Wolfhound

by Kindal Debenham

  Then the other missile struck the station, carving out an enormous section with a brilliant blast. Chunks of the exterior of the station flaked away as further explosions tore at the gash in its side, and Jacob shuddered as both bodies and metal chunks tumbled out from the heart of the blast. For a moment, the bridge was silent in shock, and then cold rage swept through Jacob like a winter wind.

  “Al-shira, see if you can raise the station. Try and find out how bad they were hit, and if they can still take out anything that is thrown at them.” Turning back to the tactical screen, he snarled at the red image of the Bloodthorne as it moved closer. “Isaac, hit them hard as soon as you can. Helm, bring us around a little to shield the starboard side so Laurie doesn’t have to compensate so hard.”

  A chorus of acknowledgments answered him, and then a rolling shudder announced another volley launched by Isaac’s crews. The guns onboard the Bloodthorne responded at the same time, and the railgun shells passed each other on their way to their targets. Space lit up as more explosions ripped through space, but this time the point defense turrets on the Wolfhound managed to intercept all of the incoming shots, picking them apart in a display of fury.

  The crew of the Bloodthorne was not quite as fortunate. Two heavy railgun shells exploded against the ship’s underside, lighting up the armor with blasts that carved into the pirate’s hull. Another hit from a long rang shell dug its way in a little before exploding, popping the inactive DE sail mast off the port side and sending it pin wheeling through space. Jacob shook his head as they drew even closer. Why’s he coming at us so quickly? He has to know a charge favors our guns more than his missiles.

  The answer came when Al-shira looked over at the helmsman and snapped out a sudden order. “Roll out to starboard, then cut across his course. I think he’s lining up another plasma cannon shot.” The petty officer looked to Jacob as if for confirmation, and Jacob glared at him in incredulous disbelief.

  “Do it! Now!”

  The man jumped and twisted the controls sharply. Inertia pulled at Jacob as the ship moved away from a direct course.

  The evasive maneuver nearly came too late. As the Wolfhound rolled to starboard, the plasma cannon’s fire scorched out at them again, slicing through the empty space where the ship would have been. It swept around to follow the ship, but as the destroyer cut back to port, the beam passed well over it before starting to correct. By the time the plasma was nearing the aft of the ship, the remainder of the charge must have run dry again, leaving the stream of destruction to trickle out short of its goal. Then the Bloodthorne itself shot by, seeming disgruntled as it rolled and started to come back around.

  Jacob shook his head in amazement at the projection. Nearly got me again. “Good call, Al-shira. What’s the station saying?”

  She shook her head, her face grim. “Nothing yet. I can’t seem to get through to anyone. There’s a lot of chatter on some of the normal news channels, but it's all too scrambled to make out right now.” Jacob’s eyes found the hole in the station again, which was still leaking gouts of flame. He shook his head. A civilian station like that would have trouble sealing sections off. I hope they get a hang of it soon, or they will lose all the air. He brought his attention back to the moment as the helmsman brought the Wolfhound back on a course to close with the Bloodthorne. They looped back around to face the pirate as the enemy struggled to maneuver.

  An idea came to him as he watched the pirate ship turning slowly to a new course. “Helm, try and get us right up beside the enemy. Bring us to where we can hover right off their port side. Match their course and speed, and then we’ll pound them.” He pointed to the wounded side of the destroyer.

  “Yes, sir.” The man’s acknowledgement came a little tersely.

  The two ships raced toward each other with all available speed. The railguns spoke again, flinging shells in either direction as the ships passed each other.

  Just before the exchange, the Bloodthorne had started a twisting roll to avoid the shots coming at it. The gun crews, taken off guard, found most of their shots flying past the target. Those few shots correctly aimed were intercepted by point defense fire. Only two heavy railgun shells hit. They punched holes and sprayed small gouts of fire and metal, but didn’t seem to make any lasting impression on the other destroyer.

  In contrast, the railgun shells from the pirate guns were expertly aimed, and flung at such a relative speed and angle that Laurie’s crippled point defense screen faltered. Three shells tore through the destroyer, two of them slicing into the destroyer amidships and exploding just above where the Capistan had once been, further frying the already destroyed generator and sending shrapnel bouncing through the jury rigged heat reservoirs.

  The last shell struck just below the bridge. Jacob heard the sudden squeal of bending metal, the roar of an accelerating projectile, and then the entire universe went silent and dark. He felt himself lifted up against the restraints of his seat, felt sharp pain as his collarbone seemed to snap under the tug of the belts around him. For a moment, it felt like a hundred hands were trying to press all of the air out of him at once.

  Then light and sound returned to the bridge. Jacob slammed down in his seat, dazed and in pain, as alarms wailed and people shouted. All across the bridge people were in various states of disarray. One of the petty officers at the alternate sensor station was slumped in his seat, unmoving, while the sensor officer herself was lying back in her chair, her neck bent at a terrible angle and her eyes sightless. The helmsman, face wild and still determined, was holding onto the console in front of him as if it were the only thing solid in the world. Both Marines stationed at the door were now lying motionless on the ground, though one still seemed to be breathing. Hardly daring to look, Jacob turned to Al-shira’s station. Her restraints were never that good. If she got thrown around like I did…

  The sight that met his eyes was a sharp, sudden relief. She was still in her seat, though one of her arms hung useless at her side, covered with blood. Her voice carried over the sounds of alarms and the metal bending and shrieking under their feet. “We’ve taken heavy damage. Controls seem to be fine, but we’re running on borrowed time. They could fail at any moment.” She paused before continuing. Her voice was cool and calm. “The bridge has been sealed off. There’s only vacuum between us and the rest of the ship. We have limited air remaining.”

  The words were sobering, but Jacob nodded. “Helm, get us in position, now! Al-shira, do we still have communication with the rest of the ship?”

  “Yes, sir.” The debris thrown up by the blast slid sharply across the bridge as the Wolfhound maneuvered.

  “Get people to the secondary controls below in case we cut out. Are the heat reservoirs gone?”

  She nodded, and he grunted.

  He shifted in his seat, gasping as pain lanced through him. No time for that now. “Helm, are we on them yet?”

  “Sir, yes sir!” The terror in the officer’s voice was under control, but barely. “Almost in position, sir!”

  “Good.” Jacob batted weakly at the console in spite of the pain caused by that small motion. The tactical projections, which had vanished in the chaos, flickered back to life. The Bloodthorne was racing back toward the station as quickly as the pirate ship could, with flickering telltales of energy flowing into the destroyer’s plasma lance. Slightly behind it, the Wolfhound followed.

  Jacob tried to lift his arm to hit the communication button, but something was wrong with it. Frustrated, he looked over at Al-shira. “Get Isaac on the line. Tell him to hit the plasma lance; that’s what Dianton’s going to use to crack the station open.” He winced as he pictured the carnage that would produce on a civilian station.

  The Communications ensign, her face still calm, bent over her console a moment before responding. “He confirms sir. He wants us to roll just before firing to bring the long range guns to bear.”

  “He always did have a liking for those things. Do it.”

  A pair
of counters appeared on the projection screen, the numbers running down toward zero like an avalanche. “What am I looking at?”

  Al-shira’s head cocked. “Time to firing range for the lance, and time until our next volley.”

  Jacob nodded, mentally comparing the numbers. We’ll only get one shot. Make it count, Isaac. “How’s the rest of the ship?”

  A smile worked its way across Al-shira's face. “Turley says it’s holding, but barely.”

  He nodded again, smirking slightly. Darkness nibbled at the edges of his vision, but he gritted his teeth and tried not to move. No time to pass out. “Helm, get ready. Roll in three, two, one, now!”

  The wild-eyed petty officer wrenched the controls, and the Wolfhound twisted around, bringing the long arm of the cross with the long-range guns up as the destroyer inverted. At the same time, the pirate ship’s railguns fired, lashing out at the ship just barely behind and to the side of it. Fortunately, the few guns that could track the ship at that angle apparently did not have a good view; only three shots came anywhere close, and two of them bounced off the ship's armor as Wolfhound pivoted.

  When Isaac’s guns opened up a moment later, there was a sharp contrast. While not all of the railguns could fire, those that could made a devastating impact. Four separate heavy railgun shells crushed their way into the Bloodthorne’s starboard flank, gouging out the destroyer’s side in rippling explosions.

  At the same time, the three long-range railguns whipped their shells forward, firing them straight at the half-seen plasma lance resting on the forward portion of the Bloodthorne’s hull. Point defense turrets fired, tearing apart the incoming shells with expert precision, but two shots made it through. The first drew a line of fire and destruction along the bow of the ship before hurtling away and exploding ahead of it. Its companion hit the turret, punching into the blocky plasma lance and appearing briefly on the other side before bursting apart in a wave of fire.

  A secondary explosion followed, and there was a gigantic burst of light as the plasma lance sprayed energy in all directions. When the light faded, the Bloodthorne’s bow was a blackened, melted wreck, along with some portions of the starboard gun deck of the Wolfhound.

  We did it. We stopped him. Jacob sat back, relief flooding through him again.

  “Sensors reports the enemy ship is accelerating. They’re on a direct course for the station.” Al-shira’s voice cut through Jacob's relief, shearing it away like a chunk of ice. Jacob leaned forward and watched the brake sails on the pirate ship cut out, allowing the destroyer to accelerate uncontrollably toward Reefhome Station.

  “Open a channel to them.”

  Al-shira nodded, and a second later a light flickered to life showing the transmission was active. “Dianton, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m showing you all how a true warrior fights. You will submit, or I hit the station.”

  “You’ll die too, Dianton. Are you in a hurry to get to hell for some reason?”

  Maddened laughter rang across the transmission. “As if I have any worries about that. You’re the ones who will end up in hell. You’re the ones who murdered my brother. You’re the ones who couldn’t listen to reason!” Cruel determination came through his voice like oil on water. “You’ll listen now, though, won’t you? You’re going to submit, or all of your precious civilians will die.”

  A flicker of motion caught Jacob’s attention, and he blinked in surprise as another countdown took the place of the one that had tracked the cannon’s progress. His eyes narrowed as he compared it to the numbers counting down again to the next volley. Not enough time. He answered despairingly.

  “So you would rather ram a civilian station than surrender?”

  More laughter sounded across the bridge, chilling the air. “Of course! A man can choose anything if he hates enough, Jacob Hull.” The voice sunk lower as more rage fed into it. “And you, you I hate more than enough. Submit. Or will you try to convince me that you have the guts to be responsible for their deaths and mine?”

  Jacob’s head bowed for a moment. Fear, pain, and exhaustion all spun through him, but one by one, he put them aside. When his head came up, there was no catch in his voice when he spoke.

  “If you kill them, it would be your choice, not mine. I didn’t ask you to come here and kill us, you made your own choice.” He paused again, looking at the numbers counting down. “And now I will make mine. Goodbye, Dianton.”

  Jacob nodded to Al-shira, and the light winked out. “Helm, shut down our brake sails so that we can get ahead of them.” The petty officer nodded, and the ship suddenly surged forward with a burst of acceleration. He turned back to watch the tactical projection as the image of the Wolfhound sped up and passed the ship ahead of it.

  “Helm, bring us around. Put us between the pirate and the station.” There was a sudden pause, and the man looked back at him in shock.

  “But that would mean…”

  The helmsman withered under Jacob’s gaze, and then he nodded a little sadly. The destroyer groaned as it turned to a new course, shooting straight back at the Bloodthorne. Jacob watched the two ships close on each other, knowing full well Dianton wouldn’t be able to dodge without missing the station as well. If we hit them hard enough, it’ll break up both ships. The momentum from our craft should make it so the debris doesn’t hit with enough force to do damage. He closed his eyes as the images on the projection screen drew closer to each other.

  “Al-shira contact the rest of the crew and tell them to evacuate. Then see if you can get—”

  A shudder suddenly ran through the craft, and Jacob’s eyes snapped open. What? Projectiles shot ahead of the ship, racing towards the incoming destroyer. Realization hit Jacob just as the railgun shells from the guns that had not yet fired sped past the Bloodthorne’s futile point defense screen to smash into the ship, just back of where the plasma lance had been.

  With both ships accelerating uncontrollably, the heavy railgun shots had been given a tremendous relative velocity. Each individual shell tore the Bloodthorne’s hull like cheap paper, and explosions burst through the pirate craft with terrible force. Flames and shock waves seemed to build into an inferno, and then secondary blasts from the reactor and missile bays completed the destruction by utterly annihilating the destroyer, flinging chunks of it in all directions.

  For a moment, Jacob only stared in astonishment. Then he came back to himself as the helmsman whooped with joy and twisted the controls to avoid the hurtling wreckage. As it flew past, a few point defense turrets on the station sliced through the rapidly dissipating cloud of fragments, breaking it up further. Beyond those fragments, signals for surrender appeared as the remaining pirates gave up the fight.

  Al-shira jumped in her seat, and then smiled. She touched a key on her console, and suddenly the bridge was filled with cheering. With a smirk, she turned to look at him. “Congratulations, Ensign Hull.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Three days later, Jacob was still in the medical suite. Mensah had condemned him to at least four more days of strict bed rest, though he felt sullenly rebellious whenever he thought of spending that much time stuck in the medical cot. Unfortunately, Mensah or one of his assistants was always in the room, so there was no hope of slipping out when they weren’t looking. Mensah seemed to have warned the others that he would try it, so they were keeping a special eye out for him.

  At the very least, Jacob would have appreciated the company of the other wounded crewmembers, but it seemed like most of the others had managed to escape the ship and take up residence on Reefhome Station. True, most of the wounded like Ensign Carver or Navaja had been there since before the battle had started, but Jacob had hoped Al-shira, or Laurie, who had apparently been bounced around fairly hard in Countermeasures, would be there. Both had somehow managed to convince Mensah they could move around freely, which was why they were walking wherever they liked while he was stuck in a bed.

  Isaac had taken a slight wound as
well, a shrapnel graze to the face, but even scarred as he was he had escaped to follow Laurie around like a lovesick puppy. Even Ashford, sour as he was, would have been a relief to talk to, but the Marine sergeant had told Mensah he would be staying onboard the Talon to recover from his head wound under the care of his own crew. Jacob suspected that the man was trying to avoid having his face rubbed in the fact that they had survived, but he supposed that his comeuppance could wait until they were both fit again.

  While Jacob had been stuck in medical, he managed to take an assessment of the remaining men and ships under his command. He didn’t like thinking of it as his fleet, but the number and scope now forced him to consider it at least a small battle group, if not its own fleet. The Wolfhound, Talon and Defender had now been joined by five new corvettes and three more frigates. All eight of the newer ships had been heavily damaged, whether during the boarding actions that had taken them or the fierce combat that had convinced them to surrender.

  The Wolfhound had actually taken the most terrible pounding of them all. With the flank of the ship seared by plasma fire, the heat reservoirs mauled by railgun shrapnel, and the bridge practically blasted free of the rest of the ship, the destroyer was going to take months to repair. The ship constantly had heating problems, with the temperature randomly spiking due to the loss of the extra heat reservoirs and the addition of the extra armor. At times it made the medical suite feel like a sauna, one that smelled of old bandages and oily antiseptics. The fact that the main bridge was almost inaccessible except by EV suit did not improve the situation, and Al-shira had already complained to him about having to use the auxiliary controls scattered all over the ship rather than the centralized console.