John Ringo: Manxome Foe

He stumbled into it and the door closed automatically…

“This grapping sucks,” Miller snarled. They’d found two routes that indicated headed to the purple area, both of them locked. Which just meant they were probably on the right track. “There’s got to be a way to blow this door down.”

“We might need to figure that out fast,” Gunny Neely said from the end of the short corridor. “We’ve got Dreen closing our position.”

“Chief Warrant, if you’d try to convince this door to open, I’d appreciate it,” the first sergeant said. “I’m going to join Corporal Lyle and the Gunny in securing this corridor.”

“On it,” Miller replied. “ This time I brought demo.”

“Negative engagement,” the pilot said.

Spectre looked around the conn and wasn’t surprised that the warp/normal space lash-up they had been using so effectively for so long no longer worked. He could see the sun playing across the rubble where the sonar room used to be. Among other things, there was only half a bulkhead there. For that matter, there was a patch of sun working its way across Commander Weaver’s position. Fortunately, the mass driver round had penetrated behind the astrogation position, missing the commander. Unfortunately, it had punched through two more decks into the crew mess. The mess was overflowing with wounded from the battle; crew were struggling to seal it again before the wounded died of asphyxia.

“Tactical, Conn,” Spectre said, struggling to keep the fatigue out of his voice. The battle just seemed to go on and on.

“Tactical.”

The voice wasn’t the TACO.

“Who’s this? Chief Brooks? Where’s the TACO?”

“Sickbay, Conn,” the tactical chief replied. “Took a fragment to the chest. We got his suit patched but… It doesn’t look good.”

“Understood,” the CO said. “Engagement system is down.”

“We’re on it, Conn. Appears to be overheating of some of the interface chips. We’re attempting to repair.”

“Enemy status?”

“Sierra One, Sierra Seven, Sierra Fifteen and nine Bandits remaining in BatRon One. Six more Bandits, Sierra Six remaining from CruRon One. Estimate Bandits attached to CruRon One unable to return for replenishment. Sierra three, CruRon One, will be unable to engage for a minimum of three hours. Sierra Twelve dead in space. Primary threat, BatRon One, continues on course to intercept Hexosehr fleet. Sierra One has been engaging at long range but negative impact on Hexosehr fleet. Estimate, based on Hexosehr maneuvering delta, impact guaranteed at seven light-seconds. Estimate forty minutes to that range for Sierra One.”

“Got that,” Spectre said. “Conn out. Eng, Conn.”

“Go, Conn.”

“Status?”

“Primary drive system offline. Working on secondary. Drive is up. Spare neutrino generators ready for replacement.”

“Roger,” the CO said. “Conn, out.”

“Be interesting flying home like this,” Weaver said.

Spectre looked at his suit indicator and realized it was on a private frequency. The rest of the conn crew couldn’t hear it.

“If we can take out Sierra One, the Hexosehr can patch us up easily enough,” the CO said.

“Yes, sir,” Bill said dubiously.

“And you have an issue with that, Commander?”

“I just don’t think it’s possible,” Weaver admitted. “If we still had the Caurorgorngoth , maybe. As it is…”

“Conn, Comm.”

“Go.”

“Incoming message from Fleet Master Lurca.”

“Put it on.”

“Boss Man Spectre,” the fleet master said. “Your ship is truly grapped up.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Lurca,” Spectre replied. “We need to do some minor repairs on our battle system, but we will be back in the battle soon.”

“I am dispatching a fleet collier,” Lurca said. “I am transmitting its path. If your engines continue to work, move to intercept it. The collier has engineers onboard that may be of assistance.”

“We appreciate that, Fleet Master.”

“The engineers have been working on a shield generator capable of interfacing with your systems,” Lurca continued. “If it works, you will have some shielding against plasma.”

“I cannot begin to express my gratitude,” Spectre said. “Be aware, though, that our tacticians estimate only forty minutes until the battlewagon is in range of your fleet. If we have not taken it out by that time, this battle will be for nothing.”

“Our tacticians have the same estimate,” Lurca replied. “Which is why you must use your engine to intercept the collier.”

“On our way,” Spectre said. “Weaver?”

“Course transmitted to pilot,” the astrogator said.

“Pilot, engage.”

Matching course and speed with the collier was not difficult, even using the secondary engine controls. As soon as they were matched, a veritable army of Hexosehr swarmed across the intervening space, disdaining hatches and entering through the numerous holes in the ship.

“Senior Engineer Elirgoth,” the lead Hexosehr said as he swarmed into the conn. The ship had shut down engines to permit easier movement by the Hexosehr, the conversion to gravity being an issue on the outside of the ship.

“Commanding Officer Steven Blankemeier,” the CO said. “Spectre. This is my executive officer, who is in charge of repairs.”

“We see the most critical need being to install the shield generator,” Elirgoth replied through his translator. “The specifications for your ship have changed but we should be able to adjust. We will install it on the hull near your power generation system. That will be the shortest run. My peripheral teams have orders to meet with your damage control crews and assist. We will remain on-board the ship, if that is acceptable, during the battle. We have patching material coming across to seal critical areas. In addition we have hull plates we can install in patches to shield critical zones. Show us where to work and we can work very fast.”

“Follow me,” the XO said. “I’ll show you where to install the shield generator and talk to you about other critical needs.”

“See, what did I tell you?” the CO said as soon as they’d left.

“I still don’t see us taking out the battlewagon,” Weaver said.

“Oh, I’m going to take it out,” Spectre replied.

“Yes, sir. How if I might ask?”

“If it comes down to it we’re going to fly right in that damned mass-driver and blow the engines.”

“What is this stuff?”

Miller hadn’t been joking about bringing demo. If his suit had been in Berg’s condition, he would have taken out a couple more compartments with all the octocellulose he was carrying in his butt-pack.

But despite using the strongest conventional explosive in the military inventory, over four times the power of C-4, even with tamping the blast with the dead bodies of Dreen, he still hadn’t managed to scratch the secured door.

He had, however, managed to coat the entire hallway in a very nice shade of light violet from the blood of the Dreen ersatz sandbags.

“I don’t know, Chief,” Lyle replied. “But you’re about out of demo.”

“Jeff, I’m getting nothing, here,” Miller admitted. The door just mocked him. “I hope you’re running out of Dreen, because I don’t need any more bodies.”

“Alas, no,” the first sergeant replied. “And I do believe I just heard a roar from down the corridor.”

“In that case, I’ll keep some of my demo,” Miller said, shaking his head. “There’s actually a couple of other ways that rhino-tanks have been taken out. They’re just much lower probability. Like, damned near zero.”