  “Copy,” he said. He didn’t like being short one gun, not against a target with superior firepower. Best to roll the ship and bring the other weapons in range while they cleared the jam. “Helm, roll us around. Bring port guns to bear. Same orders, but for the port guns this time!”