by David Tatum
“Well, we’ve still got a day. Maybe we should see if we can rent a couple rooms tonight, so we can avoid both of our cabins on the ship,” Rachel suggested.
“Maybe,” Chris said. “Or maybe we should just rent one... we’re used to sharing a cabin, after all, and I’d rather not have to fork over the yen to pay for multiple rooms in a place like this.”
Rachel paused. “Maybe. As long as there’s two beds, I guess that’d be all right.”
Chris froze. “I wasn’t suggesting that we, uh...”
“I know, Chris, I know,” Rachel said. “I was just trying to be clear.”
“Well, okay,” Chris said, relaxing slightly. “I’m letting you take the lead on that, just so you know. But for right now, I don’t want to waste our time off in transit between this station and the ship, so I still suggest we bunk here. But we aren’t going to be doing anything during our leave until you’ve finished fixing this last electronics package.”
Rachel laughed. “And what’ll you do if I refuse?”
Chris considered that for a moment. “Hmm... maybe this.”
With that, he attacked her, tickling her along her ribs. Rachel gasped, laughing, and started running away. “Hey!” she cried. “No fair. You aren’t ticklish!”
Chris chased her down the corridors. “You just haven’t found out where I’m ticklish, yet. And anyway, I won’t let up until you promise to do your work!”
Unseen by the two, Farmburg, disguised and dressed in civilian clothing, watched their merry romp. Perhaps the rumor he’d used to get Schubert so mad at him was true after all. He’d have to think about this, and see if there was any way to use it to his advantage.
——————————
EAS Chihuahua
“Captain Wendkos,” Burkhard said, greeting the commander of the Tarantula as he came aboard the Chihuahua.
“Captain Burkhard,” Commander Martin Wendkos replied, shaking hands with the younger man. “I understand you’re going to need my services, soon.”
Burkhard nodded. “Yes, but not right away. We’ll complete by the end of tomorrow, but I’m giving the crew some leave afterwards while we take care of some administrative details – they’ve earned it with the time they’ve put into getting this ship spaceworthy. But after that, and running a burn test on our newly modified engines and power systems, we’ll need someone to monitor our shakedown cruise and to drill against. There may be a snag, though – I’m not sure a corvette is a fair match up against our ship.”
“Oh?” Wendkos asked.
Burkhard smirked. “Uh huh. I know our crew size rates us as a corvette, but with some of our modifications we’re better armed and armored then any corvette in the Navy. One of our cadet engineering majors came up with an intriguing idea. Our chief engineer took his plans and modified it just a trifle, and while we haven’t finished testing it yet... we’re pretty certain it’ll work. We just don’t know how effective it’ll be.”
“And I’m assuming you won’t tell me what this secret system is?” Wendkos asked, rolling his eyes. “So you want me to try and expedite the release of other ships to test your ship against?”
“I’m hoping we can officially get re-rated as a pocket frigate when we’re done,” Burkhard noted. “So, yeah... I’m going to want to test myself against them. But there was another issue I wanted to discuss.”
“Yes?” Wendkos said, still looking like he didn’t quite believe the whole ‘pocket frigate’ idea.
“Well, I was hoping we could keep our test results secret from ‘Commodore’ Green.”
Wendkos frowned. That was an especially unusual request, and one he wasn’t sure he could grant. “Any particular reason why?”
Burkhard smirked. “Well, let’s just say I don’t trust him to know how to use our ship properly once he finds out how much we’ve upgraded it. I’d like to see how effective she really is before discussing the matter with him.”
Wendkos considered Burkhard’s reasoning, and with what he knew about Green it made sense. “I suppose I can understand that, but how do you plan to keep these tests secret? Green has to know that she’s had her shakedown cruise, after all,” Wendkos noted.
“Come into my office,” Burkhard said leading the way down the corridors. “As long as you’re willing to help, I have a few ideas which should work....”
CHAPTER XV
EAS Chihuahua
Burkhard took his seat in the captain’s chair, smiling. Finally, he’d be able to see what his ship could really do. In theory, it would be simultaneously one of the oldest and most advanced ships in the Earth Alliance Navy... but in practice, well, he’d been waiting to see.
At the moment only a skeleton crew was on board while they tested the systems. The rest had been sent to stay, briefly, on the Tarantula. They would be returning once the engineers were convinced the ship wouldn’t explode, but they hoped to confirm that before the next scheduled shift change. The initial burn testing for the hardware had been completed, and now it was time for the first live engine tests. There were some things about these engine tests he wanted to keep a secret, however.
“Mr. Schubert,” he called. “Fusion drive only, slow burn – 5% power, accelerate to 2000 kps, if you please. Course... give me a slow arc around the sun.”
“Aye, sir,” Schubert answered, slightly disappointed. He wanted to see what the Chihuahua could do, but reluctantly agreed that their first flight out should be a little more cautious than normal.
Chris stood by at the engineering liaison station. Rachel, from her position at tactical, walked over to him with a slight grimace on her face.
“Chris?” she said softly, wanting only him to hear.
“Yes, Rache?” he answered, concentrating mostly on the display in front of him.
“I’m very proud of this ship you rebuilt for us,” she said. “But if one of your little innovations goes wrong, I want you to know I’m going to kill you.”
Chris grinned. “And if nothing goes wrong?”
“Well, I’d like to take you to dinner,” she replied. “But I suspect the rest of the crew will want to do that, too. So, why don’t we talk about a suitable payment later?”
“Tactical!” Burkhard called.
Rachel quickly snapped back into her position. The delay, fortunately, went unnoticed by the Captain. “Yes, sir?”
“I want you to let me know the second our sensor profile goes out of sight from the rest of the fleet.”
“Yes, sir!” Rachel shot back crisply, mentally berating herself for her earlier inattention. She started keeping a close watch on her monitors, making sure she would not have any more slip-ups.
“Sir,” Mumford said. “Regular Fleet Corvette Tarantula is hailing us, sir.”
Burkhard nodded. “What’re they saying?”
“Her captain is inviting us to a race when we orbit back around.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, I don’t think I want them to know our full capabilities yet, but I suppose we could arrange that. Just acknowledge them for now, though.”
“Aye, sir,” Mumford said, turning back to her console.
“Engineering, Sir,” Chris said. “Lieutenant Rappaport’s compliments, and he recommends we start testing the engines at higher output.”
“Acknowledged. Mr. Schubert, as soon as Ms. Katz informs you that our sensor profile has disappeared from view, open her up – maximum burn on the fusion drives.”
“Yes, sir!” Wolf snapped with satisfaction.
“Sir,” Mumford said, frowning as she listened to something through her ear piece. “Signal from flag. They... I don’t understand it, sir. Something about us not having filed a proper flight plan?”
“Bullshit,” Burkhard snapped under his breath. Louder, he said, “Inform them that I filed that flight plan almost twenty-four hours ago, and that they should have it. It’s message...” He pulled out a hand comp and taped on it for a bit. “Message Chihuahua-10535 Beta.”
<
br /> Mumford repeated his words, and waited for a response. A few moments later, she turned back around and said, “Sir, Commodore Green has specifically asked us to stand down. He claims the forms were not properly filled out – apparently, our flight plan is not specific enough. He wants a track record in addition to waypoints.”
Burkhard couldn’t help himself – he gawked at her. “You’re kidding?” he said. “I filed all the standard flight plans. He isn’t entitled to ask for more.”
“No, sir,” she agreed. “But he’s... fairly insistent.”
“I have a suggestion, sir,” Chris said. “Emily, inform the Commodore that we have no way of estimating our track with any accuracy until we’ve fully calibrated our engines. Until then, he’ll have to make do with waypoints.”
“Sir?” Mumford asked, seeking confirmation from her Captain.
“Hell, go ahead. Let’s hope he buys it.”
Rachel stepped over to whisper in Chris’ ear. “Is that true?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Oh, sure, our estimate might only be off by a few dozen meters either way, but that’s not how I would define accuracy.”
Orff looked at his captain with some uncertainty. “Sir, why are you so concerned about Commodore Green knowing our flight plan? He is our superior officer, so shouldn’t he have a right to know what we’re doing?”
Burkhard grinned. “Little lesson for you on the life of a corvette commander. Corvettes – as well as frigates and most light cruisers – are designed for independent command. Which means we aren’t supposed to be as micromanaged as, say, the captain of a heavy cruiser or battleship would be. The fact that ‘Commodore’ Green is demanding to know this much about our plans when all we’re conducting is a general test run does not, to be polite, bode well. A fleet commander just can’t control that many things on his own, and has to learn to properly delegate... and it doesn’t seem as if the ‘Commodore’ knows quite how to handle that part of his job. And I’d really rather not allow anyone to know what we can do until it’s too late – by Wargame rules, there may be regular Navy spies in Green’s officer core, so reporting everything too him would reveal too much. We won’t even be going all-out against the Tarantula... although I think using our shields would be a good idea. It’ll make the Regulars think twice when they encounter one of our corvettes out on a scouting expedition... and they’re not likely to realize we’re the only ship equipped with one.” He paused, grinning sardonically. “Another piece of advice – don’t do what I’m doing now. Telling your subordinates that a superior doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing is not a good idea if you want a good career. It’ll hold you back from promotions, like it has me.”
“Message from Flag,” Mumford interrupted. “Commodore Green has authorized our flight, but advises that we are to give him best-guess flight paths in all future missions. Waypoint records will not be sufficient.”
Burkhard sighed. “Well, that makes perfect sense coming from him. We’d better get all of our real testing done today. Mr. Schubert, continue on course to sensor shadow point, 2000 kps.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
——————————
“Yeehaw!” Schubert cheered alongside most of the bridge crew, conducting a hairpin turn. The fastest military ships on record were the Alligator class corvettes, which were able to maneuver at an incredible 0.23c in normal space. Even without the quantum wheel to supplement their fusion drive, they had just clocked 0.26c. It was a new speed record.
“I think this is the speed we should report to the Navy list,” Burkhard suggested abruptly over the cheers, quieting them down. “Just in case the Regulars decide to use it for ‘intel.’ But why don’t we see what we can really do? Mr. Schubert, open up the quantum wheels. Assuming you think they’re ready, Mr. Desaix.”
“Aye, sir. Engineering is ready,” Chris acknowledged. Burkhard may have been the captain, but this flight was primarily an engineering test. For a brief moment, Chris would be in command.
Chihuahua continued accelerate while turning circles, seeking the velocity at which the ship was no longer able to maneuver. The crew waited, curiosity mounting.
“By God,” Schubert whispered. “We’re almost at 0.29c, and we haven’t even started to lose control.”
“Slow acceleration,” Chris advised. “Our debris collection systems has not been cleared to handle your average piece of space dust past one third c. I’m not anxious to discover what thousands of tiny projectiles will do to our hull at relativistic speeds.”
The debris collection system was a mild magnetic and gravitic wave which redirected and collected small particles of space dust, ostensibly to mine space for the raw materials needed to increase the endurance of a ship before it had to resupply. It had been developed many hundreds of years before, in the early ages of space flight on Earth. As technology advanced, it was discovered to have a more important function: Protecting a spacecraft from space dust and debris as it traveled through the cosmos.
The problem was that, unlike the high-intensity field created by a quantum wheel, certain speeds overwhelmed the system, disabling its ability to collect the debris fast enough and prevent it from colliding with the hull. The breaking point (with some margin for error) was discovered to be just under .40c, with most safety protocols directing acceleration stop at 0.33c for safety purposes, though such limitations had never been an issue among maneuverable vessels – only unmanned test vehicles accelerating without care for maneuverability had ever reached such speeds. Improvements were being made in the devices all the time, but the tests never exceeded that speed.
Weapons manufacturers took these numbers as their standard. Modern rail gun, sometimes called a RKE or “relativistic kinetic energy” weapons, were tested to target ships traveling at that speed. The device used a magnetic field to fire armor piercing rods at speeds above 0.33c. The Chihuahua’s own rail guns were pretty small, shooting DUMs (Depleted Uranium Munitions) which were only 18” in diameter, and only shot them at 0.40c. The Tarantula was one of the newest corvettes around, and had the much more modern (and amusingly named) DUDS (Depleted Uranium Directed Strikes). Her broadside rail guns could fire larger diameter rounds – 20” – and target a vessel traveling almost half the speed of light. The single bow chaser mounted rail gun she carried shot things a little slower – just fractionally over the 0.40c limit – but was able to fire 48” shot. Commodore Green’s elderly Sirius, however, had serious issues with its broadside armament: Her 60” rail guns weren’t able to fire rounds any faster than the minimum speed to qualify as an RKE – 0.33c – which allowed them be turned away by some of the more modern debris collection devices.
“Turning failure!” Wolf cried just before he could respond to Chris’ orders. “Shutting off the drive and measuring top speed. We come in at... holy! Well over 0.30c. Almost 0.35c, in fact.”
Silence met that statement on the bridge of the little corvette, until Chris sighed. “And I was hoping we’d actually have the maneuvering power to reach the collectors’ limits.”
——————————
EAS Sirius, Flag Officer's Suite
"Let me get this straight," Acting-Commodore Green said, looking over Lt. Commander Burkhard in their first face-to-face private meeting. Reading through the man's files, Green knew he was a bit of a hot-head with a penchant for taking his superiors to task when they screwed up. Burkhard had received numerous reprimands, and was once (for about a week) busted down to a noncom after complaining about a tactical error the late Admiral Brussey made during an exercise. Later, after he had cooled off, Brussey realized that if a mere lieutenant had been able to find a hole that big in his plans, either he was getting too old to direct a fleet properly or Burkhard hadn't been promoted high enough. Covering all his bases, he restored Burkhard's commission, retired, and as his last official act promoted the man up to lieutenant commander, where Burkhard had sat for the eight years since.
The truth was, everyone liked
Burkhard, and thought he was a brilliant officer. Most of his superiors, however, felt he lacked the proper discipline to be considered for promotion. As almost everyone in the regular Navy who served on the Academy side of the Wargame was promoted just for participating, someone obviously was trying to get him a back-door promotion.
Still, Green felt he needed close supervision. Certainly the man was a brilliant tactician, but tactical aptitude would mean nothing in the upcoming Wargame. No, Green wasn't going to win. His best chance of showing that he could be successful as a Commodore was in proving he had the ability to keep his fleet neat, orderly, and well disciplined.
Unfortunately, he'd been saddled with a maverick in Burkhard, and Green wasn't quite sure what to do about him. Especially now, after having met him and deciding he actually liked the guy, too.
"You've completed most of your major tests with a single test flight," Green continued. "But you need to practice against another warship for the purpose of assessing some of your newer systems, and so you plan to have a friendly duel with one of the regular Navy's ships."
Burkhard nodded. "Yes, sir."
Green frowned. "I'm not sure I like that idea. I've read the report of your test run. I'm not sure revealing that your ship has set record high speeds is a good idea. Couldn't you wait until one of the other ships is ready? I understand the corvette Inkadh will begin its own shakedown run in a couple days."
Burkhard grinned proudly. "She will, but only because I sent several teams of my engineers over to help them out. The cadet responsible for my new system designs, Mr. Desaix, believes that he can fine tune their fusion engines to a point where they'll be even faster than an Alligator class corvette. But the Inkadh will still be in a testing phase for several days after she's completed, and won't be available for the necessary dog fighting simulation which we require until after the official start date of Wargame hostilities. Besides, our speed will be revealed by the new Navy list coming out shortly. No secrets there."
