But they were now steaming towards their third engagement with the enemy after bloodying its nose and, despite the fact they would almost certainly be destroyed if the thing gave chase, he felt pretty damn good about it. It'd been a long time since he, and likely any of the crew, had felt anything to be really proud about. The Blue Jacket may have left the Sierra Shipyards over forty years ago with much fanfare, but she'd been little more than a glorified messenger and a slowly rotting relic of a time nearly all humans thought long gone.
Jackson topped off his water again after that sobering thought. Humans had, by and large, eschewed warfare in all its forms over the last two hundred and fifty years or so. As a species they congratulated themselves on attaining the next step on their way to enlightenment and sat around pulling the scabs off old wounds as they talked about the barbarism of their ancestors. That, more than anything else, was probably why Earth was excluded from the conversation, her citizens looked upon as pariahs when they dared venture into the more civilized realms of man. Earth still bore the scars of past wars and the old, familiar landmasses reminded everyone that it hadn't really been all that long ago that the species had been killing each other by the thousands over reasons so obscure they no longer made sense.
That was all bullshit, of course. At least in Jackson's mind. The enclaves had largely been separated along the ideological and ethnic dividing lines that had existed when the serious colonization had begun, and they had remained separated from each other for the most part for all this time. Hell, Earth was now the most diverse place in the galaxy.
But either way, the rules had irrevocably changed when that alien ship had made orbit over Xi'an and launched an attack. He had no delusions that this could be some isolated incident. This was a probe by a single scout ship to test the waters. The fact it had played cat and mouse with the Blue Jacket and even tried to capture it only confirmed that fact in his mind. He hoped his species was ready for what was coming. No matter what the outcome with this single-ship incursion the die had been cast ... humanity would have to fight for its survival, or at least its right to exist among the stars.
****
"Report," Jackson said as he climbed back into his chair.
"Eleven minutes to impact," Lieutenant Davis said, her eyes not leaving her screens.
"New firing scripts are updated and loaded, Captain," Lieutenant Barrett said. "Armament crews are reloading the turrets now."
"Excellent," Jackson said, sitting down and forcing himself to remain seated. He passed the remaining minutes by idly scrolling through status reports from his department heads, wondering about what would happen to him should they actually survive the coming battle. He'd openly defied Admiral Winters and so had Celesta Wright. No matter how justified it had been, he had no doubt that they would both have the hammer dropped on them by a CENTCOM board of inquiry. The prospect almost made him hope the alien would make short work of him.
"Impact plus one," Lieutenant Davis said, indicating that it was one second after the expected time of impact. "Waiting for the light to reach us."
When it did, they didn't need her instruments to let them know. A bright flash lit up visibly on the main display from the direction of Podere.
"Holy shit!" Lieutenant Barrett exclaimed before looking at Jackson sheepishly, but the captain was out of his seat, staring at awe at the fading point of light.
"Sift through all that for me, Lieutenant," he said to Davis.
"Two impacts," she said, squinting at her display. "One round took a fair-sized chuck off the tip of the nose, the other ... the other—" she trailed off as she ran the optical data back a few more times and looked again.
"Lieutenant?" Jackson said impatiently.
"The second round punched all the way through," she said finally, putting the video up on the main display. "Large entry damage at the point of impact and then, as you'll see as she spins from the hit, there's an enormous area blasted out on the opposite side. The enemy ship is still spinning. Looks like it's beginning to stabilize."
"Holy shit," Jackson said matter-of-factly, mimicking his tactical officer. "OPS, keep updating Tactical with the new course projections for the target. Tactical! Adjust your firing sequence to take advantage of the gaping hole you just created. Arm up the Avengers too." There was some quiet cheering and high-fives going around on the bridge and Jackson let them have their moment.
"Captain," Lieutenant Keller said, "we're getting some calls from the surface. They want to know what we did. Besides the flash in the sky they say the ... let's just call them troops ... on the ground are being collected and taken back up."
"What are they calling them?" Jackson asked.
"They keep calling them worms," she shrugged. "But it's clear the worms were deployed from smaller landing craft that came from the enemy ship. Either way, now they're leaving."
"It's a recall," Jackson said. "They're leaving this system. I hope we damaged their propulsion or we're not—"
"Enemy ship is breaking orbit," Lieutenant reported. "Acceleration profile is barely a tenth of what it was when it retreated from our last engagement. I think it’s damaged, but still flying."
"Lieutenant Davis, send an intercept vector to the helm and continue tracking," Jackson said urgently. "Helm, steer to follow target, ahead full." They'd pulled the power back on the engines after their slingshot around the fifth planet. The mains had pushed them up as fast as they could and they were already caught in Podere's gravity.
"Helm is not answering new course, sir!" the helmsman said.
"What?!" Jackson asked in disbelief. His mind raced as he tried to think of what would cause the computer to ignore a course correction. They weren't about to do anything that it would forbid and there were no associated warnings. Even as he was considering what to do the sound of the engines suddenly died, leaving an eerie quiet on the bridge.
"Captain, I can't raise Chief Engineer Singh," Celesta said. "In fact, all the shipwide coms are down."
"Son of a bitch," Jackson said, realization dawning on him. "Nav, will we clear Podere with our current course and speed?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," the chief at Navigation said. "No problem."
"Sentry!"
"Yes, sir?" the Marine corporal said, walking onto the bridge.
"Nobody is to be given access to the bridge," Jackson said as he stormed to the hatch. "Shoot anyone that comes down that corridor that isn't authorized."
"Sir?" The response came from more than a few people, including the XO.
"Isn't it obvious?" Jackson spat. "We've been sabotaged. There's a mutiny in progress."
Chapter 16
"OPS, bring up the internal security feed," Jackson said. "Main display. Show me the Engineering Operations Center." Lieutenant Davis numbly entered the commands and the video feed popped up on the main display. The scene was utter chaos. There were obviously two factions as some spacers fought to keep the mutineers out of the room, but they were at a significant disadvantage since the attackers were armed.
"Either they've taken over the armory or some of Major Ortiz's men are in on this," Jackson said, pointing to the infantry carbine one of the specialists was carrying.
"There's Lieutenant Commander Singh," Celesta said from beside him, pointing to where Daya lay on the floor, his limbs spread out like he'd been unconscious or dead before he hit the floor. A moment later the video feed blinked off.
"I'm losing control of some of the internal systems," Davis said when Jackson glanced over at her.
"Which ones?"
"Internal video feeds, shipwide coms, and remote hatch control," she said.
"They're on their way," Jackson said, turning to leave.
"Where are you going, sir?" Celesta asked.
"I'm going to even the odds a bit," Jackson said. "You stay here and attempt to retake control of this ship." He hustled over to the Marine sentry who now looked very uncomfortable.
"Seal this hatch when I leave. Nobody gets in h
ere except me. Understood?"
"Understood, sir!" the Marine said, much happier now that he had been given orders from a superior officer. When he'd lost contact with his own command structure he'd not been sure what was going on or what he should be doing.
Jackson ran to his office and sealed the hatch behind him. He went to his terminal and began executing a set of subroutines that would allow him access to the computer despite the mutineers' best efforts otherwise. It was another aspect to the Blue Jacket's system architecture that wasn't widely known. He went in and made sure that, first and foremost, the ship was safe. All the reactor readings were within limits and there didn't appear to be any issues with life support or gravity, so he let that go for now.
Pulling up the security feed he saw that a team of six men, led by a chief petty officer he didn't recognize by sight, were all heading towards the bridge, all armed with Marine carbines. As he expanded another menu he could see how they'd pulled it off so fast. Most of the major access corridors had been sealed off by activating the airtight hatches, effectively sealing the crew in their work centers so they couldn't interfere.
He took this as a good sign ... it meant this was likely a small group of people and not half the damn ship. On a whim he pulled up the feed for the brig and, sure enough, Ed Kazenski wasn't in his cell. The Marine on guard was lying on the ground and blood was pooling underneath him. Jackson hoped he could reestablish control in time to get him medical attention.
"Time for a little surprise," he said grimly, entering three commands into a separate window. He then went to his wall safe and quickly opened it, pulling out an ancient weapon that, while comparatively primitive, would be more than adequate. It was a twin to the one in his desk drawer, but this one worked. There was also a modern, Fleet-issued sidearm in his safe, but he knew it would be useless.
He looked at the smooth sides of the slide, running his hand over it. It was an exact replica of a Colt 1911 .45 ACP service sidearm that Singh had painstakingly recreated for his friend from drawings he'd found in an archive. He'd made the weapon after he learned of Jackson's interest in the Second Great World War and, in particular, the weapon designs of John Browning. It was meant to be a display piece, but on some shore leave they'd gone ahead and fabricated ammunition and had great fun shooting at empty beer bottles out in the desert.
Jackson quickly loaded the two magazines he had, each holding seven rounds, and slipped one into the pistol's handle. He worked the slide to chamber a round and flicked the safety up, keeping the hammer back so the single-action weapon would be ready to fire quickly.
Slipping out of his office he reflected on how surreal the whole thing was. An actual mutiny on a Terran Confederacy starship. He edged around the corridor and saw the armed party was already at the hatch leading onto the bridge, arguing about how best to get past the barrier.
"Didn't quite plan on that part, did you?" Jackson asked casually, his voice steady despite the seething rage he was feeling. He kept the .45 down against his side.
"Stay right there, Earther," the chief said. Jackson could now read "Cullen" on his utility nametag. "Tell your Marine to open this hatch."
"Why would I do that?"
Cullen walked up to within three paces of Jackson and aimed the carbine at his head. "Because I'll blow your goddamn Earther brains out if you don't," he said.
"A fairly stupid tactic in hostage negotiation," Jackson shrugged. "But do what you have to do, I suppose."
Cullen closed his eyes and actually flinched before squeezing the trigger. Nothing happened. Culled looked at the carbine and squeezed the trigger a few more times, looking at it in confusion.
"It worked when you shot Kazenski's guard, no doubt," Jackson said, watching as the other five began to approach. "But I disabled all handheld weapons on the ship. They're tied to the main computer, you stupid bastard. But this one works just fine." Before Cullen could react, Jackson flicked the safety off the .45 and shot the chief right in the forehead.
The thunderous report of the gunpowder-propelled shot had the desired effect on the other five. That and being sprayed with what used to be inside Cullen's head. Jackson kept the weapon trained on them as the chief's body slumped to the deck, blood pooling from the horrific wound the .45 round had inflicted.
"Any more of you traitors want to try your luck?" Jackson asked the now terrified group in front of him. They all dropped their rifles and put their hands up. "Lay face down on the deck and put your hands over your head. Marine! Get out here and restrain these vermin!"
The hatch to the bridge slid open and the Marine jogged out, recoiling at Cullen's body. To his credit, he grabbed flexible restraints from a cargo pocket in his fatigue pants and began securing their arms behind their backs.
"Now that this mutinous traitor can't answer any questions, which of you wants to be the one who begins to put things right?" Jackson asked as Celesta walked from the bridge, her hand flying over her mouth at the sight.
"I'll talk, sir," came a muffled voice from the floor.
"Turn him over," Jackson told the Marine. The sentry grabbed the spacer by the ankles and twisted quite roughly until Jackson was looking down into the face of a terrified spacer. "Your name?"
"Specialist Ormond, sir."
"I don't think you need to worry about your rank anymore," Jackson said, waving the pistol around and causing Ormond much anxiety for it. "Start talking."
"Master Chief Kazenski put it all in motion," Ormond said. "Chief Cullen approached me and said I was vital since I work in the primary MUX control center. He said you'd gone rogue and we were chasing an alien ship for a personal vendetta of yours. He told me that we needed to stop the ship to keep us all alive."
"You do realize that the alien ship is still out there, right?" Celesta said, her eyes cold and completely without compassion. "You cowards have disabled us right as we are making a high-speed approach towards a hostile, powerful ship."
Ormond paled as the reality of what they'd set in motion sunk in.
"You and your friends may have killed us all, not to mention every living human on Podere," Celesta finished.
"How many were there?" Jackson asked him.
"Thirty-eight Fleet personnel," Ormond said. "I don't know how many Marines."
"Major Ortiz?"
"No. Just the guards from the armory. We sealed the hatches shut to the Marine garrison before beginning."
"What did you do to the ship?"
"Disabled steering and manually shut the valves to the primary propellant manifold to start with," Ormond said. "We began shutting down individual subsystems after that."
"Who can restore all ship functions?" Jackson asked. When Ormond hesitated, he pushed the barrel of the .45 into his nose. "Who?"
"Lieutenant Peters," Ormond said, tears beginning to stream down the sides of his face. "He was our man in the CIC who could re-route command functions from the bridge. Other than the propellant valves and the breakers for the attitude jets he can put everything back. He was going to take command after we secured the bridge."
Jackson stood up, looking down at Ormond in disgust. "You know I'd be on the right side of the Code of Conduct if I blew your brains out, right?" When Ormond nodded Jackson continued. "For your sake, you better hope I can regain control of my ship before that alien bastard figures out we're adrift. I'm going to the CIC. You and you ... with me." He pointed at Celesta and the Marine sentry before turning and walking off to the lifts.
"If Peters has control of all internal systems he knows we're coming," Celesta said, pointing at the security camera in the corner of a hatchway.
"I've disabled all the cameras," Jackson said. "There were some backdoors into the system Peters wasn't aware of."
"Another captain secret," Celesta said nodding. "Those have been useful."
"I hope to keep us all alive long enough for you to get some of your very own one day," Jackson said as the lift doors closed.
****
"L
ieutenant Peters, I'm still not getting anything from the bridge. Should we send a runner?"
"As you were, Specialist," Peters said. His face was flushed red and he was sweating profusely. It had been twenty minutes past when Cullen was supposed to check in telling him Wolfe was in custody or dead. He'd watched the captain run from the bridge to his office alone and couldn't believe his luck, but when he'd tried to call Cullen he found he couldn't raise the chief's comlink despite entering the address as an exception to the com blackout in the computer. Once all the internal camera feeds dropped simultaneously he began to feel the first twinges of a panic attack coming on.
He looked to the two armed Marines guarding the entrance to the CIC for some reassurance. It hadn't been easy to convince the two to go along with the plan, but Kazenski was able to bring them onboard and even got them to open up the small arms locker at one of the checkpoints.
"Sir, I can't raise Engineering," another specialist said. "In fact, I can't access anything."
"It's a temporary glitch," Peters said loudly. "Everyone stay at their stations and be quiet until it's sorted out."
He heard one of the guards shout something unintelligible before an explosive roar just outside the hatch made them all jump and one of the Marines slumped over onto the floor, blood spreading across his fatigues.
"Drop that weapon, Marine, or I'll put you down too," he heard a familiar voice outside and nearly fainted. Before he could react he saw Jackson Wolfe and Celesta Wright stride into the CIC, the captain holding some sort of blocky sidearm with smoke curling out of the barrel.
"Francis Peters, you are under arrest for mutiny, treason, and whatever else I can find that will stick," Jackson said, walking up to the trembling officer. "The sentence for such crimes during combat is a summary execution." He raised the pistol. "I'll delay sentencing and just toss your ass in the brig for now if you turn around and restore control of the ship to the bridge."
Black Fleet Trilogy 1: Warship Page 17