Through Struggle, the Stars

by John Lumpkin

  “Suit yourself,” Tom said, unbuckling his restraint. “I’m not going to miss this.” He launched himself over Neil toward the chute that led to the cockpit. His departure at least gave Neil a better view out one of the jumper’s few windows, opened now that the craft had cleared the worst of the Van Allen Belt. He thought he made out Altair. Japanese space.

  He pointed the star out to Tom at his return. It was a strategic star, he told Tom, even though it was far too short-lived to develop a habitable world. But it was part of the chain that led to EQ Pegasi, a trade hub that linked to European, Anglo-American and Japanese space.

  Tom managed to look amused and puzzled at the same time. “How do you remember all that detail?”

  Neil shrugged. People always asked him things like that. “How was the view?”

  “Pretty incredible. Both Vandenberg and Kennedy are visible.” Kennedy was the big American-British-Australian fleet base at Earth’s trailing Trojan point, almost as far away as the sun is from the Earth. It also contained the wormhole to the red dwarf Lalande 21185 – the primary gateway to American space. “Well, you need to look through the telescope for Kennedy, but the commander pointed it out.”

  About half an hour later, the jumper pivoted around and fired its thrusters to match orbits with Vandenberg, and Neil got a look at the station. Two slowly spinning rings simulated gravity for the base’s long-term inhabitants, but the trio of attached large vessel docks were in freefall. Many of the ship berths were filled with warships.

  The transport pivoted again, and the San Jacinto came into view.

  She was moored perpendicular to the dock, with her bow attached by a gangway to the station. Like all American warships, and those of many other nations, San Jacinto was segmented. Her top section resembled an arrowhead and carried the heaviest armor, the bridge and the laser cannon. The center cylinder, attached by a neck, carried the heavy kinetic weapons. The two low-profile twin gun mounts were visible; Neil could also make out the belts that rotated the guns around the hull to maximize their fields of fire. Flat impressions on the cylinder marked banks of missile cells. Defensive lasers in shallow domes studded the hull like blisters. The lower cylinder contained the ship’s fusion candle, the fiery, antimatter-sparked hell that moved the ship. The very bottom most resembled a cage; the open sections helped disperse the incredible heat from the fusion reaction inside.

  San Jacinto was neither young nor old. Not quite 200 meters from nose to tail, she was painted dull black to keep her albedo down. It wouldn’t help much given the easily visible heat signature from her drive, but her designers figured any available advantage was worth taking. Not all nations felt this way; Latin American vessels, in particular, were brightly painted in national liveries. Japanese warships were a silvery white, in part to help reflect laser shots, though they weren’t above painting a sizable red rising sun on their warships. China’s were gray.

  San Jacinto was running on low power and had extended solar panels and a thin black fin alongside the hull, the latter a radiator to offload the heat generated by the ship’s power systems.

  “What’s that pie slice missing from her central cylinder?” Tom asked.

  “That’s where the Multi-Mission Platform goes,” said a civilian on the row above them, who was craning his neck to look out the window himself. “They are switching it out. It’s a feature of the Lexington class. They can set the module to fit the ship’s assignment.”

  “What can you put in there?”

  “A platoon of Marines, or a lab, or a prototype weapon system. Or some stuff I shouldn’t talk about,” the man said, turning his head sideways to look back at Tom and Neil. Neil couldn’t make out his face, but he had short, gray hair.

  Spy gear, Neil translated in his head. He wondered who the man was, but neither he nor Tom pressed him for details.

  The jumper docked a few minutes later in one of the station rings. Neil and his comrades collected their baggage and made their way toward the docks – don’t want to be late reporting to the CO.

  The entryway to the destroyer had the usual bromides posted – “Victory is certain,” “America’s go-to ship” and the like – although a hanging Lone Star flag and a “Pride of Texas” poster gave it some individuality. Tom loved it.

  Janet Thorne, commanding officer, USS San Jacinto, met them in her small office, attached to her cabin in the forward section of the ship. She was fit, a careful mover and a careful speaker, with close-cropped auburn hair and a face that seemed most comfortable in a mild scowl. She seemed preoccupied with something other than the three greenhorns before her.

  “Congratulations on your assignment,” she said, smiling thinly.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the three young officers responded, almost in unison. Neil was having trouble staying at rigid attention in weightlessness; his feet hadn’t found a ferrous strip in the floor, and his body had a very slight rotation to his right side that he couldn’t counter without touching a wall or one of his comrades.

  Thorne said, “I’ll spend some time getting to know each of you a little later; we’ve got some classified material coming on board shortly, which I’ll need to see to. You will all stand junior officer of the deck and CIC watches, and you will be assigned additional duties within your areas of expertise. It has been a few weeks since I have looked at your personnel files, so remind me what those are.”

  Neil glanced sideways at the others, unsure who should respond first.

  Erin took the initiative. “Kinetics warfare, ma’am.”

  Tom said, “Communications.” He paused. “Ma’am.”

  Big moment. Neil said, “I’m a dropship pilot, ma’am.”

  Thorne frowned. “We’ve got a full complement for our flight detachment; if you were to join them you should have been assigned to the squadron, not to me.”

  “I know, ma’am. I haven’t had advanced flight yet, so I’m not qualified to combat pilot a Sabre.”

  “I see. We’ll mark you down as an auxiliary. There’s nothing wrong with having a spare pilot around, so make sure you put in enough training and simulation time to keep your intermediate rating. In the meantime, we’ll find something else for you to do.”

  Neil hadn’t expected any better. Still, her words were his unhappiness realized. This was not the plan.

  “Oh, the next time I see you, make sure you are in your working uniforms,” she said. “Officers get their hands dirty on my ship.”

  Khaki. A hell of a color to wear in space, Neil thought.

  “Now, before you go, each of you tell me why you joined the service,” Thorne said. Her eyes turned to Neil.

  To fly, he thought. “To serve my country,” he said. It was the textbook answer, and he felt lame for not coming up with anything better.

  “And you?” she said, turning her gaze to Erin.

  “To defend my country,” she said, with far more conviction than Neil had managed.

  To Tom: “And how about you?”

  “To pay for college, skipper.”

  Risky to play the humor card so soon with the CO, Neil thought. But Thorne emitted an abrupt bark of laughter and shook her head. “Dismissed,” she said. “Go explore the station. Come back in four hours or when you hear the station intercom play ‘Eyes of Texas.’ We’ll assign you quarters and log you into the ship network. Also, be sure you upload your gene maps to Doctor Avery.”

  They made their way to one of the station’s rings and parked themselves at a restaurant. Neil was tired; he’d been up since 3 a.m. Oregon time. The sensation of gravity, created by the rotation of the station, felt good.

  The restaurant had a large window; outside, massive, beautiful Earth swung across the view every 30 seconds, showing sunset over the Rocky Mountains. A crescent Moon, about the same size as it appeared from Earth, chased after it.

  The three wondered what classified material was coming on board the ship.

  “Maybe some experimental hardware,” Erin offered.

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nbsp; “I bet it’s something to do with the Japan-China crisis,” Tom said. “Maybe we’re going to watch some Saki fleet maneuvers.” Saki was the not-quite-derogatory term for the Japanese among the ranks. The Chinese were the Hans; the Koreans, the Kims.

  “Beats me,” Neil said. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  Tom said, “Have some fun, Neil, and give us a little uninformed speculation. We’re not going to judge you for it.”

  Is that why I don’t have an opinion? I’m scared it will be wrong? Neil thought.

  “I guess the best way to put it is that I don’t have that high of an opinion of my opinions,” Neil said. They both stared at him.

  As they talked, they didn’t notice the gray-haired civilian from the launch, who had been sitting near them, press a key on his handheld computer, get up and leave the room.

  Neil took a significant bite of his turkey club, causing the toast to crack, and a bold slice of tomato slid out the back and landed on his plate. He was contemplating reassembling the sandwich when someone sitting nearby said, “What’s that?” and pointed out the window, at Earth.

  Neil saw a pinpoint flash in front of the planet. Then another, and another. Looks like LEO, Neil thought.

  Lots of people in the restaurant stood up, and voices rose in alarm. A screen over the bar, though muted, displayed a “Breaking News” logo. A text scroll said “Reports of fighting between China and Japan.”

  The space station’s intercom, bizarrely, played a few twangs from a country song. Then, a woman’s voice said, “All hands to the Belleau Wood. Repeat, all hands to the Belleau Wood.”

  A few seconds of jazz. “All hands, report to the New Orleans. Repeat, all hands, report to the New Orleans.”

  Then came the first few notes of what sounded to Neil like “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad.”

  “That’s us,” Tom said. “Let’s go.”

  Neil looked at him. “That’s not … “

  But the voice on the intercom called all hands to the San Jacinto. Tom said, “I promise it’s for us. Come on!”

  More music played, a cacophony of summons. It sounded like every ship was calling its crew.

  They took one of the elevators to the hub of the space station ring, making a rapid transition to weightlessness, then pushed off from the hub and entered the long corridor that led to the docks.

  Inside was a stampede in three dimensions. In the excitement, some officers and astronauts alike had forgotten how to move properly in freefall. They caromed off walls and into one another. Others floated free, out of reach of a handhold. Only a friendly push or a long wait for air currents would get them back on track.

  At Erin’s suggestion, they picked a line of handholds and stuck close to the wall, making a slow, steady pace. They reached the San Jacinto ten minutes later. A Marine was posted outside. His single chevron atop crossed rifles and name badge identified him as Lance Corporal Morales. Not recognizing the trio of ensigns before him, Morales checked his computer twice before convincing himself they were in fact part of the crew.

  “Ship is at General Quarters. All officers are to report to battle stations,” he said crisply.

  Erin started to protest, “We haven’t received our battle –” but Tom pulled on her arm, and they floated through the gangway tube. “Let’s just head for the CIC and see if they have anything for us to do.”

  San Jacinto’s Combat Information Center was three decks below the entry lock. Only Captain Thorne and a senior petty officer, wearing a command master chief’s insignia, were present, studying one of the screen panels at the front of the room. Thorne’s boots anchored her to the floor; the petty officer floated free.

  Thorne acknowledged them with a nod; the chief, whose name badge said “Collins,” appeared not to notice them at all. He just stared at the screen and muttered, “I can’t believe they did it. The audacity.”

  Tom couldn’t restrain himself. “What happened?”

  Without looking at them, Collins said, “About two hours ago, the Sakis announced they were pulling out of the LEO treaty. They started deploying laser and kinetic sats able to whack China. And, just like that, the Hans started shooting them down. Now it’s blossomed into a general engagement all over the Earth-Moon system.”

  “Anybody shooting nukes?” Thorne asked. “Or anything worse?” Worse could mean biological attacks, antimatter or widespread kinetic bombardment.

  “Not that I can tell. We’ve got warships lighting up all over the place. It doesn’t look like the Sakis thought this through; most of their fleet is still moored at the Trojan point.” Japan’s main naval base was at the gravitationally stable point in Earth’s orbit located 60 degrees, or roughly 150 million kilometers, ahead of the planet, just as Kennedy base was the same distance behind.

  “What about the Japanese frigate I saw docked here?” Neil asked.

  “The tugs dropped off Asakaze about ten minutes ago. They’re still too close to the station to light their candle,” Collins said.

  A voice over CIC’s intercom: Lance Corporal Morales.

  “Combat, this is Morales out front. The station just went on decompression alert and closed all the hatches. I don’t think anybody else is going to make it for a while.”

  “Damn it, they must be worried someone’s going to shoot at us,” Collins said. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Thorne hit a button on her handheld and spoke.

  “Morales, this is San Jacinto Actual. Go ahead and button us up,” she said and cut the connection.

  Collins looked confused. “Are we going to pull away from the dock?” he asked.

  The captain ignored his question and pointed at the screen. “How far away is that?”

  A Chinese warship was thrusting, decelerating near the station, not more than 1,200 kilometers distant. It was outside Vandenberg’s orbit around Earth, headed toward the Chinese orbital docks, in geosynchronous orbit above Borneo, 76,000 kilometers away.

  It was not difficult for the San Jacinto to know the ship was there. Because a single fusion candle put out more power than all of humanity could muster two centuries prior, spacefaring vessels were difficult to hide. The Chinese vessel’s drive flare was among the brightest stars in Vandenberg’s sky.

  Data was feeding into the San Jacinto from a number of sources, including the station and the half-dozen other American warships moored there, as well as from the American intelligence-gathering network in the near Solar System. The tactical plot identified the vessel as the Hangzhou, a light cruiser of 11,000 tons. She had been detected thrusting from the Chinese wormhole to Sirius, at Venus’s trailing Trojan point, several weeks ago.

  “Can we get a telescope on that? You, Mercer, do you know how to operate that system?” She pointed at a computer terminal labeled “Sensor Ops.”

  “I think so.”

  “Point everything at the Chinese ship.”

  Neil swung himself around to a line of consoles and dropped himself into a chair, full of apprehension. He wasn’t certain he could log into the ship’s systems yet, but the computer recognized his Space Force username and password. Working deliberately, he called up the sensors interface, all the while fearing the captain would yank him from the job if he didn’t get it running sooner. After 15 seconds, he had the right menu on his screen, which presented him with an option he silently castigated himself for not anticipating.

  “Active, or passive only, ma’am?” he asked the captain.

  “Active,” the captain said firmly. Active sensors would provide more information, but the Chinese ship would be alerted that Neil was looking. No doubt the Chinese would expect that.

  Within 30 seconds, Neil had the ship’s radar, interferometer and other sensors recording Hangzhou. It made sense to ignore Asakaze; the Chinese ship held far more secrets: We haven’t watched a Chinese ship fight in years! Neil thought. We can learn their capabilities, tactics …

  Hangzhou was not entirely unlike her American counterparts: seg
mented, but with a sphere forward instead of an arrowhead. She was longer than the San Jacinto, and massed nearly 3,000 tons more.

  “She’s light, conforming to an extended burn,” Neil said, reading the sensor system’s calculations. Hangzhou was traveling more than two kilometers per second across their field of view.

  The captain of the Asakaze apparently decided to give battle, even though the ship was only 20 kilometers away from the station. An American watch officer on Vandenberg screamed at him to get further away before engaging, but the frigate ignored her.

  It wasn’t quite point-blank range for the ships, but it was close – a swordfight instead of a knifefight.

  The Asakaze turned toward the larger Chinese ship, bringing her nose-mounted laser cannon to bear. Unlike American and Chinese vessels, Japanese warships were built in a single long section that looked like two planks, crossed at a 90-degree angle. The nose sloped inward to a point, giving the vessel the appearance of a cross from the top and a dart with pared-down fletchings from the side. Only the drive, comprising the bottom section of the hull, was cylindrical. Some joked the ship looked more like a pencil or a Phillips-head drill bit. The design had fewer weak points and was more structurally sound than its segmented counterparts, but the vessels were harder to repair and maintain because of fewer access points to vital systems.

  “Right in front of us,” muttered Collins, shaking his head. “The Saki is brave; I’ll give him that.”

  Inside Asakaze, a dozen laser engines, spread throughout the ship, generated powerful beams of infrared light. The beams passed through synthetic garnets that tripled their frequency into ultraviolet, an ideal wavelength for deep space warfare. A network of mirrors and pipes inside the ship combined the beams into one before splitting them again into four equally powerful beams.

  On the ship’s hull, armored shutter blades, not unlike the iris of an old still camera, retracted to expose the frigate’s big primary optics.

  These optics focused the invisible laser beams on their target. For an eyeblink, the lasers connected Asakaze with the Chinese ship. Hangzhou was armored with a mash of structured carbon, boron and other hardening elements, and the lasers took a quarter of a second to drill through the protection into the vessel’s interior.