by Gary Beller
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information contact the author at [email protected]
First edition: December, 2016 Copyright © 2016 Gary Beller
FIRE AMONG THE STARS
By
Gary Beller
ISBN: 978-1518896705
Other Works by Gary Beller
1st Special Missions Unit:
Rise of the Phantoms ISBN-10: 1530912245 ISBN-13: 978-1530912247
The Phantom’s Valor ISBN-10: 1515394557 ISBN-13: 978-1515394556
The Author would like to thank… Bob and Crystal Beller , for their continued encouragement,
Audrey O., for her technical help,
Marshall Blake, for his help with certain scenes and the realism factor.
John and Summer Beller, my kids, for their help and motivation.
Jill, Susan, and Howard Solomon, for pushing me to get this one finished.
Bob and Crystal Beller, for continued encouragement in this great adventure.
Thank you all!
Prologue
“Boarding pass, please.” The gate attendant said as I approached. I produced the boarding pass and my Identification Card for the attendant. “Verify your name for me, please.” She asked politely. Despite the repetitive nature of her job, she somehow managed to keep a smile on her pretty face.
“Jackson Ebert.” I said.
“Date of Birth?” She asked.
“12 July 2140” I replied.
“You’re all set, Mr. Ebert. If you don’t mind my
asking, what’s a young guy like you heading to Washington for?”
“I’m actually heading to Annapolis. I am due at the Academy, to begin training.” I said.
“The Naval Academy?” She asked, her blue eyes
widening. “Good luck.”
“Thank you.” I said.
“Be safe, Mr. Ebert.” She said, turning to the man
behind me. I stepped aboard the aircraft, known as a jumper, and showed my boarding pass to one of the crew
members, who showed me to my seat.
As I settled in, with my backpack stowed away in
the overhead bin, another young man about my age sat
down next to me.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked.
“It goes, my friend.” He said, “You?”
“Nervous as heck.” I replied.
“Why’s that? Don’t like flying?” He said. “Not really. And I’m starting at a new school.” “Where ya heading? Georgetown?” He asked. “Annapolis.”
“No way. Me too!” He said. “Academy bound?” “Yes sir.” I replied.
“Howie Vance.” He said, offering his hand. His
hazel eyes had a look of confidence.
“Jack Ebert.” I replied, shaking his hand. “You
from Georgia?” I asked.
“I’m from Chicago. You?”
“Columbus, Ohio.” I said.
“Nice. My brother went to Ohio State.” Howie
said. “Not a bad area.”
“I have no complaints. Where in Chicago are you
from?” I asked. I had cousins who lived in the Chicago
area, so I was somewhat familiar with it.
“Archer Heights. Right by Midway.” Howie said.
“So, what got you interested in the Academy?” “A lot of people in my family served, so I wanted
to as well.” I said.
“I wanted to get out of the city, and do something
with myself. What better way than becoming an officer?”
Howie shrugged.
“Navy or Marines?” I asked him.
“Navy. Engineering. I love taking things apart,
fixing them, and putting them back together. Engineering
seems like a good fit. How ‘bout you?”
“Marines. Infantry. If we’re going to fight, might
as well fight with the best.”
Our flight into D.C. went smoothly. As we crossed the Potomac, I could see the various monuments and memorials that dotted the city. Although Chicago was the seat of government for the United Coalition of Independent Systems, Washington D. C. was still one of the most powerful cities on Earth, and was the seat of the Republic of Earth’s legislature, housed in what was the United States Capitol Building.
Landing at Ronald Reagan Interplanetary Spaceport, Howie and I found the meeting point for incoming Midshipmen. Our point of contact was a Marine Corps Sergeant named Victor Raines.
“Sit tight, we’re waiting for a few more.” Raines said.
“Sergeant, are we allowed to ask questions?” I asked.
“You just did, Mister…?”
“Ebert.”
“What question do you have for me, Mr. Ebert?”
“Is that a Combat Action Ribbon you have?” I asked.
“It is. Combat Action Ribbon, with saber device, and Oak Leaf Cluster in lieu of second award.” Raines stated in such a matter-of-fact fashion that the award seemed almost trivial to him. The award and devices meant that he had been involved in ground combat during two separate periods of conflict. As an aspiring Marine, Sergeant Raines was exactly the kind of man I wanted to learn from, and I hoped I would get that chance…
Chapter 1
T he jumper wasn’t a large ship. Forty Midshipmen, including myself, were crammed into the passenger compartment. Sitting in front of me, in the jump seat next to the flight engineer, myclass’ faculty advisor, Sergeant Raines, smiled. “First time in space, Ebert?” He asked me.
“Yes, Sergeant.” I replied.
“Nothing to worry about, kid.” He said. I hated when people called me that. But I figured since I had volunteered for service in the Military, and was a student at the United Coalition of Independent System’s Naval Academy, I didn’t consider myself a kid.
Next to me, Midshipman Karissa Clairemont was enjoying herself, her blue eyes alight with pleasure.“Sure you don’t want the window seat, Jack?” She asked.
“I’m alright.” I said.
“Your loss.” She said, leaning back so I could see. Outside of the window, Earth fell away below us as the ship accelerated away from the planet.
“Actually, that’s really cool.” I said. The pilot rolled the ship and pulled through a long turn as the ship continued to pick up speed. Over the ship’s speakers, I could hear the pilot’s radio chatter.
“Armstrong Control, this is jumper one seven niner aught niner, estimated time ofarrival fifteen minutes.”
“One seven niner aught niner, we have you on screen. Continue present course and speed.”
“See? Nothing to worry about.” Raines said, a rare smile creeping across his tanned face. The smile aside, he looked every bit like a poster version of a Marine: Tall and muscular, broad in the shoulders, his uniform perfectly tailored to fit his physic, his black hair kept in an almost perfect high and tight. The ribbons adorning his chest were perfectly spaced from the pocket, perfectly aligned vertically, and in impeccable condition. The three chevrons denoting his rank on either sleeve were so precisely positioned I doubted even the most accurate micrometer could find fault with them.
“How often do y
ou do this?” I asked him.
“All the time. I’ve even had to jump out of a few.” Raines shrugged.
“Jump? From space?” Karissa asked, shock evident on her freckled face.
“Not space. Usually tactical jumps, either mid or high altitude jumps inside the atmosphere.” Raines had served in the infantry before being reassigned to the Academy. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect advisor, since I wanted to join the Marine Corps infantry after graduation.
Raines was a combat Marine, assigned to the Academy as a change of pace. Somewhere along the line, he probably gave someone the impression he had something to teach the Academy’s corps of Midshipmen. Given the ongoing war with the wolf-like aliens known as the Banor, and their Tyderian allies, having an experienced advisor was not unwelcome.
“One seven niner aught niner requesting flyby before landing.” The pilot called.
“Granted, aught niner.” The controller said.
Sitting still in space, the frigate UCSS Armstrong didn’t look like the small ship Sergeant Raines had described her as. We flew past the ship, looking her over. From bow to stern, the ship’s five gun turrets were set in Parade position, each gun barrel elevated at 25 degrees. “Hey, Sergeant?” I asked.
“Yeah, Ebert?”
“What’s the deal with the mast? Shouldn’t those have gone out of style long ago?” I asked, referring to the tall structure extending above the ship’s bridge.
“The mast is where the ship’s long range communications systems are housed. Their transmissions are highly energetic radio waves, and would be harmful to the ship’s crew if they were fitted to the side of the hull like the sensor pallets are.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense.” I said.
“Don’t worry, it confused me, too.”
The idea of the mast on the ship might have been confusing at first, but the more I considered it, the more it seemed fitting.
Like all Coalition starships, the Armstrong had a cylindrical main hull, with a superstructure built above it, housing the ship’s hangar and flight deck, officer’s quarters, and the bridge. Main battery gun turrets were mounted on the hull’s midline, above and below the hull.
For a frigate like the Armstrong, each turret had two guns, with three turrets forward (two above and one below) and two turrets aft. The forward turrets were positioned in super firing pairs: The turret to the rear was raised so it could fire over the turret in front of it. The superstructure was also shaped to allow the dorsal turrets, as well as the fore and aft ventral turrets, to have a wide field of fire of 240 degrees.
The ship had six forward firing torpedo tubes mounted on the bow, as well as two sets of missile launchers. A third, smaller set of missile launchers was located amidships, on the superstructure.
Armstrong was, to my barely trained eyes, an impressive vessel. And she would be our home for the next three weeks.
***
We disembarked the jumper into the small hangar. Even with the wings folded, I doubted the bay could have held more than one of the sixty-foot long ships. “Midshipmen, Attention!” Raines called. “Lieutenant Bielema, take charge of your platoon.”
“Aye Aye, Sergeant!” Midshipman Lieutenant Rachel Bielema said. She was our Company Commander, but was assigned to our portion on Armstrong.“Close interval, Dress right, dress.” She ordered. We adjusted our spacing and covered down to align with the Mids on all sides. A naval officer entered the hangar, and Sergeant Raines saluted. ‘Good morning, sir. Midshipman Detachment Alpha1 reporting aboard.”
The officer returned Raines’ salute. “Welcome aboard.” He said. “I am Lieutenant Harald Priester, Executive Officer aboard the Armstrong. It is our pleasure to have you all aboard, but don’t think of this as a pleasure cruise.” He looked around. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the mess deck and give you some more information about our ship.” He said.
We followed Lieutenant Priester out of the hangar, down two decks and what I presumed was forward. We arrived at the mess deck and took seats, with Karissa and Midshipman David Smith-Wells sitting at my table. Lieutenant Priester stood in front of us again. “I promised you lot some more information on the ship. Armstrong is a Jack Valentine class Frigate. She is older than almost all of her crew, having been launched and commissioned in 2129. She measures one hundred fifty-one meters from bow to stern, and is twentyone meters wide.”
“What about weapons, sir?” One of the midshipmen asked. “This ship is armed with ten 6 -inch particle cannons, eight rapid fire torpedo tubes, and forty-eight missile tubes. Each missile tube can carry a wide variety of weapons, including quad-packing MRM-19 Multi-Role Missiles. All this armament may sound impressive, but the ship isn’t designed for the line of battle, but rather to serve as an escort.” He paused a moment, then said, “Please, there will be plenty of time for questions later, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Commander Josephine McCormick, Commanding Officer of the Armstrong.”
Raines called the room to attention as Commander McCormick entered. “Captain on Deck!” Priester said.
“As you were.” McCormick said. “Good day, Midshipmen, and welcome aboard. Before we get you guys settled into your quarters and give you a tour, I have an obligatory speech to make, and bear with me,and it’s not one I’d prefer to make with a boat-full of students.” She said. Commander McCormick was a tall woman, with her blond hair kept in a regulation bun. Her uniform was immaculately presented, as if she had stepped out of a recruiting hologram and onto the deck of the ship.
She glanced among the room, making eye contact with each of us. Although she couldn’t be older than her early thirties, her eyes seemed to have seen things beyond her years. “This is a simple mission, we’ll be escorting a convoy along with several other ships to deliver supplies to a staging area. But, I must warn you: The Coalition is a nation at war. At any time, the requirements of the war may call our ship and all aboard her to action. That may seem like a frightening concept to many of you, but you volunteered for service. This is what you are training for.”
The mood in the room shifted noticeably. Some of the older Midshipmen, especially Bielema, looked resolute and ready. Many younger Mids exchanged nervous glances. For the first time since I arrived at the Academy, I felt the weight of my decision to serve settle upon me. The prospect of battle was, for me, both terrifying and exciting.
“With that little bit of formality taken care of,” Commander McCormick said, “Those of you who are Midshipmen officers,” She looked at Rachel Bielema and our platoon leader, Darrie O’Malley, “You will be assigned a stateroom in Officer’s Country. The rest of you will be assigned to a berthing space in the Mission Specialty area. A watch bill will be posted later today.” ***
Our berthing space was located on Deck 4, roughly amidships. The large bay that normally held mission modules for the ship had been divided into male and female berthing, with separate washrooms, known in Naval terms as the head. I received a rack on the top, with my normal roommate, Howard Vance, on the rack below me. Raines came in as we finished stowing our clothing and hygiene kits in the pans under our racks and the wall lockers we had been assigned. “Listen up. I have the first duty roster for tomorrow.” He began, bringing the females over from next door.
“Vance, Williams and Yang will be assigned to the morning Engineering watch, report to the Chief Engineer at 0800. Combat Information Center watch, 0800, will be Heinrich, Kim and Le Roche. Deck Division will be Hiddle, Rodriguez, J. Smith, T. Smith, Meyer, and Hanley. Bridge watch, and do not ask me how they pulled this off, Ebert and Clairemont. Everyone who I just called will be on watch from 0800 to 1200. Everyone else, check the watch billI am posting now, you’ll go on at 1200 and relieve your fellow Mids.” He paused. “And don’t get too used to the cushy day watches. I have it on good authority that you’ll all get to experience the joys of a midwatch on this cruise.”
I raised my hand. “Sergeant, what’s Midwatch?”
“Midnight watch. Midnigh
t to 0400. Perhaps the worst watch to stand.” Raines said. “You get a couple hours of sleep before, and maybe an hour after…if you are lucky.”
Howard and I looked at each other. “Sounds fun.”
“I think we have our first volunteers for a midwatch, ladies and gentlemen. Get squared away, uniform of the day is utilities, you’re expected in Broadway in twenty minutes for ship’s tours. Move Move Move!”
Chapter 2
T he tours of the ship went quickly. One of the ship’s officers, Ensign Jahvar Reymond, gave my group a tour.
We began in the engineering spaces, seeing for the first time the ship’s main and secondary warp power reactors, as well as the controls for the two Ion drives.
Ensign Reymond, being the Assistant Chief Engineer, was delighted to explain the workings of the engine systems.
“Each Ion Drive is connected to a pair of fusion reactors. Since the Ion drives are an electronic drive, rather than a chemical system like a rocket engine or the Antimatter reaction of the warp system, we need a lot of electrical power to get this ship moving at the speeds necessary to make interplanetary travel feasible.”
“Sir,” I asked, “Why two reactors per engine? Couldn’t the same power be achieved with two larger reactors powering them?”
“Certa inly, Mr. Ebert. Fusion reactors are incredibly powerful, and flexible. By having four smaller reactors, we can keep a rotation going and not have to continuously run each reactor for the duration of the cruise. This reduces the overall maintenance workload, and also provides additional redundancies in case of battle damage.”
We progressed forward, seeing the maintenance bay for the aft weapons’ systems. The Gunner’s Mates, enlisted crewmembers responsible for maintaining the ship’s weapons, kept the bay neatly organized. Along each wall, racks held bins of small parts. In the center of the bay, along the port (left) side, was a pair of particle cannon barrels, one of which had the protective outer panels removed.
“GM1 Solomon, would you please explain for t he Mids what we are seeing?” Ensign Reymond asked. Initially I had found the Ensign’s heavy South African accent distracting, but after an hour I had learned to adjust to it. Now, Gunner’s Mate 1st Class Solomon spoke up, his accent suggesting an upbringing near Tel Aviv.
