The silver fleet the com.., p.22
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 22
Rodgers couldn’t bring himself to think about Ozaki. That would have to wait until later.
“Four dead, sir.”
“So, there’s just the two of you down there?”
“Me and Johansson. That’s right, sir.”
“Problem is, we’re still going to need that rail gun. I take it it’s still in one piece.”
Rodgers was struggling to keep up. He was starting to feel lightheaded and adjusted his suit’s oxygen mix accordingly.
“The rail gun. Right.”
Rodgers could see it from where he was standing. The rail gun itself looked fine but it was pitched at an odd angle - the rail it rode upon appeared to be buckled.
“Things are in a bit of a mess down here, sir. Can you perhaps call me back in a minute?”
“This is important. I’d rather stay in the loop.”
So, it’s like that, then.
Rodgers untangled his tether and pushed himself off in Johansson’s general direction. He slightly over-extended and had to grab Johansson’s shoulder to stop himself floating off into void. Rodgers gave the rail gun a quick check over but wasn’t happy with what he saw. He fidgeted with his sleeve, uncertain what to say next.
“Isn’t there another rail gun on board?” he asked.
“There is,” Webster said. “But it’s still in pieces and no one’s had the time to assemble it. What are your thoughts, PO1?”
Rodgers wasn’t comfortable with this level of scrutiny, but no one was asking him.
“The bad news is that it’s been hit in a good number of places,” he said. “The spindle arm’s completely gone and that means we have virtually no lateral movement.”
“I see. Could you tell me in what direction it’s currently pointing?”
“Roughly, I’d say it’s on a 45-degree angle, pointing towards the stern.”
“The stern you say?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Okay,” the Commander voice sounded muffled, like he wasn’t talking directly into the speaker. Rodgers pictured him taking notes. “We can work with that. We might need to give over part of our targeting capacity, but that’s doable. I just need to know one thing: can you get the gun firing again?”
“Probably. Like I said, the barrel’s fine, it’s the track that’s the problem. As soon as you start firing, there’s going to be an issue with the recoil. You risk the whole thing being ripped off its moorings.”
There was a whispered conversation at the other end.
“We’re going to need a sustained burst. Is that possible?”
Rodgers considered the badly distorted track. Even with six of them working on it, it would have been touch and go but now with only two of them…
“How long have we got?”
A countdown appeared immediately on his HUD.
“Nine minutes. Think you can handle it?”
Rodgers looked across at Johansson’s haunted face.
“We’ll do our best, sir.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bertran, the tactical officer, and Webster were standing in front of the command chair. The old man was on the edge of his seat, massaging the muscles in his thigh. He seemed to be in some pain.
“What are your thoughts about what happened earlier?” he asked.
Bertran brushed the hair from his face and gave a sly smile. “I almost hesitate to say it, sir. It seems so simple. I’m surprised we didn’t think of it earlier.”
“Electromagnetic pulse?”
Bertran looked deflated. “That would seem to be the case. Capable of disabling most electrical equipment – which is why we routinely shield our ships and armaments against it.”
“What about the Yakutians?” Faulkner asked. “Do they do that?”
“Their technology doesn’t differ that much from ours,” Bertran said. “From the various bits and pieces of theirs we’ve been able to study, shielding of this sort seems to be pretty much an industry standard for all their armaments.”
“And yet these missiles appear to lack even the most basic defensive features,” Webster said.
Faulkner waved him away. “Okay, let’s just suppose that this is some new opponent we’re facing. In some ways their technology does appear more advanced than ours – those shields for example. But in other areas they’re lacking. It seems unbelievable that they haven’t insulated their weapons against something as obvious as an EMP.”
“But it’s entirely possible,” Webster said. “If this is a new race we’ve encountered, it would be dangerous to assume that their technology has developed in a manner parallel to our own.”
Faulkner sat back. “But if their weapons aren’t protected against EMPs…”
He let the thought hang in the air.
Webster was the first to realise the implications. “You’re wondering if they might be vulnerable in other areas. Like their ship’s defences, for example? Their shields?”
“It’s worth a try.”
Webster did some quick mental calculations. “But we’d have to wait until their ship has passed us before launching another nuke. Otherwise we’d be as much at risk from the blast as they would.”
“I disagree,” Faulkner said. “I’m willing to bet that our armour is a lot thicker than theirs. They rely on that shielding of theirs. Plus, the longer we hold back, the more time they have to mount a major counter offensive. No, we have to act now, while we still can.”
Bertran nodded. “The captain’s right. These people aren’t stupid, they’ll be analysing all their data now trying to discover exactly what it was that disabled their missiles. They’ll want to try and correct any weaknesses as quickly as possible. We can’t afford to delay any longer.”
Webster was appalled. “Sir, this is too big a decision to rush into. We’d be jeopardising a significant number of our own crew. I’d seriously have to advise against this course of action.”
“Duly noted,” Faulkner said. “But I’m afraid I can’t agree. Mr Bertran, prepare a nuclear warhead for launch.”
*
“Sir, we’re getting another radiation warning down here,” Rodgers said. “I’m assuming that’s an error?”
“No, that’s not a mistake,” Webster said. The readings were off the scale. “But it does tie in with something I need you to do. We’re intending to fire a nuke at the enemy as soon as she draws parallel.”
“Sorry, sir. Draw parallel?”
“Yes. We’ve reason to believe that the alien tech may be vulnerable to a short range EMP…”
“How close are we talking?”
“About a hundred thousand kilometres but the Mantis’s hull was designed to absorb far bigger blasts than that.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. After that last attack, we’ve got a hole down here you could fly a fighter through. It’s stable at the minute but the level of protection it’d give us against a nuclear blast is slightly less than zero. Our suits might offer some protection but …”
Webster cut him off.
“A hole, you say. Okay, I understand. I’ll going to need to consult on this further.”
He went across to Faulkner to explain the situation. He, at least, didn’t look quite as grim as the rest of his officers.
When he had finished explaining, Faulkner tapped the arm of his chair thoughtfully and then smiled.
“You know, at times like this, Mr Webster, I am sorely tempted to confound you with my superb problem-solving skills.”
“Please, sir, go right ahead - confound away!”
“This young PO, what’s his name?”
“Rodgers, sir.”
“Rodgers, yes. Well, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, we’re lucky to have him. There’s many an NCO who’d rather face a 40-kiloton blast than stand their ground with a senior officer. And he’s right, of course: we do have to protect him from the blast as best we can.”
Webster stared at his c.o. hoping for further clarification. “So, what do you propose we do?”
“Well, Number One, to continue with my boxing analogy: sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches.”
*
The Temporal Calm warning sounded on all decks but Rodgers and Johansson didn’t hear it. They were too busy preparing themselves for what was about to happen. The gravity generators would negate the effects of their next manoeuvre for the vast majority of the crew. The Mantis was due to roll through its long axis to an angle of precisely 180 degrees.
The two men would experience a momentary sensation of disassociation as their bodies adjusted to the sense of ‘up’ suddenly becoming ‘down’ and ‘down’ becoming ‘up’ but little else would change. They’d taken the added precaution of tethering themselves to a central i-beam just to be on the safe side. With such a large section of the hull missing, they needed to take every possible precaution.
Rodgers was convinced that Webster’s plan had little chance of success and had tried to convey that to him. But Webster hadn’t been listening and, as he knew from experience, it was almost impossible to dissuade a senior officer from a particular course of action once they’d committed themselves to it.
Webster seemed to have convinced himself that Rodgers was some kind of miracle worker and that he had a decent chance of pulling this whole thing off.
The difficulty, as far as Rodgers was concerned, was that Webster didn’t seem to understand the basic concept of how a rail gun actually worked. It was true that at close range a rail gun could be a devastating weapon but firing on a starship, even at close range, was a completely different proposition. Despite the extensive range of countermeasures a ship like that might carry, there was also the fact that a starship could very easily remove itself from the line of fire.
He’d tried not to think about that too much while he attended to the task at hand. He had spent the last five minutes cutting away half of the distorted rail mechanism. He wasn’t sure how much of a recoil the gun required but he did know that it wasn’t going to be possible to salvage all of the track.
He was also aware that he and Johansson were only going to have a few minutes to familiarize themselves with the firing procedure before the order came down from the bridge to begin firing. His main concern was that they wouldn’t be able to get the gun to actually fire. And there was also the question of how much he could rely on Johansson. Along with the rest of the crew, he would have received some basic training on operating the ship’s weaponry but there was a huge leap between that and even a live fire exercise. Firing at an enemy craft with one third of a normal crew was going to test them to their limits, and then some.
The way he looked at it, the most important moment of Rodgers’ career so far was going to involve him firing a weapon he had the least amount of experience with. They needed at least another couple of hours to get the rail gun combat ready but, in reality, they weren’t going to get anything close to that.
Once they’d received the ‘Make Ready’ command from the bridge, Johansson started powering up the gun while Rodgers fed the loading mechanism in from the yellow server. Normally, mass projectiles were of a substantial size, which was where they derived most of their destructive power from, but Webster had him firing football sized iron ingots. At least that should reduce the amount of recoil.
Everything appeared to be working. They stood in their firing positions and watched the targeting information appear on their consoles. It was confusing, because the enemy ship was approaching along their starboard side and, while they had originally been on the starboard side the ship had rolled so that they were facing the port side. They were out of the loop as far the ship’s comms were concerned and so the first they knew about the nuke being launched was the unmistakable shudder which told them the warhead was on its way. The pair of them locked eyes and waited for the inevitable.
After a while, Johansson said, “I don’t think it’s going to…”
His words were cut off as the whole ship heaved to one side. Johansson was thrown against the i-beam, his helmet taking most of the impact. If they’d been aboard an ocean-going vessel Rodgers would have sworn that they’d just been struck by some enormous wave, followed by a series of aftershocks. Warning sensors sounded in his headset and he blinked sweat away from his eyes, desperate to stay in control of the situation. The interior of the compartment was lurching wildly and they both struggled to hold on.
If it was this bad on the protected side, he didn’t want to think what would have happened if they’d been on the exposed side.
A yellow icon had appeared in the top corner of Rodgers’ visor though he had no recollection of what it might mean. He tried to dismiss it from his thoughts, reasoning that if it were that serious it would invariably be red – and flashing.
The sensation of the ship rolling back into its normal orientation helped focus his mind and he took the opportunity to re-check his equipment. The reality was that they were about to be exposed to a potentially fatal dose of radiation. In comparison, a tiny yellow icon was all but irrelevant.
According to the read-out, the ordnance was loaded. It only remained for Johansson to enter the targeting requirements. As soon as he had done so, they both felt the slight jerk as the rail gun started trundling towards the forward position.
At the same time that was happening, the whole ship was pivoting on its axis. In a few moments they would be in the ready position. Rodgers recalled a cartoon he’d seen as a child. When the main character had been exposed to a mini-nuclear explosion, he’d been transformed into a living skeleton. What had delighted him as a kid only served to chill him now.
Time to concentrate on the job at hand.
If they hadn’t been working in vacuum they would have heard the squeal of shearing metal and immediately realised something was wrong. As it was, the first they knew of it was when the gun shuddered to a halt.
Something must have registered up on the bridge because the next voice they heard was Webster’s.
“Everything okay down there?”
“We’re just checking things over now, sir,” his voice was calm but inside he wanted to scream.
He joined Johansson over by the console. Helpfully, there was a diagram showing an arrow pointing down towards the track. A box flashed: ‘Clear Obstruction.’
The pair of them bent down to inspect the track. There was no obstruction but they could see, on closer inspection that the track had buckled slightly, locking several of the runners in place. Rodgers’ face was burning with embarrassment. He’d been so concerned about repairing the rear section of track that he hadn’t thought to look at the forward section.
“PO Rodgers?”
“We’re dealing with it now, sir.”
“Our window of opportunity closes in two hundred and sixty seconds.”
Two hundred and sixty seconds! How were they supposed to fix this mess in that time?
“Aye, sir,” he turned to Johansson. “You heard the man.”
Johansson nodded which, inside his suit, produced an odd bobbing of the shoulders.
Rodgers took a deep breath.
“Let’s reverse everything and try again.”
“What the hell is that?” Johansson said, pointing out into space.
Rodgers was on the point of losing his temper as he half turned. “Shit! What even is that? That’s not a ship.”
As crewmen, they never expected to see the enemy, even in the height of battle. There was the odd screen scattered about here and there but no one had time to look at one until after everything was over. The idea of being able to see the enemy ship through a hole in the hull was disconcerting in the extreme.
Johansson grasped the operating console in a bid to steady himself. “Since when did the Yakutians start building circular ships?”
“That’s not a Yakutian ship,” Rodgers said. “I don’t know what it is, but no Yakutian ever built a thing like that.”
“Gentlemen!” Webster was deadly calm. “The task at hand?”
Rodgers drifted over to the console and watched as Johansson puzzled over how they were going to reverse the process. He came across a likely menu simply by scrolling down. It said ‘Restart’ and so he pushed it.
To Rodgers’ amazement, the big gun began rolling backwards.
He squatted down and began running his fingers over the sticking point.
“Where’d I put that laser?” Rodgers asked.
“It’s over here somewhere, why?”
Rodgers held out a hand. “I have an idea.”
The laser was wedged against some couplings. Johansson went and retrieved it for him. When Rodgers took hold of it he was sure to turn his back on Johansson before switching it on.
“What are you going to do with that, anyway? We can’t afford to lose any more track.”
Rodgers inclined the laser towards the distorted section of track. “I think this bit is probably frozen, so I’m going to try and warm it up.”
Rodgers adjusted the laser’s setting to a fraction of its normal cutting power. Then he gently wafted it over the rail, hoping that the heat would make the metal more pliant.
Johansson lifted his head, “You’ve missed a spot.”
“A hundred and eighty seconds,” Webster said.
Rodgers couldn’t see the distortion himself but he trusted Johansson enough to follow his lead.
Once they’d finished, Johansson went back to the console and pressed the screen. The big gun rocked forward and began to move.
“One hundred and twenty seconds!” Webster’s voice was bleached of all emotion.
“Almost there.”
The front wheel came level with the earlier obstruction, cleared it and kept on going. Six inches later, it came to a complete stop.
“What’s wrong now!” Rodgers growled.
“Actually, nothing,” Johansson tapped his screen. “According to this, that’s its agreed firing position.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
On the console was a large black box. At its centre one word, written in white, was flashing: Fire.
Johansson’s finger hovered over it.
“Do not press that button!”
Webster’s voice cut through the silence. Then, in a more measured tone, he said, “The mainframe is calculating precise trajectories. We need to wait a moment.”
“Four dead, sir.”
“So, there’s just the two of you down there?”
“Me and Johansson. That’s right, sir.”
“Problem is, we’re still going to need that rail gun. I take it it’s still in one piece.”
Rodgers was struggling to keep up. He was starting to feel lightheaded and adjusted his suit’s oxygen mix accordingly.
“The rail gun. Right.”
Rodgers could see it from where he was standing. The rail gun itself looked fine but it was pitched at an odd angle - the rail it rode upon appeared to be buckled.
“Things are in a bit of a mess down here, sir. Can you perhaps call me back in a minute?”
“This is important. I’d rather stay in the loop.”
So, it’s like that, then.
Rodgers untangled his tether and pushed himself off in Johansson’s general direction. He slightly over-extended and had to grab Johansson’s shoulder to stop himself floating off into void. Rodgers gave the rail gun a quick check over but wasn’t happy with what he saw. He fidgeted with his sleeve, uncertain what to say next.
“Isn’t there another rail gun on board?” he asked.
“There is,” Webster said. “But it’s still in pieces and no one’s had the time to assemble it. What are your thoughts, PO1?”
Rodgers wasn’t comfortable with this level of scrutiny, but no one was asking him.
“The bad news is that it’s been hit in a good number of places,” he said. “The spindle arm’s completely gone and that means we have virtually no lateral movement.”
“I see. Could you tell me in what direction it’s currently pointing?”
“Roughly, I’d say it’s on a 45-degree angle, pointing towards the stern.”
“The stern you say?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Okay,” the Commander voice sounded muffled, like he wasn’t talking directly into the speaker. Rodgers pictured him taking notes. “We can work with that. We might need to give over part of our targeting capacity, but that’s doable. I just need to know one thing: can you get the gun firing again?”
“Probably. Like I said, the barrel’s fine, it’s the track that’s the problem. As soon as you start firing, there’s going to be an issue with the recoil. You risk the whole thing being ripped off its moorings.”
There was a whispered conversation at the other end.
“We’re going to need a sustained burst. Is that possible?”
Rodgers considered the badly distorted track. Even with six of them working on it, it would have been touch and go but now with only two of them…
“How long have we got?”
A countdown appeared immediately on his HUD.
“Nine minutes. Think you can handle it?”
Rodgers looked across at Johansson’s haunted face.
“We’ll do our best, sir.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bertran, the tactical officer, and Webster were standing in front of the command chair. The old man was on the edge of his seat, massaging the muscles in his thigh. He seemed to be in some pain.
“What are your thoughts about what happened earlier?” he asked.
Bertran brushed the hair from his face and gave a sly smile. “I almost hesitate to say it, sir. It seems so simple. I’m surprised we didn’t think of it earlier.”
“Electromagnetic pulse?”
Bertran looked deflated. “That would seem to be the case. Capable of disabling most electrical equipment – which is why we routinely shield our ships and armaments against it.”
“What about the Yakutians?” Faulkner asked. “Do they do that?”
“Their technology doesn’t differ that much from ours,” Bertran said. “From the various bits and pieces of theirs we’ve been able to study, shielding of this sort seems to be pretty much an industry standard for all their armaments.”
“And yet these missiles appear to lack even the most basic defensive features,” Webster said.
Faulkner waved him away. “Okay, let’s just suppose that this is some new opponent we’re facing. In some ways their technology does appear more advanced than ours – those shields for example. But in other areas they’re lacking. It seems unbelievable that they haven’t insulated their weapons against something as obvious as an EMP.”
“But it’s entirely possible,” Webster said. “If this is a new race we’ve encountered, it would be dangerous to assume that their technology has developed in a manner parallel to our own.”
Faulkner sat back. “But if their weapons aren’t protected against EMPs…”
He let the thought hang in the air.
Webster was the first to realise the implications. “You’re wondering if they might be vulnerable in other areas. Like their ship’s defences, for example? Their shields?”
“It’s worth a try.”
Webster did some quick mental calculations. “But we’d have to wait until their ship has passed us before launching another nuke. Otherwise we’d be as much at risk from the blast as they would.”
“I disagree,” Faulkner said. “I’m willing to bet that our armour is a lot thicker than theirs. They rely on that shielding of theirs. Plus, the longer we hold back, the more time they have to mount a major counter offensive. No, we have to act now, while we still can.”
Bertran nodded. “The captain’s right. These people aren’t stupid, they’ll be analysing all their data now trying to discover exactly what it was that disabled their missiles. They’ll want to try and correct any weaknesses as quickly as possible. We can’t afford to delay any longer.”
Webster was appalled. “Sir, this is too big a decision to rush into. We’d be jeopardising a significant number of our own crew. I’d seriously have to advise against this course of action.”
“Duly noted,” Faulkner said. “But I’m afraid I can’t agree. Mr Bertran, prepare a nuclear warhead for launch.”
*
“Sir, we’re getting another radiation warning down here,” Rodgers said. “I’m assuming that’s an error?”
“No, that’s not a mistake,” Webster said. The readings were off the scale. “But it does tie in with something I need you to do. We’re intending to fire a nuke at the enemy as soon as she draws parallel.”
“Sorry, sir. Draw parallel?”
“Yes. We’ve reason to believe that the alien tech may be vulnerable to a short range EMP…”
“How close are we talking?”
“About a hundred thousand kilometres but the Mantis’s hull was designed to absorb far bigger blasts than that.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. After that last attack, we’ve got a hole down here you could fly a fighter through. It’s stable at the minute but the level of protection it’d give us against a nuclear blast is slightly less than zero. Our suits might offer some protection but …”
Webster cut him off.
“A hole, you say. Okay, I understand. I’ll going to need to consult on this further.”
He went across to Faulkner to explain the situation. He, at least, didn’t look quite as grim as the rest of his officers.
When he had finished explaining, Faulkner tapped the arm of his chair thoughtfully and then smiled.
“You know, at times like this, Mr Webster, I am sorely tempted to confound you with my superb problem-solving skills.”
“Please, sir, go right ahead - confound away!”
“This young PO, what’s his name?”
“Rodgers, sir.”
“Rodgers, yes. Well, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, we’re lucky to have him. There’s many an NCO who’d rather face a 40-kiloton blast than stand their ground with a senior officer. And he’s right, of course: we do have to protect him from the blast as best we can.”
Webster stared at his c.o. hoping for further clarification. “So, what do you propose we do?”
“Well, Number One, to continue with my boxing analogy: sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches.”
*
The Temporal Calm warning sounded on all decks but Rodgers and Johansson didn’t hear it. They were too busy preparing themselves for what was about to happen. The gravity generators would negate the effects of their next manoeuvre for the vast majority of the crew. The Mantis was due to roll through its long axis to an angle of precisely 180 degrees.
The two men would experience a momentary sensation of disassociation as their bodies adjusted to the sense of ‘up’ suddenly becoming ‘down’ and ‘down’ becoming ‘up’ but little else would change. They’d taken the added precaution of tethering themselves to a central i-beam just to be on the safe side. With such a large section of the hull missing, they needed to take every possible precaution.
Rodgers was convinced that Webster’s plan had little chance of success and had tried to convey that to him. But Webster hadn’t been listening and, as he knew from experience, it was almost impossible to dissuade a senior officer from a particular course of action once they’d committed themselves to it.
Webster seemed to have convinced himself that Rodgers was some kind of miracle worker and that he had a decent chance of pulling this whole thing off.
The difficulty, as far as Rodgers was concerned, was that Webster didn’t seem to understand the basic concept of how a rail gun actually worked. It was true that at close range a rail gun could be a devastating weapon but firing on a starship, even at close range, was a completely different proposition. Despite the extensive range of countermeasures a ship like that might carry, there was also the fact that a starship could very easily remove itself from the line of fire.
He’d tried not to think about that too much while he attended to the task at hand. He had spent the last five minutes cutting away half of the distorted rail mechanism. He wasn’t sure how much of a recoil the gun required but he did know that it wasn’t going to be possible to salvage all of the track.
He was also aware that he and Johansson were only going to have a few minutes to familiarize themselves with the firing procedure before the order came down from the bridge to begin firing. His main concern was that they wouldn’t be able to get the gun to actually fire. And there was also the question of how much he could rely on Johansson. Along with the rest of the crew, he would have received some basic training on operating the ship’s weaponry but there was a huge leap between that and even a live fire exercise. Firing at an enemy craft with one third of a normal crew was going to test them to their limits, and then some.
The way he looked at it, the most important moment of Rodgers’ career so far was going to involve him firing a weapon he had the least amount of experience with. They needed at least another couple of hours to get the rail gun combat ready but, in reality, they weren’t going to get anything close to that.
Once they’d received the ‘Make Ready’ command from the bridge, Johansson started powering up the gun while Rodgers fed the loading mechanism in from the yellow server. Normally, mass projectiles were of a substantial size, which was where they derived most of their destructive power from, but Webster had him firing football sized iron ingots. At least that should reduce the amount of recoil.
Everything appeared to be working. They stood in their firing positions and watched the targeting information appear on their consoles. It was confusing, because the enemy ship was approaching along their starboard side and, while they had originally been on the starboard side the ship had rolled so that they were facing the port side. They were out of the loop as far the ship’s comms were concerned and so the first they knew about the nuke being launched was the unmistakable shudder which told them the warhead was on its way. The pair of them locked eyes and waited for the inevitable.
After a while, Johansson said, “I don’t think it’s going to…”
His words were cut off as the whole ship heaved to one side. Johansson was thrown against the i-beam, his helmet taking most of the impact. If they’d been aboard an ocean-going vessel Rodgers would have sworn that they’d just been struck by some enormous wave, followed by a series of aftershocks. Warning sensors sounded in his headset and he blinked sweat away from his eyes, desperate to stay in control of the situation. The interior of the compartment was lurching wildly and they both struggled to hold on.
If it was this bad on the protected side, he didn’t want to think what would have happened if they’d been on the exposed side.
A yellow icon had appeared in the top corner of Rodgers’ visor though he had no recollection of what it might mean. He tried to dismiss it from his thoughts, reasoning that if it were that serious it would invariably be red – and flashing.
The sensation of the ship rolling back into its normal orientation helped focus his mind and he took the opportunity to re-check his equipment. The reality was that they were about to be exposed to a potentially fatal dose of radiation. In comparison, a tiny yellow icon was all but irrelevant.
According to the read-out, the ordnance was loaded. It only remained for Johansson to enter the targeting requirements. As soon as he had done so, they both felt the slight jerk as the rail gun started trundling towards the forward position.
At the same time that was happening, the whole ship was pivoting on its axis. In a few moments they would be in the ready position. Rodgers recalled a cartoon he’d seen as a child. When the main character had been exposed to a mini-nuclear explosion, he’d been transformed into a living skeleton. What had delighted him as a kid only served to chill him now.
Time to concentrate on the job at hand.
If they hadn’t been working in vacuum they would have heard the squeal of shearing metal and immediately realised something was wrong. As it was, the first they knew of it was when the gun shuddered to a halt.
Something must have registered up on the bridge because the next voice they heard was Webster’s.
“Everything okay down there?”
“We’re just checking things over now, sir,” his voice was calm but inside he wanted to scream.
He joined Johansson over by the console. Helpfully, there was a diagram showing an arrow pointing down towards the track. A box flashed: ‘Clear Obstruction.’
The pair of them bent down to inspect the track. There was no obstruction but they could see, on closer inspection that the track had buckled slightly, locking several of the runners in place. Rodgers’ face was burning with embarrassment. He’d been so concerned about repairing the rear section of track that he hadn’t thought to look at the forward section.
“PO Rodgers?”
“We’re dealing with it now, sir.”
“Our window of opportunity closes in two hundred and sixty seconds.”
Two hundred and sixty seconds! How were they supposed to fix this mess in that time?
“Aye, sir,” he turned to Johansson. “You heard the man.”
Johansson nodded which, inside his suit, produced an odd bobbing of the shoulders.
Rodgers took a deep breath.
“Let’s reverse everything and try again.”
“What the hell is that?” Johansson said, pointing out into space.
Rodgers was on the point of losing his temper as he half turned. “Shit! What even is that? That’s not a ship.”
As crewmen, they never expected to see the enemy, even in the height of battle. There was the odd screen scattered about here and there but no one had time to look at one until after everything was over. The idea of being able to see the enemy ship through a hole in the hull was disconcerting in the extreme.
Johansson grasped the operating console in a bid to steady himself. “Since when did the Yakutians start building circular ships?”
“That’s not a Yakutian ship,” Rodgers said. “I don’t know what it is, but no Yakutian ever built a thing like that.”
“Gentlemen!” Webster was deadly calm. “The task at hand?”
Rodgers drifted over to the console and watched as Johansson puzzled over how they were going to reverse the process. He came across a likely menu simply by scrolling down. It said ‘Restart’ and so he pushed it.
To Rodgers’ amazement, the big gun began rolling backwards.
He squatted down and began running his fingers over the sticking point.
“Where’d I put that laser?” Rodgers asked.
“It’s over here somewhere, why?”
Rodgers held out a hand. “I have an idea.”
The laser was wedged against some couplings. Johansson went and retrieved it for him. When Rodgers took hold of it he was sure to turn his back on Johansson before switching it on.
“What are you going to do with that, anyway? We can’t afford to lose any more track.”
Rodgers inclined the laser towards the distorted section of track. “I think this bit is probably frozen, so I’m going to try and warm it up.”
Rodgers adjusted the laser’s setting to a fraction of its normal cutting power. Then he gently wafted it over the rail, hoping that the heat would make the metal more pliant.
Johansson lifted his head, “You’ve missed a spot.”
“A hundred and eighty seconds,” Webster said.
Rodgers couldn’t see the distortion himself but he trusted Johansson enough to follow his lead.
Once they’d finished, Johansson went back to the console and pressed the screen. The big gun rocked forward and began to move.
“One hundred and twenty seconds!” Webster’s voice was bleached of all emotion.
“Almost there.”
The front wheel came level with the earlier obstruction, cleared it and kept on going. Six inches later, it came to a complete stop.
“What’s wrong now!” Rodgers growled.
“Actually, nothing,” Johansson tapped his screen. “According to this, that’s its agreed firing position.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
On the console was a large black box. At its centre one word, written in white, was flashing: Fire.
Johansson’s finger hovered over it.
“Do not press that button!”
Webster’s voice cut through the silence. Then, in a more measured tone, he said, “The mainframe is calculating precise trajectories. We need to wait a moment.”
