Kendra was serious. “That’s an important battery if we’re going to proceed with driving straight into an enemy line.”
Halloran considered. “Alright. We got very lucky that we haven’s taken a hit yet, probably thanks to the Hidden Claw. Somehow I don’t think our luck will hold for the next thirty minutes uncloaked.”
“Re-engage the Claw, sir?” Carruthers was hopeful.
“We want the power to weapons, Lieutenant. And engines. No, we’ve played our hand, now we see what the other guys have.”
Antonov asked Carruthers, “time to firing range of the outer Prax line?”
“Seven minutes twenty-five seconds if I’m reading this right, sir,” she promptly answered without turning.
Halloran tapped his chair. “If I go down remember the plan, ladies and gentlemen.” He got up and left them to approach Axxa. “A word, Commander?”
Axxa looked surprised but obediently followed the Captain to the rear of the bridge near the entry.
“The odds are steep against us getting through your countrymen unscathed in the next few minutes.”
The Prax said nothing.
“You’ve been a patient passenger to this point, Axxa, but I’ll need you to step up in the event that we take significant casualties.” Halloran’s eyes were hard. “You have claimed repeatedly to be on the human side of the equation, and you did defect. But now I’m looking to you to walk the walk; you’re a Commander-level officer in your own military structure.”
“I was not a fleet officer, but ground forces. But I understand the reference, Captain.” His red features were flushed dark crimson with emotion at Halloran’s earnestness. “I will not fail this ship or crew or…” He nodded in deference. “…You. I owe you personally.”
Halloran tapped the giant on his chest. “Yes, you do. See to it you make me proud.”
“Bridge says we got six minutes to get this bugger online.” Karen Flagler closed the comm channel and turned to the men who were on their hands and knees, feeling around the projectile cannon.
“One benefit of this short is that the port won’t open and suck us out, at least.” Cochran was following a thick conduit underneath the barrel base. He grunted as he chased it over a large servo box that was part of the attitude adjustment system—they’d learned that much in the research sessions on these weapons.
Flagler went to the opposite side and reached under the base of the loading mechanism. The gun was fed with projectiles by the computer from the in-between deck munitions storage. A long ramp and piston system that vaguely reminded her of watching a video once of the old Missouri-class sixteen-inch gun loading rams. These guns used intense magnetic bursts instead of huge powder sacks, however. We might get sucked into space but at least we won’t be blown to kingdom come, she thought as she patted the sides of the loader chute.
Something caught Anders’ attention. “Flagler, feel a bit to your right.” He was pointing over the gun at her hand.
“What do you see?” But even as she asked she felt a thick conduit the size of her fist. “I can’t see it from my angle.”
“I’ll follow it.” Anders wedged himself under the guns breach and twisted. Cochran stopped hunting to look. “I’ve got it. It does lead to the relay box.”
Flagler stretched to slide around the gray-painted metal of the chute. She was exactly in the line of the rising munitions now; if it turned back on it would autoload and crush her instantly. Trying not to think about it, she looked down into the chute where the ‘tween decks was dark as space, the power out. “Sure could use a light right now,” she gasped.
There was a larger relay box on the underside of the gun deck. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, they followed the conduit into the rectangle.
With some exertion she levered herself back upright. Cochran offered her a hand to her feet. She wiped her hands, looking at them with professional admiration. “Aliens sure keep a clean ship.”
Anders was trying to see the box. “How do we get down there? We can’t fit through this chute and this space has got to be twenty meters from the ladder through a maze of mechanicals.”
“Plus, we only have five minutes to fix this thing. Did I mention that Djembe said this battery was key to our first barrage on those aliens we’re supposedly going to reach in five?”
“I’ll go.”
Anders and Flagler looked at Cochran.
“I’m small. I can squeeze down there.”
Flagler stamped her foot. “And then what? You’ll be in the way of the munitions flow?”
Cochran made a show of bending and looking into the narrow hole. “There’s room in there to stay out of its way.”
Anders pointed at the shut port. “When they ready this gun, that’ll open and you’ll lose atmosphere.”
Cochran wiped his brow. “So get me a breather. This can’t last that long.” He tested the opening; it did seem as if his body would be able to get down in and twist underneath the relay box.
“Bob…”
He looked up at her. “Karen, there’s no time for this. You know I’m the smallest.”
She sighed, shooting Anders a frustrated stare.
Cochran looked at the Tavarran. “I’m going down. You have four minutes to find me a breather…please.”
“All batteries report online according to the computer, sir,” called Antonov from his station. “Except the starboard Battery B.”
Halloran slid his eyes to Kendra at her borrowed seat nearby. She shook her head slowly. “No update from weapons?”
“Wilson went down two minutes ago to check.”
Halloran nodded. “ Time to firing line?”
“Three minutes, sir,” Djembe answered. Accelerating to three-quarters sublight, which we’ll reach approximately twenty thousand kilometers from their line.”
“Steady as she goes, Pilot.”
Gerry Wilson dropped the distance from A deck to B using the ladder rail as a slide. As he emerged on B deck, he shoved up the balanced hatch and heard it click loudly into place.
Anders the Tavarran guy run up. “Sir.”
“What is going on up here?” Wilson demanded. “We need that gun back online now.”
Anders shied away from the burly Petty Officer’s wrath. “I am looking for a breathing unit.”
“A what?”
“Mr. Cochran found the electrical short but needs to get in a tight spot to effect the repair. He won’t be able to get out, he suspects, before the activated system is needed by Mr. Halloran.”
Wilson grasped the situation, but there was almost no time. “Follow me!” He thundered down the passage to a locker thirty meters away, near the medical bay entrance where Whitney was prepping for casualties. He wrenched open the door of the locker and leaned in, rummaging through racks of life-support gear. Presently he yanked out what looked like an old-school scuba unit with mask and mouthpieces. “Here!”
Without thanking him, Anders grabbed the unit and started back up the corridor. Wilson followed him back up past the inter-deck tubes and into the forward part of the ship. He knew that the bridge was actually not too far away above them; they were at the leading edge of the knifelike forward hull.
Anders put his shoulder to a hatch that Wilson knew went to the Battery B emplacement.
“About time,” he heard Karen Flagler on the far side of the hatch as Anders passed the rig to her. “Oh, sorry sir,” she corrected as Wilson stuck his head in. Without further comment she passed the equipment to a hand that was extended up through the loading chute for the projectile ammo.
He leaned over. “Bob, you in there?”
“Yessir, Petty Officer.”
There seemed like nothing worth saying of note. “You take care in there; stay out of the way of those things.” It sounded lame to his ears.
“Yessir.”
“We’ll be back for you the moment we can secure this gun, Bob.”
“Thanks, sir.”
Wilson turned to see that Ander
s was in the hatch and Flagler waiting. Her eyes were wet.
He pushed at her gently. “He’ll make it, Karen. Let’s go.”
Part Five - Sacrifice
Chapter 29
Aboard Faraxxan
The human ships reeled under the power of his fleet’s weapons. Their aggressive attack at close range had taken the filthy aliens by total surprise.
Had that been the end of the battle, it would have been glorious. But a new ship had appeared and placed several perfectly-aimed salvos into his flagship, crippling it.
Now, Horax could only fight the growing structural failures dooming the Faraxxan. The crew worked feverishly to shore up sagging decks, their integrity stretched to the breaking point by the fires burning out of control—suppression systems were down along with most electrical support. He also knew that life support was dead already. Their time was growing short.
“Commander Horax, are you able to transfer to the Braxxar?” The Captain of that ship was calling again on the inter-ship comms.
Horax wiped the black electrical soot from his eyes, feeling the raw burns on the side of his head. “Tell the Captain the same thing again.”
As the wounded Prax manning the bridge comms opened the reply call, another voice cut in. “Horax, you will not leave, will you?”
The Commander slammed a red fist against a dead instrument panel, yelling. “There are six hundred crew still aboard this ship! My job is to save them.”
“Your job is to do the will of your Lord, Commander,” came the placid voice again.
A limping junior officer stepped up to Horax with a report, but he brushed him aside and stormed to the comm panel, startling the wounded bridge tech in the process. He leaned on the console with both hands, speaking deliberately into the microphone, glad for a moment that the arrogant son-of-a-Mugpa on the other end couldn’t see his loss of control. “The will of my Lord? I regret the day I arrived at the Sol system. May you rot in the deep recesses!”
“You are ordered to abandon your crew and take the shuttle to the Braxxar at once, Commander.”
“Lord,” cut in the Captain of the Braxxar,” I believe his shuttle bay is destroyed.”
“Silence! Horax, the Premier has need of your political influences on Prax. You are to—.”
“The Premier! He’s an illegitimate son-of-a-Mugpa like his son!”
“You will pay for that.”
“Commander,” the junior officer tugged on his ripped sleeve. “Commander, the main hull ribbing is failing below this deck.”
Horax sighed, shaking his head with all fight leaving his tired body. “No, Calxen, you and your father will pay. By the stars it will come to pass.”
The Captain of the Braxxar came on. “Good fight, Horax.”
Horax looked into the face of the terrified junior officer, then laid a consoling hand on the Prax’s shoulder. “It is well.”
The deck below them collapsed in a groan of tortured, superheated metal.
Calxen watched the Faraxxan’s upper section implode in spectacular fashion. After that the mid-hull twisted and gave out, unsupported by the rest of the structure. And an instant later the collapse reached the reactor and a burst of pinkish flame burst out of the wrecked ship in all directions, snuffed out almost as quick by the vacuum of space. Where a Prax ship-of -the-line had been only moments before, now only an expanding cloud of debris and a crumped hulk remained.
Calxen turned to his ship’s Captain. “I am assuming formal command of the flotilla at this time.”
“As you wish, Lord.”
“Get me a damage report on the rest of the ships. And get me the commander of the outer group!”
A minute later the face of the Captain leading the three ships making up the incoming flotilla popped onto the screen. “Lord Calxen, the Faraxxan—.”
“—Was destroyed without honor. That ship—that stolen Prax ship fired on Horax with dishonor!” Calxen’s voice rose. “You must destroy that ship, Captain. It is Prax technology but crewed by filthy humans.”
The Prax on the screen looked shocked. “Lord, this ship approaches our coordinates and is accelerating. I think it means to break through.”
Calxen pointed at the monitor. “You shall not let him pass!”
The Captain looked confused. “Him?”
Another voice in the background begged the faraway Captain’s attention. “What is it?” he snapped offscreen. Then, “Lord, patching an incoming inter-ship transmission to your screen.”
The view of the other ship’s bridge morphed into the face of…Axxa, son of Krex.
“Greetings, fellow Prax. I ask you to hear my claim.”
Calxen pounded on the console. “No! Destroy him!”
But the traitor was droning on. “In one minute this Prax ship will enter your protective zone. We have succeeded in destroying the enemy-held Faraxxan and now ask for asylum with your flotilla…”
Calxen heard the Prax Captain’s confused voice. “The Lord Calxen said to destroy your vessel, Commander Axxa. How is it that you are—” Then the feed faded away.
“Get them back! It’s a trick!” Calxen spit in rage at the tech manning the comms.
The Captain of their ship announced flatly, “The unknown ship has reached our outer flotilla.”
“Get them back!!!” Calxen shoved the tech hard, drawing his Xu blade.
“What, Lord, will you kill your own crew?” asked the incredulous Captain, even as he distanced himself from the enraged warrior.
The screen flashed to life again and the three Prax saw a new face—a human in an odd greenish-patterned uniform. The man’s eyes locked on the Xu standing alone before the monitors, blade drawn. “I see you, Calxen. I’m coming for you and your father. Thomas Halloran—remember that.”
“The unknown ship is firing into the flotilla at point-blank range.” The Captain kept his distance.
Calxen stabbed his blade into the monitor and the human Captain’s face. The device flashed with sparks and the crew nearby jumped for safety. He withdrew the sword and pointed it at the now-quavering Captain. “Get our ships out there now!”
“Our first salvo took them without response yet, sir,” Carruthers said from her station. “Looks like your ruse worked.”
“Hit them again.” Halloran had cut the video feed on the furious face of that assassin. Apparently he’d survived their last encounter… He felt a little guilty about the display but felt it had needed to be said. Or else he might have gone slowly mad leaving the words inside much longer. Now he caught Antonov’s disapproving look from across the bridge. But both Kendra and Axxa nodded at him, each for their own reasons seeming to be okay with it. “Fire!”
“Battery B has overloaded again,” Djembe reported. “They got two rounds off. I think both were direct hits, sir.”
“We’re in their midst, sir! Incoming from several vectors.” Carruthers braced her hands on the console in front of her. “This is gonna hurt,” Halloran heard her say clearly under her breath.
The ship took a severe hit and everything seemed to move at the same time; the gravity went out, the bulkheads vibrated and everyone was thrown against their restraining belts. The lights went out.
“Get the lights back on!” Halloran wanted to get up, to go help belowdecks where his people would be struggling right now. He’d been dragged into this war and knew that this could be the end of their quixotic journey. Lord, don’t let this be the end.
The lights flickered to an amber color rather than white light.
Axxa spoke up. “This is the natural color spectrum to a Prax.”
Halloran shot a look at him.
Then the Master Chief was on the comm, calling for Halloran. “Captain, it’s a mess down here!” The sound of escaping air filled the airwaves, almost obscuring the raised voice on the other end.
“Where are you, Chief?”
“Life Support, sir! There was a clean plasma hit in the compartment…and…we’re venting atmosphere!”
“Lock it down, Chief, and get out of there.”
“Aye, Captain.” A pause. “We’ve got men hurt.”
“Do what you can, Chief.” Halloran cut the channel.
Djembe spoke up. “Sir, the jumpdrive is reporting damage. Exact nature unclear.”
“Can we fight?”
“Most of the projectile batteries are offline. You have all but one plasma cannon available to you!” Halloran heard the suppressed excitement contained within the Pilot’s voice.
“Target the ships we missed the first pass…and fire.”
The ship shuddered again. They were taking more hits.
Carruthers yelped. “Sir! We’ve knocked out one of their ships!”
Halloran turned to Antonov. “Can you take Axxa and back up Reyes?”
The Russian unclasped his restraint. “Going now, sir.”
Halloran pointed to the XO’s station, looking over at Kendra. “Captain?”
She was almost to the seat when the ship lurched again and gravity went out. With both hands gripping the seatback, she was thrust up at an angle toward the overhead. Halloran suddenly wanted to unclasp his own belt and jump for her, but knew the foolishness of the act. His voice came out strangely level. “You hanging on?”
“I’ve got this,” she turned fierce eyes on him.
“Excellent. How do we turn the gravity back on?” The words sounded so odd.
Djembe was pointing at a control in front of Carruthers, making the tapping motion. “That one! It will reboot the subsystem—if it’s still functional.”
Kendra had reeled in the seat and twisted herself into position using only her arm strength. She strapped in and leaned forward to the weapons control. “Still have all plasma cannon but one, Captain!”
“Target whatever’s close, Kendra. Sensor status of enemy units, Lieutenant?”
Carruthers looked back. “Target designate Charlie Six is apparently heavily damaged; course and speed consistent on a vector away from the scene. Significant debris field. Target designate Charlie Seven shows signs of life-support loss and hull damage amidships. Target designate Charlie Nine appears to have full operational capacity; the last two hits came from their projectile weapons, Captain.”
Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2) Page 23