by Gary Beller
“No.” I said, feeling a bit dense. “I hadn’t noticed. I spent most of the year studying and practicing for football.”
“She was a cheerleader, Jack, it’d be perfect.” She laughed.
“Maybe,” I said, “I just really hadn’t given it much thought.”
She was about to say something when Captain McCormick’s voice came over the ship-wide speakers. “All hands, stand by for an Armed Forces Hyperwave transmission.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah, not the norm.” She said.
The speakers crackled for a moment. “Now AFHR takes you to Chicago, where President Miller will address the Coalition from the Presidential Office.”
There was a short pause, and then the President spoke. “My fellow citizens, today a major victory has been won in the war against the Banor. On the planet Chiodrick III, Coalition and Allied forces have engaged and defeated one of the largest Banor field armies encountered so far. More than half a million allied troops made landfall on the world over the past week. These gallant troops faced down Banor forces nearly equal in strength, forcing them back and finally defeating them after a prolonged siege of their base.” He paused a moment.
“Such a great victory, though, does not come without a cost. Over the course of the battle, seventy-three thousand two hundred ninety-eight Coalition and Allied Soldiers and Marines gave their lives, with another fifty thousand wounded. To the families of the fallen, we owe you a debt we can never repay for your loved ones’ valiant sacrifices.”
Chapter 4
For two days we cruised at warp speed, before slowing to make a major course correction. The convoy slowed as a unit, while our ship and another frigate, the Samuel B. Roberts, continued into the system to scout it out. I was standing a watch in the Combat Information Center as we arrived.
I sat at an auxiliary station, monitoring the large screen displays at the front of the CIC. “Anything on sensors?” The ship’s Tactical Action Officer asked.
“I have a small anomaly in the gas giant’s rings, I am attempting to resolve it now.” The long-range sensor operator reported.
“CIC, Bridge, we have a sensor anomaly, showing up in that gas giant’s rings.” Captain McCormick called over the intercom.
“Bridge, CIC, we see it, trying to resolve it now.” The TAO said.
“Contact is moving, accelerating and changing
course.” The sensor operator reported calmly.
“Spike it.” The TAO reported. Spiking the contact
meant sending an automated identity request. Coalition
and Allied ships responded to the spike with an automated
reply, identifying the ship, its registry number, and the
commanding officer’s name. Civilian ships usually
responded similarly, but with information regarding the
type of vessel and its port of record.
“Response?” the TAO asked.
“No response.” The sensor operator replied. “Bridge, CIC. No reply to buddy spike,” He began.
A window popped up on his screen as he was talking,
“Vessel is transmitting but not on standard military or
commercial frequencies.”
The bridge didn’t respond directly. Instead, alarms
blared, and lights flashed red. The speakers in the CIC, and
around the ship, came to life. “General Quarters, General
Quarters, all hands, man your battle stations. General
Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle
stations.”
I realized, in that moment, that today would not be
a pleasant day.
The CIC filled quickly, with enlisted personnel
manning the various stations. Communications, Sensors,
weapons, all came online.
Karissa entered and took the console next to me.
“This is fun.” She smiled, trying to hide the worry on her
face.
“Oh yeah.” I said.
“Convoy is clearing light speed.” The sensor
operator reported.
“Four more contacts!” A man at another sensor
station reported.
“Hostile?” Captain McCormick asked as she
walked in.
“Probably.” The TAO said.
“Sorry, kids.” McCormick said, looking at us.
“Looks like you’ll have to grow up a bit quicker. Ebert, I
want you monitoring the convoy. Clairemont, watch the
status of our guns.”
“Aye Ma’am,” We said in unison.
McCormick went to work. “Send to Roberts, form
on us and we’ll make a torpedo run on the initial contact.
And ask for fire support from the cruiser.”
As the various officers and petty officers carried
out her orders, the convoy was making a very organized
course correction. To my surprise, only our own vessel,
along with the Roberts and the Gettysburg, were out of
position. The remaining warships held their ground
against the other advancing warships.
“Captain, I have a long range visual ID on the
unknown contact. Profile matches Banor light cruiser.” A
sensor operator reported. I pulled up the visual in a pop-up
window, to see the cruiser myself. Theship’s hull had a
hexagonal profile, flared at the stern by the engineering
spaces. The bow was oddly shaped, roughly curved, with
a pair of turrets below the bridge, similar to the two rows
of turrets along the sides of the hull. At the middle of the
ship, six masts comprised its warp field generators, giving
the ship an odd and somewhat hostile appearance. “I was afraid of that.” McCormick said. “All ahead
full, ready all torpedo tubes, arm the particle cannons.” “Convoy control says five minutes to light speed,
Captain!” I reported, reading the update as it came across. “Acknowledged, Mr. Ebert. And Mids, take a deep
breath.”
It occurred to me that, as the lights dimmed in the
CIC, no one was yelling, no one panicked, just firm, but
calm, determination filled the headset. These truly were
professionals.
“We’re in range.” The TAO said.
“Fire torpedo tubes one, three, and five and
reload.” The Captain ordered. A trio of thump noises
accompanied a minor vibration in the deck as the
torpedoes werelaunched. “Fire two, four, and six.” She
ordered, without waiting for another reply.
Again the thump noise and vibration. “One, three,
and five reloaded.” The Torpedo controller reported. “All
weapons flying hot, straight, and normal.”
“Standby guns and torpedoes.” She said, bringing
the forward visual sensors up on the main display. Roberts
had likewise fired a volley of torpedoes, and the dozen war
shots streaked in on the enemy cruiser. The cruiser,
however, was not content to sit back and let us do all the
shooting. Green energy beams leaptfrom the ship’s guns,
streaking through the vacuum of space, impacting the
Roberts, stitching small explosions along her dorsal hull. “Robertsis hit, but she’s staying in.” the Sensor
operator reported. The torpedoes hit the cruiser a moment later, two glancing shots bounced off its hull and exploded. One torpedo hit the enemy cruiser right in the nose,
blowing the forward quarter of the ship away.
Two more torpedoes hit the ship along the port
side, blowing giant holes into the vessel, causing it to drift
off course. Her running lights flickered, and with
what
might have been the last energy she had, fired her dorsal
aft turret. Three energy beams impacted the Armstrong,
causing the ship to buck violently. “Damage report.”
McCormick asked,
“Hull buckling on the bow, looks like we lost a
section of the external hull. Pressure hull is holding.” “Enemy status?”
“Adrift for now, Roberts just launched two
torpedoes to finish them off.”
“Get me a report on the Roberts’ condition, and
what is the status of the other warships?” McCormick
asked.
“Ma’am,” I said, “Two of the attackers were
destroyed, the other two fled the system.”
“Not a bad day at work.” McCormick said, “Mr.
Ebert, Ms. Clairemont, congratulations. You are now
officially combat veterans.”
***
In the common room several hours after the battle, Sergeant Raines addressed all of us. “Mids, today was an important day for all of you. Captain McCormick has instructed me to update everyone’s files. All of you are now authorized to wear the Combat Action Ribbon with
the naval engagement device.”
Everyone in the room cheered. “Now, this is
important because this is, to my knowledge, the first time
a group of midshipmen have been aboard a warship
engaged in combat in quite some time. When we return to
the academy, you’ll have something none of your
classmates have.”
I looked around at my classmates, and everyone
was trying to suppress a smile. “Sergeant?” I asked, raising
my hand.
“Yes, Mr. Ebert?”
“Do we know the status of the Samuel B. Roberts?” “Roberts took a number of direct hits from that
cruiser, but was able to continue on the mission. Both our
ship and the Roberts have, however, been assigned to the
trail position within the formation. Our own damage, for those wondering, was minor. At our first port visit, the missing hull plates will be replaced. Sickbay reported only minor injuries to two crewmembers: One broken arm and
one with minor burns.”
The meeting broke up, but Karissa and I
approached Sergeant Raines. “Sir, there’s something I
don’t get.” I began.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Our first two torpedoes, they bounced off the
cruiser. How does that happen?”
“Cruisers tend to have heavier armor, and it
depends on where the torpedoes impacted. If the area was
angled away from the torpedo’s trajectory, it can deflect
off course before detonating. That doesn’t mean it was
totally useless: that kinetic energy transferred by the
impact can still damage the hull, and the force of the
explosion can be devastating.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Simple physics, really. Same thing with the hit we
took. Had those particle beams hit us squarely, they
probably would have punched through both the outer and
inner hulls and done far more damage.” Raines explained. “So, we got lucky?” Karissa asked.
“Very lucky. That fight seemed fairly straight
forward, but look at the way Captain McCormick and
Captain Nyles from the Roberts handled it: At extreme
range, they fired as many torpedoes as possible at the
cruiser, rather than closing in to good gunnery range. The
cruiser’s guns are larger and more powerful than ours, and
she has more extensive armor. We could have beat them
with our guns, but it would have been a long, ugly fight.
Instead, we overwhelmed them with the most powerful
weapons we have.”
“Makes sense. Isn’t that what the old seagoing
destroyers and frigates used to do?” I asked.
“Mostly, but their torpedoes were far shorter range,
so they would have to run into the enemy’s guns for long
minutes before launching their weapons.”
Chapter 5
Our first stop with the convoy was fairly routine. I was again on the bridge as we came out of warp. The sensor board was full of contacts: Warships of every description, from massive battleships and battlecruisers to small corvettes and gunships.
“Welcome to the 3rdFleet’s home port.” Captain McCormick said.
“This is a lot of ships.” I said.
“This isn’t even half of the fleet, Midshipman.”
McCormick said, “The 3rd Fleet consists of more than a thousand warships, made up of dozens of task forces, task groups, and squadrons. And that’s just the actual warships, not counting the small craft.”
I felt speechless. Through the bridge windows, I could see most of the ships hanging in space, in what Lieutenant Casim said was part of a preplanned grid. “Convoy element three five nine one is breaking formation to offload.” Karissa reported from the sensor station.
“Now, kids, watch how this works.” Casim said. The large container ships and tankers docked with the massive station, while smaller transports made for the planet’s surface to unload passengers and smaller cargo. The speakers above my head crackled to life again. “UCSS Armstrong, this is Harbormaster Central, you are clear for dry-dock3.”
Captain McCormick looked puzzled for a moment, “Harbormaster Central, Armstrong Actual,” She said, holding the radio and using the “Actual” call sign to identify herself as the commanding officer, “We didn’t request a dry-dockberth.”
“ Armstrong Actual, berth was requested per Commodore Dewey, report indicates your ship sustained battle damage.”
“Understood, Central. Armstrongout.” She said, hanging the handheld back up. “Helm, port speed on the beacon. Handling crews to stations.”
In the days of seagoing ships, the handling teams would have been responsible for receiving mooring lines from the pier, and tying off the lines to the various deck cleats. With modern technology, handling teams insured that umbilical connections from the station were connected properly, and that the boarding tubes were properly sealed to the ship’s airlocks and pressurized.
The massive bay door admitted our ship easily, and within moments the umbilical lines were connected and the tubes locked into the airlocks on the port side.
“Lieutenant Webb,” Captain McCormick said, “You have the conn. Set an essential stations only watch bill. Any person not on duty will be permitted to visit the station. I’ll be in my cabin discussing our situation with the Commodore.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Webb said, her voice carrying a touch of an English accent. “Shall I assign the midshipmen as watch standers?”
Captain McCormick looked to Karissa and I, then back to the Lieutenant. “Within reason, consult with Sergeant Raines first, though.”
Karissa and I stayed at our posts while Lieutenant Webb called down to Sergeant Raines. Once the call ended, she turned back to us. “Ms. Clairemont, Mr. Ebert, you stand relieved, per Sergeant Raines’ suggestion.”
“Aye, Ma’am.” I said, turning on my h eel and leaving the bridge. Down in our berthing space, Sergeant Raines was waiting, with the majority of the midshipmen.
“Alright, here’s the deal. You all have liberty aboard the station: That means you get your butts back here and check in by 21:00 hours and not a second after. There is plenty to see and do on the station: Restaurants, some limited shopping, a holomovie theatre and a performing arts center. But remember, this is a military installation. Civilian clothes are not authorized.”
“Aye, Sergeant.” We all said at once.
“Now, some other quick ground rules: Anyone gets introubl
e, it’s not at my discretion what becomes of you, so obey the Uniform Code of Justice and use your common sense. You are Alpha Company, first and finest at the Academy. Hold yourselves to that standard.”
***
“Jack,” Karissa said as we approached the airlock, “I need a liberty buddy.”
“I’d be honored.” I said, smiling at her. After days of wearing our duty coveralls, it felt like a pleasant change to be wearing our service uniform: A stand-collar gray coat with Academy devices located on either side of the collar, black trousers and black, polished shoes. Everyone had also added combat action ribbons to the Wartime Service Ribbon and the marksmanship badges everyone wore.
“So, where first?” She asked.
“Itsnoon now, wanna grab lunch?” I replied. “Sure.” She smiled, and we approached one of the
restaurants located on the promenade. We sat at a booth in the back and looked over the menu. “They must get a lot of allied ships through here,” Karissa said.
“How do you figure?” I inquired.
“Kurvala,” She said, “It’s Valderan. Ever tried it?” She asked.
“No, I haven’t.” I said.
“Try it. You’ll like it.” She winked at me. “Okay…” I said, unsure
“My dad was in the Marines, and he was assigned
as an embassy guard at the Coalition’s main embassy in Valderis City, I got a decent appreciation of their food. And culture.” She said.
“That must have been so cool. I grew up just outside of Milwaukee, and we didn’t travel much. I mean, I saw the big places on Earth, but not offworld like that.” I said as the server approached.
I ordered the Kurvala and got a Coke to go with it. Karissa ordered a dish made of an exotic off-world meat and vegetables. “Look, Can we talk?” She asked. “Yeah, absolutely.” I said.
“Jack, youare one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.
I really like you.” She said, nervously making eye contact while she swirled the straw in her water glass. “Rachel told me. Actually, people seem to think we are already going out.” I said, looking at her eyes. “Is it that obvious we like each other?”
“Maybe?” She said, uncertain. “So now, I guess, where do we go from here?” I asked.
“We could consider this a first date, I guess?” She said,
