Badger
By Kindal Debenham
Badger
by Kindal Debenham
© Copyright 2012
All Rights Reserved
Cover art Paul Hamblin
To learn about upcoming titles follow us at www.wanderingleafpublishing.com
Dedication
To my mother and my father, who deserve more dedications than I could ever offer. I’ll keep trying anyway.
And to my brother and sisters, without whom I would never have been able to write some of the scenes in this book. You have all been there for me when I needed you, and this time is no exception.
Acknowledgements
Once again I am able to express my gratitude for all those who have worked so hard, and tolerated so much, for me to be able to finish this book.
Amber Cushman, my dedicated copy editor, deserves my first thanks. She bravely declared war on the many ‘that’s, typos and horribly misplaced commas which so frequently haunt my drafts. Without her diligent work, this book would not have been nearly as refined. Paul Hamblin, who furnished the cover art, has once again done an incredible job of bringing the book to life. His hard work is something I count myself lucky to rely on. Both of you deserve more thanks than I can adequately express, and I am grateful to be working with you on this series.
My writing group once again has earned my thanks, for once again helping me to fashion a readable book in a very short amount of time. Joe Vasicek, Annaliese Lemmon, Megan Hutchins, Ailsa Lilywhite, all of your comments and support helped make the story what it is today. I honestly have no idea how I would have accomplished it without you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.
My family has stood by me through the process of writing this story, and their encouragement has helped me to overcome the obstacles involved in the process. A sequel—especially to a book that’s done well—was a scary thing, but you all made things better. Mom, Dad, Caleb, Cassidy, and Kaileen, all of you have let me know how much you love me, and you haven’t wavered when I pursued this crazy dream. Thank you for still standing by me, forgiving my faults, and loving the stories.
Emily, my dear wife, as always has earned my special thanks. She’s the first to see each draft and the greatest encouragement during each revision. Without her I would never have made it this far, but with her by my side I think we might just pull this whole thing off anyway. Of course I won’t forget little Seraphina, who reminds her father how important books are each day, and puts a bright, smiling face on the future for me. Thank you to both of you, more than I can say.
Last, but far from least, thank you to all those who enjoyed Wolfhound. Your excitement over Jacob Hull’s story has helped inspire me through the rough patches, and it is my fondest hope that I’ve done right by you with this continuation. To all those friends and family, both far and near, thanks for your examples, your support, and your care. I couldn’t imagine a world worth writing about if I had not met each of you. Thank you.
Chapter One
“Sir, we’re coming up on the freighter.” The sensor officer paused. “We have multiple Oduran contacts waiting for us.”
Captain Jacob Hull of the Celostian Navy, Squadron 43, nodded. He could see enemy warships trailing their target on his projections, traveling perpendicular to his squadron’s current course. The situation did not look good. There were at least five Oduran ships chasing the merchant, including three Bullet class corvettes, a heavily armed Hatchet class frigate, and most menacing of all, a Crossbow class destroyer. Between all five, they would have more than enough firepower to match Jacob’s small squadron.
The merchant craft had no weapons. It had been armed once, by the look of the weapons mounts along its swollen sides, but the mounts had been ‘capped.’ Every one had been patched over, the openings sealed shut to improve the hull integrity and efficiency of the merchantman. Unfortunately, it also robbed the ship of any possibility for self-defense. If the Odurans caught the ship, it was dead.
Jacob turned to Commander Edward Flint, the commanding officer of the Terrier. “Have they responded to our challenge?”
Flint grimaced. “Yes, sir. On your console, sir.”
Jacob glanced at the communication board and saw a light come on. When he tapped it, a rough voice growled through the speakers. “This is Captain Odessa of Midoshi, signatory of the Oduran League. We are taking custody of this freighter and its crew by the authority of the Oduran Central Council, in accordance with the sanctions in force against the Celostian Union. If your vessels attempt to engage us, we will compel your surrender or destroy you. Odessa out.”
He clenched his hands slowly. The Odurans had been increasing the frequency of their raids into Celostian territory in the past few months, and the fact that Telos had joined them in an alliance against Celostian shipping after the events in Reefhome and Rigannin had not helped the situation. The crews of the ships taken in those raids were usually sold into slavery—thinly disguised as an “indentured servitude” in Oduran work camps—supposedly as punishment for the many “crimes” of the Celostian Union. The fact that the greatest crime the Union had perpetrated against the League was to remain outside the Central Council’s control did not deter the raiders in the slightest.
When Jacob opened his mouth to give the order to engage, Commander Flint caught his attention. His expression was grave. “Sir, I must remind you that our orders stress the need to avoid any unnecessary engagements.”
“Noted, commander.” Jacob tried not to grit his teeth. He knew the orders; they were quite a lot of vague sounding assertions from local command headquarters. None of that would help the situation now, and if he went against what Captain Upshaw’s personal interpretation of those orders, he would have to face the music once the battle was over. For a second, the possibility of yet another lecture from that senior officer, perhaps followed by serious penalties if his ships came home damaged, gave Jacob pause.
Then he pictured what it had to be like for the crew of the merchant freighter. They could see the Odurans just as well as he could; the difference was that they wouldn’t have a chance to avoid them. If Jacob’s squadron did not intervene, the freighter’s crew would see the enemy ships racing in to attack, knowing every moment that those ships meant slavery or death.
Jacob’s decision became much easier. “Commander Flint, bring Terrier about on an intercept course. Ensign Dukoff, contact the Beagle and tell them we are going to engage the enemy.”
The other officers on the bridge set about obeying, and the two ships of Squadron 43 moved to intercept the enemy. Flint paused only a moment to stare at Jacob, a rebuke clear in his expression, before he tended to his own duties, organizing the crew for combat.
Jacob felt a thread of pity run through him. Commander Flint had a long, venerable history as an officer in the Celostian Navy. His independence and trustworthiness had earned him a promotion to the command over a frigate that patrolled the Celostian border with the Frontier. His performance there had propelled him to his current position as the commander of the CNS Terrier, another Hunter class destroyer in the same vein as the Wolfhound.
Flint’s career contrasted quite sharply with that of one Jacob Hull. After Reefhome, High Admiral Nivrosky had been sufficiently impressed and awarded Jacob a pair of Service Stars, one for the original desperate defense of the Wolfhound against the pirates attempting to hijack it and the next for his defense of the Celostian Union’s newest colony, Reefhome Station. Along with those awards had come an immediate promotion to the rank of commander.
The Celostian Navy had a long history of promoting able officers to positions where they could excel. Heavy losses during Oduran incursions and the relatively small size of the Navy’s permanent ‘professional’ officer corps permitted
people who were heavily invested in the Navy to rise quickly. However, Jacob’s meteoric rise from ensign to commander in one short hop still elicited plenty of comment from those who had earned their rank the hard way—and very little of it was welcoming. His rapid advancement in the following year and a half to captain had not helped things.
It was only worse considering that Terrier was now the squadron flagship, which reduced Flint’s standing to something around a glorified executive officer instead of an independent commander. Wolfhound was technically Jacob’s flag assignment, but the destroyer had yet to be fully repaired after the beating she had taken at Reefhome. Two other destroyers, Setter and Feist, had both been crippled in other battles, and a third, the Retriever, had been completely destroyed, along with the squadron’s previous commanding officer.
The only possibilities left had been Beagle or Terrier, and Beagle was already commanded by Leon Nivrosky, High Admiral Nivrosky’s son and Jacob’s fellow officer from Wolfhound. Jacob had chosen to let Leon have his independence on his own ship since he’d already come to trust and rely on the man, but at this point he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake by not putting Flint there instead. No commander enjoyed having a superior officer looking over his shoulder, but Flint seemed to hold a particular grudge against him. Jacob didn’t know if it was due to his frontier heritage, his rapid advancement through the ranks, or some other factor, but for the last six months Flint had been a constant worry for Jacob. Unfortunately, while the Wolfhound was still in repair dock Jacob had no other choice but to be on the Terrier, and they all had to make adjustments to the situation.
The Odurans closed the distance between their ships and the freighter, which had continued to broadcast a plea for help across all bands. Jacob did a quick judgment of the remaining distance as his ships closed in, and then turned to Flint. “Commander, I want the Terrier to lead the attack. We should reach them before the Odurans reach firing range on the transport, and I want as many of them as possible destroyed on the first pass.”
The muscles along Flint’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Then he turned back to the rest of the bridge crew.
“Lieutenant Juarez, bring us up to full speed. I want the Terrier to reach the intercept with enough time to face the enemy head on. Engineering, I expect our rad masts retracted and the ship ready for battle. Ensign Dukoff, contact the Beagle and inform them of our intentions.” As the officers bent to their work, Flint lowered his voice and leaned in toward Jacob. “I hope you know what you are doing, sir.” As if to emphasize the commander’s doubts, the battle alarm began to sound, warning that they had nearly reached engagement range.
Jacob nodded. He turned to his own smaller display of the situation and watched as Beagle accelerated alongside her sister ship. Both destroyers were the new Hunter class, which might give them a definite edge in terms of firepower. The fight was still going to be rough. With a short sigh, Jacob turned to look at Ensign Dukoff. “Ensign, when you are finished with that message, send a message drone to Tiredel. Inform local command that we are engaging the enemy.” He doubted his immediate superiors would be overjoyed at the news, but Captain Upshaw was the last thing he needed to worry about now.
“Yes, Captain Hull.” The acknowledgement from the ensign carried quite a bit more enthusiasm than Flint displayed. Jacob’s actions in Reefhome, and his reward for courage and skill in battle had gained him the admiration of the enlisted and younger officers, if not that of the older officer corps. The crew of the Terrier had been quick to embrace him as their commanding officer, and so far he had been relatively successful in battle. It wouldn’t last of course; eventually they would run into something even he couldn’t handle. He watched as his ships closed on the enemy, wondering if his luck would finally run out this time.
His first hint of disaster came as the enemy destroyer rolled up on one side. The Crossbow class had been given its designation by the Celostian Intelligence Service due to its shape more than any solid knowledge of naming conventions among the Oduran military. Two curving arms branched out from a single rectangular central hull. Missile bays lined the dorsal hull, with a railgun mount on each arm to supplement its close range defenses. As it continued to roll, bursts of flame shot out from the ventral surface of the ship. Ensign Remmers, at the Sensors station, jerked in alarm. “Three incoming missiles from Oduran craft.”
“Instruct Lieutenant Delarouge to begin countermeasures. Continue on course and keep an eye on the missile ports on the destroyer. If it fires again, I want to know.” Flint glanced at Jacob, and his eyes were cold. “Time to firing range?”
“Seven minutes.”
Silence fell as the missiles closed, their feeble sensor contacts flickering in the hologram. Answering flechettes spat out from both destroyers, filling space ahead of them with a quick-moving wave of counter fire. All three missiles were caught well short of their targets as the flechettes exploded and ruined their poorly shielded guidance and tracking systems. The missiles continued to close for a few moments more as whatever onboard electronics struggled to recover, then gave up. The missiles detonated in a flash, leaving a sudden grey area on the sensors as the fragments spread chaos through the void.
Jacob frowned as the grey spread over the course of the Oduran ships. For a heartbeat, the small flotilla grew hard to track, moving along the projected courses the computer had calculated for them. They had to know we would stop the missiles. Why fire now? He looked to Flint. “Get ready. I think that they’re trying something behind that cloud.”
Flint nodded, but said nothing. Jacob sighed and turned to the communications ensign. “Ensign Dukoff, contact the Beagle. I want them to swing slightly out to starboard and try to get a better view of the enemy ships. We need to know if they are still incoming.”
“Yes, Captain Hull.” The bridge once again fell to silence as the ships continued on their respective courses, with Beagle diverting slightly to peek around the edge of the approaching cloud. For a few minutes, it seemed little had changed.
On Jacob’s projection, the enemy destroyer vanished. Jacob searched the screen, wondering if the Odurans had managed to riftjump out, but then it reappeared on the screen, far more distant than its previous track. The enemy destroyer was swinging on its own wide course, obviously avoiding railgun range. He wondered what the rest of the Oduran ships were thinking about the destroyer’s reluctance to weather fire with the rest of them.
He got his answer a second later. The frigate and the corvettes disappeared from their previous positions and reappeared horrifyingly close, on the verge of sweeping up over the debris and down on the Terrier. His eyes widened. “Flint!”
The commander’s reaction was instant. “Helm, climb now! Guns, open fire!”
Terrier began to climb, but the Odurans already had the advantage of momentum and position. As the corvettes swept by, their single railgun peppered the Terrier with shots. Defense turrets sprayed plasma to intercept the shells, sweeping through the incoming wave of fire and leaving explosions in their wake. They did not catch all of them, however, and three shells came through to slam into the Terrier’s armor, just back of the bow.
Explosions rocked the destroyer. Jacob was thrown into his restraints. He grunted in pain as the straps cut into his shoulder, but he kept his eyes on the incoming frigate. Slower than its quick-moving allies, the axe-shaped ship came in firing, but it was too late for the ship to get away unharmed. All three of the upper gun decks opened fire, blasting railgun shells at the incoming frigate even as it returned fire.
At such close range, there was no hope of a last-second dodge. The enemy’s defense turrets intercepted four of the first nine shells, and another three missed completely. The remaining two shells blasted holes in the smaller ship’s armor. Terrier’s second volley was harsher. Five shells ripped into the bladed edge of the frigate’s bow. It warped beyond repair, and even as the third volley reached it a moment later, the Oduran frigate began to tumble apart in a sp
ray of wreckage.
It had its revenge. A final pair of railgun shots exploded off the ventral armor of the Terrier, punching more holes in the armor and hull. Jacob felt the tremors reach the bridge and gritted his teeth. Each hit meant more of his people were dead and dying, and they were doing so because he had again ordered them into battle. The fact that he was nearly helpless to prevent it only made the losses worse.
The three corvettes continued to dive past the Terrier, putting more distance between them and the larger destroyer they had just strafed. The long-range gun battery fired at them as they pulled away, but their maneuvers and point defense made hits impossible. They began to sweep up and around to come in at the Terrier again, this time from behind, but Jacob had no intention of allowing that to happen. He turned to Ensign Dukoff. “Open a channel to the Beagle. Tell Commander Nivrosky to bring his ship around and engage the corvettes. Terrier will continue toward the enemy destroyer.”
With impressive speed, Ensign Dukoff set to work. As he spoke into the communications console, Flint half turned toward Jacob. “Why can’t Terrier finish them off? The destroyer is running. We’ve won.”
He shook his head. “The destroyer isn’t running, Commander Flint. She’s gaining distance. You don’t need to close when all you need to do is— Damn .” Jacob pointed at the destroyer. “Look.”
The Crossbow had fired another missile volley, rolling so its ventral surface faced its targets. Three more missiles jetted toward the Celostian craft, but this time they weaved their way toward the Beagle. Both destroyers spat flechettes toward the volley of projectiles, but this time their fire was spread out, uncoordinated. The Beagle’s fire arrived first, and one of the missiles died in a flash of light. Then the missiles attempted to evade the Terrier’s countermissiles, which arrived much later.
A second missile died in a burst of fire and fragments. The final missile continued to weave and dodge, avoiding incoming flechettes with pugnacious ease. Jacob felt his throat constrict as the missile drew close to the other destroyer. One direct hit would snap Beagle in half like a pathetic twig. As the missile dove the last short distance toward the ship, Jacob turned his face away, unable to watch.
Badger Page 1