The Log of the Gray Wolf (Star Wolf Squadron Book 1)

by Shane VanAulen

  Helping him strip out of his spacesuit she noticed that parts of his suit were covered in dried light blue blood. This reminder her not only of what this young man was capable of, but also of the dangers he had faced. Underneath the suit he was wearing a standard duty uniform, which reeked of sweat.

  “Off with those!” she said and then pointed to the shower as she held her nose. “To the shower with you,” she commanded, pushing him toward the bathroom.

  “What? I don’t smell anything,” he said innocently as he gave her only token resistance. In truth, he desperately wanted that shower.

  She gave him a finally push and hit the close panel on the sliding door.

  “Stay in there until you are clean and no longer smell.”

  The look on her face made him laugh as he striped off his filthy clothing. Stepping into the stall he adjusted the shower’s controls and was extremely happy when the nozzle rained warm water down on him.

  Some ships didn’t have real water showers and instead had vibration units, which literally shook the filth from your skin. Some people liked the vibro units, but to him it always felt like a thousand ants were marching across his skin. The shower did have a bake dry unit, which could feel like a warm summer’s day or to the extreme feeling of being in a dry sauna.

  He skipped the bake dry and found a towel outside the stall on a rail. Toweling down he had another dilemma as his clothes were only fit for the rubbish bin. Just as he was about to call out for some help the sliding door opened unexpectedly. He had thankfully wrapped the towel around his waist, but nonetheless he was embarrassed.

  “Hey, I’m naked here!” he said in protest as Duarte entered with a second towel and a set of hospital pajamas.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m a doctor and I have three brothers,” she said as matter of fact. Handing him the bundle she turned and left.

  Mike watched her go as he fumble with the clothes and towel.

  “Well, I’m not your brother and you’re not my doctor. My doctor is a little old lady who swears like a drunken sailor and bakes me cookies!”

  With her back turned he couldn’t see her smile, but she did let loose with a long tirade of what he had to guess was French swear words. Quickly getting dressed he felt a little silly as he left the bathroom in his patient jammies.

  Angelique had gotten them some food while he had been cleaning up and was setting the little cabin’s small table.

  “Sit down, you must be ravenous,” she said, almost running him over as she busily retrieved plates and utensils from a cabinet.

  Her accent and the way her nose crinkled when she was serious made him smile. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened and he found himself with a stupid grin on his face. He also found himself not looking to the food on the table even though his stomach made a loud growling noise, but to the scurrying woman. She had turned and looked at him when his belly rumbled and made a frown, which made him smile again.

  “Sorry,” he said turning away from her gaze and looking down at the table.

  “That’s alright, I like the way you smile at me,” she said softly and the added, “Now eat, eat!” she encouraged, waving her hands at him.

  Dinner was a chicken broth soup, a turkey sandwich with the crusts cut off and a small plate of steamed veggies. Dinner conversation started off with where they were raised and their families. She was a native of New Gaston, the sole daughter of an old country doctor and his considerably younger second wife. Her three older brothers were from her father’s first marriage, but to them she was their baby sister and their beloved jewel.

  The family had been a little upset, but quite proud when she went off to Earth for college and medical school. Her brothers had never left for an off world college having stayed on planet to run the family farm. One brother was the local schoolteacher and all were members of the local constabulary. When the war broke out she felt obligated to go to where she was needed most. Two of her brothers had joined the Confederation Marines and were somewhere across the galaxy and were hopefully safe.

  Mike found himself asking questions and telling her of his own small family. It had always been him, his mom, dad and his little brother Hank. His dad was a career military officer and his mother a research scientist presently on Earth. Hank was a spoiled brat, but he loved the little rug rat and missed him.

  He had also mentioned his father’s family and the unusual separation between them. He knew he had an uncle and cousins, but had never met them or even knew their names. Some past argument had estranged them and the injury had never been healed. Mike had never felt himself open up so much to someone before and it was like he had known her for years.

  Angelique stood up, crossed to a cabinet and returned with a bottle of brandy she had found while searching the pantry. As she started to clear the dishes he poured them each a drink. Taking sip he felt his eyes growing heavy and he naturally put his hand on his chin to support his tired head.

  “So, how did you end up on the Star Wolf and do you always go running around the universe saving people?” she asked, trying to make the last part sound like a jest. When he failed to answer she turned to find that he had fallen asleep.

  Forcing him to stand up she took him to the bedroom and laid him down. Looking down at him she smiled, shook her head and then commanded the room’s computer to turn the lights off. Taking her robe off she crawled into bed with him, quickly falling asleep against the warm chest of the sleeping Mister Collins.

  Mike couldn’t remember a more satisfying sleep. He had no idea of the time when he finally woke and within a moment he really didn’t care. Lying next to him was a sleeping beauty. She had spooned with him as they slept and he found her back against his chest and his arm over hers and across her breast. She was holding his hand and was softly murmuring to herself as she slept. It was nothing that he could understand being not only unintelligible, but also in French.

  Being a young, healthy and normal male he quickly found himself becoming uncomfortable with his pelvis against her rear. Before he could think of anything appropriate to do she turned in her sleep ending up face to face with him. On impulse he softly kissed her forehead.

  Angelique’s eyes slowly opened and she smiled. She then nuzzled closer to him and arched her neck to kiss him. It didn’t take them long to lose what little clothes they had on.

  Youth had its benefits and though they loved quickly soon they were once more exchanging pleasantries. Afterwards they were spent and fell back to sleep in each other’s arms.

  When Mike awoke he found that he was alone. Rising he looked out into the small apartment’s living room and found it equally vacant. Returning to the bedroom he considered returning to bed and getting a little more sleep. Other than the short dream filled nap he had on the Alamo, he had not only been awake, but also active and in danger for almost two full days.

  He changed his mind when he saw that a standard ship’s uniform had been laid out for him next to his personal equipment. The uniform wasn’t his, but it looked like it would fit though the pants seemed a little baggy. His rank insignia had been removed from his soiled uniform and was on the new shirt’s collar.

  Taking another shower, he hurried as he started to wonder about his makeshift command. Getting out he toweled down and called out to the ship’s comm. computer,

  “Computer open channel to the bridge.”

  “Bridge here,” a reply came a second later.

  “This is Lt. Collins, who has the duty?”

  Lt. Daley sir, do you want patched through?” the comm. officer asked needlessly as Mike said yes.

  “Hey sleepy head, good to see you’ve risen from the dead,” Martin joked, keeping voice down so only he could hear.

  “Funny, what’s the status of our repairs and how’s the system look?” he asked as he quickly got dressed in his new uniform.

  “The system is as they say “all’s quiet,” and the repairs are going at an incredible rate though we’ve had some problems.”


  Mike paused from checking his Krager’s functions to look up even though the comm. unit was somewhere around him. “What does that mean?”

  Martin chuckled telling him whatever it was it wasn’t that serious.

  “Go on down to the Alamo and see for yourself.”

  He didn’t like the mystery, but he knew his friend long enough to know that it wasn’t an emergency.

  “What about the crew?”

  Again he laughed, “Which one?”

  Collins wanted to slap him, but before he could say anything he continued.

  “They’re doing just fine. The Mammoth’s crew has been busy since we released them. They have completed a diagnostic of the Mammoth’s systems and have made minor repairs. They and their repair droids have been at it for twenty-two hours straight and you’ll be amazed at their progress. Our people and the crew of the Alamo have all been fed, showered, given clean uniforms and have had a full duty shift off. Those that are up to it have been asked to lend a hand and to the man they have reported for duty. The Alamo’s crews had it the worst, half of their twenty-eight people aren’t even original members of their crew, but are survivors of the Lexington. Dr. Duarte has been helping them adjust. I’m setting up a duty roster as we figure out their MOSs.”

  “Keep the Mammoth’s crew intact they almost have a full complement except for officers. They’ll have a job getting those crippled ships operational or stripped. Keeping them together is the best thing for them and for our cause. Assign our people to the Alamo except for a boarding team for the Carronade under Gunny Masters. Keep the original Alamo’s crew on their ship with our people. Survey the survivors from the Lexington and use them to fill in, but as best as possible try to keep as many of them together.”

  “Roger that, in fact I’ve already have something similar to that set up,” Martin said, having second-guessed him. “Also, I placed our people as armed guards on our Karduan guests. The Mammoth’s people wanted to toss them out an airlock.”

  “Good work, have Ensign Stevens talk to them and figure out who the hotheads are. God knows they have a good reason to kill them all, but we don’t sink to that level,” Mike said completely understanding their reasons for hatred and vengeance.

  “Agreed.”

  “Oh and Martin beings you’ve done such a good job you’re now the acting captain of the Mammoth.”

  Mike quickly ended the transmission before he could get an argument. He could just hear a reply before the link was severed and he wasn’t exactly sure what his friend said, but it sounded like … “Oh Shit!”

  Buckling on his equipment belt and filling his pocket with his personal junk he looked about the room, but didn’t find a note or even a digital message. Leaving the bedroom he noticed that someone had brought a tray of food from the galley and left it on the small table. Beside the breakfast was a handwritten note.

  “Next time you get the breakfast,” it said and was signed with a capital AD.

  Shaking his head with a smile he quick wolfed down the eggs, toast and juice. Slipping out of the bedroom he saw that the infirmary was crowded with Mammoth personnel who had reported for a mandatory check-up and to have minor ailments treated.

  Angelique was busy talking to her next patient as a corpsman took another crewman into an examining room. Even as hectic as it was she noticed him leaving and gave him a big smile as her pale white completion blushed to a shade of rose.

  Leaving the sickbay, he had to consult his palm pad for the floor plans of the Behemoth class starship. The place was huge with machine shops, parts storage rooms, shuttle bays, and crew quarters. The ship even had a rec-center and movie theater. It was even larger than a battle carrier, which he had always thought was like a floating city.

  Traveling down the hallway he found a central lift and called for the elevator. Entering the lift, he took it three decks down to the portside repair bays, stopping at repair bay number two.

  Exiting the lift, he saw that the Alamo was right where he left her. He was shocked at her condition because she looked like an entirely different ship. The old Battle Class frigate’s hull had at least two-dozen droids floating about it. They were busily repairing battle damage and restoring the ship’s breeched hull armor with brand new panels.

  The old damaged sections where taken off to one side where other droids cut out the damaged sections making them into smaller panels. They then hauled the recycled armor to a storage facility to be held until needed for repairs on ships in the future.

  There was a grav crane and a ceiling mounted ship’s crane that assisted with the replacement of damaged weapon’s turrets. At least thirty men, mostly members of the Wolf’s boarding party and the Mammoth’s repair crew were working on the exterior and coming and going from the interior of the ship. Down on the repair bay’s floor he could see Mister Cappilo, Ensign Kelly and a third man huddled in a small circle.

  Walking across the bay he approached the group unnoticed, as they seemed to be in a heated discussion.

  “I’m telling your sir that it just won’t work!” an older chief warrant officer said, looking red in the face and disgusted with the younger man.

  The chief warrant was at least sixty-five and must have weighted a good two hundred and eighty pounds. This surprised Mike because of the modern gene therapy and weight control drugs that were available had all but made obesity extinct. He also had a well-trimmed beard, which was permitted by Confederation regulations yet was seldom worn. Across the right side of his workshop overhauls was the name ‘Wineburg’ on a small nameplate.

  “Chief, I’m telling you it can be done,” Rufo stated with a friendly smile, as he held out his palm pad for the older man to see.

  “What’s the problem?” Mike asked, giving the group a surprise.

  Rufo started to say that there wasn’t any problem, but Collins held up a finger cutting him off.

  “Go ahead Chief you go first.”

  “Sir, Mister Cappilo wants to take a particle turret meant for a light cruiser and put it on this old frigate.”

  “And?”

  The older man looked distressed at having another of these young pups show up yet he realized that this young pup had not only saved their butts, but was also their commanding officer.

  “And frigates don’t have the power to operate a system like this, let alone the superstructure to house it.”

  Mike nodded as if this made perfect sense, which it did.

  “Lieutenant, what’s makes you think this will work?” he said, turning to the still smiling Italian.

  “Sir, these older Battle class frigates were made with much more power than they really need and all we have to do is switch out a few capacitors and a power regulator with more modern ones. Though the chief’s right in that the more modern frigates couldn’t power a turret that size unless they were one of those newer heavy frigates, but the Alamo can,” he said full of confidence.

  “What about the superstructure?” Wineburg interjected, still not convinced of their plan.

  “That just it, this class have exceptionally heavy armor with a structure to carry it, and we’ll reinforce the housing to make sure there’s no problems. Also it already has the right sized hole where the old smaller particle cannon use to be, so lets make use of it.”

  Mike looked down at the plans and was surprised that he completely understood them. Before he had joined the Wolf’s crew he would have struggled to make heads or tails of them, but since then he had been involved in so many repair operations that it now seemed old hat. Noticing that Jamie Kelly had been standing there without speaking he looked to her.

  “What do you think Ensign Kelly?”

  Her Irish eyes lit up as she was drawn into the conversation rather than standing there brooding. She had been waiting there in silent anger at being left out of the decisions that were being made for her ship.

  “I think it will work and it would be good if the Alamo had a bigger bite.”

  He looked b
ack to the chief warrant, “Well?”

  “All right sir, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work or if it blows up,” he said, washing his hands of the responsibility of it all. He then took the palm pad and went off to install the light cruiser turret. Kelly nodded once to him and then hurried to catch up to the chief warrant and help supervise the installation.

  Collins looked to Rufo questioningly.

  Cappilo shrugged, “He’s a good man and he knows his job just a little closed minded.”

  “I think that’s what the rest of us call cautious and practical. You are sure this will work, right?” Mike asked, wanting to be reassured one more time.

  “Sure it will, in fact I’ll bet your life on it,” he said with a grin.

  He looked at him with frown on his face, “That’s suppose to be, I bet my life on it.”

  “Yeah that’s what I said,” he agreed, looking to the other side of the vast bay.

  Mike followed his gaze and saw that in the distance there was work taking place on the other damaged frigate.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  “Well, only so many people can really work on the Alamo at one time so a bunch of our guys that didn’t have anything to do started working on the Java.”

  The ISS Java was in even worse shape than the Alamo had been. The old frigate had taken a partial spinal particle hit to its uppermost deck, which had completely taken off the command deck from mid-ship forward. It also had several other hull breeches and some turret damage.

  Ever the optimist Rufo smiled, “It not as bad as it looks. The engines are sound and in good shape. She has a lot less hull and turret damage than the Alamo.”

  “It is missing its bridge!”

  “Yeah, but the auxiliary controls in the engine room are back online and technically I bet we could fly her right now,” Cappilo explained, handing him another palm pad.

  Collins wondered how many hand computers his friend had, but didn’t say anything. Looking at the damage report and the list of repairs already accomplished he had to admit that he was right. The Java could return to the fight if it really had to even without a command deck.