Dark Echoes - Part 21

Four bright white torpedo warheads shot from the torpedo launchers simultaneously in sequence, exploding onto the dreadnought’s port-ventral hull with surgical precision as Wilson adjusted the helm controls to veer Odyssey to port, rolling slightly and quickly accelerating the ship to full sublight. Multiple directed bolts of lightning narrowly missed scathing Odyssey’s hull as Sandberg selected new targets on the dreadnought.

“The Valiant is coming along their starboard quarter hard on an attack run!” Jones declared.

Smith nodded, “Hold our course, Helm! Sandberg: maintain firing pattern! Find a way to get through their defensive grid!”

“Aye!” The target is a dreadnought! Sandberg thought, amid a hull shudder.

“DANG close call!” Jones declared sharply. “They’re trying to get a weapon lock through the stealth field!”

“Wilson, keep the ship steady!” Smith commanded amid a flurry of precise evasive maneuvers already underway.

“Trying! Keep the stealth system online, Connors!”

“You got it!” Easier said than done. Even a near-miss made the power levels jump around on her screen—it was like sitting in your car, feeling the jolt of a stiff breeze from a lane full of fast cars passing by on a busy road, except the dashboard readings seemingly randomized with each jolt. Connors had to adjust the power settings with each jolt.

Wilson started a barrel roll over the target’s dorsal hull as Sandberg fired another overpowered volley of pulsating particle fire—each bolt pummeled its target with unmistakable precision, the impact from the explosions caused the bridge to shudder sharply. The crew braced for stability; Sandberg immediately reloaded for another volley and fired. Odyssey only had a few more torpedoes left—the tactical scans of the target suggested the damage to its defensive matrix were optimistically infinitesimal. Worse, its defensive matrix was regenerating rapidly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and recharged the weapons amid another sharp series of evasive maneuvers. The Valiant had fired a thundering, booming volley of torpedoes and particle fire along the dreadnought’s bow, barrel-rolling under the target’s ventral side.

What’s it gonna take? Sandberg asked himself doubtfully, but kept to himself, bracing against another abrupt hull shudder. Another close call. This one was twice as close as before.

Jones announced the Valiant took a direct hit to their dorsal matrix by three directed lightning bolts. The impact lit up Valiant’s dorsal shield matrix so brightly the effect was like reflecting sunlight off a small mirror from a distance on a clear day—Valiant was knocked off course; their helmsman was already working on correcting for the impact. Lucky shot, Sandberg thought sharply, clenching his jaws in revenge as Odyssey came about abruptly, the target was quickly centered in the viewscreen, firing another particle volley—the target’s dorsal defensive matrix flickered abruptly—quickly followed by another four-warhead volley. . . He wiped his forehead again, realizing they only had one more volley left.

The hull shuddered multiple times in rapid succession as the viewscreen strobed with the blinding flares of countless bolts of directed red-orange lightning, each shot missing the hull by a few feet.

“Wilson, keep us at least then-thousand-kilometers from the dreadnought, or they’re going to find us!” Jones shouted sharply to Wilson.

“Got it!”

“Connors! The away team?” Smith asked over the loud booms of numerous near-misses.

“Valiant reports they’re drawing the dreadnought’s fire!” Hayes declared.

“Almost!” There was a good lock, but their defensive matrix was still too strong to get them back, she gasped, bracing with the rest of the crew against another hull shudder. Maybe one more volley would be enough? She wondered silently. 

*****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

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Dark Echoes - Part 20

“Status of the Valiant?” Smith asked Jones sharply.

Jones read her screen in seconds, pushing her reading comprehension to its limits, then turned sharply in her seat, “Online—powering-up!”

“Confirmed!” Hayes declared, listening to the encrypted comm-chatter coming through on the communications array.

“Weapons locked-on-target!” Sandberg declared confidently.

Smith turned in the center seat, “Coordinate tactical data with the Valiant!” Facing forward, “Standby attack pattern Bravo-One-Six-Eight. Keep the dreadnought on our bow as much as you can,”

“Aye!” Wilson responded directly, his hands hovering over the controls, ready to execute.

“Valiant reports ‘mission-ready’ status, sir,” Hayes reported.

“The away team?” Smith asked Jones and Connors.

Connors immediately re-evaluated the data on her screen, then reported, “I’ve still got a lock on them—no life signs yet from Captain Winter,”

Dang it, Smith thought, “Standby to phase them back on my command,”

Connors nodded, “Yes, sir,”

Smith turned to Jones, “What’s wrong?”

Jones’ turned her head, “Something’s definitely going on over there. The readings are too sporadic because of all of the shielding around that ship! Looks like a possible firefight!”

“I’ve got a lock on the away team, but I won’t be able to get them out with all the shielding around them!”

Smith faced forward, glaring at the behemoth of a ship above them and just ahead of them. His gut told him it’s going to take a real wallop to even slow that sucker down. . .maybe with the Valiant’s help they might have a chance. He recalled his review of the brief the Captain saw. Basically, they were facing a politician with extensive military connections within a sort of military ‘black market’ of sorts—pretty much mercenaries from everywhere that’s anywhere with military discharge records, or just ‘records’, that would make any otherwise honorable serviceman or woman cringe, willing to back any agenda with a ‘notable’ payoff. These weren’t the typical hired guns that worked under the usual ‘half now, half later’ bull story. They were more like pirates, but with a disturbingly coherent code of loyalty to those they worked for. That was probably because the disreputable ‘private security’ work they sought out for whatever yuck reason or motive they had was becoming increasingly hard to come by in a growing, flourishing democracy. Not that private security was a bad thing, in general, but in the context of the crew of that dreadnought. . . The thing that disturbed Smith, especially, was the fact that these ‘pirates’, ‘mercenaries’, whatever—his attempts to distinguish the otherwise synonymous terms was accompanied by a sharp, intermittent throbbing needle-like poking pain in the back of his head—were all known to the Intelligence community as being highly versed in special operations tactics and strategy. This fact made Smith’s spine tingle coldly. The only consolation was the fact that the dreadnought wasn’t able to hide under stealth, at least not at least as easily as Odyssey, and not apparently as effectively, or for as long. He found himself focusing his thoughts on how he could use those tactical facts to their advantage. . .nothing immediately came to mind, but he kept mulling the thought over in the back of his mind. With that, the sharp pain stopped, but that do anything for his sudden-onset anxiety.

“The dreadnought’s accelerating!” Hayes declared alarmed. “They’re increasing their scan frequency and intensity! Looks like they’re trying to find a target to get another weapons lock! I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to stay hidden under stealth for much longer, especially if their scan beam frequency keeps increasing, Commander!” She held back her opinion that they’d be sitting ducks before long—

Hayes’ screen flashed thrice, an inbound communications alert sounding, “Valiant reports standing by to engage the dreadnought!” Hayes reported.

Then this is where we make our stand, Smith decided. “Hayes: standby to relay orders to the Valiant,” Smith took a deep breath, leaning back in the center seat, “Connors, get ready to pull the away team outta there as soon as you have a window. All hands, all ships: initiate attack pattern—all weapons: fire!” 

*****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

Make sure to check out our official website, like and follow the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page and @StormteamS, and @JordanFoutin for the latest! 

Make sure to buy your copy of STORMTEAM, available on Amazon.com in Kindle eBook, softcover, and audiobook! Also available at these fine retailers:

Smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

Apple iBooks

Barnesandnoble.com 

Scribd.com 

Kobo.com

Blio.com 

Thank you, and happy reading! 

Dark Echoes - Part 19

They’re acting like they’re almost ignoring us, Wilson noted, watching as the sublight engines heat up as fast as a kitchen’s electric stove—and the coolant levels were dropping at about the same speed. Shoot. Are we gonna shoot at them, or what? He wondered in silence.

Hold on, Away Team! Smith thought to himself, glaring at the sensors’ computer screen. “Are we getting any bio readings from the away team?”

Jones read the data on her screen, then looked up and replied, “All but the captain,”

OH, SHOOT! Smith thought in shock, but seemed to be hiding it well enough for the crew not to notice, he reasoned. Anything happens to the Captain, I’m screwed.

“Find us a way through their defensive matrix, Jones,” Smith commanded quietly.

Jones gasped, “Aye, sir,” this was going to be a fun nut to crack, Jones mused, watching the away team’s life signs fluctuate—it was like they were running a marathon, but they kept alternating between running and walking fast. . . Jones figured they were probably trying to avoid being seen, which would be an anxious process—or they’ve been seen, and they’re under fire. If that’s the case, they’re doing a pretty good job of keeping their cool. . . The readings changed again—oh crap. Her heart sank.

“Commander Smith!” Jorgensen called from the engineering compartment. He got Smith’s attention sharply.

“What is it?” Smith asked.

“The Valiant is back online. They should have fully-mission-ready in about two minutes,”

Hayes turned around and declared, “Confirmed!”

Smith looked at the viewscreen, “Connors—standby to bring our people back,” If we can get through that thing’s defensive matrix, that is. . .but there was still the question of whether or not a confrontation would be enough—maybe with the Valiant, we might have a chance to disable that thing. But then there was the question of what to do with it and its crew. . .? His first thought was to arrest their captain, and then force him to order the mother ship to stand down. That would require the successful disabling of the mother ship—easier said than done, and the odds weren’t strictly in their favor—then capturing their captain. . .?

“Hayes! Send a message to the Valiant—tell them to standby to engage the mother ship,”

Hayes acknowledged the order.

Smith decided Odyssey was to maintain red alert—let’s do this.

“Mr. Sandberg: put all weapons on standby. When I give the order—hit ‘em with everything we’ve got.”

Sandberg nodded, immediately arming every weapon Odyssey had left. 

*****

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Dark Echoes - Part 18

“Odyssey to away team, please respond,” Smith commanded directly, taking the center seat, anxiously listening to the subtle hiss of the comm link over the bridge’s speakers. He hid his anxiety well from the rest of present company.

“We’re here, Commander,” Aaen replied carefully. He sounded like was whispering loudly as though to be clear over the comm link, but quiet enough that someone didn’t hear him. “It’s dark in this part of the ship, but not entirely quiet,” Smith’s thoughts kept looping around the notion—and, frankly—the unignorable likelihood of their being discovered made his spine ache like a growing pain.

“Careful!” Aaen’s loud whisper continuing filling the bridge. “Take position there, there. .and there!”

What is going on over there? Smith wondered insatiably. Part of him wished he were a member of the away team. One more armed crew member would give them that much a better chance, but then who would command Odyssey? He told himself. His thoughts briefly shifted darkly to the crew of that mother ship. . .

“Watch it! Twelve o’clock!” Aaen said with a warning tone.

“There’s someone over there!” Another away team member declared. “SHOOT!”

“OVER THERE!” Another voice shouted, sharp, booming particle fire echoed over the comm link.

“Take out that power junction!” Aaen commanded amid increasingly intense booming particle fire. After several shots from whichever direction, the line filled with a mechanical groan, static build rapidly, and then the line became dead silent.

—OH, SHOOT. Smith through to himself. 

*****

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