Kris Longknife's Successor

by Mike Shepherd

  “Let us pray that none of your targets are among the ships on the other side of this jump.”

  Admiral Zingi shrugged. “Fat chance of that. You are hogging all of them for yourself. You upstart people of Musashi don’t respect your elders.”

  Both men laughed at that. It was a common joke among both planets’ fleets. Musashi had been colonized from Yamato. The rivalry was usually reserved for football games, bars, and O Clubs.

  “I will see you soon,” Miyoshi said.

  “I will be looking for you,” Zingi answered, and the comm line broke between them.

  A few minutes later, seven trios broke up and began to form lines by squadrons. The pair also split off. One went with his squadron mates. The other floated for a while, then joined a trio, making it a foursome.

  Twenty-two battlecruisers stayed, swinging at their moorings around each other. Twenty-two formed into three squadrons; one of eight, the others reduced to seven so that Admiral Drago’s Fourth Fleet could be brought up to the same strength that the others had been.

  Admiral Zingi ordered his ships to Condition Charlie and set a brutal 3.5 gee acceleration for the jump across the system that would lead them to Sasquan. A message had been sent toward the distant jump buoy, alerting Admiral Santiago that the force holding off the first enemy thrust was now outnumbered almost fifteen to one, but that the ships she’d asked for were on their way to her.

  Admiral Miyoshi leaned back to eye his battle board. He saw nothing, so he elected to go to lunch and, if nothing came up, he’d have time for paperwork and maybe a nap. This stand-off would last for a long time. He needed to stay on alert, but he also needed to be alert.

  As Miyoshi made his way to the wardroom, he wondered how things were going with Admiral Bethea. Was she confronted by this same kind of stand-off?

  29

  Admiral Bethea studied her battle board in flag plot. The board showed no surprises. Still, Bethea did not like the looks of it.

  The hostile forces were just jumping into the system at the same time her ships also jumped in. In theory, she could have turned around and gone back, blockading the jump as they had done before. However, that was not in her orders.

  The new ships the aliens had . . . call them frigates. Others might call them large or heavy cruisers. That was the problem. What were they?

  The mass detectors gave them thirty-five thousand tons. The first human frigates had started at twenty-five thousand tons. United Society battlecruisers weighed in at fifty thousand tons. They still were half the size of a human battleship, but their laser batteries included nearly as many lasers, all with the same firepower as those on the big battlewagons.

  Where did a twenty-five-thousand-ton warship fit into an enemy battle array that had half million to one million ton battleships at one end and cruisers of fifteen thousand tons at the other?

  Admiral Santiago needed to know, and the only way to find out was to fight them.

  Betsy’s job was to fight them, measure their worth, annihilate them, and avoid being banged up too badly. The aliens had lost half a trillion people and seemed to have shrugged it off. The humans did not have the spare sailors on Alwa Station to swap even ten enemy ships for one battlecruiser.

  Thus, Betsy Bethea mulled her problem. Just shy of one hundred and eighty of the frigates, and an equal number of cruisers were streaking toward the jump that led through one more system and then would enter the cats’ home planet. They had covered half the distance to that gate at close to 2.5 gees acceleration and were now decelerating toward it.

  Betsy’s Third Fleet orbited an ice giant not too far from the aliens’ course. They had taken that time to refuel and collect a lot of ice, which had a heavier reaction mass than hydrogen. In two more orbits, her forty-four ships would break out of orbit and steer a course to cross the aliens’ path. There, a battle would take place.

  Betsy expected to win. Her battlecruisers carried 22-inch lasers and were protected by crystal armor, a hull coating that slowed down laser beams, spreading out the energy of a hit through the crystal cladding and radiating it back out to space. However, her ships were still at risk. Too many hits, and the crystal would begin to break down. Too much heat, and the Smart MetalTM hull beneath the crystal also began to crumble.

  Good ships had been burned by masses of alien lasers. Admiral Bethea’s job was to see that her ships stayed out of the range of those alien lasers. United Society could damage ships at 200,000 kilometers. So far, most of the alien lasers were good to 100,000 kilometers, although some had begun to reach farther.

  How far could the lasers on these new ships reach? No one knew. It was Betsy’s job to find out without it costing too many human, bird, or cat lives.

  As the enemy approached over the last few days, her captains had drilled her crews, finished the last bit of maintenance, dialed the weapons in tight, optimized the ranging sensors, the fire computers, and weapon controls. Each ship was as deadly as its crew could make it.

  Now Bethea ordered a stand-down so they could get a shower and hot meal before going into their high gee eggs. Her fleet would approach the enemy fleet at 3.0 gees, maybe more. From now on, food would be the mush in the eggs’ tubes. Water would be from a tube. Sleep would be about all the crew could do, if you didn’t mind sleeping with twice your own weight resting on top of your chest.

  Then, of course, would come the terror of battle.

  Admiral Bethea ordered the fleet to Condition Baker, tighter than the love boat configuration they currently had, but it was still loose enough so the hull could handle 3.0 gees. She would shrink the ships down as they approached the enemy. With luck, that would keep the enemy in the dark as to the fighting size of her ships.

  For much of a day, she accelerated and then bled off her velocity. Her course was not aimed for the jump, but to bring her across the alien fleet’s course three hours before they reached the jump. At that point, ships would be slow enough to evade, but not so slow that it didn’t move enough to actually get out of the way of incoming lasers. It was a delicate calculation.

  She would likely be the one to close with the enemy fleet. Her estimates allowed that the enemy might try to wear away from her, perhaps even veer as far off course for the jump as they could allow themselves to go. That might delay the fight.

  They might also charge her. Indeed, she expected some of them to try doing just that. The only issue would be how large of a force headed for her and how many kept going for the jump.

  She needed to get her fleet through the jump. Admiral Santiago wanted reinforcements in case Admiral Drago had to fall back from his own battle. She would do her best to do it. Still, if it saved her ships, she’d miss the jump and circle back. That would take a lot of time and reaction mass. Still, it was better than being blown to bits.

  As they began their approach, both fleets were braking toward the jump. Both were still traveling at several hundred thousand kilometers an hour. If they didn’t do some serious braking, they’d jump too far and be out of the battle.

  Betsy had set herself up to be a bit closer to the jump so she’d be firing up the engines of the alien ships. You couldn’t put much granite or basalt over rocket engines spewing thermonuclear plasma. So far, the battle was going exactly the way she’d expected it. She was still 300,000 kilometers from the aliens. In another 100,000 kilometers, she could open fire.

  She made her final battle preparations. The fleet shrank down to battle trim, Condition Zed. Except for the huge rocket motors on their vulnerable sterns, the much smaller hulls were now totally protected with 100 millimeters of crystal armor cladding. The outer hulls began to rotate, quickly getting up to sixty revolutions a minute. Any laser hits the battlecruisers took would not only be absorbed into the crystal, but the hull beneath the hit would be spun away, bringing fresh crystal to take the hit and distributing the heat further away from the point of entry, saving the ship and crew.

  Admiral Bethea’s fleet was ready for combat.
r />   Then the aliens changed things.

  30

  “Range is 250,000 kilometers to the enemy fleet,” Sensors reported.

  “All weapons manned, ready, and fully charged,” Guns on her staff reported.

  “All reactors are in the green,” the fleet engineer reported.

  Her fleet could not be more combat ready.

  “Angle on the alien fleet is changing,” Sensors reported.

  “How so?” Admiral Bethea snapped.

  “They are bearing the ship away from us by 15 degrees.”

  Betsy studied the vectors on the two fleets. Her ships had been sailing a divided vector. Her rocket engines were not aimed straight toward the jump, but angled off so that she was also closing the enemy fleet. Since they’d jumped into the system, the aliens had followed only one vector: toward the jump. Now, they were taking on the same angle as her fleet. They were still braking for the jump, but now they were using part of the power vector to bear them away from her fleet just as fast as she was trying to close them.

  “Since when do those bastards run away?” her chief of staff, S’Bun said softly from where his egg sat next to hers.

  “I guess since now,” Betsy answered.

  “Enemy has increased deceleration to 2.7 gees,” Sensors added.

  “They’ve been holding at 2.5 gees since entering the system,” Captain S’Bun pointed out. “Now, with the extra power, they will have a solid braking vector while dodging away as well.”

  “And they haven’t been overheating their reactors and rocket motors,” Betsy said. That was something the aliens had problems with. Usually, by now, a few of their ships would have had to reduce their gees. Others would have blown up from reactor failure.

  Not this batch of ships.

  “Battle board, recalculate our course projections,” Admiral Bethea ordered her fighting computer.

  “Now, we’ll both miss the jump; miss it by quite a bit,” S’Bun pointed out, once the new projection for their courses appeared on the board.

  “So, we try some ‘what ifs.’ Battle Board, assume that they will adjust course and go to three to 3.5 gees. Show me the courses that they can use to make the jump.”

  Now the enemy’s course went from a single line to a large volume of possibilities, depending on how soon they chose to break off the evasion and/or how hard they chose to brake.

  “It didn’t matter,” S’Bun said, “the Third Fleet would intercept them before they have to adjust their course and power settings.”

  “Nav. Steer fifteen degrees closer to the enemy. Advise fleet of course and deceleration,” Betsy ordered. The fight would start when she wanted it and not a moment later.

  Time passed. Her ships inexorably closed on the aliens. The aliens could not run away from the fate Admiral Bethea intended for them.

  Sensors reported “Enemy at 200,000 kilometers.”

  Betsy ordered her ships to concentrate their fire on the frigates.

  Then the bug-eyed monsters changed everything again.

  31

  “Enemy fleet has changed course. Most of it is closing rapidly.”

  Sandy spotted all of the problems in one split second. Most of the enemy ships were now pointed almost straight at her. The frigates formed themselves into six dishes, most of them thirty strong. One maintained its course for the jump. The other five formed themselves into a cross. A central formation with one dish on each flank: right, left, top, bottom.

  There were also six dishes of cruisers. Four filled in the quadrants around the frigates. Two swung wide, imposing themselves between Betsy’s fleet and the thirty that were now still edging away from her, but striking out for the jump.

  Her battle board flashed data showing that the charging ships had would be 150,000 kilometers away in 17.15 minutes. Even as she watched, the enemy force spread themselves out and each ship threw itself into some sort of evasion program. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to hold the shoot until the fire control computers could evaluate it.

  “Sensors, talk to me about the group that isn’t closing on us.”

  “Ah, Admiral, I make thirty of the frigates. One dish. Everything else is headed straight for us.”

  Her battle board caught up with the sensor reports. Now there was one clump of thirty ships still decelerating toward the jump. Every other enemy ship was doing its best to close the range as fast as they could.

  “I suspect they’re only presenting their bows to us,” her chief of staff said.

  “Even a frigate has bow armor to absorb meteorites,” Admiral Bethea added.

  “Do you think these ships were constructed precisely for this maneuver, ma’am?” S’Bun asked. It likely wasn’t really a question.

  “Considering all the construction each of those base ships at System X spat out before the fight, I’d say yes. If this task force wasn’t designed specifically to get into this fight, their Enlightened Ones are dumber than we take them for.”

  Admiral Bethea had expected a nice two- or three-hour turkey shoot as they slowly closed the range from 200,000 kilometers to approximately 150,000 kilometers. It was anybody’s guess what the range was on these new ships’ lasers.

  Now that time was cut by less than seventeen minutes. Even that was quickly vanishing and she’d have a lot smaller targets to shoot at.

  “Change course, thirty degrees away from the enemy. Go to 3.2 gees,” Admiral Bethea ordered. “Navigator, get me a course that lets us dodge away from that charge as much as we can and still make the jump.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am. Give me a minute.”

  “Take your time. Make sure its accurate.”

  “Guns, have you got a new set of fire solutions?” Bethea asked.

  “In three, two, one, we’re ready.”

  “Fleet. Cease acceleration,” Bethea ordered. “Rotate ship to target enemy.”

  All along the six squadron lines of seven or eight ships, stacked one on top of the other in loose formation, the ships cut their deceleration and spun their bows around to present their forward batteries to the enemy.”

  “Volley fire. Fire.”

  Forty-four human battlecruisers let loose with the twelve 22-inch lasers in two rows across their bows. They aimed a carefully calculated salvo for the area around the mildly gyrating alien frigates. The computer forecast was that at least one of those lasers should connect with every one of those ships.

  Six seconds later, the lasers had exhausted their capacitors and fell silent. Bethea’s fleet resumed its base course, and went back to a 3.2 gee deceleration that would take it to the jump.

  Across death’s ground, only two enemy ships were expanding balls of gas. A few more might be wavering a bit, but they all stayed the line.

  Betsy frowned; those were not the results she’d expected. Yes, the range was the maximum effective, 200,000 kilometers. And yes, the enemy was presenting itself bow-on, say a circle with a diameter of 40 or 50y meters. Maybe more, maybe less. Still, even with the dodging, Betsy had expected to do more damage. Somehow, the alien captains had managed to escape the pattern of fire aimed for them.

  Betsy waited for her ships to steady on their base course. Rather than commit to the hard maneuvering it would take to bring their aft battery to bear, a maneuver that would let the enemy close the distance while she drifted, she chose to hold her fire and wait.

  She wanted to see if the aliens would soften their evasion pattern.

  No. If anything, the evasion was now even more energetic.

  “The bastards can learn,” S’Bun muttered.

  “Yes, they can,” Betsy agreed. “But so can we. Guns, order the fleet to stutter fire. One second bursts.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Kris Longknife had first come up with that in gunnery practice. Now the process Nelly created was in every ship’s own gunnery computer.

  “The cruisers are going to 3.2 gee acceleration,” Sensors reported.

  “If they’re trying to mak
e a quick run in to launch missiles,” the chief of staff said, “they’re in for a long approach.”

  Betsy nodded. “We’ll concentrate on the frigates for now. We can get the cruisers later.”

  It was now time for the next volley. This time, each laser would fire for one second, then adjust its point of aim and fire another one second burst. That would increase the odds of getting a hit, though it would decrease the amount of damage any hit did.

  “These new ships are fast. Let’s see how well-protected they are,” Betsy muttered.

  “This ought to be fun,” S’Bun answered. Locked into the high gee stations and being under 3.2 gees deceleration tended to limit nods and shrugs. Sailors had learned to talk more.

  Isn’t it delightful what men will learn if they have to? Betsy thought, reflecting on how taciturn the men around her had been in the early days of her career.

  The ships again went through the maneuver of cutting power, swinging their bows around to point at the onrushing enemy, and firing. This time, the six seconds of firing took ten seconds as each one-second burst was shot at an ever-so-slightly different point in space.

  The battlecruisers immediately returned to their base course and deceleration as the sensors reached out and tallied up the price the enemy had paid.

  Three of the frigates had vanished into dust. Two more appeared to have suffered some damage, but only one slowed its charge, visibly distressed.

  Worse, the enemy had measured the amount of time it took Bethea’s ships to reload and were ready to dance to her tune. As soon as the fire ceased, they went to a slower evasion plan, allowing the alien crew some respite from the brutal jinking while the humans reloaded. No doubt, they’d jack up the evasions again just before the time came for the next salvo.

  This left Betsy with a challenge. Did she adjust the tempo of her salvo and delay the next salvo for a few extra seconds? She shook her head. She could not afford even a few extra seconds between salvos. She needed to kill ships. She’d just have to let herself become predictable and allow them some respite from evasion.