Read Online First Principles: Samair in Argos: Book 3 by MICHAEL KOTCHER - Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t the one to do this.  That bastard Eamonn browbeat me into taking this post, into running his little pet navy for him and now it’s all falling apart.  No.  I let him browbeat me into doing this.  Was it pride?  I wanted to show that there was no job too big for me.   She let out of wry laugh.  Look how well that worked out.
                  Tamara sighed, pulling herself up to a more upright standing position.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  There are people counting on you.  You’re the damned Captain of this ship!  She scrubbed her hands over her face, then shook her head to clear it.  She felt a little better.  She’d been right, she wasn’t a tactical genius and she didn’t have the forces needed to take on a battlecruiser.  But there had to be something that they could do.  Cavalier wasn’t out of the fight just yet.
                  She started to walk down the corridor toward the spine to head to Engineering when suddenly she felt queasy and weightless.  The grav plates under the decking were malfunctioning, most likely due to damage.  Then she smiled.  That’s it.   Picking up the pace, she hustled to the armory.
     
                  “Captain, excuse me, but what the hell are you doing with that missile?” al Fakhir demanded.  “We got way more important things to worry about a fucking missile.  If that ship turns toward us, we’re dead.  We’ve got no shield coverage along the spine and we’re really weak structurally there.”
                  “Grav plates,” she said, working to attach the small pod about a meter square onto the nose of the missile.  “I removed the warhead from this one,” she said, tossing aside a small screwdriver.  “Help me!” she said, and the man sighed, came over and held up the pod while she secured it to the weapon.  Once that was done, in less than a minute, she attached it to a hoist and jacked the missile up off the deck.  Pulling out her datapad, she linked the cables into the grav pod and began typing frantically.
                  “Captain!” al Fakhir bellowed.  “What the hell is going on?”
                  Tamara wasn’t listening; she was watching as information, macros and figures scrolled down the screen of her datapad, until finally it stopped and she nodded in satisfaction.  “I’m sorry, Chief.  I think I might have just given us a knockout punch.”
                  “What?”  The dusky-skinned man put a hand to his forehead and then shook his head in confusion.  Then he eyed what she’d been working on.  “You attached a grav pod to the warhead of a missile?”
                  “I removed it,” she explained.  “And yes, I know it’s crude, but the design is sound.”
                  “Design?” the man asked, dumbstruck.  “You didn’t design anything.  You just slapped a grav pod on a missile.  And why?”
                  “Because we needed a serious punch to take down that battlecruiser,” she said, starting to push the hoist.  “Give me a hand.  We need to get this to the starboard side launch tube, number three.  It’s the only one still active.”  He stepped up and grabbed the opposite side of the hoist and the two of them started pushing.  While she did, Tamara pulled her communicator out of her pocket and flipped it open with her thumb.  “Bridge, this is the Captain.”
                  Leicasitaj answered immediately.  “Yes, Captain.  I’ve been studying the battlecruiser and I think we have a chance to strike.  Our last strike on their stern took out two of the heavy lasers protecting there, and the fighters have been forcing them to keep their shields up with their harassing attacks.”  She could hear the mirth in his voice.  “They aren’t letting up.  Never letting them breathe.”
                  Tamara smiled.