Battle For The Blue Planet Chapter 3: Tooth and Claw

McCoy closed the door to the bridge behind him and let out a sigh. His fellow offices didn’t know. They heard the blasts and deployed the damage control teams, but none of them really knew what was happening below. He could see it in their eyes when he walked in, shock and horror as they realized the cost of their actions. When he broke down on the bridge he could feel the stares of officers on him, many of them having had questions on the tips of their tongues about who exactly had perished. Each wanted to know if it was their best friend, their lover, or even their drinking partner who had been taken from them. McCoy knew the exact answers to those unasked questions for all the officers of the bridge, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer a single one of them. He couldn’t bear to even look at them, knowing exactly who they lost and what kind of pain it would cause.

Charlie’s brother had perished in the plasma fires on deck four. He was part of the damage control crew fighting the fires, buying time to seal off the rest of the compartments on the deck so the fire couldn’t spread. He ended up sealing himself in rather than attempting to escape, knowing the fire would spread if he dared open the door.

Sunny’s compartment blew open in the torpedo attack. Sending everything she held dear into the void. Including what remained of the ashes of the very first human friend she made on the then captain Archer’s ship all those years ago.

Jess had it the worst of them all and she didn’t even have a clue. Her husband of 41 years died on the operating table. He was mortally wounded by shrapnel and spent his final moments in a panic, looking for her in the shadows of the operating theatre. Just a few days before McCoy had sat with him, helping the poor male pick out baby clothes and toys as he wound himself into a panic over their future. Now it seemed like it happened an eternity ago.

And Bonnie. She had been to every wedding, baby shower, and birthday party. Without fail, she knew every member of the crew and what was going on in their lives. McCoy could only wonder what faces flashed through her mind as he numbered the casualties of the Red Spark.

His wandering footsteps brought him back to the medical ward where a horrifying scene was playing out in front of the door. One of his medics, the female he left to stitch up the last patient, was wrestling with Cookie, still dressed in his protective damage control uniform. Between the two of them was a sidearm that the medic had her paw wrapped around. It was a small piece, an old firearm of human make that was gifted to each of the combat officers by Admiral Archer. The bridge crew and the gunnery officers each had one just like it and carried it at all times. As the recognition of the gun passed through his mind he realized where it had come from. One of them had taken the gun from Jack’s corpse.

Cookie trudged towards the medical bay hoping to check in on his wounded comrades. The Red Spark had taken a beating and his damage control teams had been running like had trying to plug the leaks, fix the broken wires, and generally keep the Spark from falling to pieces as Bonnie stressed the frame of the ship to its absolute limits during combat maneuvers.

The scent of the hallway became thick with blood as Cookie approached. The small spatters of blood that had been commonplace on the ship since combat began became pools, then veritable ponds of blood that he was forced to step through on his journey.

Cookie heard the medical ward before he saw it. Groans of the wounded echoed down the hallway, getting louder as he approached. As Cookie turned the corner he froze seeing the carnage. Three medics roamed the hallway outside the bay, treating patients lying on mattresses clearly scavenged from cabins that lined the adjacent hallways.

Cookie locked eyes with one of the medics as he stood up from one of the wounded on the floor. The medic just cocked his head seeming confused as to why a seemingly uninjured crew member was there. The medic walked up to Cookie, scanning him up and down before his eyes settled on Cookie’s waiting for him to do something.

Feeling like he was trespassing, Cookie quickly asked his question, “Where are the members of the team who were injured on deck four during the plasma explosion?”

The medic opened and closed his mouth, hemming and hawing in silence before pointing into the medical bay itself and then down the hall towards more mattresses, only these were covered in white sheets, Dlamisan forms lying underneath.

His stomach rebelled at the sight, almost costing him his lunch. Briefly, he considered leaving and telling the remaining members of his damage control team that he wasn’t able to find their comrades, but Cookie steeled himself and pushed onward into the treatment area.

Entering the treatment area Cookie was met with a medic rushing to stitch up Micky, one of his friends, and a member of a damage control crew. Micky had been on deck four when the plasma round connected with the hull and had paid dearly for it. His fur was singed and ripped away in places revealing ugly gashes across his torso that the medic struggled to put back together.

Cookie stood silently behind the medic as she worked watching as her movements became frantic as the vital monitor beeped out an ever-shortening tone. Her paws flew light lightning over Micky, but even Cookie with his limited medical knowledge could see that it wasn’t going to be enough.

The rapid beeps turned to a tone and her paws stopped. She gently placed her tools next to Micky and stared for a moment before speaking an apology in Enkanti to the dead scout. Turning away from the table she made her way to the morgue unit at the back of the room leaving Cookie alone with his friend.

Cookie stood rooted to the spot astounded at what he had witnessed. The life of one of his friends disappeared in front of his eyes and at that moment he thought back all the decades ago to the battle that broke their loyalty to the Dlamisan council. Now instead of fighting for an ungrateful government, they were fighting for their adopted human home.

Deciding to find some kind of cover for his friend Cookie went looking for the medic. Finding her deeply focused on a body pulled from the refrigerator unit Cookie approached, reaching out to tap her shoulder before freezing as he heard an unmistakable sound. A mechanical sound that he heard many times at the firing range with his friends from the human military. Cookie could hear each piece as it moved. The slide rubbed on the barrel, the spring compressing as it was forced back, followed by the hammer clicking into position, and finally the bullet slipping into the chamber.

Stepping closer Cookie saw it. A small silver firearm was in the paws of the medic. A firearm that was rapidly moving upward, pointing not at Cookie, but at herself.

Cookie lunged for the gun, trying to stop the madness that was unfolding before him, but the small medic was quick on her feet. Stepping back she moved around Cookie and made for the door with cookie close behind.

As she entered the hallway Cookie caught up and wrapped her in a tackle taking the medic to the floor. Rolling as they fought for control of the gun the medic started whining pitifully begging him to, “Let me go,” and, “I can’t do it anymore.”

Cookie didn’t listen and put everything he had towards reaching for the gun when he heard the click of claws on paws echoing down the hallway towards them. Evidently so did the medic as she made one last lunge towards the firearm putting all the strength she had into it before the third party could interrupt their fight.

That third party was McCoy stalking down the hallway seemingly unaware as to what was going on around him until he locked eyes with the medic followed shortly by the gun she held.

“What is going on here,” he growled angrily.

At that moment Cookie got atop the smaller medic and forced the gun from her hands, sending it careening across the floor as she clawed at his arms while wailing incoherently.

Breathing hard, Cookie turned to McCoy. “Once she finished suturing up Micky she snapped! She went off and grabbed Jack’s gun. I barely caught her,” Cookie said in-between gasps for air.

McCoy picked the gun up off the ground and held it gently in his hands before placing it in a pocket. He knelt down next to his subordinate, grabbing her by the muzzle and forcing her to look at him as she struggled beneath Cookie’s massive frame.

“Alice I understand. It hurts, watching them die hurts, but we can’t leave. Not yet. Not while they still need us!” McCoy barked at the inconsolable Dlamisa his anger fading and voice becoming pleading. “Only once they are safe can we go, Alice. For now, they need you, I need you, I can’t do this on my own.”

McCoy motioned cookie off of Alice and picked her up off the ground, placing her on her feet and dusting flakes of dried blood off her uniform before continuing, “If we survive this, come to my office. I’ll leave you a bottle of liquor on the desk. I don’t know where the gun will end up, but once I’m done with it, it’s yours,” McCoy promised.

Cookie, upon hearing this stepped back. Shifting his head between Alic and McCoy he growled out a one-word question, “Why?”

McCoy turned to Cookie, looking at him with the same dead eyes that Bonnie Red saw on the bridge, and replied, “We were each bred for something, Cookie. You were bred for strength, the captain was for her leadership. We medics were bred for empathy. As soon as we came out of the womb they taught us to see the pain and suffering of those around us. So now as our friends die in pain and fear my own mind is rebelling against me. It’s telling me I must do something, anything, but I can’t. We can’t. Our friends are dying in the arms of my team and there’s not a GODDAMN THING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT,” McCoy finished shouting.

McCoy then led Alice back into the surgical ward. Intent on carrying on their jobs no matter how pointless it would be in the end.

Cookie stood outside the door, shocked at what he’d just heard. Concern for his friend ran through his mind, but before he could act on it he was reminded that he too had a job as the sounds of plasma slamming into the shields became audible.

Bonnie Red hesitated before sitting back in the now blood-covered command chair, ordering the message from the comms station up onto the bridge display screen.

“Captain Red… What happened to you!? I was only gone for a few minutes!” Captain Deans remarked, shocked at the now bloody captain sitting in her chair.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with Ellana,” Bonnie replied in a tired voice forgoing the formalities of military communication.

Shaking off her shock at seeing Bonnie smeared with blood, Captain Deans asked the question she made the call about, “The Red Spark doesn’t look too good from the outside. Are you still combat capable?”

Bonnie almost reflexively replied in the affirmative, suddenly remembering McCoy’s report. Instead, she sat for a moment and considered before making up her mind. “We’ve taken nearly 35% casualties and have lost the majority of the cannons on our starboard battery,” she replied, taking a breath before continuing, “That said, our shields and engines are still intact. We’ll fight for all we’re worth,” Bonnie replied staring into the eyes of the human on her screen.

“We’ll move out now then. The patrol vessels will provide cover for the mining tugs. We need you to distract them as we move in, and then break their backs once they focus on us. Until the home fleet arrives you’re the only capital ship we have in the theatre. So if it comes down to it, leave us. You must survive to help the destroyers,” Captain deans said outlining her plan.

“Understood, we’ll buy you every second we can,” Bonnie responded, sending a salute as she closed the call.

Turning the Red Spark about, Bonnie opened up her engines sending the ship flying past the patrol vessels and mining tugs streaming toward the cruisers.

To both her shock and the shock of the rest of the bridge crew, they saw humans in EVA suits hanging off the tugs and patrol vessels, having ridden like that the whole way there. As they passed, the humans raised cutting torches, mining drills, and various other pieces of heavy machinery in salute to the crew of the Red Spark as she sped past. Heading straight for the cruisers they hoped to rip apart.

The flak started as soon as the Red Spark entered effective range. Plasma glasnced off the shields, rattling the ship like a small The Zenti cruisers threw everything they had to bring down the killer of their comrades.

The shields however were holding up as the Red Spark dodged and weaved through the Zenti plasma fire. The ship pulled through all three dimensions at maximum speed, forcing the Zenti to commit all attention to them lest they get into gun range and begin picking apart the cruisers themselves. That flagrant risk to the Red Spark left the miners of Ceres and the patrol vessels an opening to get close.

The patrol vessels covered the mining tugs they got into the minimum range of the primary and secondary guns of the closest cruisers. The cruisers suddenly noticed the little ships and took evasive maneuvers. Ultimately they wouldn’t be enough as the humans in their EVA suits had already committed to the boarding action.

They jumped from the tugs, using thrusters mounted on their suits to get them to the cruisers, and began using their mining equipment to shred the outer layer of the ships to pieces. Point defense weapons, plasma cannons, and shield generators went down in rapid succession granting the Red Spark an opening that she sorely needed. Seeing the success of the humans, Bonnie ordered a headlong dive into the cruiser formation, hoping that their allies had done enough damage that they could cut down the cruisers scot-free.

The Red Spark dove in between the cruisers, blasting every cannon that was still functional. Cruiser hull plates cracked and shattered as the Red Spark entered the fray sending Zenti into the void to be shot to pieces by small arms wielding humans.

Not to be outdone by their larger counterpart the patrol vessels fired every gun they had as all four of them charged their selected cruisers. The Lighting and her sistership, The Johnston managed to cause critical damage to two of the cruisers while covering for their mining tugs. The mining tugs in turn used their incredible strength to coordinate the pushing of two cruisers into one another. Resulting in the complete annihilation of the two vessels.

The three remaining cruisers, while heavily damaged were still in fighting condition and demanded a hefty price from the humans boarding them. Cannons flashed and steel poured from the point defense turrets as they picked off dozens of mining tugs.

The Lightning was clearly having none of it and charged headlong toward the most intact-looking cruiser. Plasma rounds smashed into her, cutting holes straight through the hull of the ship. To her credit, the Lightning carried on firing her little cannons and point defense weapons making as big a nuisance as she could. Unfortunately, she was not made for long encounters and soon began to falter. Her plasma cannon was the first to fall silent, then her point defense weapons, and finally even the small arms her crew was firing out of the airlocks ran dry. Undeterred by the lack of ammunition, The Lightning kept up her assault, spinning around the cruiser below the gun depression of its cannons flashing all her outer lights in what was later learned to be old Morse Code. The phrase left on repeat was a simple one, “I am human.”

In one last act of defiance, the Lightning accelerated straight into the engines of the cruiser causing a massive fuel rupture which detonated in a flash bright enough to light up the dark side of the moon. The blast wiped out the two remaining cruisers and all the humans that had climbed aboard them. All that was left of what would eventually be called the Lost Flotilla was the patrol vessel Johnston and a baker's dozen mining tugs with countless humans dangling off them, like kites in the wind.

Captain Ellana Deans would go down in history as the Butcher of the Belt, leader of the charge of the Lost Floatilla. Through her final actions, the Zenti were forced to slow their approach to Earth and cover their rear from any further attacks from the now-depleted force.

The Lost Floatilla bought the Red Spark time to get around the Zenti formation and assist the destroyers in a last desperate defense to save the place they called home.