HMSS Broadside Day 322: Choke Hold

Personal Journal — Serene Falk

Captain, HMSS Broadside

Mission Parameter: Hunting Ghosts

Classification: SECRET — Captain’s Eyes Only

It is always surprising how adrenaline and constant repetition can change the way a ship responds. Because in its simplest form a warship is a union of humanity and machine. Both attempting to operate in the closest harmony possible.

And the Broadside was proving that point as Flight announced our Battle station status, a full eleven seconds faster than our previous average.

Eleven seconds might not sound like much.

But in combat, eleven seconds is the difference between life and death.

As the first strike is usually the hardest and it is best delivered when your enemy is not expecting it. But the Broadside was ready.

Only as the Broadside wheeled away from the Hood with her engines screaming. And although we were prepared.

I had a problem.

Because I was the only person who had seen behind the Hood’s convincing illusion of normality. I was the only person who knew with absolute certainty that we were not fighting our own people.

It was true, the rest of my crew had now seen the evidence, when the Hood had gone weapons-hot. But would that be enough for them to fire upon one of our own ships under my orders?

As the two great ships started the dance.

Flight moved us through a succession of combat patterns, attempting to out manoeuvre the Hood. And as each pattern and counter pattern were seamlessly applied we were bodily thrown us against our gravity restraints. Across the bridge, it was easy to tell the white faced recruits as they clung for dear life to their seats. Some had their eyes closed against the G force turns, some where silently praying. Whilst those like me that had seen this all before, were counting patterns.

“Flight, how many patterns in are we?”

The ship shuddered through another violent course change.

“That was number seven, Captain.”

Which meant we were approaching the active-fire threshold. Or in layman’s terms, when the firing started.

Why Seven ?

Years of experience has taught us and the fleet that there is only one reason the active threshold is crossed. A change in the status quo between the two opposing forces. As a change indicates an opportunity, and an opportunity gives you a tactical advantage. And any advantage, regardless of how slim it is can make the difference.

Because combat is nothing like you see in the movies.

Most engagements are about patience and positioning yourself, your troops or your ship where you have the greatest advantage.

Out here in the deep black, that principle was gospel.

And to underline that point, out here there is no supply chain, or refit station.

And victory might ultimately depend upon how many munitions a ship had left in its armoury or how much energy it could still expend.

Both were finite.

Out here, you conserved your ammunition.

You conserved your power.

And you waited.

As the Broadside lurched sideways again, I reached for a phrase from history, one I had used many times before to reinforce that point.

“Put your trust in God, my boys and keep your powder dry.”

To which the bridge crew answered as one.

"Aye Captain"

Looking towards Weps I silently mouthed two words.

Get ready.

To my surprise, I received a curt nod and a smile from a Martian.

That was a first.

I was still smiling at the thought of a Martian displaying any kind of emotion when the status quo shattered like a cocktail glass striking a tiled floor.

Alarms erupted across the bridge.

Flight’s voice cut through them.

“Captain, another ship has just dropped into Standard Space two hundred and fifty kilometres off our stern.”

Every eye turned towards Flight.

“Is it transmitting a SID?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Flight studied the ship identification data.

“According to the encrypted signal, it’s…”

The officer hesitated.

“It’s the Exeter.”

Before I could respond, Weps interrupted.

“And she’s coming in weapons-hot, Captain.”

Two ships.

Working together.

It was the classic fore-and-aft choke hold.

If completed, the manoeuvre would allow the Hood and Exeter to destroy our primary weapons and engines in a single coordinated strike.

Then things would become truly unpleasant.

They could take their time pulling us apart with their rail guns.

Or they could board us.

I slammed my fist against the console, furious with myself for failing to see the obvious trap.

“That’s why the Hood has been playing peekaboo with us. She was waiting for the Exeter to flank us.”

Experience told me we had less than two minutes to break the choke hold.

That was how long the Exeter would need to reach the optimum firing position and neatly castrate the Broadside.

“Options, people.”

I looked around the bridge.

“And I need them now.”

As a rule, unlike some crews I have encountered. The crew of the Broadside for whatever reason, have always felt at liberty to speak their minds and never hold back when asked a question.

But this time, the bridge remained silent.

That silence a testament to the reality of our situation.

As a properly executed choke hold was almost impossible to escape. If you played it by the book.

Then the answer had to be off-book.

Somewhere beyond the pages of the Fleet Manual.

“Come on. Let’s get creative.”

Gunny, one of the Weps team, spoke hesitantly.

“Captain, didn’t the Exeter just enter through an unmapped singularity?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t we leave through the same one?”

“Gunny, I could kiss you.”

Several heads turned.

“Let’s work the problem, people. Get us out of this choke.”

Within thirty seconds, Flight had programmed X-ray Four Theta.

An off-book combat pattern known only to the Broadside. Called after my predecessor Dawn Parker, and aptly named Parker’s Pirouette.

We had never found a practical use for this pattern as it was pure ballet.

But that was precisely why it might work.

No one would recognise it.

According to Flight, its final exit vector would take us behind the incoming Exeter and directly into the singularity through which she had arrived.

Assuming we were not shot to pieces in the process.

Still locked into our seats, we believed we had already experienced the worst roller coaster ride the Broadside could inflict upon us.

We were wrong.

And as the fusion drives thundered to full power.

Parker’s Pirouette flipped the Broadside through one hundred and eighty degrees horizontally. Then she rolled forty-five degrees vertically, placing us into a perfect backward arc over the Exeter.

As a backdrop the Singularity Generator began to rumble.

Its deep vibration traveling through the ship as it formed the transit bubble we would need to cross the singularity.

Then the impact alarms flared.

Weps spoke the words no captain ever wants to hear.

“Incoming, Captain.”

The tactical display filled with hostile contacts.

“Multiple bogies.”

Then Broadside folded into the singularity.

And we entered the Eye. An old historical term, originally used to describe the absolute stillness found at the centre of a storm.

Inside the Eye, time has no reference.

Therefore, it has no accurate measure.

The mind still attempts to fabricate what it considers an appropriate transit interval, usually based upon the distance it believes it is travelling.

But we had no idea where this singularity would take us.

There was no distance to measure.

No destination against which to calculate our journey.

So when the rush of real time returned without warning.

As the Broadside left the Eye and folded back into Standard Space.

It took some of the less experienced crew valuable seconds to focus.

Fortunately though there were some of us that new how to handle the jolt back to reality

“Flight, damage status. Were we hit?”

“Negative, Captain. We were already inside the transit bubble.”

But we were not out of the fire yet.

The Hood and Exeter would be close behind us.

What we needed was to find another jump point before they arrived.

As it is virtually impossible to track a ship through a singularity unless you can mark its entry point.

Which was why, when Flight found another viable jump, we took it.

Ignoring the fact that its probable exit point lay completely beyond the charts in a region navigators referred to simply as Dark Space.

The Broadside folded again.

When we returned to Standard Space, Flight gave us the news we desperately needed.

“Clear sky, Captain. Nothing on close- or long-range sensors.”

Flight checked the auxiliary display.

“We’re waiting for Aux NavCon to calculate our real-time position.”

With everything that had happened, I had failed to notice that Clyde had joined Bonnie in becoming completely unresponsive.

Flight had noticed.

During the final stages of our escape, she had seamlessly transferred navigation to the auxiliary NavCon unit. It was functional, but it was little more than a glorified star chart compared with a fully sentient AI.

When the auxiliary system finally produced its report, it appeared we had achieved another first. As the Broadside was now officially farther beyond navigable space than any recorded Fleet vessel had ever travelled.

As the adrenaline began to recede, a collective sigh moved across the bridge.

Everyone released the breath they had been holding for four minutes and thirty-six seconds. The engagement time measured from the moment the Hood had gone weapons-hot.

As stations throughout the ship began reporting in.

It became evident that Broadside was in surprisingly good condition, except for the bio-farms, where a substantial clean-up operation was already underway.

And releasing my harness, I stood.

There is an important adage in the military handbook concerning small victories.

Celebrate them.

I began to applaud.

"Job well done people"

And one by one, the bridge crew joined me.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that after twenty-eight hours in the command seat, those of us who had stayed the course might finally get some sleep.

For a brief moment the crew relaxed, thinking like me that we had come through the last twenty eight hours without a scratch.

That was until Clyde started screaming.

Unrecoverable data.

Corrupt data 317 -318 00000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000110100010001001XXXXXX100011001000100100000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000110100010001001XXXXXX100011001000100100000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000

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About the Author

HMSS Broadside is created, authored, edited and published by Rob Frankson. Artificial intelligence is used to assist with research, initial drafting and supporting imagery. All articles are reviewed and, edited by Rob Frankson before publication. The opinions, editorial position and final decision to publish remain the author's.