Spaceship Struggles

by Ingo Potsch

  Holding on her course, the Amidou Durant warned her consorts by encoded hyperspace message and a flotilla of Human Nation ships set course to intercept the enemy battleship. They ran head-on into a trap and heavy explosions soon after told their own tale.

  An even more unfortunate incident occurred during the hours of the most dense white noise. Several Human Nation’s light cruisers were rushing in double line ahead when a severely mauled Aesuron self-guided missile frigate was observed approaching. Mistaken for one of the Human Nation’ destroyers, the two leading cruisers let her slip past in between them, within the distance of below one light second, without recognising her as what she was really. This resulted on two sets of two powerful missiles being launched at the leading cruisers, both of which were annihilated at once.

  The third Human Nation’s cruiser had taken no risks, and trained her machine cannons upon the stranger. When the detonations occurred and before the enemy frigate could re-load her missile acceleration tubes and send further deadly devices into the direction of the passing by cruisers, the Human Nation’s light cruiser saved them the job in a most effectual manner. She sent a barrage of huge shells at almost point-blank range into the light-built hull of the enemy frigate. As the high-velocity projectiles crashed into the vessel, she was almost immediately frazzled into little pieces of debris. A rapid succession of blinding flashes, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. The searching hyperspace sensors of the cruisers played upon an expanse of agitated hyperspace where, five seconds before, an Aesuron self-guided missile frigate had been churning on her way.

  Meanwhile the Mandana held resolutely on her course, ignorant of her position relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to knock up against one of the Aesuron light cruisers.

  Bergerault had now resumed command. His unconquerable determination had soared above physical injuries. He would never consent that he was out for personal kudos, though his personal professional future was an important motivation. The Space Fleet was his life; and without the Space Fleet he saw little chances for him to make it into any position granting him similar social standing and income. Thus, Bergerault maintained the claim that he was actuated solely by a desire to uphold the prestige of the Grandiose Space Fleet of the Human Nation, and his own flotilla in particular. Therefore, he was determined to hurl the Mandana between the hostile lines, disregarding the ferocious foe. It mattered little that the destroyer was unsupported - for long since she had lost touch with her consorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell the tale, Bergerault was confident that the craft under his command would play her part in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the Human Nation’s Space Fleet. But of course, he expected to come back home; at least to have a chance. It all was a gamble. HE was at war. Any place was dangerous here within the combat theatre. Neither did he know for sure where the enemy was not – he assumed this, at least – did the enemy know where he was, and the other vessels of the Human Nation’s fleet. Thus, whatever he did entailed the same level of risk, but behaving heroically was going to serve him better. At least two promotions more Bergerault wanted; in fact needed. Then, he’d be financially and socially safe for the rest of his life.

  Presently a large mass was detected almost ahead and slightly on the destroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship, judging from its size and the hyperspace events which she produced. She was lying athwart the Mandana's course, with a considerable limp, indicating that her starboard dampers – and possibly the starboard hyperspace drive, too, were severely damaged - and proceeding at a rate of about four lightyears per hour. Could the Mandana see her more closely, she’d see that a good deal of the enemy ship’s external sensors and instruments, including telescope domes, had been shot away. Long gashes in her armoured plates testified to the accuracy and power of the Human Nation’s gunnery.

  Already the missiles had been "launched home" into the Mandana's twin acceleration tubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl into port, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months, everyone on the destroyer agreed. Leaving her the chance of meting up with Human Nation ships again was irresponsible; and it could be them, who’d have to face her next time round.

  But just at the very same moment that the missiles were ejected from the Mandana, the alien battleship leapt forward like a crocodile. This caused so many distortions in the already agitated hyperspace that the missiles self-homing systems got confused. This, in return, allowed the battleship to realise what was going on. Her mighty artillery trained upon the zig-zagging missiles and unleashed a veritable wall projectiles with proximity fuses upon the nuclear weapons. Both missiles got destroyed and the Mandana was well-advised to run away at the maximum of her capacity. Luckily, the Aesuron battleship failed to follow; or wasn’t inclined to do so.

  Soon later, the Mandana detected another huge vessel which was behaving similarly. Assuming that she was also an enemy battleship, Bergerault was about to con the destroyer in order to bring the missile-acceleration tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave a violent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery. The hyperspace event indicated that the second of her twin drives had faltered, and that she was maintaining herself in the superposed dimension only by her emergency machines. Those were probably also defective as a serious or further hyperspace events indicated that the battleship was going to drop out of hyperspace soon. Her crew - or, rather, the survivors – could be imagines as they leapt from decks of their vessel into the shuttles and emergency rafts, for a number of them departed from the battleship. Probably having senses the presence of another war vessel, these craft voluntarily descended from hyperspace. They probably hoped to be left in peace in normal space till somebody picked them up. It was a risky undertaking, but depending on who controlled the area – and it was closer to the Aesuron Empire than to the Human Nation – it was a viable choice. Usually, normal space was avoided for the difficulties of getting back into the superposed dimension; which could mean being trapped for ages out there into the great, empty nowhere. Anyway, for the Mandana there was no need for a torpedo to administer the coup de grâce. Only much later it came to be known that the battleship had been one of the best and biggest serving with the Human Nation’s Space Fleet and that the Mandana had failed to rescue her survivors, who later were picked up by the Aesuron. Luckily, the ship-wrecked astronauts were treated well by the aliens, just like all other prisoners of war. They learned first-hand that the atrocity propaganda spread by the media in the Human Nation was just that: atrocity propaganda.

  Five minutes later the battleship’s default engines collapsed under the load and the burden of aggregate damages and the vessel actually dropped out of hyperspace, by which time the Mandana had left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct signals were just beginning to be detectable against the patch of white noise that hovered broad and wide across the sensor horizon.

  Then, a sudden warning shrilled through the bridge. The automated tactical analysis system of the destroyer had realised that the Mandana was literally enveloped by hostile signatures which had appeared almost out of nowhere. One moment later, the automated system made the only remaining machine cannon fire ferociously at an incoming missile. The nuclear weapon sensed the approaching projectiles and decided to detonate before it was ripped apart. The flash of brutal light flared through the open portholes of the Mandana’s bridge, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly. Fairly caught by the rays of that detonation, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.

  Fortunately Astley's back was at that moment turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically.

  "Hard-a-p
ort!" shouted the junior lieutenant.

  The astronaut made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of metal, caused by spallation had pierced his brain, for the Mandana was also shot at with artillery.

  Pushing the body aside, Astley put the helm hard over while churning up the hyperspace drive, and moving the pane-control deep down, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her weapons, entered a darkened patch through a bank of white noise between the less clouded areas on either side.

  With her remaining gun spitting defiance at the hostile light cruisers, and launching her last missiles immediately into the direction at which Astley supposed a target to be presenting itself, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, were hurtled at her, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.

  The Aesuron cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their commanders been equal eager to the Human Nation’s to earn their spurs, the Mandana would have been blown clean clear out of space; but the terrible battle had told upon their nerves; and they were anyway more cautious, and more inclined to preserve warriors and war-material for later use than to expend them in a rush of fury. A wholesome dread of the Human Nation’s destroyers with their deadly missiles was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that the Mandana was leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Aesuron. Annihilating an already fairly much finished enemy destroyer compared unfavourably to risking a flotilla of cruisers in the hyperspace haze which hid the friend and foe and reduced the superiority of the larger vessels. After all, a missile was a missile was a missile, no matter from what vessel it was ejected.

  In the midst of the hailstorm of shells Astley realised that another ship from the Human Nation had joined him in the mess. Perhaps, she had also attempted to seek refuge in the comparatively dense bank of white noise into which young officer had steered his vessel. Now, they were two of them, being in this bag together, which was beaten about from all sided by the Aesuron with their big clubs. Finally, one of the Aesuron missiles "got home"; almost. Detonating just a couple of hundred meters away from its target, it was ripping open the bottom of the other destroyer and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of the resulting hyperspace event was distinctly felt, while for a moment only a dense cloud of smoke remained from the destroyer. But even this cloud of smoke and small pieces of debris was disappearing successively from the superposed dimension. The resulting hyperspace distortions combined with the natural brane waves, resulting in even more white noise, and completely enveloped the little craft that was desperately trying to survive.

  "Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Astley recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."

  The cloud of smoke in conjunction with the dimensional distortions saved the Mandana from destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of white noise, the destroyer slipped away from the prowling Aesuron cruisers, and, doubling back, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.

  In vain the Aesuron swept the area around the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened gave up that task and re-formed line.

  Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of outer space, Astley began to realize the responsibility of his position. Bergerault was now lying motionless - either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Astley was unable to lift a finger to help him. The junior lieutenant was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a faltering, failing vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over the Mandana, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck. Having decided to go on silent running, Astley had the dampeners turned to maximum softness, and he made the Mandana creep forward slowly and cautiously. The softer the dampeners were adjusted, the better they prevented detectable hyperspace events. Soft dampers were inappropriate for swift manoeuvring and fast rides, though, because they reduced the control which the steering had over the ship. For silent running, they were a necessity, though.

  Yet Astley's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had been carried out. The Mandana, in a damaged, perhaps foundering, condition, was alone in the extensive Inter-Arm Void, where many enemies roamed.

  The dark form of an astronaut in scorched mecha-suit clambered up the twisted bridge-ladder, and, crossing to where Astley stood, touched his shoulder.

  "Where's the junior lieutenant, mate?" he asked.

  "I'm here, Bourdenet," replied the young officer.

  "Beg your pardon, sir," replied the enlisted astronaut. "Couldn't recognize you in the darkness. Thought I'd see if you were all right."

  "Thanks," replied Astley, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on down below?"

  "A clean sweep, sir," replied Bourdenet . "A regular wipe-out. Copped us properly, the damn bastards. Both tubes knocked out, after gun turret clean over the side."

  "Do you know if we're losing much atmosphere?" asked the junior lieutenant anxiously, for the sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the superposed dimension gave rise to considerable apprehension in that respect.

  "Can't say, sir."

  "Then pass the word for the senior petty officer to report to me."

  The enlisted astronaut hurried off, muttering curiously expressed words of thanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Gratitude had been a hitherto undeveloped trait in Bourdenet's nature, until that memorable occasion when Astley risked his life to safe the live of Bourdenet when the fellow found himself suddenly out of the ship.

  Groping for the microphone to establish voice communication from the bridge to the generator-control room, for the screen and levers had disappeared, Astley attempted to call up the engineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with the engine-room was completely interrupted, too, now. Not so long ago, it had still worked.

  It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reported himself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding the rank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educated specimen of the enlisted ranks. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had been dumped down just as he was in the streets of a Space Fleet town, he would have been promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features were literally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for the impact and resulting pressure wave of a shell had hurled him face downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his face in a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His war-worn combat fatigue was in ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a black scarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop a steady trickle from a spallation-caused wound.

  Briefly and to the point the petty officer made his report. The Mandana had been hulled in more than twenty places, but only three holes were of greater importance. These had already admitted a considerable quantity of atmosphere to disappear, but temporary repairs were already in hand. The automated air conditioning system had been damaged, but was capable of being set right, while the use of oxygen bottles of which there were luckily enough enabled the sorry remnant of the destroyer's crew to continue working and keep the leaks well under control.

  Obviously, though, the vessel had other problems. For any spaceship the hyperspace drive was the most important piece of technology on board and exactly that one was giving signs of defeatism. It was good that the basic structure of the vessel in terms of her hull and skeleton was still good for returning home. Neverthe
less the Mandana no longer moved nicely through the dimensional force waves. A sullen, listless movement told its own tale. With asynchronously working hyperspace drive, the forces which hyperspace excrete upon the ship’s structure were inducing more material failures over time. Not without a grim, determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat the joint effects of war and rough hyperspace conditions; if at all.

  On the outside of the Mandana, most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the gun turrets and outside sensor cupolas only one weapon and seven instances of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both cranes and heavers for towing had been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only the shadow of its former self was left, with the bridge miraculously remaining partially functional; the rest had been blown away almost with the last shell fired at point-blank range. The Mandana's forward crew accommodations for the enlisted astronauts no longer existed. On the upside of the ship, from a line just a little behind the bows almost to the foot of the conning tower with the bridge, there was nothing left but a softly inclined plane of bent and perforated steel plates.

  "Our own mother wouldn't know us, sir," concluded the petty officer.

  "Let us hope she'll have the chance," replied Astley, wondering whether it was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongside her parent ship, or whether the Mandana would again berth alongside the jetty at far-off Planet Five Gardens.