Cloak of War

by Casey Calouette

  Then comes the sound we want to hear, the sound of angels singing praise, the alert for a bounce.

  That half an hour was total sheer madness. I feel like it passed in a heartbeat. Maintenance crews swarm through the hatches the moment the all-clear sounds. It doesn’t take long for them to restore pressure.

  I help as best I can. Right now is basically triage, determining which system to repair first. Just like a human patient, the doctor, or maintenance crew, picks the worst systems, the most critical, and saves things like the ice cream machine for last. Just kidding. Unlike those old submarines, we don’t have any ice cream machine.

  “Pressure’s good!” Sebic calls.

  The maintenance team pop open their masks, and I follow suit. It smells like someone burned a massive pile of industrial waste. Burnt plastic, seared steel, cooked meat.

  Colby bounds up to me and nearly sends me sprawling. She locks her arms around me and hugs me tight. “Oh God, I thought it was your crew that lost it.”

  When she finally lets me go, I can see the tears on her face. She wipes them away with a soot-stained glove. It makes it even worse as now half her face is black.

  “Uh…” I don’t know what to say. She looks happy, excited, relieved. Her eyes twinkle, but it just might be more tears. “Thanks.”

  She turns and leaves with the rest of the teams to finish inspecting our wounds.

  Later, I find out that the moment we landed, a defensive station launched out a missile at our last known position. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, except this one sent out a cloud of mines that drifted into our path. Or maybe we drifted into it. My area took one mine and the other took three, clustered tight.

  The tanks of cloaking gas sealed themselves up fairly quick. This early in the tour they’ll try and self-repair. Once that layer is eroded away, though, we’ll be out welding the holes. Been there, done that.

  Sleep is a rare commodity in those next few days. Everyone struggles to bring us back to order. The smell of the fire never leaves the ship.

  When I can find a minute, I spend it reading the log and studying the video feed. My adrenaline pumps as I read each combat entry, and even more so as I watch the video replay. The more I read, the more I realize how much downtime there is. Weeks and months of hunting, seeing nothing, only to have ten minutes of utter terror.

  Then there’s gems like “Nothing of note. Waste processing down. Jettison 450.4 kg of human waste.” Who weighed all of that? Or even better: “Nothing of note. Ate the last of the standard rations. On to emergency rations for rest of tour.” Mmmm. Protein sludge. But, through it all, there is lots of “Nothing of note.”

  Such is the pace of war.

  Colby finds me once we’ve had a few more bounces under our belt.

  “I need your help with something,” she says as she walks past my bunk.

  I really need to catch up on some rest. Every major system is functional now, and most of the crew is sound asleep. Because as bad as this system transit was, the next one is sure to be worse. And to top it all off, we are a dozen bounces out from our target.

  Colby is waiting for me next to an access panel. “Go. In.”

  I step past and into a tight space. Both of my shoulders rub on the wall. I barely have enough room to stretch out for a nap. Not that I’d ever nap on duty…

  She enters, closes the hatch behind her, and jerks my head down to hers. She plants one of the most amazing kisses I’ve ever had. It goes on for a luxurious, passionate, wonderful thirty seconds.

  A lifetime later, I pull back. “What—”

  “Shut up.” She pushes me against the wall and keeps on going.

  I’m not sure where she is on the chain of command, but that is one order I am definitely going to follow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  For a short while, we have interstellar space to ourselves. The crew goes into a mock sort of relief. The tension of one transit through a heavily defended system is bad enough. The thought that we have a dozen more…well, you just don’t think about it.

  The Orca is starting to look her part. We do a thorough inspection once we have a few hefty bounces under our belt. Gone is the sparkle of newness, replaced by a dull patina of slow corrosion and accumulated scale.

  Colby spends most of her time outside, inspecting our wounds and helping to patch it all up. Our time together is brief. I know that relationships between crew are forbidden. Hell, I’m pretty sure that I’m breaking some naval law.

  But I don’t care. She makes Hallverson more tolerable and Yao less gloomy.

  Not that we have any privacy. None. The average joe has two places to go for some quiet time: the head or an airlock. No one goes into an airlock without permission, and the head is so tight that you can’t squeeze in two if you want to.

  Instead, I find myself as Colby’s assistant on those tight jobs inside the walls of the hull itself. It feels good. It’s a relief we need, her especially. When we are done, she curls up onto my chest like a content Siamese cat.

  And I spend more time with the log. There is nuance now to the strategy. It isn’t just tuck and dodge and then fire. But orbital transits. Tricks to manipulate the bounce. Feints. Strikes. Punches. Even laying traps with distress beacons.

  Hallverson isn’t just good at his job; he’s wily. Like that old coyote from the ancient cartoons. Always clever, but never clever enough to get the Queen.

  A week out from the next system, we have a staff meeting. I have no idea what to expect, and from what Yao tells me, everything is quite different from what they’d seen last time.

  Hartford leans over the table and sets out five bowls and ladles a thin cabbage soup. “This is the last of the Tsarist supplies.”

  I sit beside Yao. Henna and Colby sit across from us with Hallverson at the head of the table.

  “Hmm,” Hallverson says. “I’m not sure our plumbing can take much more of the cabbage.”

  Hartford leaves and closes the door.

  “Go ahead and eat,” Hallverson says. “We’ve got a watch change coming up.”

  I take a sip and choke on a bit of it as Colby runs her toes along the inside of my leg. Her face is totally passive and half watching Hallverson.

  “Is everything ok, Mr. Jager?” Hallverson asks in an annoyed voice.

  “Touch of spice gave me a tickle.”

  Hallverson sighs. “Indeed. Well, down to business. Here’s our route.”

  A starmap blinks into view on the wall display. Hallverson shifts the view and adds a couple of layers showing nexus points and probable defensive positions.

  It takes my appetite away. At every landing, we’ll have to immediately cloak, evade ever-growing weapons systems, and finally escape to do it all over again.

  I look at the others, and they all have the same look on their faces as I do. Is it fear? Maybe.

  Hallverson shifts back from his chair and stands next to the screen. “This route,” he says with a sweep of his hand, “is impossible.”

  “Are we headed back?” Yao says.

  Hallverson shakes his head. “As you know, our astrogation computer allows us to come into the nexus points farther out than a regular warship. Well, the Tyroleans have compensated for that. So now we have to come in at a different angle.”

  Henna drops her spoon onto the table with a clatter. “Nexus points are fixed, sir. The energy requirements to come into them at a steeper angle are, well, prohibitive.”

  This part I remember from class. It’s like walking a tightrope. If you stay nice and balanced, you can walk it without much effort. You end at the same point and land on the same plane. To go at an angle, you have to push the tightrope and still walk it. That push is the problem.

  Hallverson nods. “We’ve got enough fuel. It’ll be cutting it close, but we should have enough to get in for refit.”

  “But, sir, the equipment isn’t designed for that sort of stress. It could very well fail.” Henna speaks with the conviction that only an en
gineer can.

  “And if we’re caught by the Tyroleans in the next system, it won’t matter.” Hallverson’s tone says that this conversation is over. “Get with Colby, inspect all the systems, and get me your report. We’ll begin the shift on the next jump.”

  Colby’s leg slides back down, and we finish our meal in silence.

  “Pass word that we’re on reduced rations,” Hallverson says. “The galley is going on the 2,000-calorie budget, but we may have to go down to 1,500.” He stands and grasps the back of his chair. “Dismissed.”

  I’m the last one out. Hallverson calls my name. “Jager?”

  I spin around. “Sir?”

  “Don’t get too close.”

  My cheeks burn so red that they could be mistaken for a red giant. I manage to stammer out, “Yes, sir!”

  Is it a warning? Hallverson could very well order me to halt and later put me up on charges. But since he didn’t…

  On the next shift, we bounce. We burst two coolant lines and flood one compartment in lithium salts. The cleanup is a damned nasty mess.

  The second bounce, we back off the distance but still have problems. A massive energy spike rebounds through the reactor, and Henna has to do an emergency shutdown. But we are moving closer with every bounce.

  And, as Colby says, “Finding the weak spots.”

  My stomach grumbles every time we reduce the bounce distance. Rations will be getting tight soon.

  Henna takes to sleeping in the reactor room. It starts showing odd resonances and fluctuations. Before every jump, she suits up into the full radiation-protection gear. And at every bounce, it holds.

  I’m on watch with Hallverson on our final approach to a system called LKO-113. We aren’t close enough to have reached named Tyrolean systems yet. All it has is a dirty-orange star, a barely habitable planet, and a trio of gas giants.

  Our plan is to arrive well to right of the nexus point and have plenty of time to deploy cloaking gas and evade our attackers. We’ll bounce out before they even get close.

  Hallverson looks like a corpse. His eyes are dark, he coughs a dry rasp, and he can’t get comfortable in his chair. It’s like he’s aged twenty years on this approach. He’s back to remaining on the bridge at almost all hours. At the end of my last watch, he came onto the bridge and was still there when I returned six hours later.

  More than anything, I want to ask him about the log. But seeing how he looks, I decide to wait until the next interstellar transit. So I focus on my duty and let him have the chair.

  My eyes are focused on our weapons plot when I hear him.

  “Anastasia?” Hallverson’s voice is distant, like he’s calling out from a dream.

  Raj slams a hand onto the intercom. “Doctor to the bridge!”

  Katzen pushes me out of the way and rushes up onto the captain’s platform. A second later, Raj joins him. Our Engineering officer, Wanic, stands right in front of Hallverson. Raj and Katzen slowly lay their hands on his shoulders.

  Wanic speaks in a low voice. “Captain, just relax. You’re on the Orca, and everything is fine. The doctor will be up in a—”

  Hallverson drives his boot right into Wanic’s groin with a kick of epic proportions. The force of it lifts him into the air, and he flails back, hands groping at what must be smashed testicles. With one hand Hallverson tosses Raj and then literally picks up Katzen with the other and throws him against the wall of the hull.

  I charge and drive my head right into Hallverson’s stomach. With both fists, I pummel his kidneys—anything to try and slow him down. This isn’t something I can stop. Only the doctor can do that.

  Hallverson peels me back, pushes me onto the ground, and latches an iron grip onto my throat. “Where are my children!”

  This is beyond choking. I’m sure that in a second he’ll actually crush my windpipe. Sure, I want to punch, but in that moment the only thing I can do is thrash around and hope I won’t die.

  A pneumatic hiss echoes through the room.

  Hallverson’s grip loosens, and he slides back, the names of his children still on his lips.

  Dr. Mohammad stands behind him with a pneumatic injector in each hand. “Are you fine, Mr. Jager?”

  I croak an acknowledgement and rub my throat. The doctor checks on Raj and Katzen, both fine, and Wanic, not so fine. But as ugly as he is, I doubt he’ll ever have kids anyway.

  Yao runs onto the bridge a second later with Colby behind. It takes Yao and three of the torpedomen to haul Hallverson off the bridge.

  Colby kneels at my side with a strange look on her face. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, but what’s wrong?”

  Colby shakes her head and follows after Hallverson.

  What the hell just happened? Not that I want sympathy, but Hallverson isn’t the one who got choked.

  I take my station in the captain’s chair and massage my throat. Hallverson is one strong son of a bitch.

  Yao enters the bridge a short while later. He lays his hands on the rail and rests his head on his knuckles. Everything about him looks worn thin, like taffy pulled too long. Eventually he’s going to snap. Running this ship, alone, in hostile territory, doesn’t exactly fill me with happiness.

  “What’s the plan, Yao?”

  Yao looks up. “Eight-hour watches. Let’s get into system now.”

  “Should we wait for the captain?”

  Yao leans back from the rail and stretches his arms out. He speaks in a low voice, as if a patient is near. “He might be out for a few days. Once, it was a month.”

  I shake my head. A part of me wonders why he is even in command anymore, but I know why after seeing his log. Hallverson is the best. No one can argue with his conviction, nor his zeal.

  We sound the bounce alarm and call everyone to stations. Wanic is replaced by Yao’s shift officer. I stand over Raj and watch the sensor panel.

  Yao opens the intercom. “Prepare for bounce. Fire control teams at ready, seal hatches.”

  All through the ship comes the shudder of sealing hatches and the groaning of piping as it prepares to dispel our cloaking gas.

  Yao coughs. He looks at me and then back to the screen. The order is on his lips, I can see him trying to talk, but it just won’t come.

  “Shall I give the order?”

  He just nods at me. Even now the color is dropping from his face. Is it the stress of possibly ordering us to our doom? Or of being the one who is responsible for failure?

  “Engineering, cloak on arrival, prepare for emergency bounce. Astrogation. Bounce. Give me evasive plan Delta on land.”

  In an instant, the Orca bridges that wispy gap and lands almost exactly where we want to. Our maneuver using the side slide puts us way off from the normal landing arc. Good thing too, because the defenses at this nexus point are even more extensive than the last. Had we landed anywhere near our normal spot, we’d already be dead.

  “Sauce up,” Raj says. She turns and gives me a nod. It’s a rather reassuring sight.

  Nearly two dozen defensive stations come to life. A picket line of second-rate sweepers and destroyers changes vector. Luckily, that radiation tower is too far off to harm us.

  “Radiation spike! That station is spooling up!”

  Bit by bit, the Orca pivots up and slightly toward the hostile fleets. I decide to use one of Hallverson’s tactics. Go at them, instead of away. Navigation follows the orders, and we start the arc.

  Every second that passes is a second of confusion on their part. Our escape possibilities grow.

  Yao finally snaps back into his role and takes over as captain. His tone is overly loud, as if making up for his momentary silence. “Watch the plot! Check gas integrity! Keep a rolling firing plot! I want anything close to be dead if we need it.”

  “Drones coming,” Raj announces. All of the pickets fire a line of drones right at our last position.

  And we watch, helpless, as they plow through space at nearly a hundred gravities of acceleration. Already th
e closest ones are decelerating just as quickly and spraying beams of concentrated energy everywhere.

  “Ping! Ping!” Raj yells.

  “Pickets are too far out to hit us,” I call back.

  “Prep to bounce!” Yao calls.

  “Astrogation ready!” Raj replies quickly.

  Two pings. That’s all it takes. For a precise position, they’d need three or more, but now the clock is ticking. Ordnance is on its way.

  “Launch spike! Uh, rail guns, two particle cannons, and that radiation beam is incoming!” Raj yells. She turns her head to look at Yao. “Two minutes to ordnance arrival!”

  Ticktock. Two minutes to bounce. How close can they aim? It’d be a lucky shot now.

  Now come a few terrible moments that are relief mixed with terror. Particle projectiles slide by, harmlessly, in our last known position.

  That is the relief.

  The terror is for everything else still heading our way.

  “I think we’re gonna make it,” Katzen mumbles.

  “Bounce as soon as ready,” Yao calls. His voice almost trembles.

  In the span of an instant, a single kinetic projectile punches into the hull, and we bounce to safety. There’s that whole terror and relief thing again. As far as things to get hit by, it isn’t bad. Just a dumb slug. But I’d rather not be shot at all.

  “Damage control?” Yao calls, his voice like someone about to cry.

  “Breach aft! But nothing major.”

  “Thank God,” Yao mumbles. He rests his head in his hands.

  “Yao, I’ve got the rest of this watch.” I walk onto the captain’s platform and lay a hand on his shoulder.

  He looks up at me with pleading eyes and stumbles off the bridge.

  Henna calls from the rear of the ship: “Jager, you best get back here. We’ve got a problem.”

  Things aren’t looking up. And I have a feeling that Hallverson’s breakdown is the last of my worries.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Henna drops a heavy titanium ball valve onto the table. It lands with a very authoritative thud. The sort of thud that important things make. Expensive things, critical things. Dad always said, Is it heavy? Yes? It’s expensive. Don’t touch it.