Call to Arms (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 2) (21 page)

“Rat, Samson… Cover Colt while he’s working the tech.” Amiri strode back to the hatch. “I’m taking point. Chief Lund, I want you at the rear. Standard deployment—five man teams and keep your intervals. Colt, make sure you’re transmitting updates to the team network.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Let’s get this done,” Amiri said. “If Team Six gets to the objective before we do after the head start we have, I will not be happy. Understood?”

“Understood, sir!”

The last five-man group out of the service bay made sure the heavy pressure hatch was closed and locked. It was a required feature for rooms with direct access to the outer hull to have such a pressure-capable hatch. It was also the main reason Amiri liked to hug the outer hull whenever coming aboard an orbital structure: the heavy pressure hatches were surprisingly resistant to weapons fire.

Leap frogging each other to make sure the side entrances to the outer ring were always covered, the five individual fire teams pressed ahead to make it quickly to their first checkpoint before the personnel on the station could get over their initial confusion and mount an effective defense. The fact they were making such quick progress without seeing so much as a wandering technician told Amiri that they might already be too late.

“Halt!”

The strident, fear-tinged call stopped the trailing team as they kept watch over a side corridor to allow the rest of the team to pass. Crouching in one of the hatchways, weapon trained on them, was a young Marine lance corporal. He was without helmet or body armor, so he’d probably been on a regular patrol when the alarms sounded and not dispatched afterward.

“You don’t want to die in this corridor, Marine,” the NOVA element leader near the junction called out. “Just toss that carbine out on the deck, and let us do our job. We’re on the same team here.”

“Stand down you bottom-feeding Fleet scumbag,” the Marine yelled back with false bravado. “The rest of my squad is coming up behind you. You’re pinned down.”

“Don’t be a—” the element leader didn’t get to finish his sentence as a round from the Marine’s carbine slammed into his chest plate, knocking him flat to the deck.

The Marine’s eyes widened in fear as it seemed he may have accidentally squeezed off the round, but the other four NOVAs responded immediately. Hardened penetrator rounds fired from specialized carbines peppered the unprotected man’s exposed right flank, and one went through his neck. Amiri had been already begun moving back when he heard the first shot.

“Report!” he shouted as he came sprinting back toward the engagement.

“One Marine down, sir,” a garbled voice came over his headset. “Specialist Halsey was hit center mass. His armor held, and he seems to be okay.”

“Fuck!” Amiri shouted, not caring that it went over the open team channel. “Are there any more station defenders in the area?”

“Unknown, sir. There are none within sight, however.”

“Colt, are you able to see personnel trackers on your tile?” Amiri asked.

“Negative, sir,” Colt answered as Amiri walked up to see Halsey climbing painfully to his feet and slapping away the proffered hands of his element mates.

“What happened?” Amiri asked, looking down at the Marine’s body sprawled out in the corridor.

“He fired first, sir.” Halsey rubbed his chest underneath his loosened body armor. “It may have been an accident.”

“What a mess,” Amiri said. “You and you: go police that body. Don’t leave it just laying out there. Get an ID on that young man… He was just doing his job, and we will make sure he’s properly honored when this is all over. Halsey, make sure your element doesn’t screw around. I want you back in the rotation in the next few minutes.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Halsey said. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Amiri said. “Just get this cleaned up and get your head back in the game.” As he ran back up to where his own element waited, Amiri was both heartbroken and angry. He couldn’t fault his men for the reaction that resulted in the Marine being killed, but it was precisely what Amiri wanted to avoid the most. No matter how successfully the rest of the mission went, all anybody would recall is that his men had gunned down a young lance corporal.

“I’ve gained control of these two lifts, sir,” Colt said as Amiri jogged up to his team. “They’ll take us down eleven decks, and from there we’ll be able to gain access to Master Docking Control.”

“Are the lifts being monitored?” Amiri asked.

“The intrusion program has spoofed the station’s computer into thinking they’re stationary,” Colt said. “At least in theory.”

“Then let’s take two elements down simultaneously,” Amiri said. “Same rules as before. Try to minimize the damage and loss of life, but
do not
let anyone impede our progress. Samson and Halsey, your teams are going down first. Colt and I will be last.”

With Colt controlling the lifts from his tile, the team made quick work of descending to the lower levels of the shipyards. They’d made entry on one of the upper levels simply because that was the easiest to get to in an unpowered, unguided insertion pod drifting in from the middle of the system.

The upper levels were mostly large bays that contained the automated machinery that fabricated individual ship components and never had many people wandering the corridors. Once they got down into the lower levels that contained the command and control sections and administrative offices, they weren’t likely to be so lucky. The fact that agent’s program had managed to seal all the hatches closed would help a bit, but there would still be a lot of people that hadn’t been in a compartment at the time the command went out.

With one last look around, Amiri climbed into the lift with Colt and three more of his operators to join the rest of his team on the lower level. When the doors opened again, he was relieved to see a calm scene, his NOVAs deployed in a defensive position around the lifts and three Fleet officers in plastic restraints and lying face down on the deck.

“All clear, sir,” Halsey reported as Amiri stepped off the lift. “These three were milling around in the area and were detained without incident. No further contact to report.”

“Fine. Halsey and Samson, your teams will take point,” Amiri said. “Everyone else will fall in behind. Right now, getting Colt to Docking Control is
the
most important objective. We will be going hard and fast to not give the defense force any time to organize. Once there, we’ll fortify our position within and wait for the
Ares
to conclude her operations. Clear?”

“Clear, sir!”

“Let’s hit it.”

****

“Coms, any luck getting through to either battlegroup commander?” Jackson asked for the fifth time.

“No, sir.” Keller had stayed on duty into second watch and was trying to make contact with the captive Black Fleet ships to let them know to get ready to fly.

“Have you identified any source of interference or signal jamming?” Jackson asked.

“No, sir,” Keller said. “It could be a localized interference, or it may be due to the ships still being within the confines of the dock. I can boost the signal strength again if you’d like.”

“Don’t bother,” Jackson said. “We’re at almost eighty percent transmit power now. Another boost in wattage isn’t going to do anything. Nav! Interface with Tactical, and give me a route that swings us down toward New Sierra. Use the
Ares
’
s
maximum acceleration in your calculations, and cut us in between the two approaching fleets.”

“Aye, sir,” the chief at the nav station said.

“Captain, the fleet coming from DeLonges has been spreading out into a picket line since they got underway,” Barrett said. “If we move between them, we could get caught between the effective firing ranges of the edge of their line and the ships coming from New Sierra.”

“Then I suggest you make sure our point defense battery is ready, Lieutenant Commander,” Jackson said. “I’m not wasting the time it would take to fly all the way out and around the DeLonges fleet. Nor will I risk giving the
Icarus
away by skirting around the New Sierra fleet. I have to assume Lieutenant Commander Essa has been successful so far, as we’ve received no alert from the shipyards. That means we need to get word to those docked ships so they’re ready to fly.”

“Course is calculated to the best of my ability to predict the reaction from the DeLonges fleet, Captain,” the nav operator said.

“Tactical, check it over, and then send it to the helm,” Jackson said.

“Course checks out, sir,” Barrett answered. “I’ve adjusted slightly to favor more toward the New Sierra fleet to try and stay out of range of those missile cruisers since we don’t know what they’re carrying.”

“Very good,” Jackson said. “Helm, you’re clear to engage. All ahead full. OPS, inform engineering we may need to run up past the accepted engine output limits shortly.”

“Ahead full, aye,” the helmsman said.

The soft thrum of the engines picked up to a muted, deep rumble as the helmsman smoothly advanced the throttle to full and began quickly entering his course change waypoints. He would allow the ship’s computers to do the actual flying unless the captain ordered quick, sudden action that required him to grab the flight controls and override the predetermined course corrections.

“We’re thirteen hours from intercepting the DeLonges fleet’s maximum weapons range,” Barrett reported. “Tactical computers are monitoring the courses of all inbound ships, and I’m sending the information to Nav for manual course updates.”

“Once you’re sure everything is updating, I want you off the bridge and in your rack for the next five hours,” Jackson told him. “That goes for you too, Mr. Keller. The XO will arrange for relief watches to make sure everyone is rested and ready when we come within range of any potential contact. Lieutenant Davis, you have the bridge for now. I’ll be back up to relieve you shortly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jackson walked off the bridge and stopped by the wardroom to grab a sandwich and a drink before hustling to his quarters to try and grab a few hours of sleep. He’d been awake and on the bridge since they’d entered the DeLonges System over nineteen hours prior, and his eyes felt gritty from staring at the main display for so long. Despite the stress of the situation, however, there wasn’t the gut-churning near-panic he felt during the times he faced off with the Phage. However distasteful, going up against human ships was something he was trained for. He knew their tactics, capabilities, and how to defeat each. For the first time since he’d first fired shots in anger from a ship he commanded, he felt reasonably confident in the outcome of his mission.

****

Despite how long he’d been awake beforehand, his eyes popped open after only four hours of restless sleep, so he took the extra time to grab a quick shower and some strong coffee before making his way back to the bridge. The
Ares
had a terminal in his quarters that had remote connections to both the bridge and the CIC, so he was able to confirm that they were still hours away from any potential engagement before he even put his boots on and made sure his prosthetic leg was fully functional.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” Jackson said to the lieutenant junior grade that was sitting in the command seat to fill in for the few hours both he and the XO would be off-duty.

“Yes, sir.” He practically leaped out of the seat. “Do you require a status report, sir?”

“Not necessary, Lieutenant,” Jackson said. “Report back to your department.”

Without another word, the young officer turned and hustled off the bridge. Jackson paced around for a moment, looking over the tactical updates on the main display. While he knew he could never give voice to this without looking like the most petty CO in the fleet, he always hated coming on duty and sliding into the command seat while it was still noticeably warm from the previous officer’s ass. It was a peculiar dislike that he couldn’t account for, so he didn’t bother. Instead, at the beginning of each watch, he made some pretense of checking over all the other stations and speaking to the other bridge personnel before sitting down.

He sat calmly, sipping his coffee while waiting for his acting XO and her replacement at OPS to report for duty. A quick glance at the tactical display confirmed that the Fourth Fleet ships were reacting much the way he’d expected: they planned to use their numerical advantage to nullify that of his far more advanced ship. To sell the deception, he’d committed fully to a hard charge down into the system, knowing that he had a few more advantages his opponents wouldn’t be aware of.

“Hello, Captain.” Jillian Davis walked onto the bridge, sat down, and logged into her terminal.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Jackson said. “Who do you have coming up to run OPS today?”

“Ensign Hayashi,” she said. “He’s our most experienced, and I didn’t think a potential engagement with the Fourth Fleet was an appropriate time to have a junior operator up here for training.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jackson said. “When he arrives go ahead and help him prep a Jacobson drone for launch. Tell Flight OPS I want it configured for maximum speed and endurance and a full com suite. No weapons and no sensors other than passive navigation. We’ll feed it telemetry updates as needed.”

“Aye, sir.” She rose gracefully as the youthful, full-cheeked face of Ensign Hayashi appeared through the bridge hatchway.

The pair worked for the better part of an hour, both on headsets and talking to specialists and technicians down in Flight OPS to get the drone prepped for launch.

“Jacobson drone has passed its self-checks and is ready for mission parameters, sir,” Hayashi said before Jackson had to ask or Davis volunteered the information.

Jackson nodded in approval that the young officer wasn’t just sitting back and allowing Davis to do all the work.

“Very good, Ensign,” Jackson said. “Nav! Send over the course I asked you to lay out earlier. OPS, I’m sending over a mission profile for how I want the drone programmed. Let me know when it’s ready for launch. Coms, tell engineering that we’ll be performing evasive maneuvers shortly.”