Read Online Gestapo Mars by Victor Gischler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victor Gischler
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officer interrupted. “Admiral! I think you’d better look at—”
“At ease, Ensign!” the admiral snapped. “I’m talking to our guests.”
“But, sir,” the ensign squeaked. “Ships dropping out of translight!”
One of the admiral’s eyebrows raised itself into a question mark as he turned toward the junior officer at his scanning station. “Could it be the carrier group returning for some reason?”
The ensign shook his head. “Sir, I think maybe it’s—”
“New group of signals at mark point eight off the port side,” another officer shouted from a different scanning station.
“I have nine ships at mark point one,” a third officer shouted.
“Himmler’s nuts!” The admiral rushed to the main scanner display, bent over the viewer to take a look. “I want a full count, and I want it right fucking now!”
A long scary moment passed.
“Forty-five ships inbound,” the third officer said. She was a handsome, middle-aged woman with a shocking streak of white through one side of her black hair. “All Coriandon.”
ELEVEN
“ S ound general quarters!” A second later the red alert klaxon sounded through the ship as the bridge erupted with activity.
“Tell the gunship crews they have ninety seconds to detach,” the admiral shouted over the klaxon alarm. “They’re sitting ducks if they don’t maneuver.” He seemed to remember us at the last minute, and pointed at a pair of thrust loungers off to the side. “Strap in. It’s about to get bumpy.”
Meredith and I threw ourselves into the padded chairs. I quickly scanned the bridge from my new vantage point.
“Trade seats with me,” I told Meredith.
“Why?”
“I can see more of the scanners from where you are.”
We traded places and buckled the straps across our chests.
I opened my senses and, as always, everything slowed, the training absorbing every particle of information and making a picture out of it. The blips from the multiple scanner screens, the orders barked back and forth between the officers, technical readouts of inbound ships, the bright pinpoints of thrust as those ships grew in the viewports. The training latched onto each puzzle piece, arranged them all into a clear picture of the impending battle.
“Nine more ships just dropped out of translight,” the ensign shouted.
“Bastards must’ve been watching, and waiting for the carrier group to jump to translight,” the admiral said. “We must have missed a spy buoy when we swept the area. They’ve got stones the size of asteroids if they think they can take on a battle hulk, but with over fifty ships, they might just do it.”
“Sir, I recommend a fleet-wide distress call,” the first officer said. “A few extra ships—”
“Wouldn’t get here in time,” the admiral said. “Only the carrier group is close enough to respond, and calling them back would leave the colonies exposed—which might be just what they want. We’re the whole show, people!”
“Missiles incoming!”
“Count?”
“Two-hundred sixty three,” the first officer reported. “They are likely coming in light to test our counter-measures.”
“Oblige them,” the admiral said. “Give them a scatter spread, nice wide dispersal.”
Four dozen scatter-spheres blasted from the battle hulk and streaked toward the incoming cluster of missiles. Three seconds later they exploded directly in front of the missiles, creating a “buckshot” effect. Every one of the enemy missiles hit one of the flying pieces of debris and detonated harmlessly, still several thousand miles from the battle hulk.
“I want a return spread,” the admiral barked. “Target the forward dozen ships.”
Four hundred missiles erupted from the battle hulk and hurtled toward the enemy group. A few seconds later, outer space around the enemy ships flashed and twinkled like hundreds of miniature supernovas.
“Their counter-measures destroyed all of our missiles,” the third officer announced, still
“At ease, Ensign!” the admiral snapped. “I’m talking to our guests.”
“But, sir,” the ensign squeaked. “Ships dropping out of translight!”
One of the admiral’s eyebrows raised itself into a question mark as he turned toward the junior officer at his scanning station. “Could it be the carrier group returning for some reason?”
The ensign shook his head. “Sir, I think maybe it’s—”
“New group of signals at mark point eight off the port side,” another officer shouted from a different scanning station.
“I have nine ships at mark point one,” a third officer shouted.
“Himmler’s nuts!” The admiral rushed to the main scanner display, bent over the viewer to take a look. “I want a full count, and I want it right fucking now!”
A long scary moment passed.
“Forty-five ships inbound,” the third officer said. She was a handsome, middle-aged woman with a shocking streak of white through one side of her black hair. “All Coriandon.”
ELEVEN
“ S ound general quarters!” A second later the red alert klaxon sounded through the ship as the bridge erupted with activity.
“Tell the gunship crews they have ninety seconds to detach,” the admiral shouted over the klaxon alarm. “They’re sitting ducks if they don’t maneuver.” He seemed to remember us at the last minute, and pointed at a pair of thrust loungers off to the side. “Strap in. It’s about to get bumpy.”
Meredith and I threw ourselves into the padded chairs. I quickly scanned the bridge from my new vantage point.
“Trade seats with me,” I told Meredith.
“Why?”
“I can see more of the scanners from where you are.”
We traded places and buckled the straps across our chests.
I opened my senses and, as always, everything slowed, the training absorbing every particle of information and making a picture out of it. The blips from the multiple scanner screens, the orders barked back and forth between the officers, technical readouts of inbound ships, the bright pinpoints of thrust as those ships grew in the viewports. The training latched onto each puzzle piece, arranged them all into a clear picture of the impending battle.
“Nine more ships just dropped out of translight,” the ensign shouted.
“Bastards must’ve been watching, and waiting for the carrier group to jump to translight,” the admiral said. “We must have missed a spy buoy when we swept the area. They’ve got stones the size of asteroids if they think they can take on a battle hulk, but with over fifty ships, they might just do it.”
“Sir, I recommend a fleet-wide distress call,” the first officer said. “A few extra ships—”
“Wouldn’t get here in time,” the admiral said. “Only the carrier group is close enough to respond, and calling them back would leave the colonies exposed—which might be just what they want. We’re the whole show, people!”
“Missiles incoming!”
“Count?”
“Two-hundred sixty three,” the first officer reported. “They are likely coming in light to test our counter-measures.”
“Oblige them,” the admiral said. “Give them a scatter spread, nice wide dispersal.”
Four dozen scatter-spheres blasted from the battle hulk and streaked toward the incoming cluster of missiles. Three seconds later they exploded directly in front of the missiles, creating a “buckshot” effect. Every one of the enemy missiles hit one of the flying pieces of debris and detonated harmlessly, still several thousand miles from the battle hulk.
“I want a return spread,” the admiral barked. “Target the forward dozen ships.”
Four hundred missiles erupted from the battle hulk and hurtled toward the enemy group. A few seconds later, outer space around the enemy ships flashed and twinkled like hundreds of miniature supernovas.
“Their counter-measures destroyed all of our missiles,” the third officer announced, still
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