by Britt Ringel
He had taken the left fork in the corridor and jogged past the accessway to Turret Kilo before realizing that the second wave must have been defeated. Well, at least Lochaber didn’t get hit… again, he corrected. He had heard a horrible, deafening buzzing noise seconds earlier without comprehending its meaning. When the powerful reverberation had torn its way down the corridor, Twist thought the entire ship had been electrified. After the noise abated however, he realized the buzzing must have been from a nearby heavy laser capacitor, charging up for its shots. The knowledge that the second wave had run its course during his scramble down the passageway brought gooseflesh to his arms. I’m extremely vulnerable, running around like this. If we get hit again, I won’t have my shockseat to keep me from being thrown around. There were handrails running the length of the corridor above his head. He now understood their purpose.
A second round of thunderous buzzing sounded from ahead. The overpowering vibration pounded through Twist’s chest. He reflexively tightened his grip around the rails and squeezed his eyes shut. The hair on his arms stood on end. The ship failed to explode.
That must have been wave three, Twist counted as he reopened his eyes. Twelve more to go. He continued down the constricted corridor. In the ensuing silence, the sound of his ragged breath surprised him. How many kilometers did you run in OTS, Caden? How can you be out of breath after just thirty meters?
He raced toward the junction leading to Turret Mike before the capacitors for the mammoth batteries buzzed disturbingly again. Twist took these ominous sounds as his cue to grab hold of the handrails and pray. After counting to ten, he assumed the fleet had survived another encounter and resumed his frantic pace toward the rear of the ship.
The isolation and lack of information was terrifying. The fleet’s unknown status, the state of his own ship and the condition of his gunners inside Turret November all tore at his composure. That he was responsible for the lives of those three people weighed heavily on him, especially considering his failure just minutes ago. He shuddered as he passed Turret Mike, trying to shake the image of his gunners desperately trying to fire their weapons at a Hollaran missile bearing down upon them... the turrets refusing to fire because of the lack of authorization from their ensign. Twist’s eyes burned with the tears he refused to let come.
Another minute packed with two terror-filled periods of clenching the overhead handrails passed as Twist approached the afflicted turret. A containment field over the corridor ahead was the first sign of trouble. He skidded to a stop in front of the semi-translucent field and lowered his helmet’s visor. A slight suction noise preceded a beep in his helmet indicating his suit’s successful pressurization. Twist had never stepped through a containment field into a vacuum before. Although there was a minor resistance while penetrating the field, the process was as simple as walking into a stiff wind. Once through, his suit confirmed he was in an atmosphere-free environment.
He continued toward the stern as evidence of Lochaber’s plight mounted. The deck became a misshaped, upward ramp. The warped passageway made it obvious that the command cruiser had taken a savage hit during that first wave. As Twist neared November’s location, debris began to clutter the narrow hall and he found himself climbing over wreckage. He struggled another thirty seconds before crouching where he thought Turret November should have been. He was certain that at least one missile wave had come and gone since he crossed the containment field but he had not heard the now familiar buzz of a capacitor. To his left, large rents had been torn in the side of the accessway. Most of the gaps revealed hideously damaged equipment and circuitry. Twice though, Twist faced the stomach-churning view of infinite space. He had nearly turned back both times. Surely, Twist thought, my guys are dead. What’s the point of me dying here too? My death won’t bring them back.
Shame and self-loathing forced Twist to put one boot in front of the other while his sense of self-preservation urged him to run away. He squeezed past more wreckage but was ultimately stopped by the abrupt termination of the hallway. Ahead of him was nothing. A full twenty meters of space separated one part of Lochaber from another. Twist looked up in amazement and saw that the upper decks had suffered less of a breach than his own. Below him though, an even larger chunk of space existed. The view was as captivating as it was nauseating.
Forcing himself to look away before he deposited the meager contents of his stomach onto his faceplate, inspiration struck Twist. Using his datapad, he opened a schematic of Lochaber and sent a request to the cruiser’s network. A blip appeared on the graphic, identifying his location. He was just eight meters from Turret November. From outside the ship, a pinpoint of light erupted in the dark vacuum of space. Twist looked toward the distraction but the light had disappeared.
“Gunnersmate Falk,” Twist called over the subsection communication frequency.
“Go ahead, sir.”
“The turret is… gone.”
“Acknowledged,” Falk replied. “I’ll forward the damage assessment to Lieutenant Chappell.”
“What’s our status?”
The reply was curt. “Wait one.”
Twist stared into space for a dozen seconds. He searched for more flashes but found none.
“That was the tenth wave, Ensign,” Falk finally answered. “Come back to fire control, sir.”
“On my way.”
The return trip felt faster. After crawling over the wreckage near November, he entered into the pattern of racing forward until the capacitors charged and then holding on for dear life during what he assumed were the moments of Lochaber’s self-defense. He counted each wave and had reached fourteen as he passed the turret closest to his battle station.
We’re going to survive this, he thought. Turret Kilo’s capacitors buzzed threateningly down the passageway and he instinctively reached up to secure himself with the handrails.
Twist bounced off the corridor wall before he realized what was happening. A concussive force had ripped the rail from his grip and thrown him laterally in the narrow passage. The cacophony from the explosion masked his own cry as he slammed sideways. One moment, he had been firmly grasping the rail with both hands. The next, he was face down on the deck gasping for breath and holding his ribs. He fumbled clumsily to lower his faceplate, failing to realize it was already in place. The right side of his face felt numb. Opaque, black smoke rolled over the ceiling ahead of him. Tucking his aching right arm close to his chest, he staggered to his feet and teetered down the hallway toward HAZ-1’s fire control compartment.
Every step brought forth another wave of pain. The door between Passageway Echo-Two and the fire control station was askew. No containment field had appeared to take its place. Thick smoke gushed from the top of the portal and rolled down the hallway’s ceiling. The compartment glowed a dangerous orange.
William Falk was in there! Twist quickened his pace, ignoring the throbbing pain. The fire control compartment was a disaster. Falk’s side of the room was ablaze and his entire station had been ripped from its mounts. Twist’s own computer console had fared better but his seat now tilted at a thirty-degree angle. Although engulfed in flame, the room grew dim as a curtain of smoke descended from the ceiling.
He searched the deck for Falk. A crumpled form lay partially under a shattered computer bank, burning. The man’s back had been so severely broken that his legs nearly touched the back of his helmet.
Twist fought his way to the fallen NCO. Smoke now blanketed the room, forcing him to kneel close to Falk’s body to confirm the man was dead. Temperature alarms blared inside Twist’s helmet as the suit’s protection from the elements began to fail.
I’ve got to get out, Twist thought frantically. The view of Falk’s burning body was searing itself into his brain. He tried to orient himself but found he had become lost in the newly arranged compartment. He picked the location he believed would lead him back to the passageway and crawled on his hands and knees.
Ragged breathing muted the sounds of t
he raging inferno. Just as Twist had decided to try a different direction, his helmet bumped against the warped portal door. He crawled around the obstruction and into the corridor. The smoke was still heavy but the intense heat diminished. He rose to stand in the river of smoke and stumbled down the passageway several meters. When he came to a stop, he dropped back to his knees and manipulated the shocksuit controls on his left wrist. His right arm was functional, though shaking fiercely. He noticed how blackened his gloves had become.
Twist set about lowering the internal temperature of his shocksuit. Finding success only after several attempts, he then switched his communications channel from the local HAZ-1 frequency to the general HAZ command channel that would communicate with the entire heavy laser section of Lochaber.
“Lieutenant Chappell,” Twist cried out between spastic pants. The voice seemed to belong to a stranger. “The fire control station has been hit! Falk’s dead!”
“What’s the status of your compartment, Ensign?” Chappell answered in an equally frantic tone.
The lieutenant’s response had been hard to understand over the ringing alarms sounding in the small corridor, then Twist realized the “alarm” was the fierce ringing of his own ears. “It’s destroyed, sir. It’s on fire.”
Twist could hear Chappell’s choppy breathing through the open mic. After several breaths, the weapons officer answered, “Okay. Understood. I’m passing your damage report to Operations. Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Twist asked himself. With everything he had gone through, he honestly did not know the answer. “I think so.”
“Thank God,” Chappell responded quickly. “Relocate to your alternate battle station. The attack is over but I need you to keep control over what’s left of your subsection.”
“Okay, sir,” Twist answered and moved to cut the open channel.
“And Caden,” Chappell added quickly, “great work against those missiles!”
The channel closed, leaving Twist staring at his wrist controls. Given his personal performance, Chappell’s words felt more like an indictment on his actions than praise. However, the tone of the lieutenant’s voice had been wrong. It actually had sounded sincere, almost thick with admiration.
Twist considered the intent behind the words while smoke billowed around him. During the time it had taken him to report in, the cloud of smoke had lowered further. He looked ahead and saw one of the corridor’s escape routes, a tiny alcove hosting a ladder that led to the deck below. He climbed down, careful to secure the portal above him before continuing away from his shattered compartment.
Chapter 15
Twist’s alternate battle station was Auxiliary Control, located two decks below and nearly halfway down the length of the ship. The compartment was well-protected, unlike his previous post. It took him several minutes to reach his new station, all the while passing damage control parties dashing to critical locations. He assumed at least one of the parties was headed to fight the blaze raging in Lochaber’s bow.
When he reached the entrance to Auxiliary Control, he realized he was still sealed inside his shocksuit, wasting its limited supply of air. He broke the seal and raised the faceplate, smearing the visor with soot in the process. His entire suit had been singed, especially his arms and gloves. The sweat covering his face had dried but his eyes still stung viciously. Wiping them only served to leave dark smudges on his face.
He stepped toward the portal to trigger the door’s sensors. Inside was awash with officers and enlisted, positioned around the perimeter of their room. Conversations about Lochaber’s condition dominated the discussions in the chaotic compartment as a lieutenant commander paced nervously.
“Jeanine, I need to know the instant the fire’s out.” The officer turned toward the opening portal and nearly tripped to a stop. Judging by his expression, Twist figured that he must not look human.
“Who are you?” the man asked, befuddled. “Ambulatory injuries should report to the nearest medical station.”
“I’m not hurt, sir,” Twist stated but every, little movement brought pain. “My station was destroyed and I was ordered to relocate here.”
The lieutenant commander’s eyes stayed focused on Twist but he pointed to a deserted computer console. “That’s an alternate battle station panel. You can configure it to match your old one.”
Twist nodded while muttering a thank you. He sat down and stared at the screen. I don’t know how to configure anything…. The screen was blank except for the simple directive: “Select the organizational symbol of the desired workstation.” He scanned for WEPS and pressed on the screen. It flickered and new organizational symbols inside the weapons section hierarchy appeared. He chose WEP/HAZ and then refined the selection to HAZ-1.
“Where are you coming from… Ensign?” The rank sewn to Twist’s shocksuit was now anything but gold. The proximity of the voice startled him. The lieutenant commander stood directly behind him.
“I’m Ensign Twist, from Haze-One, Commander,” he answered. He was amazed at the ease of turning the generic battle station into his old weapons console. Taskings window, turret status displays, comm… it’s smaller than before but it’s all here.
“Y-you’re Haze-One?” the commander said.
The stammering caught Twist off guard. Just seconds earlier, the man had been leveling orders at people like a tyrant. Twist turned and saw a look of astonishment on the officer’s face. The compartment had grown deathly silent before a spattering of applause echoed around the room.
“I… I don’t get it,” Twist said.
“Sir,” a senior NCO sitting nearby said, her voice thick with approval, “your subsection saved us. You knocked down seven missiles! You intercepted more missiles than both light laser sections combined.”
“We never would’ve survived—”
“Some of the best gunnery I’ve ever seen—”
“An amazing display of marksmanship—”
The accolades poured in faster than Twist could comprehend. I didn’t do anything… except get Turret November killed. He opened his mouth to confess.
The lieutenant commander placed a hand on his blackened shoulder. “We should’ve known that was Ensign Twist’s section.” He beamed at the young man. “After the pounding this ship just took, the crew needs a hero like you.”
“I didn’t—”
“And look at you,” the man interrupted. “Look at the condition of your shocksuit!” He spun around. “Jeanine, I need a SMET sent to us immediately. Ensign Twist needs medical attention.”
“I-I’m fine,” Twist insisted.
A female lieutenant wagged a finger at him and flashed a smile. “Better safe than sorry, Ensign.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Twist admitted. The confession fell upon deaf ears. The room had already regained its former fervor.
“Commander Rollings, Damage Control Party Seven says they have extinguished the fire in the bow and are venting the gases. They’ll be searching for survivors next.”
“Good, what’s our sensor status?”
Conversations regarding Lochaber’s fragile state continued unabated. Twist turned meekly back to his panel. My section saved the ship, he thought to himself. They must have rebounded and pulled off some amazing shots. He glanced at the turret status panel in front of him. Judging from the red splashed across the screen, he appeared to have lost two starboard turrets. Six people. Maybe more. He thought of Falk. Seven.
A jolt shot through him. My God. Are we closing with the enemy? Am I going to have to go through a laser engagement without Falk? Twist struggled to repurpose a side screen. After nearly two minutes of trial and error, he succeeded in recreating Lochaber’s tactical plot.
Most of Task Group 2.2 was missing. Four of the six escort ships were gone. The remaining two, a destroyer and frigate, were a sickly hue denoting heavy damage. Closer to Lochaber, Twist immediately saw that two-thirds of the eighteen-ship formation had vanished. His heart skipped several beats befo
re finding Determined’s symbol, also a deathly shade of blue. Only a second command cruiser and a single light cruiser had emerged unscathed from the vicious missile fight. Twelve ships, just… gone. All those people….
He zoomed the tactical plot with a new sense of urgency and pressed a charred finger to Determined. The pride of Second Fleet had been battered severely. A preliminary damage report expanded from the symbol to reveal a list that scrolled off the screen.
That’s just what they’ve reported so far, Twist reminded himself. He scanned the report for any indication of Vix Kirkpatrick’s fate but came up empty. Zooming out, he searched for the Hollaran heavy main fleet. It was gone. He zoomed out further and was still unable to find them.
“They’re negated, sir,” the senior NCO said quietly to him. She reached over and slid the tactical plot toward the Kale tunnel point while saying, “We destroyed their main invasion force before our fifth wave reached them.” She smiled half-heartedly. “They might have caught up to us on missile tech but it seems they still have a ways to go on point defense.”
The tactical plot settled over the Hollaran Vanguard and Carrier Force. The heavy carrier and her escorts were still sailing toward the tunnel point. The vanguard, however, had altered course to intercept Task Group 3.1. Dozens and dozens of fighter symbols were rotating around the Brevic carriers. The landing operation looked to be a mess.
“Quiet,” barked the lieutenant commander at no one in particular while thrusting a hand upward. The chaotic room hushed.
Over the compartment’s speakers, Admiral Johnston said, “Just break off, sir. They can’t catch you unless you let them.”
A gruff voice answered vehemently. “Rubbish, Monty. Three-One isn’t running away just because our damned pilots can’t find the flight deck with two hands and a map. Your group just got pulverized and I’m not about to let that carrier escape because my group was unwilling to engage the enemy. You can support us though. Take everything that can make fleet speed and get your butts over here to keep them from closing to energy range. Hayes out.”