Kennedy Hudner - Alarm of War

“Estimate one minute to emergence of Dominion battleship,” Max rasped.

The bridge crew waited, casting strained, exhausted glances at the battle display. The four enemy cruisers were clearly visible, but there was no sign of the battleship. Chief Gibson solemnly leaned over and shook Chief Friedman’s hand. Betty McCann murmured a prayer under her breath. Alex Rudd wiped shaking hands across his sweating face. “Let this be over,” he muttered. “Let this be over.”

The minute ended.

Emily stared at the battle display, willing the battleship to come.

Nothing happened.

Grant Skiffington commed from the Yorkshire. “What’s happening?”

Emily shrugged. They couldn’t send a recon drone in because it might give away their position and the Duck cruisers would attack.

“We wait,” she told Skiffington. There wasn’t anything else they could do.

They waited.

Another minute. Then two. Five minutes dragged by.

They waited.

Emily drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, her earlier feeling of relief draining sourly away. “Come on , you big bastard,” she muttered. “Come out and play.”

“Coffee, Captain?”

She looked up. Seaman Tobias Partridge stood there with a tray and five mugs. She stared at him for along moment, her eyes pricking with tears, a surge of anger, sadness and pride sweeping through her. Beside her Alex Rudd grinned while Chief Gibson scowled, muttering, “You bloody idiot.”

Emily considered what to say, but decided to keep it simple. “Thank you, Mr. Partridge,” she said, helping herself to a mug and a packet of sweetener. She sniffed the coffee and raised her eyebrows.

“It’s hazelnut, Captain,” Partridge explained earnestly, as if it were a matter of great importance. “It was all they had ready and I didn’t want to take the time to find anything else.”

Emily’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, Mr. Partridge, next time we are in this type of situation, I expect nothing less than French Vanilla.”

“Suffering Christ! Will you two stop playing silly buggers and give me some of that coffee?” Alex Rudd demanded. Partridge handed him a cup. Rudd took it carefully in both hands. Emily could see they were shaking. She held up her two hands. They were steady.

“Well, now that you’re back, young Mr. Partridge,” Alex Rudd told him, “give the chiefs and Betty some coffee and resume your station. Maybe we can get on with this thing.”

But Betty McCann was standing rigidly at her console, one hand on her ear bug. “Captain, I am getting a call on the Guard channel. A woman says she is calling you from the Dominion battleship Vengeance. ”

Emily unceremoniously spat her coffee onto her lap. “Who?” she choked out.

“She says she is Sergeant Maria Sanchez from the Yorkshire and that-”

“Put her on, Betty! Put her on! ”

The comm screen blossomed to life, showing a combat bridge that looked like a charnel house. In the center of the screen Cookie smiled grimly, a long cut on her cheek dripping blood, and eyes that looked weary beyond exhaustion.

“We did it, Em,” she said, waving a hand behind her. “We’ve got the bridge of the battleship. I’ve activated the DMB and we’re almost stopped.”

For the first time in hours, Emily felt a surge of hope. “Cookie-”

But Cookie interrupted her. “They’re bringing up armored troops, so I don’t know how long we can hold out. If there’s something you need me to do, tell me now.”

And with that, Emily felt the heavy iron collar of command lock back around her neck. She looked at clock, calculating when Admiral Douthat’s squadron should reach Atlas, and when Atlas should reach the worm hole to Refuge. “Cookie, can you give us an hour?” If the Dominion could not attack Atlas within the hour, they wouldn’t be able to stop Atlas before it went through the worm hole.

Cookie’s shoulders visibly sagged and the smile ran away from her face. But she nodded and said, “Maybe. We’ll do our best, Em.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and it suddenly struck on Emily that this was it.

She would never see Cookie again.

Never laugh with her, never tease her about the teddy bear she had smuggled into Camp Gettysburg.

Never see her marry Hiram Brill.

It felt grotesquely obscene that she could talk so clearly with her friend, like they were standing in the same room together, but could not hope to rescue her.

“Oh, Cookie, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Cookie shrugged. “Yeah, well, this is what we do, Em.” Her smile held a hint of devilish mischief. “Remember that first week at Camp Gettysburg, when Sergeant Kaelin had us line up and shoot each other?” She laughed. “I shot you in the leg and you fell over, screamin’ like the end of the world.”

Emily nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Long time ago,” Cookie mused. She wiped a hand across her face, leaving a smear of blood behind. The tattooed blood tears stood out in stark relief against her skin.

“Cookie, how many troops do you have? Can you fight your way out?” Emily asked, hating herself for breaking Cookie’s reverie.

“Nineteen, including the wounded. Most are out of ammo.” She sighed, the leaned in toward the camera, her voice softening. “Take care of Hiram, Em. Tell him he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Tell him-”

In the background, there was suddenly the sound of men shouting and shots being fired. Someone called out: “Sarge, they’re comin’!”

Cookie looked over her shoulder, then back to the camera, her face set and hard.

“Time to go,” she said simply.

The screen went dark.

For a long heartbeat, Emily just sat there staring at the blank image. She didn’t want to think about what she had just done, so she willed herself to stop thinking. About the war, about the damn Dominions, about Cookie and Hiram and their never-to-be-born children. She would think of none of it.

She wanted to weep.

Alex Rudd squatted down beside her chair. He spoke very softly. “Emily,” he said, “we don’t have to stay here and die. Your Marine friend has disabled the Duck battleship, at least for now. They don’t have anything else that big.”

She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly.

“ Emily ,” he said more urgently. “Dammit, don’t go kamikaze on me! We do not have to die here. We should run for the worm hole as soon as Atlas clears the fail safe point.”

Emily took a deep breath. Haltingly, reluctantly, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope. Slowly, she nodded to Rudd. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.” Then she took hold of herself.

“Max!” she called. Her voice sounded far away.

“Who shall I attack?” the AI asked again.

Sweet Gods of Our Mothers, she was sick and tired of Max. “Switch back to Merlin.” There was a momentary pause, then:

“Your orders, Captain Tuttle?”

“Display two clocks. The first showing how long before Atlas enters the worm hole to Refuge. The second showing how soon the Dominion ships on your sensors will have Atlas in missile range. Do not take into consideration Dominion ability to shoot lasers.”

The screen flickered and words appeared:

Time to Refuge worm hole: 36:14.

Earliest Dominion missile launch window: 32:28.

Emily nodded. If the Dominions did not start their pursuit within four minutes, they couldn’t get close enough to hit Atlas with missiles before Atlas dove into the worm hole.

“Message to the Kent and Yorkshire: If the big battleship has still not emerged in exactly four minutes, we are going to do a speed run to the Refuge worm hole! Get ready!”