Read Online Solfleet: The Call of Duty by Glenn Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Glenn Smith
Ads: Link
only hope the same
held true throughout the rest of her ship.
“Whatever
hit us came in from below and behind us, Captain,” Lieutenant Irons reported,
standing behind her broken chair and leaning over it to read the computer’s
impact analysis. Broken chair? Someone had to have been thrown directly into it
for it to have been broken off of and then jammed down onto its shock absorbent
mounts like that.
Bhatnagar watched
as the tactical officer sat down very gingerly, fearing that the chair might
not support her weight. But it did, at least for the present. “Where did the Saratoga go, Lieutenant?” she asked, squirming in her own chair, trying to find a
sustainable position that minimized the pressure on her injured pelvis. She
expected to have one hell of a bruise on the right half of her backside
tomorrow. “They’re supposed to be covering our back.”
Irons
targeted her scanners on the corvette. “They’re out of the fight for good,
Captain. Both jump nacelles have been severed, and their main hull has been
ripped in two and is drifting apart. Multiple fires burning on several decks.
Cargo holds and engineering decks are venting atmosphere. Indications of
secondary explosions...” She cross-checked the Victory ’s onboard
sensors. “As a matter of fact,” She straightened and turned to the captain, “our
onboard sensors aren’t picking up any residual radiation from direct weapons
impacts. I think it was a piece of the Saratoga that hit us.”
“Escape
pods?” Bhatnagar inquired hopefully, still squirming. Her hip really hurt.
“I’m on
that, Captain,” the helmsman chimed in. It wasn’t really his job of course, but
he wouldn’t have wanted to inadvertently vaporize any of the Saratoga ’s
surviving crew who might have been drifting directly behind the Victory ’s
fusion cowlings, had Bhatnagar called for speed. “At least ninety escape pods
are free and scattered all over the place. About two dozen more are indicating
occupied but have so far failed to launch. Various allied vessels are moving in
from all directions to pick them up.”
“Very well.”
Having finally found relative comfort by leaning on her left elbow, resting her
right ankle across the top of her left foot, and pushing off the right arm of
her chair to keep the pressure off her right buttock—how long was she going to
be able to hold that position?—Bhatnagar looked back over her shoulder
as best she could. “Engineer,” she called out again. Try as she might, she
still couldn’t remember the kid’s name. “Give me a damage report, please.”
“Massive
structural damage to our aft keel, Captain,” the stubble-haired tenderfoot
began, reading from one of his numerous status screens. He hadn’t sat back down
yet, either. “Loss of atmosphere on deck fifteen aft. Partial pressure only and
zero gravity on decks twelve through fourteen aft. Emergency bulkheads...” He
coughed, “...in place. Gravity on decks ten and eleven aft at forty-nine and
twenty-seven percent respectively. Looks like something really big hit us,
Captain,” he commented. He coughed again, and then added, “My guess is
Lieutenant Irons is right about it being a piece of the Saratoga .”
“What about
weapons and propulsion, Ensign?” she prodded impatiently, addressing two of the
most important systems in a fight.
“Aft gun
emplacements are all destroyed,” he answered as he continued down the list.
First chance he got, he intended to reset the computer’s ‘priority systems’
subroutine back to its default setting so that it always listed weapons and
propulsion systems first and second. Whoever had changed it was an idiot, as
far as he was concerned. “Rear quarter port and starboard guns took some damage
as well, but are still about eighty percent operational.” He coughed yet again,
and again, and the others on the Ops deck started as well. “Energy overload in
the starboard fusion reactor is approaching critical, but
held true throughout the rest of her ship.
“Whatever
hit us came in from below and behind us, Captain,” Lieutenant Irons reported,
standing behind her broken chair and leaning over it to read the computer’s
impact analysis. Broken chair? Someone had to have been thrown directly into it
for it to have been broken off of and then jammed down onto its shock absorbent
mounts like that.
Bhatnagar watched
as the tactical officer sat down very gingerly, fearing that the chair might
not support her weight. But it did, at least for the present. “Where did the Saratoga go, Lieutenant?” she asked, squirming in her own chair, trying to find a
sustainable position that minimized the pressure on her injured pelvis. She
expected to have one hell of a bruise on the right half of her backside
tomorrow. “They’re supposed to be covering our back.”
Irons
targeted her scanners on the corvette. “They’re out of the fight for good,
Captain. Both jump nacelles have been severed, and their main hull has been
ripped in two and is drifting apart. Multiple fires burning on several decks.
Cargo holds and engineering decks are venting atmosphere. Indications of
secondary explosions...” She cross-checked the Victory ’s onboard
sensors. “As a matter of fact,” She straightened and turned to the captain, “our
onboard sensors aren’t picking up any residual radiation from direct weapons
impacts. I think it was a piece of the Saratoga that hit us.”
“Escape
pods?” Bhatnagar inquired hopefully, still squirming. Her hip really hurt.
“I’m on
that, Captain,” the helmsman chimed in. It wasn’t really his job of course, but
he wouldn’t have wanted to inadvertently vaporize any of the Saratoga ’s
surviving crew who might have been drifting directly behind the Victory ’s
fusion cowlings, had Bhatnagar called for speed. “At least ninety escape pods
are free and scattered all over the place. About two dozen more are indicating
occupied but have so far failed to launch. Various allied vessels are moving in
from all directions to pick them up.”
“Very well.”
Having finally found relative comfort by leaning on her left elbow, resting her
right ankle across the top of her left foot, and pushing off the right arm of
her chair to keep the pressure off her right buttock—how long was she going to
be able to hold that position?—Bhatnagar looked back over her shoulder
as best she could. “Engineer,” she called out again. Try as she might, she
still couldn’t remember the kid’s name. “Give me a damage report, please.”
“Massive
structural damage to our aft keel, Captain,” the stubble-haired tenderfoot
began, reading from one of his numerous status screens. He hadn’t sat back down
yet, either. “Loss of atmosphere on deck fifteen aft. Partial pressure only and
zero gravity on decks twelve through fourteen aft. Emergency bulkheads...” He
coughed, “...in place. Gravity on decks ten and eleven aft at forty-nine and
twenty-seven percent respectively. Looks like something really big hit us,
Captain,” he commented. He coughed again, and then added, “My guess is
Lieutenant Irons is right about it being a piece of the Saratoga .”
“What about
weapons and propulsion, Ensign?” she prodded impatiently, addressing two of the
most important systems in a fight.
“Aft gun
emplacements are all destroyed,” he answered as he continued down the list.
First chance he got, he intended to reset the computer’s ‘priority systems’
subroutine back to its default setting so that it always listed weapons and
propulsion systems first and second. Whoever had changed it was an idiot, as
far as he was concerned. “Rear quarter port and starboard guns took some damage
as well, but are still about eighty percent operational.” He coughed yet again,
and again, and the others on the Ops deck started as well. “Energy overload in
the starboard fusion reactor is approaching critical, but
Similar Books
