Chapter 10
"I've ordered Piraeus to dock with the Gettysburg, despite the risk, but it will still take days to get the fires under control and confirm that all surviving crew have been evacuated," Admiral Mbande told Vanessa. She had chosen to remain in the Operations Center, rather than discuss the situation in a briefing room, so that her staff would be close at hand with any updates. They stood together in the elevated command pulpit, enclosed by a semi-circle of monitoring and communications consoles. The heart- wrenching real-time image of the stricken cruiser was stretched across an eight meter long overhead monitor. The detail was sharp enough for Vanessa to track on the movements of the cloud of medical shuttles, engineering craft, and veritechs that surrounded the brutalized warship.
"Days," Vanessa said, "but we can't afford to wait that long."
"Correct." Mbande's face was the same icy mask that it had been each time Task Force 2 went into combat. "We will have to leave, and soon, or, given the amount of damage the Gettysburg sustained, there may be no one else left from Task Force Five to rescue." Next to the image of the burning cruiser, a wire frame schematic showed the ship's systems, almost entirely highlighted in red, and scrolled a litany of damaged or destroyed sections.
"What have the crew been able to tell us?" Vanessa asked.
"Very little. We haven't recovered anyone from the Gettysburg's command or operations staff who is in any condition to speak to us yet. What we know is that Task Force Five folded into an uncharted system, then a few hours later, went into action against Zentraedi ships. Only minutes after engaging, the captain gave orders for an emergency space fold, and then seconds before the fold was executed, the Gettysburg was struck numerous times. The ship barely held together. As the nearest friendlies, we will have to retrace her course, and assist Task Force Five. Space Station Liberty has already been notified. I have no timeline for additional ships to arrive."
"How soon do you plan to fold?"
"As soon as the majority of the wounded we have already rescued can be shuttled over here." Vanessa nodded. The Jeanne d'Arc had the largest and best medical facilities in the task force. "This presents us with some difficulties."
Mbande tapped her console and lit up another of the large monitors. A roster of the ships currently in the system appeared. At the upper left of the hierarchical chart, outlined in blue, was the vast bulk of the Jeanne d'Arc. Below it were the Battle class cruisers, Manhattan and Trenton, and further down, the slim, dagger profiles of the Banshee class destroyers, Medusa, Minotaur, Harpy, Changeling, Kelpie, and Dunhulla. To the right were the support ships, the big, boxy Mulberry class fleet tenders - Piraeus and Lothal, along with their task force's science ship, the modified destroyer, Phobos. Standing apart from the others, the silhouette of the cruiser Gettysburg flashed a baleful red, while the freighter Shalazar was outlined in yellow.
"The Gettysburg cannot endure another space fold, and must stay," Admiral Mbande said, highlighting the ship with a touch to her command display. Its icon grew, and the other ships shrank, sliding to the far side of the screen. "The Piraeus must stay to render aid. And the Shalazar must also remain. None of them are capable of defending themselves." She broke both of those ships away as well, dragging them over to join the Gettysburg.
"Which means we'll have to leave one of our cruisers, since whatever escort we leave will need to be able to deploy a fighter screen," Vanessa noted. The forty-eight veritechs a Battle class cruiser carried was inadequate to cover four major ships, particularly when three of them were lacking in defenses, but there was little choice.
"Indeed." Mbande agreed. Trenton separated from its sister ship, Manhattan, and joined those being left behind. "Already, our forces are divided and reduced, before we have even left to confront a foe that has overcome a task force of equal strength to ours."
"I'm no stranger to fighting outnumbered," Vanessa said, trying to take heart from her experience on the SDF-1, beating the odds time and again.
"Admiral, update from the flight deck!" An aide called up from one of the rings of stations below them. "The next group of shuttles is about to dock."
"I'll go to Sickbay and meet the wounded as they're brought in," Vanessa said. "Maybe someone among the latest arrivals can give us information that will help us prepare."
"And prepare, we must. I want to fold as soon as the last wave of medical shuttles returns from the Gettysburg. Understand, Captain, this time there will be no negotiation," Mbande said sternly. "We fold directly into battle, against an enemy that is there to kill us, not to preserve and capture us, as they would have the SDF-1."
Vanessa did not flinch under the admiral's stare. "I do understand, ma'am. We will be ready." That's Straza out there. My friend. I'm not going to fail her. Vanessa leaned over one of the comms consoles and opened a ship-wide channel. "Now hear this! This is the Captain! All hands, secure for space fold, and clear for fleet action! I repeat, fleet action is imminent!"
Vanessa would not soon forget the sights she beheld in her ship's sickbay. Not since Khyron's last ditch attack on the SDF-1 had she witnessed Earth's forces suffer this many casualties. Every bed was already filled, and still the wounded were arriving by the score, suffering from lacerations, crushed limbs, and most common of all, terrible burns. She knew the docking bay was already lined with row upon row of body bags, and their fallen comrades would receive no further attention until everything had been done that could be to save the living. She didn't bother trying to find Chief Surgeon Mika Makade, because she knew the woman would already be performing surgery, or preparing for it. Instead she walked past blue-gray bulkhead panels, monitors crowded with patients' vitals, and long lines of gurneys, each occupied by a groaning REF officer or enlisted crew person. Far outnumbered, clusters of scrub clad Jeanne d'Arc medical personnel made their way down the line, updating charts, treating wounds, dispensing medication, or frantically attempting to resuscitate critical cases. She sought out one of the medical technicians assisting with intake and triage of the newest arrivals. She hated to interrupt, but the whole task force's survival might depend on whatever intelligence she might be able to glean in the remaining moments before they folded.
"Petty Officer!" she called out, approaching a disheveled crewman who was standing over yet another burn victim, their blistered skin slathered in blue gel, tapping the patient's information into his data pad.
"A moment!" he called back distractedly, finishing his entry, and starting as he looked up at Vanessa. He came to attention and saluted. "Captain! I'm sorry!"
Vanessa waved off his salute. There was no time for ceremony here. "Nevermind, Petty Officer. It's vital I get more information from the crew of the Gettysburg. Has anyone come in from the bridge or any other area of operations that might be able to tell us what opposition they encountered?"
Petty Officer Ruiz frowned. "I'm not sure. The bridge was hit, probably right before the ship folded out, and Search and Rescue hasn't been able to cut a way into engineering yet. But…" he studied his data pad, scrolling back through the too long list of patients. "Here!" He said, stabbing the touch screen with his finger triumphantly. "Follow me!"
He led her down a corridor that reeked of smoke and melted plastic, explaining briskly as he went. "Lieutenant Menda Vetzev. She was in the lower Fire Control center. The compartment wasn't hit, but a nearby fire overwhelmed life support and turned the room into an oven. She's being treated for heat exhaustion and shortness of breath."
They arrived at another triage area crowded with injured Gettysburg crew, and Ruiz led Vanessa to the lieutenant's bedside. Vanessa recognized, just as she had suspected, a Zentraedi of the Vetzev clone series, just like her own ship's chief ordnance officer. The woman looked to be in her very early 20's, though as a clone, that indicated little of her true age, and her skin was deep red from the terrible heat she had endured. Her jacket had been cut away so that she could be surrounded by cool compresses, and her slate gray hair hung lanky over the side of the gurney, dripping sweat like the rest of her body. She was fitted with an oxygen mask, but she was still conscious and able to speak. A doctor and nurse were tending to the officer, fitting her with an IV bag to replace the enormous amount of fluids she had lost.
"I need to speak to your patient," Vanessa told the doctor. "It's vital."
The doctor nodded. "Just for a moment. She's in danger of going into shock, and I'm not happy about her breathing."
"I understand. Thank you, Doctor. Lieutenant Vetzev? I'm Captain Leeds of the Jeanne d'Arc."
Vetzev shifted her head weakly. "Captain?" she rasped, and coughed wetly. Vanessa frowned. She didn't want to do this. This woman had already endured so much, and now she was going to have to ask for even more.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant. We will help you, but I need you to tell me about the battle. What can you remember?"
Vetzev nodded. "Don't know all of it. They- Zentraedi ships. Already there when we defolded. Don't know how the shooting started. They shot first. Hit Guerrero in the drive section. We returned fire, for a few minutes. Scored some hits. Got the order-" she coughed again, and it took her a moment to catch her breath, which was now very shallow. "- order to prepare to fold away. Then we were hit… so many times. The ship nearly came apart, right before the fold." The doctor was frowning, and began listening to his patient's chest through his stethoscope.
"Lieutenant, it's very important that I know what ships were part of the force that attacked us," Vanessa said. "My crew will have to face them soon."
Vetzev dragged in a deeper breath with difficulty and her brow furrowed as she tried to remember all the details she could. "Queadol Magdomilla…" she said, lapsing into Zentraedi. "Four Thuverl Salaan. We destroyed one. Fifteen Tou Redir. Think… twelve were still in action when we folded…"
Vanessa kept her expression neutral, but her heart sank. The Zentraedi force was a mirror of Task Force 2, only stronger. Queadol Magdomilla, a strike force command ship, like the one Captain Gotta commanded, that destroyed the army of York during the battle of Manhattan. Like the ship Khyron had commanded at the height of the Robotech War. Fast, heavily armed, and with a large complement of mecha. Its forward strike module, when detached from the primary hull, was alone more than a match for the Jeanne d'Arc's weapons. Their remaining cruiser, the Manhattan, would be a better opponent to its counterpart, the Thuverl Salaan heavy cruiser, but not at three-to-one odds. Their Banshee class destroyers might be able to outmaneuver the Zentraedis' own Tou Redir frigates, but overall, the REF force, as the SDF-1 had so often during the war, would have to rely on the superiority of the veritech fighters, and hope that Task Force Five had inflicted serious damage on their attackers after the Gettysburg folded out. But Lieutenant Vetzev wasn't finished. She laboriously took in another breath.
"Also, one Quiltra Queleual…" she rasped, and started another coughing fit.
"What?" Vanessa exclaimed. "You're sure, Lieutenant? Was it the troop carrier variant?"
Vetzev couldn't stop coughing, and raised a shaking hand, trying to gesture. The doctor moved in, his face grave. "That's going to have to be all, Captain. She's suffering from pulmonary edema. We have to put her on a ventilator immediately, or she's going to asphyxiate in front of us."
Vanessa backed away, shaken. "I - I understand, Doctor. I'd like to be personally updated on her recovery." The doctor waved a half-hearted acknowledgment, and set to work. Vanessa turned on her heel and began marching back out of the Sick Bay.
"Captain?" Ruiz called out, confused. "What's a Quiltra Quel-Quel-whatever it is? Is that bad?"
"Thank you, Petty Officer, that will be all. I'm sure there are other cases needing your attention," Vanessa called back over her shoulder, not deviating from her path through the chaos. She couldn't tell him, couldn't have rumors spreading through the enlisted crew right before a battle. She needed to prepare. Quiltra Queleual. Zentraedi multi-purpose transport. The cylindrical vessels topped out at three thousand meters long, outmassing the entirety of Vanessa's task force. They could supply an entire battlegroup in their fleet support configuration, and if it was the landing ship variant… Twelve-thousand battlepods! Vanessa thought, staggered by the odds they now faced. The REF planning staff had been confident that the heaviest Zentraedi opposition the Pathfinder Mission would face would be scattered squadrons of light patrol frigates, with the odd cruiser here and there. As the years passed, that confidence had grown. Why now? Why that star system? Why such a powerful force? May was right, we need the SDF-3. But there would be no SDF-3, no backup. If they were going to save Straza and the others, they were going to have to figure out a way to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
"Electronic warfare craft are to be moved to Block Twelve of the Secondary Launch Bay. Pilots of squadrons VF-One-Six-Five and VF-One-Four-Seven are to proceed to their assembly areas, using the red tram line."
The Jeanne d'Arc's starboard veritech bay clamored with the preparations for combat. Vanessa walked with Jose May-Reyes, dodging heavily laden munitions carts that wove between the parked Lightnings, and toeing the yellow outlines that marked each veritech's berth. Hundreds of pilots were already on ready-launch status, formed up on the deck with their squadron leaders to receive instructions, while maintenance and launch crews climbed over the ranked war machines, securing access panels and attaching diagnostic and fluid umbilicals in a crazed serpents' nest tangle. It was hardly the best place to conduct a planning session, but Vanessa knew that her CAG had no time to retreat to a briefing room if he wanted to have every last mecha possible ready for the upcoming battle.
"How many Lightnings do we have active, Commander?" Vanessa asked.
"Crew Chief!" Reyes yelled, and a chief petty officer wearing green overalls and a reflective orange vest hurried over. "The latest chart, please," Reyes demanded, holding out a hand, already covered by his flight-suit's glove.
"Here, sir!"
Reyes took the data tablet from his subordinate and tabbed through the screen until he reached the correct status display, scrolling through scores of green, yellow, and red veritech icons.
"This is no good," he said, handing the tablet back. "I need to find out what's going on with the maintenance crews over at Berth Seventeen."
He took off at a jog, and Vanessa followed. "Reyes! The Lightnings?"
"They'll be ready," he insisted, not slowing. Vanessa scowled, wanting facts, not assurances. Reyes's easygoing attitude could be endearing, but right now she found it obnoxious. She sped up, hopping over a black umbilical line bigger around than the crew chief's hulking biceps and grabbed Reyes in the alloy grip of her cybernetic hand, hauling him around to face her.
"Jesus, Captain!" he exclaimed, his fighter pilot's reflexes the only thing allowing him to keep his balance. Vanessa didn't let go.
"How many active, Commander?" she repeated.
"Ok, ok! You know, you could hurt somebody with that thing." She finally released him, and he rubbed at his bruised limb. She got a good look at his face, and realized how pale he was. What she saw in his eyes told her that the usual bravado was all for show. He's scared. As scared as I am. We need the time we've been given to prepare, but it also gives us time to think about how bad our situation is.
"You're well aware we're facing poor odds Commander, and I need to know just how poor they are," she said, speaking more evenly now. Reyes swallowed and nodded, letting go of his arm and composing himself.
"Sorry. I get it. Seven-hundred fifty-four."
"That's all? A quarter of our fighters are unready?"
"I'll have another hundred ready for launch by the time we defold, I swear!"
Vanessa folded her arms. "It's the transformation equipment, isn't it. Still." Vanessa had personally witnessed a malfunction of the Lightning's transformation from guardian to battloid mode almost kill Reyes during one of the original test flights. Under the watchful gaze of Admiral Hunter, the fatal errors had been corrected, but the production model of the Lightning remained prone to breakdown and painfully long maintenance cycles. The timing couldn't be worse. "Why couldn't we have been chosen to test the roll-out of the Legios program?" she lamented.
"Ah, come on, Captain!" Reyes protested, sounding wounded. "The Legios is a missile-pig. It hasn't got the staying power or the speed of a Lightning."
"Only when a Lightning is capable of flying at all."
"I'm on my way to deal with that. I'll talk to the maintenance crews. You'll have your fighters," he promised as they continued walking through the open air maze of mecha, munitions carts, passenger trams, and flight crews.
"I need them all, Commander. Admiral Mbande isn't calling off the attack, and I don't want her to. But that means I'm going to have to ask a lot of you and your pilots. We can't trade blow for blow with the Zentraedi capital ships."
"I know. But seven-hundred fifty, or a thousand, my attack wing can't take on that many ships and mecha head-on and expect to win."
"But you've planned for this," Vanessa said, keeping her gaze ahead of her. Reyes turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
"I know you have," Vanessa went on. "After figuring out a way to cripple a command ship with just one squadron of veritechs, there's no way you'd stop considering other scenarios. You've had years to prepare."
Though charming and well liked by all, Reyes didn't have the natural command presence of someone like Rick Hunter, and while a talented flier, he would never reach the lofty heights of Max or Miriya Sterling, and be recognized as an ace-of-aces. But Reyes was a planner, constantly testing new tactics and formations. He was popular with his flight crews, who put up with his incessant demands for more training and drills. Vanessa knew he was too meticulous not to have prepared for a situation where they were this badly outnumbered, whatever the assurances of headquarters and the REF mission planning staff. Reyes nodded, all attempts at humor gone.
"Alright. I have planned for something like this," he admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip with the back of his glove. "No offense, the Jeanne d'Arc is a fine carrier, but it's no battlefortress." He took a deep breath and blew it out. "I don't have any fancy tactics that will let us beat that many ships and battlepods, not without cutting their numbers significantly. If we're to have any chance of winning, we'll need-"
"Reflex weaponry," Vanessa finished, and he nodded soberly. She had feared that would be his answer. She felt a bitter, metallic tang in the back of her mouth at simply speaking the words. The old SDF-1's Reflex cannon had vaporized dozens of Zentraedi warships, thousands of battlepods. But Vanessa hadn't appreciated the true horror of Reflex weapons until the Rain of Death, when she witnessed thousands of Dolza's gunships systematically denude the Earth's surface of life. A short time later, the SDF-1 unleashed its own arsenal of Reflex warheads inside Dolza's command center, destroying it and killing billions of Zentraedi in the resulting explosion. Vanessa herself had provided the targeting data for the strike, a fact she tried to avoid thinking too much about. Three years later, she almost died in a Reflex missile attack by the rogue state of York. The decision to employ Reflex weapons could only be a dire portent for her. But she saw no other options, if they were to have any chance.
"Admiral Mbande authorized the use of Reflex warheads when I updated her on the composition of the enemy fleet. I'll order the armory to release them to your munitions officers."
"I'll make sure my best squadrons are loaded and ready to launch the moment we defold," Reyes assured her.
"You'll only have enough missiles for one full strike."
The scandal that broke when it was revealed that traitorous UN Spacy officers had provided the Reflex warheads that York fired during the Battle of Manhattan shook the United Earth Forces and United Earth Government to their foundations. The stigma surrounding Reflex weaponry that began following the Rain of Death was solidified. Within the Solar System, it took the combined agreement of the Speaker of the UEG Assembly and the head of either the UN Spacy or UN Army to permit the use of Reflex weapons. Outside the Solar System, a flag rank officer had to personally authorize the loading, arming, and firing of Reflex weapons. The munitions themselves were only available in limited numbers, and kept under heavy guard at all times.
"I'll make them count. I promise," Reyes said.
"I know you will, Commander. Believe me when I say there's no one else I'd feel better about having as CAG for this battle."
The aviator let out a short, nervous chuckle. "Finally, a story to match the old-timers from the SDF-1 air group, always going on about how outnumbered they were."
Vanessa shook her head, managing a small smile at Reyes's one-sided rivalry. "You can maybe talk once you've faced your first million ships."
"Right," he said with a sheepish grin. "Now I've got some technicians to kick in the tail, Captain."
"Dismissed, Commander." She still had more orders to give before the fold, and little time to have them carried out.
"That will be all, Colonel." Vanessa turned on her heel and took a step toward the hovertank bay's hatch.
"No, Captain! You can't be thinking to leave me here!"
She jerked to a stop as, to her great surprise, Kaden actually reached out and took hold of her arm, just as she had Reyes's a few minutes earlier. She felt a flash of annoyance as she turned back and saw his face white with mingled outrage and worry.
"You forget yourself, Colonel," she said, glancing at his hand. He looked down and seemed to realize what he had done, in a compartment full of Marines and technicians, no less, and let go immediately, his face coloring. But after he took a step back, he continued on, undeterred.
"Captain, shipboard security is my responsibility. It's unwise to sideline me right before the fleet goes into combat. Someone else could do what you ask. I have many good officers under me."
"I'm not that concerned about a possible boarding action. The Jeanne d'Arc isn't the SDF-1. We'll have all of the bays sealed as soon as the Lightning's launch, and there are no other macro-scaled areas an attacker could reach in battlepods or powered armor. I need you aboard the Shalazar."
"But Captain Prescott could just as easily oversee-"
"Captain Prescott will have to remain aboard the Trenton and watch over the safety of all of the ships we're leaving behind. You know how potentially unstable the situation is on the Shalazar. I need someone aboard her that both the Zentraedi and the Tiresians will respect. Someone who is already familiar with the ship. It needs to be you."
Kaden looked to the side. "Blast," he muttered sullenly, hands clenched in fists. The gesture was familiar, but Vanessa's unease did not overcome her. She had seen enough of Kaden's true character now.
"I need you to do this for me, Colonel. I wanted to watch over them myself, but I can't."
Kaden looked her in the eye for a moment, then nodded. "I will do this, Captain. But… if you should be defeated, the thought of you-" he stumbled over his words, "-all of you, being lost, and for me to be left behind…" It was obvious to Vanessa that it was not missed glory that he was concerned about.
"You wouldn't have thought that way before you joined us. Am I right?" He nodded. "You'll have to learn to set those feelings aside, until the mission is complete. The responsibility is yours. You will be in command."
Vanessa pushed away the last of the readiness reports and stood from her desk in her tiny office. "That'll be all, Allison. The spacefold won't be long enough for us to act on any of these reports anyway."
She stepped over to the narrow observation port set into the outer hull of the bridge tower, and May left her own seat and joined her there. Most of the task force's ships were already deployed for the fold jump, but Vanessa could pick out the distinctive shapes of Trenton, Piraeus, Shalazar, and Gettysburg, silhouetted against the stark brown surface of Altrea.
"It hurts us to leave any ship behind, at a time like this, doesn't it?" May asked, guessing Vanessa's thoughts.
"Yes, but not just for the reasons you're thinking." She sighed. "I've left many things unfinished on the Shalazar. Both for the refugees in general, and the children in particular."
"You've already done a lot for them. If it hadn't been for you, we might have destroyed them in that first encounter."
"That may be, but I've made promises to them. Even leaving Colonel Kravshera behind, I feel like I'm abandoning them."
"But you're not. You have a job to do."
"I wish Bron were here. He'd be better at negotiating with the Tiresians and Zentraedi."
"Don't sell yourself short. You've always stood up for what's right, from the first day we went into training together," May pointed out.
"Maybe I have, but that's not the same as what Bron does. He's a peacemaker, and I've been feeling anything but peaceful." It was as open as Vanessa could bring herself to be about her attitude toward the Masters. "He would figure out a way to form a bridge between the two sides, and make sure everyone is treated fairly."
"You miss him, for a lot of reasons, but you're going you have to put that behind you for now, Captain. In just a little while, the crew are going to need everything you have."
"I know." Vanessa smiled wanly at her friend. How easily her words for Kaden had come to her. Putting them into practice was not so simple. "I'm lucky to have had you at my side, keeping me focused, all these years… Hazard." She managed a small smile at that.
"I'm not about to stop now, Tang," May replied, grinning.
Vanessa took up her half cape from her chair back and swept it around her shoulders, adjusted her eye patch in the mirror, and placed her cap in her head, then nodded to May. "It's time."
Her office was only a short distance up the corridor from the bridge, and her officers were ready when she stepped through the hatch. Commander Liem ceded the conn to her.
"All stations ready, Captain," he reported.
"Good. Don't get distracted when we defold, everyone," she admonished her crew. "I know we all want to find out what happened, but I need you on task. Commander Liem will assemble the big picture. Mister Garo, I'll need you to get comms to any friendly ship we can contact, but remember, Admiral Mbande's staff is directing the rescue operation, you're just coordinating for them."
"Da, moy Kapitain," Garo replied stoically. He had been quieter ever since the incident on Altrea.
"Lieutenant Abargil, until our fighters are launched, let Tactical worry about where the enemy is. I want you to set a new record for emptying the launch bays."
Abargil's brow was already furrowed with worry, but he nodded. "Understood. Priority launch."
"Lieutenant Sertos, I'll expect you to-"
"Turn and burn, Captain!" Reda interrupted exuberantly. "I'll put us in a high thrust evasion the second we defold, just to be safe!"
"Just make sure you don't disrupt the fighter launch and our fleet's formation too badly."
"If their helm operators can't keep up with this wallowing tub, they need to be replaced!"
Vanessa resisted the urge to shake her head, wondering when Reda had become so unmanageable. She moved on to Penelope.
"Ensign, your biggest priority will be fixing the position of every ship that needs to be accounted for, our own, the enemy, and Task Force Five, and find out if there's anything we weren't expecting. We may have to run a search and recovery operation while in combat. Let Commander Liem worry about what the enemy is doing."
Penelope tucked her chin stubbornly. "Yes, Captain. But if we're about to steer into another ship, or an enemy cruiser vectors in on us, you're going to hear me holler."
Vanessa half-smiled, remembering all of her willful crewmates on the SDF-1's bridge. "Of course," she said warmly, and patted Penelope's shoulder, leaving the woman to blush and stare rigidly at her monitor.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Captain?" May asked with a sardonic smile she had picked up from her husband.
"What?"
"What about your speech to the crew?"
"Why do you always assume I'm going to make a speech? I hate making speeches."
May simply gestured toward the comms station, and Vanessa turned and accepted the transmitter Garo was already holding out to her without comment.
"Attention all hands, this is the Captain," she began, her voice echoing in every corridor and compartment of the Jeanne d'Arc and reaching the ears of six thousand crew and pilots. "Every time we fold into unknown space, there is risk of battle, but today we face the near certainty of it. Many of you will be worried about the strength of the foes we face. Make no mistake, our foe is strong, and the danger is real. But remember that judging by strength alone all life on Earth should have ended ten years ago. Our mission has never been about war, conquest, or vengeance, nor is it today. We now go to defend and rescue our friends, so that our mission together can continue. You have been trained and prepared, and by now you are all veterans of combat. At whatever battle station you occupy, you are critical to our survival and success. I know that I can count on each one of you in the coming hours. That is all."
She handed the receiver back to Garo with a nod. "Proceed, Lieutenant Sertos."
"Aye, Captain!" She watched the countdown for the task force's synchronized fold tick down with rapt attention.
"All hands secure for spacefold. All hands secure for spacefold," the automated alert blared. "Initiating fold in five, four, three, two, one…"
With a wrenching sensation that twisted the stomachs of everyone on the ship, the bridge viewport blazed white, and their world split into a fuzzy, overlapping double image. The Jeanne d'Arc and its crew were waiting in the White Room again.
Next chapter… ambush, Pattern Gladius, and barrier failure…