by P J Strebor
“Strange? How so?” Weiss asked.
“I’m detecting ignition from a landing boat engine.”
“A landing boat?”
“Boat bay doors are open.”
“Override and close them.”
“I'm trying, captain,” the T-O said, while he frantically struggled with the controls. “Doors closing, captain.”
“Good,” Weiss said. “Send guards down to – ”
“They're gone!” the T-O said.
“What?” Weiss screamed.
“The landing boat got out before the doors closed.” The T-O's face sagged with astonishment. “I've never seen anything like that. The pilot must be a madman.”
“Who would be using a landing boat?”
“It has to be the Franc prisoners,” Orson said.
“So a bunch of children stole one of our boats?” Weiss sniggered petulantly.
Orson bit down a curse. “There must be Athenians aboard the LB.”
“Impossible,” Weiss said.
“It doesn't matter,” Orson said, “now that we’re across the frontier.”
For a few moments Weiss' stood in silence as if he were actually thinking about something.
“Guards stand ready,” he said. They gathered at the main bridge hatch, rifles at their shoulders. Weiss checked the manual lock. “Saxon, drop the EDF. Tactical, scan the ship. I want to know if our prisoners are still in the captain’s … my cabin.”
Orson dutifully disengaged the EDF.
“I've swept the ship, captain,” the T-O said. “There are no enemy combatants aboard.”
“And the children?”
“They’re not on the ship.”
“Scan the landing boat.”
“She's out of range.”
“Helm, hard about,” Weiss shouted. “Plot an intercept course with the landing boat.”
After a few seconds of stunned silence the helmsman said, "But that will take us back under the monitor's guns."
“He's right, captain,” the T-O confirmed.
Weiss drew his pistol and aimed it at the helmsman’s head. "Carry out your orders or I will relieve you of duty, permanently.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” the sullen helm said. “Coming hard about now.”
“This is madness,” Orson said. “We are in Pruessen space. We have accomplished our mission. The technology works. And you want to wander into a monitor's torpedo envelope for a handful of children. For God's sake let them go.”
“Shut your mouth, Saxon,” Weiss shouted. “I am captain of this ship. Do you have any idea how much those children are worth?” Sensing the potential danger he swung his sidearm to point at Orson’s stomach. “The Athenians won't fire on us. Not while they think we have civilians aboard.”
“That's enough.” Orson forced his rage under control although the urge to kill every useless headhunter on the bridge burned hot. “This mission is under the direct authority of IPN Intelligence. Under that authority I order you to come about and resume course to Virtus.”
“Your authority ended at the frontier. This is my ship now.”
“I'll see you hang for this, Weiss.”
“That's mutiny, lieutenant.” Weiss addressed the two largest bridge guards. “Throw this mutinous dog into the brig.”
“You want us to go out there, ah, captain?” one of the guards asked.
“Just do it,” Weiss screamed.
Too many guards on the bridge but it's a long way to the brig. Every muscle of Orson’s body flexed for action.
CHAPTER 65
“Captain, something's happening,” Hookes said.
Waugh strode across the bridge and hovered behind the tactical station. She knew better than to interrupt Hookes' concentration. The plot showed two red icons moving toward Truculent. Waugh tried to contain her hope.
Hookes' smile crept around the edges of her sensor hood. “I have two craft on an intercept course. A headhunter landing boat with,” a pause while she fine tuned, “Picaroon in pursuit.”
“How many people are aboard the landing boat?”
“I can't tell with her shields activated.”
“Damn.” Waugh had a fair suspicion who was aboard the craft.
The satisfied expression bled from Hookes' face. “Picaroon is rapidly closing on them. I estimate they will intercept the LB three minutes shy of the Rio Grande.”
Waugh stepped back to her command chair and sat heavily. A headhunter landing boat running from a headhunter warship. It had to be Telford and the civvies.
“Captain,” Luis said, “I have a transmission coming in. Putting it onto the command channel.”
“Truculent this is the Tackies.” Smiles spread throughout the bridge as everyone recognized the voice. “We are aboard a captured headhunter landing boat and we have the – ”
A squeal of static ended Telford’s report.
“Transmission blocked by Picaroon.”
“Damn,” she hissed.
“Captain,” O'Donnell said, “my navigation console just went down. I have no way of knowing where we are.” His eyes expressed a hope felt plea.
“Captain,” Hookes said, "my navigation panel has gone down as well. We could be anywhere.”
“Captain,” Luis said, “a boat wide corruption of the – ”
“That's enough, commander,” Waugh said quietly. Although sorely tempted to follow her crew's deception the price would be far too high. “Lois, time to interception?”
“A little over five minutes, captain,” Hookes said.
Waugh nodded slowly while considering her options. “This vessel cannot cross the Rio Grande. That is set in stone. But,” she said, “the rules don’t say anything about shooting across the frontier, do they?”
On a silent invitation from Luis she leaned across the console. “If you’re wrong,” Luis whispered, “and even one of the civvies is still aboard Picaroon, and you destroy her, there are people who will use that as an excuse to crucify you.”
“Telford said he had them aboard the landing boat.”
“His message is ambiguous.”
“Perhaps. But I believe he has them. I have larger concerns at the moment.”
“No IFF beacon on the landing boat?” Waugh nodded. Luis shrugged. “I suppose it’s time to prove your legendary status, isn't it?”
“Pulsar heads in tubes one and six thank you.”
“With the greatest pleasure, captain.”
Waugh strapped into the combat chair before tapping the stud under the right hand armrest. The iris dilated and the chair dropped into the combat sphere. She initialized her menu from the holo projector and selected real time image. The sphere's panels shimmered for a moment before displaying an image of the space surrounding Truculent.
“SMC-captain. Tie in for combat operations.”
“Acknowledged, Commodore Waugh,” the Shipboard Management Computer replied.
“SMC magnification one hundred percent.”
The headhunter landing boat filled the front panels. “SMC reduce zoom to seventy five percent and continue to adjust.” The LB shrank; the pursuing headhunter came into sight. Now things get tricky.
Her screen displayed tubes one and six loaded with pulsar heads. Because of the close proximity of the landing boat she could not risk anything more powerful. Even a clean kill could be problematic for the fragile landing boat. A Badger Class had a displacement of two hundred and fifty thousand tonnes. Picaroon’s destruction would send a wave of explosive debris against the LB’s fragile shields.
“Two minutes to intercept, captain,” Hookes reported.
“Very well.”
Come on middy. You've studied my tactics at the academy. You know what I want you to do. Perhaps he needs a wakeup call.
***
Nathan glanced at Moe. Her eyes were focused on her sensor readouts but her mouth hung open. “She's locked us up.”
“What!”
/> “Truculent’s locked her weapons onto us."
Nathan blinked, equally confused. For a terrifying moment he assumed Picaroon had restored her weapons. His mind roiled for a few seconds before understanding dawned.
“What's so bloody funny?” Moe asked.
“The captain’s sent us a message. I think.” He rubbed his right eyebrow. “How soon to intercept?”
“Eighty seconds.”
“Listen Moe, Truculent can't fire at Picaroon with us so close to her. Remember, we’ll show up as an enemy craft.”
“Yeah, no IFF. So what do we do?”
“I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“You're not going to like it.”
“So what's new?”
Nathan made his smile embody true evil.
“I'm really not going to like this am I?”
“No. But you get that.”
***
Weiss jumped as the officer's voice blared. “Captain, the landing boat is coming about.” Picaroon's tactical officer had a perplexed tone in his voice.
“Giving up at last,” Weiss said. “They can't outrun us and they can't call for help.” More importantly they could not reveal the secret keeping Picaroon's crew alive. “Weapons officer, confirm tractor readiness.”
“Confirmed, captain.”
“Captain, if they’re surrendering they're in a fucking big hurry to do so,” the tactical officer said. “Their speed has increased to flank.”
“Huh?”
“I think they're trying to ram us.”
“Bullshit. Weapons Officer, snag them as they pass and bring them aboard.”
“I'll try, captain, but at flank speed – ”
“Do whatever you have to,” Weiss screamed, “but get the fucking boat back in the bay.”
“Aye, captain.”
“Captain, we're now well inside the monitor's torpedo envelope.”
“Are we still maintaining the comm blackout?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Good. We have nothing to worry about.”
***
“They're getting awfully close don't you think?” Moe did not sound at all happy.
“Yep.”
“This isn’t a razor-back boar you know?”
“Same principle.”
Through the forward view-plate Picaroon grew in size with alarming speed. Nathan maintained an unerring course toward the enemy vessel. He waited until the slow, steady beep of the collision alarm began, counted to five and acted.
He piloted the landing boat under the onrushing warship and slid down her starboard side. The proximity alarms wailed as he skimmed perilously close to Picaroon’s hull. Nathan steered the craft into a vicious turn to starboard pinning everyone to their chairs. A tractor beam lanced out but missed them.
Nathan pulled the throttles back to zero. “Now!”
Moe touched a single control key. The internal gravity went down and the craft plunged into darkness.
***
“They're gone!” the T-O cried.
“What!” Weiss screamed.
“I've lost the landing boat. She was on my screen then … nothing.”
Weiss rubbed his bearded chin.
“She's probably gone doggo,” the weapons officer suggested.
With no power emissions betraying her position it would take a little longer to retrieve her. A foolish gesture on their part.
“Helm bring us about. Take us to the landing boat's last known position.”
“Aye, captain.”
“I'm going to enjoy spending time with the pilot of that boat,” Weiss said between set teeth. “I will enjoy it greatly.”
***
“Pretty good flying for a grommit,” Luis said through her earpiece.
“Hmm.” Waugh’s attention had been on the landing boat but now it switched to Picaroon. She had assumed Telford would try something to separate himself from the enemy ship. His dicey maneuver had been quite spectacular. It reminded her that Telford, among other things, was a risk taker.
Right under Truculent’s looming weapons Picaroon started to come about. The Badger class had a flaw she intended to exploit.
“Now, commander.”
The boat came to Alert Condition one while the captain counted down the seconds. “Come on you big brute. Just a little further.” Picaroon turned sluggishly, again something the class was renowned for. Waugh quickly calculated the running time for her torpedo. Three seconds from mid-turn Waugh fired. Torpedo one streaked toward the target. The pre-programmed attack pattern positioned at point-blank range before detonating. A narrow, silver beam of focused energy tore through Picaroon’s thin midships keel. It pierced the bulkheads and sliced through the reactor core’s thin shielding. The core breached. A micro second later Picaroon vanished from existence in a blinding flash of energy.
CHAPTER 66
When the dull ache between Nathan’s shoulder blades erupted into fire Nathan acted.
“Bring all systems back online. Full power to shields. Route back-up power to the keel blisters.”
Even as he talked and before Moe acknowledged, Nathan raised the boat’s nose rotating it through her axis, presenting her keel to the enemy ship. Nathan averted his eyes when the darkness was illuminated by a blinding white flash as Picaroon vaporized.
Seconds later Picaroon’s death throes of reached out and struck the little craft with a massive, angry fist. The LB spun through her axis out of control. The high velocity debris slammed into the boat, overloading the shield blisters. More debris continued to hammer the hull, sounding as if they were inside a metal drum being pounded by house-sized hailstones. Systems shorted out and every emergency alarm wailed.
Eternal seconds later the shock wave passed. They were still alive, for the moment at least. Nathan fought the wildly gyrating boat under control, wishing all the while he had spent more time in the LB simulator. Finally the shuddering craft fell silent and grew still. Nathan took a deep breath.
Moe’s face had turned white and rigid.
“I don't think we'll try that again,” Nathan said.
Moe stared at him for a long moment before remembering how to use her vocal cords.
“Well I'll be buggered. It worked.”
“Yeah, I guess our luck …” Nathan skin prickled. He glanced around the flight deck. “We’re venting atmosphere. I think it would be a good idea to do something about that, don't you?”
Moe unbuckled and went to the emergency repairs locker. While she set to work locating and plugging the various small punctures to the flight deck's hull, Nathan stepped through the hatch to check on his passengers. Meta and Ozzie were working on repairs. The kids remained strapped in to their seats, shocked but unharmed.
The middies were plugging the worst of the hull punctures while Dearkov tore a utilities locker apart searching for more sealant. Flencher remained strapped to his seat, a long dribble of vomit on his undershirt.
“Bad enough to be stripped of my clothing and strapped into this death machine,” he whined, “but then one of your friends vomits on me.”
“Them’s the breaks, Flencher.” Nathan smiled at Ozzie. “Did you forget to take your medication?”
Ozzie answered with a crooked smile.
“It wasn't him,” Flencher said.
Dearkov rounded on the former headhunter with a blazing expression that could sear marble. The small dibble of vomit sticking to the side of her mouth completed the story. Nathan clamped his jaw and returned to the flight deck. Moe had located and plugged the major leaks and was now huddled over the sensor readouts. Nathan began a systems check.
Although the shields, along with most of their attitude thrusters and maneuvering plating, were destroyed by the blast, the LB’s hull integrity had held up surprisingly well. Presenting the stronger aspect of her keel to the blast contributed to their survival. Protecting their vitally import
ant engines was a plus. Now, if our luck can hold for just a little longer —
Crack!
Nathan cocked his ear. It had been a sharp, distant sound similar to an icicle snapping underfoot. A hasty inspection of the flight deck failed to show where the noise originated.
Meta stuck her head through the hatch way. “We’ve plugged the larger holes but we’re still venting air. The air recycler is not keeping up with the demands of eleven people. Nathan, we need to get back to Truculent fast or we’re going to be in trouble.”
“Very well. Moe, I need a course.”
“I have Truculent. Steer 288 by 351 by 72 and we should make rendezvous in under two minutes.”
Nathan punched in the coordinates.
Crack!
“What is that?” Moe asked.
“I don't know. And I don't like what I don't know. Let's go home. The comm is in fair shape, try raising the boat. Advise them of our condition and request a straight-in tractor approach.”
“You've got it, Stanley. Now that Picaroon has gone to the big shipyard in the sky it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Nathan engaged both engines and pushed the throttle controls steadily forward. When the starboard engine reached sixty percent thrust the boat vibrated. He eased off and pushed the port engine fully open.
Crack! Crack!
That sound could really get on a person's nerves after a while. The growing ache between his shoulders foretold a far more unpleasant outcome.
“I've got Truculent.” Moe reported their condition and requested an immediate straight in tractor approach.
“Come on home middy,” Waugh said. “Commander O’Donnell is in the LCC awaiting your arrival. Please advise ETA.”
"One point five minutes, captain," Moe responded.
“Is everyone all right?”
Moe glanced at Nathan and smiled. “Excuse me, ma’am, I have something to attend to. I’ll put you over to Mister Telford.”
“Very well.”
Moe leaned back and hooked her hands behind her head. Keying his LM he said, “Telford here, skipper. We have taken a few bumps but we're in fair shape. And captain, so are the children.”
“Outstanding.” An unaccustomed pause. “Mister Telford, who is piloting the LB?”
“I am, captain. But don't tell the COB or she'll have a stroke.”