Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy by Nick Webb Page B

during the Swarm War we were never able to get life-sign readings from the Cumrat ships—”
    “Sir! The ships....”
    LaPlace snapped his head back to the screen. The surviving belligerent fighters had changed course and were now flying directly towards them.
    “Ensign! Now!” He yelled at the nav officer, who hit the q-jump initiation on his console with a jab of his poised finger.
    The viewscreen held steady.  
    “Ensign, I said NOW!” The fighters appeared to speed up.
    “Trying, sir. I think whatever is interfering with the sensors....” The ensign drifted off, tapping buttons on his console furiously.
    LaPlace pointed at the ops officer. “Launch the data pod. Get that thing out of here.” He turned back to navigation. “Ensign, evasive maneuvers. Swing wide and Z minus fifty. Put some distance between us—maybe we can clear their distortion field.”
    He felt the ship lurch as the inertial canceling system struggled to keep up with the maneuvers the nav officer was keying into the console. Movement on the screen caught his eye.
    “Sir, they’re firing!”
    “Keep swerving, Ensign!” He craned his neck around. “Is that data pod away?”
    “Aye, sir!”
    “Did it make the q-jump?”
    An explosion erupted across the bridge and Laplace shielded his face from the flames. When the emergency system extinguished the fire, he looked back to ops. The officer was slumped against his console, his head and torso scorched black and blistery red. Glancing down at his own readout, he swore—the data pod had failed to q-jump.
    IDF headquarters would not be warned.
    “Ensign, maximum acceleration! Get us to the wreckage of the Vallarta ! Maybe we can put some debris in between us and—”
    But the nav officer never got the chance to acknowledge. Another explosion ripped through the bridge, and a giant section of bulkhead blasted away, revealing the blue-tinged atmosphere of the planet far below. As the air spewed out, sucking the nav officer with it, LaPlace glared at the enemy fighter speeding directly towards them. The forward guns of the other ship glowed, and, using his last breath which erupted out into the vacuum, he spat towards the incoming fighter out of spite before blacking out.

Chapter Seventeen

    Halfway between L2 and Lunar Base
    Fighter Bay, ISS Constitution

    Captain Granger strode up to the doors of the fighter bay’s maintenance hangar, pointing to the two marines stationed there.
    “You two, with me. Your orders are to arrest Commander Proctor at my signal. Understood?”
    The marines looked at each other nervously. One of them cleared his throat.
    “I said, AM I CLEAR?” he barked, and one of the marines stiffened his back.
    “Uh, sir, she gave us the order that if you interfere with her work, we are to confine you to your quarters. Said she had authorization from Admiral Yarbrough herself.”
    The marine flinched as Granger marched up to him. Unbelievable. She’d crossed the line. He stood toe to toe with the marine and yelled in his face. “I am the captain of this ship, soldier! How would you like to spend the next five years rotting in the brig for insubordination and mutiny?”
    He hadn’t realized he was waving his fists in the air, and he self-consciously lowered them. Dammit. He’d lost his ship. Five days ahead of schedule.
    “Tim?” Granger turned to the voice. It was his CAG. Commander Tyler Pierce.
    “What the hell do you want?” he replied gruffly, still eyeing the nervous marines, who clearly were quite torn. What was the military coming to? Had the decades of peace and prosperity made them all fat and complacent? What was Yarbrough thinking, undermining him like this?
    “Just wanted to show you something, sir.” The CAG thumbed in the direction of the Air Group’s mission room. He was a younger gentleman, clearly the son of some patrician senator or oligarch on one of the more prosperous worlds, perhaps York, or Versailles, judging by his decidedly upper-class