Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (11 page)

“And what they'll do elsewhere,” Firefly agreed.

“Yeah, you would remind me of that,” the captain said looking away from his image.

---<>))))

Captain Bordou gloated as she noted her ship's efficiency. The water dwellers were working out well. A minor redirect of the vent away from them after the first shift and a bit of a vaporizer to keep them a little happier and they did their job far better than her own people. She wondered briefly what they would be like once they were fully trained.
Apache
was set to run rings around the opposition. She now fully understood why the admiralty had set a priority on such inferior beings.

Mara saw the woman's face, normally a cold mask, smile, and she felt bitterness over that as her eyes cut away. Her last hope of rescue vanished when the ship jumped into actual hyperspace. She'd thought her first introduction had been real; she knew better now.

She had been briefly tempted to steer the ship into a grav wave to deliberately destroy her. Surely a quick death was preferable to slavery, right? She didn't do it though. Emory had tried during their first training period, and he'd been shocked by tasers then locked away in the cold brig without food or water for a day. He'd returned quiet and cowed by the experience, greedy for any drop of water the others could scrounge for him.

There was never enough water to go around it seemed. It was tepid too, lacking the salt of the seas they were used to. Harsh chemicals scoured their skins. The Horathian medics came around daily, tut tutting the rough patches.

She felt a bump as the officer monitoring her took notice of her inattention. She refocused on the task at hand. After a moment she glanced at the clock. They had each of them manning eight-hour shifts. She had six long hours left to go.

The one and only saving grace about the entire existence was the god sea. It was truly something spectacular she thought.

---<>))))

Once the last pirate ship jumped,
Firefly
put out a radio call to the planet to alert them, then went about her repairs as she made her way to the planet.
Tumuloch, John Paul Jones
, and
Intensity
sat between the jump points in case another ship came in. The courier was dispatched to Gaston within an hour of the pirate's departure. In the highest octaves of delta, it would take her just under four weeks to cross the 13.9 light year divide.

Firefly
carried shuttles from the other ships as well as volunteers within her boat bays to the planet. Work crews did what they could for the ship along the way, but their main focus was slowly becoming the planet as they grew closer and closer to it. The cratered planet was put up on every screen and a tally of the damage was updated whenever new news presented itself. It took a sharp eye to find the occasional piece of good news in all that misery.

They knew they had little to be able to help relieve some of that misery, but they were determined to do what they could with what they had.

---<>))))

Nohar passed on control of the police forces to Commissioner Gordon once the old man woke up from his induced coma. The tiger took a couple hours to curl up and get some much needed rest before he woke, ate a ration pack, then dived back into the heart breaking work of search and rescue.

Along the way a group of fisherman returned to the shores of their home. A small group combed the seaside town. Survivors that had been huddled there told them of where Mara and her group had been caught. So too did the survivors Mara had managed to extract from the pirate's clutches.

They went into the building and found the letter from Mara. The kid who found it almost threw it out, but his mother stopped him. She scanned it, then passed it on to a constable. Somehow it got to the navy a few days later when they arrived.

“I wonder … was this what it was about? Really about?”

“I don't know. We'll pass it on to intelligence and let them deal with it,” Purple Thorn said with a shake of her tiny head. She made certain her eyes scanned the document thoroughly, then handed it off to a tech to bag and send backup to the ship. “I'm glad I'm small; I can get into tight spaces. It'd be nice to find living people instead of corpses though,” she said.

“Not much chance of that, ma’am. It's been weeks since the bombardment began,” the tech said, sealing the envelope.

“Yeah, but there is always hope,” she sighed, resigned to the lack of positive findings. But it had to be done she reminded herself.

Chapter 6

Lieutenant Commander Carlos Santina thought about life's little ironies as he sipped his coffee and looked around the CIC. His eyes invariably turned to envy as they fell on the fortress slowly cooling as it made its way to them—another ball, a hollowed-out
Gibraltar
class asteroid fortress nearly a hundred kilometers across. She dwarfed his B-450a
Fire base
class fortress into nothing. Which was fine, they could use the company after all. He just wished the brass would see fit to arm and outfit the damn thing
before
sending it over like a billiard. It didn't even have engines for crying out loud! He shook his head as he used his implants to get an inquiry. Sure enough, every tug in the area was on duty slowing the behemoth down.

His command wasn't half bad but not nearly as good as that one would be. That was,
if
he ended up with her. He wasn't sure at this point. He was up for a promotion in the next cycle, and someone would need to man the new fortress as well as each of the other fortresses at the other jump points. Were they planning on shutting his command down and transferring his crew into her like they had the others? It was highly likely. It would be nice to command something that big—quite a feather in his cap. It'd be even nicer if it really was a full-on base with base housing and better still if he wasn't going to have to put up with years and years of contraction while they moved in and got the thing outfitted. He wasn't looking forward to that part.

He'd served on and eventually commanded asteroid fortresses since he'd signed on with the Federation Navy all of six years ago. Most people joined the navy to be on a ship and see the galaxy, he had other things on his mind, other priorities like defense. He'd had enough travel, and settling Iona and the kids on Antigua in base housing had seemed like a good idea at the time. Iona was from a planet; he'd
thought
she'd be okay with it. But she constantly complained about the housing, the neighbors, the noise of construction, the kids’ teachers, the lack of shopping and friends in the area … it went on and on in her emails and vidmails. He was rather regretting not taking on a shipboard assignment more and more.

He snorted at himself. Who was he kidding. He'd be hangdog and miserable if he didn't get to see the kids all the time. Just being away like he was, all the way out on the outskirts of the Antigua star system was bad enough! He shuddered at the idea of being gone and missing them growing up for months or years at a time.

“Cold, sir?”

“No, just woolgathering, Chief,” the commander replied as he set the coffee cup down. “Anything?”

“No, sir. Engineering thinks they have that glitch in tracking fixed.”

“Think?”

“Well, I think we'll have to run a sim to be sure or a full exercise,” the chief said.

“Bored, Chief?”

The chief eyed him. “Don't curse me, sir. You know what they say about that,” the chief said in mock disgust. “I'd rather go through routine boredom than …,” he was cut off as klaxons wailed.

“What the hell?” both men said in unison, looking up and then to the plotting section.

The tech saw their look and turned back to her station. “Sorry, sir. We have an unscheduled emergence at the jump point. It's … tracking is confirming it is a warship; mass is right on the destroyer range, sir. She's … she's firing!” The chief shot the commander a sour look for cursing them as they swung into action.

“Battle stations! All hands, battle stations! Bring the shields and defenses on line
now
!” the chief barked.

The commander didn't even have to consult the ROE; it was a cut and dried situation. “Return fire!” the commander said, bracing himself.

“Shit, sir, two ships just made jump on the inner edge of the jump zone! Repeat, two. One is a destroyer; CIC is classing it as a
Nelson.
The other is a freighter.” As the tech continued his report his excitement dampened into more professional tones.

“Rules of Engagement are clear,” the chief said darkly.

“If the freighter isn't firing, don't fire on her,” the commander amended as he checked tracking. A half dozen missiles were incoming. Ten times that number were being sent in return. He could send more, but it would be like swatting a fly with a hundred sledgehammers. Definitely overkill considering the missiles were all capital ship class. “Make sure of your targeting guns.”

“Not a problem, sir.” He checked the numbers CIC's telemetry was feeding him, then clicked a few times to get the commander's attention once more. “They are trying to run. I think … I don't think they have the fuel for it, sir,” CPO Be' said, clacking his mandibles. “There might be some splash damage on the freighter. Shall we launch fighters, sir?”

---<>))))

Captain Fred Tion of the
Nelson
class
HMSS Idiot's Array
cursed the universe and Lady Luck as she brought ruin to him. Only ruin and this was the end. There was no way, no way in
hell
could they survive that massive salvo. And from the look sensors were getting, there were plenty more where that came from. Thousands of missile pods and weapon platforms were coming online. Clouds of the damn things arrayed in neat rings around the jump point. No, arrays, for they actually englobed the jump point he realized as fresh data presented itself to his tiny console.

“Evasive action,” he snarled, eying the missile spread he'd sent out. He'd thought there might be something on the jump point, and he'd been right. That was cold comfort compared to how badly he'd underestimated what was there.

He had no time for regrets. None at all, he thought, for they had a minute or two tops to live. Antigua had been their last chance to get back to the Empire, and their gamble hadn't paid off. “Guns stand by defense. Plan Omega 1,” he ordered. Omega one was the use ‘em or lose ‘em defense of the ship and their consorts. In other words, fire until they ran dry. Not that it was going to help much.

“Aye, sir. We'll do what we can,” the acting tactical officer said. The captain grunted, eyes locked on the plotting display. Their radar was up, but it was fuzzy.

“Keep
Chico
between us and
Wizard of Winter
as long as possible. With any luck one of them might make it out of this mess, though I doubt it.” It was too much to hope for, he knew. Despite the fuel they'd taken on from
Rhianna
, the
Caravan
class freighter they had sucked dry and abandoned in Centennial, the surviving trio of ships were all running on fumes. They'd expected to run across something,
anything
to refuel. Lady Luck's blessing hadn't been smiling on them. For some reason she'd favored the enemy, this new/old enemy.

First the engagement in Kathy's World. That had rankled deeply, having to run from such small escorts. His orders had been clear though; he had to protect the damn freighter. Which was why he'd tangled with the enemy
Nelson
in B-452C at long-range but kept the range open for the entire engagement despite the lure of the enemy convoy passing right under his nose. Impotent rage at letting such a prize slip by unmolested had made him risk more than he should have. He'd gotten a good piece of the bastard but not enough to risk wading in to finish the job.
Wizard
had also taken more damage than he was comfortable with, which was why Ryobi's ship wasn't taking the primary engagement.

That, and he grudgingly admitted that he owed Captain Kerinski for not taking his advice and going elsewhere. When Centennial had proven to be a ghost system, they'd been forced to abandon
Rhianna
and vampire her consumables to keep the other three ships moving. He'd set booby traps on the ship then left her in the outer star system for someone else to find. They were welcome to what they found.

He'd wanted to double back, get back to friendly space with their reports. It was obvious now he'd waded into a hornets' nest. They could only hope to run across the star system to get out of it.

“Sir, should we evacuate to her? Make a run for it?” Chief Smiley asked, eying him as if he already knew the answer.

The captain snorted as he turned to the chief. “No point. There is no getting out of this. I thought by jumping inside any sort of shell as close to the edge of the jump point as we could get safely we'd be okay. I guessed wrong. We're in for it.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief replied.

“Do we have anything left? Even training rounds?”

“Not even a spit wad, Skip, sorry,” the chief replied sourly.

“Damn. If I had a gun big enough, I'd probably shot it just out of spite,” the captain said with a grimace. The chief snorted. “So much for a lightly defended system we could sprint across.”

“Yeah,” the chief sighed.

---<>))))

Their fortress was the size of a heavy cruiser but had no hyperdrive and very small sublight engines for her size. She had the weapons of a light cruiser, massive capital grade reactors to power her oversized shield generators, boat bays, sensors, and a couple hundred meters of rock serving as a hull between them, the void, and the incoming missiles. Oh, and a shitload of counter weapons and fire control, three times what an equivalent cruiser had on board with massive magazines to go with them.

“Platforms Alpha and Romeo have a clean shot, sir,” Be' stated.

“Then use them to take them out. Hold off on the fighter launch until we no longer need our shields. Time to incoming?”

“Two minutes,” the chastened tech said, looking up from her monitor. “Engaging counter missiles and ECM now, sir.”

“Stay on it,” the commander stated, keeping his voice normal. He could see approval in the chief's eyes as he picked up his coffee cup and took another sip. He was nervous. This was his first real engagement, but he had to keep the act of professional confidence up.

---<>))))

“We've shot our wad, sir. They've intercepted it well before engagement range with some pretty good counter missiles. Definitely better than our own. I'm keeping
Wizard
up-to-date,” Jed said. The three ships were interlinked by an encrypted laser communication network. The destroyers were sharing everything they saw on the off chance that one of them might survive. They were sending a copy to the freighter in case she could bluff her way out of the system. That too was looking increasingly unlikely however.

Their decision to use the freighter as a shield was going to label her as a potential hostile. If the two
Nelsons
were taken down, that would mean the ship would be boarded by the warships in the star system. There were plenty to run her to ground, which meant he'd have to enact a small subset of his contingency orders. A distasteful one, but one he'd dutifully follow if he had to.

“Good for you. Not that it is going to do them or
Chico
much good. Time?”

“Ten seconds. Nine … eight …”

“Never mind I get the picture,” Captain Tion said, sitting back into his chair heavily. “Time to dance,” he said, watching his people hunch up, then relax as the inevitable decision was made.

---<>))))

“Incoming missile spread destroyed. Four missiles down. Remaining missiles have firm lock, sir,” the sensor tech stated, not turning away from his screens. Carlos could see the defensive PO open her mouth as if to give the same report then close it firmly.

He acknowledged the report with a brief nod. “Good to know.”

“Sir! A second
Nelson
has appeared on the other side of the freighter! She's maneuvering to aid the first!” Sensors stated.

“And you're just now noticing it?” the commander demanded, shaking his head. “Guns?”

“Romeo was cycled to fire. Retargeting platforms on new contact. She is a
Nelson
as well, sir. Permission to fire?”

“Do it,” the commander said as the additional
Nelson
did it's best to hammer at the incoming missile spread. Two more missiles died, then three more. He noted they were firing with a third of their weapons. They were reliant on energy weapons … did they have a magazine issue? Something was seriously wrong with those ships he thought, tucking the observation away for later review. Fourteen more missiles went down as they entered the PDL inner range.
Nelson
class destroyers were designed as defensive platforms he reminded himself; that was to be expected. But their victory was only fleeting. The surviving thirty-seven missiles hit their optimal engagement point and acted on their final programming like clockwork.

Each of those missiles were from his missile pods, not his limited internal magazines. They were each designed to take on a capital ship. They worked together; their primitive A.I. minds coordinating their attack over a laser network. Guns had opted for massive overkill on the single tin can, but since their orders were to hit hard right off to keep the enemy from getting into the inner system, he couldn't complain.

Besides, missiles were cheap these days he reminded himself.

The missile drives cut for a brief moment as panels were blown off so the warhead housings could kick clear. Each missile deployed six multiple independent targetable warheads from around their central core. They used their Orbital Maneuvering System to get clear of their mother vehicle, then the drive body of the missile kicked on again; this time going into sprint mode. It ran for the shielded craft with suicidal intensity only a computer's bravery could handle.