Attack Butterfly (Rust Bucket Universe) Page 7

  "Roger, Attack Butterfly. Good luck!"

  Susan felt a wave of relief when she picked up a reply and realized that her communications were still good. At least, the wing wouldn't be left wondering what to do next. They would continue to pound the enemy and she could concentrate on her situation.

  The tiny red flashing light came on. Susan spotted it almost immediately. She toggled a switch to shut down the engine. There was no sense in blowing herself up now, she thought. That was something she failed to spot in a simulator. She wasn't repeating that mistake out here where it was for real. Even with the engine off, Susan continued to work on shutting down the other damaged controls and feeding everything through her panel alone.

  ***

  The Mad Dogs Squadron passed through the enemy formation just after the fighters went behind the same location on their second sweep of the enemy. At point blank range, the massive guns of the Mad Dogs warships fired away at their fastest rate ever as round after round was pumped into the enemy ships.

  Even missiles were launched at the enemy warships that were too close to avoid or evade the slower missiles. The missiles were too small to be hit with any accuracy, either, as they whooshed out of their hidden tubes to careen into the nearby enemy warships and cause massive explosions within them. In a situation like this, a missile was possibly more deadly than the bolts spewed out by the Mark II's through VII's. The missile warhead carried explosives that could crush the internal bulkheads and push the air within them to create more internal pressures than the warships were built to withstand.

  It was rare for the charged-particle bolts to get a good explosion going in a warship. It had to be practically hulled into Swiss cheese before the air could be ignited into any sort of reaction other than a flash fire that lasted only moments. Usually the bolts from the Mark II's to the VII's caused a ship to lose its air supply or melted through an important part of the supporting structure. That might let the air pressure buckle part of the ship in or out depending on which part of the support was destroyed.

  Everette felt a strange vibration. A moment later he heard over the intercom that even his ship's projectile weapons were being used on the Malakins. He had to think for a moment before he even remembered those being on the dreadnoughts. Those were meant for use while on land against threats that might not be affected by the bolts and were too small or close for the missiles to be used. He realized that they were being fired with a special fitting that allowed them to be used in space. Everette wondered whose idea that had been and why they had even planned on those being usable in space. Regardless, he was glad to know that his ship was throwing everything it had at the enemy. There wasn't a single weapons system not in use as they passed through the enemy lines.

  More reports filtered over the intercom to the crew as more enemy ships were destroyed. Another Mad Dogs ship didn't make it through. It went floating on past the rear of the enemy formation as the other ships turned to take advantage of their position and use their even heavier weaponry on the Malakin engines.

  ***

  Dave watched as the Mad Dogs sliced neatly through the enemy lines. He proudly watched them go into different directions using individual initiative as they actively sought out the enemy and did their best to cause the most harm quickly and efficiently.

  A moment earlier, he had said a brief silent prayer for Lieutenant Thompson in the Attack Butterfly as she careened out of control away from the battle. He hoped she was able to either land or effect repairs. Either way, he hoped that she and her crew survived. Her spirit and intelligence were the kind needed to eventually lead the Navy.

  Already he could see that this battle was much different, but was still likely to end in a Union victory. His people and ships were ready, trained, and motivated. They were fighting with good equipment and defending their homes. They knew the area and what to do as well as when and where to do it. They knew how to work with each other as a team and individually to cause the most harm and damage. The only thing in question in Dave's mind was how much it would cost them to win their second battle inside of six hours.

  ***

  Susan slipped into her emergency space suit. It was meant for ship to ship transfers and for situations like she was in now where emergency repairs needed to be made. As soon as she double checked herself to be sure the seals were in place, she activated the equipment to take out the air from her shielded compartment. When the air was captured, the compartment shields opened automatically.

  Tethered to the fighter, Susan went to the hatch and opened it getting her first view of the damage done to her ship where debris clunked into it. Whatever it was, it had been big enough to crack the nose where her crew was and deprive them of oxygen after their shields snapped into place. They hadn't felt the agony of that, however. The initial impact had been enough to kill them by smashing their heads into the ceiling or other equipment. The underside of the nose was crushed upward into the passenger area.

  She went and picked up the few tools carried along in the fighter. It was up to her alone to find and repair what she could. For once she was glad that she had a degree in exactly what needed to be done. She was an engine specialist, something the Navy wanted. With her good health and grades, that almost assured her of acceptance into the academy. She didn't have to take a test to qualify like entrants from some other academic fields were required to take. Their specialties weren't needed by the Navy. To enter, they had to pass a test in addition to having good health, good grades, and a degree. The Navy took only the best it could get and made them better. Susan certainly felt that she was better than four years earlier.

  She pried open a crushed access panel and looked inside. There were shorts in a number of wires. Those were most likely responsible for causing problems with her taking control from her own station. She reached in and yanked some of them from their plugs, eliminating the short circuits. She clung to the various handholds and moved about the outside of the craft as she checked over the rest of the fighter. One solar panel was loose. She pressed it back into full contact. Likely, she thought, that was enough reason for the red warning light.

  ***

  Sylvia jerked the space station controls to perform a Wobble Shift when one of the Malakin destroyers, forced away from its formation, suddenly changed course and headed in her direction. Already, the gunners on board the space station were engaging the destroyer at long range while compensating as best they could for the erratic movements of the station. Sylvia had no idea that she was being observed by Admiral Oden at the moment that she decided to initiate the emergency action without instructions. She had no idea that he was beaming with pride in her initiative to protect the space station with evasive movement that made it a much harder target for the enemy gunners to hit. She didn't even notice until it went past that a fighter broke off from the battle to help out. It strafed the enemy destroyer from behind, damaging its engines and leaving the enemy destroyer out of control.

  The space station gunners continued to adjust their fire and pour shot after shot into the destroyer until it was dead. Then the dead Malakin destroyer drifted past the station toward the planet where gravity would grab hold and yank it down through the atmosphere to a crisp reality. Only when the danger was over did Sylvia relax and let Beulah Station resume a more normal course in the near space to Beulah.

  As she relaxed for a split moment, she caught sight of the admiral's beaming face directed toward her. She returned his smile before he turned back to gaze at the battle and watch its development. It was enough of a glance for her to see that he longed to be in the thick of it as he used to be. He belonged on the bridge of a dreadnought, barking out orders and taking chances. Instead, he was here with her on a slow, ineffective space station that required the help of a fighter to take out a single enemy destroyer. Sylvia could tell that the admiral was a man of action and he wasn't getting to participate in very much action. She felt sorrier for him than she had for herself the previous few days. Afte
r all, she had one of the most important jobs in the battle that was taking place. It was her job to evade enemy fire and keep the old man alive to lead more battles.

  Sylvia glanced again at the admiral and revised her thoughts about him being old. He was still under fifty, she remembered. It wouldn't be impossible nor unreasonable for him to stay in the service another forty years if he chose to do so. Then he could retire at full pay and live out his life to what was a normal expectancy of close to a hundred and fifty. However, she couldn't imagine him in some stuffy old war room in twenty more years with other old men making the decisions about how the Navy would fight future wars and what equipment was needed. He truly belonged on the deck of a warship.

  ***

  Everette felt the sharp vibration that suddenly slapped the ship harshly and caused all communications to cease. He ran to an emergency panel, took out a mobile communications device, and clipped it onto his uniform. He adjusted the headset on himself and flipped the switch on. "This is Ensign Dixon. Gun crews A1 through A9 remain in action. No new damage spotted to this section of the ship."

  Everette listened for other damage reports so that he could keep his gunners informed of what was happening. He didn't hear any other reports. He didn't even hear any response to his own report.

  "Bridge? This is Ensign Dixon. Gun crews A1 through A9 remain in action. No new damage to this section. Please acknowledge." He waited again for a response. Finally, he broadcast again. "This is Ensign Dixon, any station respond."

  "Ensign Dixon, this is Corporal Weaver at gun crew B1. We have two guns, B2 and B3, out of action. The rest are still in action, but our officer is dead."

  Everette replied, "Okay, then you're in charge there as of now. Keep me informed. All other stations, report your condition. I'm making my way to the bridge now."

  Everette worked his way through the passageways, sometimes detouring to avoid damaged compartments. He was a third of the way to the bridge when another damage report came through.

  "This is Private Mann from the Dining Hall. The bridge is sealed off from access. I looked through the observation port just now, sir. It's all blown to hell and back. What should I do with the stuff I have for the bridge?"

  Everette listened and replied calmly, "This is Ensign Dixon. Okay, Private Mann, take what you have back to the gun crews after you take another look at the bridge for me. Are you sure it's destroyed?"

  Private Mann replied, "Yes sir. I'm looking through the port right now. The entire area is open to space. I don't see anyone piloting the ship. Just dead bodies strapped to their seats."

  "Very good, Private. You can now go on about your new instructions I gave you. This is Ensign Dixon to all ship's stations. Effective now, I am assuming command of the ship. All emergency bridge crew members are to report to the auxiliary bridge and meet with me there. As soon as you arrive, patch me through to the rest of the squadron. Gunners, keep up the good work! Everyone keep damage reports coming to me as you find it."

  Everette cleared his head and wondered how it was that he was the only officer left alive on the ship. It was too improbable to happen. Yet it had just happened to him. He was in command of a dreadnought, something that shouldn't have happened for years and several promotions.

  ***

  "Admiral, there's still no response from Commodore Remm. The America is still heading away from the other ships of the squadron."

  "Thank you," Dave said solemnly, knowing that the ship must have taken a hit at or near the bridge or been hulled. Both possibilities were serious and only one condition was recoverable. Either way, it was likely that his dear friends Majel Remm and Mike Andor were dead along with some other people he knew well who were also aboard that ship.

  ***

  Everette raced through the intact passageways of the America to reach the auxiliary bridge. It was already open and being placed into operation by several enlisted personnel who barely beat him to it. As he came inside and clanged the hatch shut, one of the enlisted personnel shouted, "You've got communications again!"

  "This is Ensign Dixon in command of the America to all other Mad Dogs Squadron ships. Continue on your present actions. We will rejoin the fight as soon as we make sufficient repairs. Good luck to you and god bless you all!"

  ***

  "Did I hear that right?" asked Dave to the communications officer.

  "I'm not sure, but I thought he said he was an ensign," she replied.

  Dave responded, "So did I and I assigned him to that ship. What a hell of a way to get command. Patch me into him. He might need some advice."

  "Right away, sir."

  "This is Admiral Oden to the America."

  "Commander, the admiral wants to talk to you," one of the enlisted personnel said to Everette.

  Everette gulped and nodded. He wondered if the admiral was going to try to command the ship remotely. He hadn't yet taken a seat in the commander's chair. Instead, he flipped the switch and held the headset next to his ear, having already removed the mobile headset with its limited capability. "Ensign Dixon, sir."

  "Captain Dixon," Dave emphasized, "I hope you're sitting down in that chair now. If not, seat yourself there and take a deep breath. You're in command of a dreadnought and you've got the lives of the men and women on board her in your hands. They're in good hands, otherwise I wouldn't have assigned you to a ship that I knew was going into combat. From now on, you're to be addressed as captain because you are the captain of the America. Have you taken that deep breath yet?"

  "Yes, Admiral Oden, sir."

  Dave said, "Lesson two, you don't have to use so many sirs from now on. Keep yourself relaxed and concentrate on what you know needs to be done. Do you have damage reports coming in to you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "That's good. Now as fellow ship commanders, we can talk more casually. Just refer to me as Dave. I'll refer to you as Everette."

  "You remember my name?" asked Ensign Dixon.

  "Okay, Everette. How's the damage situation?" asked Dave.

  Everette replied, "Most of our weapons are still functional. We're about five minutes away from regaining steering control. Then we'll be rejoining the battle."

  Dave said, "Very good, Everette. You're doing a splendid job. Keep it up and give your people a hearty well done. Call me if you have any questions. For now, enjoy the responsibility of command and go get 'em when you're ready. Good luck, Captain Dixon. I'll let you get back to work now."

  Everette blinked his eyes for a moment as he realized that the Admiral was leaving him with the ball he picked up. The decisions were all his to make and it scared him. He finally took a second deep breath while more reports of damage came to him.

  "Got steering back!" one enlisted man shouted.

  "Great! Navigation, plot a course for us to rejoin the battle. I imagine they'll be glad to see our ugly hide again!" Captain Dixon exclaimed. "Engage when ready! Let me know when we're back on course for the battle."

  Two minutes later, the navigator shouted, "We're on our way!"

  There was a cheer from the emergency bridge crew.

  Captain Dixon stated calmly, "Okay, pipe me into the rest of the ship. We have business to take care of."

  Seconds later, the communications officer said, "You're on!"

  "This is Captain Dixon to the crew of the America. We are currently operating from the auxiliary bridge. The main bridge has been destroyed and the other officers of the ship have been killed. We have re-established communications and steering. The rest of the ship is still intact, clear evidence that it was built by people who care and know how to build ships right, especially this dreadnought. We are back on course to rejoin the squadron and fulfill our share of the fighting. You have all done well. That is a direct quote from Admiral Oden. He wishes us luck and suggests that we go get 'em. I like that suggestion, so we're going back to do just that. Good luck to each and everyone of you. I can only add, heaven help the Malakins 'cause now we're pissed! Battle stations!"
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  The America moved back on course to rejoin the fray and soon went ahead at near top battle speed. As soon as it was again at maximum range, its guns fired again at the closest enemy targets, perhaps surprising some of them into thinking that there were reinforcements arriving on the human side. Captain Dixon received the welcome home messages from the other ships of the squadron while he continued monitoring the status of his ship. He had quite a load of responsibilities laid out in front of him. He was already setting repair priorities for work crews who were patching up the ship as best they could even as they went back into battle.

  ***

  Dave watched as the America came back into view and re-entered the battle with most of her guns blazing. He listened to the communications from the other ships to the America and heard Everette's responses to them. Whatever confidence Everette might not have shown before at the academy, it wasn't apparent now that he ever lacked it. Dave couldn't help but catch snatches of conversation as an inexperienced command officer made and gave decisions to his crew like a pro while he kept up his communications with the rest of the squadron.

  With the re-entry of the America, the battle was brought back to almost even. The initial surprise of the quick charge of fighters followed by the quick charge of the squadron had ripped apart the enemy fleet. The enemy fleet was left highly vulnerable to further exploitation, something the Mad Dogs were fully capable of and were doing. Dave could see that the battle would end much sooner than the one with the first wave of enemy ships despite the loss of five more squadron ships already. Dave was very glad that the dreadnought America hadn't made it six.

  Some of the fighters limped back to the carrier Terra for repairs. Others floated desolately about space, their crews dead heroes to be honored later. Half of the fighters that attacked the second wave of enemy ships were still active and doing their part at close range with their Mark VI guns.

  The admiral wondered if they would be enough to take on the next wave of Malakins. He knew his men and women were tired. Their ships were damaged and leaking. Except for a few fighters, only two Union participants, the carrier and the space station, hadn't suffered hits yet. The carrier was being held back on Dave's orders to give the fighters a place to land besides on Beulah as well as provide a rear guard against encirclement for the rest of the squadron. Beulah Station with its sophisticated electronics kept their communications unjammed and took a few pot shots of its own whenever possible. Dave was glad that the Malakins didn't know that the weakest vessel in space was the most important. Had they known, they might have decided to fight nearer to Beulah in hopes of destroying the space station. So far none of the Malakin ships noticed that the space station was constantly positioning itself to maintain communications with the squadron opposing them and the planet they defended.