Hammer Warship Obsidian, interstellar space
From the combat information center of the deepspace light patrol ship Obsidian, Commodore Monroe watched the proceedings, his eyes fixed on the holovid tracking his six new q-ships. He would be damn glad when they got back to Kasprowitz. Hanging around in deepspace had never been his idea of a good time. Worse, the Obsidian’s ability to defend her new charges was limited. Yes, their new rail-gun systems worked, but he did not have the people to operate them. Until he did, his new acquisitions were big fat sitting ducks.
The latest additions to the Hammer order of battle, their spherical bulk marking them out as merships, hung in interstellar space 70 light-years out from and due galactic south of Damnation’s Gate. With all navigation lights off, their anonymous dirt-gray hulls were barely visible as black cutouts etched from millions of stars scattered in all directions with dazzling extravagance. The only activity was the steady shuttling to and fro of Obsidian’s four space attack vehicles and two landers. Monroe’s fingers tapped out his impatience; transferring the q-ships’ Hammer crews was going well, but he could not help himself. He just wanted to be done and on his way.
Monroe pushed away a momentary pang of anxiety. He had to admit that the chances of running into anyone else were tiny. The small sphere of deepspace they occupied was a long way from anything even remotely interesting to the rest of humankind. That, of course, was why it had been picked in the first place, and operational security had been tight.
So far, so good.
“Commodore, sir.”
It was his chief of staff. “Yes, Captain?”
“Just to let you know, sir. We’re ahead of schedule on the crew transfers, and I have confirmation from the engineers that all ships are online. We’ll be ready for vector realignment to set up for the jump back to Kasprowitz Base at 06:15.”
“Good! The sooner we’re out of this Kraa-damned place, the better. Send to all ships. From commodore, stand by to execute ops plan Kilo Yankee Five at time 06:15.”
“Roger, sir. Stand by to execute ops plan Kilo Yankee Five at time 06:15.”
Monroe sat back as his small staff got things moving. Things were going well, though he wondered how long that would last. He hoped Fleet Admiral Jorge and his political masters knew what they were getting the Hammer into. The Feds were going to be awfully, awfully pissed when his ships started to rip the guts out of their interstellar trade routes.