“You’re right,” Rothan agreed. “That’s my line of thought. The members of the fleet accept the chance of fighting and dying here in the vastness of space. Ground Forces didn’t volunteer for that, though they know in the back of their minds it could happen. Besides, maybe once they’re on the surface of the planet with all their equipment, it’ll spur the locals to rise up and help them defeat the occupiers.”
“Exactly,” Harmon said. “The Bleeve Fleet is circling around, trying to meet the newcomers, which leaves a run to Nazrooth open for you. Take it, take out those ships, and send the troops down.”
“Will do, sir,” Rothan answered. “Good luck,”
“You, too,” Harmon said and cut the link. He called Rick and let him know where he was sending the damaged ships with the troop transport. Rick agreed and let Harmon know the four ships had completed enough repairs to make at least one run on the two ships in orbit and attempt to provide protection for the orbiting ship afterwards.
* * *
Special Delivery
Troop Bay
Colonel Arthok stood before his leadership team in a corner away from the troops and equipment. “Are there any questions?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Zheta said, “it’s a solid plan. We can’t control what’s happening out here, but once our tanks are on the ground, we’ll control what we can.”
“Agreed,” said Lieutenant Colonel Grane. “We’ll provide air cover until we burn through all the fuel…and then we’ll grab a rifle.” The artillery and infantry commanders nodded their heads in approval.
Captain Nathan Brink, the lone human in the group, one side of his face glowing with flashing blue lightning strikes, couldn’t help but grin in approval. They were going in against long odds, but there was no other unit he would want his Bolts associated with in the galaxy. The Withaloo Ground Forces were a force to be reckoned with, no matter the odds.
The meeting broke up and Nate headed over to his Command Stomper. The armored personnel carrier was sitting flush on the deck, its legs bent at the center like a pair of knees in a deep squat. The first sergeant and the platoon leaders were waiting on him to give them final instructions. Beyond them he could see his entire unit in formation, standing at ease. The glow of their tattoos was unmistakable.
“It’s a go,” Nate said. “We’re moving to the planet now. Once the warships take care of the Bleeve transport ships, it’s on.”
“Same plan?” his executive officer and specialty platoon leader asked.
“Yeah,” confirmed Nate. “That part hasn’t changed, Dee.”
Lieutenant Deloris Mayshire nodded. “Good. Not that we can’t adjust on the fly, but I’d rather not. Sure wish we had the Giant Mechs in time to have the Taylahh Squad with us.”
“Me, too,” agreed Lieutenant Algrite, “from what I hear, they’re like personal tanks. We can always use more tanks.”
“Pfffftttt,” snorted First Sergeant Lonkle. “Tanks! It’s all about the infantry. Everyone supports the infantryman, sir. Even the mechs.” He raised his nose slightly in emphasis, and they all laughed at him. It was an ongoing friendly argument among them. “Infantry leads the way. Unless the enemy has tanks…or mechs. If they do, you guys can lead the way. I mean I’m not crazy, you know.”
The quick meeting broke up with laughter, and they headed over to find their positions. Nate stepped out front, and the unit settled. He didn’t bother calling them to attention and going through the typical military protocol. Not that it wasn’t important; it was. Right now wasn’t the time for it, though, and Nate could feel it.
“Listen up,” he said. “We’re going to the surface to carry out the mission. It’s not going to be easy. You know that. It never is. I’m not going to bore you with some kind of motivational mumbo jumbo speech. You deserve better than that. Do your job…watch your brothers and sisters’ backs. Be…”
“One With The Lightning!” they all shouted on cue and snapped to attention.
Captain Nathan Brink, commander of the Bolts, slowly reached up and placed three fingers on the side of his face covered in glowing tattoos. “On my command…”
Every member of the Bolts reached up, placed their fingers on their own switches, and waited. They heard the command loud and clear. “Hide The Lightning!”
That corner of the bay darkened as every blue glow went out. From that moment a new attitude swept over the unit. It was serious now. They had a job to do, and they would do it, or die trying. There was no other option. Nate released them to their leaders for the final prep.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-One
Salvage Title
Nazrooth System
“We’ll be within range in three minutes, sir,” the weapons officer said.
“Thanks, Bev,” Harmon answered. “Stick to the plan. Start launching with all the launchers we have left, and hit them with the cannons as soon as we’re able.”
“Lena. Get ready to start turning,” Harmon said to the ship’s pilot.
“Roger, sir,” she said back over her shoulder. Harmon couldn’t see the grin on the Leethog’s face. “Preparing for the Tomeral Turn.”
Harmon rolled his eyes. The commanders and pilots among the fleet had given his tactic of turning the ship while moving into a battle so it could take advantage of the shielding and weapons on all sides a name. The Kashkal had called it the Turning Tactic. Rick mentioned he knew of it, but it hadn’t been used by any race for many years. The leader of the Kashkal had been impressed Harmon had thought of it on his own.
Several ships equipped with the pulse cannons were preparing to use the same tactic. It took considerable coordination between the helm, the weapons officer, and the tactical officer for it to work right. By now, the fleet had it down pat. It was used in training exercises and in simulators.
They hadn’t been able to use it yet in this battle due to the standoff tactics used by the Bleeve commander. With the incoming Bleeve ships, it was possible. They would meet the enemy at an angle as the remaining twenty-four ships attempted to get past them to the large fleet waiting deep in the system.
Harmon hit the comm on his chair and spoke to the entire ship, “Here we go again. I’d say ‘battle stations,’ but you’ve been at them for hours. Clip, Zerith, if we get a shot at that supply ship, I’m breaking out the secret weapon, so don’t be surprised. Bridge, out.”
* * *
Down in the defensive bridge, Clip looked over at Jayneen’s console. She had several power backups built into it, but he’d taken Zerith’s advice and had another fire suppression cylinder fixed to her console, just in case.
* * *
Back in the power plant, Kyla looked over at the extra members of the emergency repair crew. The chief warrant officer was glad they were there. She’d been having problems with Fusion Plant Three after repairing and restarting it. She didn’t know if it could take the power drain that might come. Two of the repair crew were Yalteens. Their strength would be a welcome addition to the four-and-a-half-foot-tall Leethog.
She looked over at Zerith and suppressed a toothy grin. She watched him sigh and throw away half an apple. He never willingly gave up food, unless it was dire or he was truly upset. The fact he did so now let her know he wasn’t sure if the fusion plants would hold up, either.
* * *
“It looks like they’re withholding fighters,” the tactical officer said.
“I figured they would, Adam,” Harmon answered.
“Launching a full salvo,” weapons announced.
“The fleet is launching at will,” called out Adam. “The enemy has retaliated.”
“Good,” Harmon said. “Keep an eye out for that supply ship. Lena, see if you can get us close enough for main weapons.”
“I’m trying, sir,” answered the ship’s pilot.
“Three hundred missiles inbound,” Jayneen announced through the overhead speakers from down in the defensive bridge. “I calculate thirty
are tracking us.”
“Squat!” Harmon answered back. “Do what you do down there, we’re trying to get close to that supply ship and see if we can stop it.”
“Launching another salvo,” the weapons officer called out. “Main weapons will be in range in twenty seconds.”
“Now we’re talking,” Harmon said, sitting back and running his hand through his hair. “Get ready, Lena.”
Every crewmember felt the slight vibrations as the defensive lasers turned and started engaging incoming missiles. Seconds later, they felt the unmistakable tremors as the pulse cannons started firing. Two fired one second after another. Thrust eased, the ship turned, and four more went off one second apart. When the cannons were used, it meant the battle was getting up close and personal.
“Harmon!” Clip called from the lower bridge. “That’s the last of the scramblers and shotgun missiles. All we have left for defense is the small lasers. You might want to buckle in.”
“Brace for impact!” shouted the tactical officer. He could see what they saw on their screens in the defensive bridge. Normally he let them deal with the defense, but in light of the situation, he decided to keep the bridge updated.
Two missiles hit the shield port side, the blows nearly knocking Harmon from his seat. He decided to take Clip’s advice and strap himself down. “What’s the report?” he asked.
“Port shields down to thirty percent!” answered Brickle, the bridge engineer. He turned two eyes toward Harmon, leaving one on his screens. “Much more of that and we won’t be able to use the bay.”
As the battling ships got closer, the Bleeve were able to bring their main weapons to bear. Several of the ships in Salvage Fleet lost shielding and began to take even more damage. A couple had no choice but to fall back. Missiles flew, cannons and lasers fired, and ships came apart on both sides.
It was total chaos when the two fleets met at an angle. A Bleeve destroyer, out of control, drifted up and collided with one of its own. Both moved into the path of one of Task Force Delta’s refurbished medium battlecruisers, and all three came apart.
“We’ve lost shields on port!” Brickle called out. “Damage to the decks below the bay. Rescue and repair are on site.”
“Frost!” exclaimed Harmon. “Lena, talk to me.”
“We have a chance!” she exclaimed, her fingers flying across her console. “Order Desert Shade to fall back, and we may have a shot at the supply ship in four minutes.”
“I concur, sir,” added Bev as she continued monitoring her weapons console.
“Desert Shade, Salvage Title, fall back! Big Nick, pull back, I’m about to unleash this thing.”
“Roger that, sir,” came the crackling response. Harmon hoped it was a communications issue and not major damage causing the weak transmission from the light battlecruiser serving as their escort.
“Jayneen! Take over the weapons,” Harmon ordered. “Bev, let her handle it.”
“Gladly, sir,” answered his weapons officer. “I’m not sure I could get all the parts to work together.”
“Employing mass cannon now,” Jayneen announced.
Once again the crew members felt blows to the ship as shielding was struck by more missiles. The incoming missiles kept coming, along with random hits from lasers. Brickle continued calling out damage reports.
Along the starboard side of Salvage Title, a recently added hatch slid back, and a huge, rectangular frame extended out and slid up, covering the openings to all four pulse cannons on that side. If someone was able to actually get a good look inside the rectangle, they’d see clear-steel interwoven with fine lines of rare metals like a screen. Massive power cables ran to both sides from within the ship.
When the ship rotated around so starboard was facing the huge Bleeve supply ship, Jayneen counted down, “Firing mass cannon in three, two, one.”
Lights dimmed across the ship as all four pulse cannons fired at once into the rectangle. For the briefest of instants the weapon held the pulses, and then in a massive blast, a burst of raw energy containing the power of all four cannons fired from the gatherer. It hit the target forward on its port side. It blew through the shielding and struck deep into the Bleeve ship.
Salvage Title rocked with the release of the weapon, and several consoles shorted on the bridge. Sparks flew, and Brickle jumped into action, putting out the small fires. Lena unbuckled and moved quickly to the backup helm console, regaining the ability to pilot the ship. Deep within the ship, several emergency crews put out fires in panels.
“The supply ship is still under power,” reported the tactical officer a minute later.
“We have lost Fusion Plant Three,” Zerith reported through the internal comms.
“Jayneen,” Harmon called out, “can you get another shot at it?”
“The cannons are charging,” the AI answered. “It took more power than we calculated. I’m not sure it’s wise to fire it again.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Hamon countered. “The entire fleet’s taking a beating. We’re taking out some of them, but if that supply ship gets to the others, we don’t stand a chance. You know that; you’ve already calculated the odds.”
“I have,” Jayneen admitted. “Preparing to fire in fifteen seconds.”
The ship rocked again from missile strikes on the starboard side. Any more would take down the shields, and the weapon would be damaged, along with several decks.
“Firing in three, two, one.” The ship rocked, and lights dimmed.
The massive pulse of energy struck the supply ship farther back than the first and plowed deeply into it. The missiles stored in its bay began to go off in a chain reaction. The ship blew apart.
Some of the larger pieces struck other ships in its formation, causing them to veer off path. One, a destroyer, was turned and headed directly at Salvage Title. Neither ship could turn away in time, though Lena tried.
“Brace for imp…” Lena started to shout. She never finished, as the ships struck a glancing blow against each other.
* * *
Moments later, Harmon opened his eyes to darkness. He shook his head to clear it. As the emergency lighting came on, he could see smoke. Part of the overhead had collapsed onto the bridge. He fumbled for the release on his restraints and moved from his seat to the backup helm. One end of a large beam hung down, laying across it and Lena.
She was unmoving. Without hesitating, he pushed his shoulder into the beam and shifted it slightly. Suddenly it seemed lighter as he strained and moved it off her. Harmon looked over to see Private Norblon pushing with him. He reached over and pulled the Leethog out from under it. It was then he realized there was nothing he could do for her.
Harmon looked around the bridge. Several others were wounded, but working to restart their stations. He turned toward his chair to attempt to reach the power plant and check its status when the ship was struck by two more missiles. He was sent spinning back toward the fallen beam. He struck it full in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.
As he lay on the deck looking up in the near darkness, trying to catch his breath, he felt an intense burn in his thigh. He reached for it and felt warm wetness, and something large wedged against him. He brought his hand close to his face and could see the dark blood in the light of the small fires on the bridge.
“Don’t move, sir,” Norblon said. “Part of the base of the chair is stuck in your leg. It’s bleeding badly, so I can’t wait for someone from medical to get here.” She, like all her race, miners by trade, could see well in dim light or regular. “Hold this.”
Harmon felt her hand him a nanite syringe. Before he could say anything, the pain increased beyond imagining as she pulled the chair away and out of his thigh. He gritted his teeth and refused to cry out. He felt her put pressure on the wound like a huge vice grip as she used all the strength in her hands to hold the deep cut closed. The pain increased. If they’d been on one of the smaller ships, he’d have been partially suited and would have had the a
dvantage of tourniquet tabs. The uniform he was wearing didn’t have them.
“Inject it right by my hand, sir,” she ordered him. “Don’t stick me! That would hurt.”
“Thanks a lot for the warning,” he said through gritted teeth.
Harmon reached down with both hands and felt for the area she wanted him to hit. Once she gave him the go ahead, he pushed the needle in and injected himself. Private Norblon kept up the pressure as the nanites went to work. He had no idea what it was healing first, but he felt the burn.
The battle continued all around him and Salvage Title as he lay there, staring at the ceiling without the strength to move the determined Marine. He tried several times, but she was heavier than she appeared, and she wasn’t having it.
* * *
Hold My Drink
Hank sat down in his command chair and engaged the comms. After a moment, his brother Stan was on the main screen. “We have been hit with lasers,” he said as soon as he saw him.
“Are you alright?” Stan asked. Hank saw him stand and step toward the screen. Behind him a technician was putting the fire out in a smoldering panel. The lights flickered. “Do you need a hand?”
“No,” Hank replied. “Not yet. The technicians think they can get a fusion plant restarted. We are on emergency power now.”
“Ok,” Stan said, relieved. “Let me know if you need a hand. I know where you can get a good one.” He held up his bionic hand and wiggled his fingers.
Hank grinned at his brother. “How bad is the damage to your ship?”
“We were hit by two missiles,” Stan replied. “We are down to one fusion plant and one quarter engine power. It is not good.”
Hide the Lightning Page 15