Jethro: First to Fight (76 page)

“Roger, I'll go for her engines,” Sticks
replied. She could hear the disappointment in the Veraxin's tone, he wanted a
ship kill to his credit. Well, that was too bad, if they could take the ship
they would, it would mean one more hull to their fleet. That was more important
than ego- if they could get the pirates dug out of there.

“Cobra 3, Fox one!” Sticks said and then
flipped. He added his own gun to the carnage, but the keel still had
functioning weapons. His incoming torpedo took a glancing hit but bore on.

When it erupted it scoured away the pods
on the stern and keel, and crumpled the lower fusion thruster. It sputtered and
then died, the other two remaining drives sputtered themselves, and spat.

The graser turret that had been lining a
shot up on the Veraxin's fighter took a hit from behind by the explosion and
debris just as it was about to fire. Like a slap to the back of the head the
force of the impact drove the turret's barrels down to its own deck as Gunner's
mate Rocko pulled the trigger. Four terawatts of intense energy tore down the
barrels and into the destroyer's hull.

The hull armor was strong, but not
strong enough. It had been designed to dissipate and contain damage from
thousands of kilometers out, not a measly ten centimeters. The beams were
concentrated in packets of energy a centimeter thick. Four terawatts of energy
tore through the armor like tissue paper, digging in like stilettos into the
ship's own bowls. They tore at the ship's already fragile systems, ripping
apart the power feeds from her one functional fusion reactor. The power room crew
had just enough time to hit the big red kill switch to scram the reactor.

The Horathians had unfortunately
replaced a lot of the inert superconductors used to channel power or electrical
control signals with copper or fiber optic plastic. These melted down, molten
plastic and copper splattered and dribbled all over the interior of the
conduits and into the guts of the ship. When the air was sucked out of the
compartment they were left to drift, attaching themselves here and there to
whatever they stuck to, shorting out more equipment. Suddenly the ship went
dark as the last of  her central power was sapped from her EPS conduits.
Her systems were suddenly thrown on internal back up capacitors and batteries.

“Did we kill it?” Sticks asked eagerly.
The ship drifted as if it had a dead stick, slowly rolling counter clockwise.
She frowned as the starboard flank slowly turned towards her.

“I'm thinking... no,” Hurt locker
replied as point defense lasers started up again, firing blindly at her. Her
ship took a glancing hit on the starboard side, sending her into a tumble. “I'm
hit!” she said, flipping into recovery and damage control mode.

“I'm coming back Hurt locker!” Sticks
said, now concerned. “I'll cover you!”

“Stick to the mission!” She urged,
fighting the controls. Something had blown in her shields, they were gone. Her
RCS kept kicking. “Come on baby,” she urged softly, fighting the controls.
Finally she hit the cut off sequence, cutting the RCS out when nothing more
could be done. Most likely something in its micro computer had been cooked. She
checked her wing, turning her head slowly to see the damage. It looked okay,
just scorched where the RCS pod was embedded in it. She frowned.

“You okay lady?” Sticks asked.

“Oh I'm fine, a little banged up, but
still a bitch to be reckoned with,” Hurt locker replied. She returned her
attention to the drifting destroyer. “I think someone else is in worse shape
than I am though,” she said, smiling.

“I'd say so. Let's get you back to the
barn,” Sticks said.

“Nah, I'm good. Let's just sit here and
see if I can get my systems back up,” she said, still working with damage
control. She really didn't want to move fast with her shields down, bad things
tended to get in the way when you did that.

...*...*...*...*...

Firefly came around the planet in a
slingshot, picked up speed instead of dumping it, then bored on through the
tangle of Horathian ships. “It looks like the fighters got one tin can,” CIC
reported. “Two gunships are limping as well.” The ship's main view screen and
plot were updated. There was a muted cheer from the bridge crew.

The Captain noted only three fighter
IFF's remaining. She frowned, Cobra 5 was missing. Damn. “CIC, get with the
fighter computers, find out what happened to Cobra 5. Plot a last known
position for a future SAR.”

“Aye aye Captain. We've got a sitrep,
according to Cobra 4, Cobra 5 is KIA.”

“Damn.”

“Let's see what we can do,” the Captain
said, leaning forward eagerly. “Hurt Locker's softened them up, let's get in
and knock them down. Launch remaining fighters.”

“Launch remaining fighter compliment
aye,” Purple Thorn said. She hit a key and then looked up. “Prifly reports they
are away,” she said. Four new IFF's entered the plot, moving out on their own
engagement missions. They would each hit a target, leaving Cutlass to Firefly.

“Spin?” Purple Thorn asked.

“Spin and flip. Get ready,” the Captain
said. “We'll get one shot at this,” she murmured.

Firefly went into another corkscrew,
spinning and jiggling along her base course, dodging any lock the Horathian's
attempted to get.

While she was doing that micro pods were
being spat out her counter missile ports, along with bursts of chaff and
flares.

Her force beams reached out, oscillating
between tractor and repel in microseconds, ripping and tearing at the enemy's
shields, overloading their nodes, overheating them or tearing the nodes apart.
Firefly's main turrets and missile tubes fired, tearing into the now vulnerable
ships around her. Anything that was on her base course was shredded by her bow
missiles and guns. She pitched up and down, weaving around wreckage. “Bob and
weave, keep us a moving target,” the Captain said.

“Aye aye Captain,” the helmsman said.

“Guns, launch remaining missiles on the
Cutlass. Let's finish this.”

...*...*...*...*...

Captain Maul snarled at the damage
report as his ship rocked once more. That fool in gold braid didn't know when
to quit a losing situation. They were getting hammered, more than half their
remaining gunships were wreckage. The other half were trying to chase down the
agile fighters. Not that they could, none had the speed or maneuverability of
the tiny things.

“Sir...”

“Shut up!” the admiral said, rounding on
him. “If I want your opinion Captain, I'll give it to you!” he snarled, foam
flecks on his lips.

The Captain looked away immediately,
recognizing madness.

“Sir, Archeon has been disabled. So has
Kiev and Court Intrigue. We're down to four frigates remaining.”

“Damn. We can win this!” the admiral
snarled. He clenched his fist when a couple of Cutlass's shots got through,
hammering the cruiser's shields. “
SEE
?” he demanded.

“Incoming! Thirty missiles incoming!”
CIC reported, voice rising in near panic. They had seen what two torpedoes
could do, thirty missiles?

“Point defense! Turn her port on to the
incoming missiles. Reinforce Port shields! Counter missiles fire!”

“Blow chaff and release decoys. Helm,
drop us down, emergency blow Y axis!” the Captain called. “All hands brace for
impact!” he bellowed into the intercom and then held on to his armrests.

...*...*...*...*...

“Damn this is lonely,” Hurt locker
grumbled, looking around. She'd sent Sticks in to help Slammer since his
wingman Sledge had bought it. Sticks was millions of kilometers away now. Space
was vast, dark, and damn eerie when you were all alone.

Well, not quiet alone. She was out of
the battle space, but not quite in deep space. A cluster of rocks was about a
thousand kilometers off to her port stern. She had come here in case she needed
quick cover to go to ground in. It didn't look like it, but she liked having
the option.

Off to her starboard side, about two
million kilometers out was a solar farm. Quite a big one, and from the looks of
it, well maintained. The pirates hadn't shot it up too, which was a wonder.

“Cobra 4 this is Yard dog one, need a
lift?” a female voice said over the guard channel. Hurt locker looked around,
confused until her HUD guided her to an incoming tug. It was coming in behind
her, from the direction of the asteroids.

“I'm, damn it, no I'm not good,” she
cursed, checking her readings. Her fuel was too low and she'd just received
orders to recover on the planet. That wasn't possible, the damn misfiring RCS
had drained too much fuel from her.

“I'm in the neighborhood lady, make up
my mind,” Mairi said over the link.

“Who the hell are you?” Hurt locker
demanded.

Mairi snorted. “A friend. Ever heard the
expression, any port in the storm?” she asked. She flashed her IFF in a
directional burst laser at the fighter.

“Yeah,” Hurt locker said nodding. “I'm
just still classifying you as friend.” Her computer received the whisker laser
and then opened the file. She scanned the brief IFF and then focused on the
attached file. It was a note from one reservist first Lieutenant Warner,
stating that the tug and it's pilot were on the navy side. She shrugged. She
had to take a chance.

“I am one,” Mairi replied, approaching
the fighter. “The Warners sent me to lend a hand. I was hiding in the rocks.”

“Oh?”

“Look I'm not some damn Horathian pirate
damn it, I'm with Yard Dogs. The shipyard. What's left of it anyway,” Mairi
said bitterly. She waved a waldo in the direction of the yard between them and
Antigua Prime station.

Hurt locker turned, looking at the torn
up scaffolding and ripped open building spaces. Some of it was still good, the
ship that had been in the dock looked salvageable, but it was sure beat up
something wicked. “What's been done can be undone kid.”

“Yeah well, I just spent the better part
of a year putting that tinker toy set together. I'm not happy about it getting
chewed up so fast,” Mairi replied.

“Like I said, if you can build that from
scratch kid, you can fix it. I'm betting you'll get your chance soon enough.”

“What do you need?” Mairi asked,
extending a robotic arm out.

Hurt locker winced as the arm approached
her. It slowed to a stop near a universal docking port. She opened the port and
the hexagonal key chuck slid in. She clamped down on it. Now they were joined.
“Need a ride?” Mairi asked.

“Actually, if you could spare some
fuel...” Hurt locker suggested. “I'm supposed to recover ground side,” she said
with a frown.

The girl looked up at her from the
bubble canopy and then shrugged. She had her visor up, Hurt locker could see
the girl was young, a teen. “Sure, I've got fuel. They sent me out with a
couple hundred tons of fuel and oxy when the pirates came in.”

“Wait, you've been in the rocks for
what, a week?”

“Ten days. And I itch and need a shower,
so be glad you don't have to smell me,” Mairi said wryly. Hurt locker chuckled
in sympathy. “I can get out of this suit to scratch, but it's a pain in the
ass,” she said.

“Ah.”

“So, fuel. Enough to get to the planet
with a bit of a reserve?” Mairi asked.

Hurt locker nodded, sending the
calculations to the girl. The girl whistled softly, and then extended another
arm. This one had a flexible fuel line attached to it by zip ties. It moved to
the fighter and then hesitated. “It's behind my cockpit,” she said. Hurt locker
flipped a switch and the armor covering her fuel port behind her cockpit
retracted.

The girl bent the arm docked to the
craft so she could see around the craft. “Oh there it is,” she said. She
maneuvered the arm to the port, and then gently slid it in. “Fill er up. Don't
bitch cause it's basic,” she said.

Hurt locker noted the fuel transfer had
begun. “Wouldn't dream of it little lady,” Hurt locker replied.

“What's your name?” Mairi asked shyly.

“You can call me Hurt locker kid, it's
my handle. What's yours?”

“Queen bitch sometimes,” Mairi said,
making a face. “Mairi. Sometimes Mairi quite contrary to some of the yahoos on
the station.”

“Men,” Hurt locker replied, rolling her
eyes. “Can't shoot em, can't space em.”

“You can try,” Mairi replied dryly. Both
women looked at each other and smiled slightly.

When the fuel transfer was completed
Mairi disengaged from the fighter and then drifted clear. “You're all set. Have
a nice flight,” she said, saluting with one waldo arm.

“You too. I'd ask you to come with me
but that thing wouldn't survive atmo I think,” Hurt locker said.

“Nope, so I'll just stay here,” she said
smiling.

“Roger that. We catch up when this is
over, drinks are on me,” Hurt locker said, keying the ignition sequence.

“I'll hold you too it,” Mairi replied,
smiling as the fighter turned slightly, reorienting on the proper course, and
then her engines lit.