by Rob Buckman
“I might be of some help in that department, sir, I do have a little experience.”
“I hope so, as nothing we’ve done so far works.” Later, when Mike had a chance to check his record, he found that Pete Standish’s last post was supply officer on a Battleship. Mike breathed a sigh, at least they had one senior officer with some experience. If Peter couldn’t get what they needed, he doubted anyone could, or so he thought. The work went on, but now Mike had a chance to stand back a little and see it happen. One change that came to Mike’s direct attention, was one he was intimately familiar with.
“Excuse me, sir, can I have a word?” Gable asked, sticking his head into Mike’s office one morning, snow dusting his cap and shoulders. He walked in and closed the door, shutting out at least some of the noise from the yard.
“Yes, Gable, what’s up?”
“It's about the location of the main communications and sensor arrays.”
“Okay, shoot.” He punched up a plan of the flat screen on the wall of Mike’s office, and stabbed his finger at something. Mike immediately recognized it, the long-range communications array.
“Well, sir, for some time, it's bothered me that the whole damn thing is stuck up in the air, so to speak, above the hull, and usually one of the first things that get hit.”
“Tell me about it, on my last mission that was one of the first things to go.”
“Oh, didn’t know that, sir, but yes, the enemy knows this, and the mast sticks up so high that it’s near the weakest part of the shield.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“They deliberately target it to disrupt communications between eliminate of the fleet, reduce the efficiency of a combine attack.”
“Or a call for help.”
“Precisely, sir. Disrupting communication between ships of a fleet could be the winning move, what with the time lag between ships in battle.”
“So, what did you have in mind?”
“To start with, we could mount much of the associated sensor equipment on the flat surfaces of the Forward main battery. They're heavily shielded and that would help protect them. In that position, it would work better. Less interference.” He added.
“Okay, I agree, what else?”
“I’d like to mount the navigation and long range sensor plates along the transom of the ship, and more than just the four we use now.”
“Don’t see why not, it's just a case of obtaining additional units and wiring them.”
“Agreed, sir, I’ve already spoken to the Yard Foreman, and he doesn’t have a problem with it.”
“Are you sure you can get the same coverage from mounting them in this configuration?” He asked, tapping the drawing.
“Oh, yes, sir, a much better coverage and not so many holes in the field. This is something I’ve been working on for some time.” It was clear now why the Admiralty had shunted Gable off to a dead end position. His suggestions were a radical departure from standard Navy design and some Captain might feel threatened by that.
“Anything else, while we’re at it?” Mike asked, half jokingly. Gable took him seriously.
“I like to mount our real time monitoring equipment in the hull itself at various points, with at least two, if not three redundant backup systems.”
“Again, no argument there, can it be done?”
“Yes, sir, I have already talked to Adam and the Yard Electrical Foreman, and they both agree.”
“Good, but what about the main communication antenna?” Hearing that, Gable’s usually dower face took on and shy expression.
“I’d like to bury it in the keel, sir, with a backup along the port and starboard transom.”
“Ummm, that’s a drastic change, how do you know it will work there?” For a moment, Mike saw the long-range communication array of the assault shuttle go floating off into space. If he’d had it, would it have changed his course of action on the rescue mission? It was a moot point now.
“I’ve all ready tried it, sir, but only on a small scale so far.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir, an experiment of my own, some time ago with a shuttle craft. We can bury the antenna just below the surface of the keel in a shielded groove, then fill it with armor seal to bring it flush. No one would even know it’s there.”
“So, you intend to keep the standard communication array.”
“Yes, sir, but mainly for looks and as a diversion.”
“Um,” Mike pondered the implications for a second. “It would mean lifting the hull off the ways about three feet for the cutting machine.”
“Yes, sir, and I already check, and the Yard Foreman tells me he can do it.” Mike didn’t insult Gable’s intelligence by asking if it would work, as he obviously put a lot of thought and testing into the idea.
“Go for it, but don’t add that to the drawings just yet, let’s keep that as much of a secret as possible for the moment.” Mike cautioned, but he couldn’t say why, just a hunch.
“Yes, sir.”
“The Bureau of ships is going to have a fit about what we’ve already done.” Gable grinned and left the office, beaming like a schoolboy. He was right, the Bur Ships would have a baby when they found out.
The days turned colder, with freezing rain slanted down out of a slate gray sky, coating everything with ice. Now, just getting to the slip was a major operation. No sooner had he settle after a hair-raising drive one morning, when one of the fitters came in and handed him a note. Before Mike could ask him who it was from, he slipped away around the corner and vanished.
The note simply said. ‘Meet me at slip 19 in two hours’, there was no signature. He showed it to Conner, and he looked at it dubiously, ever suspicious.
“I take it, you will be going, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Good, I’ll leave now, sir.” Reaching inside his jacket, Conner pulled out his side arm and checked it. Mike hadn’t even realized that he was carrying, nor how long, and it made him think about carrying one himself.
Pulling his out of his hold all, he checked the charge before slipping it back into its holster and bucking it around his waist. The message could be quite innocent, but Conner’s attitude started him thinking in different terms. Something about this assignment wasn’t exactly by the book, so erring on the side of caution wasn’t out of place. Making his way to Slip 19, the Land Rover skidded from side to side, as wind gust pushed back and forth over the slick road. Luckily, he’d learned his way around the sprawling base, and only got lost twice. He made it to slip 19 ten minutes after the two hour deadline, but the slip itself was empty. A cold wind whipping off slate gray sea cut through his winter jacket like a knife, chilling him to the bone and for a moment he wondered if who sent the message had left. The only buildings were a group of work sheds, and pulling the Land Rover up close he stopped and got out.
“One person inside, sir, no one else around.” Conner whisper in his earpiece. He didn’t acknowledge, or indicate he understood, and Conner wouldn’t expect him to.
“Didn’t think you were going to show.” A female voice spoke to him from the deep shadow inside one of the buildings.
“Got delayed by the ice.” He recognized the voice. It was Cynthia.
“Why all the cloak and dagger stuff, Cynthia?” He asked as he walked in.
“You tell me!”
“I don’t follow.”
“I receive an unexpected visit today, from a man who says he’s from the Bureau of ships.”
“Sound impressive.”
“So were his credentials, Chief Inspector, Investigations Division.”
“Ummm, that doesn’t sound good.”
“You’re telling me, I’ve had them around before, but not someone this high up. They are usually here checking for pilferage, or missing equipment.”
“What did this man want?”
“He asked to see my repair schedule, then asked pointed questions about what else I was doing.”
“You think he wa
s asking about my ship?”
“That’s the impression I got. He told me in no uncertain terms, that if he caught me working on any other project than the one’s on my list. His Majesties Government would prosecute anyone and everyone involved to the fullest extent of the law, as he put it.”
“But my ships on the schedule!”
“No, it's not.”
“What!” Cynthia looked a little sheepish.
“To tell you the truth, I never bothered to check, after you showed me your orders.”
“Oh my God! But I have signed orders to finish the refit, or rebuild, or whatever you want to call it.”
“That may be so, but officially your ship isn’t on my list.”
“Shit!” It exploded out before he could stop it. “What the hell is going on?”
“Thought you might be able to answer that Mike.”
“I can’t, I have no idea why my ship isn’t on the list, why the hell was I sent here, if it's not!”
“Good, question.”
“Yes, but what the hell is the answer!” Cynthia looked at him a moment, obviously thinking, then nodded.
“To get that ship completed.”
“What! I don’t follow.”
“Someone at the Admiralty sent you and the other down here to take command of a ship that wasn’t even built, and your instructions were to take charge and get her ready to lift into space with all expediency, right?”
“Well, yes, I suppose you could read them that way.”
“Now it seems that there are some people who’ve got wind of it, and don’t want that ship built, the same as twenty years ago.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Yet you have no idea why.”
“Not a clue, I’m as much in the dark as you are.” They stood there in the cold, looking out over the empty slipway, each deep in their own thought.
“I’m going to call a few people I know and ask some pointed questions.”
“Be very careful who to talk to Mike.”
“I can trust these people, and get a few answered. What are you going to do?”
“Finish the damn ship, that’s what.”
“Even with the Chief Inspector breathing down your neck?”
“This base is so big, he’d never find your berth without help, especially after I move a few signs around and eliminated it from the ground plan I’ll give him.”
“What about the crews?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them, and fill them in.”
“We still have the problem of the engines, weapons and equipment, but I think, like the man said, they will be here.”
“Hope so, we need all of them now.”
“It's still going to be tough completing her.”
“No, starting tomorrow, I’ll put three full shifts on, and doubling the work crews.”
“Cynthia, that’s sticking your neck out a long way.” She reached over, patting him on the cheek, and smiled.
“Had a long chat with that nice Conner Blake, and he said you were worth it, didn’t you Conner?” She leaned over and spoke a little louder, grinning as she did.
“Damn! That’s one sharp lady, sir.” Conner whispered in his ear bug.
“You’ve got that right, Conner.”
“So, Mike, get onto your people and tell them that we need everything last week, and that the bear poo is about to hit the air distribution system.”
“Will do, Cynthia.”
“Good, you take off, and I’ll wait a while. I very much doubt that anyone saw me come here, but at this point, why take chances.” On impulse, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you, Cynthia.”
“Oh, get out of here boy, you’ll have me crying next.” Mike did, taking the scenic route back to the ship by going over the salt marshes and the Back Bay. Conner met him back at the ship, and amid the hammer and screech, they talked over the short-range radio and a scrambled frequency.
“So, you and the lady have been cozening up, huh chief?”
“Just a little, someone had to keep her feet warm on these cold winter nights.” He chuckled.
“Good for you, Chief, so what's your take on all this.” He knew the Conner’s suspicious mind would see an angle that he couldn’t.
“It's simple sir, as you said, someone, or maybe more than just one someone doesn’t want this, or any new ships built.”
“But the yards on the Moon and in the Asteroid belt are building ship all the time!”
“True, sir, but old designs. There hasn’t been a major design upgrade for sixty year, sir.” That shocked Mike.
“But! They must be working on new technology, and R&D work?”
“They are, sir, but none of it is getting passed the development and testing stage.” He sighed heavily. Clearly, Conner knew a lot more than he was telling, and poking his nose into a lot of dark corners. “Every bit of new technology gets killed in appropriations.” The Chief had obviously been digging deep.
“You get all this from Cynthia?”
“No, sir, only part of it, she gave me the initial lead and I did a little discrete digging of my own, but that’s not the worst of it.”
“Okay, Conner, drop the other shoe.”
“I can’t prove it, sir, but the word is that a lot of that technology is ending up in other hands.”
“That’s treason you are talking about, Conner.”
“Or some damn good spies, sir.”
“So, you think there are two groups involved here, one trying to get this ship built, the other trying to stop it.”
“Yes, sir, if we can get this ship into space and bring her to active duty, everyone would know.”
“That would set the cat among the pigeons.”
“In a big way, every Admiral from the First Lord down would be clamoring for a new ship with the latest modifications.”
“All right then, how soon can we get the Marines down to the slip and set up a security parameter? Conner smiled at him.
“How soon do you want them, sir.”
“Right now, now I think about it!” Mike chided himself for walking around in a dream, and not realizing what was going on, or taking adequate precautions sooner.
“Yes, sir, I’ll have Sergeant Rice relocate his men out to the slipway. He should have them in place by this afternoon.
“Have him assign some of the men to different parts of the environmental shelter and tell them to watch for anything unusual or suspicious.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know that’s going to be a tall order, as work crews will be working around the clock.”
“We can handle it, sir.”
“It will mean his people will have to get to know who’s who very fast, and what they are supposed to be doing.”
“Yes, sir, we can spot hidden cameras around the inside of the ship, and the hanger and monitor them from the shuttle.”
“I’ll arrange it with the Yard Foreman for each crew chief to monitor his own people, and report any new faces, or sudden changes.”
“Can we get a list of names and picture of all the work crew, sir.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll talk to Cynthia about it and have her get back with you.”
“Very good, sir, I’ll get onto re-deploying the men now.”
If anything, the din inside the hanger got worse as the work crews finished disassembling the remainder of the hull. One by one, the main frame members were maneuvered out the hanger, and sent off to the frame shop for reforming into their new shape. Mike checked with the shop Foreman and got the day and time they’d start the reforming, getting permission to be there to watch the first one being reshaped. For some odd reason, Cynthia scheduled the event for after midnight, guessing the reason had more to do with security. At that time, few, if any, of the regular crew would be in the yard, leaving just a few shops working around the clock to fabricate the parts and equipment for his ship. The forming shop turned out t
o be located in a huge underground chamber, the refractory brick line walls scorched in places from the forming process. Even standing in the air conditioned control room, it was going to get hot for a while, and as Mike walked in, the Foreman handed him a pair of dark goggles.
