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« on: April 26, 2012, 09:54:54 AM »
Broken Lines
“Three contacts, grid delta nine-two, vector one-eight-eight speed ninety five.”
“Ident unknown, three frigs.”
Right on time, now all we need to do is wait…
Everyone is hunched over their controls, faces lit green by the emergency lights. A good crew, ready.
“Contacts now at delta nine-zero, slowing to ninety”
“Have we been spotted?”
“Unsure sir, no changes to the nebula but-”
“Target flux?”
“-um, probably still at power to engines.”
“Probably? Clean up those sensor readings and give me an answer!”
Imbecile!
Ok, not an elite crew, just a good one. I try not to let the idiots aboard, but there’s always a few.
“Contacts now at grid delta eight-four, vector holding at one-eight-four, speed steady ninety”
“Sir, targets are at cruising power, shields down. They haven’t seen us sir.”
“Sir! Ident positive, it’s them.”
I try and make it a point not to smile when things seem to be going to plan, the crew mostly think I’m a crazy killer. A straight face can instil a lot of fear, and win a share of card games.
Just let them get closer… one more grid.
“Grid delta seven-nine, vect-“
“Signal escort wings, all ahead full. Spring the trap.” I cut him off mid sentence, it’s time.
“Aye sir!”
One escort. Now is probably where I should grin.
------------
“Captain! We’ve got incoming!” a shrill voice calls across the bridge-it’s owner, a middle aged helmsman-was wide eyed with panic.
“What?” asked Captain Bullew, his voice far more controlled. ”Details!” It was a demand, not an order.
“I’m reading nine-no sorry-ten ships, leaving a nebula less than half an AU off the port side.” The second helmsman managed to at least sound like he knew how to read his terminal.
“Captain, we’ve been hailed by the Silverlight: Commander McMonteu requests your orders.” This voice was laced with static, carried over the Lasher’s intercom.
“Bearing and speed of the incoming ships? Any IFF ident?” Bullew still looked calm, but his orders were too crisp. He was panicking.
“No ID, grid F seventy seven, heading two hundred and ninety, closing at over a hundred and five.. they’re coming straight for us sir!” the first helmsman rattled off the details with a lump in his throat, they were as good as dead and he knew it. Ten to one odds. It’s not like the two freighters they were running with could provide any real support.
“Hail the approaching vessels.” Bullew played by the book. It kept him alive and well fed.
“Just static sir, I think com lines are being jammed.”
It could be his imagination, but the intercom did sound even worse than usual. “Go to full burn, signal the Silverlight and Issilay to make a run for it, we will cover them as best we can.” Bullew barked his orders, letting his ample frame lend weight to his words.
“Aye sir.” Crackled the intercom again.
“Load all guns, hail them again. Battle stations.” Bullew stood, well he stooped, and made his way across the cramped bridge to peer out of observation port. Even as he did so, an armoured panel slid over it leaving only a thin slit of starlight. There, on the edge of vision, framed by the gasses of the nebula: engine afterglow. They were close.
“Fore gun, ready!”
“Port ready.”
“Starb’d ready!”
“Bulkheads sealed, fuel isolated. All systems green.” As the reports rattled in, Bullew thrust himself back into his terminal. A string of reports and little green lights met him there, as did a single reply from the two freighters: ‘Good luck’.
“Helm, weapons check.” He said, looking up from the two-word message.
“Sir, missiles ready, cannons loaded. Ammunition at 83%.” Replied the panicking helmsman.
“What have we got then? Any ident yet?” Bullew’s brow began to furrow as he stared into his display.
“Interference from the nebula is still playing havoc here sir, but it looks like two wings of attack craft and two frigate sized ships.”
“Any response to hails?”
“Negative sir, I doubt they’re receiving though all this EM.”
“Keep us between those ships and the tankers... good luck men."
To be continued...