by J. S. Hawn
Jonathan was lifted out of his rumination by the approach of the Doneghy, which would be the first ship to dock. The Taudown hung off at a safe distance in case anything should go wrong. As the Doneghy slid parallel to the Fury, the riggers from both ships lept into action. The pull teams, comprised of about a dozen spacers each, attached steel cables to nodes at the bow and stern on both the port and starboard side and top and bottom. This allowed the riggers to use their suits’s RCS packs to gently nudge the freighter into its final alignment. Slowly, the crew performed a delicate dance, pulling and tugging the massive ship into position. From Jonathan's vantage point, it was almost comical. The tiny figures of men in their space suits affecting the movement of the massive, bulky vessel. It was working though. Normally, such maneuvers were safe but then again most things were normally safe until they weren't. All it took was a split second for things to turn. The aft port line, a three inch thick steel cable that had been improperly stored and had become corroded, suddenly gave way snapping in half. The torque from being attached to a 60,000 ton freighter caused it to be whipped back, striking two of the spacers holding it as the rest of the crew dropped it and scrambled out of the way. The Doneghy began to roll and float toward the Fury taking the path of least resistance. Jonathan and the two dozen spacers next to him were moving as soon as the cable snapped.
“Bosun, this is the Captain. Emergency situation, cable break. Unknown casualties sustained. Scramble the lifeguards. We will secure the Doneghy.”
“Aye sir,” came the reply. At the Fury’s air lock, the eight men teams who had been standing by lept into space using their fast jet packs. They closed in on the beacons of the now scattered line crew, while Jonathan and the other riggers from the back-up group closed in on the node where the line had been secured. It took a blood freezing two minutes to close the gap, two minutes while the Doneghy drifted closer to the Fury. Finally, two of the cable men reached the node, and began working immediately. One secured the hook to the steel bar as he flew past, unable to slow because of his velocity. He made it look easy, but such a maneuver took years of training. His partner, meanwhile, let the line unspool from the wheel he carried on his back flying at full speed to get it unrolled as fast as possible. Jonathan slowed, as did the other riggers, securing themselves along the line and switching their RCS jets over to Knowles’s console on the bridge. Finally, a full three minutes after the line had broken the call came from the cableman.
“Line out.” That indicated he’d run out of line.
“All together heave,” Jonathan instructed.
The riggers fired their RCS jets and pulled getting the line taunt.
“Bosun, line secured,” Jonathan reported.
“Aye sir, stand by stabilizing,” Knowles said over the com.
Now came the painful part. Jonathan and the other riggers pulled the line taut as Knowles linked their RCS systems together through the control panel, and then began firing them in unison. As the riggers from the original line crew took hold of the line, it increased the amount of torque exponentially and gradually the Doneghy stabilized. It took a grueling ten minutes during which Jonathan's arms burned and his brow began to sweat. The RCS thrusters were doing the heavy lifting, but the riggers still needed to keep hold of the line and keep it taut. Most of them were doing this through nothing but old fashioned muscle power and it was draining. Finally, Knowles signaled again.
“Doneghy stabilized, positioning docking collars now, wait one.”
Jonathan and the other riggers waited, sweat stinging their eyes. It wasn’t something most people thought about, but being unable to wipe your face was the worst part of EVA.
“Docking collar secure, line crews heave off.”
As one the riggers relaxed letting the line go limp. They moved away from it letting the cable men begin to spool it up.
Jonathan activated his com unit, “Hilper, casualty report.”
The assistant engineer, like Jonathan, had taken additional certification only her area was EVA rescue and recovery, which was why Jonathan had put her in charge of the lifeguard teams.
“Sir we're doing a head count now, wait one,” she said in her clipped tones.
Jonathan waited floating blissfully in the zero gravity watching the star field through his visor. Men were inspired looking at that sight, or else they gradually went mad. Something flickered at the edge of Jonathan's field of vision. Using his neural control, he ordered his heads up display to magnify it. Zooming in, Jonathan could just make out the shape of one of his crew floating in the emptiness. He checked his HUD again - no transponder signal.
“Hilper, Bosun this is the Captain. I have eyes on one of our people. I’m investigating. Send lifeguards to my location.”
Jonathan ignored their acknowledgements as he tilted his RCS and burned toward the crewmen. As Jonathan approached, he could see it wasn't good. The crewman was missing his right leg below the knee and his right arm. The cable when it snapped had gone through his flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. The suit seemed to have done its job auto sealing the breaches. The life support system would have injected several drugs to prevent shock. As Jonathan closed to a few feet, he slowed reaching out and taking the crewman's shoulder and turning him around. He saw that it didn't matter. The helmet visor had been breached and suffocation would have been almost instantaneous. Jonathan's crewman stared back at him, his face frozen from the cold but his eyes open. Jonathan reached through the broken visor and closed his eyes.
“Sir,” Hilper chimed. “Headcount complete. Four injured, two with amputations, three dead and one missing.”
“Four dead lieutenant,” Jonathan said. He turned to see the two lifeguards coming up behind him. Silently they helped the Captian load their comrade into a body bag. The procedure for deaths aboard ship was to jettison the bodies for burial in space, but with the freighters docked the dead men and woman would hitch a ride back to Solaria, and be buried in earthen graves. After they had zipped the body bag up, Jonathan opened a com channel to everyone in range.
“Though the light has gone from their eyes, and their bones shall lay in earthen soil, grant that their souls shall forever walk among the stars in the places where demons flee, and angels fear to tread, and only men dare go.”
A chorus of “Amens” came back through the coms.
“Knowles are we secure?” Jonathan asked
“Aye sir Doneghy is set and Taudown is coming up now,” Knowles replied.
“Has the cable’s trajectory been verified?” Jonathan asked.
“Aye sir, it's on a terminal orbit with Zhong. ETA to burn up three months. A debris bulletin has been issued.” Knowles said. There was a pause and Jonathan saw the indicator switch from open to private channel.
“Sir, are you coming in?” Knowles asked.
“Negative Boats.” Jonathan replied using the Bosun’s informal title.
“I’ll regroup with the rest of the reserve team. Let's get this fat bitch hooked up, and Knowles keep doing what you're doing. You are showing some masterful skill. Even Captain’s can't stop cable breaks. We are only the first master after God,” Jonathan said.
There was a pause, “Acknowledged Skipper. Let us know when your back on station,” Knowles said.
Despite the sadness of losing men without even getting the ship underway, Jonathan smiled a bit at that. Being called Skipper was a sign of his acceptance by the crew, not just as their lawfully appointed Captain, but as the person they trusted to lead them. Jonathan's moment of happiness was brief however as he followed the life guards and the corpse back toward Fury. Men died in space. They died often and usually violently. All it took was the flick of the finger of fate and you were finished. There would be letters to write to families and reports to fill out, but Jonathan's prayer was the only memorial the crew of Fury would have for their fallen comrades. Their bunks would be cleared, and their possessions sent home or else divided among their mates, but tomorrow it would be as i
f they never were aboard. It was the callousness of the service. Duty to the living came before all else.
Solaria System, In Orbit of Zhong, Solarian Republic
Outside RSNS Sound of Fury
October 18th 843 AE
Thankfully, Taudown proved less of a hassle than Doneghy and the lines held. With the big freighters docked to Fury, the final unloading could begin. Jonathan eyed the manifest in his helmet HUD, and not for the first time whistled at the sheer scale of it. Fury was taking on three quarters of her crew and her whole Marine contingent, plus their provisions, ammunition, and a menagerie of additional items. The entire process would probably take about two days. After which, Jonathan planned an intense series of drills before the convoy assembled early next week. Once the convoy assembled and was under way, it would be three weeks till the deadline. With luck, Fury would be in position by the time hostilities began. Jonathan had no desire to be escorting a convoy when war began. Few tasks were more thankless or dangerous. Wormways might create natural choke points in and out of star systems, but the wormways’ unpredictable natures, not to mention their occasional tendencies to randomly vomit intense radiation during temporal storms, made it blockading them untenable. Pickets were posted, but doctrine dictated that fleets position themselves near solar bodies of strategic importance. This made it easy for small squadrons of light ships, wolf packs to slip through wormways undetected and hide in the vastness of star systems, striking at targets of opportunity. Jonathan looked at the massive Taudown and Doneghy again. Those waddling giants were designed to move huge quantities through secure space lanes, not defend themselves. Smaller, faster merchantmen were often armed. Some were very well armed, but the transports Jonathan would be escorting were the very definition of sitting ducks.
Jonathan's com line beeped shaking him out of his thoughts. It was Knowles.
“Skipper, primary rigging crews are on board, and the backup crew is boarding now. All lines secured and Warrant Officer Hu has started supervising offloading of the freighter.”
“Very good Bosun, excellent work,” Jonathan replied.
“Thank you sir. Now could you please get back in here before you turn the rest of my hair grey. It ain't natural or proper for Skippers to be on the rigging line.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, “Acknowledged Bosun on my way.”
“Thank you sir,” Knowles said before clicking off.
Jonathan guided himself toward Fury's airlock. The Bosun was a bit of an odd duck. He certainly fit the mold of a hard as nails, drank his coffee with ground glass instead of sugar spacer, but he seemed to have another side. A softer side with a fixation on the proper order of things. Jonathan never ceased to wonder at the collection of eccentric personalities the Navy seemed to attract. He supposed he counted as one of those. He never felt he fit in anywhere except on a ship between the stars. Jonathan reboarded the Fury. The process took some time since the main airlocks were now hooked up to the docking collars, so the crew had to use the auxiliary hatches. Jonathan was one of the last back onboard. He’d lingered outside with Hilper and did a final headcount to make sure no one was left outside. Finally, confident that there were no stragglers, and with Knowles constantly in his ear making sure he hadn't floated away, Jonathan and Hilper, having been cycled through the airlock, locked themselves to the suit racks and began pulling themselves out of their vac suits. Jonathan had read somewhere that early space suits took three people to change in and out of. Technology had come a long way since then. These days it took fifteen minutes or less for a single spacer to get in or out of a vac suit. Once the helmet and RCS pack was locked into the suit rack, the person wearing the suit put their gloves into the release sockets, which automatically opened the risk locks freeing the crewman to unlock his or her helmet and key in the unseal command on the chest pad. Once the unseal command had been keyed in, the suit’s nanofibers unlocked themselves along a central seam and let the crewman peel the suit off like a glove. It wasn't flawless though. After freeing himself, looking over at Hilper Jonathan saw she seemed to be stuck. Her left arm was free but she was still trying to free her right, and her helmet was still on. Jonathan pulled himself over to her, and helped her unlock the helmet latch which had caught some how. Free of the helmet, she managed to wiggle out and push the helmet away. That was the problem then. It hadn’t caught properly on its locking rack. As the helmet came away her hair net went with it allowing her black hair, which was an inch shy of the regulated maximum, to float free. Fury was currently riding at zero-g with her grav plates deactivated. She would remain so as long as Taudown and Doneghy were docked. All three ships would leave there grav plates switched off. This was partially to expedite the transfer of equipment and personnel, and to prevent the grav plates from depolarizing due to their close proximity. Grav plates were tricky things at the best of times. In space dock at Macran, ships would leave theirs turned off and use the stations gravity. Replenishment vessels like Leaf Hopper would turn theirs off when they came into close contact with bigger ships, but the big ships that were coupled together it was always best just to leave them turned off. Repolarizing could take weeks, which meant weeks of being stuck in zero-g. Not a problem for Spacers, but it completely changed the dynamic of operating a warship. Jonathan often wondered how the crews of the old boats had done it before grav plating had become commonplace and affordable. Hilper didn't seem to know either judging by the way she pulled herself free of the suit waving her arms about.
“Lieutenant remember your training, use the rails to pull you,” Jonathan said. Hilper took hold of the bar and pulled herself out.
Jonathan deliberately kept his eyes focused on her face. When in vac suits crewman only wore their skivvies which were right now quite rank with sweat. The nit-thread undergarments left little to the imagination though.
Finally, Hilper was fully free holding onto one of the hand rails breathing heavily.
Jonathan grabbed one of the hydration packs and handed it to her.
“Takes a lot out of you doesn't it,” Jonathan said.
Hilper nodded drinking deeply from the hydration pack.
“Good work out there today Lieutenant. We were lucky to have you.”
Hilper looked at him still panting, “We would have been luckier if we hadn’t lost anyone sir,” she said.
“Yes, that would have been ideal. However, you and the other lifeguards saved those other crew men’s lives. I’ll be recommending a commendation for all of you.”
Hilper looked down for a second, then said, “Sir, do me a favor. Write me up when I do something more than my job all right?”
Jonathan looked at her quizzically, “You don't want a commendation El-tee?”
“I want to do my job and do it well sir. I don't want to be patted on the head everytime I do.”
Jonathan shrugged, obviously Hilper had some kind of chip on her shoulder. “Fair enough, but you will agree the rest of your team should be written up?”
Hilper blinked, “Oh, aye sir.”
“Good. Since you won't be wanting any commendation for yourself bring me the commendation certificates for the rest of the lifeguards to sign at your convenience. Now, if you will excuse me I need to take a shower.”
Hilper wrinkled her nose, “I think that might be a good idea sir.”
Jonathan chuckled as they pulled themselves out of the airlock and back to their quarters.
Being stuck with zero-g did have its perks though, a zero gravity shower was one of them. Most crewmen and officers used vibe showers, which removed dirt and grime with sonic waves. Senior officers had water showers, which were designed to function in both normal gravity and zero-g. Though Jonathan would have enjoyed a decadent hour long shower after being stuck in that EVA suit for five hours, he limited himself to ten minutes. He needed to get changed and get to the wardroom where George would be waiting with the new officers. Putting on his undress uniform and pulling himself down the corridors Jonathan dodged crewmen and cont
ainers right and left. The corridors were filled with men and provisions being stowed while the Quartermaster and NCOs did their best to supervise. Still, it amounted to organized chaos. Finally coming to the wardroom, Jonathan activated his magnetic boots so he could at least nominally enter on his feet. Walking through the door, the other officers seated at the cherry oak conference table rose. Jonathan always liked wardrooms. They were a piece of the ship where by tradition aesthetic triumphed over efficiency. Fury’s was no different. Despite its metal floors, it had its cherry oak conference table, wood paneled walls with crown molding border on which hung paintings of ships from the Terran nations that Solarians had sprung from. A Frigate from the Age of Sail flying a crowded red white and blue flag with thirteen stars. A Chinese Junk in front of the ancient skyline of Hong Kong. The grey steel of an ocean going aircraft carrier flying an orange, white and green banner with a blue wheel in the middle, and then their was Jonathan's favorite painting. An image of the Feng, a first generation space warship, which first saw action during the first Mars rising. Taking himself from his appreciation of the room, Jonathan returned the other officers’ salutes.
“Be seated,” Jonathan said gingerly walking around to the head of the table. He deactivated his mag boots raising his legs so he had the appearance of sitting as he floated freely. The other officers did likewise some with more ease than others.
“Right then, I am Lt. Captain Pavel commander of this vessel. I apologize for the delay, but we were a bit short staffed and it was all hands on deck. So George, care to introduce me to the rest of my officers.”
“Certainly sir,” George said.
“We have Lt. Commander Benjamin Elman our tactical officer.” Elman was a young man with Landed looks - black hair and cool hazel eyes. He appeared tall, but Jonathan couldn't tell with him floating freely. According to his file, Elman was the holder of the Darden Cup, the Overwatch award for the winner of the annual strategic simulation tournament held at the end of each year. The same Cup Jonathan had won twice while enrolled at Overwatch. He was young though, 26 according to his file and already a Lt. Commander. Jonathan noted that he didn’t appear to have a patron, so his promotions seemed to be merit based.