“Entering stealth mode,” Roach reported. “The freighters can barely see us.”
“Even though they know where to look,” William finished. He smiled as he checked the live feed from the tactical sensors. A pirate ship would have to come very close, well within weapons range, to have a hope of picking the warships out of the background noise. “Keep a steady sensor watch at all times.”
William forced himself to wait and relax as two hours passed slowly, handing the conn to Roach and walking from department to department to make sure everyone was on their toes. He trusted Roach and his other senior officers, but there was no substitute for going and checking the departments himself. And besides, it gave him a chance to impress on his officers and crew that the captain was paying attention to them. Too many commanding officers left such matters to their XO, in his opinion; they never bothered to press the flesh with the lower decks.
Probably because they were taught to keep a distance between themselves and the enlisted men, he thought wryly. But it doesn’t do wonders for loyalty. He’d never been through Piker’s Peak.
The crew was definitely starting to look and act more professionally, he considered, as he ended his impromptu inspection tour in sickbay. A handful of crewmen had been caught with traces of recreational drugs in their systems during their medical checks, but they’d sworn blind that they’d discarded their drugs shortly after William had taken command of the ship. William had given them a sharp lecture and a stern warning that they would be sent to a penal world if they were caught using illegal drugs while they were on the ship. He then released them for duty on the proviso that they report back to the doctor every week for a checkup. He still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing—even if they weren’t addicts, they’d find it easy to justify trying to break the rules again—but as time went by without further discoveries, he decided he’d probably saved their careers.
Besides, we are short of crew, he thought, grimly. We need to preserve as many of them as possible.
His wristcom bleeped. “Captain to the bridge,” Roach’s voice said. “I say again, captain to the bridge!”
William grinned as he turned and hurried back towards the bridge. He wouldn’t have been summoned unless something was happening, something important. Roach wouldn’t want to surrender the conn any sooner than necessary . . . he hadn’t wanted to either, back when he’d been an XO himself. Command experience counted when the promotions board was considering who best to promote . . .
And having the right family and planetary connections doesn’t hurt either, he added mentally, feeling a trace of the old resentment.
He stepped onto the bridge. “Report!”
“Four sensor contacts, approaching us on attack vector,” Roach said, rising. “They’re a little hesitant, but I think that won’t last very long.”
William nodded, surveying the tactical display. The pirates—and they had to be pirates, because they were making no attempt to contact the convoy—were sneaking closer and closer, but they weren’t committing themselves. They were probably trying to sniff out any warships while they could still break off. They’d have ample time to escape if they detected either of the cruisers before they entered attack range. But Uncanny and Lightning were in stealth. The pirates would have to be very lucky to catch a sniff of them before it was too late.
Their sensors are probably worse than ours, he thought.
“Alert Lightning, then take us to red alert,” he ordered. “Do we have any tactical data?”
“Not as yet, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Leonard Thompson said. The tactical officer was working his console with practiced skill. “They’re probably destroyers, judging from the mass readings, but they could be using ECM to hide their true nature.”
“Yes, they could,” William agreed.
He contemplated the tactical situation as the newcomers came closer. A pirate ship would want to intimidate her opponents, particularly if she wanted to capture the freighters rather than destroy them. However, a Theocracy raiding squadron might want to pretend to be weaker, just to lull their prey into a false sense of overconfidence. In hyperspace, telltales would be hard to discern before it was too late.
But a raiding squadron would probably open fire as soon as they enter weapons range, he thought. Fighting in hyperspace could be dangerous—there was always the risk of triggering an energy storm—but raiders wouldn’t care. Unless they want to capture the freighters too.
The thought made him smile, rather tartly. Operation Knife had taught him that the Theocracy was short on freighters. They had every reason to want to capture the convoy intact, if possible. But they had to know that trying would make the whole situation dangerously unpredictable. If their targets knew their enemy didn’t want to blow them away, they’d have more room to maneuver . . .
“Establish passive tracking locks on all four ships,” he ordered, “but do nothing to alert them.”
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said.
“Update from Lightning, Captain,” Stott put in. “Captain Falcone authorizes you to engage when you see fit.”
“Acknowledge,” William ordered, feeling a flash of pride. With Lightning bringing up the rear, Uncanny would have first shot at the pirate ships. And if they really were four destroyers, the other cruiser wouldn’t be needed at all. “Helm, hold our course.”
Roach glanced at him. “They’re bound to know we’ve seen them.”
“Yes,” William said.
Hyperspace did odd things to sensors. It was possible, quite possible, that the incoming ships hadn’t been seen. Civilian-grade sensors would have real problems picking the enemy ships out of the background noise. Most freighter crews tried to purchase military-grade sensors—some of them might have obtained gear that should have gone to Uncanny—but the pirates might have gotten lucky and stumbled over a convoy without advanced sensors. And if he knew pirates, and he did, they’d want to believe they’d gotten lucky.
He felt the tension on the bridge rising steadily as the pirate ships came closer, more and more details flowing into the tactical display. They were destroyers, four older destroyers; they wouldn’t stand a chance, even if someone had replaced all their original fittings with modern technology. Unfortunately, Uncanny had yet to shake her reputation for bad luck. An incident where she’d accidentally fired on a friendly ship could not be easily dismissed. William felt something gnawing, deep in his chest, as he waited. They needed a victory, even an easy one.
What’s more, pirates are our natural enemies, he thought, dryly. Killing them will make us feel better about ourselves.
“Captain,” Stott said. “I’m picking up a message from the lead ship.”
“Let’s hear it,” William said.
The transmission was badly garbled. William wasn’t sure if hyperspace was playing its normal games with radio waves, even tight-beam signals, or if the pirates were trying to disguise their true origins. But it didn’t matter.
“. . . is the Free State of Fredrick,” a harsh voice said. “You . . . ordered to stand down your . . . and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance . . . met with deadly force . . .”
William frowned. “Free State of Fredrick?”
“There’s nothing in the database,” Roach said after a moment. “There is a Fredrick, Captain, but it’s right on the other side of the human sphere.”
“They’re faking it,” Thompson muttered.
“Probably,” William agreed. “They may hope we’d surrender quicker if we thought they were a legitimate force.”
He had no idea what was happening on Fredrick—the files merely noted its existence, a world settled shortly before the Breakaway Wars—but he couldn’t imagine it had anything to do with the Commonwealth. Fredrick was hundreds of light-years away, with the dead zone surrounding Earth and several other multi-star empires between it and Tyre.
Stott cleared his throat. “Any reply, Captain?”
“None,” William said. “But order the
convoy to prepare to alter course.”
He forced himself to wait, knowing the pirates would have to make the next move. They’d know their bluff had failed, unless they chose to assume that the message had been garbled beyond recovery. What would they do next? They’d certainly prefer not to do anything that would force the squadron to scatter—chasing down ten freighters wouldn’t be easy—but they’d probably want to capture three or four ships rather than lose them all . . . unless they were preparing to blow the convoy away and were hoping to keep the formation together until it was too late.
“They’re repeating their demand,” Stott informed him. “The transmission is a little clearer this time.”
“Send back the convoy ID and inform them that we have clearance to proceed to Vangelis,” William said. It was a gamble, but he saw no other choice. He couldn’t keep pretending not to hear the transmission indefinitely. If the destroyers were a raiding squadron, he’d just told them that they were closing in on Commonwealth ships. “Then update the targeting matrix.”
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said.
“Picking up a new signal, Captain,” Stott said. “They’re ordering us to heave to for inspection.”
William nodded, feeling an odd flicker of amusement at the transparent bluff. There was no way that anyone from Fredrick would have a reason to inspect the convoy. The pirates—and he was sure they were pirates now—would have done better to pick a different point of origin. If they’d claimed to be from Vangelis, it would have been much easier to convince the freighters to allow themselves to be boarded. Of course, Vangelis knew better than to harass Commonwealth shipping . . .
“No response,” he ordered. “But tell the convoy to alter course.”
He watched as the incoming squadron picked up speed in response, closing in rapidly on the convoy. The squadron had no choice if they wanted to capture the freighters; they had to get into energy weapons range before it was too late. And yet . . . and yet . . . the closer they came without thinking, the easier it would be for him to target their ships. They didn’t have the slightest idea Uncanny was there.
“Helm, bring us about,” he ordered quietly. “Let them come to us.”
“Aye, Captain,” Cecelia said.
“Tactical, prepare to take us out of stealth mode,” William added. “And then . . .”
“Missile separation,” Thompson snapped. “One missile! I say again, one missile!”
“Stand by point defense,” William ordered.
His heart started to pound. Had he been wrong? Had they been detected after all? No, the missile was racing past the convoy . . . a warning shot. Moments later, it detonated harmlessly. But the message was unmistakable. The convoy would be doomed if it kept trying to flee.
They must think we’re idiots, William thought. A smarter convoy CO would have ordered the ships to scatter long ago.
“No traces of energy disturbance, Captain,” Lieutenant Matthew Gross said. The navigator looked concerned. “But I don’t know how long that will last.”
“They’re bringing active sensors online now,” Thompson added. “They have solid locks on all ten bulk freighters.”
“They’ll pick us up soon,” Roach warned. “Captain?”
“Order the convoy to heave to,” William ordered. “Tactical?”
“I have locks on all four ships,” Thompson reported. “All missiles armed, ready to fire; point defense grid armed, ready to fire.”
“Take us out of stealth,” William ordered. “Mr. Stott, demand their immediate surrender.”
The pirate ships seemed to flinch as Uncanny dropped out of stealth mode, well within missile range of the enemy ships. William waited, wondering just what the pirates would do in response. They didn’t have a hope of getting out of missile range before it was too late and they had to know it, but they also knew they weren’t likely to survive whatever they did. Piracy carried an automatic death sentence, even in the Theocracy. A CO could offer a lesser punishment instead . . .
“Missile separation,” Thompson snapped. “Multiple missile separation.”
“Return fire,” William ordered. He didn’t fault the pirate commander. Firing on Uncanny might just give the pirates a chance to make their escape, particularly if they triggered an energy storm. “And inform them that we will commute their deaths to a life sentence on a penal colony if they surrender now.”
He watched, grimly, as the missiles roared towards his ship. The tactical display kept updating, but he didn’t need it to know that the missiles were badly outdated. It was unlikely any of them would get through the point defense web to slam into his shields . . . indeed, there were civilian freighters that wouldn’t be unduly troubled. His missiles might as well have been made of lightning, reaching their targets before the pirate missiles even entered Uncanny’s point defense envelope.
“Two enemy ships have been destroyed, a third badly damaged,” Thompson reported. He sounded pleased. “Their shields were definitely not up to par.”
“Target the fourth ship,” William ordered. The enemy ship had somehow evaded the missile aimed at its hull. “Don’t give it a chance to get away.”
He braced himself as the pirate missiles roared into his point defense envelope and evaporated long before they could touch his shields and detonate. Standard nukes, part of his mind noted. The pirates didn’t seem to have antimatter warheads. Luckily, the odds of triggering a storm were low if the point defense took out the warheads before they could explode.
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said. William heard real enthusiasm in his tone for the first time. “Missiles locked . . . firing!”
“The third ship has lost power,” Roach added. “She’s spinning through space.”
“Order the militia to prepare a boarding party,” William said. Boarding pirate ships was always risky, but if they’d lost power and they didn’t have antimatter . . . Uncanny might just manage to take prisoners. “Mr. XO, put together a follow-up party . . .”
“Captain, the fourth ship is trying to surrender,” Stott interrupted. “She’s begging for mercy.”
“Order the missiles to break off and cover her,” William ordered. It wasn’t something he would have tried with a real warship—it would have given the enemy far too much time to draw a bead on the missiles as they held position—but he doubted the pirates could take advantage of it. “Are the militiamen ready to go?”
“Yes, Captain,” Roach said.
William hesitated. The militiamen weren’t marines, even though he had to admit that they’d been training extensively over the last month. They weren’t prepared to board enemy warships and capture their crews. But asking Kat to send her marines would be a vote of no confidence in his people. Cold logic told him to make the request anyway; emotion suggested, strongly suggested, that he let the militiamen go first.
“Order the militiamen to secure the pirate ships,” he ordered. “Any prisoners are to be disarmed, bound, and sent back here.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
“Keep our weapons locked on their hulls,” William added. The pirates might have surrendered, but he knew better than to take it for granted. “If they make one false move, blast them.”
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said.
William scowled as he sat back in his command chair. Boarding a pirate ship was always dangerous. The pirates had no reason to expect mercy, so they might just be waiting for their ship to be boarded before they turned off the antimatter containment chambers and vaporized both the ship and boarding party. He’d promised to accept surrender, but would the pirates believe him?
And life on a penal colony won’t be fun either, he thought as the shuttles raced towards their targets. He’d read the reports. The lucky colonists lived like barbarians from a bygone age; the unlucky ones were slaves or dead. They might see it as a fate worse than death.
“Picking up a message from the militia, sir,” Stott said ten minutes after the shuttles had docked. “Their targ
et has been secured; the crew has been arrested and readied for transport.”
“Dispatch the follow-up team, then stand down from red alert,” William ordered.
He took a breath, feeling the tension fading away. “And put out a general message to all hands,” he added. Uncanny had faced her first challenge since he’d assumed command and come through. “Well done.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The pirates, William decided as he watched from the shuttlebay control compartment, looked to be a sorry lot as the militiamen marched them into the secondary shuttlebay and ordered them to their knees. Whatever delusions they’d embraced about themselves had died with two of their ships, leaving them staring around hopelessly, knowing that they no longer had any control over their lives. A number of pirate officers had been lynched and killed, according to the militiamen. The fear they’d used to rule their crews had come to an end with their ships.
“Nine of the crew claim to have been captured and forced into service,” Janet said, holding out a datapad. “Two of them are Commonwealth citizens, both listed as missing after their freighters were reported overdue. The others are from the Jorlem Sector.”
William winced. “And how were they treated?”
“They were forced to serve,” Janet said. “Captain, what do we do with them?”
“Keep them in the brig, separate from the others,” William said curtly. The press-ganged crewmen would have been forced to participate in looting, raping, and murdering their way across the sector. It was a common pirate trick. They forced their new crewmen to get blood on their hands, and then told them they could never return home. “And we’ll see what can be done for them later.”
Janet glanced at him. “But if they were forced to serve . . .?”
“They might have picked up bad habits,” William said. He was in no mood to answer questions. Bad habits could be addictive, as the crew of Uncanny knew all too well. “We’ll hand them over to the civilian courts when we return home. They can make the final call.”
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 11