The Merrimack Event (Shieldclads Book 1)

by David Tatum

  Green nodded. "I suppose that is correct."

  "Also," Burkhard continued. "I'm interested in how she'll fair against regular Navy ships. I think that when you combine her unusual weapons load out with her remarkable speed, plus a few surprises my engineers have in the test phase, my ship may be able to take on a frigate in a fair one-on-one fight and come out on top. The only chance I'll have at even seeing a frigate for practice combat, though, is if I can convince the Regulars to let me have a stab at one."

  Something in Burkhard's tone made Green suspicious. "What 'surprises' are you talking about?"

  "Well," Burkhard huffed. He'd hoped to avoid mentioning any of the major modifications his crew had made, but he'd known he'd likely have to reveal a few of them. "Among other things, we have a dual power generator -- in addition to our fusion reactor, my engineering team was also able to rig a secondary cold-fusion reactor in a separate area."

  Green raised an eyebrow, but showed no other signs of surprise. "Intriguing, but hardly a military advantage unless you count how much that likely adds to your potential speed. What else?"

  Damn, he's shrewder than I thought, Burkhard thought. "Well, I suppose I have to let the cat out of the bag. We think we've developed a potentially functional energy shield technology."

  Green's left eye twitched. "As in, the holy grail that our weapons and defense manufacturers have been trying to develop for eons?" Burkhard nodded nervously. "And you were planning on giving away this advantage already why?"

  "I want to intimidate them, sir," Burkhard explained. He was about to explain some of his strategy, and he figured it might go over Green's head. For that reason, he decided to take his most deferential tone -- no need to upset the man any further than necessary. "At the end of World War II on Earth, the United States of America had just developed the atomic bomb. They only had two of them stockpiled, but President Truman figured the cost of an invasion would be too deadly for them to try a conventional campaign. So, Truman dropped both of them, hoping desperately that the Japanese would surrender before he had to reveal that we were several months away from being able to drop any more.

  "I plan to show off my ship's shields, and make them think that all of our ships have them. I believe it was Sun Tzu who said, 'Appear strong when you are weak.' Well, we're definitely weaker than our enemies, but perhaps we can make them think we're a lot stronger then we actually are... and intimidate them into error."

  "Why shouldn't we hold you in reserve -- keep you as a secret weapon?" Green asked, secretly shoving the data chips with the titles that revealed he was boning up on his tactical knowledge. When discussions changed to military strategy, Green always grew nervous. Something Burkhard was quick to notice.

  "Well, sir, we aren't really powerful enough to make much difference. We're just a lone corvette, so even if our modifications made us as powerful as a battleship, which is ridiculous, it's just one ship. And when they open their campaign and find that our other ships are unshielded, they'll probably be able to guess that we've only got the one shielded ship. If we demonstrate the shield to them and flaunt it, we may be able to intimidate them into giving us more time to get ourselves ready. As I understand it, six of our battleships and at least one, possibly two, heavy cruisers will not be ready for combat at the start of the Wargame. It'd be nice if we had the time to finish those, don't you think?"

  "The moment that one of our other ships engages them, they'll know we're just bluffing," Green noted.

  "True," Burkhard admitted. "But that may not happen for some time if we're lucky. We may only be able to buy a few days... hell, they may realize we're bluffing right away and give us no time at all. You can never predict what your opponent will do with any certainty, but at least you can try. In a sense it's strictly a textbook maneuver, provided your textbook has the heading of 'psy-ops.' But we do need to do something. There is no way we'll have our entire fleet operable by the start of the Wargame, and we'll need any extra delays we can get to finish up as many ships as we can."

  Green finally conceded the point with a nod. "Okay, you've convinced me. But your ship will be the only one allowed in the 'neutral' system until our fleet is at full strength. I want to minimize the chance that our bluff will fail as much as I can, so you'll be responsible for all recon of neutral territory, initially. And if you get in trouble, well, it'll be your job to get out of it, because we won't be able to help you."

  "Yes, sir," Burkhard said, secretly pleased. He'd wanted independent command, and now he was going to get it. He just hoped his ship's modifications were really as effective as he imagined they'd be, or his command would be short lived.

  "Now, there's one other thing I don't quite get in your initial request," Green noted. He pulled out a form and read from it. "'In the interest of secrecy, no after-action report will be filed.' Explain this, especially if you're hoping the action will intimidate the enemy."

  "Well, that statement was somewhat... inaccurate," Burkhard explained. "I might file an after-action report, but it'll be bogus. If things don't work as well as they should, I'd rather not let the Regulars know that. I'd rather they base their assumptions on what they'll see, and hope that they'll opt to err on the side of caution in their estimates of our performance."

  He just pulled that one out of his keister, Green thought. He doesn't trust me to lead him properly. Well, I don't like it, but his explanation is sound. I won't call him on it... this time. "I'll accept that. However, I want you to come brief me personally -- there may not be a written after-action report, but you can give me a verbal accurate one."

  Shit. I'm not sure I can get out of that one. "Of course, sir. Anything else?"

  Green pursed his lips in thought. "No, you are dismissed." Watching Burkhard go, Green nodded. Well, I think I'm beginning to understand the warnings about him, now. I wonder how he'd act if he knew I was ordered to evaluate him for promotion, myself?

  ——————————

  EAS Chihuahua

  “Five minutes to game-time, people,” the loudspeakers announced. “Finish up your coffee and prepare to go to battle stations.”

  Beccera frowned. Looking at Deborah Culp, his secretary, he realized that she wouldn’t be able to help him. Glancing at the Marines in his command, he called the one who looked the least occupied.

  “Corporal Etcheverry, can you come here for a moment?”

  “Certainly, sir!” Etcheverry replied, snapping to attention.

  “Mr. Etcheverry, I’ve got a small question for you.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Well, I’ve been gradually familiarizing myself with Marine procedures as I work through this assignment, but... I’m a trifle uncertain as to just what my job is when we go to battle stations. It isn’t in any of the literature I’ve been able to find....”

  “Understandable, sir,” Etcheverry said, grinning slightly. “Since it’s not written anywhere. Officially, there is no set station for the Marines in combat, barring a boarding action. Our duty is to be prepared to leap into action at a moment’s notice. However, by custom, we’re on call to perform various services: Rescuing trapped casualties, clearing the way for damage control and engineering teams to make repairs, and similar emergency services. As our CO, your job is to direct us to said emergencies.”

  “So, I’m essentially a dispatch officer?” Beccera groaned. “Sometimes I wonder if this job was worth it. Well, given that this is just a simulation, what are the procedures for us today?”

  “Well, in a standard combat drill – which would include combat simulations such as the Wargame – the drill is to find the most efficient way to handle these emergency situations. It’s essentially a test of our response time, even if the time to complete those operations is partially simulated.

  “However, this isn’t a standard combat drill, today. This is a shakedown cruise in a combat simulation. Because so much of our equipment is still untested, there’s greater likelihood of real damage needing to be lock
ed down, not just a simulation. So for us, the battle stations call won’t be a drill... and the same applies to the people in engineering.

  “The computer won’t generate any simulated emergencies for us to respond to, since that could put us out of position for a real emergency. Instead, the computers will estimate times for our response based on our personal performance records, and on average response times for a combat-able ship. We will actually be even less active than either real combat or a standard drill, but it’s necessary.”

  Beccera just shook his head sadly. “Figures. The last assignment of my career and even the simulation is simulated. They managed to find me the one field command that’s actually a desk job.”

  Etcheverry snorted. “Well, this is just the shakedown. When the Wargame starts, don’t be surprised if we actually get called on to make some kind of boarding action, considering this set of officers.”

  The old Army officer raised an eyebrow. “From that tone of voice, I have to believe you don’t think much of this ship’s command crew?”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” the Marine said, waving his hands in denial. “I suspect we have the best officers and crew in this entire rag-tag little fleet of rookies. What I mean is, they’re all young, all extremely innovative, and all just a tad overconfident in their abilities. I gotta figure they’re not going to overlook any resource this ship has, however small it is... which means they aren’t going to let something as valuable as our Marine unit go to waste. It happens in every one of these Wargames, and every time it winds up with the Marines being eliminated early. When you add that to just how, uh, creative our current rookies have already proven to be, and I’m pretty sure you, me, and just about every other Marine on this ship are going to be finding new ways to get killed off before too long.”

  Beccera didn’t have a chance to respond before the alarm klaxons started sounding. “Battle stations, all hands to battle stations. Commencement of combat drill has begun.”

  Etcheverry sighed. “Well, that’s our cue. Good luck, sir, and I hope you don’t have to call us to action, this time.”

  ——————————

  The bridge of the Chihuahua hadn’t exactly been the most organized of places when the expected alarms sounded. The chaos wasn’t anyone’s fault as the situation was very odd – there were almost three times the normal number of people, and half of them were conducting a drill while the other half were monitoring various systems to ensure the drills didn’t become legitimate emergencies.

  Chris, normally assigned to be the only engineer on the bridge during the call to battle stations, was surrounded by three others who were there only for their eyes. It wasn’t humanly possible to keep a constant check on all of the monitors which needed looking after in this assignment, and all four of the engineers were constantly reading off any change in any reading at all while they worked, however insignificant. As they were frequently talking over each other, it was impossible for anyone else on the bridge to make out what any of them were saying. Rachel distinctly hoped that they didn’t have a crisis requiring one of them to address someone on the bridge crew – no-one would be able to hear them at this rate.

  Schubert was not happy, either. He had been benched as primary helmsman for this drill in favor of Weber, who he routinely traded off with for the job, and had instead been placed in the navigator’s slot. Usually, at battle stations, both jobs were quite important. The primary helmsman’s job, during battle, was to enact evasive maneuvers and follow the directions of the Captain as best as they could. The navigator, in the same circumstance, was to keep track of each target’s movements with the intent of trying to predict their actions. In time, his calculations would be quite helpful to the Weapons Control Officer, in this case Lieutenant Luke DiMarco, when targeting their shot. If there was some crisis and weapons control went out of DiMarco’s hands for some reason (his death or injury, the computer console being destroyed, etc.), Schubert’s calculations and predictions would be utilized by the ship’s artificial intelligence system to take over weapons control and lay down its own firing patterns.

  Unfortunately, Schubert found this to be his weakest skill when it came to helmsmanship. He had a hard time getting into his opponent’s mind, and often fed predictions into the computer based on what he would do and not what he saw his enemy doing. Weber was a wiz at it, and really should have had this job – something she agreed with – but the captain had overruled both of them. As he reminded them, this was just a shakedown exercise, and the crew needed a shakedown just as much as the ship did. It didn’t keep Schubert from muttering under his breath about the whole thing, but at least it helped him understand why he was given that job.

  Navigation and Engineering weren’t the only bridge stations which seemed to be a bit less organized than a ship at battle stations should be. Cadet Commander Orff was arguing with Ensign Cohen over which seat was supposed to be whose during battle stations. It seemed, when battle stations assignments had been handed out, they had both only been given ‘bridge’ as their station. Both of them were supposed to take what were known as the ‘redundancy stations,’ being the backup for the captain and the backup for the tactical officer when at battle stations. The problem was that these redundancy stations, while identical in their initial construction, had not been refitted identically when the Chihuahua was being restored.

  Lt. Diana Tarbell, who was the backup weapons control officer for the shift, just shook her head at the two and took one of the touch screen stations so that she didn’t have to get involved in such a silly fight.

  “Mr. Orff,” Burkhard called sternly. “We’re about to go into combat. I would appreciate it if my first officer were doing something more productive than arguing about where to sit.” Orff nodded and grudgingly turned the preferred chair over to Cohen.

  “Looks like the Captain was right about this being a shakedown for the crew as much as the ship,” a voice said from Rachel’s side. She looked up to see Emily Mumford standing next to her, holding out an earpiece. Rachel gave it a curious glance and took it from her hand, but clearly had no idea what to do with it. “I guess you’ve never used one of these before. This is tuned for you specifically. I’ll be relaying relevant damage control and weapons control chatter over to you as the battle progresses. You don’t need to do anything as long as I’m ‘alive,’ but if something goes wrong you may need to adjust things manually. This dial will put you on different channels – engineering here, damage control, weapons control, Marine dispatch, and sickbay.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said, taking it from her. “Jeff and Rob don’t seem to get along too well, do they?”

  Emily nodded. “Wolf’s annoyed, Lauren’s unhappy because Wolf is annoyed, and the captain’s unhappy because we can’t seem to settle down. In fact, I’d say the only person on the bridge who looks happy right now is Chris, just having a ball in his little cocoon of engineers.”

  Rachel glanced over at him and let an appreciative smile grace her face. “Yeah, he looks like he’s in his element right now, doesn’t he?”

  Mumford glanced at the tactics officer for a moment, a bit surprised at the softer tone of voice. “Well, maybe not the only one.”

  A light blinked on Rachel’s console, and she coughed. “You’d better get moving.” Raising her voice so it could be heard over the din, she announced, “Everybody, sit down and shut up! Entering firing range of Tarantula in thirty seconds. Training mode confirmed; battle computers report synchronization established with the Tarantula for simulated weapons fire.”

  “Tactical display if you please, Ms. Katz,” Burkhard ordered crisply.

  The bridge crew finally centered their attention as Rachel directed a graphical representation of the Tarantula to the main monitor – not a picture, as both ships were moving so fast that no-one would have seen more than a streak of blurred light if they were to show the actual visual image of either ship, but a three dimensional graphic which would show various readouts
such as energy output, estimated damage, estimated surviving crew, and so forth on display. The image also turned to roughly demonstrate just what part of the scanned ship was being presented to them at the moment. Rachel, however, didn’t need to look. She’d had the same image on one of her own monitors since making initial sensor contact with the Tarantula.

  It looked like and acted an awful lot like a picture, though, and currently, it was heading in at an intercept angle, bow first. A slight flash came from the bow, causing an alert to sound on Rachel’s tactics platform.

  “Tarantula firing bow chaser, sir. Single forty-eight inch fixed-mount rail gun, in his case, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Katz. I am aware of how a Hornet class corvette is armed.” Burkhard said. “Were we ‘hit?’”

  “Negative, sir,” Rachel answered after a moment’s hesitation. “That appears to have been a ‘shot across the bow,’ sir. We’re still out of range of his particle cannon turret or any of his broadside rail guns.”

  Burkhard snorted. “Arrogant prick, asking us to surrender before combat maneuvers have even begun in a drill. All right, time for Operation Bluff to begin. Are capacitors charged for the particle cannon?”

  “Yes, sir,” was Rachel’s reply. Usually, it would be Chris’ job to monitor that bit of information, but for the duration of the systems tests he had yielded the responsibility to her as tactical officer.

  “Very well. Let’s try out these shields, shall we? Mr. DiMarco, I want you to prepare a heavy firing pattern with our particle cannons for a ship facing the bow. Ms. Katz, let me know whenever any additional weapons, either ours or theirs, comes into optimum range. Mr. Schubert, monitor their flight patterns as usual, but let me know if and when they seem to have figured out about the hole in our defenses. Ms. Weber, bring us in to close range, but keep the gap in our shields away from them until the last moment.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” came several voices around the bridge.