The second attempt went better, and a collective inhale was followed by a group sigh as the Wolf’s housing clamps took hold of the new unit. It would have still taken the better part of a week to make the connections and lock down the unit, but to all present, the most difficult part was over. The starboard engine was operational, though the Padre wasn’t guaranteeing its reliability until after they got a chance to test-fire them and shake out any problems.
The replacement armaments and hull armor were another problem. Most of the better weapon turrets had already been stripped from the Surprise and the remaining ones had, for the most part, been damaged. Even so, they managed to salvage and repair four co-axle turrets. Unfortunately, they were missile turrets, which needed missiles: something that they didn’t have.
The remaining hull armor from the Surprise barely managed to cover a third of the gaps in the Wolf’s armor. Her hull was sealed, but without armor or force shielding, any shot that hit a gap would pass right through.
Still, things were going so well that Gunny decided that it was time to head planet-side to pick up a few things. Mike was helping two of the old vets finish tying in a salvaged missile turret to the ship’s power grid. They were about to test its 360-degree rotation when he got the call to head to the bridge. After climbing through two decks of service ladders due to an offline lift, he arrived to find Gunny bolting down a new burgundy-colored captain’s chair onto the center command platform.
“Where’d you steal that from?” Mike asked, entering the bridge.
Gunny continued to tighten down the plush chair’s swivel housing to the platform. “I appropriated it from the Rebecca. Leave it to a captain of a minesweeper to have a big, comfortable chair.”
He had to admit, the bridge looked a hell of a lot better than it did the first day he had seen it. The structural damage had been repaired, and the burned-out navigation console had been turned out and replaced with one from the Cape Town. Some of the command center’s replacement systems had been taken from what was left of the Surprise. When they couldn’t find a part from the old frigate, they turned to the freighter or the minesweeper.
All in all, they had taken and replaced enough parts, panels, and consoles that the Wolf’s bridge looked almost brand new. The ship’s computer was still a problem that they were waiting until the weekend to tackle. That was when Mister Daley would arrive and be on hand to help sort the whole mess out.
Moving over to the captain’s chair, Mike hesitated for a moment before stepping up to the raised dais and sitting down on the large, padded burgundy chair. It was soft and comfortable with a miniature command screen and console built in to the arm rests. Spinning it clockwise, he picked up his feet as the chair spun around, giving him the feeling that he was floating on air.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Masters smirked as he stepped back and out of the way of the young pup of an ensign. “We’re going to be heading to the surface; it’s time to get a few things I’ve been wanted to get for some time.”
Mike nodded, noting his serious tone of voice and grim expression. Whatever they were going to do, it sounded as if it might be dangerous, and the Gunny wanted someone to cover his back. Collins was honored that the old warrior felt that he could do the job.
“Oh, and run to your quarters and change into civilian clothes,” Masters instructed as he gave the command chair a final spin. “Time we found someone to sit in this chair,” he said under his breath after the young ensign had left.
Collins ran to his quarter’s three decks down; luckily, the lift was back in service and his trip only took him a few minutes. He was fortunate in that he had his choice of officer’s quarters, and he had already been through most of them, knowing which ones were in the best shape. He could have taken a senior officer’s or even the captain’s quarters, but that not only would have been presumptuous, but inappropriate. In the end, he took a cabin normally allocated to two lieutenant-grade officers.
Almost the entire crew was now living onboard the attack cruiser, finding it easier than shuttling back and forth to the surface. This allowed them more time to work on the ship and gave them a chance to restore and get use to the quarters where they would be living.
Their cover story, to those who asked, was that they were working double shifts to finish the salvage work before the Karduan inspection officer arrived. True enough, they were trying to finish before that date and were still sending parts and salvage to the surface. Of course, they were mostly sending parts that they didn’t need or that were unusable. Still, no one seemed the wiser.
Quickly changing his clothes, Mike thought about what the Gunny had said and the tone that he had used. It had definitely left an impression with him of implied danger. Moving to his storage locker along the wall, he pulled the door open and pushed past his service and dress uniforms. These uniforms were standard Confederation Navy issue, but being an officer, he had purchased and tailored them a month before his commissioning.
These uniforms had been hanging in storage in his apartment’s closet, where he thought they would have hung for some time except for this wild gamble of a slim chance. He also had three swords stored within the wall locker, one being the sword he won as being top of his class in combat skills. During the yearly competition, he had scored the highest in unarmed combat, sword, pistol, and rifle -- a goal he had been striving for since his first year as a plebe.
The Sword of Mars, as it was called, was not only a beautiful dress sword, but it had a polycarbon blade, making it battle-ready. It was perpetually razor-sharp and nearly indestructible. It had a classic fixed blade, unlike the swords of the restored knightly orders that also used polycarbon steel, but their weapons had the added feature of a retractable blade.
Only one metal was harder, lighter, and sharper, and that was tritanium. That metal was one that man had not been able to recreate, and only the dwarf-like and mysterious race of the Kazad had been able to forge it.
Mike’s father had once told him of seeing a black tritanium blade. It had been shown to him by one of the soldiers of the resistance, who had been part of the Vorooshin revolt and the subsequent liberations of Kazad and Earth. He had recalled in vivid detail seeing a tritanium blade cut an inch-deep gash in a polycarbon blade.
Of note, it had also been these same peaceful Kazad who had developed bender drives and star travel. Their curious need to explore had led them to a century of Vorooshin slavery until they had seized the chance to free themselves by helping mankind. Now, the reclusive Kazad refused to interact with any other race, and were all but a legend to the rest of the galaxy.
The other two swords were standard European-style fencing weapons with interchangeable blades. At the bottom of the locker he had a set of fencing masks and a neoplastic fencing bag, which contained two uniforms and gloves. The locker also had a set of bamboo kendo weapons and a collapsible Bo staff, but he ignored all of these archaic weapons and reached for a box hidden under his fencing bag.
Pressing his hand to the top of the lid, the box’s security computer quickly scanned his DNA, identifying him. The lid slid open, revealing its contents. Inside was his service pistol: a gift from his father for his graduation. His present was not the standard navy sidearm, which was an older Smith and Wesson 8mm caseless gyro jet or its more modern replacement, an S&W Model 2100 auto needlier gauss pistol.
The safe box contained a Krager Model III Electro-Mag gauss pistol. The weapon was quickly becoming the standard sidearm for the empire’s planetary police force, the Confederation Constabulary Force, or CCF for short. It was capable of firing high-velocity gauss slivers or low-velocity shock darts at the flip of a switch.
On needle function, the midsize electromagnetic handgun could punch through most body armor, falling just short of penetrating powered battle suits. When placed on shock mode, the Krager could fire a low-velocity, carbon-plast needle that once it hit a soft target would release an electro-energy burst to overwhelm its intended target's nervo
us system. The problem with shock mode was that if the target were wearing any kind of decent armor, it wouldn't work.
Yet, it was this second function as well as the reliability of the weapon that had won his father over and had made it his choice for his son’s sidearm. Commander Roger Collins wanted his son to have a pistol that was battle-tested, capable of zero gravity work, and able to be used in a non-lethal situation. Not to mention that the Krager could turn an unarmored person into ground hamburger in the blink of an eye.
Adjusting the convertible waist holster to its shoulder holster’s configuration, he quickly checked the weapon’s functions and slipped it on under his jacket. Mike then removed a second item from the box - a Randal Mark Ten fighting knife with a polycarbon blade. When he had graduated from high school, he had worked a whole summer to make enough money to buy the knife.
He had seen the weapon in an action vid about navy commandos, and though the vid stank, his interest in the knife had been aroused. He had searched until he had found a distributor, but was shocked at the expensive price. Its blade was balanced for throwing, which was rarely the greatest of ideas, and of course, it had a polycarbon blade with a laser-enhanced edge. Most of all, he liked how it felt in his hand.
Clipping the knife to his belt, he headed for the door wondering what the Gunny was getting them into.
Gunny Masters was not his normal glib and friendly self as they shuttled down to the transit station. Mike wanted to ask him what they needed so badly, but he could tell that the old man was lost in thought, and wisely left him to them.
Once they left the terminal, fighting a head wind the whole way, they quickly walked down the street until they reached a nearby parking area. The lot was for the use of employees of the once bristling terminal, as well as the space and repair stations. Now, only the repair station’s workers regularly used it. Most of the space station’s employees lived closer to one of the other transit terminals, which was more convenient.
Currently, the lot was virtually empty; the only vehicles were those of the salvage crew and the terminal’s sole custodian. None of the cars were EM powered or gravity-flight capable. One vehicle was an older hover turbine-fan design, and was able to do vertical liftoffs and high-speed travel. One problem on Austro Prime was that because of the turbulent and sometimes gale-force winds, hover vehicles had to be powerful and well designed.
Most of the planet’s population either used grav cars if they were rich enough, or the more mundane, but reliable ground cars. The ground cars parked there used a verity of fuel sources, including some synthetic or even fossil fuels, which were still cheaper in cost to operate. Others used solar power technology or hydrogen fuel cells.
Crossing the lot, they walked past most of the more modern automobiles and hover cars to an old Ford solar powered pick-up truck. “Hop in, Mike,” Gunny said, starting the vehicle with his remote key.
The truck was originally dark red, but had faded to more of an old fire engine red over the years. It looked as if it had seen better days, and there were several dents in spots along her fenders. Mike would have normally made a joke about her condition, but sensing the Gunny’s mood, he thought better of it. He was very surprised by the roar of the truck’s engine and the sound of the truck’s tires as they pealed out of the parking lot.
“She don’t look like much, but she has it under the hood!” the old marine said with pride and a huge grin.
Mike returned his smile, relaxing a little with the Gunny’s comments. “Where are we going, and what are we getting that is so important?”
“Well, we do need food, medical supplies, and personal weapons, but that’s not our mission today.”
Mike looked to his face, still wondering what they were searching for and why he was being so cryptic. “Then what are we looking for?”
“Think about it, Mister Collins. What do we need besides those things I mentioned?” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. He was manually driving the truck rather than letting the onboard computer autopilot the vehicle.
Pausing for moment, Mike considered his friend’s riddle before answering. “We need space suits and more hull armor, but we can get some of that from the Rebecca. We may also need some computer components.”
“No, but those are things for the shopping list,” he said as he drove them into the scarier side of town. They were heading to the dock section where freight was unloaded and shipped out to their various distributors. “Think on more of a human level.”
Mike now understood where he was going. They were still hurting when it came to manpower. The forty-five retirees were doing an amazing job, but even with his friends’ help, they would be hard pressed to man all the stations and continue repairs 24/7.
“We need more crew, but I don’t think the men from the docks are the kind of men we need.”
Stopping in front of a bar with a flashing neon sign, Masters pointed toward the sign. It said “Peg Leg Pete’s” with the picture of a redheaded dancing girl with a peg leg and an eye-patch. The words underneath the girl said “Live Entertainment!” “We’re here!” announced the old marine.
Collins was stunned that this bar was not only on the docks, but was one of those bars that were on the Academy’s restricted list. The local police often had to break up bar fights or identify a body found within a few city blocks from its doorstep.
“Are you crazy? The last I heard, the local cops were scared to go in there and the CCF had to be called in the last time there was a fight!” he stated, looking incredulously at the ancient marine.
“Relax, we’re looking for one man, not a crew,” Gunny said as he got out of the truck and started walking toward the front doors. Mike was left sitting in the truck for a second as he decided what he should to do. “Once more into the Valley of Death,” he muttered as he quickly rushed to catch up to the old marine.
Following him into the bar, he was not surprised by what he saw. The place was smoky and smelled as if it was more than synthetic tobacco they were smoking. It was early, and only the far end of the bar was crowded. The normal loud laughter and talking seemed to decrease as they entered. Behind the old and beaten-looking wooden bar was a redhead with an eye patch, but she was as old and beaten as the bar. Mike was sure that if she had smiled at him he would have seen a distinct lack of teeth.
“Look lads, the old wolf’s come back,” someone said, loud enough for them to hear across the room.
“Sorry, granddad, but we still don’t need a cook!” another yelled, followed by a roar of laughter.
Mike took his eyes off the group of jokers and looked to the Gunny for a moment. The retired marine seemed to ignore them as his eyes squinted and scanned the room, looking for someone else. "They seem to know you, Gunny.”
Masters scoffed with a “Humph!” and then started to walk across the room, keeping parallel with the bar. He was heading towards a table near the far wall.
“Who are they?” Mike questioned, glancing back to the bar where the half dozen or so men were returning to their drinks.
“They are privateers, but really they’re nothing more than a bunch of pirates!” This now made sense to Collins: when the war broke out, the Confederation needed ships and allowed heavier merchant vessels to arm themselves and attack Karduan commercial traffic.
This was not the first time in history that a government had hired private ships to help attack enemy shipping. Privateers were legalized pirates who carried Letters of Marques from the government, which gave them their authorization. This approval set them apart from normal pirates that operated as pure criminals without any governmental support.
England’s Queen Elizabeth I had depended on her privateers called Sea Dogs, to raid Spanish shipping in order to weaken her enemy and provide money to finance her war in the Netherlands. Captains like Howard, Hawkins and Drake were the cornerstones of England defense and the cause of the ultimate defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588.
The fledgling United States
used privateers during the American Revolution to fight the same people who perfected their use against the Spanish. They were used to attack the British shipping industry so badly that the Lloyds of London Insurance Company was begging Parliament to end the war. The issuing of Letters of Marques and the employment of privateers was even a power given to Congress under the U.S. Constitution.
America again used privateers to augment its forces during the War of 1812 and later the Confederate States of America used them to raid Northern shipping. Two of the most famous southern raiders were the CSS Florida and the CSS Alabama.
Although the Treaty of Paris 1856 and later the Hague Conference of 1922-23 had outlawed the use of privateers, the United Confederation of Earth had authorized the use of privateers since the start of the war with the Karduans.
The Confederation’s Emperor, though only a figurehead for both the Confederation and for America, was highly influential. Some people even said that without his family’s support and wise guidance, the Confederation would fall apart. He had even suggested the law to allow corporate security ships as well as the reestablished religious orders of knights, like the Catholic Church’s Templars and Hospitalers, as well as the Protestant Michaelites and Knights of St. George to take part in the war without being under direct Confederation Senate control.
He had even argued that the use of privateers had precedence for the establishment of both England and America’s fundamental freedom. The use of such legalized raiders had even been included in the American Constitution.
The Log of the Gray Wolf (Star Wolf Squadron Book 1) Page 4