The Hawk’s hull shuddered again, but this time Jack heard a sharp bang beneath him. Atmo pressure warning lights started flashing and he slapped down the faceplate of his helmet. The moment of silence gave him a chance to take a single, deep breath, then the suit’s audio system connected directly to the Hawk’s computers and his ears were awash in alarms.
“Windmill, this is Spinner-One,” he signaled as he plunged his stick to starboard, “I am aborting my approach to hostile one-seven.”
The small rebel ship fired another volley at him as he veered away, but otherwise didn’t pursue. In his display Jack could see the cluster of rebel craft forming up in a protective perimeter around the one he’d just nailed with missiles. Not enough to destroy it, but enough to divert the rebels away from their main target for a few minutes.
He assessed his own craft. Losing atmo, one engine down, empty of missiles and low on fuel. There was nothing more he could contribute to this fight.
“Windmill, this is Spinner-One. I am heavily damaged and empty weapons. Request immediate recovery.”
“This is Windmill, roger. We’re closing Raffles to cover so no set course. Just get close and we’ll pull you in.”
Jack acknowledged, pushing his single engine to maximum as he cleared the battle zone. Bowen was ahead, visible only for the constant flashes of weapons fire she lobbed into the fray of rebel ships swarming the Terran destroyer Singapore. Her weapons would be far more effective than the Hawk’s had been.
Bowen was approaching at speed, so her relative distance to the Hawk shrank surprisingly fast. Jack steered wide for a few seconds, then reversed his turn to swing through a long arc and come up behind his mothership. Flashes of battle lit up the starry darkness ahead, but Jack focused on the charcoal-colored bulk of the cruiser as he matched vectors and sailed into a recovery position alongside the open hangar airlock.
Feeling the tug of the ship’s gravity beam, he killed his engines, letting the computers do the final work of pulling his Hawk into the barn. As it settled on the deck and the airlock pressurized, he finally let go of his controls and sat back in his seat, taking another deep breath.
“That one was nasty, eh?” he said into his internal circuit. Singh didn’t reply. Jack didn’t blame her, and took another few moments to focus on slowing his heart rate down.
The inner airlock doors opened and the Hawk was pulled through. The hangar looked very empty, Jack noted, with all three other birds still out in the action. He hoped they were doing better than he had. Unstrapping from his seat, he pushed himself up, swinging around to face Singh.
The master rating was still motionless in her chair, strapped in and staring at her controls, but her arms were floating free, hands open and limp. Almost…
Jack thrust himself over to Singh’s seat, staring into what he suddenly realized was an open helmet.
…Lifeless.
Singh’s face had barely had time to register the shock before her life was swept away by the slug which had penetrated the Hawk’s deck and shot up through her chair, her torso, and out through her head. An exit blast out the top of her helmet matched the hole in the Hawk’s deckhead, through which he could see the bright lights of the hangar glaring through.
Jack floated back, shutting his eyes tight against the sudden tears. What a fluke shot, and what a waste of an excellent human being.
A hard series of thumps against the hull startled him, until he realized it was the maintenance crew requesting entry. He released the airlock controls and also lowered the aft ramp. They were going to need some heavy equipment in here.
The first of the crew floated in, dressed in the emergency vacuum suits of battle stations, bright expressions greeting him.
“Hey, sir,” one of them said, “you took some damage on that one.”
He lifted his faceplate and stared numbly back at them.
“Singh’s dead. Get the chief up here, and get a body bag.”
Without waiting for a response he pushed clear and out the open ramp into the hangar. It wouldn’t do to have the flight department head burst into tears in front of his men.
The fueling crew was already hooking up and turned to address him, but he waved them off. Another pair of techs guided a rack of replacement missiles up to the wings, and he gestured for them to stop.
“This bird is grounded for repairs,” he called out loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Secure that gear and start your damage assessments.”
His maintenance chief floated over, grabbing the edge of the Hawk.
“You okay, sir?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he lied. “I better report to the captain.”
“Recommend you tell the XO, too, sir—he’s just forward of here in DCC.”
Jack floated forward into the main passageway and quickly found the hubbub of the damage control center. A crowd of engineers manned a series of displays with various flavors of holographic depictions of Bowen. Many red symbols on those displays—accompanied by steady chatter into headsets— suggested there was a lot of damage control underway. Prior to deployment Jack had seen a large group of spare crewmen lined up against the forward bulkhead, on call to go wherever extra bodies were needed to shore up damage or replace downed operators. Now only a few very junior crewmen floated nervously in silence.
In the center of DCC, floating tethered in front of the largest display, Jack saw the XO. Lieutenant Perry’s back was to him, but even from here Jack could see the sweat glistening in beads on the pale skin, a drop or two breaking loose as the man gestured sharply toward different crisis points on the diagram.
Keeping clear of the crowd, Jack slid along the after bulkhead and then pushed across the open space toward the XO’s station. He thudded into the end of the main display, catching a surprised look from Perry and, beside him, Chief Ranson.
“XO, sir, flight commander,” he said without waiting for comment.
“What is it?” Perry shifted his gaze back to the damage control board.
“Spinner-One is recovered, but inoperable. Unknown repair time. One casualty.”
Ranson shook his head, his jowly face sagging in regret. He turned and spoke quietly to one of the engineers. Jack noticed the status board change to indicate one of the four Hawks was now red for operations. Something changed on the section dedicated to the ship’s medical teams, as well, but Jack didn’t pay attention.
Perry paused, looking over for a moment, then turned back to his display. His eyes moved quickly to take in the info, but Jack could see a blankness in the expression. Finally, the XO’s lips pursed in frustration.
“Chief, how does that affect us?” he asked.
“It doesn’t, sir,” Ranson replied. “The bird’ll be parked and”—he turned menacing eyes toward Jack—“I assume not refueled or rearmed.”
“That’s correct,” Jack responded.
“No additional risks from the broken Hawk, sir.”
Perry nodded, still scanning his display. He tapped a nervous finger against his lips.
“I’m still worried about that hit we took on deck five. If they don’t secure that breach, we’re going to lose the compartment.”
“Sir—”
“…and we’ll lose too much air. They’re taking too long.”
“There’s an entire damage control team doing structural repairs. It’ll be complete as soon as the last of the panels are brought aft from stores.”
“That’s the delay, then,” Perry snapped. “Get two more bodies down there to help transfer the panels.”
“Yes, sir.” Ranson turned and growled at one of the engineers. The situation was tense, and Jack had nothing more to contribute.
“I’m heading to the bridge to brief the CO, sir,” he said.
“Very good,” the XO replied, still not looking over. Jack pushed off and cleared DCC, hugging the bulkhead again as a pair of youngsters from the manning pool were given orders and sent scurrying forward, snapping on their emergency helmets and activating their vacuum suits as they did.
Jack was still in his full spacesuit and he wasn’t worried about exposure, but the damn thing made it difficult to move easily down the flats in zero-g. Either Commander Hu anticipated an imminent stealth attack, or the ghost of Toronto was still spooking everyone.
He passed through the airlock that led to the bridge, quickly tethering himself to one of the anchor runners inside the door. As he moved into the open space the tiny runner slid magnetically up the inner surface of the sphere, tracking with him and keeping his tether clear of all the others.
The view in the sphere was both spectacular and frightening. Ahead, Jack could see the dark shape of a Terran destroyer, blue symbol naming it as Singapore, and weapons fire lashed out from every turret and battery. Red symbols revealed the invisible shapes of the swarming rebel craft—little more than Hawk-sized, in Jack’s guess, but each packing a wallop with their energy and kinetic guns.
Flashes in the corners of his vision indicated Bowen’s fire, but the tiny enemy ships were proving hard to hit. Elsewhere in the sphere he saw three more blue symbols—his Hawks—as they kept clear of the fray and maintained an ASW guard.
Pulling himself along the railing, Jack made it to the command station where the CO was strapped into his seat and the ship’s combat officer, Lieutenant Gillgren, stood beside him as officer of the watch. Hayley Oaks, as second officer of the watch, was hooked to her station immediately forward of the command chairs. All around them, the arced panels of the circular bridge were alight with activity and manned by calm professionals. The quiet of the bridge stood in stark contrast to the chaos of DCC.
Hayley glanced up at his approach, but went immediately back to her console. He moved into the CO’s view.
“Captain, sir, flight commander.”
Hu looked down at him sharply.
“Jack, are you hurt?”
“No, sir, but I lost Singh, and Spinner-One is inoperable— multiple hull breaches and only one engine.”
“Not inoperable, Wings, but not ideal. I’ve tasked Spinner-Two to collect our strike team.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay on the bridge. I might need you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hu looked up and past Jack again, eyes on the battle raging outside. He spoke quietly to Gillgren, who in turn spoke into his headset. The view of the starscape shifted as Bowen altered course. Jack instinctively grabbed for the handrail, even though the inertial dampeners protected everything inside the hull and carried them with the ship through space.
He looked around at the bridge crew. Anti-vessel warfare was to starboard of the captain, and that crew were frantically engaged with the ship battle. Anti-attack warfare was forward, and all stations were primed to repel anything the rebels threw at Bowen. Anti-stealth warfare was to port, and all was quiet among those consoles. Jack glided over to where John Micah floated at his director station, in the center of the ASW section. Wi Chen hovered behind Micah.
“Gents,” Jack greeted. “How goes the battle?”
“Nothing in our warfare area, although we’re maintaining threat condition yellow.”
“Are the Hawks tracking anything?”
“No. There was that sniff of something two hours ago—that’s when we started closing Singapore—but nothing’s been detected since, by either ship or any Hawk.”
Jack nodded.
“But we don’t want the brane attack,” John continued, and he gestured forward at the ship battle, “to be a distraction in case there actually is something. So we’re maintaining yellow.”
Jack nodded again. A destroyer like Singapore wasn’t designed to fight a battle on all three fronts at once, but a cruiser like Admiral Bowen was designed to do precisely that. Maybe that’s why things were so calm here on the bridge.
“How’s the brane battle going?”
John considered, glancing up at the sphere projection before reflexively bringing his eyes back down to his ASW displays.
“Not great, but not bad, either. Those little rebel ships are hard to hit, and they’re really pressing Singapore. They can do damage, as you found out, but not enough to really hurt either warship.”
“The XO was pretty concerned about a hull breach on deck five.”
“Oh, yeah?” Micah glanced at Chen inquisitively.
“One of the rebels charged us,” Chen replied, “and put some holes in the main cave. It’s a big space and we lost some air before containment fields kicked in, but damage control’s on it.” He shrugged. “Talking to second officer of the watch, command doesn’t seem too fussed by it.”
The main cave—or crew’s cafeteria—was hardly a critical space for the ship’s ability to fight. Jack wondered at the XO’s concern. Or perhaps over-concern.
“Maybe if the slugs penetrated the beer machine…” John smiled. “But the biggest concern we’d have then would be a mutiny.”
Chen couldn’t quite subdue his laugh.
Jack didn’t share their mirth, but the easy rapport suggested that the battle was going well, at least from Bowen’s point of view. A flash of light from behind him suddenly illuminated the faces of his colleagues.
“Got the bastard,” John said.
Jack turned and saw a blinking red symbol disappear amid the last glitter of an explosion. One of the rebel ships had finally been destroyed. Moments later, he saw the vectors of all three remaining hostiles alter together and disengage from Singapore.
Pulling himself back to the command station, Jack guessed that the disposition of his Hawks was likely about to change. He eased up to Hayley, who was exhaling loudly.
“Holy fuck,” she said, “that was intense.”
“What’s the status of the Hawks?”
“Can I have a fucking moment to catch my breath?”
She was smart, he knew, but way too much of a line officer for his liking.
“No, subbie,” he replied. “We’re still at battle stations, so do your fucking job.”
She glowered down at her displays, bringing up a flight status board for him to see.
“All three Hawks are fully operational. Spinner-Two is departing Singapore with the strike team, and the others are maintaining close ASW picket.”
He turned to look up at Commander Hu, just as the combat officer announced over the broadcast to secure from battle stations.
“Captain, sir, flight commander.”
“Captain.”
“Recommend we recover Spinner-Two and prep her for a later ASW patrol. Based on the current threat level, I recommend we maintain Spinners Three and Four on station until I can assess the damage to Spinner-One.”
“Very good.”
Jack glanced at Hayley, who nodded and began issuing orders into her headset to the Hawks and the hangar maintenance crew.
All around the bridge, crew members began shedding their emergency vacuum suits and stuffing them back into their warbags. Jack actually started to feel a bit silly in his bright white spacesuit. He was about to depart the bridge when he saw the XO making his way into the spherical space. Perry’s face was flushed and shining, but he was smiling. He swiftly pulled his way up to the command station.
“Captain, sir, XO. Hull breach on deck five is fully contained. No other damage to report,” he nodded at Jack, “other than Spinner-One currently inoperable.”
“Very good, XO.”
“Shall we schedule the evening briefing for thirty minutes from now, sir?”
The combat officer paused in his movement to unstrap from his seat.
“You still want to have an evening brief, XO?”
Perry’s smile faded into a hard line.
“Yes, Combat. Even amid the chaos of a war patrol, we can still maintain our regular routine. In fact, it’s essential that we do so. Discipline and routine shall not be compromised by the effects of fatigue or adrenalin.”
Lieutenant Gillgren looked as if he disagreed, but he held his tongue. Jack glanced at the captain, noting just the briefest flicker of impatience as it crossed his stony features.
“The XO’s right,” Commander Hu said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “but honestly, tonight, I think I’d personally like to skip it. Number One, just have the section heads each report to my cabin when they have a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” the XO said.
The group broke up at that point, with the XO departing, Hayley burying herself in her duties at the console, the combat officer turning the watch over to John Micah, and then gathering the other two warfare directors off to the side for a debrief. The captain stayed in his chair for a few minutes, stoically observing the scene around him. Jack figured he should probably be somewhere himself, but he was content to simply float in his warm spacesuit and watch the line officers scurry.
Once he seemed satisfied with the status of his realm, the CO unstrapped and climbed out of his seat, informing John that he’d be in his cabin if needed. Hayley glanced up from her station and watched the captain’s retreating form.
“The XO wanted a fucking evening brief,” she muttered up at John. “Does he want spiffy dins after that, and a parade in the hangar tomorrow morning?”
“Shut up, Hayley,” John said, his tone mild.
She shook her head and looked over at Jack.
“What’s up, marshmallow man?”
Jack couldn’t help but laugh, realizing just how stupid he must look in his spacesuit.
“Ms. Oaks,” John said with mock seriousness, “I require you to say ‘what’s up, marshmallow man, sir.’ Discipline and routine shall not be compromised by the effects of either fatigue or adrenalin.”
“Yes, sir,” she snorted.
“So it’s okay if I just sleep here?” Jack asked.
“If we can bounce you around the bridge like a beach ball,” John replied, “sure.”
Jack took hold of the railing and started moving for the airlock. The playful banter of line officers never went away, not even after the stress of battle, but it was more than he could stomach right now.
“Have a good watch, kiddies.”