by TR Cameron
The second ship abandoned the injured vessel, and the latter limped toward the Fortress. Explosions occurred every few seconds as the full impact of the damage manifested. Dima could see the crew opening compartments to the vacuum, smothering the fires burning within. The entire side was a mix of cooling slag and voids drilled into the ship’s structure.
“Another salvo. Same procedure, torpedoes to strike in thirty-seven seconds from… mark.” He took extreme pleasure in seeing the barrage shred the enemy ship, sending pieces of it scattering in all directions. The bridge crew cheered, and Dima imagined that the same scene was playing itself out on most of the AAN ships.
His positive attitude vanished when he saw the Fortress turn its attention from the starbase to the Seoul.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Washington was thrown from the wormhole directly into the path of an alien ship. Cross barely had time to yell, “Evasive,” before the two capital ships attempted to occupy the same space.
The Xroeshyn vessel struck the Washington aft of the midpoint, causing her to slew violently. The crew members smashed against their restraints as the ship ricocheted around.
As he fought to catch his breath, Cross prayed that the enemy crew hadn’t fared so well.
“Weapons,” he croaked, “target that ship and fire everything.” Moments later, the Washington hammered the alien ship. “Helm, get some distance, any safe heading.” The slew became part of their course correction, and she dipped to a lower plane, continuing to pour destruction into her opponent. The combination of damage overcame the enemy’s defenses, and it partially exploded. Its single engine that continued to function threw it into an unpredictable spiral across the battlefield.
“That’s not something you see every day,” Cross quipped, lightheaded from the near miss. Two head shakes cleared his thoughts, and he caught a glint of red in the corner of the visual display. He typed in a fast query. The computer confirmed it was the Ruby Rain. He tapped that icon, making it the Washington’s primary target.
“Weapons, Tactical, new objective. Keep a sharp eye on the rest of the battle while we get to it. Helm, best speed to intercept that ship.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. The Washington had barely escaped the destruction of the colony and the planet that held it. Cross would’ve lost many people if not for the timely intervention of Dima’s squadron. It was past time for some payback.
“Communication, give me the Beijing.”
“Cross, good to hear from you,” Dima Petryaev’s voice announced over the bridge speakers. “We have a bit of a situation here. Have you come to lend a hand?”
“Well, I owe you one or two, don’t I? I’ll start by taking that damned queen off the board.” He saw they were now in extreme range of the Ruby Rain. He turned to his weapons officer, who was already staring at him. “Granted,” Cross said to the unspoken question, and torpedoes flew from their tubes seconds later.
“Actually, Commander, I may need to ask for that debt to be paid in a different fashion. Please turn your attention to the Floating fortress.” Cross examined that part of the battle display and saw what Dima was referring to. With only a small fighter screen in support, the admiral’s ship was under a brutal attack by the enemy behemoth. There was no question of whether the Knyaz-class vessel could win. The fighters were delaying the inevitable.
“How long until reinforcements arrive?”
“Unknown. I’d expected them already, so it’s possible that none are coming.”
Cross looked back at the battle plot and saw that countermeasures launched by the Ruby Rain eliminated his torpedoes. The visual display allowed him to watch his energy weapons bend away and diffuse into space, never contacting the ship. “Dammit.”
“That does about sum it up.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Cross hit the switch to cut off communication with the Beijing. “Helm, plot a course to the Seoul’s defense. Do not execute yet. Weapons, we need one more shot at that ship. Everything we have, then helm will roll to bring the second broadside to bear, fire that, then we’ll go help the admiral.”
“Aye, Commander,” responded both officers.
“Tactical, now would be a good time to brainstorm ways to assist. Coordinate your planning with the XO.” Jacobs and Kate started a low conversation over their headsets, tapping at high speed on their displays.
“Standby for roll,” Lee announced, bringing the Washington parallel to her foe.
The Ruby Rain was not idle, and its energy weapons drained the Washington’s shields. Its escort launched missiles, and the tactical officer split his attention between planning for the next fight and deploying countermeasures to keep the ship from becoming space dust.
Finally, the first broadside fired. The Washington rolled, sending the other broadside to follow the first. Another roll, and Cross ordered the course change to assist the admiral. She responded sluggishly, shuddering under the impact of the Ruby Rain’s return salvo, but he was confident they would escape this portion of the battle unscathed.
His confidence was misplaced.
Metal screeched as four torpedoes drilled into the Washington through a momentary failure in a single shield projector. The missiles targeted the front of the port side, by accident or design the shortest path to decapitate the ship by taking out the bridge. Cross was thrown upward against his restraints as chained explosions occurred in the levels beneath.
“Status,” he yelled over the cacophony of the ship’s alarm klaxons sounding.
“Major destruction on decks one through seven, Commander. The bow armaments are gone. The forward parts of each broadside are gone. Batteries are gone.” Cross turned to look at Jacobs, who’s face was ashen as his voice choked off. “Medical is gone, Commander.”
Cross closed his eyes, smashing his emotions down deeper and deeper until he could speak, “Shields?”
“I’ve expanded the dispersal patterns on the generators around the ones we lost, but we should try to keep the damaged section away from the enemy.”
The lights flickered, inducing momentary panic at the imperiled dependability of their vessel.
Cross hit the toggle to address the entire ship, “This is Commander Cross. The Washington is damaged, but still functional. Second watch bridge officers report to the auxiliary bridge immediately. Damage control teams coordinate with tactical. All personnel suit up and carry portable oxygen. Cross out.”
He smashed his harness release and stood. “Kate, Lee, get down to the aux bridge.” Cross strapped himself in at the vacant helm station. He entered a series of codes to reorganize the controls into the format he was most familiar with and transferred command functions to this display.
He heard his officers leaving the bridge, but he had neither the time nor the energy to say anything to their departing backs. The Washington sloughed onto a new course, one that would point their damaged section away from incoming fire, knowing he’d need to keep an eye on the battle to maintain that safety. “Weapons, back me up. If you see someone sneaking around to our weakened side, yell it out.”
“Will do.”
“In the meantime, fire at anything that’s close enough to fire at, but far enough away not to notice it was us. Torpedoes only.”
“Now you’re talking, Commander.”
Cross’s attention was down on his displays when a collective gasp from the members of the bridge crew alerted him. He looked up to see the Seoul’s engines flare and fail. Her weapons, shields, and running lights were extinguished. They waited in a hush for the Fortress to destroy the Alliance ship, but no such attack came.
“What the hell,” asked Jacobs. Several sounds of agreement followed. Suddenly, the entire sector rearranged itself.
The alien ships broke off their attacks as one, taking the most efficient path to bring them back to the defense of the Floating fortress. Several other vessels emerged from the behemoth and dashed for the Seoul, pulling alongside and discharging sold
iers in vacuum suits. The sparks caused by cutters piercing the hull showed the breached areas.
“Communication, Beijing.”
“Go, Commander.”
“Dima. How can we help?”
“We’re are coordinating an attack plan now. Are you willing and able to join in?”
“We are. How will we get the Seoul away from them?”
“That’s not the objective, Cross.”
He opened his mouth, but words failed to materialize. His thoughts spun. “Dima, there has to be a way…”
“It would be nice to think so, Commander, but there is not. We cannot afford to let them have access to the data on an admiral’s flagship.”
“Surely they have something in place to scuttle the computers?”
“Of course, they do. But we don’t know if anyone is still alive on the ship to do it. Without main power, without battery power, without the emergency capacitor power which is the final failsafe against the current situation, we cannot communicate with them. No way to be sure.”
“We can send Marines in shuttles with enough portable power to make it work.” Cross hoped that his pleas sounded more like logical suggestions than he feared they did. He could picture the man shaking his head already.
“That would just result in additional deaths, Commander. We’re downloading the plan to you now. You’re part of the main attack group. Form up with the Beijing, and we’ll guard your weak point.”
Cross closed his eyes again, letting the screaming in his mind overwhelm him for a moment. When he looked up, his face was stone. “Affirmative. Let’s do it.”
He forwarded the data to the auxiliary bridge and sent Kate a message: Status?
Good to go, she replied, the letters appearing on his display and lingering before fading away. There was no way he could be positive about what was about to occur, but it would’ve been better with her in the XO chair.
When he realized that his fingers lingered where her words had been, he jerked himself back to the present. “Walsh, I’ll present the starboard barrage at the ordered moment. Fire all weapons that are in range. Do not stop firing until the target is destroyed.”
“Aye, Commander.”
Cross designated the target and admired the professionalism that kept his weapons officer’s mouth shut. “Jacobs, there will be lots of work to do. Split it with tactical on the aux bridge.”
“Affirmative, Commander.” The tactical officer tapped commands to assign several defense zones to Lieutenant Commander Martin at the auxiliary tactical station. An indicator glowed on Cross’s command display as she accepted the transfer of responsibility.
For a moment, the two forces hovered, like elite competitors awaiting the start of a race. The starbase exploding served as a starting gun. The sudden brilliance preceded the debris ring that shot out in all directions. All the human ships had designated evasive vectors, which they used them immediately, scattering to avoid the debris while still charging toward their enemies.
The Xroeshyn ships, unwilling to leave the defense of their prize, took the blast without flinching. Their gravitic shields redirected some of the pieces, but sheer volume overwhelmed all the enemy fighters and many of the capital ships. The damaged vessels limped away or exploded and caused more destruction to the surviving ships.
The Alliance took advantage of the distraction with two groups attacking in a pincer movement. They dumped torpedoes and energy blasts into the defenders, wasting none on the impenetrable shields of the Fortress. After a single salvo each, the attackers retreated in long looping trajectories. While the defending forces dealt with that threat, the third group charged down from above. The Washington, the Beijing, and two others fired all their weapons at a single point on a single target.
The shieldless Seoul stood no chance against their combined efforts, and torpedoes drilled down into the ship’s magazine, setting off explosions along the spine of the ship. It cracked into pieces, and the four ships rendered those into their component atoms.
With their terrible task completed, the Alliance forces and the Washington launched themselves into the wormholes leading out of the sector, making the first of many computer-designed random hops to make the trackers’ jobs more difficult.
As his ship crossed the threshold, Cross found himself unable to look at the members of his crew, and buried himself in damage control coordination to avoid having to.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Washington reverted from tunnel space into the sector where Starbase 9 floated untroubled by the chaos infesting the universe. Cross looked up without hurry, knowing if any real trouble was imminent, his bridge crew would’ve alerted him already. What he saw made him smile wider than he had in months. He counted at least thirteen, and probably more, of the ships that had been out of the fight because they lacked wormhole drives. Cross assumed by their presence that the lack had been addressed, allowing them to join in the defense against the Xroeshyn invasion. He looked around the bridge and saw his expression duplicated on the faces of his crew. He thought back to St. John’s advice from just days before, that they might finally be getting the break they needed. “Helm, get the ship docked as fast as they can fit us in. Request priority access to a repair bay. Coordinate repairs with Jannik.”
“Aye, Commander.”
“Incoming transmission from the Chicago.”
Cross checked his display and discovered that one of the ships in the sector was not a retrofit, but a newly christened member of the fleet. It was the first off the line of the new Nebula class, designed to project superiority against the Alliance even in their own sectors. It boasted fighters, bombers, enhanced shields, and every experimental weapon that the UAL had developed over the past decade. The last information he’d received put it at least nine months away from its maiden voyage, but clearly the schedule had been sped up. He nodded to accept the transmission and snugged his earpiece into place.
“Commander Cross, it’s been a long time,” the amused voice of Captain James Okoye, now Admiral Okoye, was a welcome sound.
“Admiral Okoye, sir, it’s mighty fine to hear from you. I thought you were flying a desk now,” he teased.
“I am, Commander. It just so happens that my desk is in the ready room off the bridge of this wonderful ship. I’m positive that Captain Roberts is tiring of me taking her command for a spin whenever the urge strikes me.”
Cross laughed. “I’m sure she’s learning a great deal by your example, Admiral.”
“Well said, Cross. You’re developing the vital skill of kissing ass required of the commander of a starship.”
Cross laughed out loud, earning him some quizzical looks from the officers around the bridge. Okoye continued, “How about we chat in person and catch up, Commander? You’re invited aboard my ship–I mean, Captain Roberts’s ship–at your earliest opportunity. I’ll even send over a shuttle.”
“Happily accepted, Admiral. The shuttle is appreciated, since ours will be busy assisting in repairs to the Washington. Shall we say 1700?”
“Works for me,” Okoye responded. “See you then.”
It smells like it just came out of the wrapping, Cross thought to himself as the shuttle docked with the Chicago. The trip over had been uneventful, and he was looking forward to visiting with his mentor. Rather than one large shuttle bay, as was common on older ships, the Nebula class had individual bays for each of its shuttles. The new design allowed easier pressurization and depressurization and preserved the integrity of the others if one should take damage. Cross stepped off the shuttle into the cleanest hangar he’d ever seen and was met by an ensign in the dress blues of the Nebula class.
“Commander Cross, sir,” she said, “please come this way.” She led him to a lift, punched in their destination, and turned to him as it moved. “If I may, Commander,” she said, reaching out to his collar and attaching a small UAL logo pin to it. “This device is your security pass while on the ship. It will allow you access to where you’re all
owed to be and deny you access where you’re not allowed to be. It also permits the ship to track you, should we need to. If you’re off-ship, it will act as a short-range emergency beacon if you press on it.” Cross noticed that she wore a pair of the insignia at her own collar points.
“This is a very snazzy ship you have here, Ensign,” Cross enthused.
“Yes sir, it is. We’re looking forward to getting her into battle and seeing what she’s capable of.”
The lift doors swished open, and she escorted him into an otherwise nondescript passageway. “The ship has chokepoints near important destinations,” she explained. “In the event of boarding, it would be poor practice for the lifts to open onto the bridge. Instead, they must pass through this antechamber.”
Cross’s experienced eye roamed the walls and noted the many indentations. “And by antechamber, you mean kill zone.”
The ensign smiled. “You say tomato, Commander, sir.”
Cross laughed. The doors parted, and they entered the bridge of the Chicago. Unlike the Washington’s, which was all shiny metal and functional lighting, this was a study in understatement. The stations were arranged around the periphery of an oval with the entrance at one end. To the right Cross identified tactical, weapons, and engineering stations. To his left, communications, air command, and something else. Centered in the space three chairs were arranged in a small semicircle, and a single station was positioned in front of them for the helm officer. In the center chair with her back to him, was the short-cropped blond hair of Jennifer Roberts. She was on the fast track to Admiral, and likely would’ve already earned her stars if the opportunity to command the first Nebula starship off the line hadn’t paused her race to the top. To her left a man he didn’t recognize displayed a commander’s insignia. To her right, wearing an admiral’s work uniform, white from cap to boots, was the dark form of his mentor and sometimes idol, Captain— no, Admiral, Cross corrected himself again— James Okoye.