Starship Tomahawk (The Hive Invasion Book 2) Read Free Page B

ringing in the mess hall, aft lounge, and in Juanita Baca's bunk. Somewhere Baca would be cursing, dropping whatever she was doing, and running for the hatch on the top of the Tomahawk's hull.
    Kaur activated her implants and broadcast to the entire crew. The only two people on the ship without working implants were Hammett and Tolstoy, and they were both on the bridge with her, within earshot. "Weapons drill," she said. "All hands to battle stations." That was mainly to let Baca know she didn't have to break her neck getting to her fighter.
    Footsteps echoed outside the bridge as crew scrambled to weapons stations. An icon on the panel in front of her turned red, indicating the launch of the fighter. She opened a link to Baca. "Take a couple of loops around the ship. Then dock again."
    "Aye, Ma'am."
    She turned to watch as the sleek shape of the fighter plunged past the starboard window, then rose again a moment later on the port side. Corvettes didn't normally carry fighters or even drones. The Tomahawk , Bayonet , and Achilles had one fighter each, training craft refitted in the feverish week since the war had reached Earth. Each fighter was controlled by a control stick, some dash buttons, and foot pedals. All three pilots were green as hell. There wasn't anyone with actual experience flying such a bizarre blend of modern and archaic technology. They would need every minute of practice they could get.
    Too late she wondered if he should have cleared the drill with Hammett first. She'd been the commander of Tomahawk for too long. Old habits had taken over. Hammett was gazing out the port window, though, looking entirely unconcerned.
    Kaur said, "We should coordinate some drills with the other ships. Get the fighters dogfighting, that sort of thing. Practice some manual targeting of the weapons."
    Hammett nodded. "Good idea." They discussed the particulars while the timer spooled down and the ship prepared for the next jump.
    What are we doing? The thought, unwanted, crept into Kaur's brain like a thief coming in through an unlocked window. We're three tiny ships launching an insane attack on an enemy that nearly overran the entire fleet. Running drills to prepare makes as much sense as practicing your spitting technique before you plunge into the sun. This is insane.
    But the job had to be done, and it was Kaur's privilege and burden, her honor and her punishment, to be one of those who tried to move a mountain. It was not in her power to change the odds. She couldn't conjure up another hundred ships for the little fleet. She couldn't wish the Hive out of existence. All she could do was prepare for the coming war to the best of her abilities.
    She nodded to herself and set her despair aside. It wouldn’t help, so she let it go. She turned her attention to things that would help. She would practice, she would drill, and she would pray that somehow it would be enough.
     

Chapter 3 – Hammett
    A klaxon woke Hammett from a deep sleep, and he sat upright, banging his head on the low ceiling of his sleeping shelf. Muttering a curse, he waved a hand to bring up the lights as he swung his feet to the floor. It was a drill, he knew – he'd scheduled it, after all – but it wouldn't do for the crew to see the captain not taking the drill seriously. And besides, there was always the tiny chance the ship had encountered real trouble.
    So he pulled his uniform on quickly, jammed his feet into his shoes, and stepped into the corridor. Hurrying sailors rushed past in both directions. He was on the same deck as the bridge, no more than twenty running paces away, one of the advantages of serving on a small ship. He didn’t run. Good captains never ran. But he didn't dawdle, either.
    Kaur looked up as Hammett stepped onto the bridge. The two of them were standing opposite watches, and hardly saw each other except at shift change. "What's our status?"
    "Attack drill," Kaur reported. "The computer shows a dozen enemy ships lying in