"Jake, we've got something on our scanners!
"What is it, Otto?"
"It appears to be a ship. A big one too... wait... there's a second one too. I think this might be it."
"Layla, turn off our cruise engines and activate weapon systems."
"Roger that."
Several days earlier a VWA patrol had reported some unknown object in the Sigma-13 system. However due to the system's nebula the nature of the object as well as its exact location remained unknown. All that was known was that there was something out there. The Widerstand decided to send a search party to find out what it was.
And now the VWA|Morgensonne, the sturdy Uruz-class transport captained by Quartiermeister Jakob Goldschmidt, stumbled upon it. System: Sigma-13, coordinates: E7/8.
Jakob looks out of the window of the bridge. The nebula makes it hard to see anything at all with one's own eyes. Coming closer the vague outlines of the two detected ships slowly become more visible however.
Jakob is surprised when he sees what they are "Are those... Vidars?"
"Scanners seem to indicate they are similar to Vidars, but they do not match entirely."
"Let's try and hail them."
"This is Jakob Goldschmidt of the Morgensonne of the Vereinigte Widerstandsarmee to unknown vessels. Please identify yourselves."
Moments of silence follow.
"... no response it seems. Move closer and scan them."
"Understood."
"Scanners indicate that there is no life on board these ships, Jakob. They are damaged, but the damage is not so extensive to have put the ship out of service normally."
"I see. I don't think that's a Vidar, Otto. It's a Hel-cruiser. Left to rot here by the Hessen probably. They would never leave a Vidar floating out here. Check the database and see if the signatures match with ship type RH-GM461."
"It's a match!"
"I knew it. Time to contact Bruchsal and tell them we've got something for them..."
During the next few days the Widerstand moved a number of assets to the Sigma-13 system for one of their biggest non-combat operations so far. The bombers of the "Gruen"-squadron as well as the elite fighter pilots of the "Wolf's Pack" are permanently patrolling around the two damaged Hel-cruisers that were discovered. They base themselves from one of the ships, landing through a hole in the cruiser's hull. From there the pilots need to move wearing a spacesuit to a small part of the ship that has been pressurized by the Widerstand. The Humpback freighter "Zeughaus" runs supplies and personnel between Bruchsal and the Cruisers.
Security is tight all around the operations and keeping it a secret is a high priority. Except for the sect leaders in the Bundschuhpartei's central committee even most party members don't know what exactly is going on. The Bundschuh's party leader has personally taken control of the operation. She deems it too important to be subjected to sectional politics and even reached out to some of her supporters in other the other sects. Die Festung and the Rote Adler already send in most of their members with any background related to engineering or shipbuilding.
Those engineers are necessary already at this stage because the main engines on both ships need to be restored to basic functionality as soon as possible. The Bundschuh lack the means to tow the large vessels and as such the plan is to fly the wrecks on impulse to a safer place.
The WRS Seeger, one of the two repair ships that the Liberty Navy had given to the Widerstand, is already on its way to aid with the repairs. Still an important question remains... where to bring the ships after they are brought to safety? Restoring minimum functionality of the engines is already proving to be a difficult task, doing anything else with these ships is simply not possible for the small Bundschuh movement.
Parteivorsitzende Frey Eistochter is sitting behind her desk. It's a difficult task that lies before her. Yet she knows that despite the difficulties, it will be necessary for the continued existence of her movement. Corsairs have launched several invasions into Frankfurt from the Sigmas, and the Büro's activities in the Omicrons cause trouble back home just as well. There is no place for experimenting with nomads in Rheinland. The Bundschuh are still the Order's main allies in that house after all.
Perhaps it is time to ask the Order for a favour in return for all the Widerstand has done for them. Freya smirks and presses buttons on the screen of her datapad.
It had been several days since the Hel-cruisers had started to move. Without cruise engines it was not an easy task to move the ships to the Order shipyard deep in the Omicrons. Even impulse speed was lower than normally would be with only the auxiliary engines being functional. The ships were heavily escorted with the "Rote"-squadron and "Wolf's Pack" constantly at their side as well as the transports "Liberty" and "Morgensonne" for supplies during their journey and the defected gunboat the "RNC Nieuwenhuis" for extra firepower. Once they arrived in Sigma-17 a small wing of the Order's Onurises came to aid the fleet with its scouting capabilities. In Omicron Minor Hathors and Nephthys-wings patrolled the system to make sure no nomads or BDM expeditions would even come close to the sluggish convoy.
Now they are slowly approaching a jumphole. All Widerstand ships other than the two Hel Cruisers were ordered halt at 10k distance from the hole. A pair of Hathors flanked the jumphole as the cruisers crawled towards it. Then, finally, the first one jumped through, the skeleton crew praying that the ship would hold for this last jump before their destination. A sigh of relief marked their safe arrival in the Omicron-100 system. Moments later the second cruiser glided out of hyperspace as well. Carefully the two ships maneuvered towards Evora Shipyard and into its dry docks.
The crews left the ships and entered a small auditorium where a familiar figure welcomed them.
"Guten Tag Genossen. You've done a good job the past days. Your task wasn't easy and it wasn't without risks but everyone made it in one piece. The Order will show you were you'll be staying and you've got some time to rest. You'll get your next briefing at 17:00. Dismissed, Genossen."
It was the short speech of their own party leader Freya Eistochter that marked the beginning of the reconstruction and deconstruction processes.
The amount of transport ships that arrive every day at Evora Shipyard has doubled since the arrival of the two cruisers. While the Vereinigte Widerstandsarmee send their convoys to the moon Akabat in the Omicron-Mu system, the Order ferries the delivered resources to the shipyard in Omicron-100. There the Order's shipbuilders, assisted by as many of the Widerstands engineers as they could spare, are restoring and upgrading one of the cruisers.
Parteivorsitzende Freya Eistochter looks at the report on her datapad.
The "Hel"-class cruiser is an outdated ship and few of its class still serve their builders the Red Hessians. When the "Vidar"-class went into production they didn't even bother keeping the old vessels battle ready. Some were sold to groups like the Unioners, sometimes damaged vessels were left drifting. The latter was the case with the two we found in the Sigmas.
The dated design leads to quite a number of issues. In its current state the cruiser could never hold its own against the well-maintained ships of the Rheinland Military and the Corsairs. The Order fortunately is quite well able to implement some of their high-tech systems into the vessel.
The entirety of the engines are getting replaced by new engines based on those used in the "Resheph"-class Recon Cruisers including powerful thrusters that are required to keep up in modern cruiser combat. The reactor of the ship is getting completely replaced by a more modern one that is safer and requires a lot less maintenance, a necessity with the shipyard being far from the Bundschuh's zone of operations. With shipments of engine components, MOX and various minerals arriving at Evora these are the current priorities.
There are more plans however. Perhaps the most important upgrade The Order has in store for us is the implementation of the latest of Kusari Optronics. The use of optronics will allow for a large increase in automated processes. We do not have the numbers to use a hundred or more people to operate a cruiser, but with these upgrades it should be doable with a full crew of about 50 for long missions far from the docks.
The report on the second cruiser, the one that will be deconstructed, will follow soon.
As promised, here is the report on the other cruiser.
The deconstruction of the second "Hel"-class cruiser is going slowly but does progress. Although most system were no longer functioning due to extensive damage the original designs can be derived of most of the ship. The Orders engineers that are working on the creation of blueprints now did request help from us however. They want one of our more experienced engineers to help out. The Order never worked with a Hessian creation before and due to the imperfect state of the ship they want one of us who has worked with Hessian fighters for advice.
Another problem that has been encountered so far lies in the weapon systems. It appears that the ships were never made to be very versatile and it will not be possible to use Order weaponry on the current systems. A new system could be designed but would take considerable time before it could be implemented and for the ship currently being repaired it would perhaps be wiser to simply restore the current system as procuring Red Hessian weaponry shouldn't be much of an issue. This decision will be left to the Order and the Widerstand's commanders however.
All in all, despite a few setbacks, things progress well. We expect to finish the deconstruction process in one or two weeks after which the blueprints should be finished fairly swiftly. Those will be put in the Order's database to allow future production of the class and will be shared with the restoration team to complete the other cruiser.
Parteivorsitzende Freya Eistochter looks at the people that stand before her. No less than 65 men and women are standing in formation, 54 of them wearing the olive green uniform of the Vereinigte Widerstandsarmee. The other eleven came from Die Festung and the Rote Adler, two minor sects in the Bundschuh movement. The Widerstand was of course rather dominating here, the Widerstand was simply the dominating armed wing of the Bundschuh in general. With their successes, people who wish to fight for the Bundschuh more often than not end up in the Widerstand and the two minor sects weren't even paramilitary. However, the situation was most of all curious due to the fact that this was a project of the Widerstand, not of the Bundschuhpartei as a whole. The Widerstand maintained its own fleet, one that nowadays did form the bulk of the Bundschuh's forces.
One could of course simply assume that the Widerstand lacked sufficient suitable personnel for the job. That would be a fair assumption if it were anyone else standing before the group than Eistochter and if the eleven belong to anything other than Die Festung and the Rote Adler. They were amongst the several sects that had supported the Widerstand two years ago in its successful attempt at taking the lead of the fractured Bundschuh and restore unity. These two were also however rather discontent with Widerstand-leader Klugmann and in his absence had supported his rival Eistochter's election as Parteivorsitzende. Their presence was unlikely to be a coincidence.
Eistochter stepped towards the microphone on the small stage before the group.
"Genossen, welcome to Evora Shipyard. You were brought here because you have been handpicked to serve on the newest, largest and most advanced vessel of our movement. The first of these "Hel Mk. II" cruisers is expected to be operational soon. While the shell of an old ship was used, other than the hull most of the ship is of a completely new design. During the next weeks you will be intensively trained in the use of this ship and it's high-tech systems by some of The Order's training officers.
I have high expectations of all of you. Do not disappoint me and do not disappoint the movement. Your presence here is a privilege, but it also bears with it a great responsibility.
We have been given a short list of items we are allowed to bring into the secure area, and sadly we can only use assigned equipment. You know my love for this old thing, I’m sending it to you so you can keep it safe. Perhaps it will be an interesting read, at least something to remember me by in case something happens.
Love,
Jens
*
16/04/822
The Morgensonne landed in a hurry today, the pilot nearly tore off the lower side of the cargo pod straps and damn near half the landing bay. Ugh, the manifolds on the blast deflectors are going to need fixing. Nothing impossible to solve, but I cannot say any of the engineers were pleased. Martin wanted to jump at the nearest crewmember as soon as they disembarked, two of us had to hold the mountain down just to avoid any further damage.
The sight of pilots and crews frantically running between their crafts and the dock elevator is something I got used to a few days after starting my employment here, but the speed with which that crew left their ship would probably make the most strict drill sergeants of the Rheinwehr blush.
Not two hours later, we caught sight of a very bulky man running around the deck, stopping every now and then to scratch his head. He looked so lost that at some point he started leaning against the shoddy railing near the fuel pumps. The thing might as well be cardboard, it cannot support the weight of someone like him for long so I approached to see what he was looking for - He was a mess.
I had to spend about a quarter of an hour calming him down. He limply took my hand and started speaking with a light and shaky voice. The man apologized for the mess, for the inconvenience, for the damage, for everything wrong in the world and extended us an invite to the Embassy after our shifts. Apparently something amazing happened. The rest of the dock crew was not about to start complaining about free drinks, and you could feel the curiosity in the air.
We arrived there as soon as we could, to find half the crew already spread across the floor. Apparently they found two fully salvageable Hels in the Sigmas. It’s a miracle, the Hessians usually abandon those ships as soon as they get damaged but there they were, two perfectly good Hels - Thankless beasts.
They said there would be a call for skilled specialists soon, wonder what will come of it all.
24/04/822
Usually when there is a call for work, you expect to hear something over the PA system - A metallic voice blaring “Engineers of the VWA, your talents are required. Serve the party, report to our representative on Deck F”. What you do not expect is to hear jackboots marching towards your station, and when you look up to see several very serious men with Eistochter’s insignia etched into their uniform. Apparently, someone heard me talking about Hels last night and they thought some of our crew would be perfect for the job.
We followed them to an office on Deck D, where they told us that we have an opportunity to serve the party’s interests. Apparently us and some of the guys from Dock B have impressed the right people, and we are being given the chance to serve the party and get paid well. They did not share too many specifics about the task at hand. All they mentioned was what we had already heard, it was something related to refitting Hels in the Omicrons. We would receive the rest of the info as soon as we hit the Sigmas.
They said time was of the essence, and we needed to make the decision right now. For better or worse, I raised my hand immediately. Blinded by credits, no? Times have been hard on both me and mother, she can no longer work, the prices have been rising - We could use the credits. I wouldn’t be opposed to a change in scenery either. Bruchsal is my home, but I have been staring at the asteroids bouncing off of the docking port deflectors for far too long.
I can barely sleep. This pit in my stomach keeps expanding and expanding, it feels uncomfortable to lie down. What was I thinking? The Omicrons, mein Gott, the Omicrons. They are absolute insanity, that’s why there are so many credits on the line. If the freighter doesn’t get intercepted by pirates, we have to dodge genocidal aliens and fanatical zealots. Not to even mention how some Order pilots can be.
Nobody even asked if we are leaving anybody behind, nobody cares even slightly. With some luck, I will be able to wire payments to mother - we might even be able to afford hired help. Otherwise, it might have been a big mistake to accept this assignment.
I will have to talk to the officer who briefed us soon.
26/04/822
I gave the decision some thought, weighed my options and accepted. What else could I do? Part of me thinks this could be the assignment to finally move me up, but the other part really does not care. You have to stay close to home, there is nobody left to care for what is left of the family. It screams at me relentlessly even now. I guess it could be worse, at least Martin decided to stay and I asked him to care for mother - He is a good friend, I know I can count on him if the worst occurs.
There wasn’t really much time to pack. Once we received the call, we were told to bring the bare minimum, and that we have to decide what that means within the next six hours. I took some clothes, my datapad and my small notebook. Some basic, personally calibrated equipment. I trust the Order security will not mind, although they are very adamant about their regulations. Comes with the territory, I suppose. The rest of the passengers are good people, all sorts of backgrounds, all sorts of fields of work. One of the radio engineers is apparently a covert operative on Oder Shipyard. Says he is the reason why we know so much about the movements of civilian traffic. Strange man.
We still haven’t been briefed, despite the many many pleas from some of the other passengers. All is on a need to know basis, and we will be told our exact duties only once we reach the end of Omicron Minor. Unlike the others I actually have fair confidence in our safety, despite my earlier drama. The Vagabund is one of the Kommandants’ ships and I took the chance to have a look at it before take off. The hull looks good - it comes with what you’d expect from quality Daumann engineering, in addition to custom reinforcements done on Bruchsal. Nothing special to note with the shields, standard issue positron deflectors, but it comes armed with 8 Flammenwerfer-C2s. Power core is very generous, I dread when I think about how much MOX it eats.
This marks my second cycle on the Vagabund. We are just off of the jump-hole to what’s known as Omicron Minor, prepping our hypersleep chambers. Surprisingly modern gear - Apparently it’s some modular tech the Order uses for transporting their personnel on long distance deep space excursions. Green window port on top of a sleek metallic silver hull with various warnings on the side. Not the look I would choose, but I cannot complain if it does its job well.
We passed by Freeport 7 recently. It looks haunting - hard to believe nobody tried to demolish it yet and that the whole situation had a very small impact on the people planetside.
There’s the red light. Time to leave this thing and strap myself in the pod. The trip to, through and from Minor will be a long one. After that, it’s a relatively short flight to our new workplace, Evora Shipyard.
27/04/822
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hypersleep pods. I’ve been in them once or twice before and I always feel somehow wrong when I exit them.
We had a surprisingly quiet trip through Minor. No alerts, nothing. The crew says it was eerily quiet, but they were kept safe by two Order interceptors based from some battleship in Omicron 100. The video logs I reviewed were very discomforting. Scanners barely work due to the massive interference from the Nebula as well as planetary debris, and when they do work they pick up stray signals from wrecked Order and Core interceptors. Chatting with one of the Order pilots, he said that the Nomads used the fighting as a diversion while they deployed a superweapon and enacted what is now known as the Toledo massacre. Neither side is particularly proud of this, although they still continue fighting like children.
An Order officer finally came out and briefed us on what we’re going to be doing. We all got assigned our roles officially and received Order datapads with all the necessary blueprints for our respective sides. Looks like they have performed scarily extensive background checks, and decided that my best role would be to work on the engines. I can’t complain, honestly I can’t wait to see what kind of tech they have in store on the shipyard.
One thing we were very adamantly told was that we were not allowed to bring in any personal tablets for security reasons. Nonsense, absolute nonsense. I spent a good long time arguing and pleading with the lanky official- I hate to admit it, but I became so frustrated at one point that the rest of the crew had to step up and tell me to relax. I agree I might have overstepped my boundaries, but I cannot be expected to work without my personally calibrated tools and something to unwind with. At least they tell us that we will have everything provided. Now it’s only a matter of what the Order believes “everything” means.
Docking procedure is starting, I’ll leave this thing here with some other goods they told us we couldn’t bring. Hopefully the crew will stay true to their word and deliver this to my family back on Bruchsal.
It looked like a miniature parliament, as the Generalversammlung of the Bundschuh Party had gathered in the Hall of the Revolution on Bruchsal Base. One side of the Hall was filled with twenty seats and solid desks (one desk for every two seats) placed in two rows in a semicircle. On the other side there was a lectern flanked by two desks fitting three people each, facing towards the semicircle. The wall behind the lectern was actually a large screen and in the centre of the room there was a holoprojector.
The semicircle was for the representatives of the Bundschuh's sects and their assistants (each represented sect occupied one desk) while the other desks were usually occupied by the Party Leader and the people she brought along.
The last few people were taking their seat. Kommandantin Nika Haupt and Oberst Erich Klugmann hurried inside having just come from a Widerstand meeting and now quickly going on to the next. While Erich sat down at the seat for the representative of the Widerstand, Nika headed to the other side of the Hall and took place beside the party leader.
"Genossen," Parteivorsitzende Freya Eistochter spoke to those before her. "Welcome to this meeting of the Generalversammlung der Bundschuhpartei of July 29, 822." All meetings started the same way. Freya would welcome the representatives and mention the date and year. That was not purely a formality as all meetings were documented thoroughly and the audio was being recorded, those in charge of the intranet archives were very grateful for that simple data.
Next, Freya was to inform the representatives of the planning for the meeting, although this was of course already known. "We've got a single item on our agenda: The presentation of the new cruiser-class ship design."
"As you are all aware, for many month we've been working on the reconstruction of a Hel-class cruiser. During the process we have also deconstructed a second cruiser piece by piece to find out exactly how these ships were built. In combination with Order engineering and high-quality materials obtained from our allies all across Sirius we've managed to not only to make a cruiser operational, we've also significantly improved the design and created blueprints for this design so that The Order may construct such ships for us from the ground up. "
Freya presses on the datapad before her. Both on the large screen behind her and above the holoprojector informative schematics appear. In 2D on the screen and in 3D rotating above the projector.
"This is the result." Freya casually said after a few seconds.
"I have sent these schematics to all of your neural net accounts as well as information about the crew. Now I'll give the word to Lisa Fiedler, a Rote Adler mechanic."
Freya turned and sat down next to Nika, while Lisa stood up and took her place. "As you can see, the crew requirements of the new Hell Mk II, or Ostara-class cruiser, has been significantly reduced to the point that we can operate it without significantly impacting our available manpower.
Furthermore the vessel now has a much more efficient engine so it won't need to be constantly fuelled."
Lisa continued with technical details about the new ship. She was never the greatest speaker around, but the representatives tried their best to keep their focus. After about fifteen minutes Lisa stepped back and sat down again, Freya taking her place.
"Genossen, the Second Popular Revolution is inevitable and when it starts we'll have the means to win it!"
Freya straightened up and raises her fist in the air. "Long live the people of Rheinland! Long live the revolution!" All others in the Hall stood up and raised their fists and chanted the final part together: "Long live the Bundschuh!"
Eric Brooks wasn’t a bad father. Not really. Perhaps he’d made a few bad decisions, but, among the fire and chaos of Leeds, who wouldn’t have? Eric exhaled, his breath fogging the dark glass of his displays. Four windows hung around his head like shrouds, four readouts bright against the eternal night of the cockpit. Comms, course, systems, and weapons. He’d been watching them for so long that the blinking displays had lost all meaning.
Before the planet fell, he’d worked on the mine consoles, sorting the crap from the chrome. Wasn’t so different from where he was now. Same glowing screens, same grinding tedium. Admittedly, he hadn’t drunk his own recycled piss for weeks on end on Leeds, but the air quality in the cockpit was better.
Fifty kilometres below him, the jump hole to Omicron Minor continued its leisurely orbit around Sigma-17’s sun. Looked like nothing so much as another patch of empty space on his optics, but his waran’s sensors told a different story. He’d silenced the bomber’s incessant anomaly warnings after the first ten minutes. He’d have done it sooner, but he’d been too busy trying to find the correct damned command. Over the three days he’d spent sharing an orbit with the jumphole Eric had grown to hate the patient son of a b---h. He thumbed his comm.
“We’ve been sitting on our arses for six days, Lance. Where the hell are those transports?” Eric didn’t bother checking the frustration in his voice.
“Did it ever occur to you-” Lance’s voice drifted across the comms, slow lethargic, and as bored as it was possible for a man to be. A man with all the time in the world. If corpses could speak, they’d sound like Lance. “Eric? That you would have far fewer problems in life if you learned to keep your mouth shut.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eric barked. Lance’s Dromedary must have been drifting somewhere within line-of-sight for Eric to raise him on the radio, but he was damned if he could see his colleague.
“Whatever, it is, I’ll do it. Just leave them alone. I can pay. Isn’t that what you said?” Lance was a career criminal, an enforcer for loan sharks and a recruiter for a dozen groups that focused more on credits than violence pay off their debts. There was nothing malicious in his voice, no hatred, no rage. Just dull statements of fact, like he was reporting on the weather. “It occurs to me that for a man in more debt than his organs are worth, you would do well to focus your attention on paying it off. You’ve already been waiting six days. You can afford to wait a little while longer.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one sitting in a coffin with a catheter hooked over his dick.” Eric drummed his fingers on the control column, ignoring the ration crumbs floating between him and the controls. “Sitting around for a week wasn’t part of the deal. I haven’t seen anything ‘cept empty space.”
“There was no deal.” Lance sighed, his voice crackling over the comm. “I have no desire to have this conversation with you again.You wanted that ticket. You took the money. My client is entitled to repayment in whatever manner he deems fit. He choose to exact it in the form of labor.”
“Come on, man. I needed that money to get my family off Leeds. I didn’t sign up to be your client’s attack dog.” Eric scowled at his display. One of the lights on his ‘course’ window was flashing. Collision Warning. He checked the comms window for new contacts and came up empty. No-one else in space but him and his babysitter. “Overpriced piece of crap.”
“I’m certain he will be flattered that you think so.” Lance’s voice was heavy with finality, the irritated tone of a man who wanted nothing more than for his conversational partner to shut up. “You agreed to the terms of the loan, nonetheless.”
“Not talking about the damn loan.” Eric jabbed a finger at his display, as though Lance was watching over his shoulder, could see it. Frankly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he could. “Tell your client he needs to blow some of his cash on better gear. Computer’s seeing ghosts. I’ve got a collision warning that’s been flashing for, what, a minute now.”
Lance was silent for a long moment. When he did speak, for the first time Eric could remember, there was a trace of life in his voice. “Arm weapons.”
“What?” Eric scrambled for his belts, shoved a free-floating bottle into an elastic cradle under the seat.
“Arm. Your. Torpedoes.” Eric couldn’t see Lance, but he could hear the feral smirk in the man’s voice. The Dromedary faded from his display as the last few non-essential systems shut down. “The gods of commerce have answered your prayers. No ghosts. Transports are jumping in. Put a torpedo in the first one to come through, and the rest’ll hand over whatever they’ve got. Let me do the talking. I’ll send messages via your ship.”
“Not joining the fight?” Eric tightened the straps and raked his hand over the control panel. He was rewarded with a series of confirmations as warheads on his display cycled from amber to green. Armed. “Don’t want to scratch a nail?”
Lance didn’t dignify that with a response. Didn’t need to. They both knew the answer. As far as Lance and his client were concerned, Eric was expendable, and this was their way of making damn sure he knew it.
The jumphole shimmered on his sensors, and a transport shuddered, drifting, in to real space. Squat and short, a semicircular cargo bay rose out of the vessel’s spine like an undersized centrifuge. The waran’s system helpfully flagged it as a Humpback-class freighter, miles from home and, apparently, without any escort to speak of. A heartbeat later, a second humpback jumped in next to it. Both transponders flashed the same identification: Vereinigte Widerstandarmee. “Any idea who these guys are? Vinegar wine and tea or something.”
“Not your concern.” Lance cut him off. “Fire. Target the one on the left.”
Eric shrugged and wrapped a hand around the control column, cycled the targeting to the indicated humback. His comms array crackled, but Eric was focused on the steady stream of information feeding from his targeting computer to the missiles.
“Unknown contact, this is Widerstand freighter Tiananmen. Identify yourself, over.” Eric thumbed the mute. Easier that way. The transponders had been the first thing they’d ripped out of his ship.
“Sorry buddy. A man’s got debts.” Eric pulled the trigger, and the waran shuddered in response.
Two torpedoes leapt from their tubes, accelerating at 11Gs, long arcs of plasma spewing into the vacuum behind them. Nova torpedoes, with enough bite in them to punch through the hull of a military gunboat like it was paper mache. He felt almost sorry for the crew of the freighter. Evidently not anywhere near as sorry as they were feeling for themselves, but sympathy kept you human, right?
Tiananmen had seen the torpedoes coming, and the freighter began to pulse on his screen as it pumped energy into engines, slowly accelerating away. Not fast enough. 30 seconds to impact. Eric punched another switch on the column, sent a disruptor arcing up and ahead of the torpedoes. The freighter’s engines flickered, coughed, and went silent. Dead in the water.
20 Seconds. Eric powered up his own engines and began to pull up and away from the freighters. He was still far beyond direct-weapons range, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be in the way when what was left of Tiananmen came skating through.
10 Seconds.
The freighter had got its engines online again, had turned and was sprinting back towards the jump point. Tiananmen had opened up with it’s own meagre weapons, spitting fire at the incoming torpedoes. Still too far out to score any hits. Eric’s computer could tell him that from fifty clicks out, but he had to admire the guts of it.
5 Seconds
The torpedoes were still burning, still accelerating. They kept accelerating right up to the moment a pulse burst the size of his ship reached out and swatted them both out the sky. Two payloads detonated and, for the space of a heartbeat, a new sun burned in Sigma-17.
Something else had jumped in.
“Lance! Lance, what the hell was that?” Eric kicked the ship’s thrusters into gear, turned the Waran’s delicate electronics away from the blast. “My sensors are screwed. I can’t see through the blast. What the hell just happened?”
The radio was deathly silent. When it did speak, it wasn’t with Lance’s voice. It was a young woman’s, made crackling and weak by the blast, but cold, cruel, and sure as winter. “Let me help you improve your future life choices.”
Finally, the waran’s computers pulled an image out of the blast. Cold fear settled in Eric’s chest, and he immediately wished they hadn’t. A cruiser, clean and sleek as a fresh-forged blade hung in space between him and the jump hole. Weapons twisted in their mountings and, though it was too distant to see, Eric could feel the stares of a dozen unblinking rangefinders. The computers could too.
No fewer than three different warnings strobed on his screen. Infrared, radar, visible. Eric was being targeted in more spectrums then his ship could see in. Heat still radiated from a pair of pulse cannons on the ship’s bow, slowly fading from red to yellow on his display as some internal mechanism whisked the heat away. It flashed the same transponder as the transports; Vereinigte Widerstandarmee.
“Whoa. Whoa, we can talk about this.” Eric stuttered, thumbed the comms.
Slowly, almost lazily, a missile left one of the cruiser’s tubes. Half a second later, another followed it. If he hadn’t silenced the warnings, a dozen klaxons would have been screaming in his ears. Without them, the cockpit was disturbingly silent.
Eric turned the waran and gunned the engine. He hit a switch and chaff dropped from the belly of the ship like autumn leaves. Close. Christ, they were close. He tugged the control column hard, rolled the ship around him and away from the countermeasures, g-force pulling him tight against the straps. Then, there was nothing but speed as the waran surged forward, cruise engine shoving the ship out of its orbit.
Behind him there was a flash of light as a missile slammed into the countermeasure and detonated.
Heart still pounding in his chest, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. A prayer of thanks to whatever god watched over renegades and desperate fathers.
The second missile hit.
Eric Brooks felt an awful, shuddering pain. Then nothing.
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