Conflagration

To Arms

Onboard the independent corvette, Ready Sophia, boots clattered across grating in all directions as the drummer played "To Arms," over the ship's PA. This was the Sophie's way of beating to quarters. Captain Ben Villalobos made his way through the chaos of the central corridor from the officers' mess to the bridge.

As he burst through the hatch into the ship's battle bridge, Cdr. Tengrove, the ship's second-in-command, shouted "Captain on the bridge!"

"Thank you, Commander," Capt. Villalobos said to Cdr. Tengrove. "What's the situation?"

"Some dickhead just dropped out of transtach and put himself into orbit around the planet."

"Let me guess: he's not answering hails, right?"

"Correct, sir. We've tried him on CTAF and Guard." CTAF stood for Common Traffic Advisory Frequency, the frequency which civilian pilots use to communicate in uncontrolled systems like this one. Guard was the emergency frequency.

"Either he's not on frequency or he's ignoring us. What do we know about the ship?"

"It's not even a ship. Looks more like a plane. Looks like just another little shitbucket hardpointer," Cdr. Tengrove said with disgust.

"You're shitting me? They sent another one? After we shot down the last one?"

"It appears so, sir."

"Is it the same company? That No-em-ee, or whatever the fuck it's called?"

"We think so, sir. It's hard to read their tail number from this far away⁠—even with the long range optical scopes, but it looks like it ends in the letters NC."

"No-em-ee Charters. That's them all right. Stupid fuckers." At this point, Capt. Villalobos turned to his tac officer. "Tactical, what's the status on our fighters?"

"All eight ready to launch, sir."

"Good. Launch 'em. Send two to intercept and keep the other six here on station. I don't trust Third Law not to be up to some kinda fuckery, trying to draw our fighters away from the ship. And if this hardpointer even thinks about deorbiting, hit him with an EMP and bounce him off the atmosphere."

"Aye, sir," said the tactical officer.

"And I mean bounce, goddamn it! Make sure those flyboys know not to fuck this one up like they did the last one. I want to board and claim this freighter."

"Aye, sir," said the tactical officer again. He went about relaying the captain's orders into his headset.

Capt. Villalobos turned to his communications officer next. "Comms, have you tried the No-em-ee corporate frequencies?"

"Uhh...not yet, sir."

"Make it happen, lieutenant."

"Aye, sir," said the lieutenant. He began leafing frantically through the manual looking for the list of known Noémie corporate frequencies.

**Author's Note:  "To Arms" is the name of the tune that the US Navy used to play when they "beat to quarters" (readied the ship for battle) during the old wooden ship days.  It was played by the ship's drummer and could be heard throughout the ship.  Everyone on the ship knew what that tune meant.  At hearing it, every man assumed his assigned battle station.  I put this detail in the story as a tribute to my several friends who are currently serving or have in the past served in the US Navy.

You can hear "To Arms" on Youtube:  https://youtu.be/tDRhRjNmh0w (Wattpad doesn't allow hyperlinks, so just copy/paste.)