The entryways to Shuttlebays Five and Six were currently shielded from the light blue coloured F-type star Hodia Delta, half-hidden in shadows by the starbase’s upper hull. Both sets of doors were open to space, revealing their red and orange taxiway illumination. The forward running lights of a dozen Sparrow-class fighters bathed the blued duranium hull panels in small puddles of light that seemed woefully inadequate for their task, just like the fighters themselves were in the view of many officers in the convoy.
Like clockwork over the next six minutes, pairs of Sparrows maneuvered from the bay and into the shipping container that had been butted right up to the bay doors. Each pair then took its assigned spot, spinning their small but agile craft and landed facing the massive opening of the standard sized interstellar shipping container.
O’va and Whiplash stood near the edge of the Solvang’s open rear bay watching as the utility cruiser steadfastly held the container in place as the loading was underway.
“Lieutenant Commander ch’Saril, what is your assessment of these pilots and their abilities?”
The tall Andorian shrugged with a huff, his eyes fixed on the departing forms of the Sparrows with his arms folded over his chest and the casual jacket he wore over his uniform. “Whiplash is fine, ma’am.” He paused a moment before continuing. “They’ve got the basics pretty well down pat, but I dunno how they’ll hold up to a real fight.”
“Well, Mister Whiplash, as long as they have the basics down Patrick, then I would hope that they shall fare well enough for the task at hand. We have quite a few spades up our skants here.”
Whiplash’s brow furrowed in confusion at the dual malapropism as he looked at her for a moment. “Just Whiplash,” he corrected. “And it’s just ‘down pat’, not Patrick. It’s a human thing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know him well enough to address him by Pat, Just Whiplash.”
Shaking his head with a sigh; his gaze eventually landed on the meter-long gouge in the shuttlebay’s bulkhead, and the small docking regulation poster ineffectively placed over it. “That Eyeball’s work?” he asked as he jabbed his thumb toward the scar.
“Starfleet Regulation Forty-Two dash B was the work of my Chief Engineer. The meter-long gouge in the bulkhead – that is the handiwork of my first officer. Apparently, Marcus Thorne elects not to measure prior to surprising me with a new requisition. Furthermore, your choice to refer to my First Officer by the sobriquet of “Eyeball”, is most apt. That is now his…callsign?” she inquired, as she elevated an eyebrow out of respect for the Andorian’s cleverness.
Whiplash chuckled, and a wry, somewhat snarky half-smile pulled up the right corner of his mouth. “I’ll pass the word to my wing.” He spared a glance towards the Arrow-class runabout currently floating astern of the Solvang, then shook his head once more in amusement.
A Few Days Later…
The narrow neck of the Jugdalak Nebula was a natural choke point for any vessel heading to the Hodian belt from the rimward. Even ships capable of warp nine would have required a two week detour to avoid it entirely.
Though they had tried to vary their route from the first convoy, there was still only one tight, roughly cylindrical crossing. It had a single approach only one lightyear wide, which ships would have to traverse before crossing the Jugdalak Narrows at sublight speeds.
The convoy formation resembled their first run eight days prior, but this time the civilian vessels packed more densely. Solvang again led the convoy with its runabouts bringing up the rear of the formation. Eos’ four Danube-class runabouts were split between the flanks with the Amar poised above the heart of the convoy, cloaked and waiting to pounce.
“Professor to Whiplash on SQUADNET.” Prof said from the cockpit of the Arghendab over the open subspace link they had prepared. Lieutenant Junior Grade Stewart “Professor” de Besoult had been placed in charge of the convoy’s starboard flank, and had Kolubara with him.
“Go for Whiplash,” the Andorian replied, as he spared a quick glance at Dnipro’s navigational display; sure enough, Dnipro and Rio Celeste – Whiplash’s pair of runabouts on the port side of the convoy – were right where they were supposed to be.
“If they’re planning anything, they’ll probably try it in the next ten or twenty minutes. That’s the rogue planet from last time to our front left, and a cluster of asteroids half a lightyear to our right, this is bad juju boss.”
“Yeah, I noticed that too. You and Buzz stay sharp, yeah?” He glanced toward Solvang at the front of the formation, to the cargo container in tow behind her, and then considered the surprise concealed within. “No idea how well this insanity with those Sparrows is gonna go, so when they do come, it’ll probably be us in front. Goes for you too, Ninja,” he finished, addressing his own wingman, presently the pilot of the Rio Celeste.
Solvang subsequently sent out the predetermined signal to drop to impulse and begin their one-hour sublight transit of the nebula.
The sensor consoles across various escorts began to chirp a multitude of warning tones.
“Picking up a mid-sized Ferengi freighter, and four smaller contacts. The freighter is sending out an urgent distress call, they say they’re being attacked by pirates.” Professor’s co-pilot reported.
“Right on schedule. Prof, take Buzz and divert to check it out; Ninja, stay here, I’m going to shift to starboard just in case they need support.” Whiplash said over the comm.
On their commander’s order, the two pairs of runabouts split off, Dnipro shifting to the starboard while Rio Celeste held to port and Arghendab and Kolubara split off to investigate the freighter’s apparent distress call.
“Solvang is releasing their payload and turning to assist.” announced Professor’s co-pilot.
USS Solvang
“Lieutenant Shivra, release the tractor beam retaining the cargo container and trigger the hatch release on our precious cargo. Lieutenant Kincaid, alert the pilots to deploy and engage. Let us show them a wolf in sheep’s lingerie,” she ordered, elevating an eyebrow.
Captain O’va opened a channel to her first officer aboard Solvang’s recently-acquired Arrow-class runabout.
“Commander Thorne, make good use of the USS Dreje. Shepherd the civilian ships through the narrow neck of the nebula. We are diverting to investigate a distress call. Oh, and Commander, if you were to gouge anything…perhaps try it against one of the pirate vessels this time. Remain vigilant, Eyeball. O’va out.”
Castillo suppressed a snicker from his station at Operations.
“Do I amuse you, Lieutenant Commander?”
“Yes, ma’am. You christened it as the Dutch phrase for “pivot”, which was the only way we could turn it around inside the shuttlebay,” replied the Solvang native.
“Then it has achieved its desired effect. Let it serve as a constant reminder that measurements be taken prior to all future acquisitions.”
It was a far more complex ambush than the one the first convoy had encountered. On the starboard flank the four dated but fast Romulan fighters broke right for Arghendab and Kolubara briefly before wheeling about and appearing to follow the freighter, which headed back behind the rogue planetoid. “We’ve got company!” Professor called over SQUADCOM as he set Arghendab – with Kolubara holding formation on his quarter – off in pursuit.
The fighters were fast and had veered off just on the edge of weapons range. Petty Officer Sylvi Lekun – Professor’s Weapons Systems Officer when in an actual fighter, and on the tactical station at the moment – was struggling to maintain a clear targeting lock, but the ranges were beginning to close. Soon enough, the two runabouts were able to reliably open fire, and had turned the chase into a one-sided running skirmish as the enemy fighters lacked aft weaponry.
“Come on…come on…” Professor muttered, surprising his co-pilot. Lekun had assumed he was angling for a shot on one of the Romulans and waiting for a target lock, but instead he was actually watching his sensor readout and vocally urging the Amar to decloak. This was the critical moment in his mind, if they were going to scare off the Meade, they needed to spring the trap soon and show their teeth.
The Provost cutter started firing off phaser blasts at unrealistic ranges off to his port quarter, but against all odds it landed a few shots that knocked out the engines of an enemy fighter.
“I knew it!” Professor yelled before opening the comm channel again as he watched the freighter – clearly bait now, and not truly in distress – retreat, “They were baiting us.” He fired his phasers and a pair of micro torpedoes at one of Romulan fighters, turning it into a fiery cloud of wreckage.
It was then that Professor had to make a call: would he and his element press on after the Freighter that was already fleeing, or return to the convoy?
