Atk. Butterfly - Rust Bucket

We continued on to our patrol area, too confident within our command structure for our own good. We ran into eight heavy ships of the alien forces who proceeded to tear into our squadron from ambush. Only the fact that Frank was piloting kept us from being hit at first. I also pulled my first insubordination by announcing “battle stations” the old way. The Pennyweight personnel understood my meaning immediately and fired at the eight enemy vessels as Frank did his best to evade their shots and continue on. We lost two of our ships outright while the other ship was damaged heavily. Somehow the other ship managed to stay by our side as we fought our way through the ambush and out beyond them. At that point, we were cut off from our base when the Commander of the Squadron called me to the bridge.

“By what authority did you give the command for battle stations and open fire?” he demanded angrily.

“By what authority do you have the gall to even demand to know why I bothered to save this ship and your hide?” I answered just as angrily, upset that he had taken us into a trap and was too frozen in his command chair to give the orders for us to open fire. “Right now, you can court-martial me, though I doubt that you’ll be able to explain it when the combat videos are processed. You can do that or you can take credit for saving what little command you have left and I’ll keep my mouth shut when we get to port.”

He looked at me with almost the same frozen behavior that I learned of on the way to the bridge. Evidently, he must have decided to back off and take what credit could be salvaged from the whole mess. At least, if we could get back, we could report losing two ships and destroying two in the ambush, provided that the other ship with us could make it back. I didn’t wait for his decision and walked out on him, leaving him to ponder his own fate, now that he was still alive, while I went back about my duties. To make it even worse, the moron didn’t have the sense to try to chew me out in private, so our conversation got around to the rest of the ship in no time at all.

At the staff meeting the next morning, our situation was discussed a little more rationally.

“We’re here in the Lima Juliette Quadrant. The Avenger is heavily damaged with casualties equalling almost half her crew. Any suggestions, gentlemen?” the Captain asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “Have them land on a suitable planet to make repairs. If they can’t, then we’ll land to pick up their personnel. Their ship can be recovered later for repairs by Navy salvage teams. In their condition, they can’t defend themselves. We can’t afford to be tied down to them in space when we need to be fluid in battle. That’s the only way to give their personnel the best chance for survival and the Navy the chance to re-use their skills.”

“But we’ll be alone…” he almost whined in reply.

“We already are alone. They’re out of action as it stands right now. They couldn’t defend themselves against a scout, let alone a light or medium class warship. They’re down to fifty percent of their personnel on their feet, two weapons stations operable, and less than forty percent maneuverability. They’re barely able to keep us with us. If they try to do maneuvers at higher speeds, I doubt that their structure will hold together. I doubt that they want to provide cover for us to escape when they don’t even stand a chance of survival,” I answered.

The Commander stared ahead, becoming frozen again in the face of aggressive action that required a decision. Having another ship next to us must have registered in his mind as still having a force. To me, we were alone even if there were twenty Avenger ’s in similar condition next to us. Quickly, the acting Captain of our ship chimed in with the same recommendation that the Avenger set down on a suitable planet. Even after the acting First Officer added his agreement to my recommendation, the Squadron Commander remained frozen. I left it to them to take action with the ship’s surgeon to have the Commander removed and later placed under sedation. That happened within two hours after the meeting dissolved, rather than adjourned.

I was called by the acting Captain to the bridge shortly after the Squadron Commander was taken to his quarters. “What would you really do? Leave them on a planet or pick them up?” he asked.

I said, “It would depend on whether there were any enemy vessels around. Do a complete sweep around the selected planet for enemy forces. Land the other ship and then ourselves as soon as they’re on the ground. Then transfer their people over here. We can use all the personnel we can get. We’re going to need to have personnel manning our battle stations around the clock once we’re alone. We try that now, we’re going to wear ourselves out. With their ship’s complement on board, we just might make it. If we run into any enemy vessels, we announce battle stations and go after them with guns blazing. No more pussyfooting. We don’t wait for them to shoot first. We already know that we’re at war. The advantage lies with the side that shoots first and the most. If the odds are too great, then we get the hell out of Dodge, but not without leaving a calling card that might slow them down.”

“Do you really think that will work?” he asked.

I answered, “I don’t know of any better way. I’m certainly tired of slinking back to port with my tail between my legs.”

He dismissed me then. I returned to my duties unaware that others, who knew how I had been performing duties that he and the first officer should have been doing, were advising him to do as I suggested. In fact, the first indication I had that he adopted my suggestion was when the alarm for landing positions was given. It was a sloppy personnel transfer, but it was still completed before we could be caught on the ground with our overslick pants around our ankles. When we were back in space, I went forward to the bridge and sought out the acting Captain.

“Yes, Lieutenant? What can I do for you?” he asked.

I replied, “I want to assign some of these personnel to gun stations and get those who don’t know how to shoot trained as much as possible before the enemy finds us or we find the enemy.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

I answered, “That’s all. I just want us to have the best chance possible. You run the ship. I’ll just run the guns.”

That appeared to appease him, in that I wasn’t questioning his authority and merely wanted to make sure his ship was ready for action. He nodded and I went about getting the personnel roster that came over with the men. At least, I picked up three good gunners and assigned them to places that were in need. The rest of the personnel started their first lesson as soon as I could get their attention a few minutes later. Soon everyone of them had a new battle station and someone was at each battle station the entire time. I didn’t expect them to become good shots with virtually no real training such as practicing with the weapons. If they only put out fire in the right direction, we stood a chance of coming through that mess alive. After all, we were then alone so anything they shot at was going to be an enemy ship.

I also got some hooks installed in the hallway next to the Mark III quad that I manned and slept there using my web hammock. It was high enough that it was out of the way. As well, it didn’t interfere with ordinary movement that would have been by me in the first place since there was nowhere else to go other than the gun station from that hallway. It also freed up a room where more hammocks could be installed to take care of the additional crew members we then had.

As I expected, the surviving enemy ships were trying to find us. They didn’t find the damaged ship, but they did find us. That time there was no complaint when I ordered “battle stations” over the ship’s internal communications system. Almost all of our weapons started blazing away at the enemy just as he got into range. We had the satisfaction of seeing one more enemy ship destroyed before we managed to evade the others.