Valor At Vauzlee

by DePrima, Thomas

  "Thank you, Commander. I'll think it over and decide which tactics we'll use in the engagement. That'll be all."

  "Aye, sir," Jenetta said as she stood to leave.

  After she was gone, Gavin looked at Kanes soberly. "Indians," he said simply.

  Kanes grinned and then chuckled aloud. "It's a real shame she never had an opportunity to attend the Space Command War College. I'm sure she would have amused her instructors no end with her unusual tactical scenarios."

  "They do sound amusing on the surface, mainly because of her analogies to fictionalized western dramas, but tactically her ideas are brilliant. They have a novel simplicity about them that make you shake your head and wonder why you didn't think of them. Although she didn't attend the War College, there's no doubt that she has a thorough knowledge and understanding of the tactics of both ancient and modern warfare. The account she just gave of the 1683 Turkish attack on Vienna proves that. From my recollection, she was absolutely correct in every detail, and on the spur of the moment I certainly couldn't have provided the specifics of that engagement as she did. She must have studied on her own because, while they do teach ancient battle strategies at the War College, I know for a fact that they don't teach them at the Academy. Perhaps it's better that she didn't attend the War College; she's not saddled with the regimented thinking that seems to prevent the rest of us from developing such innovative strategies."

  "It sounds like you're giving serious consideration to using her suggested tactics rather than the attack plan recommended by the War College?"

  "It's a captain's prerogative when he has better information than the planners. Keith, my XO was just an ensign when a freighter crew asked her to take command of their ship following an attack by raiders."

  "I'm aware of that, sir. I spent an entire day grilling her after she arrived at Higgins with the Prometheus, Chiron, and Vordoth."

  "So you're also well aware that she had only lightweight energy weapons and an ancient torpedo system employing four tubes with inferior ordnance when she fought both a Raider destroyer and Raider medium cruiser in separate engagements."

  "Yes, I am," Kanes said, again grinning and chuckling. "Apparently no one ever told Commander Carver that old freighters don't stand a chance in hell of winning an engagement against a modern warship, so she went ahead and disproved that postulation— twice."

  "You can make light of it if you wish, but I know that I certainly wouldn't care to find myself facing a Raider warship while I was in command of a freighter."

  "She admits that she was lucky, Captain."

  "You can get lucky once, in a situation like that, but twice? She destroyed both Raider vessels while suffering almost no damage to her own ship. I think that you have to pay serious attention to someone who has had the degree of success in battle that she has."

  "And you're willing to risk this ship, and the entire task force, by employing this— unique— strategy of hers?"

  "I know that you attended the War College, even though you later decided on a career in Intelligence. Do you remember Professor Leinsdorf?"

  "Yes. I think I heard he retired recently. He taught a course in ‘Ancient Weapons,' didn't he?"

  Gavin nodded. "I remember that he was quite fond of saying, ‘Luck is what occurs when opportunity meets preparation.' Whenever I hear someone say that someone was lucky, I remember his words. I know that my XO has a lot more going for her than pure random chance."

  * * *

  "We're all gonna die," Chief Edward Lindsey lamented strongly as he dealt the cards to the other four Chief Petty Officers at the card table in his quarters. "I just know we're all gonna die. I knew I shouldn't have left the Thor. She's sitting safely back at Higgins."

  "Jeezz, Eddie, you're depressing me," CPO Filip ‘Flip' Byrne said.

  "I'm depressing you? It was the LT that told us we're going into combat against a Raider battle group."

  "Fighting Raiders is a fact of life out here. Remember that Raider destroyer the Thor encountered about four years ago. As soon as he saw us coming, he turned tail and ran. That's probably what'll happen this time as well. They don't have the stomach for taking on a GSC battleship."

  "But we're not taking on just one lone destroyer. We're going up against seventy-five Raider warships."

  "What? Where did you hear that?"

  "One of my guys overheard two officers talking in cargo hold C-06."

  "They were talking about that in front of a rating?"

  "Nah, they didn't know he was there. I have my guys spread out in hiding places all over that deck so the officers don't see them sitting around with nothing to do during duty hours and the computers don't see them congregating when they shouldn't be, but I know where each of them are in case I need them for something. Anyway, my guy was up on top of a pile of shipping containers where no one could see him. He's got a couple of blankets up there and he spends most of the watch out of sight."

  "So what else is new? We all hide our guys. To avoid make-work details, chiefs have been stashing their guys away from the eyes of officers since the square rigger days."

  "So these two weapons officers, the ones that came aboard just before we left Higgins, come into the hold and close the hatch to the corridor. They were probably looking for a place where they could talk in private. My guy overhears them talking about which gunners they intend to place where and why. Then one of them asks the other if he's prepared his final message to home yet. The second one says that he did that right after the captain's briefing. He says that even though they'll be in a fire control center, just about the most protected part of the ship, he doesn't expect to survive the battle. He said that fifteen to one odds are just too great, even in a battleship as powerful as this one."

  "Fifteen to one?"

  "Yeah."

  "So where did you get seventy-five from? The LT just told us that we were heading into a fight with Raiders."

  "Use your head. We left Higgins with the Chiron on our six, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "And I've learned that the Song is supposed to rendezvous with us as soon as we stop. If the three of us are going to take on a Raider battle group, you can be damned sure that at least a couple of tin cans will be joining us. With the odds fifteen to one, that means we're facing seventy-five Raider warships. The Raiders must be figuring on retaking control in this deca-sector. We're all dead."

  "There's no way they'd send just five ships to fight seventy-five," Flip said.

  "Why not? We have the child XO on board after all. They probably figure she could take them on all by herself, in just a fighter."

  "I told you not to call her that. Commander Carver deserves our respect for what she's done."

  "Has it occurred to you that if anything happens to Gavin during the battle, she'll be in command? Captain Powers can't assign a new commanding officer over here while we're fighting." He moaned again and said, "We're all gonna die."

  "I'm plenty glad she's on board, and second in command if we're going into battle. I can tell you for a fact that the old man respects her."

  "Whadda you mean?"

  Looking towards one of the other chiefs, Flip said, "Tell him, Nera."

  CPO Nera Caligara looked up from her cards. "Leave me outta this."

  "Come on. Tell him what you told me."

  Nera sighed. "Okay. I served as a bridge communications chief on the Hermes when Captain Gavin commanded her, so I guess I know him pretty well by now. The XO on the Hermes was an okay sort, but not exactly the brightest bulb in the executive officer lamp, if you know what I mean. I could tell Gavin liked him personally, but I could also tell that he didn't value his judgment on really important matters. Since I've been aboard the Prometheus, I've overheard the Captain conferring with the XO a number of times on the bridge. She always defers to him, as XOs are supposed to do with their Captain, even when playing devil's advocate, but he always seeks out her honest opinion. And when she speaks, he listens. I mean he really listens.
You can take that however you will, but me, I respect somebody who has the respect of somebody I respect. And I do respect the Captain. So I stand behind the XO all the way."

  "Well, Eddie?" Flip asked.

  "Well, what?"

  Flip scowled at him. "Oh, never mind. What's your bid?"

  * * *

  The Prometheus and Chiron dropped their envelopes as they reached the vicinity of the planet Vauzlee where they would wait for the distress call to come. An inhospitable ice-planet on the outer edge of a small inhospitable solar system with a Type M3 MMK Class V red dwarf star, Vauzlee was uninhabited, as were the other two planets in the system, so there was virtually no likelihood of their being spotted. To further reduce the chances of alerting the Raiders to their presence, ships arriving at the RP would only communicate via directed, narrow-beam laser com signal.

  It was now March 26th, 2268 by the Earth calendar, twenty-six days having passed since they had left Higgins Space Station, and all was ready. Gunners and guidance specialists had been running fire control simulations almost without stop during the past two days and the crew was confident, although naturally nervous about the conflict ahead. Scuttlebutt presently had the enemy fleet at over a hundred-fifty ships. Everyone now understood the reason for all the GQ drills and intensive weapons training, and their feelings toward their XO had changed considerably.

  As Jenetta sat in the first officer's chair on the bridge during her watch, she thought about the imminent battle ahead and again wondered if they were doing the right thing by not alerting the convoy about the ambush so they could simply change course. But it wasn't her place to challenge either policy or strategy developed by Space Command Headquarters. They would just have to make sure that the damage to the convoy was as light as possible. Unfortunately, the only way to do that was to engage the Raiders as quickly as possible and offer their hull as a substitute target.

  The hours passed slowly as the entire ship waited for the distress call to come. The usual routine was forgotten, and gun crews actually stayed close to the fire control centers, with just one member of each two man crew going for coffee and sandwiches as first lunch, then dinner hours arrived and passed.

  * * *

  "Commander," the helmsman aboard the light-destroyer Peabody Clarice suddenly cried out, "The ACS has shut down the Light Drive. We've lost our envelope."

  "What! Why?" Commander Kyle Schwann asked.

  "There are hard contacts ahead," the lieutenant at the tactical station said. "I'm seeing hundreds spread across our bow."

  "Hundreds? Out here? Impossible!"

  "The DeTect system sees them clearly, sir."

  "Helm, deactivate the collision avoidance control for these contacts and reengage the Light Drive."

  "I've tried, sir. It won't reengage. The objects aren't stationary. In fact, they seem to be moving at random. With each vector change, the system immediately shuts down again."

  "This might be a precursor to an attack, sir," the tactical officer said.

  "Sir," the com operator said, "the other ships are calling for instructions."

  "Com, tell them that I expect an attack to be imminent. All ships should initiate GQ and man their weapons. Then notify Commodore Blosset."

  * * *

  Commodore Andre Blosset was already out of bed and hunting for his slippers, in response to the GQ alert, when his bedside com sounded. He listened to the com operator and slammed the cover down without even responding. Less than thirty seconds later he entered the bridge in his pajamas. He'd found his slippers, but left his quarters without his robe.

  "Talk to me, Kyle," Commodore Blosset said loudly.

  "The ACS shut down our Light Drive. We can't reengage it."

  "Sirs," the tactical officer said, "We have numerous warships taking up positions all around us."

  "How many and where, dammit?" Commodore Blosset asked with annoyance. ‘The man should know better than to give just half the story.'

  "There appears to be forty, no forty-one, warships. They're forming a circle around us, about twenty-five thousand kilometers out."

  "Commodore, I'm picking up a message," the com operator said. "They're demanding our immediate surrender."

  "Who are they?"

  "They didn't say, sir," the com operator replied.

  "Well ask them, dammit."

  "Sirs," the tactical officer said," the computer identifies the warships as mostly destroyer-sized vessels, but some are large enough to be classified as frigates, cruisers, and even battleships."

  "Battleships?"

  "They have to be Raiders, sir," Commander Schwann said.

  "The Raiders have battleships?"

  "Nobody else would be demanding our surrender this close to the heart of Galactic Alliance space."

  "Com," Commodore Blosset said, "notify all ships to move to their Protection-One positions immediately."

  "Aye, Commodore."

  "Kyle, what response should we give these pirates?"

  "A full spread of torpedoes down their gullets, sir?"

  "I agree, but let's coordinate our fire first. Com, it's— 2158. Alert all ships to fire a full spread of torpedoes at exactly 2200, then fire at will after that. As soon as they open up, send our programmed distress call. Tactical, as soon as we open fire, activate the AutoTect system. If there's any help nearby, I want them to be able to find us."

  "Aye, Commodore," both men said.

  "You're a real optimist, sir," Commander Schwann said. "There's not much chance of our finding help out here."

  "Kyle, you're probably right," Commodore Blosset said as he climbed up into his bridge chair and fastened his seat belt, "but you just never know who's out there listening. It worked for the Nordakians last year. Their convoy hollered for help and that Space Command ensign came rushing to their rescue." The affable smile that usually covered the seventy-four-year-old's pudgy lower face was gone, replaced with a look of grim determination and purpose.

  Commander Schwann looked at his commanding officer with skepticism. "We're twenty-four light years from Higgins, sir. Jenetta Carver isn't coming to our rescue."

  "I know, but maybe we'll find our own Jenetta Carver."

  "I hope our Jenetta Carver is coming in a GSC battleship instead of an old freighter."

  * * *

  It was exactly 2200:18 hours when the com station operator cupped his left ear to block any extraneous noise and sat up straighter in his chair. "Captain, distress call coming in from the Peabody convoy," he announced.

  Almost immediately, Lieutenant Kerrey, manning the lead tactical station said, "The signal is coming from the expected area, Captain."

  "This is it," Gavin said. "Sound GQ alert for ten seconds. Com, send the prepared message to all task force ships. Helm, take us there at Light-375, drop out of Light at one-hundred-thousand kilometers from the outer ring of ships and come to Sub-Light-10."

  "Aye, Captain. Light-375 and then Sub-Light-10 at one-hundred-thousand km."

  "Engage as soon as the envelope is formed," Gavin said as he pulled the seat belt around his waist and slid the end into the locking mechanism. There was naturally no sensation of movement while the ship was traveling faster than light, but when the envelope dissolved the ship would accelerate in normal space. Although the gravitative inertial compensators would prevent most motion from being felt, there was usually a sudden lurch when the enormous engines were first engaged. And during battle the ship was subject to sudden violent movement if struck by torpedoes.

  "Engaged, Captain."

  "The Chiron and Song are building their envelopes, sir," the tactical officer said.

  "Com, put me on ship-wide speakers."

  "You're on ship-wide, captain."

  "Attention crew of the Prometheus. We've received a distress call from a convoy under attack by Raiders and we're proceeding there at top speed. ETA is eleven minutes. Clear for action."

  The dozen fire control centers located along the center axis of the ship
came alive as the specialists rushed in and manned their consoles. The placement of the console had nothing to do with the location of the weapon each laser array team would control. The weapons control computer would assign an array based on the simulation scores of each team once they had taken their places at a console and the computer had polled their IDs. The system would alternate a good team with one that wasn't quite as good, meaning that a poor team would have a much better team on either side. The overlap of the weapons fire meant that the chances of a torpedo getting through were therefore much less likely than if several teams with low scores happened to be located together.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  ~ March 26th, 2268 ~

  "The Janice just took a serious hit, Commodore," the com operator announced nervously. "It knocked out two of her larboard tubes. Twelve crewmen are missing. Either vaporized or possibly sucked out the hole made by the torpedo."

  "Damn," Commodore Blosset said. He had already lost mental count of the number of dead and wounded. The casualties were mounting too quickly. There were just too many damn Raider ships.

  "Perhaps it's time to consider another option, Commodore," Commander Schwann said weakly from his chair next to the Commodore, "while our temporal field generator is still intact."

  Commodore Blosset saw the desperation in his eyes, and heard the hint of fear in his voice. "You mean run away?"

  "We're as good as dead if we remain here, sir. Either the Raiders will kill us, or they'll enslave us, which means we might as well be dead. We still have a chance to get away if we go now. We have no chance of surviving if we remain here. They're killing us, bit by bit."

  "We took an oath to protect our client's property, even if it means we have to die trying."

  "We're supposed to die for a load of refuse that most people wouldn't hesitate to toss down the nearest waste disposal chute? I saw some of that stuff being packed. It's old belt buckles, food containers, disposable baby diapers complete with fossilized fecal matter, glass and plastic beverage bottles, bits of plastic, and anything else that hasn't rotted or corroded completely away on Mawcett in twenty-thousand years."