Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (73 page)

“And our shields will be low. We're still stuck at 40 percent,” the XO said glumly. The orbital weapon platforms at the B448 jump point had raked their flanks with graser fire before they'd managed to counter battery on them. Their shields had been battered down and in some places had collapsed totally. Engineering had rigged work-arounds with the remaining grav pods, but the greater the distance between the pods the more surface area they had to cover … and the weaker they were. In some areas they were barely rated above particle shield power.

It was all or nothing he realized. They only had enough fuel for one more jump and jumping back to B443 the class F brown giant behind them was not an option. There was no fuel there, therefore no hope. Vampiring the prizes was an option, but that meant failure of the mission.

Better to lose the prizes then all of the ships he thought. Better to back off, to wade back in, capture that large ship in orbit of the planet, then take their time heading to the jump point. But the captain wasn't in a listening mood. He'd wasted his best arguments against their current course of action some time ago. They were committed now, one way or another they were going to see just what was around the ET jump point.

“Forty-four as of the last report,” tactical said.

“Whatever. It still isn't enough.”

“It might be. Guns, fire as ordered.

“Aye, sir,” the TACO said, turning back to his station.

Captain Yanekov forced himself to sit back as he checked the clock. He had two hours and twenty minutes to figure something else out or face the furnace.

Unfortunately, nothing new came to him.

---<>))))

When the enemy got within range of the Epsilon Triangula jump point, the frigates called on the weapon platforms and drones left there.

The weapons oriented, and when the enemy ships got in range, they fired on them. They were dispassionate in noting that the enemy ships had returned fire, relying on the range and unmoving nature of their targets to get their missiles in close.

However, the defenses around the jump point had been carefully thought out as they'd been set up. Defensive weapon platforms engaged the incoming missiles to keep them off the offensive weapons. The OWPs and drones also began to jink around in a crazy dance to keep their enemy's fire control from getting a solid lock. Decoys sprang to life to keep them further confused and off balance.

“It's not going to be as easy as we'd thought,” the XO said to Captain Yanekov, eying him, almost imploring him with his eyes to back off and rethink the situation.

“The only way out is through. Continue the engagement but step up your game guns,” the captain said firmly.

“Aye aye, sir.

The XO bit his lip. Nothing else could be said. They were now committed.

---<>))))

Chakrum
had been tasked with going to the New Dublin star system some time ago. She'd lost a third of her crew to the two prize ships she'd captured, the
Caravan
and the
Moth
class freighters. They'd done their best to make up some of their lost manpower with slave labor, but that meant someone had to be watching them, keeping them in line.

And the slaves had to
want
to help their oppressors. Only a particularly stupid masochist would, even Stockholm Syndrome had its limits. After being through months of hell, the idea of death while taking their captors with them held some appeal to a few of them. Some flat out refused to help. Others screwed up intentionally. The captain ordered them all brigged, which cut their manpower even more severely.

Not that it would help them any even if they were fully manned and operational.

Both ships didn't know it, but they'd narrowly missed running into the CEV
John Paul Jones
in B448C. Had they been a bit slower, they might have encountered the escort carrier instead. They might have had a greater chance of survival, possibly running into the Tau sector. Now they had no hope left at all.

Grasers powerful enough to rip through a capital ship opened up when the ships got into range. The
Nelson's
defenses were useless against energy weapons.
Gorgon
was the primary target since she was larger and damaged, she was stabbed repeatedly by the grasers as missiles hammered her bow into wreckage. Finally, something let go and the ship exploded into millions of pieces of wreckage.

Her division mate was shredded moments later as the second line of energy weapons came on line and tore her apart. The
Nelson
staggered, bleeding air and plasma before her drive sputtered and died.

The
Moth
class freighter took severe damage on her bow from the weapon fire and debris. She listed, falling away from the jump point and then her engines lit with a desperate attempt to run for deep space and supposed freedom.
Loch
went after her lumbering prey.

Descartes
set her sights on the last freighter; however, it spooled up its hyperdrive and jumped while still under way. It surprised the crew, making them frantically break off their firing pass they'd been on course for.

“Damn brave or stupid people over there. Not that it matters,” Captain Levinson muttered.

“Yes, sir. It's not like they are going to run far,” Vlad said.

“No they aren't. Well! Let's go see what Loch caught and do what we can for SAR. I don't suppose we'll find anything, but it's our duty to try,” the captain said. Vlad nodded, now cold sober.

---<>))))

Once they were certain the ship wasn't coming back, Captain Levinson used the ansible to let network know what was going on. He passed on a fast report of the battle along with a warning to the forces in Epsilon Triangula to be ready for the incoming ship.

The captain of
Intensity
transmitted a 3-word return message a short time later. “We'll be ready.”

---<>))))

When the initial report came in, Admiral Irons discussed the problem with some of the senior staff.

“We're still running the numbers, sir. According to what intelligence we've gathered, our sources identified Fourth Fleet as consisting of forty-eight warships, half of which were assigned to the Sigma sector,” Monty reported, glancing at the tablet with his notes once for confirmation before he continued. “That leaves twenty-four warships in Rho sector, with Admiral Von Berk hanging onto the nine most powerful in Epsilon Triangula. Another detachment of nine warships paired with freighters or other ships were supposed to have gone to Tau and Pi sectors, four to Pi, and five to Tau that we know of.”

“Admiral White encountered Earl Gumel's force in Protodon. He had six warships and five freighters in his task force, but the odd thing was that two had been frigates. According to our list of ships, there were
no
frigates in Fourth Fleet's inventory, just destroyers and up.”

“An inconsistency … perhaps Gumel was a latecomer to the party?” Turner asked.

“Possibly. We can't yet rule it out. He was supposed to be attached to Fourth Fleet however,” Monty replied.

“If we just count his destroyers, that leaves thirteen out of fifteen. Now, if we add in the others that we've taken down, we know
Prometheus
and her escorts destroyed one
Arboth
and liberated a recently captured
Zanzibar
in Nightingale, but unfortunately, we do not know if the
Arboth
had been officially on the rolls with Fourth Fleet or not. Nor do we know if there were any others.”

“Then there is the ship
Firefly
destroyed in the New Andres jump chain. She had a freighter with her, which was caught by you, Admiral,” Monty said with a head bow to the admiral. The admiral flicked his fingers to wave the approval off.

“That's fifteen. That's all of them then,” Monty said. “Except …”

“Don't forget the two we destroyed here in Antigua,” Turner interjected.

Monty turned a glower his way for a moment then nodded. “I haven't forgotten them. I'm just not certain they were assigned to Fourth Fleet or if they were later assigned after the original group sailed,” the captain said frostily. “That's the problem, we've gotten more ships than we expected.”

“Ah,” Turner said sitting back. “I see, sir,” he said, voice cooling as well.

“It could be the ship
Prometheus
destroyed had been slated to go to Tau?” Sprite asked.

“We're still over,” Monty said.

“Yes, I see that,” Sprite replied.

“The two ships that came here we know had also been hauling ass. Pushing Gamma band according to our best estimates. Based on what we know, they've been upgraded across the board. They'd had to have been to have gotten this far so quickly based on the time they departed Horath,” Sprite stated.

“True,” Monty replied. He glanced at his tablet. “If our numbers are right, that's all of them in this sector and a few of the singletons hunting in the area. Maybe,” he said, throwing in the qualifier at the end.

“Maybe,” Admiral Irons echoed.

“Except the ones that got into Tau and Pi sectors you mean, Admiral. And there might be a few individual units out there as well, ones not attached to Fourth Fleet,” Lieutenant Turner reminded him.

“You do have a way of ruining my day don't you?” the admiral asked dryly.

“Just trying to keep it real, Admiral,” Turner replied with a shrug and good humor smile.

“Yeah. But now we need to run those other ships down,” Sprite stated.

“And find the other ships. We need to sow this sector up completely. Nothing in,” the admiral said.

“Which means finding the singletons as well,” Monty said. “Fortunately we have a copy of their war book to give us a starting point. We know in what area they had designated as a hunting ground. We can start there. There is a dozen in Tau sector, I'm wondering if either of the tin cans was from that group. It would be nice to eliminate them,” he said.

“It is like finding a needle in a hay stack finding the rest of them though,” Turner said shaking his head. “You know how hard it is to find a ship in hyper?”

“But it has to be done,” the admiral growled. “And it
will
be done. Eventually we'll catch up to them. It is only a matter of time. They have to come into port for fuel and food sometime.”

The intelligence officer frowned thoughtfully. It added new significance to the pirate enclaves he thought. Perhaps running down
Daikoku
wasn't so addled brained after all.

Turner eyed the admiral and nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. We need to catch them or destroy them before they can do any more damage. Got that. They need to answer for what they've done.”

“Definitely,” Monty growled.

“There is our victory, if only a small one,” Sprite said. “We can point to this with the media. Let them know we stopped the raiders.”

“It's a start you mean. A down payment on what is to come,” the admiral mused. “I'm just worried about the naysayers who will point to it as too little, or who will call it into question.”

“Skeptics are everywhere, sir. We can do what we can to face them down, but willful ignorance persists everywhere. We'll deal with it. The important thing is, they've been stopped. Well, most of them,” Sprite reminded him.

“Damn right it is.”

“And just think, we can make the capture in ET a public display. All live on the ansible,” the Ops officer said. Monty scowled. He caught the look and frowned, clearly nettled. “It's a way to rub it into the enemy and to shut the doubters up.”

“And if it blows up in our face? If it turns into a hostage situation? Or they blow the ship? Or we're forced to fire on an unarmed ship?” Monty asked, eying Turner, then the admiral.

Admiral Irons winced. “No public display. Not live anyway, for those reasons obviously. That and I don't want to give away what defenses are in ET. I don't want the enemy getting that intelligence. But we can record it and give that away later,” he said.

“Suitably edited for time, content, intelligence value, and punch of course,” Sprite interjected with a grin in her voice.

“Definitely,” the admiral agreed with a nod.

Chapter
40

Trapjaw nodded to Jim as he walked with one arm on the deck railing past him. “Make a hole,” Jim the fisherman growled. Trapjaw obediently gave way to his friend and captain. The man was doing this not out of the goodness of his heart of course, they'd paid him a lot, but he'd discounted it heavily.

He was rather bitter over all the government rules, regulation, inspections, and catch limits. He was also a bit peeved that the quotas had kept him oppressed and unable to afford all the shiny new tech to keep up with other ships.

The fact that there were major commercial fisheries out there that were getting away with all sorts of things sat in the man's craw apparently. A bit of judicious help from Cat in the paperwork department and Jim had practically fallen all over himself to allow them on board.

For the time being they had to serve as deck hands. Most hadn't gotten that far, just about everyone was still recovering from sea sickness. The debilitating nausea had kept just about everyone near the railing puking their guts out the moment they'd gotten out of the bay harbor and into “the real sea” as Jim liked to put it.

For this to work, they were going to have to get in, scout fast, adapt, set off the gas bombs, then breach the walls, then yank anyone out that they could and do it all without making a single mistake in the process. One screw up and they were done. Two, and they were most likely caught or worse.

Which was why he was practically sweating bullets over two points of the plan, both handled by Odiphus. He'd had to put up with Odiphus to get the sleep agent and explosives. Odiphus had enlisted the aid of his fellow chemist Jarvan to make both of them work in the time the boss had allotted them to get the mission underway.

Jarvan was the group's meth mixer, one of the best in the business. Everyone had known his shit was top notch. He never cut a batch too thin or substituted nasty shit to give people a bad high or poison them. He had been making recreational drugs for some time before Skeletor had found him and offered him a job he couldn't refuse. The man had inhaled a bit too much of his own product however; he was extremely shifty and paranoid. He'd nearly killed a few of the team members, including a security detail attached to watch his lab.

The man also had a thing for explosives like Odiphus. He'd pouted for days when the boss had informed him that he couldn't go with them on the trip. He'd wanted to see the explosives go off rather badly. So badly in fact that he'd gotten Odiphus to agree to record it all so they could watch it later.

Trapjaw shook his head. As long as the sticky bastard did the job and erased the damn recordings later, he wouldn't tell the boss.

Circie had tried to get what they could out of the guards who frequented the bars on the weekends, but she hadn't gotten much in the short time she'd been involved. Skeletor had allowed him one measly scouting mission with Jim's ship to get a feel for the island. The salt water and air had played havoc with his cybernetics. The iron bits were rusting even more now than ever before.

He was pretty certain he'd need a replacement soon, which meant money. Money he didn't have while he was off doing shit for the boss like this. Suddenly he was glad Jarvan was back home. Jarvan, Cat, Circie to some degree, and a few other supporters were the only ones bringing income into the group it seemed.

He glanced at Spikor. The man had created a wall breacher, plus rigged up air masks for each of them. He only had enough for the group, so getting the prisoners up and moving on their own feet would be dicey. There was only so much they could carry after all.

“Okay, we fake the mayday, then we use the dinghy to get to shore. From there we fire off the mortars with the gas, then breach the wall, get in fast, toss the gas grenades we've got, grab anyone in arms reach, then get out. This is more about giving the enemy a black eye than it is the people we get. If we get more than three or four, I'll be very surprised,” Trapjaw said to the team.

“Then why do it at all? It will draw attention to us,” Octavia intoned, flexing her quartet of arms.

“Because the boss said to do it,” Blade, their blademaster, said as he sharpened one of his swords. The guy was an idiot, Trapjaw thought. Who brought a blade to a gunfight? But he was a warm body, so at least he could hide behind the stupid SOB when the shots started flying.

“We'll get it done,” Arana and Una said in unison. The twin Native Americans were spooky. The boss had sent them along as muscle. Trapjaw had taken them out to the range to shoot. They'd done well, though they both liked to wear a mask for some reason. Something about tribal tradition or some shit. Channeling spirits or some other funky voodoo they said.

He didn't care as long as they shot straight and took orders.

“Spikor will take out the wall and any locks. We go in as deep as we can, then hold with you two while the rest of us go door-to-door and get everyone out that we can. When I call the withdrawal, shag ass to the boat, don't dally. Don't get your jollies off shooting up the place; ammo is precious,” he growled, eying them.

“Guns are a waste. We should sneak in at night and slit their throats,” Blade said quietly.

“News flash moron. They've got night eyes and sensors for that sort of crap,” Spikor warned.

“We are going in at night to reduce detection. I'm not stupid enough to do this in broad daylight. And we're doing it during a storm so it is going to be rough. Get over it,” he said when the groans began.

“If it goes to hell, we fall back on the boat and hang the mission. We don't need martyrs. We get the hell out.”

“I'm concerned about robots. And any fast reaction teams they've got on standby,” Spikor said. “I wish you'd let me build an EMP device,” he said.

“Everything is military grade. It wouldn't have worked,” Octavia said, crossing all four of her arms across her ample chest.

“Maybe not, but it might have knocked it back for a minute or two,” the engineer said.

“Can you make it now with what we've got?” Trapjaw asked. Spikor shook his head. “Then deal with it. We go in without it,” he said. The engineer nodded glumly.

“Then get some rest. You'll need it,” Trapjaw growled.

---<>))))

Trapjaw would have grinned if his artificial jaw had let him. He'd underestimated the fury of the storm, and also how slimy the rocks were. The waves had been high and brutal to land the dingy in. But the small stretch of beach he'd found had been perfect; it had avoided the rather obvious and rather heavily guarded pier on the other side of the island.

Not everyone had night vision goggles or even monocles like he sported. But they had enough to do the job he thought as Spikor, Octavia, and Odiphus finished setting up the mortars. They seemed to fuss a lot over the angles of the tubes, but he had to give them their head and be patient. They were only going to get one shot at this at best he reminded himself.

“We're ready,” Odiphus whispered.

“Then do it,” Trapjaw growled, flipping the monocle down. Odiphus shrugged and then lit the wicks. They sparked and then flamed a bit, nearly going out in the rain. He shielded them with his hands until they got too far apart.

The crack and thump of the mortars going off surprised all of them into flinching. The gas charges sailed over the open area, fences, and above the complex before they exploded.

Now that his job was done, he was to play rear guard. He was heartily glad of that; he was not a shooter and knew his limits. He pulled out his camera hastily to film the proceedings. It would be suitably edited for broadcast for recruiting but also for the bad publicity against the government. They might even use it for training, and of course he fully intended for him and his buddy to watch a few thousand times.

Once the mortars fired, Spikor rushed forward with an RPG on his shoulder. The improvised device fired as he leveled it, hammering into a guard tower before the gas rounds exploded over the prison complex. The engineer dropped behind a rock to reload as the others watched warily.

“We should have brought another RPG launcher!” Spikor snarled, fumbling to bring the weapon back up.

“Shut up and just shoot the damn thing, will you??” Jitsu snarled at the fence. He'd already cut it and rolled it aside to make an opening. Boards had been shoved through the gap to cover the moat. They would be slippery to run across, so he crawled across them before anyone else, then anchored the spikes on the other end more deeply into the earth.

“Right,” Spikor growled, firing at the wall. The wall's concrete and rebar mix cratered as the round hammered into it.

---<>))))

“What the hell was that?” Jose demanded, looking up as the prison shook as he laid his two pair down in front of him. Dust filtered into the air.

“Damned if I know,” Sharky said, also looking up and around. They were in the main room, not their individual rooms. Just about everyone was out of their rooms.

“All prisoners, back into your cell. This is not a drill. All prisoners back into your cells immediately. This is not a drill. Alert, alert …” a voice blared over the PA.

“Sounds like someone's knocking. Think we should answer?”

'I think we don't have to,” Sharky said. He fought a yawn as he got to his feet. The two guards on their cell block stared down at them from their pod. He looked up to them once, then back to the group just as another blast hit the building complex. “I think someone's trying to get us out. You wanna sit around in a cell?” he demanded.

---<>))))

Spikor fired a third shot, this one went wild and hit above where he'd cratered the wall the first time. He swore viciously. “Damn it, aim next time!” Octavia snarled.

“What do you think I'm trying to do?” Spikor demanded back, reloading.

“Give me that,” she demanded, yanking it out of his hands just as he finished reloading it.

“Easy …”

“How hard can this be,” she said, leveling the weapon and sitting through the crude scope. “Firing!” she called out, squeezing the trigger.

“No …” Spikor screamed and ducked as the back blast whooshed past him. The round slammed into the double crater and something broke inside.

“I can see through!” Blade called out.

“All teams, move forward. Finish it,” Trapjaw called out, rushing forward behind Blade and Jitsu.

Octavia looked down at the engineer as she dropped the launcher. “Pussy,” she accused as she put her mask on and rushed to follow the others.

“Am I still alive?” Spikor asked.

“Yeah, but you're not going to want to be if you don't get your ass in gear,” Odiphus warned.

Spikor saw the others already out ahead of him and cursed as he scrambled to get up. “Damn it, wait up!” he called out, trying to get his mask on and get to his feet.

---<>))))

Spikor hit the wall a fourth time when they got close enough to it; this time with a satchel breach charge. That was enough to blow debris outward. When the breach was cleared, Trapjaw waved Jitsu and Blade through, then followed.

“Go, go, go,” the cyborg snarled, tossing gas grenades. Octavia unshouldered a shotgun and used it to blow open door locks for her subteam.

Trapjaw used his enhanced strength to get through the doors, sometimes practically tearing them off their hinges in the process. Jitsu moved in to take down anyone that got in too close to him. Most of the people still on their feet were barely doing so, bent over, coughing, and clutching their ears or throats as they tried to breathe.

“Turkey shoot,” Arana growled.

“Don't jinx it, you idiot!” Una growled, clubbing a guard who had rushed in to see what was going on. She slammed the butt of her rifle into his gut, then shouldered him to the ground and out of her way. She kicked him in the head hard enough to snap his neck in passing just for good measure.

---<>))))

Sharky saw the wall blow open and instinctively dropped to the ground then rolled under the table. Others did the same or tried to; he kicked a few out of the way. Then the dust thickened and something made them wheeze and cough. A lethargy filled them as gas grenades started to pop off.

---<>))))

Spikor's team with Una and Arana were detailed to get into the pod and get the prisoners out while securing it from enemy intrusion. If they could get in deeper, they would, but it seemed unlikely. Alarms were screaming, red lights were going off, and the occasional weapon kept popping up to try to stun them. The weapons were aimed at the prisoners though, so it bought them time to take them out before they turned on the intruders.

“We're going to have to carry them out at this rate. The sleep shit is overkill,” Spikor said over the radio.

What the others heard was a mumble of barely coherent words due to his mask. They ignored it since he didn't sound urgent.

---<>))))

Octavia took Blade to the interior entrance to the pod. Along the way Blade surveyed all of the people they found, occasionally checking a few over by grabbing their hair and looking into their faces. “Just the guards we've seen apparently,” Octavia said.

“Damn,” the Blademaster growled. “I'd like to slit a few throats just for the fun of it,” he said.

“No. You know the orders,” Octavia warned him.