Paul shook his head to clear it, feeling slightly stunned by the press of events and the recent chaotic movements of ships in the small area around the asteroid. 'Yeah, Senior Chief.'
'Sir, there's two main pieces of the Smith heading outward. If there's still any survivors, they'd most likely be on one of them.'
Paul eyed the symbols the chief had highlighted, taking long moments to comprehend why she'd emphasized the point. Then the reason finally came clear. He glanced at Commander Garcia, who was watching the situation on the asteroid's surface with a sort of horrified fascination and seemed unaware that Imari had spoken. 'Thanks, Senior Chief. Bridge, this is Combat. We have two primary pieces of wreckage from the Smith headed away from us. They may hold any survivors.'
Hard to say how the information would be received, given everything else the captain and the rest of the bridge crew had to worry about right now. The maneuvering thrusters punched a couple more times, jarring Paul and countering an attempt by the Gilgamesh to clear its line of fire to the asteroid.
The commonplace sound of a bosun pipe shrilled across the general announcing system. 'Gig crew to the gig, on the double.'
Paul grinned and gave Senior Chief Imari a thumbs-up. There wasn't any doubt that the gig would be sent out to try to catch those big pieces of wreckage and see if there was anyone left alive on them. But his elation faded as he took another look at the combat display. The Russians and Southern Africans hadn't moved, holding their positions as the situation swirled around them. Both the Alsace and the Middle Kingdom were finally sliding in between the SASAL ships and the asteroid, further limiting the ability of both the Gilgamesh and the Saladin to fire or maneuver. Paul almost shuddered as he saw how close the other ships were now. If somebody zigged when they were supposed to zag, there'd be a collision for certain.
The combined obstacles of the Michaelson, the two Euro ships and the Han Chinese had finally brought a halt to the SASAL firing on the asteroid, but the temporary structures Paul had spent so many long hours watching had all been shattered and breached. The Michaelson 's own sensors and the data links to the police teams couldn't tell him how many had been destroyed by the SASAL ships and how many by ground fighting or the suicide attacks the fanatics had threatened. Dammit. Most of those people must be dead. Dammit. We were here to stop something like this from happening and we couldn't.
Paul blinked as the last traces of action calmed with amazing quickness. One moment the situation was a swirl of action, with weapons firing and ships moving too close too fast, the next the weapons had fallen silent, the ships had settled into new positions that might be too close but were nonetheless almost stationary relative to each other, and even the battle symbols on the asteroid had dwindled to nothing.
It almost felt peaceful. Except for the scattered wreckage of the Smith tumbling outward. Except for the venting of gases still taking place at a few sites on the asteroid where wrecked and probably lifeless structures now littered the bare rock. Except for the smoldering anger and sense of futility Paul felt as he watched the SASAL ships pivot under the push of their thrusters and begin accelerating away from the asteroid.
'Secure from General Quarters. Set Readiness Condition One Alpha.'
There was still so much to do. Support the cops. Coordinate moving the Michaelson and the other warships further out from the asteroid again. See if they could help anybody, somehow. Paul looked around, his head aching and fuzzy with fatigue, as he heard reveille being sounded. Have I been in Combat that long?
Senior Chief Imari yawned, rubbing her face. 'I need a drink,' she announced.
Paul managed a smile. 'Coffee? Yeah, me, too.'
'I didn't mean coffee, sir. Not after tonight. But it'll have to do, won't it? It's times like this I wish I was on the Brit ship with a fully stocked bar.'
One of the operations specialists was sent to get coffee from the mess decks. When he returned, the sailor also carried a carton of battle rations. Paul and his sailors studied the food dubiously. They were all hungry, but if ordinary Navy food could be atrocious, battle rations could be inedible. In the end, Paul cautiously nibbled on some sort of food bar, which seemed fairly tasteless, and drank his coffee gratefully.
Officer's call was held that morning in a corner of Combat. From the way he glared at his division officers, Commander Garcia's anger from the night before didn't seemed to have diminished much. 'For those of you who haven't heard, the cops have recovered seven members of the cult alive. Everybody else they've found so far is dead.'
Paul tried not to openly flinch at the news.
Garcia paused, glowering down at his data pad. 'The entire crew of the Smith is confirmed dead. Our gig found no survivors on the wreckage. Neither did the Alsace 's gig.' He looked up again, his expression seeming to blame Paul and the others for the bad news. 'The cops are securing what's left of the structures on the asteroid. We're to return to Franklin.'
Only Ensign Taylor had the nerve to ask the inevitable question. 'Have the cops found any heavy propulsion devices? Anything that those people could've used to kick that rock toward Earth?'
Garcia's face shaded a little redder. 'No.'
Taylor grimaced and nodded.
Garcia shook his own head, his mouth tight, then turned and left. Commander Moraine left with him, her expression an odd mix of relief and dread.
Taylor, Paul and Kris Denaldo exchanged glances. Finally, Taylor shook her head. 'Some days this job really sucks.'
Paul nodded in agreement. 'Yeah.'
'We did our best,' Kris insisted. 'We did everything we could.'
'Yeah. Everything we could do just wasn't good enough, though,' Taylor observed. 'Well, boys and girls, it's been real fun talking with you but I need to see my division and pass on the happy news. See ya.'
Kris watched her go, then looked at Paul. 'Yeah, let our sailors know what happened despite our best efforts. Then what do we do?'
Paul shrugged, too weary to think anymore. 'You heard Garcia. We go home.' Part of him knew that should be good news, but the rest of him was too numb to care.
Chapter Three
The chartered freighter Prometheus Rising arrived near the asteroid that afternoon. Paul was on watch again on the bridge when the Prometheus 's captain called the Michaelson. Paul, not being a fool despite operating on hardly any sleep for the past couple of days, immediately called Captain Hayes.
Hayes came onto the bridge, looking as tired as Paul felt and in a lot worse humor. The bosun mate of the watch was still crying 'Captain's on the bridge' when Hayes pulled himself into the captain's chair and glared at Paul and Val Isakov. 'What the hell does that merchant captain want?'
Val Isakov looked at Paul, who faced the captain. 'Sir, he said he needed to talk to you. He's standing by on frequency channel eight.'
'Great.' Hayes glowered at the displays before him for a moment, then reached to punch the controls. ' Prometheus Rising, this is Captain Hayes of the USS Michaelson.'
The captain of the Prometheus had a Midwestern American twang to his voice and the casual manner of a civilian. 'Hey, thanks for calling back. My passengers wanted me to talk to you about helping them out.'
'Passengers?'
'Yeah. I'm carrying forty US citizens.'
At that news, Captain Hayes got a 'why me?' expression his face. 'What are they doing here and what do they want from me?'
'Well, they're, uh, here to, uh, sort of protest against you guys.'
'What?'
'Maybe I didn't say that right. They're with a couple of church groups. Mainline stuff, none of the cult outfits. They were coming to try to intercede here. Try to, you know, get this resolved without any loss of life.'
Paul couldn't read Captain Hayes's expression, but the captain's voice didn't betray the frustration he surely felt. 'I'm afraid they're a little late.'
