The Lunar Dial had no mounted weaponry. It was hard enough stopping in ports around the world as it was. The ship was registered as a luxury yacht in most of their frequented civilian destinations even though it was a customized K130 Braunschweig class corvette. Unlike most yachts, the ship had a distinct militaristic profile. Even random civilians would point to the Lunar Dial and think that it was a military ship. Trying to pull into a dock with a 76mm gun sitting on the deck, several autocannons, and a bunch of anti-ship missiles would only make things worse. Not to mention how poorly that would go over with local authorities. That wasn’t to say that they were entirely unarmed.
From the bridge, he watched as the crew assembled on deck. The primary means of countering enemy vessels was a combination of mortars and shoulder-fired missiles. Both were easily portable and, most importantly, easily hidden below deck. There were problems, however. Simple unguided munitions were nearly worthless at any kind of range at sea. Between both the target and the Lunar Dial moving and rocking with the sea’s waves, the chance of hitting something else was a million to one even for trained operators. Alice spared no expense when it came to the security of the Lunar Dial and its crew. She always wanted technology on the cutting edge. Alister frequently had to talk her down to something more affordable. Raven Defensive Systems Incorporated had wealthy bank accounts, but they wouldn’t stay like that if Alice had her way. The ship’s defense was not one of those cases. They would be sitting ducks for any one of their many enemies out on the open ocean.
So their ship-to-ship weapons were of the expensive variety. M395 Precision Guided Mortar Munitions used GPS guidance to hit their target. They still had to be aimed in the proper direction, but the projectile would take care of the rest. The missile launchers were much the same. Technically, they were anti-tank missiles, but they worked just fine so long as the enemy didn’t shoot them down.
At least, they should work. In the five years he had worked for Alice, they hadn’t actually gotten into any naval combat. Not on the Solar Dial, nor on the Lunar Dial. He hoped today would not be the first incident.
“Sir. Bearing 214, range 2560 meters. They must have some absorptive paint as they keep flickering in and out on the radar.”
Alister sighed as he picked up his binoculars. He had been hoping the radar ping had just been a phantom. Some random noise that managed to get blasted from somewhere, whether that be another ship or even some coastal noise maker. Scanning the indicated area, sure enough, there was a ship out there. Not a military ship, for which Alister breathed a sigh of relief. For all that they had decent offensive weaponry, shooting down incoming missiles was a job relegated to a pair of manually aimed miniguns. He made a mental note to figure out some way to hide some autocannons on the deck sometime soon.
While the vessel wasn’t military in design, it wasn’t something Alister recognized either. Not a freighter or fishing vessel. It actually looked a lot like the old Solar Dial. A fancy yacht. This one lacked any special logos or identifying markings on the sides. The entire thing was painted black and white. Striped at odd angled. Dazzle camouflage.
Dazzle camo was an odd sort of thing. A relic of the past, for the most part. By painting a ship with abstract stripes, it became incredibly difficult to determine its course. Radar had ruined that sort of camouflage. It didn’t care about what color the ship was. With radar absorbing paint and a hull form that deflected radio waves, perhaps there was some meaning to it in the modern era, but no proper military used it.
“It’s heading right toward us, is it?” Alister asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Alister clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Speed?”
“Matching ours at twenty knots.”
The captain stepped up beside him at the bridge’s windows, watching out with his own binoculars. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t like it. Is it just following us? Or are they maintaining their distance while they ready some weapon?”
“They are within mortar range.”
“We’re not going to bomb what could be some rich asshole’s private boat.”
“I’m just saying. They’re in range of our unconventional weaponry…”
“So we could be in their range,” Alister finished. He started humming in thought for a moment, content to watch a while longer. It was far enough away and the angle wasn’t the best, he couldn’t actually see on the yacht’s deck. That really only served to worsen his worries. “How fast can we get moving?”
The captain lowered his binoculars, looking around the windows to the front of the Lunar Dial as he scratched at the scruff on his chin. “The water’s calm today. Assuming that doesn’t change, I’d say we could get up to fifty-five knots for four, maybe five hours if we really push the engine.”
“Do it.” With any luck, the ship would fall back. Either because they couldn’t match such a high speed or because they didn’t want to give chase. Whatever the reason, Alister would feel much better if they didn’t have someone sitting on their tail.
As the captain turned back to relay other commands both to the other members of the bridge and over the intercom, Alister stepped outside. The bridge didn’t have a full three-sixty view. A radar tower sat directly behind, obscuring a fair chunk of the sea. As the captain turned the ship to head directly away from the vessel, he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on it from the bridge.
He didn’t go far. The radar was far more accurate than his own vision and he wanted to be well within earshot of the bridge crew. Still, there was merit to keeping his own eyes on it. There were ways of fooling, spoofing, or simply jamming radar. Which might be why they had the dazzle paint in the first place.
Others, especially those manning the defenses, would be keeping watch on it too. But Alister felt that someone in command should be watching as well. The sad fact was that the Lunar Dial just didn’t have the numbers to properly man the craft. A normal K130 fielded a crew of about sixty-five, give or take. They only had twenty-five, including Alice and Dorothy, neither of whom were actually around and the latter wouldn’t be of much help in any situation. Neither would Doc, for that matter. Not unless an enemy force actually got aboard the ship. Flash, Gideon, and Tatyana were all down on the deck, ready to assist with the defense. Beyond them, five were in the bridge, five down in the CIC, three were engineers more than fighters and were likely hanging around the engine room. That only left five standard crew members to properly defend, all of whom had other duties under normal circumstances.
Luckily, it looked like that might not be needed. As the Lunar Dial’s engines revved up and propelled the ship through the waters, the black and white yacht started shrinking into the horizon. He kept watching until there was only a small bit left that, for all he knew, could have been nothing more than a mirage. Lowering the binoculars, he headed back into the bridge. “Report.”
“Target maintaining twenty knots.” Walter had his hand to his ear, listening to the men down in the CIC. “No signs of acceleration.”
“Good.” He felt a little of the tension drain from his shoulders, but something still wasn’t sitting right with him. It was Alice. She had mentioned having a bad feeling. Her feelings weren’t usually wrong. “Keep us at our current speed for one hour.” No sense relaxing just yet. “If there is no sign of them after that, we’ll—”
“Sir! Three radar contacts rapidly approaching.”
The captain didn’t even wait for Alister’s orders. Alarms started blaring all throughout the ship and the captain shouted into the intercom. “Incoming missiles, bearings 184, 186, 188. Altitude—”
Alister ran out as the whir of miniguns cut through the air. Blinding white tracer rounds fired off, chasing after the three smoke trails of incoming missiles. The guns ate long belts of brass, spitting out hundreds of spent casings on the other side where they fell with a clatter across the helipad.
Gideon stood on the center of the helipad. He had a CTAR-21 assault rifle in his hands, though not aimed up toward the missiles. At this range, it would just be a waste of bullets. Flash stood closer to the mortars, unarmed aside from the rack of mortar shells strapped to his back. Tatyana was a blur of motion, sprinting across the helipad. She jumped onto the radar mast, scaling the exterior using the tiniest rivets as handholds and footholds.
The missiles were getting in close. He could actually see them with his naked eyes, if barely. They were rapidly becoming clearer and larger. Ten seconds to impact.
One stream of white-hot tracers cut through a missile. It fell from the sky in pieces without exploding, causing nothing more than tiny splashes as they hit the water.
The second exploded an instant later as the other minigun connected with it. Smoke and fire filled the sky.
The third and final missile rocketed out of the fireball, angling down in its final approach.
Alister could feel his heart hammering in his chest as one set of tracers joined the other in an attempt to shoot down the final missile. He held his breath as the stream of bullets crossed just a hair too high.
The gunners tried to correct, pulling down their fire.
It was too late. The missile was coming it. It—
A single sharp crack echoed through the air, louder even than the constant whine of the miniguns. A thundering boom rattled the ship as the missile exploded, sending the crew on the helipad diving for cover as bits of shrapnel rained down.
He breathed in, then released it as a small sigh of relief.
With one arm looped around an antenna sticking off the radar tower, Tatyana continued staring down the sight of her KSVK for several moments before slinging it onto her back. She jumped from the tower, falling several meters to the flight deck. Landing in a crouch among the debris, she turned ever so slightly. He caught the ghost of a smile on her lips before she turned and stalked off toward the end of the Lunar Dial.
Alister couldn’t help the frown the touched his lips. He did not like Tatyana. She knew he didn’t like her and he knew that she knew. Frankly, he didn’t know what she was doing aboard the ship. Especially after what she had done. Alice not only let her stay, but she let her join in on the inner circle’s meetings. Alister doubted that Tatyana really got much out of the meetings. They spoke in English and Tatyana apparently only knew Russian. Something that Alice had confirmed and Alice was usually right about those sorts of things. No one on the ship save for Tatyana spoke Russian. Perhaps that was why Alice had insisted that Dorothy join the crew, even as a temporary member. Someone could finally translate for them.
So he didn’t like the assassin. Yet, at this particular moment, he could go up and kiss her right on the lips. Even if she had just been saving herself more than trying to save anyone else, she had wound up saving the ship. He wouldn’t kiss her, of course. Alister enjoyed not being stabbed too much to get too close to the woman. It was the thought that counted.
The cloud of smoke from the final missile obscured a good deal of the sea. Enough that he couldn’t see clearly beyond. Alister headed turned back to the bridge. “Report,” he said immediately.
Walter, with one hand pressed to his earphone, turned and said, “Sir. No additional contacts. No sign of enemy vessel, it never gave chase.”
“They were trying to cripple us,” the captain said. “Once they saw us accelerate, they realized that they wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“Keep us going at our current speed. If there’s no sign of them in two hours, we can stand down.” He looked over the bridge crew. To their credit, none of them looked panicked in the slightest. Of course, they hadn’t seen how close the missile actually got. CIC had likely been reading off distances, but numbers just didn’t have the same meaning compared with seeing it in person. “I need to get down to the flight deck, ensure there are no injuries. If anything comes up… you know what to do.” So long as the captain was around, Alister really wasn’t needed in the minute to minute operating of the ship. Just the more executive decisions. And those were mostly Alice’s domain anyway.
Back out on the helipad, Alister surveyed the damage. To the ship, it looked mostly superficial. He would get the engineers up to take a look at everything later. For the moment, he was more concerned about the girl Doc was leaning over. Holly White. One of the two gunners who had shot down the first two missiles. It had been a bit chaotic toward the end, but thinking back, her minigun had been firing right up until the very last second rather than diving for cover. She hadn’t hit it—Tatyana had definitely been the one to end the final missile—but that she had been able to shoot down one was impressive enough.
Of course, Ernie had shot one down as well. He wasn’t injured at the moment, but commending both of them would be important later on. Hopefully Holly would survive until then. And well after.
Bits of shrapnel stuck out of her vest. Nothing too large. Pockmarks for the most part. One spot near her throat where the armor didn’t reach was bleeding. Another blood trail dripped down the side of her face where something had skimmed her cheek. Her goggles were cracked, but nothing had penetrated.
“How is she?”
“The trachea injury is the most serious,” Doc said. “She is breathing right now, but she may drown on her own blood if the shrapnel cut too much. It’s exceedingly close to her carotid. I need to get her to the infirmary immediately.”
As soon as she finished speaking, Gideon ran up carrying a scoop stretcher. He set it down just to the side of Holly.
“Careful not to move her head. The shrapnel is still inside. We don’t want it cutting in further or coming loose, allowing unobstructed blood flow.”
Gideon nodded, separating the sides of the stretcher. He slid it under her body, carefully closing the two halves again. Several straps had to be tightened around her before she could be moved. Especially the ones that kept her head steady. Doc leaned in close to further examine the injury as Gideon took care of tying her down. Alister kept Holly from accidentally moving on her own, quietly whispering reassurances in her ear. Once secure, he grasped the handles at her head. Gideon took the foot end. “On three?”
“Two, three.”
They hefted the stretcher up, keeping it nice and level. The ship’s infirmary wasn’t far—by design, no one wanted to climb through narrow passages and ladder shafts to get medical attention. It was right on the main level, just past the hangar. Doc followed close behind.
The infirmary was a large room. A set of bunk beds lined one wall while a pair of operating tables occupied most of the floor. Heavy lights hung from the ceiling. Cabinets, drawers, and shelves held all manner of medical equipment. From heart monitors and defibrillators to cough drops, Doc kept the place stocked with as much as possible for as many occasions as possible.
While Alister and Gideon set the stretcher down on one of the operating tables, Doc ran to the tools and started pulling them out by the fistful. Dropping a lead blanket over Holly’s face, she pulled the x-ray machine over and snapped a quick shot. Before the image had even appeared on one of the nearby computers, she shoved the tools down Holly’s throat. First was a breathing tube then some suction device that kept the blood from pooling.
Alister and Gideon stuck around, watching. Both had medical training, though Alister’s was just basic first aid. Still, they were the two most qualified people aboard to act as assistants. Doc didn’t ask for much. The occasional tool that was just out of reach or for Gideon to hold a portion of Holly’s throat open with separators.
Alice entered the room ten minutes into the surgery lacking any sort of amusement or her usual perpetual smile. She moved up to the operating table, looking over the hole in Holly’s throat without a single expression crossing her face. Anger radiated off her in almost visible waves. It was a cool sort of rage, but Alister could tell. He had known her long enough. Someone had attacked their ship and had hurt her crew. They had lost a ship before, but no one had been aboard at the time. This was an attack designed to kill.
“How is Holly?”
“Lucky,” Doc said without looking up from her work. “Her prognosis would be better if I am not interrupted.”
Nodding, Alice spun on her heel without another word and left the room.
Author’s notes:
Character Page updated.
Just a type:
“… a small bit theft that, for …”
‘theft’ should probably have been ‘left’.
Fixed! Thanks for that.
Thanks for the chapter. No obvious spelling or grammar.