Lassiter lounged back in the command chair, his huge bronzed frame as ill
fitting in the seat as it was stuffed into his beige uniform tunic.
Glancing around the bridge, he noted that a lot of the crew were starting
to show signs of nerves. Not really surprising, this was after all the
first time that Federation vessels had been in a combat situation.
“Captains log, star date 0510 point 89, Captain Lassiter recording” he
drawled in that thick Australian accent.
He paused for a second, grinning as he glanced once more round the bridge.
“Computer, pause recording”. He sighed theatrically, then went on as if to
himself. “You know, I hate having to say that. Always makes me think I
should be checking in the bottom of the dunny..”
From the snickers and shuddering shoulders, he could tell that the tension
level around the bridge had just dropped a few notches. So much the better.
“Continue recording,” he grinned. “In a few minutes we are expecting
hostilities to begin with the Klingon Empire. The approaching fleet is
conforming pretty well to the intelligence passed to us by the Kzinti. We
are facing 12 ships, deployed with their light units forward in a skirmish
line, the main body of 2 cruisers and a pair of frigates and a destroyer
out on either flank. I have ordered our data groups forward to match their
skirmishers with the cruisers following at half a light second. Stargazer
12 is being held back in reserve to intercept anything that breaks from the
main fleet”.
He continued, “They outnumber us by twenty percent which may cause
problems, especially if they break formation. On a more personal note, I’m
hoping that our tonnage advantage is going to offset to some degree the
lack of space time that most of the fleet is going to have to contend
with.”
“End log,” he stated, flicking a switch on the chair armrest to store the
entry. He straightened himself in the chair, pulled down on the front of
his tunic to erase the any creases and assume a more businesslike posture.
His gaze swept around the bridge stations.
“Alright you blokes, lets get this over with. Tactical on screen. Let’s see
what we’ve got over there.
The main viewscreen shimmered as the magnified image of the approaching
fleet was overlaid with tactical data showing the relative positions,
headings and speed of the opposing fleets.
From the science station, Lassiter’s executive officer, a big Proximan
female known as Tigger growled information.
“Klingon forrrmation steady Captain. They are apprrroaching at standarrrd
crrruiser speed. The gun line should be in maximum missile rrrange in one
minute twenty seconds.”
“Acknowledged Commander. Comms, signal the fleet. Prepare to move out on my
mark. Heading zero mark zero, speed two thirds.”
“Course zero mark zero, speed set for two thirds, aye sir,” came the
response from the helm officer.
“All ships acknowledge captain.”
“Open a channel, all ships, all hands.”
“Channel open”
“All hands, this is Captain Lassiter aboard the Albuquerque speaking.” The
big Australian paused for a moment, knowing that his next words must be
brief but would be necessary to calm the last minute jitters of the
inexperienced crews he was commanding. “Its probably going to get pretty
rough from here on in. I know a lot of you blokes are going to be pretty
scared and that’s only natural. What I want you to remember is that you’ve
earned your right to be on your ships, and that there are a heck of a lot
of people on that planet behind us that believe you can protect them and
keep them and their families from harm. I believe that as well, and I just
want you all to know that I wouldn’t wan’t anyone else at my back in a
scrap like this. Good on yer. Lassiter out.”
Taking a deep breath, he turned his mind back to the matter at hand.
“Alright, lets move out. Now remember, we do not open fire until fired
upon. Anyone who disobeys that order is going to get force fed a
didgeredoo.”
“Rrrrange closing fasterrr, now expect the fleet will be able to firrre in
thirrty seconds.”
“Steady as she goes then. Signal the data groups to flush their racks on
first firing, cruisers will hold theirs back in reserve”.
On screen, the two groups approached each other while the real time visuals
showed the Klingon fleet looming larger as they approached. Klaxons blared
briefly, only to be cut off at the slap of a switch.
“Incoming firrre, long rrrange missiles tarrrgeted on the frrrigates.”
Lassiter blew out a hard breath. “Acknowledged. All ships, return fire.
Target the gun line.”
Graphics showed pin pricks arcing between the two opposing fleets. On real
time visual bright fireflies corkscrewed across space to converge on the
Klingon vessels. Two ships disappeared behind a maelstrom of flame and
explosion. Once the firestorm had cleared one vessel was seen to be clearly
listing, one wing ripped off, an engine nacelle missing and a cloud of
atmosphere bleeding off in to vacuum. Of the other only an expanding cloud
of debris was left.
“Strewth, those things are bleedin’ fragile! Damage report!”
“One Klingon destroyed and another crippled. Three of our frigates have
lost shields and armour and have datalink down. The Hughes has lost shields
only and is still in data group. No other damage.”
The blonde captain rubbed his chin in contemplation of the scene unfolding
before him.
“Data groups maintain speed and heading. Signal the Boston and the
Baltimore, increase to full speed and pull in line with the rest of the
fleet. Laser crews to stand by”
“Course and speed laid in, increasing to full power.”
“Sirrr, theirrr gun line is rrreducing speed. The crrriple is breaking
formation, bearing now 7 degrrrees mark 4, speed at half standarrrd.”
“I see it Tigg. SG12! We’ve got a runner out there. Think you can oblige?”
The bridge speakers crackled in response, interacting slightly with the
translation device worn by Commander Greenahrree Chommpar aboard Stargazer
12. “Compliance to that which is anticipated previously” came the reply
from the Indi. On the tactical display, the blip representing the smallest
Federation vessel moved out on a fast wide looping course to intercept the
crippled Klingon.
“Captain, we arrre now within beam range.”
“All vessels, ignore the small craft for now. Concentrate your fire on the
portside frigate group.” Lassiter now spoke directly to his own weapons
officer. “M’benga, I want a crack at one of those cruisers. Lock all
weapons and fire when ready.”
“Incoming firrre, again on the frrrigates. Laserrrs as well as missiles The
frrrigates arrre starrrting to take heavy damage.”
“Yeah, I think we fair rattled their cage last time”
The tactical schematics told a far less hectic tale than before. Bereft of
their external ordnance, the still closing fleets were hacking away at each
other though with far less dramatic effect. Then the cruisers came into
action. Baltimore’s inexperienced crew had fired before gaining an optimum
firing solution and most of her missiles flew wide of the target, streaking
off into the ether. The Boston however did not make the same mistake,
completely vaporising an oncoming frigate. But the fight was not one sided.
“Tigg, fleet status!”
“Hobson and Herrrbert have been destrrroyed. Hughes and Hull arrre badly
damaged and can continue only at rrreduced combat efficiency.”
“Damn! Gunner, take that cruiser out! NOW!”
The reply was far more calm and unhurried. “Weapons are locked on.
Firing….” M’benga paused as he judged the trajectory of the big Klingon
vessel and made a last minute adjustment to allow for its speed.
“Firing now.” The deck vibrated as missile mounts rippled out their deadly
progeny. Lights dimmed as power was siphoned off through the ships laser
banks. Magnified on the screen, beams flashed to scar the huge bat-like
hull. Smaller lasers fired off from the Klingon along with a cloud of small
projectiles, trying to intercept the incoming warheads. Two were destroyed
in flight then the missiles impacted against an invisible halo surrounding
the ship. Only a single external projectile missed its mark. Close behind
came the volley from the internal launchers. A single missile added its
flare to the pyrotechnic rainbow before the rest slammed through the area
of space where the flaring, dying shields had once been. Explosions rocked
the Klingon ship along its axis.
But it stayed.
Commander Tigger let forth a soft growl. “Hrrrrr. Much tougherrr.”
(
geocities.com/mwadwell)