Wolfhound

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Wolfhound Page 20

by Kindal Debenham


  It had started with Singh and quickly spread to the other junior officers in the ship. The Sensor ensign had decided to study over the records of the past few battles and declare Acting-Commander Hull a newfound tactical genius. He had spent his off time spreading around the details of the battles to the crew who didn’t normally have access to them, and it wasn’t long before he had brought many of the crewmen around to his line of thinking.

  Ensign Taylor had more than enough incentive to support him, especially after the decision to place him in charge of the gun crews, but something whispered to Jacob that it was a bit more than self-interest which drove Taylor to defend him now. Perhaps having seen Jacob weather the fire of two separate engagements and lead the Wolfhound to safety both times had inspired some respect in the man, yet Jacob couldn’t persuade himself to trust in the Gunnery officer completely. The memories of insults and the suspicion of a born spacer held him back from complete trust.

  Jacob turned back to the screen that displayed the skiff’s progress, and both Taylor and Ashford fell silent. Singh and the officer who piloted the shuttlecraft, Ensign Iriel, had nearly reached the edge of the rock. Jacob felt his breath catch in his throat. Here it is. If they are spotted, we’ll have to head out of here quick. A moment later, the dark surface of the skiff’s hull glowed as the light of Reefhome’s star glinted off it and the shadow of the asteroid fell away.

  Singh’s voice filled the office, transmitted by Al-shira. Jacob blinked at the calm confidence Singh showed. “Our sensors have a clear view of the Station, as well as the ships gathered around it. We are going to be using passive scans only; no active pinging or range-finding. They might pick that up and figure out the game.” There was a pause as the men waited for Singh to continue, but it was a long time coming.

  When Singh spoke again, a smaller image appeared on the cabin’s main screen, expanding into a three-dimensional holograph of the readings the skiff was picking up. As the ensign spoke, blips on the image appeared and magnified briefly to show more detail. “The first thing that’s obvious is that Reefhome Station is intact. I don’t see much battle damage, and what I do see could just as easily have been typical micrometeor strikes or equipment malfunctions. It’s inhabited too; there are several freighters active, as well as plenty of docking and repair facilities. Industrial plants seem to be operative as well.”

  The image of the station faded to be replaced by the pirate fleet. “We have five contacts that we can confirm as being pirate ships. Two corvettes, which I think I can identify…” Singh’s voice trailed off, then returned with more force. “Yes, they’re the Cruel Hand and the Rand’s Ire. Both are currently close to the station and seem to be shepherding the freighter traffic nearby. Two boat carriers, frigate class, are orbiting the station as well. I’m not sure what their designations are, but they look like they could launch at least a half dozen smaller craft apiece.”

  There was another pause as the image shifted to the last of the enemy vessels, larger than the rest. “The last ship is another frigate, but this one looks like an actual combat vessel rather than a boat platform. It looks familiar, but we don’t have anything in the database. Given that it shares the same markings as the rest, though, we can assume they are all part of the same fleet.”

  Taylor nodded, his eyes focused on the ship. “It looks like the Ravager. I saw images of it while I was in my last post.”

  Singh’s tone was subdued. “It does look like it. The Ravager was heavily damaged recently, and should be all but a wreck. This ship looks a bit different in the structure and the weapons placement, but if the changes are just modifications made due to repaired battle damage, it could be the same ship.”

  Jacob let out a slow breath. “So we could be looking at a staging area for an entire pirate fleet. The whole place could be under Telosian control.”

  “It does look that way, sir.” Ashford seemed to tense slightly at the ‘sir’ coming from the Singh, but Jacob didn’t give him the chance to berate the Sensor officer.

  “Do you think Dianton would have warned them we were coming? Do they look like they are watching for us?”

  “No, sir. It mostly looks like they're keeping watch. I don’t have any active pinging detected, and they don’t seem to be conducting search sweeps of the surrounding area.”

  “At the very least they would probably have their boats out and their rad masts down if they thought we were here. They probably don’t even know the Wolfhound is in the area, let alone spying on them.” Taylor’s words made sense. Jacob tilted his head as he watched the screen.

  “Why do they have so many ships here, then? It’s not enough to drive off a real attack from the fleet, and it’s too much to simply be watching for intruders.” He put a hand on the edge of his desk and leaned in toward the hologram, studying the display from a different angle.

  “They’re guarding prisoners.” Ashford’s blunt statement brought Jacob’s head around. The sergeant ignored the incredulous look Taylor gave him and pointed at the corvettes, hovering nearly motionless in space. “Look at how those little ones are maneuvering to keep eyes on the freighters as they move. They don’t want any of them running too far, or getting out of sight for too long. The bigger ones, the carriers, they don’t look so much like they are protecting the station as they are threatening it.” The Marine’s finger shifted to stab at one of the carriers, the hologram bending around it as he continued. “From here the carriers could launch torpedoes and still have them build up momentum to hit the station, right? I’d say that they don’t own the station so much as hold it hostage.”

  The words fell into place neatly, and Jacob nodded. As he straightened up, he felt ice start to condense in his chest. “So this place isn’t just a target we need to destroy. Reefhome Station is occupied territory. There are civilians there.”

  Taylor nodded. “Seems like something the bastards would do, doesn’t it?” Ashford nodded in mute agreement, for once not protesting the Gunnery officer’s comment at all.

  “Singh, thanks for your analysis. Ensign Iriel, bring the skiff back in, please.” Jacob watched as the shuttle began to move back on its maneuvering jets, coasting back towards the small berth on the Wolfhound’s underside. This is going to get ugly, now. “Taylor, have the gun crews start running simulations using the sensor readouts we just got. No live practice, but I want them to be used to firing on those ships.”

  The Gunnery ensign seemed hesitant. “Jacob, are we going to attack? There’s no way we can fight all of them.”

  Ashford grunted. “He’s right, Hull. The crew’s already been through hell. They won’t like the idea of jumping right back into the fire again.”

  “You said we needed a way to get star charts, Ashford. The people of Reefhome probably have them.” He smiled. “Unless you want me to stay in command forever, of course.” The Marine sergeant snorted, but Taylor shook his head.

  “There has to be a better way to get them, though. We can’t just rush in again.”

  The words brought the memory of the near disaster with Dianton’s fleet. The image of that plasma cannon firing a warning shot sent a shiver through him. Jacob nodded slowly. “You’re right, Taylor, but run the drills anyway. Even if we find a different way home, it would be good to be ready in case they find us here.” He turned and walked towards the exit of the briefing room. “Better safe than sorry.”

  As Jacob descended the access ladder to enter the long-range gun deck, Isaac’s voice rang out. The narrow spaces of the gun deck seemed to magnify the sound, and Jacob winced as it rebounded again and again.

  “Well look who is deigning to visit his poor subjects! Welcome, sir, to our humble workplace.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes at Isaac. A few of the other members of the gun crews were snickering or eyeing him with calculating looks. He ignored them. “Shut up, Isaac. I came to check up on you since I heard there was a hull breach in here.”

  Isaac shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, a piece of shra
pnel from one of the missiles punched through the hull somehow. Let me show you where it hit.” He waved Jacob over with one hand as he started across the narrow deck. Jacob followed, examining the small space as he went.

  The gun decks, like the rest of the ship, were cramped for space, but it seemed even more crowded than elsewhere. The deck was narrow, with three stations set up for the gun operators. Each station was reminiscent of the gunnery simulator that Jacob remembered from the Academy and Graveston Station, with the double handle and the projector for displaying targets. A fourth station, where Isaac sat, was located directly in front of the lift that led to the rest of the ship. Screens and switches filled the control panel, providing a comprehensive view of what the guns were pointed, and there was a pair of aiming handles in case Isaac wanted to personally adjust someone’s aim.

  The rest of the deck was even more utilitarian. The entire front of the deck was taken up by a heat reservoir to drain off the massive amounts of heat produced by the railguns. The squat cylindrical tank contained a large volume of specialized coolant, whose high specific heat allowed the reservoir to store the heat until it could be radiated out after battle. Overhead and below the main floor, automatic loading machinery left only small crawlspaces to allow access for emergency repairs. The magazines were just above, with the shells isolated from the deck itself by machinery and a double thick ceiling. It would be small benefit if the magazine actually blew, but it was better than nothing.

  Squeezing past the reservoir, Isaac gestured to a spot on the wall a bit higher than Jacob’s head, about eye level for the lanky Gunnery ensign. “It came through right there and bounced a bit further back into the loaders right there. Didn’t jam anything up, but we heard air whistling for a bit.”

  Jacob studied the spot, which was completely covered with a hardened epoxy. The automatic safeties had kicked in, little nozzles scattered throughout the hull of the ship. After detecting a hull breach, they would spray foam that acted both as a fire retardant material and a quick-hardening sealant, blocking off the breach and putting out any electrical fires that would threaten to spread through the area.

  The fact that the piece of shrapnel had even made it through emphasized how dangerous the Bloodthorne’s missiles could be. A closer blast would have sprayed metal through the entire front of the ship, and no sealant would have been fast enough to save the gun crews. And if one of those missiles scores a direct hit in the center of the ship… Jacob shuddered at the thought.

  He turned back to where Isaac was waiting for his response. “It looks pretty well sealed. I just wanted to make sure you were all doing all right down here. You free for lunch?”

  Isaac nodded, his jovial expression returning. “Sure, just let me finish up here.”

  Jacob waited patiently as his friend gave instructions to the crewmen from his gun team. He only half listened; apparently someone had been storing the ammunition for the long guns inefficiently, and Isaac wanted to make sure that things would be better taken care of in the future.

  Isaac came back to Jacob, a wide smile forming on his face. “Shall we stop by and pick up Laurie on the way?”

  Jacob nodded. “Sure.”

  With a defiant smirk, Isaac led the way to the lift door. “Glad you approve, supreme leader. We’ll be taking the elevator if you don’t mind. It’s a bit far to come by ladder.” Jacob rolled his eyes, but his friend had a point. He’d had to come down three main decks and the equivalent of four more in order to make it to the far part of the Wolfhound’s long arm. They waited for the lift to arrive, Jacob tapping his foot at the delay, and then entered it together.

  The trip lasted only a small moment as they sped up past the magazine, the forward Detection station, and Delarouge’s electronic warfare room. When the lift door opened on the main deck, Isaac led the way back toward the aft, taking the starboard side corridor. Jacob followed him past the main crew’s quarters and the Marine barracks until Isaac turned into a room on the left hand side of the corridor. The block lettering above the door marked it as Countermeasures Control.

  Unlike the gun decks, Countermeasures Control was less mechanical and more computerized. A massive computer with multiple stations dominated the far wall, wrapping around the circular room to come to an end on either side of the entrance. A projector set into the floor in the center of the room showed an image of the Wolfhound and the immediate surrounding space using the data fed to it by the Detection station. It was far more precise than the Helm’s information. Jacob watched as a few microscopic bits of debris floated by the destroyer, labeled non-threatening grey. Projectiles or other threats would have been red, orange or yellow, depending on their speed and importance. Laurie was at her station on the opposite side of the projection, facing in toward the image rather than back at the computer.

  As Isaac approached, Laurie looked up and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Isaac’s strides took on something of a strut. Jacob groaned inwardly “Are you ready to get something to eat?”

  “Yeah.” Laurie rolled her eyes and glanced back at a petty officer sitting to one side. “Keep an eye on things while I’m out. Make sure that nothing hits us, but don’t fire off anything the pirates could pick up.”

  The man nodded and turned back to the screens he had been watching. Laurie unbuckled her restraints and made her way around the projector to join them.

  Jacob led the way this time, taking them to his office rather than the general mess on the first deck. He had only tried eating with the rest of the crew once, and it had been uncomfortable enough an experience that he didn’t want to repeat it. “I think Timmitz already sent something up for me. Thanks for joining me by the way.”

  He could almost see Isaac’s smirk when the ensign responded. “And miss the chance to enjoy the high life of a commander? No way.”

  Jacob grunted sourly as he opened the access hatch for an access ladder and stepped up onto a rung. The others followed him up to the next deck, where they stepped out and continued on the way back to where his office was located. They all fell silent as they passed what had been the officer’s mess. There was a patch of metal plates now welded over the door, and the area smelled of burnt plastic and sealant epoxy.

  When they reached the office door, Jacob’s stomach growled. Laurie gave him a reproachful look. “Have you not been eating? You’ve got to take care of yourself, you know, or else you aren’t going to be able to get us out of this mess you got us into.”

  “Thanks for your concern, Laurie.” Jacob slid the door open. “I just hope the next engagement goes better than our last one did. Dianton came way too close for comfort last time.”

  Isaac nodded, his expression still somewhat disgruntled. “True enough. Let’s not have any more shrapnel bouncing around the gun decks, all right?”

  Jacob gave him a false glare and walked around his desk. A trio of plates sat on the desk, already piled high with spaghetti and rolls. Supplies were dwindling already, and the food was getting more basic as time went on. He sighed as he fell into his chair, and then pulled one plate over to him.

  The others took up their own seats and grabbed plates of their own. For a moment, they ate in silence. Isaac was characteristically enthusiastic as always, but Laurie seemed a bit more subdued. Jacob found he was having trouble working through his own food, his appetite worn away by his own nervousness. His mind still churned with planning details, concern for the crew, and worry over what could possibly be bothering the Countermeasures ensign.

  Finally, just before he was about to give up on the food, Laurie spoke up again. “How are you doing, Hull?”

  Jacob glanced at her and took a moment to swallow the bit of spaghetti he had been chewing. “I’m doing all right. Why do you ask?”

  Laurie hesitated, glancing at Isaac. “I was just wondering why you asked us here to eat.” She paused, worry creasing her forehead. “I mean, I know you’re busy and all, and I didn’t know if you needed to, you know, talk to us about�
�”

  Her voice trailed off miserably, and Isaac’s chewing slowed, as if he was just realizing there could be trouble in the offing.

  Jacob smiled and shook his head. “No, don’t worry about that. We still have too much to worry about without poking our noses into the crew’s personal issues right now.”

  Laurie’s face relaxed into relief. Jacob hesitated, reluctant to ruin her hopes, but forged ahead anyway. “I do have to warn you that Ashford has noticed, though. He won’t do anything right now, but he has put an official notice in your files. I think you’ll probably be transferred to separate ships if we ever get home.”

  Laurie's expression turned grim, but Isaac shrugged. “That’s probably the best we’d have hoped for. We’ll still see each other when we can, but it’s no worse than anybody else who has family or relationships and can’t see them.” He bit off a large chunk of a roll and chewed it thoroughly, a mischievous look coming over his face. “Though I think old Ashy might have a run of bad luck soon, anyway.”

  “Isaac, no. I need him sane.” Jacob struggled to keep an amused grin off his face and failed. “No, the reason I wanted to eat with you guys is because I needed a bit of perspective here. I couldn’t think of anyone better to help with that.”

  “Glad to be able to help then, Hull.” Laurie scooped up another bunch of noodles onto her fork. “It’s a little hard being Commander, huh?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. It is a lot of pressure, and I don’t have anything to measure myself by anymore. It’s hard to tell whether or not I’m doing well, or if I really am just messing everything up.” Jacob took a bite of spaghetti and chewed for a minute, the taste of the spices filling his mouth. He felt a small burden lift from his shoulders, as if the simple act of talking was helping to lighten the load.

 

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