I shook her hand. “I expect great things,” I said with a patented, royal smile.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said with a questioning look before turning away when I dismissed her with a nod.
“Back to your post then, Damage Control,” I said evenly.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” she said with a frown and as she turned away I could see her shrug. In moments she was over at damage control, the encounter with her ultimate superior already forgotten as she began communicating with the rest of the ship.
“Never send a man to do a woman’s job, eh?” I mused appreciatively. I sure hoped that was the case, as in this particular instance man, woman or genetically engineered uplift, I couldn’t have cared less. The last thing we needed was to be hearing about the damage to our future fresh food supply while dealing with Bugs. Heck, I might have even preferred a droid with the right personality over that other gu—well, okay, maybe I shouldn’t go that far.
A sudden thought caught me and I glanced sharply at the Tactical Station. I remembered seeing a lot of missiles spew out of the dying Harvester, and the First Officer had reconfigured our priority to missile defense. Then I remembered that the last Bugs I’d encountered had used a sort of fire and forget missile and from the lack of excitement over in the tactical area, I had to assume we’d taken care of them all by now.
Chapter 12: Round Two, Harvester Style
I sat clutching the flimsy-feeling armrests of my command chair as the reconsolidated Bug force, now grouped tightly with the sole remaining Large Harvester at its core, overcame enough of its forward momentum to come back toward us.
“Tactical, Sensors,” Laurent’s voice carried across the smaller bridge easily, “run another sensor sweep and give me a double check on the remaining enemy numbers.”
“A Harvester and a couple of Scouts,” the First Officer said after moment.
Then the Sensor Officer jumped up from a console he’d been sitting at, “I’m reading a pair of Bug Scouts, one to either side of the Harvester, Sir,” the man said excitedly.
“Yes, Warrant, that’s what Tactical already relayed,” the new Captain remarked evenly.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” the new Warrant in command of the sensor section said eagerly, “but I’m getting some strange readings from what looks like a large, circular cargo bay toward the ventral stern of the Bug ship, as seen from this orientation,” he finished, pointing at the screen.
“What is that?” I asked, staring as the cargo bay oscillated open and a large, white, almost egg-like object started to push its way out of the bay.
The Sensor Officer looked back at me and bared his teeth with the triumph of discovering something no one else had, “From the sensor readings, I think that Harvester is releasing another scout ship from its hanger,” the new-minted Warrant said into a now stunned silence. “I think maybe it was taking on more fuel?” the former sensor technician hazarded a guess.
Everyone around me was staring at the white coating around what was looking more and more like a Scout ship as it flaked away, and the Scout slowly emerged from the Harvester.
“You know what that looks like, don’t you?” one of the female technicians in the communication section said sounding thoroughly grossed out.
“Well, what are we all sitting or standing around staring at it for,” I said clapping my hands with the snap of authority, “those Bugs are getting closer every second! Lock lasers on target and erase that Scout before it gets out the back end of that other ship as soon as she’s within range!”
As if some disgusting, yet strangely compelling, magical spell had been broken, the bridge crew suddenly lurched back into action.
“Targeting the Scout, Admiral,” reported First Officer Eastwood who then shook his head, “I mean, Captain,” he said looking back at Laurent. “Preliminary target acquired pending authorization.”
Laurent waved his hand in the air irritably, “An order from the Admiral is an order from me. Besides, the Admiral’s right; we need to crush this baby bug before it has the chance to fully emerge from its…hanger. Any shots that miss it are just as likely to hit its mother…ship,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. Under his breath I could hear him mutter, “Blighted bugs,” in a disgusted voice.
Then we were back within range of our weapons, and fortunately our turbo-lasers had longer range, as well as more power, than anything those Murphy-benighted Demon Bugs could hope to come up with. By all the angry Imps, if only those big Bug ships didn’t have such better fire control than their smaller brethren, this battle would be a foregone conclusion.
“A hit,” the First Officer crowed as a pair of our shots rammed home, bursting the little Scout ship with an explosion of atmo and unidentifiable fluids and other biomass, “we’ll be taking these Bugs out behind the woodshed anytime now, y’all!”
“The woodshed?” I repeated, wondering what in the world he was talking about.
Laurent broke into a fit of chuckling that he tried to hide behind a cough. “I think he means for a good whooping,” and then at my still uncomprehending look, “to spank them, or paddle the tar out of them with a stick?”
“You mean ‘a beating’,” I slapped the palm of my hand up against my forehead and groaned. That had to be just about the stupidest, hokiest line I’d ever heard.
And then there was no more time for jokes and levity, as the Bugs found their own firing range and our ship lurched as the oncoming vessels fired in unison.
“Shields down to 10%…5%…” the Ensign reported in a ringing voice, “and the shields are gone!” The ship lurched and bucked beneath us, and again the power dimmed before returning full strength.
“Damage to the primary trunk lines for the power distribution system,” Damage Control reported in steady voice, “rerouting through secondary systems temporarily. It looks like a breaker overload from a power spike in a critical node; Engineering should have it back under control within the minute.”
Clenching my fist, I hoped they got the power sorted out as quickly as possible. The rock-steady voice of the new Damage Control Technician told me that replacing the other guy with her was already paying dividends. Even if all she had was a steadying voice and an empty brainpan, then we were already ahead by a voice. The bridge could use all the steadying influences it could get, and I was beginning to suspect that this Tech wasn’t just a better speaker than the mono-focused guy she’d replaced.
“Roll to present our starboard facing and give the portside gun deck a break,” Laurent ordered.
“The starboard hull is already damaged, Captain,” Officer Eastwood observed loudly before turning back to notify his Gunners of the maneuver.
“We roll or our guns will overheat, and pretty soon the port side will look just as bad as the starboard does right now,” Laurent said evenly, even as DuPont was rolling the ship as ordered.
The urge to put my oar in was like an itch I simply couldn’t scratch, and it was all I could do to keep from squirming in my seat and issuing a series of orders. It didn’t matter what those orders were—anything at all would work, I just needed to have something to do!
As I watched on the screen, the Harvester and its two accompanying Scouts bore down on us. The Large Harvester focused every weapon that could be brought to bear on us and fired continuously as it drew closer. The Scouts, on the other hand, were firing every beam mount they had except the ones that pointed at their sister ships. Other than that, however, they were following the same strategy of the previous Bug ships we’d previously encountered. Clearly, the Bugs performed markedly better, the larger their ship class was.
“Maneuvering for effect, Admiral,” DuPont reported crisply. My eyebrows rose in surprise, since it was Laurent who had actually issued the order and I had to suppress a smile.
“Just keep us broadside on, Mister DuPont,” I said soothingly, “Tactical and our First Officer will hammer it home.”
The Captain glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as his lips thi
nned. I met his gaze coolly and cocked an eyebrow at him. This ‘having a Captain’ business was taking some getting used to, and maybe if I’d had an actual fleet—meaning ships in addition to just this one—at my command I’d be taking a more hands-off approach to things. As it was, the former Tactical officer needed to understand that I didn’t just plan to stand by and do nothing.
I wasn’t unwilling to step back and let him stretch his wings. He could take the lead most of the time, but that was because I knew he was competent to handle the job, not because I was suddenly going to change my command style. I needed to keep my hand in the mix—both for appearances and ‘other’ reasons.
Laurent grunted unhappily before giving me the faintest of nods and turning back to stare at the main-screen with a hungry expression.
“All starboard weapons are to volley fire on my mark,” the Officer, Eastwood, said in carrying voice, slapping the head of his new microphone against his console for emphasis. He paused a second as the fire died off, “Mark!” he cried.
Turbo and heavy laser fire smashed into the Harvester, causing her to reel slightly.
“Shield power at 2%,” the Ensign at the shield console reported crisply, and his lack of negative emotions were starting to make me wonder about him when suddenly his voice tensed, “shield cascade failure; primary generator is overloading!”
“Shut it down,” barked Laurent, his head snapping around.
“I’m trying,” the Ensign said smashing his fingers on the buttons of his console, “electronic lockout’s not responding, Captain.”
“Mark!” Eastwood cried from the tactical pit and the broadside lashed out, its lasers gouging into the hide of the Bug ship.
I looked at the Ensign in surprise, since on the Clover we’d never had this particular problem. Are we going to lose our shield generators, I wondered, my hands clenching in concern.
“Secondary generator temperatures spiking,” the Ensign reported, now hunched over his console with both of his assistant shield operators working furiously beside him.
“Mark!” Eastwood thundered, his voice cutting through the sounds of the bridge, and another concentrated barrage lashed out, causing the Large Harvester to writhe on the screen and release a host of missiles in our direction
“Blast it, shut them down, Ensign!” Laurent ordered then rounded on DuPont, “evasive maneuvers, Helmsman; get us out of the path of those missiles!”
“I’m trying, Sir,” cried the Ensign.
“Yes, Sir,” DuPont said tensely—right before a hail of fire from the Harvester lashed into our side.
The ship shuddered around us and the gravity plates flickered, causing my stomach to roll.
“We’re venting atmosphere on three decks,” Damage Control reported calmly, “dispatching damage control teams and ordering personnel caught on those levels to seek cover in the nearest airtight compartments.” I could faintly hear a klaxon sound and a decompression warning come over the speaker as she spoke.
Seeing the Ensign pounding on his console in frustration with both fists, I snapped my head over to the damage control operator.
“Do something about the shield generators before they explode, or worse,” I ordered angrily, projecting authority into my voice. The last thing I needed was an argument while our defenses were destroyed, “We’re going to need them later.”
“Admiral,” the Engineering Tech acknowledged the order, then turned and tapped a series of buttons on her console and spoke rapidly into her com-link just as the lights flickered.
“Mark!” Eastwood ordered and nothing happened. At least, nothing happened from my perspective. The Bugs, on the other hand, lashed us with a renewed barrage and the ship shuddered again.
“Cascade has been averted,” the Ensign reported with obvious relief, “complete power loss reported.”
“What happened to my guns,” roared the First Officer, “gunnery reports they have no power!”
“Rerouting power now,” Damage Control responded.
“We have missiles on close approach,” Eastwood raged, “fix it now or heads will roll, Damage Control!”
“Starboard secondary engine damaged,” cried DuPont, “she’s lost for at least the rest of this battle; upping main engine to 110% to compensate!”
“Go to point defense, rapid fire at will,” snapped Laurent, “and get me back my shields.”
“Point defense, aye,” responded Officer Eastwood.
“We can’t, Sir,” the Ensign said in a high voice, “it looks like we fried the main breakers for the Primary Generator and shorted out the load balancer.”
“Do a system reboot, and make it fast,” Laurent ground out with frustration, “and don’t make me tell you how to do your job again—you won’t like the results.”
“I don’t mean the computer program’s damaged, Sir,” the Ensign reported, “we’ve either lost the main junction relay box to a Bug strike, or else the hard lines leading into it physically melted during the near-cascade.”
“Murphy’s Imps,” cursed Laurent, “just do the best you can and don’t bother me until they’re back up.”
“ETA: half hour,” replied the Shield Ensign.
“What part of ‘don’t bother me’ did I fail to make clear?” Lauren barked before turning back to the main screen, where a host of missiles was about to hit the ship. I found myself unconsciously holding my breath when the ship’s deck started to shiver.
“Rolling the ship,” DuPont shouted.
“No, stay on course,” Laurent yelled.
“With only two engines—each at 110%—I’m losing control of the ship,” snapped the Helmsman, and then the ship jumped out from under me and I started to rise out of my chair before slamming back down onto its thin, unforgiving padding.
Cries of dismay came throughout the bridge as people slammed down into, or in some cases, fell out of their chairs.
Shaking my head and forcing down my gorge as the grav-plates struggled to compensate, I grimly held onto my command chair with both hands.
“Yes!” Laurent said from where he was holding onto a grab rail with both hands, and my eyes snapped up to the holo. On the main screen—and flashing past our ship’s position—was a swarm of missiles.
“Good work, Helmsman,” I said.
“Yes,” Laurent agreed, shaking his fist at the screen as the majority narrowly blew past our ship, while most of the remaining projectiles were taken out by our point defense.
As I watched, the Harvester and both Scouts fired through the area of space we had just vacated; it was a narrow miss, but a miss all the same.
“That was close,” I said with feeling.
“This is our chance; port side, fire at will,” our First Officer yelled into his microphone, and then pounded its base on the desk in excitement as our boys and girls down on the gun deck communicated in their own way with the enemy. Only a little over half the broadside lanced out than had before our surprise jump, but unlike when we first started firing, each shot that landed was now causing major damage.
“I’m reading multiple penetrations through their hull,” the Sensor Officer reported eagerly, “the Bugs are venting atmo and crew-bugs out the rents in its armor.”
“Pour it on, Gunnery,” roared Eastwood, “and we’ll blow these Bugs to kingdom come!”’
I was watching the screen as the Harvester twisted and slewed around in space, before turning its engines toward us.
“They’re trying to get away,” yodeled Eastwood, “we’ve got’em on the run.”
Then I saw a larger amount of debris than usual venting from the Bug ship and my eyes widened.
“Steady on, Clinton,” Captain Laurent instructed the First Officer.
“Sensors, enhance the picture of that debris,” I said jumping out of my seat, “and throw it up on the main screen.”
“Sir?” the Sensor Officer asked, turning around to look at me questioningly.
“Use every one of your sensors if you have to,
just get me that picture,” I said flatly.
“We need some of those sensors for fire control,” Laurent protested with surprise as he swiveled around to look at me with concern.
“Do it, Officer,” I snapped ignoring the Captain, “or I’ll find someone who will!”
“Yes, Sir, Admiral,” the Sensor Officer exclaimed, spinning around to give the order which his sensor operators were already carrying out.
The first of the images came up on the screen and my stomach clenched. “Too many,” I whispered, pounding a single fist into the padding of my chair arm.
“Admiral?” Laurent said urgently.
“Not now, Captain,” I said, my eyes flashing back and forth between the new images coming up.
“We need some of those sensors for Tactical, Sir!” Laurent all but shouted.
“Fine,” I said irritably, “Warrant Officer, return sensors to whatever they were doing before.”
“Yes, Sir!” the Sensor Officer said.
“Murphy save us from Flag Officers,” Officer Eastwood muttered loud enough for me to hear, which meant that since I could hear him, it had to be deliberate.
Fortunately for the First Officer, I had more important things to worry about than him.
“It’s just some Bugs vented from when we pierced their hulls,” Laurent leaned towards me and explained in an overly patient voice, “please, sir, let me fight this ship. We’ll take down the Bugs in short order.” He then turned toward the Helmsman, “Mister DuPont, maneuver to avoid those Bug engines; I don’t want a collision, or encounter of any kind with their exhaust. As the Admiral’s shown, hitting something with your engine flare can be hazardous to a ship’s health!”
A number of the bridge crew laughed, and I realized that after politely rebuking me for stealing his sensors, the Captain was trying to smooth it over by paying me a compliment—but I didn’t have time for that.
“Comm., get me the Lancer and Armory Leaders,” I said flatly, “and somebody get me some tea!” The communications operator wasn’t the only one to look at me with concern over this latest outburst, but fortunately for the Operator’s health he got the two men on the line.
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