Take chunks out of the bombers? What does he thing he's flying, a Defiant? Hartman's mouth dropped into a thin, hard line, her earlier good humour draining faster then Kent's squad had drained glasses.
”And afterwards I imagine you'll report to Bragg for your medal, Lieutenant.” Didn't he see it? The risks, the chances? Hartman's tone was conversational but her grey eyes never left the junior officer's, watching with all the cold, narrow focus of a hunter that found a wounded antelope on the end of her spear. ”It'd be a right courageous action, Graham. Might even be enough to net your frozen corpse a Medal of Honor.
Think, Lieutenant.”I know it hurts, but give it a try. Hartman's voice cut through the air with all the quiet intensity of a plasma bolt through vacuum. ”You've got a supertanker out there-” She jabbed a finger at the window, at some phantom ship suspended between the stars, ugly holes dotting the cargo compartments amidships. ”Shield down. Non-critical compartments breached. Some nice corporate job on the armour that's so damn economic that you'll be right lucky if it keeps the rain off. Crew. Those things run on what, three or four?” Navy ships typically carried a far heavier crew load than their corporate cousins. Battle damage and rotating shifts would wear a civilian skeleton crew down to the bone after a day or two.”Maybe ex-military, maybe not. Experience don't matter when it's drifting. All up, maybe a quarter foot of a armour at vacuum, a shiny paint job and a whole lot of prayer to keep the novas off.
I'm a generous woman. Let's say the supertanker survives long enough for you to bring Lakewood about. Hell, let's say the bombers are too focused on what they're doing to see you until you start throwin' plasma at their backsides.” She prowled forward a pace, close enough to make out the stitches on Graham's shirt. ”Let's even assume that, by some miracle of piloting, you avoid taking a nova to the face as you come alongside.
I reckon that's about as far as I'm willing to assume.”About as far as the luckiest moron might get.”Here's the bit I've got a problem with, Lieutenant. The bit where you drop shields right next to a ship that's got every chance of blowing up in your face. Could be carrying antimatter for all you know and hell, even if it ain't, you're going to sit there for thirty seconds while bombers pump novas into your unshielded hull. Bisons are tough, I'll give you that, but there's gunships that ain't that tough. Even if you make it through that with thrusters intact, I know I don't like your chances of pulling your shields back up. Not with two ships dropping torpedoes down your tailpipe while you sit there pumping power in to those engines.
I think you're smart enough to guess how that ends.”Another six swollen corpses kissing hard vacuum. Hartman took a pace back, a breath, that familiar ball of anger knotting in her gut. Even after all these years, she still wasn't sure how much of it was for show. ”Two bombers, shields down, no escorts? Supertanker was dead before you showed up. Just happened to still be breathing. That's the problem with you fighter jocks. You're smart, but you don't think. Always looking for a way to lead the charge, a way to be the hero.
Let me tell you now so you don't have to learn it later, Lieutenant. You can't save everyone. That plan of yours? Might work with a fast cruiser. Might even work with a Defiant. Not a Bison. Not even if you're Edison-bloody-Trent. Bisons ain't warships. They're transports that pretend to have teeth. Kittens with dentures, for all the good they'll do you against someone that knows their business. By all means, flag it. Maybe the fighters show up later, maybe you get lucky and they find a pod or two. Maybe someone gets to live, maybe someone dies. Out of your hands. What you can do, is make sure your crew don't end up sucking space trying to salvage a lost cause. As to heroes-
I tried being a hero once.” The corners of her mouth curled up a little at that, haphazard bands of scar tissue tightening across her face. ”I wouldn't recommend it.”
Hartman tossed a glance back at the uncharacteristically silent Sius. ”The Captain'll tell you the same. The only heroes you'll find on the field are dead men, and some comfort it is to them. Let them keep it.” She spared the restrooms another blink, thought she saw a flicker of movement at the door. Bored already, Kent? I expected more than that.”You want to serve your country, Lieutenant Graham? You can go and drag my navigator out of the men's room. One serviceman Ian Kent. Tall man, scraggly beard. Can't miss him.” She nodded towards the door in question.