Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (72 page)

Chapter
39

First Lieutenant Oscar Levinson was beyond bored with their current assignment. He'd thought picket duty had been bad enough, but then his ship
Descartes
and her sister ship
Loch
had been tagged as escorts, glorified babysitters to the factory/tender ship
Prometheus
. They'd had one dustup with the pirates in the star system they were occupying well over a standard year ago, but now they were back to being pickets and it sucked.

They'd had one ship pass through from B443 since
Prometheus
had left. One, actually the
only
civilian ship other than those that had been dispatched from Pyrax to deliver the ansible and pick up recruits. One ship, the
Carib Queen
. He'd talked with the skipper since the ship had a mark on her record, but since he hadn't had enough to hold her, he'd let her go.

What really sucked about being stuck in the back of beyond on picket duty was that his career was in free fall for no fault of his own. While he and First Lieutenant Yu were out languishing in obscurity doing their duty, others were getting the plum assignments. He had nothing against the
Horseshoe Crab
class frigates but he'd heard many of his classmates had already gotten postings on destroyers and even
cruisers
! That
sucked
!

Their classmates had also gotten promotions too. Some
outranked
him now, even though they'd been at the bottom of the barrel in class standings at graduation. He resented that. He'd been in combat; he'd done his bit. How much longer were they going to keep him stuck there? Yu too? He knew Yu had gotten the promotion over the wire to lieutenant first grade, and he was glad he'd gotten it. But he hadn't gotten a bump up to lieutenant commander and that sorely sucked.

Did it have anything to do with his complaints he wondered? Quite possibly. The navy didn't like a whiner. But damn it all, they'd been on station for over a year! He now had no parts to draw from. They had plenty of fuel sure, but no way to get food or give the crew much needed liberty on the planet! Their frigates were too damn small to have a shuttle after all! He shook his head in familiar annoyance.

He'd love, just love to give someone a piece of his mind for pulling this shit on him and his crew. Hell, his crew could be running other ships now too! He scowled blackly.

“Are we going to have another training exercise this week, sir?” Lieutenant Vlad Contenov, his acting XO and chief engineer asked. Vlad had taken over the number two slot on the ship after Lieutenant Eddington had been killed. Sometimes Oscar missed Eddington's gift with paperwork. Vlad “the impaler” was good, but he was also tied down in engineering half his time. They were still down three engineering ratings, having picked up one replacement before
Prometheus
had sailed. He liked to joke about being overworked and underpaid.

None of them had been paid since they'd sailed. The credits were theoretically earning interest in some Pyrax bank, he thought.

“What's the point,” the captain asked, annoyed as he pecked through the daily paperwork. The navy had learned bureaucracy and just because they were a couple hundred light years from Pyrax didn't mean they couldn't fill it out properly. They had to send in daily SITREPS, and they eagerly listened to the news dumps. But finding out that the powers that be had transmitted forms for him to fill out, some they wanted filled out for their entire journey! That sucked.

“It'll keep us busy,” the XO said hopefully.

“You mean it'll burn through fuel and parts and maybe, hopefully, we'll break something along the way and get to go home. If we could jump that is.” He shook his head. They were stuck in orbit of the planet since from there they could respond to either jump point equally.

“I know it's bad, sir but …”

The captain sighed. He nodded as he exhaled. “Sorry. I know it's eating at me so the crew is picking up on it too. They are miserable enough as it is, I suppose.”

“Getting some fresh food would be nice. Pity
Prometheus
couldn't have left us a shuttle behind.”

“They needed them all where they were going,” the captain replied.

The XO winced. “Yeah, forgot that,” he mumbled.

“I haven't. I'm glad we're here instead of looking down at that mud ball. It's bad enough to feel so damn helpless and useless here. There … it would have been ten times worse,” he said.

“True.”

The only other recent spate of excitement they had gotten was when the CEV
John Paul Jones
had jumped through on her way to check out the New Dublin jump chain a month ago. Unfortunately,
Jones
hadn't had the time to exercise, just take on fuel and then cross the star system for the next jump. He envied them. At least they seemed to be doing something about the damn pirates.

“Captain Yu reported another dozen recruits signed up on the planet,” the XO said.

The captain snorted. “Pity we can't get them up here or to Pyrax. I'd gladly give them the lift even if it'd crowd us out,” he said.

“Not enough life support or food, sir,” the XO said, shaking his head. “We'd be packed in like sardines. And they are just the most recent people to sign up.” Each of the frigates had a tiny cutter, but they had issues.
Loch's
cutter had a faulty drive and had been shut down due to the lack of spare parts.
Descarte's
tiny cutter was in use by the small modular space station
Prometheus
had built.

Bertha
, the third ship in their trio, was a tanker and had sent her atmospheric capable shuttles along with
Prometheus
to help out on ET. The tanker was rather quiet; he realized that if his duty sucked, the crew on that ship had it worse. They might have more room, but they were in an unarmed flying bomb, a slow lumbering bomb.

Which just meant the frigates had to make sure nothing got through to them.

Lieutenant Zeb had taken
Charleston Lake Folly
, the
Zanzibar
class freighter back to Pyrax along the route they'd taken to get there.
Prometheus
had done what she could by the ancient freighter but not enough to get her to move faster. According to their last ansible report, she was still halfway to Seti Alpha 4.

“Or at least try to. The brass needs to get us a resupply mission at the very least. Come in, drop off supplies, maybe swap some people out, pick up the new blood, then head out again,” the captain grumbled.

“Any news on that front?” the XO asked.

The captain snorted. “Not much. Apparently every time they sent a ship along behind us, she filled up before getting to Halced 6 and had to turn back. Sometimes some of the ships made their quota just in Seti Alpha 4!” He shook his head.
Charleston Lake Folly
was filled with volunteers from Nightingale.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” The captain paused, looking thoughtful. “And we both know there are fresh convoys going into ET. I bet they are getting swarmed too. Some people are into rebuilding, but many want to hit back. Hell, I'd want to hit back. Still do. The bastards deserve it and more,” he growled.

“Definitely,” the XO agreed fervently. Some of the bridge crew nodded or made affirmative sounds.

The captain slapped his thighs. “Well, the good news is, we've gotten more people. I read the latest numbers in the Fleet Times two days ago. The navy cut is split between ninety-ten enlisted and officers. But that's just the navy cut. Overall about half are going to the marines, and another 4 or 5 percent are going into the new army. Like we
need
more ground pounders!”

What the numbers didn't say was the percentage of those who managed to graduate. He'd heard some backdoor chatter from a buddy that it was less than half depending on the planet. The starting point of their education sucked, and well, grounders really weren't mentally suited for manning a claustrophobic ship in space.

“Apparently they don't have what it takes to man a ship so they are weeding themselves out early, sir,” the XO said eying the captain and apparently echoing his thoughts.

The captain snorted. “True I guess. We are a special breed. It just galls me to see so many people going to do that … and most are sitting on their asses collecting a paycheck on Agnosta!”

“Not quite all, sir. There are forces on the other worlds. And some in combat on Protodon and Hidoshi's World, with more en route to Destria and Protodon,” the XO reminded him politely.

The captain eyed him sardonically then nodded in mute agreement to the correction.

“I think what bothers me most is that they are cutting back on the small ships. Even frigates are getting scaled back hard according to the recently released build numbers,” the XO said when the silence got too long. “And the switch to carriers … I don't know about that one to tell you the truth,” he said with a so-so expression on his face.

The captain nodded. He slowly began to rise out of his chair. “I suppose I should be going to dinner and then finishing this paperwork,” he said, waving the tablet in his lap. “You have the con number one.”

“Aye, sir, the XO has the con,” the XO said formally. The captain nodded and headed for the hatch. Vlad noted the transfer into the log just as an alarm went off. The skipper paused in the hatch doorway, turning to the crew.

“What …?”

“Sir, jump activity at the B443 jump point,” a rating reported, looking up.

“Either
Jones
is back early, we've got an unscheduled deployment, or trouble.”

“I'm seriously doubting the admiralty would send out a deployment without giving us a heads-up, sir,” the XO said. “And
Jones
isn't due back for months.”

“Then we may have trouble on our hands. Get me more information,” the captain growled, tossing the tablet aside. “I think the damn paperwork can wait.”

“And apparently so can dinner,” the XO muttered as they went to work refining the data.

“We're still getting the raw data in, sir, but from the number of flashes, I'd say we're looking at least four ships, sir,” the sensor rating reported a moment later.

“Lovely,” the XO breathed. So much for boredom he thought.

“Sir, the ships are engaging the defenses at the jump point,” the rating said, voice cooling.

“How can you tell? Oh, neutrinos?”

The rating looked over her shoulder to the captain and XO and nodded before she went back to viewing her station screens. “We've had several pulses where weapon platforms were left behind.”

“And of course they haven't received an IFF. ROE stated that if they are fired on they can shoot back, right?” the captain asked, looking at the XO.

“Yes, sir,” the XO said, sliding into his chief engineer persona. “I programmed the ROE with Chief Troll. I know it's not done, but …”

The captain waved a hand. “Can it. Did we get any?” he asked. He scowled. “Stupid question. We'll know when we get a report back. Light speed transmissions suck,” he growled.

“Yes, sir they do.
If
we get a transmission at all,” Vlad replied.

---<>))))

Captain Dimitri Yanakov bellowed in fury as his beloved ship began to take damage.
More
damage, more than she'd already taken since her engineering casualty had forced her to return back to Epsilon Triangula with her tail between her legs.

Gorgon
was a
Cutlass
class destroyer, ancient but still serviceable, which was why she'd been deployed with Fourth Fleet. She was also the largest tin can of the fleet, nearly up to an LC in class. But she had a weakness, her midship’s boat bays cut straight through her from flank to flank. That meant her skeleton in that area had to be incredibly strong and the spreading micro fractures his engineers had detected had doomed her mission.

Too old, too worn to take the speed he thought as a nuke went off near the flank of
Chakrum
, the
Nelson
class that had accompanied his ship and the two freighters back to Epsilon Triangula.

“What the hell is doing that?” He demanded.

“Weapon drones, sir. Their firing sucks so they have to be unmanned,” a rating said, looking up from his station.

“Obviously. But where the hell did they come from?” the captain demanded. When the plot had cleared and he'd seen the thin minefield ahead of him, he'd reflexively ordered the warships to fire in order to protect themselves and their charges. Apparently that had been a mistake.

A small corner of his mind wondered if the damn things had been dropped by his own people. Wouldn't that be a kicker he thought? “Broadcast our IFF again.”

“Aye, sir, broadcasting IFF. No response,” the com rating said.

His gloved fist clenched and then pounded on the arm rest. Finally, he settled himself and straightened his shoulders. The only way out was through. “Guns fire proximity warheads ahead of us. Clear a path. We need to get out of here, not be penned up to be slaughtered,” he growled.

“Aye, sir.”

“Helm, move us out behind the warheads. Don't get too close,” he warned.

“Aye, sir. Move out behind the warheads.”

“On second thought, Chakrum is designed to take this shit. We've got better armor but she's the fleet defense ship. Put her on point. We'll bring up the rear behind the prizes.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO said. “Transmitting orders now,” he said, tapping out the orders.

“Something had damn well better go right. And someone tell me what the hell is going on?!? Who the frack is shooting at us?!?” the captain demanded.

---<>))))

“My readings say two tin cans of mixed classes, and a couple freighters keeping their skirts warm,” Captain Yu stated.

“My readings too. Ideas?”

“Well, we can't go toe-to-toe with them. We're not a match for them. Not even just one of them,” Captain Yu said in disgust.

“Guns, did we get enough of a piece of them to make a difference?” Captain Levinson asked, turning to the TACO.

“No, sir. Sorry, sir, not nearly enough. We're still getting the light speed report, but it's clear the ships are underway and clear of the minefield.”

“So much for that. I knew we should have divided and conquered, not stayed concentrated here.”

“There is only one destination I bet. Sensors, what course are they on, to ET?” Captain Levinson demanded.

“You called it, Skipper. All four ships are on a least time course for the ET jump point. ETA three days, four hours and change, sir,” the rating reported.

“Well, now we know where they are going, and we've got more of a hot reception at the ET jump point,” Oscar said. “If we leave …” his fingers flashed as he ran the calculations.”

“Within the next four minutes, we can get there four hours ahead of them, sir,” the Veraxin navigator supplied before he could finish the calculations. “On a least time course.”

“Had that ahead of time?”

“All part of the job,” the Veraxin said, clacking his mandibles.

“Good. Good work,” the captain said. “Engineering, warm up the engines. We've got a date.”

“We're just going to go there?” Captain Yu asked.

Oscar snorted. “You know what they've got. We've got three times the firepower at the ET jump point. We get there ahead of them we can reorient it to fire inward instead of outward. Hell, we can do that now!”

“Yeah, I was going to say that,” Captain Yu said, sounding dubious. “We can't really do much to help Oscar.”

“But if we're near, we can use our tactical computers to control the weapons in near real time. Think about it! The fire power of a battle cruiser! Right now they've got the brains of a gnat!”

“Close enough, sir,” the TACO stated.

“Zip it,” Vlad said quietly.

“What about the orbital works here and around the gas giant?” There was a small modular space station in orbit along with a large warehouse complex, all empty … and a class 3 gas giant refinery in orbit of the local
Saturn
class gas giant.

“We'll leave Bertha here. She'll look after them.”

“This is … reckless at best. Hell, let's do it.”

“Now you're talking,” Oscar said with a wolfish grin.

“Um, sirs, not to rain on this parade, but has anyone contacted higher yet?” Vlad asked, knowing they hadn't. “We can at least alert them of the danger. And um, I was thinking if they launched a KEW strike on the planet while we're out of position?”

“Nasty thoughts there,” Yu said, now sobered.

Oscar grimaced. He didn't like it at all either.

“Leave one ship behind? As insurance?” Yu supplied.

“And let the other have all the fun?” Oscar asked. Yu snorted. “I think we can tie Bertha into our fire control. We've got OWPs in orbit to keep an eye on things. They can act as a last resort I suppose.”

“We can't be in two places at once,” Yu warned. “This is a very big risk,” he warned.

“My ass. I'm senior; it's my decision as senior officer on the spot,” Oscar turned to the com rating. “Com, send off a contact report through the ansible. Send our updated log, SITREP of forces, and copy it to ET.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Let's do this then. Helm, execute Nav's course on the tick,” Oscar said.

“We're really going to do this?” Vlad asked ever so softly. Oscar glanced his way and then nodded. “Hell of a risk, but … okay.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the captain replied dryly but equally softly.

“I read somewhere in the XO manual it's the job of the XO to act as devil's advocate to keep from letting the skipper get his dick in a grinder,” Vlad replied.

“This from the guy nicknamed 'Impaler'?” Oscar retorted. Vlad winced. “I know the risks. If you want to go on record …,” he paused in his offering as Vlad held up his hand and shook his head. “Okay then.”

“Yes, sir. I better get down to engineering and have them shovel coal faster or something,” Vlad said.

“Yeah, you do that little thing,” Oscar replied with a nod as the XO and chief engineer took off.

---<>))))

“Sir, we've got what looks like two signatures under power headed for the ET jump point,” a CIC rating reported. Captain Yanakov looked up from his huddle with the DCC techs to frown. He oriented on the sensor tech after a moment.

“Say that again?” he demanded.

“Two engines just lit off in orbit. They are under power to the jump point. Mass readings are consistent with a frigate class for each, sir,” the rating reported.

“Well, now we know who set up the trap we walked into,” the XO said.

The captain gave him a disgusted look. “Don't be an idiot. Two frigates? Setting up
that
?”

“There is a third signature in orbit, sir,” CIC reported after a moment.

“Why didn't you report it earlier?”

“It just came around to where we can see it, sir. She's large. Possibly a bulk freighter or tanker.”

“There you go. Now the question becomes, why are they here?”

“And how they got here? Past ET and Admiral Von Berk?” The captain shook his head. “No way. They must have come the other way. The way we just came. So … why?”

“Sorry, sir, excuse me but we just detected neutrino signatures at the ET jump point, a lot of them,” the CIC rating reported.

The captain scowled. “How many is a lot?”

“Dozens, sir. We're still getting a read since we're so far out. The closer we get, the better we'll be able to refine our count.”

“Damn it,” the captain muttered. “What else can go wrong?” he demanded.

---<>))))

For three days the ships raced each other to the jump point. For
Loch
and
Descartes,
it had appeared like it was no contest. They'd had the inside track and were faster. However, orbital dynamics had played a few tricks on their course. They also had to do a turn over and decelerate if they didn't wish to overrun the jump point and its defenses. They narrowly beat the quartet of enemy ships to their destination.

Tactical teams had already tied into the weapon platforms and drones established around the perimeter of the jump zone. They had oriented them on the incoming force and kept the information up-to-date hourly. They had burned fuel from the outer shell to move them inward to a better firing range.

The mines were on the outermost hemispherical shell facing inward. They had small ion thrusters like the OWPs and drones, but it had been decided after considerable debate to leave them as they were. In order to get past them, the enemy would have to fire into them to clear a path or plow right into them.

They had moved the OWPs and drones directly in the ship's projected course however.

Sensor platforms seeded in the defenses probed the ships as they got closer. They knew what they faced of course, a
Cutlass
class DD and a
Nelson
class DD. The
Caravan
and
Moth
freighters were afterthoughts; it was the warships that truly mattered.

The probing, however, allowed them to get a better feel for their opponents and their weaknesses. The
Cutlass
had taken the most damage at the B448 jump point. She was lagging behind, possibly due to hidden damage the sensors couldn't ferret out through the ship's thick armor.

Three more hours until all hell breaks loose. Two hours, fifty-four minutes before the enemy got in extreme range, Oscar thought, checking the clock.

---<>))))

“Sir, the sensor hits are getting to max threshold. Whatever is targeting us is pretty potent,” Guns reported, looking up to Captain Yanekov. “We're getting saturated so badly it's ready to burn out our threat receivers, sir.”

“A bluff? To get us to back off?” the XO asked. “Should we head to the planet?”

“No. I'm tempted to shoot the planet, but I'm not willing to waist the power and ammo,” the captain replied. “The thing that gets me is, those frigates know they are outgunned, but they are just sitting there.”

“I think they are in control of the weapon platforms, sir, to reduce their command loop time,” the TACO stated.

“Of course they are! But do they really think they've got enough to take us on? The last time they sucked,” the captain growled. “We've got a hard count this time. Last time they had surprise on their side. We can hit them from range now,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have the script written?” the captain asked. The tactical officer nodded. “Then execute when we're in range.”

“Aye, sir. Extreme range?”

“No. Close the range by a light second more, then fire.”

“Aye, sir. That'll be cutting it close. We'll be decelerating to make the jump, sir. And we'll have our power diverted to the hyperdrive. We won't have enough for our energy weapons,” the tactical officer warned.