Chapter Five: Alex
Alex took his chair, sinking into the gel padding. Only he truly felt the rush of so much steel, weaponry and force at his command. It empowered and humbled him at once. A rush went through him as he activated the flight controls. What made it even better, was the prospect of returning alive to see Tan again.
"Status report," Holden ordered, from his command station.
"Engines hot, captain. Weapon and ECM systems are green," Alex said.
"Ladar and radar online. Oxygen levels optimal," Amos said, at the sensors console.
"Signal strength to Tycho at one hundred percent. Wide and tightbeam emitters online. Encryption package online, " Naomi said, from the comms console.
"Alex, got that course plotted?"
"Yes sir. Ready to launch on your command."
"Let's move out," Holden ordered.
"Aye-aye." Alex pushed throttle forward.
The Epstein drive hummed to life, pressing him into his chair as it hurtled the Rocinante through the Black. The ship stepped up to four G's. Alex heard his crew mates labored breaths in his earpiece, as they endured the pressure on their bodies. They weren't going fast enough to need the juice; the cocktail of drugs and stimulants keeping them conscious during extreme G forces. But Alex knew it was coming. The only thing worse than the adrenaline pumping drugs, were the nauseating after effects.
A stretch of time passed, tension filled the air. The ship's drive worked hard; defying physics to traverse the vast distance of space. Alex clenched his muscles and regulated his breathing, as trained to all those years ago in the Martian Navy. He felt solidarity with the rest of team, knowing they were experiencing the same thing.
"Almost there kids," Alex said, with effort.
"S-start d-decel," Holden managed.
"Got it," Alex replied.
The pilot plunged his hand through the g-forces at his touch screen. He ordered the ship to slowly decelerate, keeping them from becoming red smears on the bulkhead. A whoosh sounded as forward thrusters countered the frigate's momentum. The invisible hand crushing into Alex began to lift.
"Visual on Galatea," Alex said.
"I see it," Holden replied. "Stay sharp. The Faust should be nearby."
Beads of sweat formed under Alex's trademark cap. He dragged his hand down his beard. If the enemy ship was near, the next few moments could be life or death. Alex read his displays, finger hovering over the fire button. The network of cloaking devices was still active, concealing the Faust's position.
Alex almost jumped in his seat, at hearing Naomi's voice.
"Jim, I can run a deep scan of the lab, though it might reveal ourselves. If the ship is near it, we might pick it up."
"Good idea Naomi, do it," Holden replied.
For a few long moments, there was nothing but the tap of buttons and purr of machinery. It reminded Alex of old submarine films we saw as a kid. It was hard to believe that much water existing anywhere, even as an adult. But he definitely related to the claustrophobic environment of a submarine. As well as the zero-sum game between opponents, and the certain death outside the hollow shells they operated in.
"We have movement!" Amos yelled.
"Faust confirmed, it was hiding behind the moon. Distance ninety-eight thousand kilometers, dead ahead. It's in attack position!" Naomi reported.
Following procedure, Alex activated a list of commands for the A.I. to execute, in the event he was unable to use the touchscreen.
"Four torpedoes inbound, wide spread pattern," Amos said.
Alex looked at his monitor. Four red dots spilled out from the Faust's outline. Each one represented a plasma tipped torpedo. They fanned out and streaked across the screen toward the Rocinante's icon. For a second, he doubted his sanity. The torpedoes were moving too fast to believe.
"Fire tubes one and two. Take emergency evasive action," Holden ordered.
"Two torpedoes away, emergency evasive action," Alex replied.
The Rocinante bucked two times, slinging its own torpedoes at the target. The only hope the ship had to defeat the missiles was in the point defense cannons or outmaneuvering them.
"I hate this part," Alex muttered.
Just then, several stings shot through his body. The chair's needles injected him with the harsh, but life saving drugs to endure near-fatal G-forces. Next came the feeling of ice water flow through his veins. He felt his heart pound in his chest, and his muscles tighten up. His stomach sank into his feet as the frigate twisted, turned and lurched in every direction. He fought through the stress and focused on his screens.
The unusually fast torpedoes came into PDC range. The ship's cannons unleashed a hail of high velocity tungsten rounds. Alex took in the frigate's analysis of the enemy torpedoes. They were equipped with their own thrusters and navigational computers. He knew they were calculating how best to move to evade the gunfire, as he watched them.
Alex felt an elephant sit on his chest, his tolerance of the G-forces pushed to the limit. The days of dog fighting pilots lining each other up in their sights were long gone. Now combat boiled down to so many computations, physics and luck. Human input was an afterthought.
The red dots danced across the screen, taunting the ship to stop them. One flickered out like a dying light. It had been hit. Three left, but it wasn't over yet.
Alex's labored breathing was all he could hear in his helmet. He watched the remaining torpedoes close in, helpless to do anything but trust in his ship. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes as the second torpedo came within striking distance. It flickered once or twice, then blinked out before impact. The frigate shook hard, a sickening crunch echoed through it.
"What just happened?" Holden said, through gritted teeth.
"Torpedo must have...broken up under the PDC fire. Hit by debris," Alex managed.
"Everyone alright?" Holden asked.
"I'm good," Amos said, with a nonchalance that disturbed Alex.
"Fine," Naomi forced out.
Alex divided his attention between read-outs, and the damage reports coming in. His jaw moved slowly with each word. Telegraphic speech was all he could manage.
"Shrapnel hit port side like shotgun blast. Machine shop, quarters, shredded. Damage code yellow."
"Last torps flanking us, can't take another. Do something!" Holden blurted.
The final torpedoes moved into a pincer attack. If nothing was done, they would finish off the frigate. The ship's computer ran out of ways to evade them, as the missiles closed the distance. Alex estimated the time and distance the torpedoes had to their target. The silence of the crew was deafening.
The next few seconds determined if they lived or died. The Rocinante would be hit, Alex realized. The only question was how badly, and by how many torpedoes. Hot tears stung the pilot, righteous indignation surging in him, angrier at the arresting G-forces than at the enemy. He screamed his frustration as he fought through the weight. He stabbed the touchscreen with a finger and swiped it to switch the A.I. off and throw the Rocinante into a 180 degree turn.
He visualized one of the torpedoes incinerated by the blinding light of the Epstein drive. His display indicated that's exactly what had happened.
Alex thought of Tan as he braced for the last torpedo. A cacophony of sirens and warning klaxons assaulted his ears. The Rocinante spun like a bottle from the hit. Red emergency lights flooded the deck, as the auxiliary power turned on. If the Faust narrowed the gap between itself and the frigate, and if hadn't been critically damaged, they were finished.
The thrum of the Epstein drive faded to nothing. The effects of the anti-G cocktail started washing off. The elephant got up from Alex's chest, but he was too shocked and exhausted to enjoy the relief. He couldn't hear or see the crew mates on the deck underneath him, but prayed they weren't dead or stroked out.
"Damage report," Holden managed weakly.
Alex breathed a pained sigh of relief that Holden was alive. Now just to hear the others. Alex slurred a reply that would almost be comical in any other situation.
"Amidships cannons wiped out, Boss. Torp punched a hole right through 'em. Storage and medical bays are slagged. Some damage to the reactor and cargo bay. Epstein drive still online, emergency powered. Looks like we're crawlin' home."
"Naomi, Amos, check in," Holden ordered.
"I think my insides are liquefied, but I'm here," Amos said.
"Good Jim..." Naomi gasped.
"Alex, I need a report. Did we get them?" Holden asked.
The pilot pulled up the record of Rocinante's torpedoes to the Faust. The enemy warship made a valiant effort, but couldn't make the extreme maneuvers the Martian naval frigate could.
The first torpedo sheared off the Faust's engine module, effectively crippling it. The second torpedo took out the lower half of the hull, knocking out the torpedo tubes. All the armament the Faust had left were its PDC turrets in the upper half of the hull.
"The Faust is retreating!" Alex said. "Its limpin' back to on thrusters. Torpedo bank wiped out. Their PDC guns out of range."
Alex had no doubt that if the enemy missile landed any higher, the crew would be dead.
"Alex, get us out of here. Naomi, inform Tycho of the situation. Tell them we're retreating for emergency repairs. Amos, do whatever damage control you can. Good job everyone. We won the battle, but not the war's not over." Holden said.
Alex smiled to himself, thrilled to live another day. He locked in a course back to Tycho, and slunk into his seat. Fatigue overpowered him, and his consciousness faded out...