War Fleet: Resistance

the shuttle approached, Redrock could see the shuttle bay. It wasn’t facing them. Given the way that the Tapper’s engine looked on his side, he doubted there was any way that the Tapper would be able to turn it to face him. Hell, it was even turning away from him a little.
Yet with the turbos running, Redrock knew turning too sharply would break them. Even here, at the very edge of the atmosphere, there would be too much drag.
“Two minutes,” Olsen said, and cut out once again.
No choice. Redrock pulled right on the flight stick and squinted a moment as the ship let out a massive creak. Above him, one of the panels on the ship began to move, and it popped out at the corner, sending a rivet ricocheting across the cockpit.
“Everything okay back there?” he tried shouting. But there was so much blood rushing to his face that his words came out inaudible.
Instead of doing a sharp left, he’d decided to fly around in an omega shape, so that he could approach the shuttle at a better angle. He hadn’t the time to make calculations, but his instinct told him he could do this. He just hoped for everyone’s sake that he was right.
The inside of the ship had heated up so much now that his skin had started to itch against the sweat. Any more of this and they might be burned alive, but there was no way they’d make it without the extra thrust.
“One minute, Redrock. Santiago has made some calculations, and she thinks you’ll make it.”
“Sir,” Schmidt’s voice came in the background. “The enemy laser—” And on that note, the channel cut off once more.
Redrock looked over his cockpit at the weapons module behind him, and he could see that indeed it had a beam of red light about to fire. Then, he noticed he was right in the line of sight between it and the shuttle bay. The bay doors were open in front of him now, only at a slight angle away. But if he didn’t do a barrel roll, it would annihilate them.
He swallowed bile and then turned off one of the thrusters for a brief moment, to send the ship spinning. He couldn’t veer off course now.
Pain seared against his face, and he wasn’t sure what from. Maybe g-force. Maybe increased heat. Maybe the laser cannon had hit him, maybe from the Extractor tearing apart.
The ship hit something, and Redrock’s head was knocked forward hard. For a moment, everything went white. Momentarily, Redrock blacked out.

25
Captain Olsen waited several moments before he opened his eyes. He had his fingers crossed behind his back, the muscles between his index and middle fingers so clenched that they burned.
He saw flashing red lights wavering in and out, the klaxons sounding all over the ship, the weary eyes of his crew looking back at him, bruised foreheads that officers had hit against their computers. But amidst all that, they seemed to be alive.
It had all happened at once. An Arstan module had moved aside to reveal a fired-up laser cannon. The torpedo launcher had launched another missile. Meanwhile, the Extractor had rammed into the shuttle bay, knocking out the camera down there. The laser cannon had also fired into the open shuttle bay, and Olsen had no idea how much damage that had wrought.
Then they’d jumped, and Olsen had feared they’d explode in FTL-warp, spreading their remains across the galaxy. But they’d gotten here, wherever ‘here’ was, and the Tapper seemed to be in one piece. Now he had to come to his senses.
“Chang, wherever you are,” he said over the intercom, “get down to the shuttle bay now and check it out.”
“Sir, the hull has taken breaching damage in the weapons bay, and requires urgent repair.”
“Dammit, Chang, just do it. Assess the situation in the shuttle bay, and make sure you work on the area of highest risk first.” This had to be the first time in Olsen’s service on the Tapper that he wished he had more than one engineer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Santiago, start working out where we’ve landed ourselves. I want a report ASAP.”
“Yes sir,” the navigator replied as she swiveled towards her screen.
“Schmidt, make sure there’s no energy leaking out of the weapons. Cadinouche, keep the ship on the same trajectory, avoiding all sharp motions to facilitate repairs.”
Both officers gave their affirmatives.
“Redrock? Kota? Are any of you conscious down there? Frega? Is he alive?”
“Yes, sir,” Kota said. Her voice sounded strained. “Redrock’s out cold, but his pulse is beating. With your request, sir, I want to accompany him to sickbay. The rest of the Marines can handle the fleet admiral. Just tell them where to send him.”
“To the vid-con room, and keep him guarded. And yes, you have permission. Of course.”
“Thank you, sir,” and he heard Kota give orders to her squad, then cut off the comms channel.
Olsen turned to Novak — the only human crew member who didn’t seem shaken. “Novak, come with me. For situations like this, I need my second in command.” He sped towards the door. But before he left, he paused for a moment’s consideration. “Rob, accompany me too. And both of you aren’t to say anything down there unless I ask for advice. Is that understood?”
Rob and Novak stopped in front of him, standing side-by-side. “Yes sir,” they said, and neither of them showed a flicker of emotion. That was to be expected with a cyborg, but Olsen found it somewhat unnerving in Novak.
After many years in the military, he’d learned that even the most straight-faced soldier would display micro-expressions that could give the skilled commander an insight into what they were thinking. But with this executive officer, they just weren’t there.
Olsen nodded and then rushed down towards the vid-con room, not forgetting to turn his mag-boots on en route.
Two of Kota’s Marines stood guard outside the door while one stood inside, his rifle held loosely in his hands. The long-snouted aged Arstan sat at the table,