Ashes of Glory

[Manticore]

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“Confirmed, sir. That’s our target.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” Captain James Lambert nodded to the woman hunched over the scanner before turning to the ship’s helm. “Ensign Terrell, take us in.”

There was a slight shudder under his feet as Fearless’s cruise engines lit off and the gunboat jumped forward towards her quarry.

“We’re closing, sir. Eight klicks out.” A tinge of nerves colored Lieutenant Hood’s voice.

“Hold,” Lambert responded.

“Four klicks now.”

“Kill the cloak. Guns up!”

The bridge burst into action as Fearless suddenly appeared into what had previously been another blank patch of space. Their target, a plain-looking Civilian Gunboat, immediately turned and attempted to flee.

“Kill the engine. Fire disruptor.” Lambert’s order was instantly followed by Ensign Joiner, Fearless’s tactical officer. Lambert watched the white streak of a disruptor missile race away through the fore viewscreen.

“Two klicks out!” Hood cried as they entered weapons range.

“Draw your bead, Guns.”

“He’s in my sights, sir!” Joiner responded.

“Hit him.”

Lambert could just see the target now with his naked eye, and streams of blue fire began to streak towards it as Fearless continued to close on a ballistic trajectory. The enemy gunboat’s shields flashed as it suffered hits from Fearless’s barrage.

He turned away from the view and nodded to Commander Carmen, his executive officer.

She flicked on a small microphone mounted on her ear. “Romeo Actual, Sierra Actual - go, go, go!”

Two new targets suddenly appeared on the master plot, racing away from Fearless and towards the target under their own power. These were Shrikes, the Liberty Navy’s newest breed of small assault shuttles. Each crammed a team of fifteen marines aboard and could rocket across a short distance of space in short time thanks to their old-school solid fuel rocket engines.

The pair of Shrikes entered the final stage of their attack run, and some last-minute defensive fire from the enemy ship missed wildly. Most Sirians weren’t used to ships that could move this quickly - a Shrikes could easily beat a Liberator in a dead sprint.

Seconds later, they intersected with the angry red shape of the enemy ship on the plot and disappeared. Lambert turned back to Carmen, who listened into her headset for a moment, then nodded. “Romeo and Sierra have solid seals, sir. Cutting through now.”

“Very good,” he said, then turned back to the rest of the bridge. “Tactical Plan Able is in effect.”

They started their work immediately, and Lambert watched the main plot as Fearless returned to main engine power and dropped back to about two klicks behind the fleeing enemy gunboat, safely out of weapons range but still well inside disruptor range.

Lambert reached a hand into the pocket of his service khakis and drew out a small earpiece, reaching up to affix it to his ear. Immediately he could hear the chatter of the marine units on their general frequency.

The Shrikes were flown by computers and the place on the bow where a cockpit would usually sit was instead a flattened boarding apparatus. It would seal itself to the hull of the target ship and cut through the hull with laser drills until a sufficiently-sized opening was created. From there, the Shrike’s human cargo could easily manage a boarding action.

The marines were executing this now, with the fluid precision of a group of experts that has worked together for a long time. As well they should, for these were two of MARSOC’s finest Marine Special Operations Teams. Lambert listened as they breached the hull of the gunboat, meeting no initial resistance. Both marine units spread out and moved towards the bridge from different angles, taking care of the sparse resistance they came across. They made impressive time through the ship’s corridors, Lambert noted.

The voices grew slightly more frantic and there was stronger gunfire in the background when they breached the ship’s bridge, however. The firefight was furious but short-lived - Lambert knew the marines’ combat suits and superior firepower would have overwhelmed the opposition.

Major Wells, overall commander of the marine units, was the one to give the sitrep. “Fearless Actual, this is Romeo Actual.”

“Go ahead, Romeo Actual.”

“We apprehended an Outcast matching the target’s description on the bridge. New orders, sir?”

Lambert let out a slow breath of relief. This hadn’t been a waste of time, after all. “Do you have control of the ship?”

“Affirmative.”

“Form it up on us. We’re going home.”

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