by David Smith
“THEY’RE FIRING!!” squealed the young Helmsman.
“EVASIVE!! RETURN FIRE!! Dave shouted.
Ensign Farnell panicked and pressed the wrong combination of controls, throwing Tiger into full-ahead. The sudden acceleration fooled the two cruisers, who were suddenly firing at empty space. Lieutenant Janus returned fire scoring a hit on one of the ship’s engines, and Dolplop took control of the Helm by reaching across with long thin tendrils. He slammed the ship’s drives into reverse, slowing the ship and forcing the second cruiser to shoot past them.
Janus, relatively fresh after a two hours sleep, skillfully took his opportunity and scored several hits on the other ship’s secondary hull, incapacitating her. The damaged ship withdrew as quickly as it could.
Poor Ensign Farnell had made the mistake of not getting out of Dolplops way quick enough. Dolplop was a Vosgeann, a species that had evolved on a gas giant planet with no solid surface. They floated like huge beach-balls on the planet’s unceasing supersonic winds and caught their prey with sting cells on their long tendrils. The sting cells immobilized the smaller floating life-forms, but worked just as well on unwary Ensigns. Farnell tumbled out of the chair, convulsing as several of Dolplop’s stingers pumped venom into her hand and arm.
Dave was so tired his only concern was who he’d find to fill the seat when Lieutenant Lyle needed to rest again.
Dave came to and found Commander Katrin Mengele’s attractive but stern face just in front of his. Not one to mince words she bluntly told him “You are exhausted and putting the mission in jeopardy by refusing to leave the Bridge. Go now, take these two pills and get four hours sleep or I will have Chief Belle forcibly remove you from command.”
Behind the Doctor, Dave caught a glimpse of a couple of orderlies picking up poor Ensign Farnell who was twitching and visibly frothing at the mouth. She wouldn’t be back on the Bridge for quite a while.
“But there’s no-one else ……” Dave began, but he was cut off.
“Your efficiency is negligible. Commander Chamberlain has confirmed there is a target shooting exercise coming up. During that period surprise attacks will be suspended. Lieutenant Janus is perfectly capable of taking command for four hours. Go now, or I will have you removed.”
Dave really couldn’t be bothered to argue.
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He awoke to the sound of torpedoes being launched. The target shooting exercise was being conducted under warp-drive, and launching torpedoes was something of an art-form at supra-light speeds. He struggled to remember who was in charge in the Torpedo Bay, and realised he hadn’t checked in with them for at least a day.
He called the Bay from his quarters, and heard a gruff voice reply that he recognised as “Pappy”Jackson the Torpedo Chief: “Wussup sir?”
“Just thought I’d check and make sure everything is alright, Chief.”
“Well since you ask, we’re all a mite tired, Them dang torpedoes from store ain’t all that, neither. Damn near useless evrywun of ‘em.”
Pappy was one of the most experienced members of the ship’s crew, and had forgotten more about torpedoes than most people would ever know. However, his tendency to mumble meant he rarely transferred any of this valuable information.
“Coils r’ shot, n’ lectronics r’ on the fritz. Whole lot of ‘em ain’t worth a damn. Not a damn, I tell ya!”
“Who’s down there with you Pappy? Pappy? You still there, Pappy?”
“Ugh? Sorry boss, dun nodded off fer a second there. How in the name ‘o’ Sam Hill we supposed to keep this shit together man?” the Chief grumbled.
“So who do you have working for you?” repeated Dave.
“Well, I’ve lost most o’ my best team. Got Davis in fer Harcourt at the mo. PO Woodson’s here tho, an’ Doyle. Engineers lent us Billy Ottershaw …. “
“KNOB!!! Bbb-bb-bbii.. BIG KNOB!!!!”
“ ….. ‘n we got a couple o’ Yeomen here to make up the numbers, but they just get in the damn’ way most o’ the time.”
He went quiet again.
“Chief, you still there?”
“Whu?? Yeah, yeah I’m here. Only fer an hour tho’, then PO Ionescu takes over, god help us all!!”
“Ok Chief, I see the exercise numbers are still one hundred percent: That’s amazing! Keep up the good work.”
Dave cut the comm-link and headed to the Bridge. Commander Chamberlain was there, observing from one of the science consoles, while Lieutenant Janus and Lieutenant Lyle both snored loudly at their posts. Lieutenant Shearer, back at the Communications Station in a fresh and still very, very short dress, stood cleaning her chair before carefully easing herself into it. She looked dead tired, but as always looked absolutely stunning. Everyone else on the ship was dead tired and looked like shit.
As she saw him, she stood and shouted ”Tenshun on the Bridge!” waking the others, who sat up with a start.
Chamberlain just smiled and turned around to face Dave as he sat at the Executive Officer’s Station at the rear of the bridge.
“Good morning Commander, I hope you slept well?”
Dave wasn’t sure if she was being facetious, or was genuinely concerned, and decided he was too tired to care, or even think about it and ignored her. He faced the console and pulled up the inventory of weapons on board. They’d already expended all the mines that Chief Cash had furnished the Tiger with during various exercises, and three hundred and eight of their four hundred torpedoes. It was normal procedure to replenish stocks when levels fell to less than 50%, but Dave didn’t recall anything in the mission parameters about this.
As she was on the Bridge, he thought he’d ask the Adjutant.
“Commander Chamberlain, we’re low on stocks of torpedoes, is there any arrangement for replenishing our inventory?”
She smiled as she replied “Strangely enough, we’ve never been in a situation where that’s been an issue. Most ships expend about fifty torpedoes, but for some reason Tiger seems to be getting through a lot more?”
“Perhaps that’s because we’ve repeated the supra-light engagement scenarios five …. no …… six times now? And passed them all? But I believe we’re still due another one?”
“It’s seven times. So far. The Commodore does seem to like running that one, doesn’t he?”
“It’s not a problem, but when we do it back to back with interceptions and surprise attacks, it gets a little wearing” Dave grumbled.
Taking pity on Dave and the rest of the crew, Chamberlain walked over to him and quietly said “I don’t know if you realise this, but you’re into the last twenty four-hours of the exercise. I can’t believe you made it this far!!”
“The Commodore has thrown everything at you, and then some, for thirteen days now. The entire resources of the range have been tied up to try and make sure Tiger fails. We’ve even cancelled exercises by other vessels to make sure all of our ships are available to run up against you. Hell, we’ve even co-opted some other ships in from off-range to increase the numbers you’re up against! You’re so close now, just hang tough and you’ll make it!”
She stood back and tried to sound more professional: “I saw your stocks of torpedoes were low and took the liberty of contacting Chief Cash. He’s bringing a cargo barge around to unload another two hundred torpedoes, which should be enough to see you through. He’ll be here in an hour, and I’ve pulled all activities for the next three hours to give you time to load them safely.”
“Thank you Commander” said Dave, looking around the bridge. He was going to stand down the Bridge crew for three hours, but Janus, Lyle, Shearer and Chief Benoit at the Science Station were all already snoring loudly again. Just twenty-four hours to go.
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Taking advantage of the lull in activity, Dave went down to the Torpedo Bay where the crew were preparing for the torpedoes. They cleared the deck of detritus and when ready, Pappy called Chief Cash, who sent over the first pair of torpedoes.
&n
bsp; Dave helped out by checking out and marking off the individual serial numbers of the torpedoes. Each had to be individually transferred from Station stocks to Tiger’s stock, and at the same time, Susan transferred the details of all torpedoes expended so far back to Arcturus station to update fleet records.
Under the guidance of Pappy Jackson, the Torpedo Bay crew would move them from the landing area to the torpedo magazine, stowing each one in its own rack, ready for loading. It took some time to complete, but Dave didn’t mind as every minute spent loading the torpedoes was another minute closer to the end of the infernal and seemingly interminable mission.
It took over two hours to move the lot, but being a mundane task, Dave could see the adrenaline draining from the Torpedo Room crew after days of frantic activity. As the loading went on they got slower and sloppier and Dave winced as torpedoes with photonic warheads of frightening destructive capacity bounced off bulkheads, deck-heads and anything that got even remotely in the way. This included one of the Yeomen, who fell asleep at an inopportune moment and was woken by the sound of the bones in her right hand being broken between a torpedo and its cradle.
When they finished, Chief Cash checked the dispatch log, signed it and left them to it, and the Torpedo crew was replenished by a couple of fresh hands (or more specifically unbroken hands) who replaced the injured Yeoman and an exhausted Pappy Jackson.
Dave congratulated the team on a job well-done and added “We’re in the home straight guys, and as far as I know there’s only one more torpedo exercise to go. Hold it together and we’ll be home and dry.”
Dave headed back to the Bridge and took his accustomed position in the Captain’s chair. Susan had popped up a countdown clock on the view screen, showing twenty hours and twenty minutes to go. He looked around the Bridge at the exhausted crew. Please, please, please …….
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Eighteen hours later, they’d fended off another three attacks and spent a couple of hours herding small ships back into the asteroid belt. The Engineers had pulled out all the stops, most recently getting the phaser banks back on line within thirty minutes after a complete sensor system failure had stopped the weapon systems from accurately tracking targets.
The Operations Team had truly suffered. Few of them had grabbed more than a couple hours of sleep over the last two weeks, subsisting on stimulants and adrenaline. Many had reached a point of no return and Commander Mengele and her reduced medical staff were dealing with dozens of cases of mental and physical exhaustion. The worst cases were literally comatose, but many others were physically incapable of doing their duty.
He’d given up trying to write a duty roster after the first week. It took time and effort he couldn’t spare and was, frankly, a waste of time. Things changed too quickly too often. As soon as he published it, he was having to change it.
He’d thought at that point that the Commodore had won, that the ship’s crew would simply cease to function, but somehow they’d kept going. The crew had turned up for their expected duty, and if relief hadn’t arrived when expected, they’d stayed at their post until it did. Some of the crew had manned their post for literally days at a time, sneaking toilet breaks when they could and getting the Galley crew to bring them food and drinks when they had a minute free.
They’d hung on, they were still hanging on, because they had a common cause, a common belief. Belief in themselves, in their crewmates and in Tiger.
He was in a daze, sat in the Captain’s chair, and didn’t even hear the Red Alert klaxon.
It took a significant nudge from Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara to bring him back to the land of the living.
Stirring, he heard Janus reading the mission protocols to the Bridge crew: “…….. twenty targets spread over a sixty minute period, each must be hit in a single pass, with no more than two torpedoes to be fired at each target .”
His instincts began to kick in and he recognised the scenario for what it was: A shooting gallery. To cover the distance Tiger would need to travel at high-warp speed, launching forty torpedoes at twenty targets. It would be a test of concentration and focus for the Helm and Tactical Officers and also a physical test for the crew of the Torpedo Bay who would have to work quickly and concisely to load and prep the torpedoes before each shot.
Lieutenant Lyle was their only recognised Helmsman and arrived on the Bridge three minutes later, nodding to Janus at the Tactical Station as she passed him. They knew each other well from the relief shifts, and Dave suddenly realised that this wasn’t where the problems would be. If they we’re going to have trouble it would be in the Torpedo Bay where Pappy Jackson had assembled a crew of what he called “phantom hands”. These were hands that could be seen but wouldn’t normally touch anything.
PO Pavel Ionescu had replaced Pappy Jackson in charge of the area, and from what Dave knew of him, he had an excellent service record that was marred by an odd medical condition. Now what was that condition?
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They were doing brilliantly. Over the last two weeks, Dave had already seen that Janus and Lyle were a good team, but in the last few hours they’d operated almost as a gestalt being, barely needing any verbal communication at all. Target after target had been spotted, tracked and attacked. During this exercise, Lyle had been so quick to manoeuvre Tiger that Janus had been able to hit every target with his first shot.
“We have a target, broadcasting RF radiation, bearing three four four by zero one eight” said O’Mara from her seat at the Science Station.
“Got it!” said Janus “Helm bring us around ten degrees to port, five degrees down.”
“Course adjusted, target within torpedo range in eight seconds” replied Lyle.
She counted them in: “In range in three …… two …… one …… Target available!”
Janus selected the target, and shouted “Firing!!” There were two audible thumps, a second apart as the two torpedoes were launched, and Janus switched the view-screen to a forward camera angle. They watched the two spangles of light streak away from Tiger and seconds later, there was a distant flare on the screen as the first torpedo found the target and detonated, destroying itself and the target. The second torpedo, no longer required, disarmed itself and began broadcasting a recovery signal so the Range Wardens team could find it and re-use it at a later date.
“Direct hit with torpedo one sir, nineteen down, one to find.”
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Down in the Torpedo Bay, the crew were running like a smoothly oiled machine, right up to the point where PO Pavel Ionescu fell asleep whilst swinging the next torpedo out of its cradle. He’d picked it up in a grav-sling, neutralising the effects of the ships artificial gravity and allowing the half-tonne torpedo to float freely.
He grunted and strained to get the torpedo moving forward: five hundred kilos of alloys, electronics and photonic warhead still took a lot of shoving to get moving. Standing behind it, he planted his feet firmly on the deck to get traction and pushed the torpedo hard towards the first of the two tubes. That was when his narcolepsy got the better of him and he came to a standstill. However, the torpedo carried on surging forward under its own considerable momentum.
Being a narcoleptic, this sort of thing had happened to Pavel many times before, often at difficult times. Unfortunately, not all of the crew working with him at this particular instant knew he was a narcoleptic, and seeing him just suddenly stop moving caused Billy Ottershaw to panic.
“Ppp ……. Pppp oooohhh ……. FUCK!!!! ….. WAKE UP TOSSER!!!” he screamed.
Sadly, this only drew the attention of PO Woodson and Crewman Doyle, who both looked up from their position at the loading rack of first torpedo tube to see half a tonne of unrestrained photon torpedo bearing down on them. It struck them both square on, scattering them like bowling pins. Their screams drew the attention of crewman Davis at the door to the tube who looked around just in time to catch the rear-end of the swinging torpedo square in the
face …….
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“We have an inert target showing up on scanners, bearing zero one zero by zero two six” said O’Mara.
“I see it!” said Janus “Helm, steady as she goes, we’ll be passing within range on our starboard side.”
Janus checked his display, then checked again, before saying “Got a problem sir, no torpedoes in the tubes.”
Dave was instantly on the comm-set to the Torpedo Bay: “Bay, what’s going on?? There’s a target coming up fast and were not showing ready to launch. Bay? Anyone there?”
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach “Lyle, slow to just above light speed. We have to give the Bay time to sort themselves out. Come in Torpedo Bay is there anyone available??”
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After running like a well-oiled machine for thirty-eight torpedo loadings in less than an hour, the Torpedo Bay crew were now running with all the grace and power of an arthritic slug.
“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK …… “ said Ottershaw as he heard the First Officer’s voice come over the comm-set.
He jumped over to the controls on the far side of the room, and screamed at the two worried looking Yeoman stood at the side of the compartment “Get the ff … fffff…. fuuuuhhuu ….. load the bloody thing!!!”
Caught like rabbits in headlights, the two Yeomen, Barnes and Sriwak, looked at each other blankly, until Ottershaw screamed “MOVE IT!!!!” at the top of his voice.
They grabbed the wildly swinging torpedo, brought it under control and lowered it onto the loading rack as they’d seen PO Woodson do thirty-eight times. They ran it down the rack to the head of the tube, tripping the activation switches and pulling the pin on the launching charge as they went, just as they’d seen Crewman Doyle do thirty-eight times.
They tried to connect the data transfer umbilical, as they’d seen crewman Davis do thirty-eight times. For some reason the umbilical didn’t seem to fit properly, but with much grunting and straining, they twisted it into place and connected it, removed the final arming pin and then rammed the torpedo into its launch tube. Finally, they slammed and sealed the breech mechanism of the tube just as they’d seen Crewman Davis do thirty-eight times.