“I’m receiving reports of gunfire down on the lower decks, sir,” ops said.
Jericho looked at him as a thought occurred to him. “Where exactly were those reports from?” he asked.
“Deck fourteen, sir, midships.”
“The cunning bastards, they’re trying to get around the firing protocols,” he said.
Sitting back in the chair, he realised there was only one way this was ever going to end. His mind made up, he said, “Access the firing controls for the missiles. Lock on target and fire all of them.”
There was quiet around the bridge as the crew took in what the new orders were. Glances were exchanged between them which Jericho noticed and decided to put an end to.
“Now,” he demanded.
Ops turned back to his station, as did all the others, and Jericho looked toward the weapons officer who hesi
