Chapter Eight
USS Fenris
October 8, 2197
0450 z
Groombridge 34
"Read 'em and weep, boys and girls!" Lieutenant Digger grinned smugly as he laid his cards on the table.
"Are you kidding me?" came an incredulous voice from across the table. "You drew two cards into a straight flush?"
"Skill, my good woman, skill." Laughing now, he pulled the pile of chips across the table toward him as the other players tossed their cards into the middle of the table. He slid his head around the table and smiled at his fellow card players. They all wore identical black flight suits, displaying a variety of ranks and wings. They were in the pilots' ready room adjacent to the flight deck and had to pause in their conversation while a tender rumbled by, drowning out all possibility of speech below a shout.
"Skill my ass!" came another incredulous voice as the noise level returned to the steady hum of background noise associated with a busy hangar bay. "You've got to be the luckiest son of a bitch on the whole ship."
"Of course he is," a sultry feminine voice from the hatch called out. "Why else do you think I let him fly with me, Cat?" They all turned to see Lieutenant Commander Barbie standing against the side of the hatch, suited up for flight, holding her helmet in her left hand as her right adjusted the holster strapped under her left arm.
"Ouch," said the first voice again, drolly.
"Well, I would rather be lucky than skilled," Digger said as he stood up from the table and indicated the pile of chips in front of his seat. "And tonight is my lucky night, as you can see."
"If you say so," shot back Barbie. "Now, Mr. Lucky, are you ready to ride?" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the flight line.
"You know it, boss." He grinned back at her as he came back from his locker with helmet and flight gear in his hands. "Let's fly. I don't want to embarrass my fellow officers any further than I already have."
"From the beatings you've been taking over the last week, Digger," came a third voice, "you were due for a good night. You know—"
None of the assembled pilots and RIOs got the chance to hear what the voice was about to say as alarms began echoing throughout the hangar deck. The men and women seated around the table jumped up and bolted for the hatch, grabbing gear as they went. Chips and cards scattered across the deck from the overturned table as Lieutenant McKeenan's voice spoke to an empty room.
"General quarters, general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations!"
* * *
"Why the hell aren't my birds moving!?" Commander Kaufman bellowed as he ran into the tower.
"The alert fighters are moving into the launch tubes now, sir!" called a grizzled senior chief from across the room. He turned to a sailor seated at terminal beside him. "Run a diagnostic on tube four's catapult. We just replaced the mag coils, and I don't want any surprises when we've got a bird in the tube."
"Aye, Senior Chief," the seaman acknowledged as he turned to his console and ran his hands over the controls, checking readouts. After a few moments, he nodded to himself and turned back to the chief. "All systems are in the green, and the mag coils check out at one hundred percent. The catapult is good to go, Senior Chief."
The senior chief grunted in acknowledgment and walked over to stand beside Commander Kaufman.
"Sir, any idea what's going on? This just a drill or what?" He didn't sound worried in the least. It would take something much more serious than an emergency scramble to rattle a twenty-five-year veteran like the senior chief.
"No, Senior Chief, this is no drill," he said quietly so as not to be overheard by any of the techs working diligently at their posts. He looked down onto the bay and saw flight teams sprinting toward their waiting Valkyries as the flight crews prepped them for launch. He reached down and slapped an override button, silencing the alarms ringing throughout the bay, but those on the flight deck did not seem to notice as they continued their furious pace. A moment later, the alarm was replaced with Kaufman's booming voice. "Okay people, let's move! I want full load-outs on those Valkyries, I want them in the tubes, and I want it five minutes ago! This is no drill. Now move your asses and make it happen!" The activity on the bay floor increased as crews rushed to get the Fenris' Valkyries into space. They heard it in the CAG's voice: these birds were going to be needed, and they were going to be needed fast.
* * *
"Report!" McLaughlin barked as she bolted through the hatch while the door was still cycling open.
"Captain on deck!" announced the ensign sitting at a console adjacent to the lift.
"Belay that! And shut that damn noise off. Now, someone tell me what the hell's going on," she spat out at the members of the command deck. She accepted a headset from the ensign and pressed it into her right ear as the alarm klaxon died away. She adjusted the mike as she composed herself and stepped down toward her command chair. Commander Higgins had followed through the hatch right on her heels and rushed to his station, inserting his earpiece as he went. She reached up and touched the earbud and heard the chatter of background noise and conversations as she assumed her seat and began strapping herself in. McLaughlin dialed down the earpiece and spoke into the microphone over the open band of the battle net. "Lieutenant McKeenan, I have the con." She sounded calm and almost tranquil as she began strapping herself into the command chair.
A sandy-haired young man with wide eyes and a slight case of acne leaned back in his chair, obviously relieved.
"You have the con, aye, ma'am," McKeenan's voice came back just as professionally. He was seated at his normal station as junior tactical officer but was monitoring both his displays and those of the senior tactical officer. A slightly balding, overweight officer arrived on the command deck mere seconds after the captain, headed directly to the station beside Lieutenant McKeenan, sat down, and began to strap himself in. Lieutenant Commander Martin, Fenris' senior tactical officer, nodded to his subordinate and took charge of his own boards.
McLaughlin looked over at her communications officer and said brusquely, "Tactical."
"Tactical, aye, ma'am," came the smooth response from the comm officer as he pressed controls on his console without even looking at them, patching the captain through to the tactical group. He kept his eyes locked on the captain, not wanting to miss any command she might issue for battle-net access while she was strapping herself in and was not able to direct the net herself.
"Commander Martin, status?" she asked quietly, breaking into tactical's battle net as she proceeded to arrange the panels and displays around her chair, taking in the status of her ship in a brief glance.
"Just finished strapping in, ma'am, and my crews are buttoning up now." His reply was cool and dispassionate; the reality of the situation had not yet struck him.
"Very good. Now, Lieutenant McKeenan, would you mind telling me what the hell is going on and why you sounded general quarters?" Her tone was not accusatory but intently curious as she continued to look over her boards.
"Ma'am, I don't think you'll believe me. Hell, I don't believe me, and I saw it for myself." He sounded confused but determined to give his captain all the information he had. "Captain, an entire Sally fleet jumped in-system, right on top of us." He said it quickly and turned to see her expression at hearing this news.
"Well, that sucks," Commander Higgins muttered into his mike. He was automatically cut into whatever net the captain was in, for reason of continuity of command in the event of the captain being incapacitated or killed. "But at least we'll have time to get ourselves into position to intercept them."
"No, sir!" McKeenan half shouted into his mike, sounding nearly in tears. His exclamation could be heard around the command deck—even by those not tied into tactical's battle net, and heads turned to look at him. "Captain, Commander, you don't understand. They jumped in right on top of us. They jumped in, in-system. They're within engagement range of over ninety percent of the fleet, and their remaining ships are
moving to engage now. Currently, we're outnumbered one point five to one, but that's just an estimate. I expect that count to be revised upward. The residual energy distortions from all those folds are playing havoc with long-range sensors." He slumped in his chair, looking spent from having passed on such unbelievable news. There was complete silence on tactical's net as the reality began to register.
"That's impossible. You would have to be completely out of your fucking mind to jump in-system like that." Greg sounded incredulous. Alex didn't blame him; she felt the shock and disbelief of such an unheard of, not to mention totally insane, action on the part of any fleet commander—whether human or Xan-Sskarn.
"Impossible or not, crazy or not, it looks like that is exactly what they did," McLaughlin said matter-of-factly, leaning back into her chair. She pulled up the sensor reports to see where the Fenris was, relative to the rest of the fleet, and to the Xan-Sskarns as well. "Status?"
"All departments report battle stations manned and ready, Captain," Higgins answered, looking at the status reports being displayed on his own consoles.
"Multiple contacts! We have fighters incoming—looks to be at least three squadrons!" shouted a new voice from the sensor consoles. The deep baritone voice booming across the command deck belonged to Ensign Green. A man of African heritage, Ensign Green had a proclivity for bodybuilding that gave him an intimidating physique. While his size was imposing, the bright cheerfulness dancing in his eyes and his jovial attitude put those around him at ease, but that brightness turned to hateful fire where the Xan-Sskarn were concerned. He had lost a father and a sister so far in this war and wanted nothing more than to kill every Xan-Sskarn who crossed his path. "And they're closing fast!"
McLaughlin's head snapped up at this shout, and, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the comm officer tapping on his panel, cutting scanning into tactical's net before she could do it herself.
"Time to missile range?"
"Missile range in twenty-one point seven five minutes at current velocity."
"Twenty-one point seven five minutes, understood," she shot back, her mind racing."Guns."
"Yes, Captain?" Martin responded immediately.
"PDLs and PDGs set to five thousand kilometers, maximum coverage, fighter interception, until squadron launch. After launch, set PDLs to two thousand five hundred kilometers and PDGs to one thousand kilometers, maintain full coverage, fighter interception." She issued her orders coolly but rapidly.
Martin repeated the order back to her in a quick but calm voice, acknowledging his understanding. He turned to McKeenan, manning the point-defense station, and issued the same order. McLaughlin was peripherally aware of this, and of McKeenan's echo and acknowledgment, trusting in her XO to maintain his ever-vigilant watch, assuring her orders were carried out in the manner in which she wished. She cut herself out of the battle net and spared a brief glance at Lieutenant Bennard, her comms officer. Reaching up, she tapped her right ear and gave him the thumbs-up, indicating she had the net. The brown-haired, brown-eyed youth at the communications station dipped his head in acknowledgment and turned back to his panels, assuming full control of intership and ship-to-ship communications.
"Shit," muttered Alex as she looked down at her fighter-status screen. All fourteen silhouettes of the Fenris' Valkyries were still yellow. She punched a button on her armrest. "CAG!" she snapped into her mike.
"Kaufman," came a quick response, but the voice sounded harried and distracted.
"CAG, we have at least three squadrons of Sally fighters closing fast, and they'll be on top of us in twenty minutes. What the hell are those Valkyries still doing in the bay?" Her voice was demanding, but not angry. Yet.
"The alert fighters are dancing vac now, Captain," said Kaufman, still sounding distracted, obviously overseeing launch operations. Alex looked down again and saw that two of the silhouettes had turned green. "The other tubes are loading as we speak. All of my birds will be out and dancing in less than three minutes."
"Very good, Commander. Carry on." She signed off from the CAG's battle net. She still needed to see the whole situation and deployment of forces in the immediate vicinity of her ship. Keying a control on the panel on the arm of her command chair directly beneath her right hand, she cut into scanning's battle net. "Give me a plot, two hundred fifty thousand kilometers radius, on the display."
"Plotting, two hundred fifty thousand K, main projector, aye." Petty Officer Michelle Conrad, senior sensor tech, spoke in a tiny voice trembling with fear as she complied. Conrad's classically beautiful face was twisted in fear, her pale blue eyes wide; she already knew what they were up against.
The projector sprang to life with a quiet hum as a holographic three-dimensional representation of space, centered on the Fenris and spreading out to two hundred fifty thousand kilometers, coalesced into view. Alex looked intently at the image slowly rotating directly in front of her. The projectors in a recessed circular section of the deck in front of her command chair projected an image slightly below eye level, making her look down on the display. She frowned, and lifted her left hand to her face and began to slowly stroke her chin thoughtfully.
"Extend range to five hundred thousand kilometers, please," she said after a moment.
Alex had the range extended to one million kilometers, and then once more, to two and a half million, which was the limit of their sensor resolution with both the Xan-Sskarn jamming and residual jump distortions. She looked at the projection for a moment longer.
The fingers of her right hand tapped on the console again, while her head was still propped up by her stroking hand. She had just cut her mike over to the private net she shared with the XO.
"Greg?" she asked quietly into her mike, not wanting to be overheard.
"Go ahead." His response was just as subdued as hers.
"Do you see what I see?" She looked up through the top of the projection to see her XO's eyes staring intently at her from across the command deck, then glanced back down to the display.
"Yes, I do." His voice sounded concerned. He dropped his eyes back down to the projection of the tactical situation as well, and he didn't like what he saw. The display was full of too many red enemy icons and not enough friendly green ones. The resolution wasn't fine enough at the current range to denote individual fighters, but a designation of ship type or fighter count was listed below each icon along with an annotation as to how long of a time lag there was between due to distance and light-speed restrictions. As they both watched, green became tinged with yellow as more and more of the fleet became engaged in combat.
"What do you think?" Alex asked softly.
"We're fucked. All of us. It's Ross 128 all over again." He didn't sound upset, but clinical.
"We're fucked," she agreed. "But it's not Ross. We at least know what we're up against, and while we may be spread out all over the system, so are they. We're not barreling down on them with no option but to go through them, hoping for the best. The situation is desperate, though," she said quietly to herself, then sat silently for a moment.
"Captain?" Higgins called softly, slightly concerned at her last comment and then her silence that followed it.
"Well, let's see what we can do about changing that, shall we?" Her voice resumed a normal tone as she came out of her introspection. "Or at least make them work for it. Reset to five hundred thousand kilometers," she said quickly. She didn't hear Conrad's response but saw the display dissolve then reform.
Higgins smiled grimly at her paraphrasing of the admiral's comment from earlier this evening.
"Yes, ma'am! So, what's the plan?"
"First," she began counting off to him, "we take care of our current situation. Second, while we're doing that, we try to get hold of the Flag and see where we are needed, if we can punch through the distortions. Third, after we get our orders from Steely, we haul ass and drop a world of hurt on whomever he points us at. Fourth, we try and get ourselves out of this mess as best we can, because make
no mistake, this is going to get very bloody." She finished and looked up to see his reaction.
"Agreed." He met her gaze and nodded. There was a quiet determination in his voice.
She cut them both back into the shipwide battle net.
"Listen up people, this is the captain," she said crisply. The crew, listening intently, continued to work at their stations, getting ready for the battle to come. "By now you've all heard what we're up against, and I won't lie to you. Things are looking a bit on the bleak side right now." There were a few smiles at this. If the captain thought that what they were facing was only a bit "bleak," then there might be some hope for them getting out of this after all.
"Individually you are the finest men and women of the fleet. Together you are more than just the sum of your parts. To say that you're the best crew in the fleet would be not only an understatement, but an injustice. There's nothing you have not accomplished above and beyond what I have ever asked of you since I was given the honor of being your captain. I ask that you do this one more time. Not just for my sake, not just for the sake of your fellow crewmen, but for the sake of this entire fleet. We are one of the only ships that fell outside the Sally's trap and are therefore free to maneuver. I intend to use their mistake to our advantage. We are going to be the hammer to our trapped friends' anvil and smash the Sallys between us. I have no doubt that we may be called upon to swing that hammer many times before this day is done, but with you behind me, I know that we will not falter and we will not miss a stroke!" She finished triumphantly and closed the shipwide battle net.
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