The Honour of the Knights by Stephen J. Sweeney (books to read to be successful .TXT) 📕

“Grendel's Mother and Leviathan are deploying cover teams,” Liu said.

“The fighters that arrived with the frigate are looping back around on attack vectors,” O'Donnell added.

There was very little for Parks to consider now. His number one priority was to ensure that the allied forces could exit the combat zone and minimise losses.

“Target those incoming fighters and make ready to bring the jump engines on-line,” Parks ordered. “Get every spare pilot we have out there to cover our retreat. And get me Commodore Hawke!” He was determined to see the man fulfil his role in this battle.

* * *

Anthony Hawke continued to observe the scene from the safety of Ifrit, the carrier far detached from the battle that had erupted around the allied forces. From where he stood, he could see Griffin's guns blazing, firing at attacking enemy targets. He felt no sense of shame in watching.

“Captain, fighter support are asking whether or not they should engage the enemy forces,” a young man seated close to where Hawke stood asked of him.

“Tell them to hold position,” Hawke said in a flat tone.

“Sir, begging your pardon, but I think we should offer our assistance,” the man protested. “Griffin just suffered a major attack and I don't think we should be just sitting here doing nothing.”

“We wait, Lieutenant. Only one frigate has jumped into the system and we were expecting two. If we move forward now, then we could be playing straight into the enemy's hands. We have already been tricked once by Dragon and we don't want to walk into another one of their traps.”

“But, sir, if we remain here and wait for a frigate that might not even show up, then Griffin could be destroyed. I really think we should assist.”

Hawke looked at him through cold eyes. “If you question my command one more time, Mr Parsons, I will find you guilty of mutiny and have you locked in the brig. Now follow my orders and tell those fighters to remain where they are.”

“Yes, sir,” Parsons said, lowering his own eyes to his screen.

“Sir, Griffin is requesting communications,” Hawke heard.

“Put them on,” Hawke said, folding his arms and carrying a look of impatience. A holographic screen sprang up on front of him, Parks appearing on the display.

“We could use your help up here, Anthony,” Parks said earnestly. “The additional firepower will help us to withdraw all the sooner. We will need to ensure that as many vessels as possible can be accounted for, including Grendel's Mother.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Hawke said. “Moving all our forces up front could leave us even more vulnerable. As already agreed, Ifrit will hold position here, to prevent enemy forces from being able to surround us.”

“But... Are you serious?!” Parks spluttered.

“My position is clear,” Hawke said. Ahead of him, he could see small explosions dotted around Griffin, where starfighter fell and missiles connected.

Parks' face became stern. “Commodore Hawke, your commitment to this operation has been nothing short of disgraceful! You leave me with no choice but to force the chain of command - and as the senior officer in charge of this operation, I order you...”

Parks stopped talking, his holographic image turning away as someone interrupted him. The communication came to an abrupt end.

“They seem to have things under control,” Hawke said quietly, his face impassive. “Hold position,” he called to the bridge, not taking his eyes off the scene outside.

An explosion appeared towards Griffin's bow and the carrier's once-stable course began to deteriorate, many of the lights all about the ship flickering, before they extinguished altogether.

Hawke's nose was bleeding once again, but this time he did nothing about it, letting the blood trickle from his nose and drip down onto the floor of the bridge.

“Hold position,” he whispered.

XIII

— A Light in the Dark —

Parks opened his eyes to find that the bridge lay in almost complete darkness, and was filled with smoke. The events that had led him to finding himself sprawled out on the floor escaped him, and he realised that he must have blacked out for a few seconds. He noticed a man on the floor next to him, with a glazed look in his eyes. A trail of blood glistened as it trickled from his head. Parks became aware that he was staring into the face of O'Donnell, his CCMO. The man was dead. The commodore pulled himself to his feet and looked to the frontal viewport, to the continuing scenes of battle outside. He then remembered what had happened.

* * *

As Parks had spoken to Hawke, a member of the bridge crew had alerted him to a damaged Imperial fighter streaking towards them. Even in its damaged state, the pilot had been a master of his craft and had managed to guide it straight towards Griffin's launch bay, whilst evading all the carrier's attempts to bring it down. As it had disappeared from view, security cameras all about the flight deck had relayed the short, but terrible seconds that followed.

Deckhands had watched horrified as the last bursts of the fighter's cannons had eliminated what remained of the bay quadrant's already weak shielding and sped down the launch tunnel towards them. There were cries of panic from the crew and awaiting pilots, before people had fled in all directions, some attempting to take cover behind cargo containers whose contents would offer nothing but a much swifter death. A missile had detached from the bottom of the fighter, slamming into the forcefield that lay ahead. With its last obstacle overcome, and with nothing left to stop it, the Imperial fighter had slammed straight in a row of waiting TAFs, all in the process of being rearmed, where it had gone on to do the most damage.

Its unspent payload of missiles had exploded, along with its reactor. Unopposed, the blast had ripped its way across the entire deck, which - as was its nature - was stocked full of volatile equipment. The resulting chain reaction had impacted almost every area of the ship, including the bridge, the total damage being nothing short of astronomical.

* * *

Parks felt a warm flow on the side of his head. He placed his hand against his temple and, even in the half-light of the bridge, could see the blood covering his fingers. His left arm was also aching from where he had fallen on it. From the bridge's frontal viewport, he could see that the carrier was no longer aligned with the on-going battle and that the blast must have thrown them off course. The view was skewed, no longer aligned at an angle appropriate to the task.

He turned back to the bridge itself, trying to see down its length, but finding that the smoke and haze was making it almost impossible to see what was happening around him. There was a sudden loud clunking noise, the sound of emergency systems engaging, and the bridge was filled with dim lighting, allowing Parks to see the true extent of the damage: consoles sparked and smoked; people lay slumped forward in their chairs, burns all about their bodies, where equipment had exploded in front of them. Parks hoped that for their sakes they were already dead. Others were struggling to their feet, some trying to wake the unconscious and checking them for injuries.

“Talk to me, people!” Parks called, his voice a distant sound even in his own head, as he struggled to regain all his senses.

“Here, Captain,” a voice answered. It was Liu. Aside from the bruising on his face and an injured left arm, he looked none the worse for wear, more shocked than anything; though the inability to take his eyes off the dead, still form of O'Donnell was not helping.

“Stay calm, Lieutenant,” Parks urged the man, drawing his focus away from the corpse. “Are you hurt?”

“No, sir. Well, I am a little, but nothing I can't cope with, sir,” Liu managed, his eyes dropping once again to the corpse splayed out on the floor.

Parks reached out and put a hand on the man's shoulder. “I need you to stay focused and maintain order here, Ali. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, you have the bridge,” Parks said. “I have to get to the flight deck and find out what the hell's happened.”

“Yes, sir,” Liu said, managing to tear his eyes off O'Donnell.

Leaving Liu to focus on getting the bridge back to order, Parks hurried to the stairwell, limping as he went.

* * *

Estelle stumbled down the poorly-lit corridors of the carrier's lower deck, trying desperately to locate the other Knights. She had been making her way towards the flight deck when the Imperial fighter had crashed onto it, plunging the entire ship into darkness.

She had been lying on the bed vacated by Dodds, when the call for pilots had come in. She started towards the quarters' door, when a loud explosion and the rocking of the carrier knocked her off her feet and sent her tumbling backwards, causing her to strike her head against one of the metal beds. The blow had not caused any serious damage, but had left her with a headache. She was now experiencing a dull ache, that smarted with each step she took.

She had to find Dodds, Kelly, Enrique and Chaz. She had decided to head straight to the flight deck, in anticipation of finding them there. Other crew members were running and pushing past her, hurrying to deal with their own problems. As she continued her journey, she discovered an emergency door was cutting off her most direct route. She doubled back, attempting to find another way around.

“Estelle!” a desperate voice cried out to her. Along a smoky corridor, just off from the one she walked down, a woman lay on her back, buried beneath wreckage that had fallen from the ceiling. From where Estelle stood, the wreckage appeared to have trapped the woman's legs and one of her arms.

Estelle started forward to try to help.

“Be careful!” the woman shouted to Estelle as she approached.

“Andrea?!” Estelle asked, startled as she saw who it was trapped beneath the collapsed steel. She gingerly walked forward, wary of any loose sections of the roof that may not yet have fallen, as well as dangling electricals.

“Estelle, help me... No-one will stop to help me... Please,” Andrea pleaded.

Estelle looked around herself for a way to help her remove the wreckage, but could see nothing that could be of any assistance. “What happened?” she asked, kneeling down next to Andrea.

“We were heading for the bridge, the others were... walking just in front of me... The wall ahead of us exploded. I managed to grab on to something, but the others...” she started to weep.

“What happened?”

“They were spaced! I couldn't save them, Estelle! Their faces... I watched them die,” she said through the sobs. “I tried to find another way to the bridge... and then the ceiling came down on top of me... Estelle, I can't move my legs... It hurts so much...”

It had become apparent to Estelle that Andrea's legs had been crushed by the collapsed roof, and that the same fate had befallen the woman's trapped arm. She grabbed at some of the steel, trying to find a way to pry it loose. When it became clear that it was not going to budge, she moved around to try another section. She only managed to move a handful of light parts, before the heavier portions of the wreckage defeated her. Andrea watched her the whole time, coughing and sobbing. Estelle ducked down next to the woman, trying to see if there was a way to pull her out from under the mess. There was none.

“I'm going to find help,” Estelle said, standing up. “I won't be long, I promise.”

“Okay,” Andrea managed, gravely.

Estelle hurried away, darting down the corridors, looking for someone to assist her. Few paid her any attention, Estelle unable to get the words out before the person she tried to stop pushed past her, and those that did listen already had higher priorities. She wished that the others were here now. The five of them would have little trouble freeing the trapped woman. Even Enrique and Chaz would have had enough strength between them. Eventually, a man and woman followed her back to the scene.

“Andrea,” she called, returning to the trapped woman's side. “I've got help. Don't worry, we'll have you free...” She stopped talking and knelt by the curly-haired blonde, seeing her eyes open, staring straight upward, a trickle of blood running from her mouth. “Andrea?”

The woman who had followed Estelle knelt by her side and felt Andrea's neck. She then shook her head. “She's dead.”

“Help