Chapter 7

On our screens, radar and video, a sleek, black warship came into view. In a cloud of smaller radar returns, fighter craft surrounded the Revenge and started spreading out around Mosley.

The Queen Anne’s Revenge was a medium sized destroyer type impulse drive ship. I had seen ships like it in active service with the fleet, after the conflict with Mars. They were a dated design now, but not that dated. I had to wonder where these pirates had obtained such a dangerous ship.

And dangerous it was. It boasted 10 magnetic launch torpedo tubes, fore and aft. Plus, MIRV capable launch missile tubes along the centerline, Both above and below. In all they could launch 10 missiles with 10 MIRV’s each. These folks could launch 100 independent missiles at once. who knows how many of those would be atomics.

And as far as the torpedo tubes, the standard cycling was 5 minutes. They could launch 20 torpedoes every 5 minutes. And if they ran to the standard FN compliment, they would have 5 reloads per tube. 100 independent missiles, plus 100 torpedoes’, any number of which could be set to an autonomous search and destroy function. Which with standard Friend or Foe radio identification would raise seven kinds of hell on an attacking force. Or a poorly armed and undefended space station.

Following the Revenge were 3 boxy launch and recovery barges. The standard compliment for these was 100 fighters. That meant that at least 300 fighters were out there. The troop barges would be further out, waiting for a secure docking, or a combat docking if that was needed.

I had never piloted a fighter. I could, but I lacked the fast responses needed for such a maneuverable craft. The ship was little different from an ore carrier, just smaller. My ship ‘Nome Adventurer’ used the same controls and powerplant. That’s why I say I could pilot a fighter. The difference was in the mass. My ore carrier was large, bulky and basically a tow truck. It was also designed for long term independent flight. I could, and have, spent a month in open space with no worries. A fighter however was light weight. It massed about half what my ore carrier weighed in at. That made it maneuverable as all get out. Where a fighter could and frequently did turn on the proverbial dime. My ‘Nome Adventurer’ required twice the space and time to get there.

But fighters had limited legs. They sacrificed mass in the form of fuel capacity and cargo space. Fighters also had no O2 capacity. The pilots had to rely on what they had in their suits. Which were not comfortable in the first place. A suit leak in the confined space of a fighter command seat was basically a death sentence. Where my ore carrier could spend several months in space, the standard fighter was limited to hours. Which quickly dwindled to minutes when in combat.

Most of the mass they saved was used in armament. They carried a Gatling rail gun. A half-pound depleted uranium slug hitting you at Mach 10 speeds will really mess up your day.

But all of this wasn’t of any concern to me. We had no intention of starting an unwinnable shooting war. But I did like seeing all those thirsty thoroughbreds gulping fuel like it there was no tomorrow.

I was also interested in their troop carriers. I knew they were out there, just outside our sensor range. What I wanted to know was how many of them were there. Each troop carrier averaged 500 combat troops. And in the FN the standard was 1 hospital ship to every 3 troop carriers. My interest was in how much fuel was being used up. I wanted all of them bone dry when they docked. I wanted them so dry that even security fighter flights would be out of the question.

Right now, it was a waiting game.

There was, however one thing that would cause the whole thing to blow up in my face. That would be the appearance of a tanker. Even one tanker would give these guys an escape. My whole game plan would have to change. We would be forced to go on the offensive, just to take that tanker out. And we didn’t have the ability to do that.

I had spent a lot of time considering my response to the pirate’s communication. At the time I was unaware of the attacking ships name. There was no information available. The records for other attacks had very little details. That is if you didn’t include the clean-up reports. As soon as I reached Cheyenne Mountain, I broadcast my answer, “Queen Anne’s Revenge, we stand at your mercy. Mosley station wishes no conflict with you and surrenders completely. We have very little weaponry and what we do have has been disabled. Be assured that your approach and docking will be uncontested. Mosley Station declares itself an open station.”

My comments went unanswered.

When The pirates docked, the remaining holdouts from the Station council were standing by at the airlock to meet them.

These were the diehards. The ones that refused to believe that there was a threat. And now that the pirates had arrived, they thought that diplomacy, and maybe bribery, could save them. After all, they had to be reasonable people, Right? During our preparations, I had made sure that they were totally isolated from any and all information. In fact, I had planted several different false leads among them. I had no confidence that any of them would keep quiet about our plans.