“Another day, another disaster,” Adder groaned aloud from his seat in the cockpit of his Bobcat-class fighter. Although both ship and pilot were trained, designed and ready for war, Adder was found he was being used as an errand boy for UNSF. And with as many wrecks as there were with each passing solar cycle, there were plenty of errands to be made.
“You okay out there blue-three?” a feminine voice called out into his earpiece. “Have you found the source of the distress signal?”
“Negative Homestead,” Adder spoke into his mouthpiece, “although there are signs of an ion trail. A passing ship maybe?”
“Scanning,” the voice said. While the ‘voice at the other end of the tunnel,’ as many pilots call their flight control officer worked with her sensors and received readings Adder was sending to her about his surroundings. He was inside of an asteroid cloud of sorts, and gloriously calm one at that. He scoffed for a moment, wondering how any pilot worth half their salt could possibly crash up in here. And then he saw it.
Or heard rather, as a proximity warning went off. Adder tugged an emergency break, sending off clouds of steam to further cushion the ship’s progress until he slowed to a stop. And there it was, his target for the day. He looked around him, and realized the ship was almost completely concealed within the shadow of a small planetoid, who’s gravity seemed to be holding this asteroid field together. He had come upon the ship’s aft, and could see the large engines that showed it to be an interstellar cruiser of sorts. Probably an old Cattelena-class. The distress signal was definatly coming from this ship, he knew, yet his sensors sang to him a cacophony of beeps and whistles to let him know the game was found.
Adder wasted no time, and quickly called in his find. “Homestead, this is Blue-three, I have found the light cruiser Bressan, and am requesting a recon probe to get a closer look.”
“Copy, Blue-three. Probe in transit; please stand by,” the female voice said. Adder spent a moment at guessing which officer he may be speaking to, but gave up after a moment. With all the asteroids around him, a smooth layer of static made identifying the ‘voice’ nearly impossible. And so he took the time to relax, and take in his surroundings.
“No sense letting a good photo opportunity loose itself!” Adder said cheerfully as he switched on his on-board cameras and began shooting footage of the wreck. As the ship filmed, Adder flipped the radio transmitter on and began the necessary response to the distress call.
“Cruiser Bressan, this is Blue-three of the UNSF Hound squadron, please respond.” He waited a moment, listening close and keeping a close eye on his sensors as he awaited a response. When none came, he again sent a transmission in the cruiser’s direction. “Cruiser Bressan, this is Blue-three of the UNSF Hound squadron, please respond.” He ended his transmission and again listened closely. His fighter’s autopilot brought him along the port side of the ship, in a slow spiral that kept the cockpit constantly towards the cruiser. He sent two more transmissions, and was beginning to wonder why no one would answer when he came about on the starboard side. Here the ship looked as if it had been blasted apart. Glancing at the gravity field, Adder saw that he was now between the Bressan and the planetoid, which would have hidden this damage from view.
Perhaps “damage” was an understatement. The ship seemed to have been split open like an egg shell, and even from here, almost three-thousand yards away, Adder could see that the destruction ran along the starboard side of the ship, up to the stern, where the bridge had once been. Now there was only a blackened crater. “Homestead, this is Blue-three,” Adder’s voice held none of the cocky boredom it had before. Now it carried with it a mix of horror and awe at the sheer destruction. He had seen things like this is Earthen movies where ships of the sea were rended by bombs dropped from above.
But in space, there was no above and there was no chill water to engulf a wreckage. Adder opened his radio channel to Homestead again and called out, “Homestead, this is Blue-three. Reporting massive damage on the Bressan’s starboard and stern. Requesting an extraction team on site ASAP!”
There was a slight pause, although whether from radio traffic or shock on the flight control officer’s part, he couldn’t tell. And at the moment, he really didn’t care. “Copy, blue three. Stand by,” was all she said.
Adder’s vision was locked on his view screen as he zoomed in for a closer look. He felt his gut wrench, and has to struggle not to vomit right there in his flight seat when he realized what he was looking at. Arms, leg, even a few heads that had not burst in the vacuum of space were floating freely, in a silent and never-ending dance. After getting a hold of him self, Adder took another look. The camera mounted at the nose of his craft zoomed in on a small, blinking red light. An air lock! Adder thought to himself. Perhaps there were survivors on board!
He could wait no longer. He moved his thumb to open his channels for another transmission when the voice in his ear spoke, “Blue-three, this Joan, pilot of the shuttlecraft Garrison, do you read?” The voice was deep, and it sounded like the speaker had a frog in his throat.
“Affirmative, Joan, this is Blue-three. I’ve got a beacon set on location. Note that there may be a possibility of survivors,” Adder said this as he uploaded the footage he’d taken and sensor information into the Garrison’s computers.
“Copy that, Blue-three. We’re on location now.” And he wasn’t lying. Unlike some old science fiction movies that depicted all shuttlecraft as small and only good for transportation, the Garrison was the size of a small destroyer. It was designed for troop extraction, with several different ports that may be attached to many different ships for anything from boarding action to simple transportation. Two twin 84-mm. Auto-cannons were mounted onto the ship’s front, enabling it to punch a hole in most medium-plated ships. Adder could see the bridge of the veritable behemoth, with glass reflectively tinted to keep harmful radiation from pouring all over personal inside. Two ion-powered engines pushed the ship passed Adder’s tiny Bobcat as two smaller craft detached with a cloud of gas left over in ventilation shafts. These smaller craft began making passes over, under and through the Bressan ‘s many decks.
Adder was just getting ready to pull his fighter out of his gently orbit around the catastrophe called the Bressan when traffic began pouring into his radio receivers. He quickly tuned into and opened the command channel, and listened open-mouthed to what was being said.
“All units, this is Admiral Yulisses Marrinoff, from the carries Homestead. Recent reporting of an ion trail near a wrecked ship have been tracked to a Ferrod-class Battle cruiser. It has failed to return our hailing, and is believed to have opened fire upon and destroyed one of our own cruisers, the Bressan. I am recalling Bird, Skull and Rose squadrons to return to Homestead. Fox and Backer squadrons shall act as fighter escorts for all ships in-system that require assistance. I ask that all personal switch to their squadron leader’s signal.”
And that was it. Adder called to the shuttle Garrison, and the pilot replied a request for an escort. “Good thing we got here when we did, eh?” the pilot said as the smaller boarding craft returned and re-attached themselves gently to the shuttlecraft. “We’ve got five survivors, two in critical condition. Think you can get us safely to the carrier?”
Adder finally shook off the feelings of horror and grief. He had trained for battle, and here was his chance to prove himself. “Affirmative, Garrison. Following your lead!” Adder spoke clearly and confidently. For the first time since he had been assigned to the carrier Homestead, he finally felt at home.