“Turret destroyed. Minimal damage to the station itself,” Nguyen said. “Bringing us around for another attack run.”
“Status on the squadron?” Orson was holding tight to the armrests of his chair. He was leaning back in the seat, the gel behind him clinging to his clothes. He had abandoned the stuffy tight fighting Council uniform in favour of one of the basic flight suits tucked away in one of the Gallant’s storage lockers. He was glad he had changed, the Council uniform was uncomfortably warm, and a commander sweating profusely during a battle was hardly reassuring.
“Their attack runs were successful, minor damage only.” Nguyen was scrolling through a dozen different screens, flicking back and forth between panels filled with information. Not for the first time, Orson realised she was his secret weapon. He had once heard a joke about the best generals having the best aides, but he was slowly realising it was the truth. “Two turrets remaining on the station, both on the opposite side to us.”
Orson sighed, it meant they would have to manoeuvre around the station to fire, exposing themselves to the same weapons they were trying to destroy. Orson was thankful he was ex-air force, thinking in three dimensions was at least something he was used to doing.
“Detecting incoming jump exit, sir,” Johnson said. “It’s a patrol ship, same class as the Gallant.”
“Adjust course, use the station as cover, I want a solid shot on them once we pass it. Signal the squadron, they are to break off.” Orson squeezed the arms of his chair tighter, his knuckles turning white. The other ships were a mixture of armed transports and ageing civilian ships. They were no match for a real Council vessel, even one as small as a patrol ship. “Damn it. Time to firing?”
“Twelve seconds. Enemy patrol ship is matching our tactics. If we pop up to fire, they will get a chance to return the favour,” Nguyen said.
“Right.” Orson put his hand to his chin. “Change of plans. Slow acceleration, adjust course, put us underneath the turret we just damaged. Signal the squadron to come around and attack the patrol ship.”
“Sir?” Nguyen looked confused.
“Target the damaged section of the station. They won’t shoot at us. They’ll want to avoid hitting the facility. We, however, aren’t that picky. Fire when we have an angle.”
“Aye,” Nguyen said, nodding. She understood the plan, her fingers dancing across the controls to redirect the Gallant. It shifted in space, swinging to the left.
A beam pulsed out, smashing through the already blackened fragment of space station. It was a good shot, the beam blasting through the station’s thin armour. It hit the enemy patrol ship, fire momentarily bursting from the side before being extinguished by the vacuum. Normally the strike would have been lethal, cracking the patrol ship apart like an egg, but the force had been weakened on its trip through the station.
“Bring us around, I want us to have a firing solution on those remaining turrets, immediately.”
“Already on it, sir.” Nguyen was two steps ahead, anticipating her superior’s orders. The hit hadn’t destroyed the enemy, but they would be severely damaged. Perhaps enough for the rest of the squadron to finish off. Now they just needed to cover them as they came in to attack.
The Gallant rose from its position, emerging over the top of the station like the sun cresting the horizon. A turret began its turn to face the ship, only to be blasted apart by a shot. A second destroyed the last of the turrets, the station crippled.
The squadron swarmed around the patrol ship like wasps, the four rusty worn ships contrasting against the gleaming patrol vessel. They struck out, weapons fire pulsing, a storm of different coloured lights slamming into the side of the patrol ship. Explosions rippled across its hull, the ship finally cracking apart. A second later and it exploded, a reactor breach incinerating the fragments.
“Ready the marines to board,” Orson said. “We shouldn’t hang around here, in case more reinforcements arrive.”
“Bringing us into dock, sir,” Nguyen said.
The image hung in the air, a large impressive looking station, projected from a small tablet Orson had placed on the centre of the kitchen table. He had left the bridge under Johnson’s command whilst he attended this meeting. Around the table were the various representatives of the ships who had joined his resistance, a hodgepodge of different species.
“We can’t keep using the same tactics. They started firing immediately this time, word must be getting around about us.” Orson enlarged the image, the station looming over the table.
“It was only a matter of time, I suppose,” said a large creature covered in thick hair. It had pale blue eyes that seemed to shine like beacons in contrast to the darkness of its fur. It was wearing a heavy jacket, the fur sticking out at angles where it brushed against the cloth.
“I agree with Kalk. We have done well to get this far, Knower,” said a scaly creature. It was a radiant blue, its fingers webbed, its head mounted with long frills and spines. Like Kalk, he was one of the first to pledge their crews to Orson’s cause. His name was Laguun, but the humans of the Gallant had quickly started calling him Lagoon. A marine had shown the alien an image of the old movie monster they were referencing, and the scaled creature had embraced the name, finding it amusing.
“Exactly. We need to change it up. To go bigger.” Orson didn’t like claiming he was a messiah, but it was certainly effective. He felt guilty, that he was lying to these people, but it was the foot in the door he needed to get people to listen to him. Besides, he wasn’t the only human travelling the galaxy making that claim.
“With all due respect, Knower,” said another of the aliens sat at the table. Auris was more what Orson had expected when aliens had first arrived. She looked human aside from the pointed ears and forehead ridges. “If we were expected here, and that patrol ship was likely on standby to jump as well, shouldn’t we go back to the smaller stations? The easier targets, until we grow our numbers.”
“Normally I would agree, but the data we’ve recovered from the station has given us an incredible opportunity. One we have to seize. This is a big ask, but if we can pull it off taking comm stations will be trivial. Nguyen.” Orson nodded to his adjunct.
“This,” Nguyen said, pointing at the hologram, “is a Council repair facility. It’s an automated station designed to maintain ships in the less developed areas, ones that don’t need a full shipyard or dry dock. A ship flies in, the crew gets off and then the robots aboard the station give it a once over.”
The image rotated as Nguyen manipulated the hologram. The station displayed looked like a giant ring, the inside covered in mechanical arms. A small lump on the ring had a docking clamp, no doubt the storage chamber for the bots she had mentioned.
“And this,” Nguyen said as she flicked her wrist across the tablet. The image changed, the glowing picture of the station fading out as a new image replaced it. It was a Council battleship, a terrifying cluster of sweeping sharp edges and guns. “This is The Shield of the Valorous. It’s an older model Council battleship, mothballed in the sticks until the Substrate invaded. Intercepted transmissions from the station we just captured tell us that she wasn’t well maintained. The reactor shielding was cracked, and the radiation left only those aboard with a higher tolerance alive. She didn’t even make it past orbit.”