He Who Dares: Book Three (31 page)

“We still have the problem of resupply, Skipper,” Pete reminded him.

“True, but I have it on good authority that supplies will be forthcoming once I have decided where we will operate out of. That’s where you and Jan come in, Pete. Get with her and come up with a list of possible locations for use as a Forward Operating Base. Preferably on the far side of Sirrien space.”

“And where is this
convoy
bound for, Skipper?”

“Oh yes. Forgot to tell you. They are bound for Avalon, so we’ll escort them to Christchurch and turn them over to the Avalon authorities. After that, some shore leave and planning with… well, you know who and then back out to our chosen sphere of operations.”

“And our objective?”

“To create so much pain and confusion in the Sirrien rear that they’ll have to pull units out of their battle line to take care of it.”

“One ship isn’t going to make that much of a difference, Mike.”

“No, it’s not. But what about one hundred other ships like this?”

Pete jerked upright and looked at him, “My god. You mean those ships Avalon is building for… I forgot about them.

“All we have to do is find about two thousand men and women to crew them,” Mike grumbled.

“Oh, right, about two hundred people per ship… Humm, bit of a problem there, Skipper.”

“Let’s worry about that later. I have it on good authority that crews will be made available. Right now, we need to make like the good shepherd and get the flock out of here.

*  *  *  *  *  *

That was easier said than done. As the
Nemesis/Hemlock
had never entered the system by either WP, nor was she on the naval list of new ships, she couldn’t just waltz past the OWP sensors like any other ship. The moment she did, they’d have all sorts of nasty stuff coming at them what with the Navy discovering a Sirrien spy ship in-system. Ghosting by under full cloak wasn’t an option. If it didn’t hold up under the full sweep of the OWP sensors, they were dead. There was the other downside. If they went by, even at maximum distance, but close enough to get into range of the WP, they could still be seen on optical. You could just bet the commander of the OWP would be watching for any ship, Sirrien or not, that tried to do that. Again, all sorts of nasty things could happen. Mike wanted to avoid detection and not leave any unanswered question behind him. One look at the battle tank and he knew they only had one option of getting out of the system undetected. Even so it made Mike sweat a little as he thought about it.

“Cindy, I need to take the helm for a while.”

“Captain?” Cindy Loftland looked over her shoulder in surprise.

“XO, will you take over the Conn. I need everyone strapped in and all compartments secured.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Mike could hear the unasked question in his reply, but he didn’t have time to explain it. His window of opportunity was closing rapidly.

Pete hit the alarm for ‘yellow’ alert that sent the crew hurrying to their bunks and action stations. Mike waited until he saw green across the board before relinquishing his seat to Pete. Cindy gave him an odd look as she moved to the second helm control and slipped the VR helmet on. Taking a deep breath Mike took the vacated seat and after one last look round, slipped the VR helmet on as well.

“All sections reporting ready, Skipper,” Pete announced.

“Thank you, number one. Strap in and hold onto your hat.”

Now in the virtual reality of the helm control, space expanded around him and he “saw” the whole of the Sol system. Off to the Port side and “above” him, he could see the
Orion Dawn
as she headed towards the North WP. Beyond he could see the representation of the OWP and the circling picket ships.

“Gable, check and make sure the cloak is fully engaged, set the inertial dampeners to max.”

“Cloak is set at full. Inertial dampeners to max, aye.” Gable replied.

Mike coasted the
Hemlock
to a position behind and slightly “below” the stern of the
Orion Dawn
, but even at fifty thousand yards, he could still feel the graviton wake turbulence from her massive drive system. As he drew closer the buffeting got worse, making the whole ship shake from bow to stern. He pushed the yoke forward to gain a little more speed, aiming for a point between the six banks of drive plates on the
Orion Dawn’s
stern. Between the two banks was a dead, or clear spot, and as he drew closer, the buffeting grew less. The window between the two banks was narrow, and if he let the
Nemesis
drift to port or starboard more than a few degrees, the resulting touch from the massive, totally invisible drive plume would severely damage the
Nemesis
and might even rip her apart.

“Ohhh… sweet Jesus,” Pete muttered. As they drew closer the proximity alarm sounded and was quickly killed by someone.

Pete sucked in his breath, gripping the armrest of the command seat, knuckles white. For a moment, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His captain was a certified lunatic, yet the sheer brilliance of the maneuver was astonishing. No one but a madman would ever think of pulling off something like this. He heard the hatch open and slowly turning his head saw Conner Blake tiptoed onto the bridge. The moment he saw the battle tank he froze. In a way it was mesmerizing to watch the
Nemesis
creep slowly underneath the stern of the massive ship. In this position, there was no way the sensor operators on the OWP or the picket ships could see through the drive plume and “see” her, even at optical range.

Mike held the
Nemesis
in that position for twenty-five agonizing minutes, sweat pouring down his face, hands as light as a feather on the control yokes. He could only guess when the
Orion Dawn
would deploy her sails to jump into
n
th
space. The
Orion Dawn
started to slow as she applied breaking thrust, just perceptibly at first as she came to “slow ahead” for entry. Mike had only one choice. It was far too dangerous to try and back out of this position, so he did the only thing he could. He put the nose of the ship down and applied power, diving down and away just as
Hawkins
radiation started to surround the
Orion Dawn
like Saint Elmo’s fire. A small wind blew across the bridge as everybody let out the breath they’d been holding at the same time. Mike switched to autopilot and slumped back into the helmsman seat and did the opposite, and sucked in a deep lung full of life giving air. Now his hands shook like a man with a bad case of palsy, and taking off the helmet and racking it, he wiped his wet face. Cindy handed him a towel, now standard equipment for someone sitting in the first helm chair.

“Thanks, I needed that. You have the helm, Cindy.”

“I have the helm, aye.”

With a little difficulty, Mike stood and made his way back to the command seat. “Well, that was fun.”

Pete giggled, and first officers on His Majesty’s warships aren’t supposed to giggle, but he couldn’t help himself. “Fun‼…” He spluttered. Opening the armrest he pulled out a data pad and quickly started scribbling with a shaky hand as fast as he could.

“What’s that XO?” Pete let out a sound that Mike couldn’t interpret.

“Oh… this… Nothing really, sir. Just my immediate transfer to a nice safe, uninteresting position as the first man on an operational bomb disposal team, sir.” Mike had the grace to blush slightly. “I think I’d be much safer there, and live to see old age.”

“Oh, come on, Pete. It wasn’t that bad.” Mike hurriedly sat in his command chair, as he didn’t think his legs would hold him up much longer. He looked over at Janice and smiled. She didn’t smile back.

“Can we not EVER do that again in my lifetime, SIR?” She responded, tossing her hair over her shoulder in the universal female sign of dismissal.

“Yes, let’s add that to the long list of things not to do again, Skipper,” Gable added, looking a little green around the gills.

“I think I’ll go down to my cabin and freshen up. You have the Conn, Mr. Standish-Owen.” Mike decided that discretion was the better part of valor at the moment, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I have the Conn. I’ll finish making out my transfer request there. All crew stand down from Yellow alert,” he ordered.”

“What a bunch of ninnies,” Mike muttered as he left, hearing more than one person snicker as he did.

*  *  *  *  *  *

It didn’t take long before the convoy turned up, and the
Hemlock
fell into formation off their starboard bow as they entered
n
th
space. Now off duty, Pete and Jan sat in the wardroom sipping their favorite drinks before heading to their cabins for a well earned rest.

“I know why he didn’t say anything before he did it,” Jan volunteered.

“Did what?” Pete asked. ‘Oh, you mean that… that… crazy stunt…”

“It wasn’t crazy… well, no more than his usual unconventional way of doing things.”

“So what would you call it?”

“A well thought out maneuver to solve an immediate problem.”

“That being, getting us out of Sol system without being detected?”

“Right, and if he’d told you what he was going to do before he did it?” Jan raised one eyebrow in question.

Pete blew out his cheeks and nodded. “I would have tried to talk him out of it,” he admitted at length.

“We… he knew he didn’t have time to argue, or discuss it with you. There wasn’t time once he’d worked out how to get us out of the system.”

“Christ on a crutch! He might have at least warned me,” Pete grumbled, knowing she was right. There hadn’t been time to stop and chat about it, or look at other options. He was the captain, and on his shoulders rested the safety of this ship and her crew.

“You know, before this trip is all over, I’m going to be old and gray,” He muttered into his mug.

“Yeah, but think how distinguished you’ll look to your crew when you have your own command,” Jan chuckled.

“Right! If I live that long.” On that note, they retired to their respective bunks.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Much of the long trip was boring, jump, exit, move to the next WP, jump, exit, move, but the crew of the
Hemlock
were accustomed to it. There were a few grumbles about not getting any shore leave on Earth, but the word had spread for the reason why they couldn’t. The thought of a long R&R on Avalon made up for the disappointment, remembering their last one. After they’d exited the last jump, the
Rift
stars blazed across the screen and they knew they were close. One more
jump
and they’d be at the Avalon controlled entry point. So far, Jan, Pete, and Mike had managed to plot a roundabout course to avoid the Sirrien controlled WP, thereby doubling the time needed to get to Avalon.

“Set our course for the refueling station, Jan. Might as well top off our tanks while we can,” Pete ordered.

The independent star system of
Rheinholt
was semi-aligned with the Sirrien Empire on the edge of the galactic arm and one they would have preferred to avoid. According to the database there should only be a few Sirrien patrol vessels in-system, and they’d have to pay the exorbitant transit fees. On the good side, the local customs inspection entailed the transfer of additional credits to the customs office that the local government never got a share of. That was just how Mr. Wellesley wanted it. The fewer people poking their noses in the cargo hold of his three ships, the better he liked it. Pete suspected they were carrying contraband, but Mike seemed unconcerned. Going to Avalon space was a risk for drug smugglers, as Avalon Customs and Excise had a low tolerance for certain types of drugs.

“Anything of interest, Jan?" Pete asked, only vaguely familiar with this system.

“Not much, XO. Just your usual corporation-run star system. Two inhabited planets, extensive mining on three others. Third-generation imported work force for the factories, slave labor by any other name,” she added. “Extensive pollution on both inhabited planets.” It wasn’t a pretty picture, but not one they hadn’t seen before. The corporate bosses didn’t live on any of these planets, so the conditions for the work force or the inhabitants were no concern of theirs. They left all the dirty tasks of actually running the place to their designated overseers. The overseers in turn extracted as much profit for themselves as the company. Depending in which jurisdiction you were in, or if you were an independent star system like Avalon, conditions for the population and workers ranged from abysmal to excellent. Systems that fell under the control of the Sirriens tended to be worse than many others. There wasn’t a lot Earth could do about it. They weren’t an interstellar police force, nor did they have the force or means to enforce any human right issues. That was up to the local people to work out, usually by revolution, which in many cases was very bloody.

“Humm,” Jan muttered, “I don’t like the look of this, XO.”

“What… Oh, I see.” Pete looked up at the battle tank, Five warships had exited twenty minutes behind them, and were now following them on an overtake course. “Any ident code?”

“Working… I think they are Confederate States ships, sir. Wait one while I firm up the picture. Oh my. They look a bit worse for wear,” she said after a moment as the incoming data stream from the sensors added to the growing picture in the tank. She was right, all five ships showed battle damage. One of the three light cruisers showed more than the others. “Humm. Bit of a mixed bunch, Skipper. At least two of the light cruisers are Union ships.”

“Comm, hail them and ask it they need assistance. We might as well act friendly.”

“Transmitting message, sir.” At this distance, the time lag was minimal, and a few moments later, an incoming vid call came back.

“This is acting captain, Chris Longmire of the Confederate ship
Cimarron
, thanks for the offer. Who be you?” The drawn face of a youngish man appeared on the main screen.

“This is Standish-Owen, XO of the independent mercenary ship,
Hemlock
, escorting three merchantmen to Christchurch,” Pete replied.

“Good luck to you, Mr. Standish-Owen, you are going to need it.” Chris Longmire wiped his hand over his face. “The fucking… sorry about that. The Sirriens are on the warpath so you’d better get where you are going and be darn quick about it.”

“Warpath! What happened?” For a moment, Pete thought the young man was about to cry, but he pulled himself together.

“A month ago, they sent four battle fleets into our, and the US of A, star systems and…” He choked up for a moment. “They didn’t give us any warning, no request to surrender… nothing… they just opened fire.”

“Oh my Lord,” Pete reached over and tapped the inter-ship comm system. “Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge.” No matter where the skipper was, he’d hear the call. “Can you tell me what happened?” Pete asked, softly.

“They creamed us, I mean they pounded us into scrap metal, us and the Union fleets.” Just then, Mike came running onto the bridge. The news was so startling that the Marine guard forgot to announce him as usual.

*  *  *  *  *  *

By long tradition the officer of the watch, in this case Chris Longmire, sat in the captain’s chair, and he wondered why this was so. His dark brown eyes swept the bridge, but as usual nothing was out of place. He loved the quiet efficiency of his crew as they went about their duties with little fuss. After eighteen months, they’d shaken down into a well-oiled unit with a little weeding out of malcontents and lead swingers. That was another nautical term he wondered about. Research pointed back to the days of sailing ships before the invention of the fathometer where a man was stationed on the bow of the ship with a long line with a lead weight on the end. The rope was knotted in six-foot, or one fathom intervals, and as the ship entered shallow water, the man would drop the weight to the bottom and call out the depth. Over a long period this could be tiring so he’d call out the depth without actually dropping the line, thereby the term, swinging the lead. He suspected that the tradition of the officer on watch sitting in the command chair was so they’d get a taste of what being the captain felt like. Either way, many of the terms they still used had their roots in the days of wooden ships and sails. He smiled slightly wondering how you’d keelhaul someone in space.

“Message drone just entered the system, XO,” the communications technician called. That was odd, as he wasn’t expecting a message drone for another week. By then they would have resurveyed the systems for anything unusual and checked in with the mining colony on Dixie Five.

“Wow! It’s squawking code red, sir.”

“What! Helm, head for the position of the drone. Comm, be prepared to download the data the moment we are at optimum range.” They both acknowledged their orders as Chris hit the ship’s intercom.

“Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge.” That would tell the captain that it was something out of the ordinary, rather than his customary call down to his cabin to update him on something. Naval HQ on Richmond didn’t send out a message drone squawking code red for anything less than a national emergency, or war. Three minutes later Captain Guy Pierce came running onto the bridge and immediately sat in his recently vacated chair.

“Status, Number One.”

“We are heading to the position of the message drone, sir, and preparing to download the data the moment we reach optimum range.”

“Good, Comm, also send a recall order to Lieutenant Commander Distard and ask him to rejoin us.”

“Aye aye, Captain, relaying the message now.”

“What do you think, Chris?”

“Not sure, sir. Richmond wouldn’t send a drone with a code red warning unless it was something very important.”

“Like?”

“War, sir,” he whispered, seeing his Skipper shiver slightly.

“In range, Captain. Downloading message – eyes only,” he said after a moment.

“Oh shit!” was Captain Pierce’s mutter as he read the decoded message. For a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “As you suspected, Chris, it’s war.”

“Oh Lord… the Sirriens?”

The Captain nodded. “As soon as Bo and his destroyer squadron arrive, make a least time course to WP Epsilon and Richmond, flank speed.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Least time course and flank speed it is.” He repeated.

“Comm - as soon as Lieutenant Distard is within hailing range with no lag, let me know.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Lieutenant Merrick, bring all weapon systems to condition yellow.” Lieutenant Merrick, the weapons officer looked startled, his boyish face getting three shades lighter. The only reason to bring all weapon systems to condition yellow was war. Three hours later, Specialist Gordon Tailor at the comm systems called down to the Captain to say that Lieutenant Distard was now in communications range with no time lag.

“Bo, thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“No problem sir. Thought it might be important when my sensor tech picked up that message drone dropping in-system.”

“Good man to have spotted it when you were so far out. Anyway, to get to the point. Bring your squadrons weapons systems to condition yellow. We are at war with the Sirriens.”

“About damn time, Skipper. We knew it was bound to happen.”

“Yes, sadly I have to agree. Let’s just hope we can get home and help do something about it.”

“Your orders, sir?” He asked formally.

“Make a least time course to WP Epsilon and Richmond, flank speed. Anyone who can’t keep up or breaks down will be left behind to make their own way home at best possible speed.” Even as he gave the order, he hoped that none of his aging fleet would break down. The thought of going into combat with anything less than his total fire power didn’t have a lot of appeal.

With a quick message to the mining colony about the situation the light cruiser
Cimarron
, and ten fast attack destroyers headed towards the northern warp point, WP Epsilon, and home. As a precaution, Captain Pierce ordered navigation to drop them out of
n
th
space one day short of the home star system.

“We need to see what we are jumping into, XO. Our hyper footprint will tell anyone watching that we are coming, there’s no way around that, but coming out a day short should give us a few options.”

“I agree, Skipper. If the Sirriens have invaded, I suspect the battle will be over by the time we get there.”

“True, a lot can happen, considering that it took two weeks for the drone to reach us, and we have two weeks in
n
th
to get back there.”

“With luck, out main battle fleet will stop them.”

Captain Pierce looked at his friend and XO with haunted eyes. Was it more than wishful thinking on his XO’s part, or did he really believe that the outdated Confederate fleet could stop a serious Sirrien incursion. It was hard to tell. He hoped so as well, but knowing just how up to date the Sirrien Navy was, and how out of date the Confederate fleet was in comparison, he had his doubts. The two week jump did give them time to shake the cobwebs out of the crews’ combat readiness cutting the time from stand down to full alert by a full minute

“Time to exit, ten minutes, Skipper,” Rolland Pike, the navigation officer announced. It wasn’t necessary, as everyone on the bridge could see the ship’s clock, but habits are hard to break.

“Bring us back to condition yellow, XO.”

“Aye aye, sir. Condition yellow it is.” This time the crew was even faster getting to their assigned combat stations, ratcheting up the tension even higher.

“Transition,” Rolland Pike announced.

The
Cimarron
and eight of her escort destroyers dropped out of
n
th
in a blaze of displaced energy, slightly closer to the star system than calculated. Not that the captain minded as he got to see what was happening that much quicker. Captain Pierce did wonder for a moment what had happened to two of his destroyer escorts, but brushed it away as irrelevant. Wherever they were, it wasn’t here, where he needed them.

“Active sensor sweep. They know we are here so it’s no good us trying to hide.” Even so, it took time for all the blanks in the battle tank to fill in.

“Damn it! The OWP at solar north is gone.” From their exit position above the home star, they “looked down” on the system, so one of the first things to come into view was the orbiting weapons platform guarding the warp point.

From then on, the “picture” went from bad to worse. They picked up orbiting debris from shattered picket ships, and lonely life pods pinging a plea for help. As the hours passed and they dropped down the gravity well, the picture became grimmer. The Confed fleet as such didn’t exist anymore except as an orbiting debris field. As they ghosted in-system, Captain Pierce ordered all ships to send out search and rescue shuttles to pick up as many active life pods as they could find, but sadly, there were very few. The reason became clear as they passed a cluster of them finding they’d been hulled by weapons fire.

“Oh god! Those rotten pigs blew the life pods away.” Chris would have cried except for the mounting fury he felt.

“These people have a lot to answer for, Chris. Our turn will come, mark my words,” was the only solace he could give.

“Sir, I’m picking up ships headed our way… Sirrien ships, Captain.” Captain Pierce turned and looked at the battle tank and swore.

“Damn it to hell! We have to get out of here. There’s no way we can take on five heave cruisers and twenty destroyers. Helm, reverse course! Comm, order all ships to follow us.”

“Captain! We just can’t…”

“Can’t what? Run?” He snapped. “All we can do right now is stand and die. Is that what you want? A glorious death fighting an unwinnable battle?”

“No… yes…”

“Chris, I know how you feel, and believe me, if I thought we stood a ghost of a chance against that many, I’d take it, but we don’t. If we stay, we die.”

“But… but…”

“You think it’s cowardly to turn and run against superior numbers? We are not the three hundred Spartans standing at the Hot Gate or Davy Crocket at the Alamo. We are an outgunned naval squadron with nowhere to call home.”

“So… where do we go? A colony planet?” seeing the captain shake his head.

“If they hit the home system, you can bet they sent additional forces to capture any star systems that had any significant forces. Our best bet is to run to the Union and let them know what happened. Maybe we can join up with one of their task forces and come back to even the score.” It was a faint hope, but better than staying here and being pounded to scrap.

“Our best bet is to jump back to the mining colony, get sorted out and head for Union space. Let’s hope the Sirriens haven’t gotten around to capturing all of our star systems.”

Chris didn’t look happy. “Aye aye, sir. Nav set up a course to take us back to the
Dixie Five
mining colony. Comm, make to all ships our proposed destination.”