Wolfhound

by Kindal Debenham

  Jacob waited for a long moment after Turley finished. He then held up the reader from his pocket and read the report carefully. “The security detail that broke you up said you were both trying to hit each other with wrenches. It took three of them to separate you and calm you down.”

  Turley’s face fell, and a small part of Jacob felt bad for the way shame crept across his mentor’s face. Sorry. He turned to find Yorkshire openly grinning at Turley, obviously assuming the tide had turned in his favor. “All right, your turn, Mr. Yorkshire. What happened, exactly?”

  The other engineer blinked, his grin fading as he sat back in surprise. “Oh, no, I think that Mr. Turley described everything to my satisfaction.”

  “Petty Officer Turley, Mr. Yorkshire.” Jacob paused to let the remnants of Yorkshire's grin slip away. “And I was hoping there was one detail he had forgotten during his little tale.”

  Yorkshire started to look nervous. “What detail was that, sir?”

  “The part where you cleared the modifications you were making through him.” Jacob waited for a moment as the rebuke sunk in, and then sighed. “Look, both of you have the same goals, and we don’t have time to be diplomatic and inefficient right now. I’m going to pretend this incident didn’t happen as long as the both of you act your age and start working together right now. Will that be a problem for you?”

  “No, sir!”

  Both engineers answered as one, and they jumped in surprise to hear the other’s voice along with their own. A quick glare passed between them, and then the both of them turned their attention back to him. Jacob nodded slowly and sat back in his seat.

  “So, Turley mentioned something about plating, Yorkshire?”

  Yorkshire nodded, seeming to recover a bit of the fire that Jacob's rebuke had put out. “Yes, sir. It was an idea I had to protect the ship.”

  Turley snorted, and Yorkshire directed a scornful look at him before continuing. “The extra plating would deflect shots that make it through the outer armor. We could lay it down in the most critical areas, like the gun decks or the bridge.”

  “Sure, if we wanted to burn to death before we ever get to the damned battle.” Turley shook his head fiercely. “Extra armor plating is all well and good, but without a way to channel the excess heat it traps, we’ll start burning up inside our own damn hull. The gun crews aren’t going to appreciate baking in hell while they’re safe behind their armor plates.”

  Jacob held up a hand. “That’s a good point, Turley. It just seems like there should be a way around that difficulty. We could use a lot of extra protection if we want to make it through the upcoming fight.”

  Turley shook his head again, harder this time. “If there was a way, the Navy would’ve found it already. That’s why we don’t have impenetrable armor on our ship. Too hard to shuttle the heat around.”

  Yorkshire broke in, his voice trembling with frustration. “The Navy hasn’t found it because it isn’t cost effective, Turley.” The petty officer gave Yorkshire a pointed look, but the spacer shrugged. “It’s true, isn’t it? I haven’t seen a ship fly under any flag that couldn’t have been better without bureaucrats putting their meddling little fingers in it.”

  Though obvious still reluctant, Turley grunted in agreement. Jacob, with the memory of the original mess the destroyer had been in fresh in his mind, nodded as well. He turned back to Turley, trying not to sound too amused. “So if you had your way, how would you take care of the heat?”

  A speculative look came over the engineer’s face. “Well, damned if I know. Maybe extra heat reservoirs? They could shunt aside a lot of the extra stuff from the armored compartments and bleed it off later when the guns aren’t firing.”

  Yorkshire nodded, his animosity reluctantly put aside as his concern for his son came forward. “Yes, sir. That could work. Especially if they were large enough. We have plenty of extra heat reservoirs on the station for areas that are no longer inhabited.”

  “Too bad there isn’t any room for anything like that. We’re stuck with the space we have, unless you want to try and redo the storage units. Even then, they would be too far back from the major hot spots like the gun decks and the main computer boards.” Turley’s voice was less disgruntled now; he was obviously warming to the idea.

  Yorkshire let out a frustrated sigh. “Room! I knew there would be some kind of problem. Is there any way we could lessen heat output?”

  “Not unless you want them to avoid doing any drills between now and combat.” Turley paused, a thoughtful smile growing on his bearded face. “Then again, we might have plenty of room now. A whole Capistan’s worth, actually.”

  Yorkshire leaped to his feet. “That’s brilliant! We just rip out the wrecked Capistan and replace it with heat reservoirs—”

  “Run heat shunt lines into it from all over the ship, and suddenly, the heat’s no longer a problem. Pirates even opened holes in the side for us to float it all in already.” Turley’s satisfaction was obvious. “It’ll take time, though.”

  Jacob smiled. “We might be able to buy you a little more of that than you think, Turley. Yorkshire, work with him and get the extra armor plating and heat reservoirs on the Talon and the Defender too. We’re going to need it.”

  The engineers nodded to him, then they met each other's eyes. Slowly, they nodded grudgingly at each other, and they got up to leave.

  As Turley stepped through the doorway, the engineer hesitated. He turned back to Jacob and smiled, his teeth white beneath his snowy beard. “No matter what happens, I’m glad to be on board with you still, Jacob. Damn glad.” Then he was gone.

  Jacob smiled. It was odd to hear his first name from the petty officer, even after everything that had happened. Then he shrugged the distraction aside and turned back to the image of the enemy fleet hovering above his desk. There was still plenty to be done.

  The Wolfhound exploded spectacularly.

  Jacob sighed.

  For a moment, he put his head down on the edge of the projector and rested for a moment. He’d run the simulation four different times now with the latest battle formation, and the result was always the same. It was the ninth formation he’d tried after repeated tests had proved the others were useless, and it had done little better than the first one. Jacob braced himself, lifted his head and punched the button to start it again. Maybe the fifth time’s the charm.

  Wireframe figures appeared in the projection, red ones showing the incoming pirate fleet, green highlighting his small, three ship fleet, and the Station outlined in blue. The Wolfhound held position a few thousand meters to the side of the future position of the enemy fleet, while the Defender and the Talon waited opposite the destroyer. Iriel’s squadron of assault shuttles waited opposite the asteroid and the station, behind the direction the enemy would be facing.

  The simulation began, and ships burst into activity. The gun decks on the Wolfhound, Talon and Defender opened up a fraction of a heartbeat after the pirates arrived, filling space with a wave of railgun fire. Iriel’s squadron of attack craft accelerated toward their targets on a zigzag course with DE sails blazing. As his ships fired, the pirates responded, flinging their own frantic barrage in all directions.

  The Wolfhound’s target was one of the closer frigates, one whose shape took that of a single flying wing, with DE sail rigs lining the rear of the ship and several railgun turrets lining its ventral and dorsal surfaces. The slim profile of the pirate craft would have helped it avoid oncoming fire when it had swooped in on its prey, but now, caught in the middle of an awkward turn, the flat, thin shape seemed foolish. A full four shots blasted into the ship, tearing holes in its fragile frame. A shudder passed through the frigate, and its DE sails flickered and went dead. Then the main structure of the craft, twisted from the force of the crater-forming impacts, collapsed inward.

  Across the battle from the Wolfhound, three shots from the Defender and one from the Talon had struck the frigate nearest their position. The craft was shaped rather b
luntly, a single half-sphere with its DE sail rigs at the rear of the craft. The Defender’s fire caught it in that rear section, ripping apart the rigs and cutting the ship’s momentum. Talon’s shell tore its way into the side of the pirate ship, carving out a crater that vented air and metal shards. Two down, twenty to go.

  Even as Jacob watched the damage his ships inflicted, the leading edge of the enemy’s fire reached them. He shook his head as point defense turrets sprayed plasma, picking off the few shells that didn’t miss entirely. The Talon and the Defender both still reported green status, and neither seemed to have been hit by that first desperate volley.

  Iriel’s assault craft had not been so lucky. One caught a railgun shot and exploded. The little craft shattered to the point where no one piece of it could be identified as a spaceship. Even as Jacob watched them begin their diving attack runs, a second boat was carved apart by a corvette’s point defense turrets, bodies and debris spilling out into space on a tongue of fire. A cold feeling swept through Jacob as he pictured the boarding crews on board. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling.

  Two fast-moving blips shot out from the Bloodthorne toward the Wolfhound. Jacob nodded quickly. That didn’t take too long. In response, the destroyer moved in closer so the enemy wouldn’t be able to risk another missile volley, obviously hoping the EW teams and point defense turrets could intercept the projectiles already fired. He grimaced at the maneuvering ships, watching the missiles as they wove toward the Wolfhound.

  He winced as the first missile dove toward the destroyer. It flitted past three different streams of plasma before one managed to spear it. The projectile exploded violently, and the projection went gray for a moment. When the screens cleared, Jacob saw the remaining missile coming in fast, having used the death of the first as cover. Plasma turrets sprayed fire, trying to intercept it before it made contact.

  The final missile continued to dance closer. Its DE rigs flickered with power as it dove this way and that, darting close enough Jacob was sure the Wolfhound would be hit. Then a flare launched out, shooting high and away from the ship on a sail of its own.

  With the viciousness of a hawk swooping on a pigeon, the missile shot up after it. For a moment, it held that course as it chased the false target, and then it started to turn back around as the Bloodthorne’s crew tried to steer it back to its true target. Three different plasma streams converged on the missile before it could manage the turn, blasting it out of space.

  Not quick enough. Jacob ran a hand through his hair and shook his head again. He watched as the pirates, while initially confused and trapped, recovered from their surprise. The Bloodthorne was doing its best to run from the trap, having boosted its struggling DE sails to maximum power. The blood-red hull tilted as if it meant to pass over the asteroid separating it from the station. Transports followed the destroyer, plainly wanting to dock with the station rather than continue running around the battle.

  At the same time, the carriers, frigates and corvettes started to sort themselves out. Rather than a confused tangle of ships, they presented two solid fronts, both coming out after the defenders. The carriers, now clustered at the center of the formation, launched boarding skiffs, adding to the number of pirate craft in the battle.

  While the loss of two frigates had hurt the pirates, there were still more than enough to go around. Two frigates and three corvettes faced the Defender and Talon. Another two frigates and four corvettes came after the Wolfhound. A few of the corvettes were maneuvering badly, but Iriel’s boarders didn’t seem to have had much effect. Jacob felt frustration build in him, and when Al-shira’s voice rang out he had to stop himself from jumping in surprise.

  “So that’s the simulation, huh?”

  Jacob frowned at the skepticism in her voice, but he nodded. Al-shira shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to be going too well.”

  A glance at the tactical display showed the station’s torpedoes closing in on the pirates, angling toward the destroyer and the transports. The torpedoes ripped through the transports, but missed the Bloodthorne by a considerable distance. The enemy carriers had launched another set of boats, all of which were closing in on the station. “No, it doesn’t. Did we get any pirates looking for redemption?”

  “No, Ensign. They seem to be waiting for Dianton to come and rescue them rather than trusting us to win.” Al-shira shook her head again as missiles from the Bloodthorne swept toward the station. Railgun fire from the other ships closed in on the Talon and its DE sails died, while the carriers launched a third wave of skiffs and angled to begin torpedo runs on the Wolfhound. “Well, hopefully we do better than that.”

  Jacob switched the simulation off just before the first torpedo hit the Wolfhound. “Yeah.” He slumped back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. “Is there something I can help you with, Al-shira?”

  There was an uncharacteristic pause, and when Jacob looked up Al-shira seemed uncomfortable, uncertain even. “You need to find a new executive officer.”

  He opened his mouth to reassure her, and then stopped. She seemed different, somehow, almost vulnerable. “Why?”

  Al-shira shook her head. “Look, I just need you to do it, okay? Is that too hard for you, Ensign?” The spiteful bitterness in her tone was more painful than before, and she turned as if to go to the door. Jacob watched her reach the exit. He was frantically wondering what he should say when she stopped.

  As if needled into it by the sudden silence, Al-shira spoke again. “I just don’t think I could handle the responsibility, Jacob. What if I freeze up? What if people die because I couldn’t do something?”

  She glared at him, daring him to mock her. When he remained silent, she shook her head in obvious frustration. “I’m not like you or Ashford, or Taylor. I just want to do my job, handle the comm station, and that’s it.”

  For a moment, Jacob stared at her. Then, in spite of himself, he burst out laughing.

  She was halfway across the room with her fist cocked back, expression murderous, when Jacob choked off his laughter and backed away. He raised his hands to fend her off. “Wait, wait! Ha. Wait.” He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to recover. She continued glaring at him, her arms crossed and fists still clenched. Finally, he straightened up and looked at her.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “No! Well, maybe a little, but—”

  She turned toward the door.

  “Wait! I mean, I just didn’t think you thought I was ready for this either.”

  She turned around slowly. “What do you mean?”

  Jacob gestured at the projector. “Did you see that simulation? Our fleet got destroyed. We barely made a dent in Dianton’s pirate fleet, and the station got wiped out.” He shook his head despairingly. “I don’t think anybody can truly be ready for what’s being asked of us, Al-shira, but I still need you to be my executive officer.”

  “Why? Why me?” Al-shira’s voice carried a note of desperation to it.

  “Because I trust you. You stay cool under fire, you don’t mind telling me when you think I’m wrong, and if I wind up dead, I would gladly put the ship under your command.”

  Al-shira looked doubtful, so he continued. “I’m being serious. I couldn’t think of a better person to do it than you.”

  Al-shira gestured frantically. “Why not Isaac, or Laurie, or—”

  Jacob held up a hand. “They have their own problems to deal with. Besides, Isaac already managed to hide a stinkbomb in my office and dose my dinner with laxatives for putting him in charge of Gunnery. Can you imagine what he would do if he was my executive?”

  For a moment, she seemed to be trying to decide whether to be amused or angry. Jacob looked back at the projector again before she could respond. “You’re all I’ve got, Al-shira. Though if this comes out like the simulation is telling me it will, there isn’t any point in putting anyone as the executive officer. I haven’t been able to plan an attack that leaves any of our ships functional a
fter the first ten minutes, let alone one that manages to protect the station.”

  She opened her mouth as if to continue arguing, then paused. “Really? I would have expected you to come up with something by now.”

  Jacob gave her a wry look. “Well, the problem is we don’t have any way to surprise them this time. The first time, they thought we wouldn’t shoot back; the second, they didn’t know we were coming in the first place. This time, Dianton is probably going to come in expecting us, and that means that he’ll come in with guns blazing. And that’s if we can even manage to convince him to come exactly where and when we want him to, which we can’t if there aren’t any pirates we can manage to flip.”

  “Does it have to be a pirate? I thought we were going to use a spacer.” Al-shira stepped up and tapped the projectors controls, bringing up the initial battle plan. She seemed to be looking it over as Jacob watched her.

  “There’s a problem there too. I don’t think any pirate would believe the spacers want them to come back rather than live under Celostian law. Nobody is that stupid, especially not Dianton. So unless we come up with some excuse…”

  “The pirates see through it, and we’re the ones that get ambushed.” Al-shira started the simulation again and watched with a grimace as the defense fleet took damage almost immediately. “Why are the ships all out in the open like that? It seems like one or two of them could hide for at least the first part of the battle.”

  Jacob shook his head. “If Dianton knows they are there, he won’t be surprised by them at all. The ships have the best firing options they could get in that formation, but it exposes them too much. When I put them anywhere else, the pirates get to the station sooner, which ends up costing us everything since Dianton knows we won’t fight if the station is in danger.”

  The Wolfhound shattered under the combined fire of three different frigates and the Bloodthorne. The simulation switched off again.

  Al-shira took a step back and folded her arms. A thoughtful expression came over her face. “What if it isn’t us that he’s fighting?”