by J. W. Kurtz
On the bridge the Captain turned from the station he was hovering over, hardline handset in hand, at the sound of the hatch opening. Two bridge crewman, Chance Ryan and Max Gillespie, transitioned from the zero-g of the corridor to the normal gravity of the bridge with practiced ease and precision. Wray greeted them with a nod and motioned for them to join him. The two swiftly trotted across the deck to stand next to their Boss at the damage control station he had been monitoring.
"Stand fast, Proto. Stay on the line," Wray spoke into the handset before pulling it away from his head. "Ryan, Gillespie, good to see you guys are tip-top. You made good time getting here."
"We're good, Boss," Ryan said, a former CDF weapons officer turned Bellerophon crewman.
"Where do you need us, Captain?" Gillespie asked
"Franks is dead," Wray replied as he glanced in the direction of her body lying covered against a bulkhead. The two just arrived crewman spied the blood soaked blanket. If they were shocked they didn't show it. If anything the two stood taller and their expressions became more attentive. The loss of their own, a loss that very well could have been either of them, brought clarity to the minds of the well trained and experienced men. Wray looked at Gillespie and said, "I need you, Max, to strap in and man the helm. Use only passive systems. Shut down all emissions on the ship. Maintain present course. No maneuvering."
An eyebrow was raised by Gillespie at this order out of curiosity but he knew better than to waste time and ask why now. He would learn why shortly he guessed. He double timed it to his station across the bridge and buckled into the seat most recently occupied by Oren Pfeiffer. Analog switches clicked and snapped while digital 3D displays appeared and hovered at his flanks as Gillespie assumed complete control of the Belle' and primary systems. When the Belle' was the Ridley, this type of full control would have been impossible to achieve and maintain by one station. The helm was never in control of shipwide systems. The helm only flew the ship. Now, with a far smaller crew than she was originally designed to operate with, and some heavy duty automation, the Belle' could be almost entirely run by the helm station alone. Though despite the automation Gillespie would have his hands full.
Pleased with the swiftness and professionalism of Gillespie, the Captain turned back to Chance Ryan standing before him. The tall blond haired former CDF weapons officer stood silently before him awaiting instruction. Wray met Ryan's focused eyes and began to explain what he knew about the unexploded missile wedged into the port side of the Belle'. With Ryan up to speed and waiting to lend his expertise, the Captain returned the hardline handset to his ear and spoke into the mike. As he did so he turn the handset slightly away from his head and motioned for Ryan to lean in so he could hear the conversation.
"You still with me, Proto?" Wray asked.
"Roger that, Captain," a calm Darius Protochenko replied.
"Good. Where are you exactly? Maybe I can pull you up on one of the damage control cameras here."
"Just shy of medical. I was escorting Takashi Kurou to the doc. He took a pretty good knock to the head from a poorly secured locker on the overhead," and with that revelation Darius looked over at Takashi to check on his friend who nodded that he was fine and to continue. "I'd say the ordnance is 30 to 40-meters away from medical. Pretty sure this thing took out the upper portside fast-pipe as it breached the hull."
On the bridge, Wray flipped through the internal camera feeds of the ship. Far too many of them were static or blank with unwavering "no input" feeds. Finally he came to a functional closed circuit image of the blocked corridor in question. He stood back from the image on the flat display before him. He quietly cursed under his breath. Ryan and Wray then shared a knowing glance.
"Proto. You're right by a monitoring station, correct? Can you get me a local reading?"
"Affirmative, Captain," Darius replied. "It says '98%.' There's a small leak somewhere. I'm shocked this thing's held a seal that strong though. We need to get this area locked-down in case it doesn't maintain when a disposal team..." before Darius could continue, the Captain cut him off.
"Proto, listen up, that's no anti-ship missile. That's a boarding arrow. You and Takashi need to beat feet back to an arms locker or the nearest armory and gear up. I'm going to have the personal comms on the ship reactivated so we can coordinate this thing. And scramble the crew to combat. Why we don't have whoever is on that thing scurrying around already is beyond me. Maybe we're lucky and their heavy acceleration couches failed and there's nothing but human paste in that capsule or smashed assault robots...but I'm not betting we're that lucky," Wray supposed.
"Shit. SHIT! Roger that, Boss. I've never seen one of these up close. We're moving, sir. Proto, out," Darius said as he slammed the handset back into its cradle. He turned, grabbed Takashi by the shoulder, and began rapidly retreating in the direction they'd come moments earlier.
Takashi, his concern very much renewed, asked, "what the hell's a 'boarding arrow'?" He only grew more worried as Darius continued to look over their shoulders during their retreat.
"Bad news, brother. Bad, bad news," Darius replied. "It would almost be better if that was an unexploded missile. A boarding arrow is like a missile, but instead of containing a warhead, it contains troops or assault robots. The capsule is barb shaped and extrudes a heavy polymer at the breach point as a seal from full decompression, which is why the atmo in that area was still pretty stable, with only a small, slow leak. If we're lucky it's maybe a half-dozen guys in light battlesuits like we use."
"And if we're not 'lucky'?" an even more concerned and now very winded Takashi asked as they hurried down a ladder to a lower deck. His dizziness was also returning but not due to the concussion. His head was swimming as the possibility that he was going to be shot at occurred to him.
"Shit, if we're unlucky, it could be full combat armored exo-battlesuits. We don't really have a match for that beyond heavy explosives, which could damage systems in the Belle' that we can't afford to have go down. Not light-years from help anyway."
"Oh. Shit," Takashi said as he wondered to himself how it had come to this. He was not a soldier. Never had been. And never planned to be. When he signed on with Captain Wray, on a recommendation from a close friend, it was as a cook with some and light maintenance work. It promised to be exciting and solid work with a multi-year contract of assured work, away from the overcrowded colonies, and heartless corporations. Takashi didn't have close family, like most of his crewmates he had come to learn. Working on the Belle' gave the young twenty-something Takashi something to do until he found something he really wanted to pursue. Right now though just about anything sounded better than facing a boarding party of hostiles.
Takashi was halted in his distracted thoughts as Darius halted their hurried pace when they came to the port amidships armory. The heavy twin hatch was secured and locked down. A camera was hanging from the overhead just over the hatch sealed. Darius looked up at the camera and waved, knowing that the bridge was on the other side of the camera and controlling entry into the armory. The twin doors quickly drew open into the bulkheads on either side. A grinning Jason Petty greeted his two card playing mates, a heavy slug thrower in one hand and a plasma carbine in the other as if weighing which to use in the coming excitement.
"Hey fellas!" an excited Jason exclaimed. "Get in here so we can secure the hatch, then you can gear-up and pick your poison. One-stop shopping, brothers!"
Both Darius and Takashi nearly leapt into the protection of the armory, Darius securing the hatch behind them. There were three other members of the crew in the now somewhat cramped space besides Jason, Takashi, and Darius. Darius was happy to see that two of the three were leaders of their own boarding teams in Kyler Bachman and Sophia Van Vorst. Darius thought he recognized the last crewman as a new guy in engineering name Figaro or Fiero or something-or-other.
Most pilots were hotdogs, in that they didn't think they were the best-of-the-best; they knew it to be so. This immodest assessment o
f ones own ability was thought to be rather arrogant by most, but that was simply the common mindset of a pilot. Darius however was not "most pilots." He would be the first to admit he was no hotdog. When he was in over his head he wasn't afraid to say so. And engagements in which he was outside the cockpit, much like the one he feared was now upon them, were definitely not his strong suit. He'd fight, and fight hard at that, but with the two shooter team leaders present, Darius was very much pleased to defer to them and their expertise. His expertise was flying assault craft into battle and he wouldn't claim otherwise now.
Kyler stepped forward, once again dressed in the flat black light-battlesuit which was his normal kit, the associated helmet perched on a nearby tabletop. He quickly surveyed the hodgepodge group before him. Three shooters, a pilot, an engineer, and a cook. Silently he hoped to himself that the aft compartments had gathered a larger and more experienced team to clear out boarders, but he doubted it. He quickly calculated the number of non-combatants, the bridge crew, the onstation crew in engineering, the doctor and his assistant...which didn't leave much left over when also considering the injuries from the earlier collision that had yet to be fully reported.
"Ok, listen up," Kyler directed the hastily assembled combat team before him, "as you know, because you're here gearing-up, we appear to have been boarded during the last combat action. Because of damage sustained in the collision with the hostile craft that was responsible for pulling us out of transit space we were not aware that we'd been struck by a boarding arrow. I believe most of you know what those are...so I won't go into greater detail other than it is a high-speed and aggressive delivery system for boarding large craft in space and the Belle' obviously qualifies as 'large craft.' It's our hope that the heavy acceleration couches failed on the arrow and that the boarders are nothing but goo that we need to hose and scrape out so we can salvage the hardware but we can't and aren't assuming that's the case."
Silent nods of understanding made the rounds of the assembly upon the quick briefing. A personal communicator appeared in Kyler's gloved hand. He activated the link while also placing it on the speaker setting so the assembled team could hear.
"Captain? This is Bachman. I've got you on speaker. I'm in the main portside armory, and including me, we have a team of six assembled, three shooters in the bunch. We're just about geared-up and ready to move. Do you have a status update regarding the boarders?" Kyler Bachman asked.
"Sitrep is as follows. Another team has been assembled aft of medical, at an auxiliary arms locker. Mixed team of shooters and crew. Their loadouts will be lighter than yours, so you'll be the primary assault team. They'll hang back and move in from aft at the start of the action. So remember there are friendlies on the other side of the boarding craft. Watch for a crossfire when your team hammers the anvil. Everyone, is at minimum, to be in their vacsuits in case there's a hull breach. Recommend full battlesuits but I know we don't have enough. I'm having the tactical net label your team as 'Alpha' and the aft team as 'Beta'...damn!" the voice of Wray trailed off for a moment before returning but not without extremely heavy interference. "Something n... and it's not ..od. Heavy ..cal area jam.... just went live. The local clo... circuit system is even being ...acted, wireless repeaters are ..xed out clearing...interfe....and...switch. to..h...rdline, Bac.....an," Wray directed through the heavy static filled and scratchy connection .
Bachman shut off his personal communicator and located the hardline handset sitting in its cradle next to an inventory control station along the aft bulkhead of the armory. There was a good amount of dust on the unit, not the only item in the room that maintenance crews had seemed to neglect, and Bachman had some reservation as to the units working condition but when he picked it up it seemed to function well enough. He flipped the analog switch to ring the bridge. Two beeps and the Captain answered through a line far less impacted with static than the personal communicator.
"Wray here."
"Boss, Bachman. What's jamming us?" inquired the Alpha Team leader.
"We lost the footage from the surveillance cameras in the corridor where our visitor is lodged. We ran it back and are reviewing to see just what we can make out," Wray answered.
"Can you send it to the station in the armory, Captain?"
"Roger that. Wait one," Wray said. The Captain could be heard over the open line directing a crewman to open access to the footage and transfer the feed to the station in the armory.
In a flash, the inventory control station lit up before the waiting eyes of Bachman. The station was slaved to a station currently being operated on the bridge by the Captain, and whatever crew had arrived to assist him in this most recent turn of events. Bachman didn't have direct control to manipulate the footage from the surveillance cameras but he was able to add an extra set of experienced eyes as the footage rolled. Looking to improve further their chances of discovering some useful information, Bachman beckoned his second in command of this hastily assembled unit over to join him.
Sophia Van Vorst, who was the usual leader for Beta Team during their own boarding operations, was soon by Bachman's side quietly taking in the footage that was looping before them. Bachman found himself sometimes annoyed with her in his presence...for no other reason than she was a striking beauty. With her looks and intelligence he found himself sometimes thinking unprofessional thoughts in her presence. His mind began to again wander as she was standing beside him he remembered the matter at hand and he too took in the captured video streaming across the display. The streaming feed was only about 15-seconds long, originally triggered by movement in the corridor where the boarding arrow was lodged. It started clean and clear but ended in heavy static as heavy jamming, strong enough locally to interrupt the poorly shielded hardlines. The poor shielding was not so surprising for a warship built quickly rather than thoroughly. Two pairs of eyes stared intently at the display. They were running out of time and needed to move out, but to do so blindly, not knowing what they were up against...Van Vorst spotted it first. She'd just completed tucking her tightly braided long blue dyed hair under the helmet collar of her battlesuit when she pointed to the area on the screen that caught her attention.
"Time stamp 16:34, or there abouts," Van Vorst said in her usual calm tone, "back up to 13-seconds and zoom in on the lower left quadrant of the image. Slow to quarter speed."
Bachman knew not to question her as he relayed the command through the handset to the bridge. Her green eyes were more than just beautiful, they were sharp and bespoke of intelligence. But her eyes also, in the space of a heartbeat, for many their last heartbeat, could become cold and black like that of a shark. It was actually rather scary even for those that knew her to see such a lightning quick transition. Bachman, and the others on the Bellerophon, were glad she was on their side.
The image went back to the 13-second time mark and slowly crept forward from there. Just past the 14 second mark, as pointed out by Van Vorst, and just before the image went to static, they found what they were looking for. The image was frozen and enhanced by Chance Ryan, who was running the station on the bridge, with Wray observing over his shoulder.
"Do you see it?" Wray asked.
"Yeah, Boss. We see it," Bachman replied as he and Van Vorst examined the display intently. Their eyes met and Van Vorst mouthed a word to him. Bachman replied with a double nod of agreement. "Yeah, Van Vorst and I agree. It's a heavy. That's definitely a powered armor gauntlet opening that hatch. As soon as the hatch cracked they must have triggered their electronic countermeasures suite which is what's scrambling all our wireless and even the hardwired systems in close proximity like the camera in the corridor. That gauntlet belongs to a heavy Ogre battlesuit, Boss," Bachman said in an even tone attempting to hide is acute trepidation.
On the bridge Chance Ryan, who had been quiet up until now, broke in to the conversation with what was unfortunately more bad news.
"Standard layout for boarding arrows is six-light armor skinned boots or three heavies be
cause of the arrangement of the acceleration couches, now that can be modified of course, but common practice with these things in the CDF was, while in an active theatre, to have a ready force of heavies waiting in the missile tube, in a state hovering just shy of deep stasis, to be the spearpoint in a boarding operation," Ryan continued with the rest of the painfully vital information, "after an initial assault, causing havoc on the target, a follow-up strike of boarding arrows with more heavies or light boots is salvoed. I ran back the fragmented sensor images of the two missiles the Vulture fired at us. Upon closer inspection now they look to be arrows, and I'm betting those contained a couple fire-teams of boots or even more heavies. It would also explain why they didn't fire anything else our way out of fear of friendly fire taking out their boarders."
"A snap fire with heavies followed by light boots. Looks like the captain of that frigate was following the CDF book. It also explains why he was on an orbiting patrol. The book says to always be moving to mitigate long range kinetic strikes on sedentaries and statics," Wray added. "That laser that hit us from the frigate was probably a communication burst to the boarders. A last sputter of information, probably letting them know they would have no ship to return to, and they were on their own. 'Take the ship or die.' Well, now we know what we're looking at. We have as many as three heavy Ogres on the loose."
"We're lucky it still takes about 10-minutes for stims to wake you up from a light stasis," Bachman shared. "If they'd started out from just after impact they would've had the drop on us before we knew what was what, though maybe that would'a been a good thing if they'd immediately left their gel baths because, with all the heavy-g's we went through in combat, it would've knocked those heavies around even with their inertial dampeners and magnetic boots. We'd probably just of had to sweep up the mess."