by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
Damage control teams worked frantically to mend the stricken Shikkeron, while other work crews hurried to remove the injured to sickbay and extricate the dead from the wreckage. This brief respite afforded Darla opportunity to examine the condition of the ship as well as the crew. She climbed down from the captain’s bridge and walked around the communications deck, asking others how they were doing, encouraging the distraught and consoling the mourning.
Eventually, Darla came to the lower-midshipman who was still attempting command of the entire deck. The midshipman smiled through pale lips and wheezed, “We have things up, Colonel. Most of the systems are working and we should soon have visual on the upper screen.”
After thanking her, Darla took time to examine the woman. One of her pant legs, from the knee down, was soaked red with blood. Someone had tied a tourniquet around the midshipman’s leg, but to little effect. A crimson pool was forming around the woman’s foot as she stood there.
Darla asked, “How are you doing?”
In short breaths, the midshipman replied, “I’m fine - just got - the wind knocked - out of me. As soon as I can catch - a breather, I’ll be…” She coughed twice, putting her hand to her mouth. As she lowered it, Darla noticed dark crimson saliva sticking her fingers.
Studying the woman’s bloodied uniform, Darla quietly asked, while reaching out to examine the midshipman’s shirt, “What’s your name?”
The woman was somewhat surprised by the sudden attention. She hesitated before answering. “It’s… I’m Midshipman Emunah, third class.”
Darla began to gently tug on the woman’s blouse, all the time keeping up a conversation. “Emunah… it means ‘faithful’, or ‘with certainty’, doesn’t it?”
Emunah nodded and groggily smiled.
Darla was now pulling on the front of the blouse. “Did Mother give you that name or someone else?”
“I was given it by my bridge officers…” Her voice fell. “They’re all dead now.”
Darla finally managed to carefully draw the shirt open. There were three or four small puncture wounds in the woman’s chest. It was obvious to the colonel that Emunah’s lungs were slowly filling with blood. Without immediate medical attention from the ship’s surgeon, the woman would die. The surgeon was currently counted among the missing and presumed dead.
Darla spoke consolingly while refastening Emunah’s shirt. She then took hold of the midshipman’s arms and called over her shoulder to an orderly. When the woman arrived, Darla looked Emunah in the eyes. “I think you need to get a little rest. I’ll find someone to take over these duties, all right?”
Emunah wearily nodded. Her breathing was shallow by now and she appeared sleepy. Darla told the orderly to stay at the midshipman’s side and make her comfortable. “Now don’t leave her! Understand?”
The orderly promised.
Darla gave Emunah a gentle hug and offered a reassuring smile. “You have earned your name today. I’m sure your bridge officers would be proud.” She then assisted the orderly with helping Emunah to the floor, resting the woman against a side panel. She thanked her again for such stalwart duty, placing a departing kiss on her forehead.
Darla could not permit herself the luxury of mourning the loss of a comrade. She pushed on to with her duties, tending to other injured, and issuing more orders. As the colonel absorbed herself in these matters, Emunah slowly sank into a quiet, peaceful sleep, holding the hand of the orderly who was softly singing pleasant melodies as the woman passed. Eventually Darla made her way back to Ardon, who was also busy helping and consoling the wounded. Getting his attention, Darla asked, “How’s your girl, Sergeant Oida?”
Ardon reached out and pushed the hair away from Darla’s face. How foolish he had been to think this woman sick and demented. Never in all his days had he seen such power and majesty wrapped around the depth of love and concern Darla displayed. ‘Should the whole world be this insane, what a blessing it would be.’ he thought, and then quietly answered, “My Queen Adaya...”
Darla was taken aback. Ardon only offered a tired smile, continuing, “I took the sergeant to my quarters when this all started. It’s near a main bulkhead… you know...a secure place. After safely harnessing her in my cot, I came here, leaving an attendant to assist with her needs.”
At that moment, the main lights flickered and then flashed on. Someone shouted, “The generator’s working! They got the power back up!” The room broke out in joyous cries and applause. The yeoman Darla had sent to retrieve her uniform had been unsuccessful with her quest because of the damage to the ship and was now doing duty on the communications deck. She hurried over to the colonel and Ardon. “Engine room’s reporting. They say the cooling pump is working and they have restarted two generators. They also feel that the starboard engine will soon be on line, shortly followed by the number three boiler in ten minutes or so.”
Darla sighed with relief, thanked her for the report and then turned to Ardon. “We’d better get back to the captain’s bridge.” They scurried up the ladder stairs.
The standing bridge officer greeted them as they approached just as another call came up from the communications deck, “Colonel, the Divulsion reports she and her ships are engaged. They’re taking some losses, but givin’ ‘em hell in return.”
Cheers went up across the bridge. The feeling of possible rescue from what only moments ago seemed certain death or capture swept the ship. Many an eye filled with tears at that time. It was in the middle of this joyous tumult that another message was delivered to the bridge. “We have heavy activity to the east. A large formation of unidentified vessels is approaching at cruising speed.”
“Can we get a picture on the screen?” Darla called down.
The officer said she’d try. After several anxious minutes passed, the officer returned, smiling. “Operations room says they’ll have one up any second.”
A picture soon flashed on the screen and, as curious eyes recognized what they saw, a cold disquieting silence drifted across the room. Darla’s heart sank as she studied the monitor. The entire eastern horizon seemed filled with countless blips, each representing a ship of cutter size or larger. When realization finally struck the crew, a collective, mournful sigh arose, sounding like a warrior’s breath of defeat when he sees that his wound is mortal.
Darla refused to allow dismay seize the moment. “Get back to work! This is a ship o’war, not some pleasure yacht! Call the engine room and get a status report! Tell the defensive batteries and torpedo rooms to ready for action! I want all departments to report in! Make ready! The Shikkeron isn’t dead yet and, by God, it’s not going out quietly!”
Someone in the fire crew started singing ‘Cold Supper’ and was soon joined by another and another, until the entire deck reverberated with Jebbson’s silly tune. Darla shouted down to the deck officer, “Put this on the overhead! I want the entire ship to hear it!” She called out, “Keep it up, mates! Keep it up!”
A feverish grin broke across Darla’s face. She again shouted to the deck officer, “Tell the operations room to open a hailing channel. Those approaching bastards need to hear the voice of their undefeated foe!”
The spirit of one person can spread to the heart of many souls. As Godenn’s overpowering fleet closed in, some breaking away to assist Salak’s armada, a lone ship, crippled and broken, stood defiantly in its path. Although not realized at the time, it was symbolic of the new and different world Asotos was seeking to destroy. His adversary was changing...had changed. Fire burned anew in the hearts of those he opposed, a fire that could no longer be extinguished by brutish threats and intimidation. He was being put on notice that every victory he gained would come at heavy cost and, should his people retreat, they would be pursued with a wild vengeance.
Darla gave orders to have visuals of the enemy fleet when it came within range. Departments reported in. Torpedo rooms w
ere inoperable except for the one in the bow, and it had only one remaining missile. The damaged hangar deck had retrieved the one surviving fighter, but was unable to refuel or rearm it. Defensive batteries were about the only weapons still on line.
The Colonel refused to show any disappointment, keeping a note of good cheer in her voice, telling the deck officer, “Then you tell the forward torpedo room that they have to take the lead to show ‘em that we don’t go easy!”
Operations room flashed a visual of the enemy fleet on the screen just after the deck officer reported that enemy flankers and pickets were holding back for some unknown reason. Darla looked at the screen and understood why. Working its way up from the rear of the flotilla, a giant dry-dock carrier was advancing toward the Shikkeron. Already, its huge belly doors were beginning to open so it could capture the Shikkeron with its crew - complete and alive.
Hopelessness filled Darla’s heart. She knew well what was to become of her if she were captured. Her mind flashed to the horrid scenes of the massacre at Exothepobole. Any of those captured would receive no less than the victims of that city. She thought of the sergeant and what she had already suffered. No! She wouldn’t permit any prisoners to be taken.
“Give me the forward torpedo room! Now!” Darla shouted.
Soon a voice responded over an improvised sound system rigged up on the captain’s bridge. “Fore torpedo room reporting.”
Above the musical din, Darla shouted, “You have a missile fit to launch?” The answer was affirmative. “Good! Do you have any old thermonuclear static warheads to use?”
There was a pause. “Yes…yes there is, but it’s very unstable when activated. And, we must activate it before placing it in the torpedo tube. A good solid hit from, say, a hammer or other hard object, could set it off.”
Darla asked, “Could a closed hatch set if off?”
A somewhat shaken voice replied, “Certainly! If that happened, we’d be nothing but cosmic dust.”
Darla clenched her fists in resolve, “I want you to listen to this and then repeat it back to me. This is a direct order. Arm the missile with your thermonuclear static warhead. After activating the warhead, load the missile in a torpedo tube. Lock down the hatch and set all operating systems to mechanical override. Shut off all power inputs and controls.”
The confused officer repeated the order. Darla snapped, “Report to me as soon as you’ve finished!” The officer acknowledged and signed off.
Ardon asked, “What are we doing, Colonel?”
Darla’s face was grim but defiant. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed during my life, Major?” Ardon shook his head. Darla answered, “Two hundred and forty two for certain. That’s not counting my missions in the fighters and bombers. Do you have any idea how many I intend to kill today?”
Ardon responded in surprise, “Today?”
Darla smiled. “Yes, today. You see, there are over two hundred fifty on the Shikkeron and another three to four thousand on that big carrier coming at us. I’d say there might be as many as forty-two hundred. You think that’s a good number to go out with?”
Ardon was caught up speechless. All he managed was, “Colonel?”
Darla was about to comment when the deck officer shouted, “Engine room says the boiler’s building pressure and the starboard engine is warming up. It’ll be on line in a few minutes.”
Darla calmly replied, “Thank the engine room personnel for all their efforts. Tell them to stand by and await orders.” She looked at the screen to see that the dry-dock carrier had cleared the fleet and was advancing along with two flanker ships about frigate class in size.
Wryly speaking to Ardon, Darla confessed, “Well, if we’re lucky, today we may get to finish off a few hundred more. Older warships like the Shikkeron used to carry thermonuclear static warheads to blast apart asteroids running afoul of the shipping lanes. The custom was stopped after more efficient methods were developed to accomplish the same tasks. New ships no longer were equipped with such devices, but the Navy didn’t bother to remove them from most older warships.”
She leaned forward and rested her hands on the broken support rail. “You see that big ship? It intends to suck us up into its hold and capture us alive. When it gets close enough, it will send out a series of frequency beams - harmonic missiles, you might say - to disable any remaining defenses. Then it will drift over us and, using some sort of grappling system, draw us into its cavernous hull. Then…well, I think you can figure out the rest.”
Darla slapped her hand on the rail. “Well! Those fools don’t appreciate one thing! Old ships like this have full mechanical override systems. When we’re all tucked away, nice and secure, and those big ol’ doors are closed up tight, we just pull the trigger on that little missile in the torpedo room and… ‘phoom!’ One gloriously big fireball! It should take out everything within two leagues in either direction. That means I should have a total kill of over five thousand for my last show!”
The torpedo room called the bridge. “We have a go! Locked and sealed! All overrides in place!” By now the officer in charge fully understood what Darla had in mind. “Triggers set to go!”
Darla thanked the officer, telling him to wait on her mark, but then added, “If you lose communication with the bridge because power goes down, if no communication is restored within fifteen minutes, pull the trigger - sooner if someone tries to break in. Understood?”
“Confirmed…” The torpedo room replied. “Triggers on and waiting to go.”
“On my mark...” Darla repeated. “On my mark...” She looked back to the screen. “It’s about forty leagues out and still slowing; should be over us in about three minutes. When it’s just out of battery range, it will hit us with those frequency beams. At that distance, we should still be able to maintain lights and life support systems. They don’t want to kill us by knocking out life support, so I doubt they’ll hit us with a second blast until we’re in the hold.” She lowered her head in thought.
During Darla’s conversation with Ardon, she had also been fighting with the demon in her mind, taunting it by repeatedly telling it that she was going to die and take it with her. Presently it was quietly, cowering in some little corner of her mind. Now, as she waited her final doom, she went in search of the monster, seeking to repay upon it some of the misery she had been plagued with for so long.
Her search was interrupted by the deck officer’s shouts. The woman came running toward the bridge. “Colonel! Colonel! We’ve got a signal from the Third Fleet. They’re on the horizon and closing fast! You should be able to see ‘em on the navigation scope!”
Darla ordered the navigation scope put on the screen. Opposite the multitude of blips comprising Godenn’s ships were dozens of rapidly appearing white dots, with more materializing all the time. Way out in front were three, moving much faster than the others.
The officer shouted, “Those lead ships are coming in behind us! I don’t think the enemy’s seen ‘em yet. Should be here any minute!”
Darla shouted, “Tell the forward torpedo room to hold on my order.”
Everyone on the bridge became deathly quiet. Was there still any hope of rescue? Would the rescue really make any difference in determining their fate? They watched, hearts beating in anxious expectation...