by Mike Smith
“Looks like somebody forgot to tell them that,” Jon quipped, as finally the ball of smoke and flame came to rest on a parallel course but slightly above the shuttle. Putting the body of the mighty warship between the shuttle and the destroyer which was still in orbit above.
“Told you that we would be here on time,” Paul’s voice sounded throughout the cockpit of the shuttle as he opened a communication channel.
“I never doubted you for a second,” Jon laughed in reply. “Captain, permission to come aboard?”
“Granted. But I suggest that you use the upper flight deck, as according to the ships internal sensors the lower flight deck is currently registering two hundred degrees centigrade and the computer reports it is currently on fire.”
“Aye, aye Captain, upper flight deck it is,” Jon confirmed, swinging the shuttle around the ball of flame, to approach it from above the stern.
“Jon,” Miranda cautioned warningly. “You cannot seriously tell me we are going to land on that? It’s on fire.”
“Yea of little faith,” he disagreed, angling the ship towards the wall of fire directly ahead, increasing power to the engines to catch up with the large warship. “The hull of the shuttle will protect us from the flames. Probably,” he added with a laugh as the shuttle slipped into the wall of flames.
Passing directly through into the hangar bay.
“Told you so,” he concluded, powering down the shuttle’s engines as they came to a rest on the flight deck. Jon could see out the corner of his eye the massive hangar bay doors starting to close. Doors which were isolating them from the blazing inferno taking place only a few hundred meters away.
“Make sure the shuttle is powered down and secured,” he ordered her. “I’ll be on the bridge with Paul. I doubt our getaway will be that easy.”
“Why not?” Miranda asked curiously.
“Never has been in the past,” were Jon’s final words as he hurried out the cockpit.
*****
“What’s our status?” Jon called out as soon as he stepped foot onto the bridge. The initial indications did not look promising, as nobody even acknowledged his arrival, lost against a backdrop of noise of alarms and sirens sounding throughout the bridge. The ship tilted at a sharp angle and again Jon had to catch hold of something, or otherwise lose his footing. Twice that had happened on his way to the bridge.
“Glad that you could join us,” Paul snapped, obviously under significant strain. “So did we get him?”
Jon did not even need to ask who him was. “Yes we got him, he’s in medical with the Doc now. We also picked ourselves up an Imperial Princess in the process.”
“Sofia was also there?” Paul raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What was she doing there? No never mind, forget I asked.”
“More importantly, you are not looking after my ship,” Jon said disapprovingly. “I thought I told you not to scratch the paint. Last I checked from the outside, there was no paint left, as you had burnt it all off.”
“Feel free to leave. Were it not for us you would be—damn.” The ship was rocked by another explosion, interrupting whatever Paul was going to say.
“What’s the situation?” Jon asked again, his eyes switching between the view-screen and the various status readouts.
“We’ve got a destroyer in low orbit above us, that is trying to pound the shit out of us. The only thing that is saving us is this ball of fire and smoke surrounding us. The thermal radiation we are emitting is destroying any missiles before they can impact us. Additionally the smoke and flames are throwing off their targeting scanners. Unfortunately none of that is going to last long after we break atmosphere.”
Almost as if having spoken too soon, the Helm Officer called out. “Captain we have just exited the exosphere and are currently climbing into a low orbit.”
A massive explosion nearby shook the ship to its very foundations.
“Well there goes our shield,” Paul shook his head. “Any ideas?” This last question was directed at Jon.
“Yeah, we need to go faster,” Jon urged.
“Helm!” Jon and Paul shouted simultaneously.
“We cannot go faster, sirs,” the Officer replied. “We are still fighting the gravitational pull of the planet and have not made a stable orbit yet. The ships engines are already in danger of overheating and melting.”
“Damn,” Jon replied. “Weapons?”
It was Paul’s turn to shake his head this time. “We lost our aft missile battery a couple of engagements back. I don’t dare to try any of the rail-guns at the moment, as they are all overheating from having passed through the atmosphere.”
“You know,” Jon said in a reproving tone of voice. “I’m fairly sure that the plan called for you to take out all their fleet assets before you came and rescued us?”
“It was on my to-do list,” Paul snapped back angrily. “Right after saving your asses from that destroyer which was just about to start taking pot shots at you.”
Jon laughed, hitting Paul on the back in appreciation. “Thanks for that by the way. I owe you a beer.”
“That's assuming that we live long enough for you to buy me one.” Paul winced as another explosion went off, closer than the last. “So any bright ideas, oh tactical genius?”
“I don’t know. What weapons do we have remaining that I have to work with?”
“We have one remaining bow particle cannon and the bow missile battery. I wouldn’t trust any of the rail-guns until they have had a chance to cool further.”
“Ops,” Jon called out. “What is the location of the enemy destroyer?”
“Twenty kilometres astern and gaining Commander. We will soon be in range of their guns,” he added helpfully.
“Hmm,” Jon thought aloud. “Enemy warship to the rear. Only weapons that we have available are front facing. Not good. What is that?” Jon exclaimed, as a massive, dark object suddenly became visible on the view screen, directly ahead.
“Titan defence station,” Paul replied distractedly, checking on the latest damage report from the last near miss.
“I thought that you were meant to have destroyed all those as well? Seriously what have you been doing all this time? Sightseeing?”
“It’s already been disabled alright?” Paul replied irritably. “It would have taken too much effort to completely destroy it and I didn’t want to waste the ammunition.”
“Hmm,” Jon replied thoughtfully. “Helm. Set a course for that station. Flank speed.”
At a quick glance at Paul, who nodded after a moment’s hesitation, the Helm Officer quickly went about carrying out the order. “What are you planning?” He asked hesitantly.
“Have you ever played eightball?” Jon inquired.
“Never heard of it. What is it?”
“A game that was popular on Old Earth many years ago. We had an ancient version of the game in one of the recreation rooms on my first posting. The idea was to knock small balls around a table with a wooden stick to try and push the balls into holes around the table.”
“Seriously?” Paul replied, looking at Jon in astonishment.
“Seriously.”
“Sounds like a complete waste of time to me,” Paul groused. “And what has that got to do with our current predicament?”
“Because we are going to aim to put the black eight ball in the back pocket,” Jon replied with a gleam in his eye. “Tactical,” he called out, tapping on the view-screen at the point where one of the massive kilometre long docking arms was attached to the hub of the Titan station. “I want a thirty second focused beam from the remaining particle cannon targeted at this section of the station.”
“But Jon, the station has already been disabled, it’s no threat to us. You are just wasting energy. We need to come around and disable the destroyer before its guns get within range.”
“I have no intention of trying to disable the station, we just need to bring the eight ball into play. Tactical have you a weapons lock?”
“Yes Commander.”
“Then fire.”
The only remaining operational particle cannon swivelled on its mount to target the docking arm many kilometres ahead. The massive barrel started to glow brightly and then in the blink of an eye the weapon discharged the blindingly bright, highly concentrated beam of photons. Travelling at nearly the speed of light the beam began to glow brighter and brighter, as it impacted at the junction of the docking arm. The heavy armour of the station started to melt under the extreme temperatures imparted by the high-energy photons. Soon the beam cut through the external armour, slicing through the heavy load-bearing supports underneath like a hot knife through butter. It didn’t even take the full thirty seconds before the beam had completely eviscerated the junction. Sliced cleanly through, the docking arm was floating freely like an amputated appendage.
“We’re through Commander,” the Tactical Officer called. “The docking arm is no longer attached to the station.”
“Good job,” Jon congratulated the crew. “Now that we’ve put the eight ball in play, let’s give it a whack to get it moving. Do we have any Mk. VI’s remaining?
“Two.”
“Then load one into the bow missile battery and prepare to fire.” Jon hurried over towards the tactical console and marked an area of space a few hundred meters beyond the station. “Let’s target there. It should be close enough to impart just enough momentum to get the ball rolling, but not enough to vaporise it.”
“Ready Commander.”
“Then go ahead and fire.”
For the second time within as many hours, the lone missile arced off the bow of the ship. Quickly gaining distance, the missile orientated itself, before charging towards the station. However, this time the target was no small docking bay, but a kilometre long docking arm. The missile flew straight and true, passing a few hundred meters overhead of the structure. Once the correct distance away, the missile vaporised into an expanding ball of light, heat and energy. Within the space of a few milliseconds the shockwave hit the docking arm. Photons, electrons and neutrons, all passing their momentum onto the docking arm. For an instant it seemed as if it had not worked, then ever so slowly, millimetre by millimetre, centimetre by centimetre the massive arm started to move, in the direction of the Sunfire.
“It’s moving Commander,” the Operations Officer called out in stunned surprise. “It’s moving in our direction, slowly but picking up velocity.”
“Ok time to reel them in,” Jon muttered. “Helm. Reduce velocity, let’s reel the destroyer in closer, after all we don’t want to ruin our surprise.”
“Won’t they figure out what we are doing?” Paul asked not believing the plan seemed to be working.
“No,” Jon replied. “We have just blinded them with that nuclear detonation, anyway they will think we were just aiming at the station. How close is the enemy warship?” he asked.
“Less than two kilometres now. Their guns are just coming into range.”
“Very well, we don't want them any closer than that. Helm, down on the y-axis plane, but slowly. We don’t what to ruin our little surprise for them. Just make it look like we are manoeuvring for a better position. The enemy ship will go above us, as they must be aware that we’ve lost our aft missile battery. They can pound us from above and we have no way to retaliate, or that's what they think.”
Meanwhile the large patch of darkness continued to creep ever closer to the Sunfire, like a miniature blackhole it seemed to swallow all light. Very slowly, so as if to appear to be simple manoeuvres, the Sunfire started a shallow dive. The kilometre long docking arm, travelling in the opposite direction, passed a few hundred meters above the ship.
“Time to impact?” Jon inquired
“Thirty seconds.” Came back the prompt response.
The destroyer must have eventually realised the extreme danger the ship was in, as its engines suddenly went to full power, trying desperately to manoeuvre out of the way. However the destroyer displaced almost one-hundred thousand tonnes. It wasn’t a fighter that could turn on a dime. In last minute desperation the crew of the Sunfire could see the bright flashes as the destroyer used its pulse cannons, missiles and rail guns to try and destroy the obstruction. However, the docking arm was over one kilometre of heavily armoured alloy, the strongest and densest material that science had yet invented. It was like shooting a BB gun at an elephant. It had absolutely no effect.
The docking arm slammed into the destroyer, just short of amidships, tearing a three hundred meter long gash along the hull of the ship. The ship seemed to shudder for a moment, and paused, as if taking a gasping breath upon receiving such a horrifying wound. Then slowly one-by-one the lights extinguished, the engines dimmed before going still, the ship was adrift, powerless. Helpless.
“I think it’s time that we went home,” Jon said to the quiet bridge. “What’s the nearest FTL jump point?”
“Three hundred kilometres dead ahead Commander, twenty minutes until we are at a safe distance to jump.”
“Very well. I had better go and check on the Emperor.” However he was interrupted by another massive jolt striking the ship, causing it to tip dangerously to starboard before it slowly righted itself. “What the hell was that?” Jon demanded with clenched teeth.
“Multiple contacts astern,” the Operations Officer called. “Looks like a squadron of Tyrell ships. They must have just arrived in-system. I am counting one light cruiser, one destroyer and four frigate class ships. Approaching rapidly.”
Jon and Paul exchanged a worried glance. “How long until they are within weapons range?” Paul asked.
“They are already in range of their missiles. They will be within range of their guns in less than five minutes.”
“Can we outrun them?”
“Negative Captain. We’ve taken too much damage to the engines.”
“Jon, any ideas?”
Jon cast his gaze around the bridge, one that in some ways was so familiar to him, and in others completely alien. “Yes. It’s time for us to leave,” Jon said softly, meeting the gaze of the crew who believed in him and trusted him to get them home. Just like the original crew of the Sunfire that he had failed so utterly. Reaching over the back of Paul’s chair Jon pressed the control to activate the ship’s internal communications system. “This is Commander Radec,” he began without preamble. Taking a deep breath he announced. “All crew are to proceed to assigned shuttles. We are abandoning ship. I repeat all crew to abandon ship.” Looking up into the astonished expressions of the bridge crew Jon said. “That includes you. Go. That's an order.”
With a quick glance at Paul, who nodded his head, the bridge crew left in a hurry, heading towards the flight deck and the waiting shuttles.
“That includes you Paul,” Jon said firmly.
“I’m staying.”
“Like hell you are. I promised Carol and the kids I was going to make sure you got back to the station. Alive. If I go back there without you, she would kill me anyway.”
“I think you’re forgetting who you are talking to Jon. You made me Captain of the Sunfire, not you. Didn’t you know the Captain always goes down with the ship?”
Jon just scratched his chin. He had forgotten that old tradition. “Good point,” he said. “I had forgotten about that. You’re fired!”
“What?” Paul gaped at him in disbelief.
“I’m the Chief Executive of Vanguard and you work for me. So I’m firing you. You are no longer Captain.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Can.”
“Can’t. Look Jon,” Paul replied exasperatedly. “I’ve already broken the news of your death to Sofia once this lifetime and frankly that is once to many in my book. I’m not leaving without you.”
Both men ducked as another missile impacted the side of the ship. The chorus of alarms and sirens, now included a hull breach warning.
“One of us needs to cover the departing shuttles. There is no point in us both dying.�
��
“Agreed.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Draw straws?”
Suddenly another alarm could be overheard above the din of all the rest, a twinkling bell, mixed with an incessant beeping.
Jon angled his head thoughtfully for a moment. “That's a new one for me.”
“Me too,” Paul agreed hunting around the bridge for the console emitting the strange alarm. “Got it,” Paul called out. “It’s the alarm for the gravimetric sensors on the ship. There are multiple wormholes forming, fifty kilometres dead ahead,” Paul explained with a sudden stab of fear.
“Directly in the path of the departing shuttles,” Jon reciprocated with a horrified expression.
Chapter Seventeen
Confederation Navy 12th Fleet, Eta Cassiopeia System
“I don’t understand Admiral,” Captain Harrison exclaimed in frustration.
“Oh? Please enlighten me Captain. What is it that you fail to comprehend?” The Admiral replied with a knowing smile.
“What are we going here?”
“Training manoeuvres,” came the immediate reply.
“But Admiral, we haven’t done any training or manoeuvres.”
“I’m sorry to disagree, but we are indeed training. Manoeuvres will come later.”
“What training?” The Captain almost exploded in frustration. “We have been sitting around here for the past six hours.”
“We are training in the art of doing nothing. This is an important strategy that is often used in combat to confuse the enemy.”
“It is?” Captain Harrison asked dubiously.
“Absolutely,” Sterling replied with a broad smile.
“Admiral, Captain, I am sorry to interrupt but we are picking up a distress signal,” the Communications Officer reported.
“How many?” Sterling turned his penetrating gaze on the young officer.
“Uh what?” The officer replied, confused. That was not the usual response upon being informed that a ship was in distress. “Just the one Admiral.”