by James Thomas
“Sir, we only have seven fighters, one down for maintenance and that’s . . . a lot of vessels. Their armament may be old, but it’s still effective.”
“You have your orders!” commanded Lieutenant Commander Hoxha.
“Sir, their weapons aren’t even powered up,” retorted Wun.
“Follow your orders, Lieutenant,” repeated Lieutenant Commander Hoxha. Was this the burden of command, he thought to himself. “Fire when you have the solution. Station Janus out.”
The ships were getting larger on the view screen.
“TAC-O, what are you waiting for?” yelled Lieutenant Commander Hoxha. “Fire on the closest vessels by targeting the five largest and closest ships, then spread the last five among the others. Can’t have them thinking we’re unable to target them all.”
The atmosphere lit up as lasers spread out. Lieutenants Wun’s fighter mixed in between the ships, yet no of the Tourian vessels returned fire.
Commodore Devlin pushed further on the Station Commander, trying to prove his case. “Well, Lieutenant Commander Hoxha, you now have proof. We are not firing back. You can stop this now and join us.”
Once again, Hoxha didn’t respond.
“TAC-O, identify his ship, and destroy it,” said Lieutenant Commander Hoxha.
“Lieutenant Commander Hoxha,” continued Commodore Devlin, with the noise of cannon fire hitting his ship in the background, making it hard to hear what he was saying. But his voice was perfectly calm as he talked since he was more than a seasoned combat veteran. “You see, the Tourians have been taken as slaves on the planet Huldra. You have your proof below. What do you personally think? That the Tourians would just leave by themselves after we couldn’t remove them in the Tri-sun War? This is their home and it’s sacred. You know their history. The Grax deceived them, and now they’re enslaved on Huldra. Join us with the rescue mission.”
Lieutenant Commander Hoxha sat back in his chair. “Target that vessel with all our weapons.”
“But sir, that will leave the other ships free to leave,” replied the TAC-O.
“TAC-O, you have your orders!”
All weapons fired upon Devlin’s ship while the rest of the ships made their jumps into hyperspace. Lieutenant Wun’s fighters seem to be missing their targets instead of drawing fire from the station sensors, which could not keep lock due to the fighters crossing paths with Devlin’s ships.
“Lieutenant Wun,” said Lieutenant Commander Hoxha.
“Sir, I’m in a battle right now,” replied Wun.
“Yes, I can see that. Looks like your firing solutions are very accurate. You want to get into this fight.”
“No, not really, Sir, out!” The COM channel closed.
“COM Officer, get him back on. TAC-O, standby to target our fighters,” ordered Lieutenant Commander Hoxha
“Sir?” asked the TAC-O in total surprise. “They’re ours.”
Lieutenant Wun’s star fighter disappeared behind the Commodore’s ship as Devlin’s command vessel broke up and exploded. However, the last Tourian vessel safely jumped into hyperspace without any further damage.
“TAC-O, arrest Lieutenant Wun when she returns . . . and put her crew into hack until we find out what happened.
“Sir, they’re all gone,” said the COM Officer.
“What do you mean gone?” said Lieutenant Commander Hoxha.
“I mean they have disappeared,” said the COM Officer.
Lieutenant Commander Hoxha sat back in his chair. “Did we destroy Devlin’s ship at least?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the TAC-O.
“Survivors?” asked Lieutenant Commander Hoxha
“Nothing on our sensors, sir!” reported the TAC-O.
Lieutenant Commander Hoxha sighed in frustration, then walked off the bridge to report to the Admiral. Hoxha saw his future promotion to full commander explode with the single ship.
22
IT MUST BE MINE
“Free the slaves, he said,” shouted Admiral Pearson before lowering his voice to a normal volume. “Called himself a Commodore, too! This whole Devlin family is full of traitors and yet people call them heroes. Total insanity!”
“It was actually ‘rescue the slaves’ from the transcript,” said Commander Johnson.
“Are there anymore Devlins in the ISF?” asked Admiral Pearson.
“Yes, Lieutenant Emilie Devlin,” replied Commander Johnson.
“And have we arrested her yet?” asked the Admiral.
“—Admiral—what for?” asked Commander Johnson.
“Are you kidding me,” retorted the admiral. “Treason, of course!”
“Admiral, um . . . ah . . . she has done nothing,” replied Commander Johnson.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that Commander,” said Admiral Pearson angrily. “She’s a Devlin. Traitors run in the family. Issue an order out for her arrest at once.”
“Admiral, is that warranted? Or even legal?” questioned Commander Johnson.
“So, let me help you this one last time. Are you ready for it! Commander, you’re my aide, not my Space lawyer. Besides . . . when underway on a ship in Space—I’m the law,” said Admiral Pearson angrily.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Commander Johnson. “I’ll get right on it.” He turned and left the admiral’s stateroom.
“Coms,” said the admiral after pressing the bridge communication button.
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the COM Officer.
“Get Captain Strata on the interstellar coms,” said the admiral.
***
Admiral Pearson’s communication light hummed as it flashed with an incoming call. He had waited a quarter solar day for a reply to his request and was annoyed. The admiral jabbed at the button, opening the channel, “Captain Strata! It’s about time.”
“Yes Admiral,” replied the captain. He was not looking forward to their chat. It was usually more of a one-way conversation once the Admiral got upset. And he already seemed to be in that state of mind.
“Things are coming apart at the seams in my plan to eliminate the Grax. Apparently, Commander Devlin—excuse me!” said the Admiral, his voice full of disdain. “I mean the self-appointed Commodore Devlin has his own fleet of Tourian ships. Ninety-nine to be exact. Strike that—ninety-eight, one was destroyed in battle with the Space Station Janus and that one was our freighter. So, if Devlin survived, you are to destroy him and his coconspirators without prejudice.”
“Sir, do we have a position of movement?” asked Captain Strata.
“Heading directly to Huldra to aid the Tourians,” replied Admiral Pearson.
“The report filed from Station Janus’ Commanding Officer said the task force had only ancient transport ships. If so, I can easily intercept them before Huldra, Admiral,” said Captain Strata. “They are no match for our ships.”
“No, wait until they leave the planet and only after,” ordered Admiral Pearson.
“Admiral, the Devlin boy reported Tourian slaves in the mines on Huldra when he was rescued during our last battle with the Grax. If it’s true that this is a rescue attempt, then you’re talking about a high probability of Tourian refugees being onboard when launching from the surface. Let me intercept them before they even have a chance to land.”
“Captain, you have your orders,” repeated the admiral.
“Sir, I must protest. Let me observe first to verify that no refugees are onboard,” said Captain Strata. “I can capture the ships and then assess the situation with Commodore Devlin.”
“Self-appointed Commodore!” bellowed Admiral Pearson. “It’s like an acting commanding officer: all the responsibility but no credit. And I’m not giving him any, Captain, ever! Let me make this clear! You will assume the transports are empty upon liftoff from Huldra and fix this problem. Now if you can’t follow orders, then another more competent officer will be appointed, while you head home for good.”
Captain Strata had worked with a lot of admirals of his thirty
cycles in the service, but Admiral Pearson was beyond reproach. “And as for the Grax stepping in once I start the attack?” probed Captain Strata as if he missed Admiral Pearson’s threat.
“The Grax will be handled by me and no one else. You let me worry about that,” retorted the admiral. “You have your orders!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” acknowledged Captain Strata.
Admiral Pearson stopped the COM transmission, finally happy with Captain Strata’s response. Then he turned his attention to his tactical map and his planned final battle with the Grax. He pressed the Navigator’s COM button.
“Yes Admiral,” replied the navigation officer.
“Nav, move our battle plans forward. We’re moving out at once,” said Admiral Pearson.
“Sir, we haven’t operationally tested our weapon systems after completing the cloak retrofits,” replied the Navigation Officer.
“We’ll test-fire it on the Grax. Prepare to get underway?” asked Admiral Pearson.
“Sir, is that wise for a new system?” stressed the Nav Officer. “There are always issues in operational testing and this would be in the heat of battle with the Grax, who still have superior technology in many areas.”
“Enough with this,” retorted the Admiral. He knew the Navigation Officer’s assessment was tactically correct, but he was running out of time. Besides, if the Devlins were planning to rescue the Tourians, he needed to be there to ensure Captain Strata did not stray from his orders or get credit if the Grax stepped in.
This was the moment the Admiral had been waiting for. He would finish the Grax in a decisive battle after the Tourians had been eliminated. And all while showing that the Devlins had betrayed the ISF and Bandor. He would take his place in history as the champion, but this would only be the beginning of his ambitions.
“The Grax are finished,” said Admiral Pearson. “Their station was torn in half from the . . .” He stopped mid-sentence. It was the Devlins’ doing, but that wasn’t what he reported to headquarters. Instead, he had taken credit for it in his After-Action Report.
After clearing his throat, the Admiral continued, “The Grax are in no way able to respond to overwhelming force. Half the Grax ships have evacuated from their system and the rest are damaged from the last battle with us. We leave immediately. Admiral out.”
Admiral Pearson sat back in his stateroom chair and exhaled deeply. His left arm was throbbing with pain that felt like the onset of a heart attack, but he knew the familiar pain was from anxiety. He focused, taking several deep breaths, slowing his heart rate while his thoughts focused on the plan.
Soon his planning would pay off, and his name alone would be written in the history books as the hero. He had sat on the sidelines too long while other commanders had taken credit in past campaigns that he had planned.
23
FROM COLD TO FIRE
Sadar shivered as he looked for any signs of Joe’s return from outside. The Tourians had bunched up as far down the tunnel as they could, sharing each other’s body heat by nestling together. The storm had gotten worse, making it impossible to see more than an arm’s length through the blizzard.
“Robert, you look warm,” said Sadar sarcastically.
“Yes—oh, aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?” Robert returned the sarcasm.
“There are children who could use your suit,” said Sadar.
“Look, I didn’t ask to come along on this trip,” replied Robert.
“But you’re here,” said Sadar. “Fate called upon you to help my people . . . and now you understand our cause.”
I’m not a traitor like you and Joe,” replied Robert tersely.
“Surely you don’t think we’re traitors anymore. Besides, theoretically, I cannot be a traitor to you. Remember, I am still your enemy so we need to be a on the same side before I can betray you,” rebutted Sadar, but he smiled to lighten the tone. “Besides, you can see my people are suffering?”
Sadar’s words made Robert reflect upon the situation. A lot of things had occurred since he had run into the bottom of Sadar’s ship. Joe’s actions were humanitarian in nature, instead of being treacherous. His deeds could be summed up as good initiative but bad judgment. However, it was not Robert’s duty as a police officer to decide right from wrong. His job was to arrest, and he would do that once he had the right opportunity. Then the courts would sort things out.
Robert stood and removed his suit, then handed it to a young boy and his family. It did not take long before Robert felt the bitter cold, making him feel more remorseful that he had not done it earlier.
Sadar smiled at Robert, acknowledging his kind act.
“My Lord, I’m not sure of how much longer our people can handle the cold,” said Aazar.
“Yes, I’m concerned about it too. Make sure we are rotating the ones from the warmer end of the tunnel continuously.”
***
“Sadar, I’ . . . mmm . . . freezing. I’m having a hard time feeling my limbs,” said Robert, whose teeth rattled together as he spoke.
“Joe will be back,” said Sadar. “I just need more time.”
“Let’s face it . . . he’s gone without a suit. I can’t believe you didn’t understand the danger. You sent him to his death relying on a myth,” said Robert. “You’re just kids.”
“Have faith, Robert! Even kids can surprise people,” stated Sadar.
24
FIRST CONTACT
Two of the fighters from Space Station Janus had already landed covertly in the Scrapyard Ninety-nine’s cargo bay. They evacuated the Captain and the First Mate, unbeknownst to Lieutenant Commander Hoxha. Commodore Devlin had stayed behind to distract him from seeing what was happening. Plan A had not survived first contact with the enemy, and Plan B was about to meet the same fate. Timing had become everything.
“Commodore, you must evac now. The ship is taking too much fire from the station,” said Lieutenant Wun. She was concerned they would not have enough time to lift off.
The ship rocked and buffeted from unremitting shots from the space station. Commodore Devlin had moved to the emergency conning bridge at the start of the battle, just before the destruction of the old command Only the cargo holds remained, with their meter-thick titanium walls, which now also served as defensive shields. Devlin wanted to delay the evacuation to allow all his ships to escape into hyperspace unharmed.
The space station’s cannons continued to pepper Devlin’s command ship, attempting to punch holes through the titanium walls. Despite the thickness, the cannon fire was making quick work of turning the holds into swiss cheese.
“Commodore Devlin, it’s an honor to work with you again,” said Lieutenant Wun over the radio. “Though, when you said some ships, I wasn’t expecting so many. If you don’t leave now, your new task force will miss its leader.”
To Lieutenant Wun’s starboard side, a door opened up on the hold to reveal Commodore Devlin in a spacesuit. With the large hole already punched through the door from incoming station fire, he could have easily stepped through instead of opening it.
The empty rear canopy, which usually enclosed Lieutenant Wun’s navigator, was now open and Commodore Devlin occupied the seat. Without a word, Wun launched from the freighter, not a micro-cycle too soon. As the ship flew forward, it was fully engulfed with fire as Scrapyard Ninety-nine broke apart from the explosion. Her fighter barely escaped the blunt of the blast, receiving only light damage due to its superb combat shielding.
Lieutenant Wun instantaneously made the hyperjump while partially still in the flames of the explosion. Instead of the usual star streaks of the entry, the whole canopy was filled with yellow and red flames before returning to its normal appearance.
Commodore Devlin had watched as his best friend’s ship exploded. He knew Mac would never let him live that down—if he survived to tell Mac. He just hoped that Mac had jumped before seeing his pride and joy become star dust.
***
Of all the ships in the Commod
ore’s Task Force, the Scrapyard One now had a new squadron of seven fighters and a crew of four to run the vessel and its systems. It gave the transport a feeling of a quasi-combat ship. However, Brock remained as the captain, bypassing the normal chain of command. This allowed Devlin to focus on more important matters of running the fleet.
“Thanks Lieutenant Wun. I would have been a goner if you didn’t draw fire from my front shields. Your boss seemed very determined,” replied Commodore Devlin.
“Yes, sir. He’s a good guy who just doesn’t have the experience to know when he sees a wrong order. I know you are not a traitor, and I’m glad I was able to help. But to be honest, you had me worried for a moment as things quickly fell apart.”
“It was a good thing that I remembered where your last set of orders were to,” said Commodore Devlin.
“Good thing you wrote them, too!” said Lieutenant Wun with a smile on her face.
“By the way, Lieutenant, what ever happened to the eighth Star Fighter?” asked Commodore Devlin.
“Oh, he’s sleeping in his bed. Let’s just say . . . totally knocked out.” Lieutenant Wun added, “I couldn’t have him messing up our plan since he did not agree with the situation.”
Lieutenant Wun was a very fit officer, and her strength was no exception. She had taken boxing in the Academy, a mandatory course, and liked it so much she had joined it as a sport. Her jab and right hook combo had become legendary, as she had knocked out several of her sparring partners in practice. She ended up fighting in the lightweight male category and became the lightweight boxing champion.
“Yes, without a doubt. Now there is something I need you to do for me when we get to Huldra. Are you willing to put yourself in danger again?” said the Commodore. It was a rhetorical question, but he wanted to give her the choice, regardless.