Dawn of the Mad (32 page)

The gunnery control officer immediately relayed the order, and gunnery crews stationed on various parts of the ship let loose with salvos, striking the enemy warship in several places. The enemy ship lurched to its port side and dived in a feeble attempt to escape the laser batteries. The gravitational waves from pulse space began to dissipate slowly, giving
The Emperor’s Fist
more room to maneuver. It increased its speed and completed its turn to port to expose its intact complement of broadside batteries.

“Prep all weapons for concentrated fire on my command,” Admiral Raus ordered.

The massive ships drifted closer and closer, starboard side facing port side. The enemy warship opened up with another volley. Again
The Emperor’s Fist
took several direct hits under the laser onslaught. Sections of armored hull broke free from the battle barge and floated off into space. The exposed sections began leaking precious atmosphere. Damage report alarms went off throughout the ship, sending crew members scurrying around to terminals, trying to get assessments from affected parts of the ship. Concussion booms reverberated throughout the ship.

“Damage report,” Admiral Raus requested calmly. He stroked his chin, seemingly oblivious to the damage to the bridge and to the medics assisting wounded crew members.

“A concentrated fire, sir,” an ensign reported. “They have created a hull breach on decks nine through eleven. They are trying to target the pulse core.”

“Seal decks and return fire. All fire containment teams should be deployed.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Emperor’s Fist
groaned and creaked under the damage strain on its ancient hull, but it complied. The helmsman carefully monitored the crewman who was responsible for maneuvering the ship manually, now that it no longer was in pulse space.

The two behemoths were now directly side by side, the gap between them growing ever smaller.
The Emperor’s Fist
loosed another tremendous, concentrated salvo. Anti-ship missiles streaked from its launch tubes as complementing volleys of multicolored laser fire ripped through the enemy warship’s hull, sending even more fragments floating off into space, adding to the increasingly dense debris field around the two ships. Long, thin trails of the coolant for the massive engines of the attacking ship leaked into space, signifying the end. Within moments, the enemy ship lost all thrust capability and was dead in space.

“Ensign,” Admiral Raus ordered, “load boarding hooks, prepare for boarding assault.”

“Aye, sir.”

The ensign activated a serious of switches and began shouting orders into a microphone built into his control console.

Admiral Raus turned his chair to face Colonel Chuikova, who was standing by the blast door to the bridge.

“Colonel, if you will take command of the boarding party, I would appreciate your help.”

“Of course.” The colonel saluted and disappeared out of the bridge. He quickened his pace to the crew quarters, where he encountered Corporal Scotts, Captain Cruwell, and Roman.

“We’re going to board the warship,” he told them. “Let’s move out.” Without a word, Cruwell and Scotts each grabbed his EMR and magazine bandoliers, which they had retrieved from the ship’s armory earlier. Roman got up to follow, but the colonel stopped him.

“This is not your fight, Johnny.”

“Like hell it’s not! I came with you, and wherever you go, I go.” Roman was still carrying his shotgun, the hand cannon was stuffed down the front of his pants.

The colonel looked him over and nodded. “Fine. Stay with Cruwell and Scotts, and do as they say.”

A loud crash sounded, and a concussion knocked everyone off balance. The ship listed to the starboard side. After a few seconds, it stabilized, and people regained their footing. The colonel headed out into the corridor, which was starting to fill with armed crew members, security personnel, and two squads of heavily armed Marines in battle armor.

“Follow me!” he commanded.

“This is Star Admiral Raus, Commander of the UCP warship
The Emperor’s Fist
,” the admiral broadcasted over several common radio frequencies. “Surrender your vessel and prepare to be boarded.”

The panoramic window on the bridge turned partially into a video transmission screen, on which the enemy warship’s commander appeared. His bridge apparently had taken a direct hit. Several crew members lay dead or dying in the background. Electrical conduits dangled from the ceiling, sending sparks showering onto the floor.

“Raus. Old friend, we meet again.” The opposing commander’s voice was hoarse, and blood streaked his worn face. He stood straight and brushed off his uniform.

“Admiral Horth,” Raus replied. “A valiant attack, but it has failed. We are preparing to board. You have sustained much damage. Surrender and we will treat you as prisoners of war accordingly.”

Admiral Horth nodded wearily, his face clearly showing signs of defeat. He glanced behind him at the carnage unfolding. He turned back around and faced the screen.

“Yes, we have sustained major damage, but the honor of dying in battle will be achieved. I am going down with my ship. This war will end for me today. I pray it ends soon for you, my friend. Surrender is not an option, as I know you are well aware.”

Raus nodded slowly in understanding. He switched off the video feed. The screen reverted to the view of the enemy warship precariously attached to
The Emperor’s Fist
by many harpoon cables. Raus slumped back into his chair, longing for home.

“This brings back memories,” Cruwell said as he watched the cutting team breach the airlock of the enemy ship from the umbilical. When the circle was completed, the massive airlock door crashed into its ship with a deafening roar. The cutting teams and the soldiers behind it braced for an attack from the other side, but no resistance was forthcoming. The boarders could see that the enemy warship was full of internal fires and rapidly filling with smoke. Screams of the wounded reverberated throughout the main corridor.

The colonel turned and faced his complement of heavily armed marines. “Make way to the bridge before this ship breaks up. The ship’s engine core has been damaged, and we do not have much time. Look for intel and the ship’s commander.”

The marine leader nodded and moved into the warship. Roman stepped into the breach and looked around in awe.

“Damned Star Wars battle. This is crazy.”

Scotts followed him in, powering up his pulse rifle.

“Keep on your guard,” Scotts warned.

Cruwell brought up the rear of their little group, as they followed the Marines toward the bridge. They occasionally encountered small arms fire, but it was quickly suppressed. The warship’s crew were quickly taken prisoner and sent to the rear without their weapons. Many simply walked toward the boarders with arms raised in surrender, sensing the futility of prolonging the battle. Crew members from
The Emperor’s Fist
helped the wounded evacuate the doomed ship, protected by the ship’s security detachment. Within minutes, resistance had ceased altogether. The loudest sounds were occasional sparks of electricity and the constant drone of the alarm klaxons.

The colonel and his men reached the bridge. Its massive blast doors were open, revealing many dead. Admiral Horth was slumped in his chair; a pistol had fallen onto the floor from his outstretched hand. A thin trickle of crimson ran down his face from a single hole in his temple. The colonel closed Horth’s eyes.

“Scotts,” he ordered, “uplink the main computer to
The Emperor’s Fist
. Once you have initiated the upload, we will fall back.”

Scotts nodded and set to work. Roman and a few Marines roamed the bridge, checking for survivors. Upon seeing none, they waited for Scotts to finish. Cruwell watched the main corridor for any signs of resistance. Roman knelt down besides a dead female lying prone on the grated floor. He retrieved her sidearm from its holster and eyed the elongated silver weapon with curiosity.

Ray gun
.

“Got it!” Scotts said from the terminal where he was working. He got up and headed toward the door. The colonel looked around one last time and double-timed down the corridor back toward
The Emperor’s Fist
behind his men. He activated his wrist comlink and spoke. “Admiral, we are returning. Only light resistance encountered. Prisoners and wounded being brought on board.”

“Understood. Make haste. The enemy ship is beginning to break apart. We must break contact as soon as your party is back on board.”

The colonel stood together on the bridge with Admiral Raus and watched as the massive grappling hooks and the boarding umbilicals from
The Emperor’s Fist
were disengaged from the enemy warship. The distance between the two ships increased, and Raus gave the final order.

“Open fire.”

The Emperor’s Fist
opened with a last concentrated salvo from its laser batteries and missile tubes, targeting the rear of the ship, which contained its volatile power source. Within moments, the enemy ship erupted into a huge ball of fire and debris.

Raus slumped back into his chair. “Helm, set course for Hellenheim,” he ordered. “Full power.”

“Aye, sir.”

The mighty engines of
The Emperor’s Fist
roared to life, and the massive battle barge headed for home.

CHAPTER 30

“This is truly impressive,” Roman said as he stared out the view port of his quarters. Corporal Scotts, standing next to him holding a small cup of water, nodded his head. “I’ve imagined such things, but I never thought they could be reality, at least not for a few centuries. I thought the space shuttle was cool. But this …”

The Emperor’s Fist
had entered friendly territory, and the industrial planet Hellenheim laid below them. Hundreds of small space faring craft, some merchant, some navy, surrounded the planet like bees surrounding their hive. The planet was dull gray and seemed to be covered almost entirely by a thick black cloud cover.

“Do you have oceans here?” Roman asked.

“No,” replied Scotts. He continued, “Water is brought from off world, and because of the war, it is strictly rationed. There are water-bearing planets in our empire, but the oceans are very dangerous places.”

Roman continued to take it all in. “It’s just so dark and gray.”

Scotts nodded. “It’s our industry. Since the early days of the war, almost all of the factories are producing arms and equipment, as quickly as possible, and with the best resources devoted to production for the war. Our shipyards are here also, but they no longer produce commercial vessels, only warships. We had to resort to archaic forms of energy such as coal for basic necessities.” Scotts sighed heavily before continuing. “We’re running out of resources. If we don’t find a solution soon, the situation could get a lot worse.”

Roman took a step back and sat down on the edge of the metal bed. “Maybe I should have stayed home,” he mused. “It seems like I traded one hell for another. At least I wasn’t facing extinction back on Earth.”

“There is a bright spot, in that the enemy is in the same predicament. The war has been equally hard on them. There have been rumors of peace negotiations.”