(eng) Marko Kloos - Frontlines 04 by Chains of Command

Author:Chains of Command [Command, Chains of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

“All hands, combat stations. I repeat: all hands, combat stations. Alcubierre transition in t-minus thirty.”

After the most tedious Alcubierre trip I’ve ever had to suffer through, Task Force Rogue transitions into the Leonidas system like a pair of thieves slipping into a dark alleyway. We pop back into normal space at slow speed and under full EMCON. I’m in Portsmouth’s ops center, along with Dmitry and most of the other officers except for the pilots, who are strapped into the seats of their respective drop ships and attack boats in the hangar modules.

“Transition complete. Give me a passive sensor sweep,” Portsmouth’s skipper orders. He’s a lieutenant colonel named Boateng, a tall black man with a graying regulation haircut and a close-cropped beard. The holographic display in the middle of the room pops into life silently. The blue lozenge-shaped icon in the dead center is labeled AOE-1 PORTSMOUTH. Right next to it, so close at the current magnification scale that the icons almost seem to be touching, is the blue lozenge representing FFG-480 BERLIN, where Lieutenant Colonel Renner is undoubtedly running her own sensor sweep of the neighborhood.

We wait as the sensor arrays on Portsmouth search the area for traces of activity—optical, infrared, gamma radiation, radio waves. With every sensor sweep, I expect a cluster of nearby threats to pop up on the holotable any second—a welcoming committee of advanced frigates, or a space control cruiser, or a nuclear minefield surrounding the Alcubierre transition point. A few minutes later, however, the plot is still blank except for Portsmouth and Berlin.

“Neighborhood is clear, sir,” the tactical officer says. “No activity out to at least ten thousand klicks.”

“Keep scanning,” Lieutenant Colonel Boateng orders. “Contact Berlin on low-power near-field comms and request data link.”

“Aye, sir.”

A few moments later, the holotable updates and the scan range increases as the data link goes active and Berlin adds the feed from her superior sensor suite to the tactical situation display.

“Astrogation, let’s have a fix, please.”

Five minutes pass, then ten, without anyone springing a trap on us. The holographic orb of the tactical display remains blank except for our own two ships. Finally, Portsmouth’s skipper is satisfied that the transition point is safe for now.

“Berlin reports fuel reserves at eleven percent, sir. That’s with the emergency fuel.”

“Let’s clear the neighborhood and find a good spot to commence refueling ops,” Lieutenant Colonel Boateng says. “Another two hours in Alcubierre, and they would have run dry. I guess we found out how far a frigate can go on full deuterium stores.”

“Astrogation fix is in,” the astrogation officer says. “We are in the Leonidas system, two hundred million klicks from the parent star and just outside the debris disk.”

“1MC line,” the skipper orders, and picks up the handset.

“1MC open, sir.”

“Attention, all hands,” Lieutenant Colonel Boateng announces. “Welcome to the Leonidas system. We are still alive, and will remain so for the immediate future. Helmets off, but keep ’em close. Replenishment personnel, stand by for transfer operations.”

Next to the skipper, Major Masoud releases the seals for his own helmet and pulls it off his head, and I do likewise.

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