by Daniel Gibbs
A short distance away from the fight, a new wormhole briefly ripped through space and time. The ship that emerged was larger than any other nearby, prominently displaying the foreboding insignia of the League of Sol.
David swallowed hard. He didn’t need to hear Ruth’s report to know what it was.
She gave the report as soon as she had confirmation. “Conn, TAO! New contact designated Master Eleven, classified as a Rand-class cruiser.”
The monstrous Rand raced toward the battle like a one-hundred-fifty-kilo football linebacker rushing the pint-sized chess club’s brawl. Clearly a superior combatant, its presence tilted the battle heavily in the League’s favor.
David swallowed hard and restrained the fear twisting his stomach. Not a single ship present was a match for a Rand. Even together it might be impossible. “Comms, signal the Dutiful. Request immediate instructions.”
Before the answer came, the Rand’s heavy weaponry thundered in the darkness and ripped apart a small Meade-class frigate—CSV Fredericksham. The vessel and its crew were brushed aside like an annoying insect.
The cruiser turned to bring some of its weapons to bear upon the Dutiful. Dyson’s ship took the hit to its dorsal side. Explosions tore through the destroyer’s hull and the ship’s engines died, leaving it crippled for the Rand to dispatch at her convenience.
Ruth’s face displayed her fear as she turned toward David. “Conn, TAO! Dutiful disabled and Fredericksham has been destroyed.”
David forced himself to stop and think despite the urgency of the situation, not allowing the enemy to compromise his observe-orient-decide-act or OODA loop. While two Ajax class destroyers and three Meade class frigates might take on a Rand class cruiser and win, with one destroyer out of the fight and a frigate destroyed, it was shaping up to be a hopeless battle. Were it not for the transports, he would’ve ordered a general retreat, but he couldn’t bear to leave the thousands of civilians in them to be sent back to League space as slaves. We swore an oath to protect those people, at any cost—including our lives—if necessary.
“TAO, status of Sierra contacts?”
“They’re still immobile, sir.”
“XO, intercept course on the Rand!” David barked, his mind made up. “Take us directly over the top of Master Eleven and stand by to execute a 90-degree ventral turn on my mark!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“TAO, firing point procedures, load all remaining fusion mines into the aft dispenser. Set time delay to four seconds.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
David punched the button on his chair for the intercom to engineering. “Hanson, reroute all available power to the shields, and evacuate all personnel from the outer decks.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Hanson said, his voice crackling through the speaker.
If Sheila was in her normal seat, it would be now that she leaned in and asked him what exactly the plan was. Sorry old friend, can’t explain it to you. You’ll just have to trust me.
The Rabin accelerated toward the Rand. Noticing the new annoyance, the League cruiser swatted at Rabin with its high-energy directed particle cannons, striking them head on. The ship rumbled strongly and energy feedback from the shield system caused the sensor station to blow its fuse.
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields near collapse, sir!”
David glanced toward Ruth. “TAO, firing point procedures, target neutron beams, magnetic cannons, and forward missile cells on Master Eleven.”
“Firing solutions set, sir.”
David had no illusion to the lack of effectiveness of his ship’s weapons against the Rand. Maybe we can just keep them guessing a few seconds longer. That’s all I need.
“TAO, shoot, all weapons. XO, execute immediate evasive action without comprising our time to target.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Sheila said.
She began an evasive pattern immediately. The Rabin’s slight zig-zag caused a missile barrage to miss, the enemy weapons unable to track effectively at close range. The cruiser’s particle cannons hit home once more, despite her maneuvering. The first strike caused a brief flare along the Rabin’s forward shields, successfully overloading them, while the second cut right through the armor, piercing into the vessel’s bow. Debris and bodies erupted from the holes cut into the ship, the local crew desperately getting within the nearest set of pressure locks to get refuge from the vacuum. Meanwhile, the Rabin lashed back at the Rand with its weapons suite, obtaining multiple hits against its shields, but not causing any real damage.
The feedback from the shield system being overloaded was even nastier than before. One of the secondary consoles caught fire briefly before the bridge’s attentive damage control team extinguished the blaze.
Over the clamor, Ruth’s voice bellowed, “Conn, TAO! Forward shields failed, sir! Forward hull and systems severely damaged!”
“Conn, navigation. We’re ten seconds from executing the turn, sir.”
“Navigation, steady as she goes. TAO, firing point procedures, aft mine dispenser. Stand by to release on my mark,” David said, his face almost serene. I’m in the zone.
The destroyer continued onward. On his tactical plot, David watched as the icons for the two ships merged on top of one another. Apparently, the Rand’s bridge crew assumed the worst; that the Rabin would ram them. Real time sensor information showed the heavy cruiser’s shields diverting to a different arc—where perhaps they thought the Rabin would hit.
Gotcha. David’s shout filled the bridge. “Navigation, now! TAO, shoot, aft mine dispenser!”
As soon as “now” left David’s mouth, Sheila banked the ship upward in relative terms, pulling away from the Rand. As the maneuver completed, eight mines popped out of the aft dispenser, thrown directly onto the Rand’s tough hull. As the four critical seconds counted down, the Rabin’s engines accelerated once more, thrusting the small destroyer away from her massive foe.
At the fourth second, the mines detonated successfully. The explosion they produced was colossal, tearing away armored hull and internal structure alike and engulfing the upper hull of the Rand in energy. Secondary explosions from lost magazines and a fuel bunker for the cruiser’s shuttles tore up the top quarter of the ship’s structure, doing massive internal damage.
“Conn, TAO. All mines impacted, sir.” Ruth’s voice had dropped down to normal volume. “Master Eleven is attempting to jump out.”
Sheila shook her head. “They’ll never make it,” she said in a brief departure from normal bridge protocol.
Unexpectedly wounded by a foe inferior to her strength, the dying Rand turned away from the battle. Her wormhole drive began to power up. As it reached its full charge, the stress on its damaged systems became too great. Plasma tanks ruptured from structural damage, the overloaded power systems failed, and a catastrophic series of explosions gutted the hapless monster. Without warning, the ship’s massive left engine wrenched free from the ship, an explosion that tore apart the Rand from the inside out, turning the deadly beast into an expanding cloud of debris.
The Rabin’s bridge crew didn’t stop to enjoy their great kill. David was all business as he asked Ruth, “TAO, status on the remaining hostile contacts?”
“Sir, Master Eight remains operational. It’s heading straight for the transports and is firing on Sierra Four.”
David swore under his breath, disgusted with the League actions. Not content to simply take a loss and retreat, they had to spoil the well by killing thousands of civilians. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Eight. Anything we’ve got left.”
The speaker on David’s chair crackled. “Conn, engineering, this is Hanson. We’ve got causalities down here, and I’m unable to route power to any forward weapons systems except the magnetic cannon turrets.”
David digested this new information and turned to Ruth. “TAO, can we disable Master Eight with only our magnetic cannons in time to prevent them from taking out those transports?”
“Unlikely, sir. Master Eight
has taken limited fire in the engagement so far. Its shields are at nearly one hundred percent effectiveness.”
David took the information in for a moment, looking up at his command plot. With the other CDF ships out of the fight, his options were limited. I could engage with conventional weapons. Maybe Hanson will pull a rabbit out of his hat and get us something else. With full shields, though… that frigate could take out at least one transport before we could neutralize her. With tens of thousands of lives hanging in the balance, he felt his mind freeze, a tug of war breaking out between protocol and emotion.
Controlled ramming. That’s the only option left. “Navigation, plot intercept course with Master Eight. All ahead flank. I want you to ram the contact.”
Sheila whirled her head around toward David. “Say again, sir?”
“I said ram Master Eight, XO. Try to glance the belly of our ship off their dorsal mid-section.”
Sheila continued to stare back at him. “With all due respect, sir, our bow is severely damaged and we may not survive the impact.”
“And if we don’t neutralize that ship, it will kill all of the civilians onboard those transports. We knew what the score was when we signed up for this job…they didn’t. We’ll do anything we can, including giving our lives to save them,” David said calmly, despite the chaos around him. I know that’s the right call. It’s right there in article one of the CDF code of conduct. I will give my life if necessary to defend the Terran Coalition and the civilians I protect.
Sheila turned back around. “Aye aye, sir.” While lower in volume, her tone was one of serious concern.
David punched a button on his console, pulling up the 1MC. “Attention, all hands, this is the commanding officer. Prepare for in-space collision! Evacuate the outer hull immediately and erect localized emergency force fields.”
David glanced back to a tall, older enlisted man in the back of the bridge. “Master Chief, sound collision alarm.”
“Sound collision alarm. Aye, sir!” the older man said, and immediately, a loud klaxon wailed.
The Rabin closed in quickly on the Lancer; its crew rather ineffectively attempted to evade. The two ships traded weapons fire at the last moment, but the Rabin’s weaponry wasn’t able to penetrate the shields of the smaller League ship. As the Rabin entered its terminal course, Sheila angled the Rabin’s bow in such a way that the less damaged section would impact the frigate’s command deck.
The Rabin’s bow plowed into the command deck section of the smaller frigate, crumpling up the underbelly of the ship and venting atmosphere into space. Small explosions occurred up and down the dorsal section of the Lancer and ventral section of the Rabin. Pieces of debris and super structure expanded out from both ships, small fires erupting as blisters on the hull before extinguishing from lack of oxygen in the vacuum. As the Rabin veered away toward open space, the Lancer’s running lights flickered and it began to drift.
On the bridge of the Rabin, the crew had survived, but the ship suffered considerable damage. A small fire broke out in the back of the bridge that was quickly extinguished by the assigned bridge damage control team. David punched the communication button for the engineering spaces on his command chair. “Engineering, status?” he asked, hoping against hope the ship was still combat capable.
Hanson’s voice came through the speaker. “Sir, I’ve had to SCRAM our main reactor. We’re running off battery power. I hope to be able to restore our reactor once we can repair the damaged coolant lines.”
David laid his head back on the headrest of his chair. “Understood. Keep me apprised.”
“Conn, TAO! Multiple inbound wormholes!”
David leaned forward in his chair. Dear God, we can’t take any more. “TAO, whose are they?” he asked, forcing calm into his voice.
Ruth’s expression changed into a smile of relief. “Sir! Inbound wormholes have a CDF signature.”
In front of the Rabin and visible through the transparent metal windows on the bridge, three wormholes opened and out of each emerged a large CDF warship and its consorts. Small craft quickly released from the ships, heading toward the transports.
Ruth looked back at David. “I’m reading the CSV Cicero and its battle group, sir.”
David finally allowed himself to relax just a hair. “Acknowledged, TAO. Communications, please send the commanding officer of the Cicero my compliments, and request that they send additional damage control and medical teams to all stricken vessels.”
“Grab a sandwich before you sit down, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t believe any of us have had the opportunity to eat in the last sixteen hours since the engagement,” David said. He and the rest of the senior command staff were seated in the conference room onboard the Rabin. Even in this space, there was ample evidence of the battle they’d just survived. Debris from the ceiling lay piled up against the bulkheads, and the holoprojector system was offline.
Hanson grabbed one of the sandwiches and ripped into it with gusto. “Thanks for having these brought up, sir. I’m not sure I’ve been this worn out since nuclear engineering school.”
Sheila smirked. “An army marches on its stomach, right?” She glanced over at what David was eating. “Are you sure this is kosher, sir?”
“I had one prepared without cheese.”
Ruth wore a smile, and it appeared as if she would join in the ribbing, but David’s curt reply wiped it off her face. “Most of our weapon systems remain offline due to lack of power, sir. Captain Hanson assures me we will have limited power to our magnetic cannons in the next twenty-four hours.”
David nodded before looking to Hanson. “What’s our overall status?”
“We’re in bad shape, sir. I’ve got teams still trying to access parts of the ship that were exposed to vacuum. It’s a real mess. We’ll require drydock for an extended period if the ship remains space worthy. I have concerns at this point that our main armored keel may be too damaged for Lawrence drive jumps.”
David looked around the conference room, noting the tired faces on his senior staff coupled with worried expressions. “Thank you, Captain. I have an update on our casualty reports.” He paused for a moment, looking down at the table, shame getting the better of him. “Search and rescue from the Cicero has confirmed seventy-eight fatalities onboard the Rabin.”
Seventy-eight people were nearly a sixth of the crew complement of the ship.
“We’ve had another fifty-nine evacuated to the Cicero for additional medical treatment. We took a beating.”
“I’d like to get a counselor or two to help the crew, sir,” Sheila said.
“I agree. I’ll let you coordinate that, XO. Our first objective must be to get the Rabin able to move under her own power. Then get underway to Canaan space dock.”
Ruth spoke up. “Sirs, I received a briefing from the tactical action officer onboard the Cicero as to what they found on the transports when the Marines stormed on board. There were over thirty thousand Terran Coalition civilians saved.”
“So intelligence was right for a change?” Hanson asked, apparently trying to inject some levity into the discussion. When no one else cracked a smile, he remained silent.
“At least we got it right,” David said. “That counts for something when I have to tell their families.” He cleared his throat. “Okay. Let’s get back to work. We’ll meet again in eighteen hours, but I want all of you to get at least six hours sleep. If we’re too tired to work, we’ll make mistakes, which will cost us time we don’t have. I want this ship underway in thirty-six hours. Dismissed.”
Hanson and Ruth quickly stood and left the room, but Sheila remained behind. “David, are you okay?” she asked.
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He looked up at her. “Sheila, I just cost seventy-eight members of my crew their lives. I was supposed to get them home. I don’t even know how to process that. I…” David’s voice trailed off as he lowered his head, a grimace visible as he did.
David shook his head. “Doesn’t change that it’s my job to get them home.”
“It’s also your job to protect our civilians and get them home. We did that today. You did that, David. You were so sure of yourself on the bridge when this happened. I thought you were going to sacrifice the entire ship to stop that frigate.”
“During the fight, it’s different.” David finally lifted his head. “I get tunnel vision and it’s easy to see the best way to defeat the enemy. But afterwards… I have to live with the decisions I make. I thought when I was in charge, I could get us all home. That’s obviously not the case.”
“No, it’s not. But in times like this, we have to remember who our enemy is, and why this war is happening. Focus on defeating them, not on blaming ourselves.”
David offered a half-hearted smile. “Good advice, counselor.”
“Hah. I’ll be on the bridge. Take your own advice and go get some sleep. You’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight. You need rest too.”
“I’ll try,” he murmured before gathering up his tablet and walking out of the conference room behind her.
8
Sitting at the desk in his office onboard the Rabin, David took in the latest repair reports on the ship. It appeared that while the ship would require six to twelve months in drydock, she wasn’t beyond repair yet. He flipped back to a rough draft of a letter to the family of one of the seventy-eight personnel on his ship that had perished during the last battle. Throughout his career, he had written to the families of everyone who had ever died under his command, dreading every single letter. Pausing for a moment, he remembered back to when he and his mother had been told that his father would not be coming home. The pain, the fury, all of it came back to him all at once. He hoped that the letters would be of some comfort to the families—though they could never be enough.