by Rob Buckman
“Not straight away. They had many heated arguments, and almost a fist fight, but eventually, they draw smaller and smaller ships with more and more power and armaments.”
“I seem to remember the German’s did something similar, they called it a pocket Battleship.”
“Right, light, fast and heavily armed. Yet, pound for pound a motor torpedo boat or a midget sub-could inflict more damage for far less cost than a Battleship.”
“Good God!”
“Imagine the damage the German’s could have inflicted if they spent the same amount of money for the pocket Battleship on E-boats or submarines?”
“They could have built thousands of them, and trained the crew faster and keep them in action longer with the right supply lines.”
“Right, but pride can be a dangerous thing. In the end, the Royal Navy and the Air Force crippled or sank all of those great ships.” Mike pondered the Admirals word, his eyes looking off into the distance.
“I understand. My ship is small, fast, heavily armed and built like a Battleship.”
“In other word, like any good warship, able to take substantial damage and still stay in action.”
“So why didn’t they finish building her twenty years ago?” He didn’t try to hide the note of exasperation in his voice.
“That is the question, Mike, and one that will have to remain unanswered for a while, I’m sorry to say.”
“Yes, sir.” Something was going on here, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“At least I have the latest equipment and armament, sir, not worn out junk.”
“Well, at least we know there are a few people working on our side.” The Admiral pushed a message pad across the table, “this came in while you were in transit, I didn’t understand it at first, but after reading your reports, I do.” The message was from Cynthia and read.
From: Cynthia Chelsea Campbell, Chief Superintendent
Repair & Refit Facilities Devonport Naval Dockyards. Devonport. Earth. Sol System. 05:45 GMT
To: Admiral, the Right Honorable,
Sir Charles Rawlings. OBE.VC.NC.KTG.
Officer Commanding Home Fleet
Sir: Please be informed that due to an unfortunate fire at this facility today at 03:15, the drawing and blue print office and its contents were completely destroyed. This means that until further notice from this office, a complete set of new drawing for ALL ships shall be obtained from Admiralty archives prior to reporting to this facility for repair or refit. Without such drawing, all future repairs and refit will be delayed until such a set of drawing and specification are obtained. Please order all Captains to obtain a complete set of up-to-date copies of the as-built drawing and specification at their earliest convenience.
Signed Cynthia Chelsea Campbell, Chief Superintendent.
Devonport Royal Naval Repair Facility
“I take it you know what this means, Mike?” Mike read it twice, then nodding in understanding.
“Yes, Admiral, it means that I have the only existing copy of the plans and specification for my ship, including all the new equipment and modifications.”
“Just so, in fact, your ship doesn’t even exist in the naval list, or archives yet?”
“No, sir, she doesn’t.”
“That’s the reason I had you park way out. After looking at the picture you sent of your ship, I didn’t want anyone else to see her either.”
“Why so, Admiral?”
“You have a new ship, with all the latest innovations, drives, weapons and tactical systems, yet in size she’s a cross between a Destroyer and a light Cruiser with weapons systems and firepower on the order of a Heavy Cruiser.” He said with a chuckle.
“Yes, sir.”
“It also means that no one in the Admiralty knows about her either. She a ghost ship if you like.”
“Well, she is only a…. I’m not sure what to class she is, Admiral, but she’s not a Battleship.”
“True, but if what you have told me is true, she has the capabilities of a ship far larger. I thought it best that the fewer people who saw her, the better.”
“Yes, sir, but as yet I have nothing to gage her capabilities against. I need to take her on a shakedown cruise and find out.”
“Out of curiosity, what are the wings, or whatever you call them, for?”
“They aren’t wings, sir. The port and starboard wings actually house the landing sponsons and additional missile launches that fire fore and aft.”
“Good thinking, and”
“The landing sponsons houses four additional torpedo launchers with auto load capabilities. They augment the six launches in the bow, and the four in the stern.”
“And that mast… or whatever you call it?”
“The upper tail fin, if you can call it that, is for the long range sensors and a fake communication system. It also houses one of our active ECM units.”
“So where is the real long range comm antenna?” In answer, Mike tapped his port-comp and passed it to the Admiral. He took one look and erased what Mike had written and passed it back with a nod.
“We have a full ECM and ECCM suit onboard, not the abbreviated one that smaller ships carry.
“Lord, I wondered where you’d packed all that extra equipment they sent you.”
“Oh, we have a whole range of weapon system tucked away inside her,” he laughed, “should we need them that is.”
“From what I’ve seen of your equipment specification, she’s more like a pocket Battleship and anything else.”
“Maybe one day we’ll find out.”
“Sooner than you might think, Michael.”
“How so, Admiral. I definitely need a shakedown cruise.”
“Hmm, can’t let you have much time, as I have an urgent assignment for you. However, you will have time to iron out the kinks along the way.” Mike sighed. So much for getting her shipshape.
As he spoke, the Admiral got up and walked over to the wall safe, held his thumb to the security lock, then punched in some numbers. He took out a sealed package, handing it to Mike.
“Those are sealed ordered, and not to be opened until you are passed the first warp point somewhere above Solar North.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“I can tell you that they were hand delivered by a Kings Messenger, with the instruction that I give them to you personally. In a way, going back to hand deliver critical messages might be slow, but far less prone to interception.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t tell you anything else at this time only that this mission is critical.”
“Aye, sir.” He hesitated a moment, then continues. “I have a question, Admiral.”
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do with the report I sent you?” It was a delicate question to ask an Admiral, but from the look he got he felt reassured.
“Your report was hand carried by a King’s Messenger to, um, well let just say, someone high up, and, I didn’t keep any copy for myself other than what is on this.” He held up a reader. “It will be erased and the chip broken the moment you leave here.” That made Mike feel a lot better.
With all the leaks in the Admiralty, there was no telling where his report might end up. His comm tech reported that the booby trap didn’t go off, so he knew no one tampered with it before the Admiral saw it. Now it was in the hands of someone he trusted, and shouldn’t turn up somewhere else.
“By the way, it was your report that prompted those sealed orders, Michael.”
“Really?” That surprised him.
“Carry on, Mike, and God’s speed and good hunting.” The Admiral held his hand out. It was a traditional dismiss, and Mike stood, shook, replacing his cap and return the Admiral’s salute.
“Take care, Mike.” Mike departed the package heavy in his hand, wondering if there was a letter from the ‘Lady Ann’. He hoped so. There was, but he didn’t get a chance to read it until much later. First, he returned to his ship and got her und
erway towards Solar North, still banging his head on the overhead pipes and ductwork.
* * * * * *
“Nav, have you worked out the course for our first jump?” He asked a day later as he settled into his seat.
“Finishing up now, sir.” A few moments later the message light on his side consult flashed and he opened the message. Pete Standish did the same, and they both read the results. It took a few moments for Pete to run the calculations, pursing his lips and nodding.
“Looks good to me, Skipper.” He said, looking around.
“Humm…” Mike intoned. “Cutting it a little close there Nav.”
“Close, sir?”
“Yes. It appears to me that you will bring us out a little too close to the target star for safety.” Pete raised an eyebrow and turn back to his screen without saying anything. He ran the calculation twice, rubbing his chin and wondered what he’d missed. Then he saw it and mentally kicked himself.
The Skipper was right, the course/time duration would bring them out a little close to the target star. It took navigation a little longer, but in the end he found the error and sent the new results back to the OX and the Captain. Pete happened to look over at Janice, seeing a slight smile on her face. She knew something, but it wasn’t until later that he got the chance to ask her about it.
“Much better. Lock these into the nav computer.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” During a break, Pete strolled down to the Wardroom to get a cup of coffee, and by luck ran into Janice as she was about to leave.
“The Skipper’s pretty sharp when it comes to running the calculation for a warp jump.” He looked at Janice, seeing her use that same smile again. “Come on, what’s the joke?” He asked.
“No joke, OX.” She laughed. “The Skipper didn’t run the numbers.”
“What do you mean, of course he did. He must have run them the moment he opened his orders.” Janice shook her head and Pete’s face pulled into a frown. “You mean he already had them?”
“No, he did them in his head.” She hid a laugh behind her hand.
“Don’t be absurd. You can’t run nth space calculations in your head! Damn it, it takes a bloody super computer to do that.”
“Not Mike… I mean the Skipper. I watched him do it at the Academy lots of times. It is used to drive the instructor nuts.” Pete looked stunned.
“How on Earth do you run nth space calculation in your head?”
“That, you will have to ask the Skipper. He never would tell me how he did it.” She gave him another secretive smile and headed back to the Bridge.
Pete got himself a cup of coffee and sat there thinking about what Janice had said. To him it didn’t make sense. How could a human, any human run nth space calculation in their head. It almost sounded like a contradiction in terms. There were way too many variables for someone to take them all into account. You not only had to know the orbit of the target star around the galactic center in its X, Y and Z-axis but that of the star you departed from. You then had to know the speed and position of both star systems in relation to the galaxy in three dimensions, as well as orbital variations. It didn’t stop there, as there was the gravitational variable to take into account. True, most of them known and represented by a string of numbers two feet long locked away inside the navigation super computer. What was even more astonishing was that his Captain had spotted the discrepancy in the navigator’s calculation with one look. Mike Gray might look like a young man, barely into his twenties, but Pete suspected he was a lot older, and probably wiser than he was.
In the end, he shook his head and headed back up to the Bridge, immediately checking the Nav screen for their position. Their course spiraled them up out of the gravity well of Earth’s system above the plane of eclipse towards a position one AU out at Solar North. As they were actively ‘pinging’ with their tachyon sensors, the six massive OWP clearly showed up as bright dots on the screen, each marked with its designator. As the hours passed and they drew closer, the true size of the orbiting weapons platforms became apparent. Up close they looked like small moons rather than man-made objects, and between all six they could put out an overwhelming amount of firepower. This was critical during the first few minutes of an enemy fleet transfer into the system where they were most vulnerable before their sensors, shields, and weapons came back on line. Drawing closer, traffic control answered their hail.
“Traffic control has given us an insertion slot twenty-six minutes from now, sir.” Janice reported crisply.
“Traffic’s a little light today, thank goodness.” Pete observed.
“Thank God for small mercies. We can leap across light years in a single bound, yet can get stuck in traffic for three hours just to do it. It’s worse than being stuck on the M1 Motorway at rush hours.” Janice grouched.
The Bridge crew laughed, knowing how right he was. The banter went on as other added their favorite, and not so favorite moments getting stuck in traffic as something to do while they waited. Another Captain might have put their time to checking, or rechecking instrument, or running diagnostic on this or that bit of equipment. Mike did neither, partly because he was new to Command, but partly because he knew his people had already done all of the things multiple times. If something were out of whack, he’d have been notified long before this.
“Moving inside the warp point event horizon, Skipper.” Janice Fletcher announced at last, moments after receiving their clearance from traffic control.
“Thank you, Ops - sound wrap transfer warning Number One.”
“Aye-aye, sir, sounding warp warning transfer.” Pete touched his keyboard and a stridence horn sounded throughout the ship. Immediately everyone stopped and went to their duty station and strapped in.
“Slow ahead, helm.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Slow ahead, it is.”
“Ops - lower shields and set our inertial dampeners to 25%
“Aye, sir. Lowering shield and setting inertia dampeners to 25%.”
“Janice - rise ‘sail’.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Raising the nth space sail.” She answered, and everyone on the Bridge who could, took a moment to watch as the armored ports in the hull opened and the nth sail antenna telescoped out of the hull for the first time. The antenna was six foot across at its base, stepping down as each ten-foot segment extended out to ninety feet. At the tip, the last ten toot section measured only one inch across. Mike waited patiently until the antenna locked into place, watching Janice out the corner of his eye as she worked her control board.
“XO, I have the Argos beacon.” She announced at last.
“Helm. Do you have the heading?” Pate Standish asked.
“Aye, sir. Course locked in for the Argos binary system.”
“Helm - all ahead slow. Steady as she goes.”
“Aye-aye, sir. All ahead slow and steady as she goes.” Going in at slow ahead had the advantage of giving them a little leeway on the other side, just in case the current ‘Notice to Starships’ was a little off.
It was all a question of when it was last undated from the information received from a returning starship Captain. During the initial insertion, sitting or lying down was mandatory due to the disorienting effects of transfer. Mike ordered all none essential equipment shut down and all bulkhead hatches closed and locked. If this were a combat situation, the crew would be in armor and at battle station, instead they simply donned breathing gear as the ship automatically sealed each compartment. Failure to do so had killed a lot of crewman over the years, just like the Captain William Enright crew on his first transfer. Many things could go wrong, the least of which was ending up in a minefield, or an asteroid belt, or possibly too close to a star. The warp transfer wasn’t exact, and an orderly group of ship entering the event horizon together would find themselves scatter over half a sector of space when they came out the other side. Mostly, fleets entered in line astern to avoid disastrous interspace collisions, but it did leave all ships vulnerable for the first few minutes.
Many times, it was a race to see who could get back in formation and fire off the first shot. In the main view screen, they watched as the Kashiwa radiation began to dance between the antennas, slowly building until it became a solid blue/white ‘sail’ between each of the pylons. The boundary layer radiation gradually enveloped the ship from end to end, and like breaking the outer membrane of a giant cell, they could now enter.
“Slow ahead, and initiate warp transfer, helm to standby.”
“Aye-aye, sir - initiating warp transfer.” The alarm sounded a final warning, and a few seconds later the universe turned itself inside out, or seemed to. For the crew it was as if time itself stopped, and they hung for an eternity over the dark bottomless pit of forever.
