Jethro 3: No Place Like Home

by Chris Hechtl

  Renee shook her head. She wasn't sure where the admiral had gotten these people from, but it was obvious they were only half trained.

  Her shuttle reported recovering a dozen fleet personnel from the corvette. Some had wanted to remain behind to recover their ship but had been overruled by the Admiral. Renee was too busy keeping an eye on other things to pay attention to the conversations going on.

  Doctor Standish and Firefly's infirmary were working tirelessly with Doctor Glenn and his crew to save those they could. The worst injured were being shipped to Firefly since she had the better infirmary. She had quickly been overwhelmed with wounded Fleet and Horathians. They spilled out into the nearby companionways and compartments. The decks shivered with their helpless groans.

  Renee checked the status board. She couldn't believe it had only been a few hours. She bet the others thought ages had past. Everyone was exhausted but still working hard. She was proud of them.

  The Admiral's little courier ship Phoenix and the Clydesdale were the only two friendlies left. Shuttles had been dispatched to them; in fact, the same shuttle bringing in the crews from the Echo and Romeo was headed to the Clydesdale named Lassie. She frowned thoughtfully. According to communications, the courier ship had reported three of her four man crew were still alive but at least one was severely wounded. She passed that on to infirmary, as well as a link to the patient's readings.

  From all reports Phoenix was a write off. Even the Admiral would be hard pressed to salvage her. She didn't doubt he could, but she wasn't sure if his sentimentality would come into play or not. The Admiral seemed different somehow. More....no, harder. He had a renewed purpose and was showing clear signs of leadership. He also sounded like he didn't want to discuss his orders too, which was good.

  The Admiral had spent a bit of time explaining things in Pyrax, more to get his people on board and understanding what he needed to accomplish than some sort of issue with leadership. She realized that now. It had undermined his authority a bit, but it had scored some points as well. Sailors and Marines appreciated it when you kept them in the loop. And they seemed to feed off his willingness to explain and listen. But she also knew that it was a two edge sword. Sometimes you didn't have the luxury to explain an order, it had to be obeyed and right smartly too.

  As she watched Renee noted the icon of Phoenix change from a friendly ship to salvage. She frowned and then nodded. So much for sentimentality. Every sailor hated the idea of losing a ship. To send her to the breakers was a heart-rending situation. But, from the looks of it, they had no choice. They had too many cripples and not enough to go around. Phoenix would live on, rise again in the parts and materials she would share to keep the other ships alive.

  Lassie, the Clydesdale, had been hammered Renee realized. After the action had wound down, she'd gotten a chance to see Commander Sprite's log of the battle. She'd been astonished by it and its risk. Admiral Irons had taken what amounted to a token force into the heart of an enemy fleet that had out-massed his own by over a hundred to one and torn it apart. And all because of that one ship. She had been stuffed with missiles. Apparently, and she was still getting confirmation on the facts. Apparently the Phoenix had been used as a lure to draw the enemy fleet out of position. Then a Ssilli on board Bounty had dropped her and the remaining ships onto an opposing force. The freighter turned munitions ship had dumped the pods out and then launched them into the face of the oncoming barbarian horde.

  It was madness. It was brilliant, and scary in all the things that could have gone wrong. Obviously some had; Lassie, Romeo, and Phoenix were wrecked proof of that. As she watched Lassie was designated as salvage. She nodded.

  She returned her attention to the Major and his marines. Some ships furthest from Firefly had yet to be boarded, but the majority had been taken. She'd cycled Dita and Meia out to relieve her fighters covering the fleet train an hour ago.

  Fighting had been fiercest on the warships, though there had been some bad fighting and some friendly fire incidents on some of the fleet train. Several thousand slaves, most of them human or apes had been reported there. She wasn't sure what was going to happen with them.

  She scanned the fleet train. She recognized the markings CIC put up, two of the ships were known, both apparent prizes. One was a Clydesdale, the other a Stellar Mizar reefer ship of all things. She frowned. There were a lot of ships, most were general purpose freighters, but several had been repurposed for other functions. She wasn't certain about the reefer. All were probably prizes, she mused darkly. Some of their crews were no doubt still on board or on the other slave ships. One of the ships was a liner, reported to be some sort of entertainment ship. She wondered about that designation. Sure, it might have rec decks and casino, maybe game rooms, but what else? She was afraid to find out.

  Over a thousand slaves had been found so far in the fleet train. Some were battered, little more than skeletons. Most of the former slaves were human or Neo apes; there were no surviving alien species in the sad group. A few bodies were also found, slaves who had been put to death in rage by their masters. The Marines were still dealing with some of the holdouts.

  As Renee watched orders flashed out from Bounty, their temporary flagship. She checked. Admiral Irons was ordering investigations into the slaves and intelligence debriefings when possible. She nodded. There was a Marine intel officer on board. She passed on a note to the Admiral about him.

  The Admiral also passed on orders to ship medics over to the slave ships as soon as they were secured. Renee frowned over that. On the one hand, she knew her people had things under control finally. But on the other, she knew they were exhausted. She cocked her head and then shrugged. They'd have to get what sleep they could on the shuttles on their way over; that was all there was to it. Their patients were waiting.

  As she watched a shuttle was dispatched from Bounty, on course for the fleet train. She nodded. “Firefly, get our people together. Look for volunteers to help the medics. Status on the medic loading?”

  “Almost complete Captain. Doctor Standish is reluctant to leave the ship short staffed, however.”

  “Good to hear,” Renee replied. “Check the secondary and third level lists of crew trained; look for people with medical training. Send a few of them along. Also anyone with trauma and psychological training,” she said darkly.

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” the AI said, sounding subdued.

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  Firefly recognized two of the freighters as ships that had passed through Pyrax and entered the system. One was the Gypsy Rose, the other was the Minerva Alabama. The ship AI pointed that out to Commander Sprite and the Firefly senior staff. Commander Sprite was busy, but she sent a text that she would let the admiral know later. “Apparently they got caught in the pirate net. Does that mean the others got away?” Commander Logan asked hopefully.

  “Not necessarily. It could mean they too were caught and then sent on to somewhere else,” the Captain said.

  “No, well, I mean I suppose that could be true. Do we know how long the pirates have been here? I mean, they could have passed through and the other ship could have missed them.”

  “Based on the capture time table we have established, the first ship transited from Pyrax seven months ago.”

  “That's a long time to be in one empty system,” Renee mused, rubbing her jaw. “And we don't know what happened to the other ship?”

  “It transited nine and a half months prior but was set to go to B103c5 and then on to Konohagakure. Most likely she ran right into them along the way, but there is a chance that they passed each other and remained free. It is certainly possible in hyperspace, but it is an unknown.”

  “True. Will we ever know?” The XO mused.

  “We're interviewing survivors now. We're also interrogating the prisoners and checking the computer records. One thing has been cleared up, apparently the Horathians got some intelligence about the Pyrax system and yard and that was why they were waiting. Their Ad
miral Rico had determined that he didn't have sufficient forces to take the system so he had called up reinforcements.”

  “Oh. So...”

  “So, I have passed that on to the Admiral. I am concerned about it; there is no telling what information was sent back to the Horathian sphere of influence,” Firefly said. That made the officers in the room pause thoughtfully. Some frowned, not liking the implications.

  “True,” Shelby drawled, breaking the silence.

  “So...” Janice asked, looking at the AI.

  “So, I now understand why the admiral doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary,” the Captain said.

  “But we took them!” Janice said, waving a hand.

  “Yes, and now we've got a lot of damaged and crippled ships, with skeleton crews on them, some of the people were former slaves...and we're low on ammunition,” Shelby said. They had distributed half of Firefly's remaining ammunition, missiles, counter missiles, torpedoes, and drones to the BC to help fill out her surviving magazines until the factory ship and the Admiral could find the time to make more.

  She could see the Admiral's caution. He didn't want to risk what he'd won against an unknown. He didn't want to be spooked either, but he had to move. “Just getting the ships with computer virus damage back online is an issue. I'm already getting complaints from prize crews.” She snorted at the expression on her Captain's face. “Yes, I know, they bitch about it now, but if those ships hadn't been taken down like that then we would have had to have fought them. The AI virus attack evened the odds. But all this work is a bit much, and we're hanging out here exposed.”

  The Captain nodded. “I see. I had thought about setting up on the B103c5 jump point. Have the surviving Horathian's been hunted down?”

  “Fighters have launched to hunt the gunships that remained behind down. By rights most should have run out of fuel or life support by the time our people get to them, but we'll see,” Purple Thorn reported.

  “Understood. And the corvette?”

  She is almost to the jump point. But she's been trailing atmosphere and consumables. If she jumps she most likely won't survive it.”

  The XO winced. “Not my way to go, a slow suffocating death.”

  “Or a quick one when the hyperdrive failed. You never know. They are clinging to hope.”

  “Well, let's hope their hopes are dashed rather abruptly. Next on the agenda?”

  “Damage control is underway. We were fortunately only in the fight briefly, and most of the damage we took was on our shields. We've done the initial survey, but an in-depth one will have to wait,” the Chief reported.

  “Not this again,” Renee sighed.

  The Chief engineer spread his hands apart. “Sorry skipper, no choice. Like in Antigua we've got a lot of cripples to deal with. My crews are spread all over the place securing them with the Marines. Once they get a handle on that they have to go over each ship and get them sorted out.”

  “Which means we'll have to defer our maintenance. Again,” the Captain said, sounding a bit put out over the idea.”

  “We'll do what we can with the people I've got left, but it's all we can do to man the critical functions right now,” the Chief engineer said.

  Shelby nodded. “And we've expended 12 percent of our missiles. I'm wondering if there is a place to use to resupply?” She turned expectantly to the ship AI. The sensory officer was off on a prize crew.

  “Unfortunately no, Commander, not a natural one at least. This system is very resource poor.”

  “Damn.”

  “Which is probably why it's a good thing we'll be moving out as soon as we can. Fuel status?” Renee asked, moving the meeting on.

  Chapter 13

  When things finally slowed down Admiral Irons was piped on board Firefly. He saluted the flag and deck officer and asked to come aboard. “Permission granted,” the deck officer replied with a grin.

  Once protocol was satisfied, he shook hands and exchanged smiles with the Captain and crew. His smile and appearance brought spontaneous cheers from the crew who had come to see him.

  “Good to have you aboard once more, Admiral,” Firefly said.

  “It's good to be back,” He replied with a nod and looked around.

  “It feels good, huh?” Sprite asked.

  “Yeah,” he said softly under his breath. “Yes it does.”

  As they walked through the ship he exchanged salutes with various crew members who lined the ship's companionways. Mayweather was ready to chase them off but the Admiral waved her off. “Let them,” he said, ignoring his planned schedule.

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  An hour later he arrived in the wardroom. “Bet you didn't expect that greeting, Admiral,” Firefly said.

  “No, not really,” the Admiral said. “I'm glad they aren't holding my departure against me,” he said.

  “Most understand what happened. Some may hold some lingering resentment, but that will fade I think,” Sprite said.

  “True.”

  “So, plan for the future?”

  “We get sorted out. Or at least the ships. Unfortunately, there aren't any natural resources readily available here. One of the reasons I went for B100 omega over this system.”

  “Agreed.”

  “No gas giants means a lack of fuel. Some moons and a few meter size rocks, but all too far apart to make mining useful. I suppose we could blow apart a moon, but it would be a pain to do.”

  “And we still lack fuel.”

  “I left a gas giant refinery in B100 omega. That we can work on. But we need fuel too. Or will. I think we are going to go over the ships with a fine tooth comb. Anything not worth salvaging will have her systems vacuumed for intelligence value, then she's going to the breakers.”

  “I was afraid you'd say that, Admiral,” Captain Mayweather sighed. She looked up as the steward entered holding a carafe of coffee. She held up a hand and then looked at the Admiral. “Coffee?”

  “Sure. I think we'll be here a little while,” he said with a smile.

  “Your new crew...”

  “Are a bit rough around the edges I know. They lack protocol training and many of the fundamentals. We focused on the critical points,” the Admiral replied as the steward poured the coffee and then silently withdrew.

  “We had to work with what material we had on hand,” Sprite said defensively.

  The Captain held up a hand. “Not complaining, Commander, just observing. I too remember my early days,” she said with a smile.

  “You can't dump civilians into a military structure, especially these civilians and expect instant results. That takes time—time and training.”

  “Leadership by example, which I understand you are providing now.”

  “The beauty of not having any politicians around to muck things up,” Sprite said dryly. The officers chuckled.

  “We're shorthanded on experienced personnel in some areas, command especially. I'd like to change that,” Irons said. He held up a hand before Gustov or one of the other officers with him could bristle in self-defense. “That's not a criticism, just reality. We're shorthanded across the board period. More experienced warm bodies is something we need.”

  “Something I have,” Captain Mayweather said, smiling slightly to Commander Logan. “Somehow I knew where this was going.”

  “We can't be everywhere at once,” Gustov said, trying not to sound defensive. He shrugged to Major Pendeckle. “And I know we have a lot to learn, sir.”

  “Good attitude,” Pendeckle replied with a return nod. He had been impressed with Lieutenant Gustov. The guy was good. He had a good head on his shoulders and he wasn't afraid to learn, get his hands dirty or listen to his subordinates. All were great qualities in an officer.

  “True, we do our best, and keep an open mind. This is partially a way to build bridges and mend our people into one navy. With your support of course, Captain, Commander,” Irons said, nodding to the two.

  “What do you need?” Co
mmander Logan asked after looking at her Captain. She turned to look at the Admiral expectantly.

  “Well...I think a trade is in order. Some of our greenhorns for some experienced people who need a new challenge. Volunteers first if possible. And promotions will be flowing for those you think can handle the added rank and responsibilities...”

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  As the situation stabilized in the fleet, Marines were cycled through Firefly to pick up their gear or for downtime. Jethro and his squad gratefully returned to Firefly but knew it would be brief. His squad was only doing a one-shift layover before heading out again to another ship. Instead of getting some rack time he agonized over letters to dead teammates families. He planned on racking out on the ride over. All the crews had learned that essential trick, to get what sleep where they could, whenever they could. The thrum of a shuttle's engines in transit was the perfect lullaby to rest.

  Firefly gently tried to help him with it, knowing it was an onerous duty many hate, and for good reason. For mortals, it was hard to face one's mortality, even harder to facing up to the final mortality of a crew mate. And for those who had been in command, it was a heavy weight to bear, knowing you were ultimately responsible for their deaths. “It's never easy, losing a teammate. Or writing to someone about the loss.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nor should it be I suppose. I think at one time someone created a form letter. It's been done a few times in past wars. An outline to follow.”

  “I know, sir. I have it in my implants,” Jethro replied. “I'm...I'm just not used to being the one in command.” He felt like a traitor, glad none of his team had been killed. Wounded yes, but not killed.

  “Well, technically, you weren't Gunny,” Firefly reminded the panther gently. “And, technically, writing the letters is for the officers to do.”

  “But I knew them best, sir. And for the most part the officers weren't there,” he said. He still had Private Bart Quiposki's gruesome death stuck in his mind's eye. He wasn't sure if he'd ever lose it. He was a killer; he'd killed before. He'd had friends injured in training accidents while in F platoon; he'd been there when Miles and Chirby had died. He hadn't been there for Fonz, but he'd seen the recordings. But Bart hadn't done anything stupid; he'd followed protocol.