James ‘Judas’ Clayton: Bericold

The displays and illuminated control panels cast a cold electric glow across the dark AIC. It’s the way I liked it.
“Target hit sir,” officer Wrenley reported.
“Scanner on my screen,” I ordered ensign Potter.
The transparent monitor in front of me lid up, displaying the Bericold. I inspected the damage. The hull was breached.
“Fire another salvo. Same location. Now.”
“Firing.”
Time was of the essence. I glanced right. Lieutenant Hinst, leaning slightly forward, looked with intense concentration onto his monitor, on which our salvo bridged the distance in an instant.
“Target hit sir.”
A pain struck my heart as I looked back to the scanner image. Debris, gasses and liquids distorted the scanner image, but it was clear out second salvo had done horrifying damage. It was enough; if the queen was there she would be dead, along with every sailor and marine in the surrounding sections.
What had I done?
I had pondered destroying the Bericold entirely, so succes would be sure. With every single round we fired a guaranteed hit, even our guns could have brought down the Bericold, but the costs in innocent lives would be too big for me to bear. Maybe someone else, someone more determined could have, but I couldn’t.
With my actions, I had already signed the dead warrant of every soul on this ship. I had estimated it would take less than twenty three seconds before the fleet would respond. Anytime now my ship, our ship, would be torn apart.
“Sir!” My first officer yelled with a verocity and contempt he only displayed in the most urgent of situations.
“Take us out of here, Reginald.”
“Full thrusters! Arc six nine; Evasive! Line out on escape vector!” He shouted.
The helm faithfully echoed back his orders. I knew I had to see this through to the end.
“Full defensive output,” Reginald continued.
A mostly silent and controlled frenzy broke out in the AIC. The image in front of me frizzled as my crew activated the electronic warfare systems. The ship steered away from the fleet.
“We’re making speed,” I whispered to myself.
But it was only a clear observation of fact, nothing more. The seconds currently ticking off the clock were already borrowed, and we would need many more. Not withstanding the preparations my officers had made, I never believed we would make it out. It was outside of the operational envelope.

Then there was the transmission from the Bericold.
It was a fleet wide transmission from admiral Allisan, “The cruiser Illustrious has fired into the Queens quarters of the Bericold.”

I held my breath. Somehow the clock kept ticking much longer than it should, before I heard the ships systems “Incoming, Incoming” notification. The tension in the AIC peaked sharply just before the rounds started coming down on the ship. It was hell.

In an episode which lasted little over two minutes, we had sustained twenty to thirty hits of various calibre.

“Damage report!” I yelled as I stood up from the deck.
The AIC was intact although the crew was banged up.
“We’ve sustained heavy damage to the ship, Captain. We’ve got systems down everywhere.” petty officer Esteban tried desperately with the limited information he had at hand.
I looked to the monitor, course looked good, and our speed was still increasing which meant engines were operational for the moment.
“We’ve got fighter bombers in pursuit,” officer Wrenley reported.
“Open fire!” Reginald ordered.
“Belay that order. Hold fire.”
“Captain, there are nine hundred men on this ship,” Reginald pressed.
I knew not a few of these nine hundred were dead already. This was all part of my decision. Reginald was right of course. Once you start making though decisions you can’t simply stop.
“Reginald, open fire,” I spoke with condonation. “Try to scare them off. If you can.”
“Yes sir.” Reginald said obedient as if the order had never been brought up before. “Open fire!” He subsequently yelled at the entirety of the bridge.
The crew took the necessary steps to engage our comrades, who, in turn, could do little else then die by our fire for the threat they potentially faced to us, or die in front of a firing squad if they showed only the smallest of reservation.
“Esteban get me a detailed damage report as soon…”
There was an explosion somewhere beneath me. No impact, a secondary. Somewhere inside the ship. Fuel line? Ammo?
I was dead.