Henry Gallant Saga 2: Lieutenant Henry Gallant (6 page)

Neumann nodded slowly. “It’s possible, if there’re any birds still operable.”

“There’s one.”

“It’ll take an exceptional pilot,” said the XO, looking at Gallant with unblinking eyes.

“I’m ready,” said Gallant, biting back the pain every movement cost him.

“I know you’re wounded, but I have to stay to command the ship. Even wounded, you’re the best man available.”

“I understand.”

“Carry on,” said Neumann. “And Gallant,” he added, “bring the Hummingbird back. I’m going to need it.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Gallant looked at Neumann askew.

Was Neumann sending him on what looked like a one-way mission to finally be rid of him? Or was there something else at play?
Gallant couldn’t sort out the nuances at this moment.

Leaving the bridge, Gallant made his way to engineering, leaning against the bulkhead wherever he could. He found Chief Howard and quickly explained the plan.

Chief Howard said, “The assault craft is attached to the starboard side, aft the beam of the engineering spaces. I’ll get men to move several nuclear devices there and meet you there, sir.”

Gallant was glad the chief was so efficient and understood what had to be done. He had to carefully plot a course to target using the AI navigation system to reach the optimal launch point.

When preparations were complete, Chief Howard shook Gallant’s hand. “Godspeed, Henry.”

“I’m ready,” reported Gallant, climbing into the Hummingbird and launching from the
Intrepid's
main hanger bay.

Powering his tractor beam, he began towing the Titan shuttle, now loaded with nuclear devices. As the shuttle began to move, the Hummingbird registered the drag of the heavier craft.

Gallant loved flying the single seat U-707 Hummingbird with its powerful single anti-matter fusion engine. It was an all-planets, single man utility craft designed by Mars Douglas Corporation to transport individuals and critical supplies between ships and planets. Fast and durable, but unarmed.

He considered it a thing of exquisite beauty. She was a magnificent craft, cable of covering interplanetary distances swiftly with an elegance and responsiveness making the flight a delight.

He appreciated its compact size of fifty-six feet long, twenty feet high, with a wing span of thirty feet. Fully loaded it weighed twenty-eight tons. Its potent engine consisted of one anti-proton nuclear fusion engine capable of 0.01c for short periods and 0.004c for sustained travel.

In this case, its strong tracker towing ability would be essential. It had a titanium honeycomb fuselage with a shoulder cantilever wing. The fuselage, fins, and thrusters were made of similar material and all covered by a carbon composite skin. It could detect and track spacecraft and small high-speed meteorites at great distances with unprecedented accuracy.

Gallant would have sufficient room to stand and maneuver within the cockpit, albeit with discomfort. The remainder of the craft was occupied by engines, equipment, and supplies.

He patiently worked the tiny craft as it strained to tow the larger shuttle. He watched the Hummingbird’s temperature start to climb from drawing ever greater measures of power and adjusted his speed until it declined back to acceptable limits. He tried to keep a constant acceleration to make their navigation problem as simple as possible.

He used a neural sensor interface to control the craft. The neural interface opened the surrounding space to his mind’s examination. He controlled the tiny ship and began towing the Titan shuttle full of nuclear explosives toward its mother ship. Because the Hummingbird was so small and the shuttle was tethered so close, he counted on it being difficult for the Titans to distinguish exactly what objects were approaching.

Eventually, the Titans made an effort to maneuver, indicating a sense of confusion as to why their craft was returning. Uncertain if their own crew was aboard, they trained their laser cannon at the Hummingbird and fired a warning shot.

Gallant remained calm as he approached the calculated launch position given him by the AI. Finally, by letting the Hummingbird drop its tractor beam, he launched the nuclear-explosive-laden shuttle toward the destroyer.

High-tailing it back to the safety of the
Intrepid
took all his coordination and concentration. Soon shots were coming his way and a near miss threatened to damage his Hummingbird.

However, the Titans were too late—the shuttle was well on its way.

Gallant worked feverishly trying to dodge laser beams while getting far enough away before the shuttle exploded.

Caught by surprise, the Titan destroyer was unable to maneuver sufficiently far away and was severely damaged when the shuttle exploded.

Once the shock waves passed him, Gallant was relieved to find he was still alive. He watched as the enemy retreated, limping away toward the outer reaches of the star system.

Relieved at driving off the Titans destroyer, the
Intrepid
was still too badly damaged for extensive flight and therefore was unable to pursue its enemy. In any case, they lacked the firepower to finish the Titans off. Instead, the
Intrepid
limped into orbit over the only inhabitable planet in the system, Tau-Beta.

When Gallant returned to the
Intrepid,
Neumann wore a scowl. “You let them get away.”

Gallant matched Neumann’s scowl and looked around the
Intrepid,
thinking,
How are we going recover from all this?

Despite being severely wounded, Gallant was one of the fortunate
Intrepid
survivors. Seven of twelve officers and seventy of 214 crewmembers were dead. Many more were wounded and required treatment in the ship’s severely damaged medical center.

Under heavy analgesics, Gallant lay still on an operating table awaiting surgery while the ship’s doctor, Lieutenant Mendel, was desperately operating on Captain Cooper on the adjourning table.

Gallant observed Mendel performing surgical repairs to the damaged organs of the shattered body. Oxygen conduits, blood tubes, and electrical wires were connected to a multitude of locations on the captain’s body—mouth, nose, veins, etc.,—allowing chemicals and nano-bots to be pumped throughout his blood and endocrine systems in an attempt to revitalize him and restore hope for his survival. The nano-bots traveled throughout his body conducting preprogrammed internal microsurgery and cell repairs. Electrical sensors were wired to his temple to control his brain functions, others to his heart and lungs. His complete body functions were transferred to the control of the ship’s medical AI. An AI avatar stood by Mendel and coached him through the complex surgery.

The rest of the medical center was overflowing with the desperately injured. The few remaining med-techs available were frantically conducting triage and caring for the worst wounded. They injected stem cell rejuvenation fluids and conducted AI-supervised surgical repairs. Their efforts and the triage process were capable of healing much of the damaged flesh, including organs, such as the liver and kidneys.

Eventually, a med-tech came to Gallant. “You won’t feel any pain. You can remain conscious and watch so long as you keep perfectly still, okay? You have first, second, and third degree burns over thirty per cent of your body, and you’ve lost a significant amount of blood, but your vital organs are intact and you will make a complete recovery using the rejuvenation bath after surgery. You should be up and around in four days and within a week, you should no longer suffer from chronic pain.”

Gallant nodded and the med-tech, with the help of the AI, began operating on his wounds. He didn’t feel significant pain, but could feel the pressure of the physical actions against his body and he was fascinated as the med-tech peeled away his damaged skin. Then collagen and the new skin, grown from his stem cells, were grafted onto his body. Finally, the surface was bandaged.

The med-tech smiled encouragingly. “It looks good. Though, if you had had genetic engineering enhancements, your stem cells would have produced a cleaner match.”

Chief Howard came into medic bay while Gallant was receiving medical attention and wished him well, but mostly everyone was too busy looking after their own emergencies to pay more attention to him.

Soon after surgery, Gallant ended up in the regeneration chamber for twenty-four hours of rejuvenation. Nearby chambers were soon filled with his shipmates in various states of recovery.

When Gallant was released from the regeneration chamber, the first thing he asked was how the captain was doing.

The solemn med-tech mumbled, “He didn’t make it.”

Gallant’s face fell. He said nothing. He had no words to express his personal grief.

Then he felt a moment of concern for how the
Intrepid
would fare under Neumann’s leadership.

After he was released from sick bay, Gallant went to his tiny two-by-three-by-four meter quarters which he had shared with Paulson and Stahl.

They wouldn’t be returning.

He stared down at his shoes and the burnt deck beneath them; he sat on what was left of his bunk in the shattered remains of his three-man stateroom. The cabin was sparely furnished, revealing a traditional stark military room. A desk rested in one well-lit corner. The cubicle also included a tiny storage locker for each man to store his clothes and personal belongings. Three storage lockers had been under the bottom bunk bed and contained what personal property had escaped destruction. The rest of their personal effects were mostly distributed trash, strewn on the deck. The crumpled bunk beds were a heap of unrecognizable twisted metal. Along one wall was the closet containing uniforms. He managed to find one remaining disheveled but useable uniform he could wear.

He combed through the wreckage, but what remained of their personal items was unrecognizable. He bumped into a lump of melted material. He puzzled over it for a second and then closed his mind; he would rather not know what it had once been. The only area to escape incineration was the single utility sink in the corner of the room.

He picked up a few surviving remembrances—wreckage of shattered lives—an image stick with enough memory to hold millions of selected pictures, a personal jewelry pin which belonged to Stahl, and Paulson’s UPSA class ring.

“Their family will want these,” he muttered, and he continued to gather what he could, aware family members would eventually ask about them.

He would have to find other accommodations, but first he needed to get cleaned up and feel refreshed. He decided to take a quick shower under icy water for the prescribed thirty-second allotment. Pleased the water flowed when he stood under the faucet; he recoiled as the cold permeated his flesh. A twenty-second antiseptic cleaner and a ten-second rinse followed. He felt better after his shower.

He stood before the mirror while he shaved. His reflection showed a familiar face—one with a steely fortitude.

Burial in space was always an intense emotional experience, even when it didn’t include the death of the ship’s captain. Traditional space burials followed rituals from ancient burials at sea—which had been a practice for centuries, with the body of the dead sewn in a shroud. For in-space disposition, each body was suited in a pressure suit, covered with the UP ensign, and placed in a capsule.

The ship’s general intercom heralded, “All hands prepare to honor the dead.”

Neumann presided as acting captain over the solemn ceremony. All able-bodied crewmen assembled mid-ship at the hanger deck and saluted while the anthem played. Only the officer of the watch and the bare minimum watch standers remained at their stations.

Rows of flag-covered bodies lined the entire length of the corridor. Every hat was off; every head was bowed; they listened to the words of their new commanding officer as he spoke the funeral service. Then individuals came forward and spoke their peace, offered religious passages, or military readings, all seeking closure.

Gallant stood at attention with his shipmates. His eyes lingered over the flag-draped body of William Craig.

Chief Howard stood next to him and said quietly, “He was a fine young man.” Then turning away, he added, “Sometimes the loss is more than I can bear.”

Gallant nodded.

Yes.

The bodies were draped with the UP flag and their cap and insignia were displayed. The seventy-seven bodies were arranged to be individually carried to the discharge port and placed in a capsule for launch.

Upon completion of taps, the honor guard saluted. The chief master-at-arms presented the UP ensign to the commanding officer.

“We commit their bodies to the vacuum of space, to journey forever more. May they find a peace in death they didn’t in life,” said Neumann.

One by one, the bodies were ejected into space.

Gallant brought his hand to his eye to salute each fallen shipmate. He couldn’t find any better way to show his admiration. However, when the captain was released, somehow it felt too final, too conclusive to drop the salute. He waited for a long minute until he steeled himself, then as sharply as he brought up his hand, he snapped it down.

The ceremony finally over, men from all over the ship, got on with the job of saving the
Intrepid.

“Mr. Gallant, it’s good to see you returning to duty,” said Chief Howard standing behind the port reactor compartment shield wall. “I’ve been supervising the ship’s recovery and repairs while waiting for you to return from stasis.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’ve been straining at the bit to get back to engineering. Doc Mendel was hard to convince, but I’m ready to return to work. He had me jumping through hoops and I mean it literally. He has me on a part-time schedule for the time being,” said Gallant.

Howard nodded his approval.

For several minutes Howard walked beside Gallant sporting a frown, as they went through the engineering spaces looking over the compartment’s damage.

They looked around, but couldn’t find any of the familiar military spit and polish present a few days earlier. Everywhere around them was destruction and debris.