“In classic rocket ship fashion – tail down. We’d have to put a landing gear onto them, but with Phobos’s gravity even a very flimsy structure would be adequate.”
“There’s a lot of ifs and buts in all this,” Fengzi said after some thought, “and at the end of the day, what would it get us?”
“At best,” Lewis replied simply, “it gives us one heavy swing from a direction they don’t expect. But under the right conditions, that might be enough.”
“Well,” Fengzi said eventually, “that’s good enough to justify taking a detailed look. See where the devil is in this detail.”
___________________________
5th December 2067
“This region on the Phobos’s Stickney Crater is the most extensively surveyed part of the moon – ice mining began ten years ago,” Staff Captain Sheehan said, as he gestured towards a chart of the moon.
The briefing room was crowded with the fleet’s senior officers and they all studied the chart carefully.
“The surface is approximately eight part rock to two parts ice and although there is a certain porosity, computer models indicate that under Phobos gravity, the three point landing gear outlined by engineering should be sufficient. The force we have slated for this fast division is Warspite, Deimos, Cruiser Squadrons Twelve and Fourteen…”
“Should?” Wingate interrupted, “Should seems sketchy, Captain. We are talking about a significant number of ships. Nose up, tail down – that’s the most unstable possible posture. What happens if one of the cruisers – or God help us – Warspite, puts a landing pad down on one of these pores?”
Sheehan looked unaccountably flustered. Not surprising, Lewis thought. Sheehan didn’t believe in the plan, but his Chief of Staff was a professional and knew his job was to try to make Lewis’s decisions work. The past three days had seen his staff run ragged as they attempted to plan for a scenario never before considered. The men and women who had designed the ships were drafted in to provide their input and as they did, the plan Lewis had sketched out was refined and developed. Designs for the landing gear were hastily put together and various orbital dockyards were already fabricating them. The destroyers were dropped when no hard points could be found that would support their landing gear. Civilians familiar with the Martian moons were also brought in to provide their expertise, while the chosen starships were moved up to the space docks, ready for the conversion work. They had now reached the point where to go any further would mean formal permission.
“Sir,” Lewis cut in, “the very worst case scenario would be a ship tumbling. But given that Phobos’s escape velocity is very low, if a ship fails to find firm footing, any of them, including Warspite, can pull away. The biggest danger would be if a ship came down too hard and one or more of the landing gear struts collapsed.”
“So we could lose a ship before the fight even begins.” Wingate persisted.
“Yes, sir, we could,” Lewis replied. “Such a ship would be recoverable but not in time for the battle.”
“You’re not selling this well, Paul.”
“We can’t mount a conventional defence, not successfully,” Lewis said. “Sooner or later the Nameless will close in on either Earth or Saturn. When they do, they will enter a mass shadow. If it is Earth, then we can pin them with this fast division on one side and the rest of the fleet on the other, with fighters and these new torpedoes sealing the flanks. If it’s Saturn, then we jump in behind them and hem them in until the rest of the fleet joins us. But for us to stand any chance of doing this, we have to come from a direction where they don’t see us coming.”
Wingate’s eyes flicked towards Fengzi.
“We have looked at every other possibility, sir,” Fengzi said. “They will not work. This piece of off-the-wall thinking stands a chance, just not a very good one.”
“But Warspite and you: both away from Earth?” Wingate asked.
“I can’t be the anvil sir. I need to be the hammer. We have to achieve gun range and I believe this is the way to do it.”
Wingate stared at the display.
“The Council will not like this,” he said eventually.
“The Council has handed over a chunk of the human race to the fucking Aèllr,” Fengzi replied. “We’ve been off the wall, they’ve done the unthinkable.”
“I may not word it that way Admiral, but you’re right. We’ve already given up on conventional thinking,” Wingate replied before turning. “Admiral Lewis, you are authorised to proceed.”
Chapter Five
Digging In
12th December 2067
“I’m just saying sir, we’ve got problems brewing,” said Deimos’s Chief Engineer. “The Bosun has got teams doing ultrasounds along the rest of the longitudinal beams, but I’m expecting more of the same.”
“Unfortunately, I expect you’re right,” Crowe replied, looking up from his computer pad. “I’m not sure what they are putting us into dock for at this late hour, but I want this brought to the dockyard’s attention. We may as well try to get something out of this.”
There was no doubt that when the shit hit the fan they would be in the middle of it. Deimos had a well drilled and by now experienced crew, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have their focus buggered up. The news about the Confederacy was bad enough and they’d had their two message drones swapped out for the new torpedoes. He wanted the crew to be ready, not pissing around with new equipment they wouldn’t have time to master. This was not the time to start rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.
Currently, Deimos was holding position five hundred metres outside the Gemini construction platform, waiting for a tug to assist with the final approach and docking.
“This isn’t something to be dealt with on the fly,” the engineer warned. “This is major overhaul stuff and even then, the ship might still have problems,” he ended with a shrug.
Crowe looked back at the pad. The inspection results were bad, but far from unexpected. Deimos had been designed to escort larger slower vessels like fighter carriers and support ships, protecting them from enemy fighters, strike boats and destroyers. With no requirement to match the rapid movements of more nimble ships, she was relatively lightly built. But in this war, Deimos had found herself in a battle line role more stressful than that envisioned by her designers. Along the way she’d absorbed two heavy blows and numerous minor hits, all of which were taking their toll. The diagram now in front of Crowe showed the ship’s main structural beams, with red markers indicating where micro fractures had already been detected in the ship’s structure. Deimos wasn’t an old ship but war was wearing her out fast. To stand any chance of stopping the rot, she needed a major refit – a refit that she would not get. So why were they heading into a dock where the heavy cruisers De Gaulle and Michael Collins had already been moored? Something was up. He could feel it and he knew he probably wouldn’t like it.
The briefing room was almost silent as the officers who had been gathered there departed. Some looked shell-shocked and some bemused as they filed out. Crowe remained in his seat, furious. He’d barely had time to get Deimos to her berth before running for the shuttle to Starforge. Once there, he’d been escorted to a briefing room with a dozen other commanding officers – some of the fleet’s best. These were the men and women expected to provide the next generation of admirals and fleet commanders. As a man who before the war had happily taken the role of a driver for civilian exploration missions, this was not company Crowe had either expected or wanted to find himself in. When Admiral Lewis had walked into the room, he’d known it would be bad. He hadn’t been wrong.
When the other commanding officers had left, he approached the Admiral. Lewis remained seated as he organised his papers.
“Commodore Crowe,” he said calmly as he looked up. “Is there a reason you are still here?”
“Yes, sir,” Crowe replied, “my ship, again?”
“Yes, Commodore. Have you a good reason why I should not assign Deimos
to this?”
“Because we covered the retreat from Junction Station. Before that we were in Kite String and before that we barely made it out of Baden.”
“You feel you’ve done enough?” Lewis replied in a dangerously calm voice.
“My crew are tired, my ship is wearing out and now…”
“And now, Commodore, you have been given your orders,” Lewis replied coldly before he glanced back at his Chief of Staff.
“Captain,” he prompted.
“Yes, sir,” Sheehan replied before leaving the room.
“I am aware of Deimos’s war record, Commodore,” Lewis continued as the hatch closed, “just as I am aware of yours. I have a lot of respect for your efforts from the Mississippi Incident to the present, which is a large part of the reason I am tolerating this conversation. No one will get a chance to sit this one out Commodore. You know that as well as I do.”
Crowe changed tack.
“Sir, my ship badly needs a complete overhaul,” he said. “Another ship another Luna class…”
“A marginally more relevant factor,” Lewis interrupted. “But the fact that Deimos has seen hard use is not a negative point. It’s one that made the choice simpler.”
“My ship was chosen because it is expendable,” Crowe said in a hollow voice.
“All warships are expendable to some degree,” Lewis corrected. “Even if the Fast Division gets into position, even if it achieves what we hope it can, there is no guarantee that the ships of the division that survive will be fit for further service. Your ship was chosen because the Luna class as a whole have been hard used. Deimos may not be fit for further service no matter what position I place her in, so I must instead make best use of her now.”
“You’re thinking of the next battle,” Crowe said. “The one after this.”
“Yes,” Lewis replied simply. “A victory here merely staves off defeat. It doesn’t win the war. And win the war is what we have to do.”
For a moment Crowe saw through the facade of command, seeing not the cold blooded, uncaring officer he was familiar with. Not the one who had thrown men and women into the furnace of battle without hesitation, but the man behind the uniform. Old, tired, determined and yet desperately afraid that nothing he could do would be enough. This plan, this insane plan to land starships, was the product of a man who, if not grasping at straws, was getting close to it.
“Desperate times, Commodore,” Lewis said quietly. “If the price of getting the Home and Second Fleets into gun range is the loss of Warspite, Deimos and a half dozen first class cruisers, then that price is acceptable. If you have no further questions, Commodore, then you are dismissed.”
In the last sentence the Admiral’s tone changed. It regained its certainty and Crowe knew that he had reached the end of the old man’s tolerance.
By the time he got back to the Gemini platform, dockworkers were already crawling all over the outer hull of Deimos, closely watched from one of the observation platforms by the cruiser’s deeply suspicious chief engineer.
“Sir,” he said as Crowe approached, “some kind of work has started on the ship, but I’ve not been informed of the details, which is completely in breach of regs.”
“And subject to the orders they’ve received from Headquarters,” Crowe replied, as he pushed himself down until his boot magnets locked onto the floor. “Is anyone else off the ship?”
“No. A staff officer turned up just after you left with orders for all personnel to remain on board. I’ve only got this far because the Commander argued that I need to be aware of what changes are being made to the ship.”
“Well, get yourself back on board, Chief,” Crowe replied. “I have to give you all a briefing.”
“Yes, sir,” the Chief replied, turning away from the viewing port just in time to miss the first of three structures being swung into place over the cruiser’s drive section.
Deimos’s wardroom was only big enough to just about accommodate all of her officers. Some had been with the ship since before Crowe took command. Others had arrived as replacements for those killed, wounded or in all too few cases, transferred off. But as a pair of ratings set up a holo projector, it struck Crowe that this ship – his ship – had developed an oddly unique esprit de corps in the form of a weary resignation that whatever was about to hit the fan, they’d be in the middle of it and, at the same time, a confidence that they’d come out the far side.
“Gentlemen, we’ve received our assignment for the coming engagement,” Crowe started, “and I will admit it is not what any of us are expecting.
He turned on the holo projector. It showed Deimos herself, as she would appear once the dockyard workers were done.
“What in hell’s name?” exclaimed Lieutenant Colwell from the back as a general mutter went round the room.
Crowe couldn’t blame them. Three spindly legs were mounted at one hundred and twenty degrees to each other, at right angles to the longitudinal axis of the ship. They gave the ship a landing platform, which would allow the cruiser to stand upright on her tail. But it looked like the ship had been forcibly crossbred with an old Apollo moon lander.
“Quiet please. As you will have figured out, our mission will be unorthodox. We have been assigned to a new force to be designated as the Fast Division. It will consist of our own ship, the Warspite and the heavy cruisers De Gaulle, Churchill, Michael Collins, Hades, Hermes and Athena. As soon as our new struts are complete, we will break Earth orbit and head for the Martian moon of Phobos. Once there, we will land on the surface of the moon.”
There was another babble of voices. This time Crowe let them continue for several moments before rapping on the table.
“We will land there, secure ourselves, power down and make sufficient arrangements to allow us to dump our remaining waste heat into the surface of the moon.”
“What on Earth is the purpose of this, sir?” asked Commander Bhudraja.
“We are the counter attack element. If or when the Nameless make a move against either Earth or Saturn, our job will be to jump in behind them and pin them inside a mass shadow until the rest of the fleet can join us. We will be the cork in the bottle. Our role is obvious – we are here to protect the other seven ships during the run into plasma cannon range.”
“Eight ships versus a fleet?” asked the gunner.
“Eight good ships,” Crowe replied.
“More like seven plus us,” Colwell said. “No one has ever landed a starship the size of Deimos! Not even on a low gravity moon!”
“Gentlemen,” Crowe interrupted, frowning at Colwell as he did so, “we can stop the debate right here. The bottom line is we have been given our orders. Headquarters thinks this is our best shot at getting a force into gun range, so that’s what we will do.”
“There are no existing navigational system programmes to allow for landing,” Colwell said unhappily.
“Headquarter has promised landing programmes for the helm, but frankly we aren’t counting on that. So you and the helmsman have two days to come up with some,” Crowe replied.
“What about our aft firing arcs?” the gunner asked. “Those legs will block our firing astern. How can we remove them once we’ve taken off again?”
“We’re being supplied with shaped charges to fit once we’ve landed. Those should be able to remove them. But as a redundancy, we are being supplied with a half dozen rounds for the flak guns, which will be solid shot rather than explosive.”
“You mean…”
“Yes. If necessary, we’ll shoot them off.”
Colwell was still shaking his head in disbelief.
“Look at it this way. The Americans managed to make the first moon landing in a vessel so primitive we’d be afraid to get into it. Let alone fly it.”
“Yes sir, but Neil Armstrong at least had the luxury of a purpose built ship!”
“Well, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Crowe replied turning off the holo, “as the saying goes, if you can’t take a joke, then you
shouldn’t have joined!”
Forty-eight hours later, Deimos emerged from docks with her three spindly legs to join the other seven ships of the Fast Division. If they looked ridiculous on Deimos, on the imposing bulk of Warspite they were truly absurd. Colwell had come up with a landing programme and at least in simulation it appeared sound. But then again, as the old saying went: garbage in, garbage out. Simulations were only as good as the data they were based on and Colwell hadn’t been wrong when he pointed out that no one had ever landed a starship. It was certainly true that Phobos was a low gravity moon, so low in fact that one could probably achieve escape velocity with a pushbike and a ramp. Even so, if they came down too hard, the landing legs would give way and if that happened – well it would be interesting to watch, but only from a safe distance.
Crowe looked up from his desk as his intercom buzzed.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, Communications. We’re receiving a transmission from Headquarters. We’re ordered to put it up ship wide.”
“Very well. I’ll be up to the bridge in a moment.”
The grapevine must have kicked in because more of the ship’s officers were hanging around than had any legitimate reason to be there. Crowe listened to the message, then nodded to the communications officer.
“Men and women of the fleet,” Admiral Wingate’s voice echoed through Deimos and every other ship in the fleet. “A short time ago we received word from our reconnaissance ships that the leading elements of the Nameless fleet have now reached Alpha Centauri. We believe their arrival in this solar system is days or perhaps only hours away. I will not lie to you. The battle ahead will be the hardest we of the fleet have ever fought and the odds are now against us. But this is what we have trained for, what we have prepared for and what we have sworn to do – to stand between Earth and all that would threaten it.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 7
