"Captain, this is Combat. The Smith has collided with the rock. We have multiple fragments from the Smith being projected outward. Some are closing on our intended track." On the already cluttered display, the paths of the wreckage cut straight across the areas several of the warships were approaching. Paul jerked his head up in momentary shock as the overhead lights dimmed, then he fixed his eyes on his display to check weapons status. The Michaelson was finally powering up her main batteries and close-in defenses. To deal with the wreckage. Hitting any pieces heading for us will divert them… quite likely toward another ship's path. And if somehow by some miracle someone on the Smith had survived the firing from the Gilgamesh and the collision with the asteroid, then the defensive fire from the other ships would surely kill them.
The maneuvering drives fired again, then several more times, and the main drive chimed in with a quick, massive slam that checked the Michaelson 's movement and left her drifting unsteadily across the area directly between the Gilgamesh and the asteroid. Paul waited, trying to control his breathing, waiting to see whether Gilgamesh would try to slam shots past the Michaelson and risk hitting the American ship. They don't know we can't fire on them unless they hit us. If they do hit us, will the captain fire on them? Will they take the risk of hitting us?
They didn't. The Gilgamesh 's weapons fell silent as Michaelson 's thrusters kept kicking in from various angles to cause sudden changes in the Michaelson 's course and position so that the SASAL ship couldn't predict where the American ship would be from moment to moment. The Lord Nelson skidded into position between Saladin and the asteroid, braking hard with remarkable precision, and the Saladin stopped firing as well. The maneuvering display began to lose its insane web of projected courses as some of the ships settled in to new positions. Nothing and no one seemed to be headed for collision with Michaelson at the moment, though a lot of things were too close for Paul's peace of mind.
Paul took a long, deep breath, then studied the display for remaining trouble. Though the space above the asteroid had calmed, scattered symbols revealed that some sort of ground combat was still going on between the cops and the settlers on the surface of the asteroid.
"Mr. Sinclair."
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."