Repel Boarders Read online

  “Bring us to general quarters. Warm up the shields and weapons but don’t activate them until the other ship fires or the admiral gives us orders to engage,” Slater advised, not holding out much hope that the admiral would do the smart thing.

  “Get me a secure line to Captain Grady,” Slater ordered. Grady was the captain of the other escort vessel, the Regina. The human ships were smaller and likely weaker than their foe, so coordinating a defense would be key to their survival if the alien ship proved to be hostile—and that seemed more and more likely as the vessel continued to ignore the admiral’s frantic communication attempts.

  “Grady here. What are you thinking, Captain Slater?” Grady said as the connection was established between them.

  “They don’t look too friendly to me. I’ve gone to general quarters and I’m getting the Franklin ready to engage if they fire on us. I have no idea what weapons they may have, and we should link our systems now to improve our point-defense effectiveness.”

  “Agreed, sending the link request over to you now,” Grady continued. “Franklin will take the lead on point defense. Best to not try and link up to the research ships yet. Admiral will pitch a fit if we do.”

  “We have separations from the alien vessel! Ten, twelve, seventeen—make it a total of twenty-two missiles inbound, sir! Time to impact: four minutes,” Crewman Lewis on tactical advised, nearly panicking now that they were under fire.

  “Shields up, weapons-free. Get us between the science vessels and the enemy. Designate alien contact as Tango 1. Main guns to assume point-defense role until further advised. Get us linked with the civilian ships and advise them to raise shields now!” Captain Slater ordered.

  It took time for the shields to build up a full charge—time the fleet no longer had. By having the shield systems warmed up ahead of time, the escorts started with their shields at ten percent while the other vessels rushed to bring their shields online. Each of the civilian vessels lacked offensive armament but had been outfitted with a single point-defense gun that was less advanced than the ones mounted on the Franklin and Regina. The weapons the civilians had were more suited to destroying errant space debris than incoming missiles from a sophisticated foe, but every bit helped when twenty-two missiles were heading toward you.

  “Sir, SV1 and SV2 are linked to our point defense. They’re trying to bring up shields. The Hope for the Future is declining to join the point-defense grid. Message incoming from the admiral, sir,” comms advised.

  “Send her through,” Slater said, out of patience with the admiral now that they were under fire and less than five minutes from potential destruction.

  “Captain Slater, I command you to stand down at once. Your actions have provoked our new neighbors—” Admiral Lopez started before Slater cut her off.

  “Not the time for peacemaking, Admiral. If you haven’t noticed, we have missiles inbound to kill us. Raise your shields and link your point defense. The fleet is under direct attack by a hostile vessel. I have leave under the fleet guidelines to act in the best interest of the expedition. Therefore, I ignore your order to stand down and implore you to join in our defense.” Slater’s voice bordered on insubordination as he signaled comms to cut the feed. “Comms, if she calls back, we’re having communication trouble and cannot respond. Weapons, prepare all missiles to fire once the enemy enters range.”

  The ensign on comms nodded in understanding and would cut off any more foolishness from the admiral.

  “Tactical, time to enemy weapon impact?” the captain asked.

  “Two minutes thirty, sir. Missiles are around the same speed as ours and about twenty-five percent larger. The increased size could mean either a larger payload or perhaps just extra fuel to increase the range. Our birds will be in range in fifteen seconds,” Lewis advised.

  “As soon as we’re in range, flush all the external mounts. We’ll send a reply to our new friends with every missile we have. Set point defense to automated, and give me a status on shields,” Slater ordered.

  “Shields at thirty-three percent and charging. SV1 and SV2 have shields up . . . only at eleven percent. Hope for the Future just flipped the switch on shields . . . but I don’t think they’ll have much of a charge up before the missiles get here. Point defense is now linked for all five ships,” Lewis advised, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Tango 1 is in range, firing all external launchers . . . All six birds are away, sir, running hot, straight, and normal. Buckler has also fired all six of her external mounts, Captain.”

  Captain Slater felt the vibration of the missile launches through the deck as Lewis announced their counterattack. The combined volley from both escorts was a paltry twelve missiles against the enemy’s initial volley of twenty-two. To make matters worse, the human fleet had no reloads; fleet command felt the six missiles mounted on each escort vessel would be enough to scare off potential pirates—the only possible opposition they could imagine.

  “Main guns are engaging incoming missiles, sir,” Lewis said.

  Slater focused on the tactical display at his station, watching to see if the point-defense system was up to the task as death rushed toward them. The captain ordered the tactical feed placed on the main display for all the bridge crew to see. The crew had little to do currently, as most point-defense actions were automated. Either the ship’s computer calculated correctly and hit the hostile missile or the admiralty would be paying out a lot of death benefit money.

  The railguns thrummed and shook the deck each time they fired one of their three-inch metallic darts toward the incoming missiles. The main gun wasn’t designed specifically as a point-defense weapon, and using it as such typically resulted in a much lower hit chance than the more rapid-firing and shorter-ranged point-defense weapon his ship employed. Since they were in the vacuum of space, the main guns had a virtually unlimited range. The only reason they waited so long to fire was due to the limitations of the targeting computer, not the weapon itself.

  “Incoming missiles have begun evasive maneuvers . . . Looks like they’re a bit worse at it than ours are, sir,” Lewis advised.

  Captain Slater let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He had feared that the enemy ordnance would be much more advanced than his own and that his ships wouldn’t stand a chance. Based on the data from the missiles’ evasive patterns, the point-defense systems on his ships would have a chance in this fight.

  The crew watched the screen as rounds from the main gun intercepted first one and then another of the incoming missiles. The hits were few and far between; seventeen missiles had survived and finally entered the effective range of the fleet’s smaller point-defense guns. These guns fired a small explosive charge that sent dozens of metallic balls toward the path of an incoming missile. They had a high rate of fire, but the targeting systems on the human vessels, having been cobbled together with designs borrowed from oceangoing vessels and air-defense vehicles from the army, were relatively primitive. All the targeting for the expedition was now being handled through the Franklin’s computers to ensure that no two guns tried to kill the same target.

  The number of inbounds was shrinking rapidly, but the mood on the bridge was somber. They weren’t killing the missiles fast enough; some of them would leak through their defenses and strike the human vessels.

  “Sir, four are going to make it through the point defense,” Lewis said. “All are targeting the Hope for the Future. Impact in four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”

  Slater had worried about this; the Hope for the Future was larger than the escorts, and it was a common practice to take out the largest and potentially deadliest threat first. The aliens must not have known or didn’t care that the vessel was a poorly armed civilian one.

  The first missile hit the front of the human flagship, the shield absorbing part of the impact. Unfortunately, the Hope for the Future only had her shields up to seven percent by the time of impact. The remaining force of the exploding missile hurtled into the front
hull of the Hope, ripping it open and venting atmosphere from several of the forward compartments. Debris, along with some unfortunate crew members, were sucked from the ship and into the deadly vacuum of space. The Hope for the Future could have survived this heavy blow . . . if there weren’t three other missiles following the first. Each successive hit bore deeper into the large science vessel. The third missile finished her, breaching the main reactor. The resulting explosion looked like a miniature sun before the light of the blast subsided.

  The crew of the Franklin looked on in horror at the loss of the largest ship in the fleet. Only a radioactive cloud of debris remained of the Hope for the Future. Slater regained his composure and watched as their return volley closed in on the alien vessel. The aliens had a different idea of point defense than the humans; several beams of light began to crisscross space, seeking out the incoming missiles. The point-defense tactic was effective at short range, but even so, three human missiles hit the enemy ship. The first two crashed into the enemy’s shields, doing no damage but weakening the shield. The third partially broke through, some of the explosive force slamming into the hull.

  “One penetrated their shield, sir. Not sure what damage we did—if any—on the target. Sensors show some atmosphere venting where it was hit, but there’s really no way to tell if we hurt it badly or not. Based on the hits that the Hope for the Future took, their missiles have a similar payload to our own,” Lewis relayed. Thankfully, their weapons weren’t some all-powerful alien device that would destroy the entire fleet in one hit.

  “More separation, sir. Twenty-one new contacts. Another volley of missiles inbound!” Lewis exclaimed.

  Captain Slater watched as twenty-one missiles flew toward the fleet—his fleet now that the admiral had been killed along with her flagship. It was slim compensation that their own flight of missiles must have taken out one of the alien launchers, as this second volley was slightly smaller than the first.

  “Main guns on point defense until Tango 1 enters effective range, then switch to direct fire and take out that ship. Keep our escorts between the SVs and Tango 1,” Captain Slater ordered. The enemy ship had been closing with the fleet this whole time, bringing this volley of missiles into main gun range almost immediately. After firing two rounds at the inbound missiles, the guns switched targets and began to sling three-inch metal spikes toward the enemy vessel. The incredible velocity of the rounds generated massive amounts of kinetic energy.

  The first few rounds from the two escorts’ main guns sparked against their target’s shields, deflected from their course but in turn depleting whatever charge the shield had regenerated since the missile strike. The remaining rounds tore into the alien ship’s hull; the alloys it was composed of appeared to be no stronger than those of the human ships. Most of the rounds penetrated at least one compartment into the enemy ship, successive rounds punching deeper and deeper into the innards of the mysterious vessel. On the display screen, Slater and the bridge crew could see puffs of gas release as each round hit, indicating that atmosphere was being vented into space. It was only a matter of time until the main guns hit something vital.

  The ship shuddered and the main screen went dark as alarms sounded on many of the bridge consoles. Slater, who had been standing to view the damage to the enemy ship, was hurled to the floor. A gash opened on his forehead as he hit the comms console on his way down. He waved away help from Ensign Jameson while he regained his seat and strapped in.

  “Damage report. How bad are we hit . . . and what hit us?” Captain Slater ordered.

  “One moment. Having to reroute to backup processors,” Jameson advised. “Here we go. It looks like we were hit by a large energy burst from the enemy vessel. They’re using a type of high-powered laser as their main gun . . . and they have two of them. Both beams hit, knocked out our shields, and I’ve got a laundry list of damage to our ship. Long-range sensors offline, shields down, main gun destroyed, point-defense gun destroyed, and an unknown number of casualties.”

  “Sir, I have to take the main drive down before it burns out,” the helmsman said, adding to the Franklin’s woes.

  Slater picked up his comm device and pinged Ramos in engineering. There was no answer.

  “Receiving a hail from the Regina, sir,” comms advised.

  “Put Grady through,” Slater said.

  “Captain Slater, this is Ensign Billings of the Regina. We’re hit bad, sir. Not sure if we can take much more. The aliens are pummeling the science vessels with their main battery, but they’ve positioned themselves just above your ship. Looks like they intend to board you, sir. I’m trying to get our weapons back online, but the captain and most of the crew here are dead. Those missiles—” The signal cut out abruptly.

  “Sir, I have short-range sensors online. Regina is down and both SV1 and SV2 have been hit hard and are dead in the water,” Jameson advised, using the old naval term despite the obvious absence of water in space. “Enemy ship is maneuvering above us.”

  Everyone on the ship felt and heard the dull clang of something metallic latching onto their vessel. Keying the ship-wide comm channel, Slater gave a command that hadn’t been uttered by a navy captain in over a hundred years: “All hands, prepare to repel boarders.”

  The remaining crew jumped into action. At several locations around the ship were weapons lockers, and once the command had been given, all crewmembers could use their biosignatures to unlock them and access the weapons inside. The weapons were only pistols and shotguns, and the ammunition stored with them consisted of low-power frangible rounds to prevent overpenetration or ricochets that caused more harm than good.

  Despite never expecting to issue a call to repel boarders, Slater had drilled his crew for the eventuality. The captain was filled with pride as his crew executed their duties all the while knowing they would likely die in the next few minutes. The bridge crew divided up, two of them staying there to secure the hatch and defend the bridge while the other two, along with Commander Bradford, were assigned to defend the main passageway leading through the ship.

  Slater could go where he pleased to make his stand, but first, he made his way to his cabin to retrieve his personal weapons. He had kept his own pistol hidden in his desk, as well as an old artifact he had purchased years ago. His pride and joy was an eighteenth-century naval cutlass from the French navy. He belted on the simple but lovingly cared-for blade, holstered his pistol, and moved to the ship’s reactor core.

  Captain Slater had no illusions that his small crew would hold off the aliens who were even now cutting through the Franklin’s hull to board them; he did, however, intend to take them and their vessel down with him. He passed a solitary crewman assigned to defend the intersection that led to engineering.

  “You have this corridor covered, sailor?” Slater asked, noting the fear in the man’s eyes.

  “Aye, aye, sir, I’ll do my duty,” the sailor replied hesitantly. The man was probably saying what he assumed the captain wanted to hear.

  “Why don’t you head toward the bridge and assist with the defense there. They could use an extra hand,” Slater told the man. There was no reason for him to die alone in this passageway; it was better to have others at your side when the time came. The sailor looked relieved and took off toward the bridge as Slater made his way to engineering.

  Above the door to engineering was a flashing red indicator showing that the compartment beyond was open to space. That answered the question of why Ramos hadn’t responded to his call earlier. Moving through an adjacent passageway, Slater was able to make his way around the main engineering compartment and into the reactor room. In there was a crewman who raised his pistol in a shaky grip as Slater entered through the hatch.

  “I can guarantee I’m not an alien, sailor,” Slater told the man, a tech rating named Murkowski. Realizing he was pointing a loaded pistol at his captain, Murkowski lowered the weapon and began to apologize.

  “No time for that, sailor. Help me set the reacto
r to overload. If the enemy manages to take the ship, I intend to take them with us,” Slater ordered.

  The crewman stood there, stunned, before responding. “Sir, but we’ll . . . I mean, won’t that kill us, too?”

  “It’s just a precaution, sailor. We’ll get it ready in case the crew is not able to hold off the aliens. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  The crewman nodded as the captain explained and went about his duty. In just a few minutes, with the help of the tech, he had the reactor on overload and set to explode with the press of a single button. While the crewman was working on the reactor, Slater listened to the depressing sounds of his crew fighting to the death against the alien boarders whom the crew described as small reptile-looking things.

  Slater monitored the comm chatter, hearing the battle play out in the words and reports of the Franklin’s defenders. The video feed on his console didn’t function, and even with the tech’s help, he was unable to restore it. He knew the boarders were armed with laser pistols of some sort and that they employed a variety of melee weapons. Reports coming in told him that the human weapons were just as destructive to alien flesh as they were to human flesh. In fact, it appeared that simple pistols and shotguns gave the crew a firepower advantage over their foes; the laser pistols the aliens used didn’t have to be reloaded very often, but they did have a long recharge cycle. Still, the number of boarders pouring onto the Franklin was too great for his small crew to defeat.

  “Captain, we’re running out of ammo but will do our best to hold them back,” Bradford reported. Slater listened to the last stand of his XO and the crew helping him defend the main passageway.