by Britt Ringel
“You can meet me here,” Falk answered and then pointed to a second door in the compartment. “That’s the portal to Passageway Two-Echo. The corridor splits in two and runs down the length of each side of the ship. You can reach all of our turrets using it.” He tapped commands at his station and a schematic of Lochaber appeared on a screen. “Of course, you can access the turrets via two other passageways but this is the one we use until the SEET tells us it’s been destroyed.” He turned to face Twist. “You’ll be surprised how much running around we do during battle, sir. Something always needs checking and the folks in the turrets are too busy to do it.” He pointed back and forth between them. “We’re the only redundancy in the subsection so it’s on us to do the little things. When Lieutenant Jacoby was here, I’d do most of the running while he monitored the turrets.”
“I don’t mind being a gopher, Petty Officer Falk,” Twist volunteered.
Falk smiled. “We can take turns while you learn the ropes, sir. Eventually though, we’ll need you in here running the show. I just wish we had more time to get you up to speed. The whole task group has been exercising almost nonstop for three weeks.”
“Do you know where we’re headed?”
Falk leaned toward his fresh ensign. “Rumor has it that the Commonwealth is going to make a run at Metis. Our task group is going to stop them.”
Twist felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought that war was coming for him. I don’t have any real training. I’m not ready for this.
Falk must have noticed Twist’s concern. “We’re getting help, sir. Second Fleet is taking both of Third Fleet’s carriers. In fact, Avenger and Eagle should have arrived in-system by now.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Ensign. Between our task group and the carriers, we’ll have more than enough to defend Sponde.”
Chapter 10
“Have a seat, Caden,” Lieutenant Chappell said amiably while gesturing next to him.
Twist quickly moved around the small conference table to sit between Lieutenant Commander Escobar and Lieutenant Chappell. One officer was the top of the chain of command for the entire Weapons section and the other was Twist’s immediate commander.
The men were a lesson in dichotomy. Where the lieutenant commander was a tall, dark-haired man, Chappell barely touched one and a half meters with hair so blonde it was nearly white. Where Escobar’s mannerisms could be labeled as stern, the lieutenant’s demeanor was relaxed and congenial. Twist had formally reported in only moments ago but already come to recognize the two, distinctly different leadership styles.
Chappell looked expectantly at his boss and Escobar took the lead. He waved a large hand between himself and Chappell while explaining, “We’re both attending this meeting because I believe it’s important to meet with all our new weapons officers even though time is very short.” He glanced at his datapad resting on the table. “As you know, our next exercise is scheduled in less than two hours but I wanted to get this meet-and-greet accomplished before it begins.”
Escobar brought his eyes up from the table to look directly at Twist. He curled his hand into a loose fist and then extended the index finger. “Number one, I expect your conduct to meet the highest standards of officers in the navy at all times. You will set the example for the men and women stationed under you.” A second finger was unfurled. “Number two, you will follow the chain of command at all times. I will eat your lunch if I find you’ve circumvented proper military protocol.” A third finger. “And number three, we’re at war. Sacrifices will be made and that includes ones made from our personal lives. From this point forward, you will spend every waking minute striving to learn your job so you can perform your part of Lochaber’s mission. Just because you have not yet attended Weps-Tech—” he used the colloquialism for the weapons technical training program all weapons officers attended early in their careers, “—doesn’t mean that I don’t expect you to be a valuable and knowledgeable member of Chappell’s team.”
Escobar relaxed his hand and sighed. After a pause he said, “Lieutenant Chappell and I are well aware of who your mother is and while we both have tremendous respect for Assistant Secretary Twist and her accomplishments, it’s important for you to know that you will receive no special treatment.”
Twist nodded eagerly at the statement. “I honestly don’t want any, sir.”
“You’ll get none,” Escobar confirmed before reaching for his datapad. He rose to his towering height and reiterated, “Conduct, protocol and sacrifice, Ensign. Do your job well and you’ll be fine.” His speech over, Escobar gave Chappell a short nod and exited the conference room.
Chappell waited until the section commander had left the room and the portal was securely closed. He then blew a breath out slowly and smiled. “Well, okay. That was Commander Escobar.” His smile widened and he leaned toward Twist. “I know he can be a bit intimidating but he’s a phenomenal weapons officer and we’re lucky to have him. He’s also under a lot of pressure from Captain Kessler. We all are.”
Twist felt himself relax slightly with the more sociable encounter but was still tightly wound. “Yes, sir, although I understand and agree with everything Commander Escobar said. I’m just worried that I won’t have enough time to learn my job.”
Chappell nodded sympathetically. “The timing is terrible. In fact, Escobar considered asking Brevic Personnel Center to delay your report-no-later-than date until after your tech school but it was agreed that half an ensign was better than none.” He lifted his datapad off the table and consulted its screen. “You’ve been slotted for a Weps Tech class in Anthe that begins at the end of the month.” He began to input commands. “In the meantime, I’m sending you our combat procedures and the WEPS instructions… make sure you read every word.”
Twist already had the information but nodded silently.
“When you’re done reading them,” Chappell continued, “learn everything you can from Petty Officer Falk. I hate to admit it but I’m too busy to help train you. Your NCOs will teach you most of the things you need to learn anyway and you’re lucky because Falk is a great one. In fact, he’s due to put on chief petty officer in a couple months. I’m losing Chief Townsend soon but I promise not to steal Falk from you until you’re up to speed.” He swiped a finger over his datapad a final time. “There, the instructions are sent.” He looked over to Twist. “Read them as soon as you can, Caden. A lot of it won’t make much sense to you but every bit will help. Most importantly, realize that Falk has been doing this job for eleven years. Respect that experience, okay?”
Twist nodded again. “I will, sir.” He realized his fingernails were digging into his palms and tried to unclench his fists.
“I want you leading Haze-One during the next exercise,” Chappell ordered. “Your gunners need to hear your voice and you need the experience. I don’t know when the real fighting will start but my gut says it’s going to be sooner rather than later.”
Twist swallowed the gorge climbing his throat.
Chappell’s eyes swept over his young charge before adding compassionately, “And relax, Caden. I know this is a new world for you but if you’re anything like your mother, you’ll be commanding this ship before long.” He offered Twist an easy smile and winked. “And I should probably tell you that everyone on the ship knows who your mother is. To be honest, it’s a little intimidating to be your OIC so understand that as anxious as you might be, the people around you, especially your junior enlisted, are going to be even more nervous until they’ve figured you out. We follow all the proper military protocol and standards as Commander Escobar has stated but we’re also a family here in heavy lasers.”
Chappell smiled congenially. “You’re part of that family now so let’s be sure to take care of each other.”
* * *
The clattering of utensils around Twist did little to distract him from his plate. Sitting upon his tray was a beef-substitute protein resting next to three different types of fresh vegetables. Given the gusto
of the people around him, Twist assumed the food was appetizing but the best he could do was two bites before pushing the tray away. The food simply had no taste.
“You need to eat more than that,” Holt advised between mouthfuls. “The exercise will easily last eight hours and if your compartment decompresses, you won’t have a chance to snack.”
“I’m just not hungry, I guess,” Twist said but reluctantly pulled the tray back toward him. He jabbed at the protein.
“Hey.” Holt reached out and lightly touched his wrist. Big, brown eyes probed his. “It’s just an exercise.”
“Yeah but I don’t know what I’m doing,” Twist confided quietly. He had spent the rest of the morning rereading Chappell’s material. The procedures guide read like a foreign language and the weapons instructions had been so dry and lengthy that Twist was unsure if he could recall any of it. “I haven’t even been here a full day and I’m already being graded in an exercise. What if I screw up in front of my section?”
“Look, Caden. Falk’s been running your section by himself for two weeks now and Lochaber is still in one piece. Plus, everyone knows you’re brand new and a wreck.” Her infectious smile appeared briefly as she pointed to the single bar sewn onto each epaulette of his uniform. “That’s why they make those bright gold bars so easy to see. So we can get out of your way!” She chuckled lightly. “We’ve all been in your shoes and we’ve all, somehow, survived.”
Holt quickly popped her fork into her mouth. “You will too,” she mumbled around the food. “Now eat something.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Twist smiled despite himself as he poked at the yams on his plate. After a silence had passed between them, he asked, “Do you really think we have enough to defend Sponde?”
“We should,” Holt replied. “Task Group Two-two is a powerhouse and we just got word that the carrier task group is commanded by Admiral Hayes.”
Twist hoped Holt was right. Although Task Group 2.2 was formidable, it was a traditional combat fleet. The eighteen-ship group consisted of a single BattRon, CruRon and CortRon each. The battleship and cruiser squadrons boasted not only Determined but also a fleet tug equipped with three missile pods, four command cruisers including Lochaber, four heavy cruisers and two light cruisers. Shielding the attack ships of TG 2.2 was their escort squadron, or CortRon, comprising a light cruiser escort, four destroyer escorts and a lone frigate escort. These specialized ships would contribute little to the offensive punch of the group but served the critical function of defeating waves of incoming missiles. Altogether, it was a fearsome force that would normally hold its own against any aggressor. However, with the introduction of carriers, task groups similar to 2.2’s composition had been decimated in the opening battles of the war. If navy leadership was dedicating two of the precious few Brevic carriers to Sponde, it was clear that the Hollarans were headed this way.
(Link to Sponde Defense Org Chart; there is a return link after the chart to continue reading)
“Will Admiral Johnston retain command of the defense forces in Sponde?” Twist asked. Montgomery Johnston was the overall commander of Task Group 2.2. The introduction of a second admiral, Mitchell “Hurricane” Hayes, potentially clouded the chain of command as both were rear admirals.
Holt shook her head as she took a long gulp from her glass. “I don’t know. Sponde is in Second Fleet’s AOR but I hear Admiral Hayes takes a back seat to nobody. Plus, since he’s commanding a new carrier task group, Naval Command might want him calling the shots.” She picked at her food thoughtfully before tossing her utensils onto the tray. “It’s way above our pay grade anyway.” She pushed against the tabletop to rise from her chair. “We need to get to our battle stations. The exercise will kick off soon and you still have to get into your shocksuit.”
Twist dropped his fork and stood with Holt. The pair deposited their trays at a counter where they were swept away by an Operations spaceman. Holt led them out of the mess hall and turned toward the stern of the ship. In the name of redundancy, the commensurate HAZ-1 and HAZ-2 battle stations were at opposite ends of the ship.
Holt twisted around and offered a wave. “Sights tight, Caden, and don’t worry. It’s not as hard as you might think.”
“Uh, okay, see you later, Lucy. Good luck,” he answered with a timid wave of his own.
Twist watched the tall officer stalk away before turning toward the bow. He flexed his hands to work off nervous energy before fishing his datapad from a pocket to pull up several checklists he had created the night before. There were standard checklists for the weapons fire control subsections but Twist had spent the better part of three hours customizing an expanded checklist of his own, getting familiar with what he hoped would be the orderly process of administering fire control to his gunners. He had studied less than a quarter of it before entering the HAZ-1 Fire Control Station.
“Afternoon, Ensign,” Falk greeted cheerfully. “Ready to go to work?”
“Looking forward to it, Gunnersmate First Class Falk.”
Falk snorted lightly. “Call me Bill here, Ensign.” He gestured around the four-cornered compartment. “Gunnersmate First Class Falk is just too damned long in the middle of combat.”
“Okay, Bill,” Twist answered. Should I offer the same? That’s not appropriate, right?
Twist was stuck in internal debate when Falk said, “Let’s get you into your shocksuit, sir. StartEx is coming up on us.”
Less than five minutes later, Twist was sitting secured inside his shocksuit. He left the visor on his helmet open as Falk had done. Falk explained that once the visor was closed, vision and communication would be greatly restricted. In the unlikely event of decompression, Twist had to merely slap down the visor and listen for the chime in his helmet’s speakers indicating a pressure-tight environment. He was assured the simple action could be easily accomplished before his lungs collapsed. He had even accomplished the task once before, in a simulated vacuum environment back on New London.
Per Brevic regulations, Twist sat in his shockseat under full restraints. A missile impact could strike close enough to the compartment to throw him from his seat and the Republic had learned through years of war and skirmishes the devastating effects such an occurrence could cause the human body. The slight restriction in movement was a small price to pay to avoid broken arms, or worse, a broken neck.
As the time ticked down to the start of Exercise Argent Shield, Twist studied his console. Sitting at his own station, Falk talked him through each panel’s basic functions while discussing the role Twist would play during combat. He also offered advice about which panels were most helpful in various situations.
Twist started to his right and ensured for the fifth time that his datapad was securely docked to the main console. His customized checklist waited patiently on the screen. Front and center on the console was the horizontal bank of status windows for each of HAZ-1’s ten Carbovan heavy lasers. True lasers, these large weapon platforms could hurl charged spits of energy to a range of 10ls (light-seconds). Lochaber’s other laser suites, general purpose or GP lasers, were much lighter energy platforms with half the range. The remuneration for the shorter range was a much improved refresh time. While the Carbovan could fire just once every ten seconds, a GP laser could cycle through its firing procedure in two seconds. As a result, starship engagements that dipped inside 5ls for any length of time tended to be as devastating as they were rare. More typically, fleet commanders on both sides would be content to merely brush the knife-fighting range of 5ls for a handful of seconds when possible. This fact made the heavy lasers the hammers of energy combat while the light, GP lasers were most frequently confined to missile defense aiding the escort ships.
Twist eyed the green status screens with a deep respect. At his fingertips lay a destructive power greater than most humans ever held. More important than the awesome power behind each green symbol was the trio of lives it represented. Each emerald glow was an NCO and two spacemen occupying a corresponding turre
t under his command. Thirty lives counted on him to do his job so they could do theirs.
Below the status screens resided the main console that communicated directly with the commander of the heavy laser section. Somewhere in the aft third of the ship, Lieutenant Chappell was inspecting his own command console, linked not only to his two subsection officers, Holt and Twist, but also with Lochaber’s weapons section commander, or WEPS, on the bridge. Orders would flow from the captain to his WEPS to Chappell, down to Twist and Holt and, finally, to individual gunners along the perimeter of the cruiser. Most of those orders would be fire missions, orders that pointed out specific things to destroy. As each simple command flowed down the chain, it would be accepted and segregated into more detailed orders at the different levels until Ensigns Twist and Holt delegated individual target taskings to each NCO inside each heavy laser turret. The process would not be completed until the gunnersmates in those turrets confirmed the targets and Twist or Holt gave final authority to fire.
Twist was responsible not only for his subsection’s targets but its equipment and personnel as well. Spread to either side of his main console were his turret communications controls and a myriad of screens showing Lochaber’s sensors for target lock support, the biometrics of each of his spacemen and power levels and other engineering diagnostics across the ten turrets. Falk had advised him that one of their more delicate tasks was allocating the power channeled to the subsection to each turret as energy requirements across the ship evolved. Falk had cautioned Twist to only observe the engineering panels and let him manage those duties for now.
Twist’s direct responsibilities for this exercise were to assist with the target taskings, authorize the final fire orders and monitor the status of each turret and its crew. These tasks and more would be fully explained and drilled endlessly at tech school until they became second nature. For now, Twist stared dumbfounded at the daunting array of responsibilities ahead of him.
