Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1

by Bill Robinson

  I'm shocked. "No way the ship was built that well, especially with quarter inch armor."

  "I agree sir. They could have coated it with something, that would be the easiest. Otherwise, it would have to be some type of insulation better than anything we use."

  "Or just really thick."

  "Really thick, hadn't thought of that, but it would work."

  "That's because you aren't, but I am."

  She looks at me, puzzled.

  "Really thick." She laughs. I leave her to get back to work.

  I float back to my couch and message Lt. Palmer to join me when he can. He's down in 90 seconds.

  "Hope I didn't take you away from anything."

  "No sir, we're still cleaning, refilling, resting."

  "Tony, get a copy of the blueprints for Orion from McAdams. I want plans for a boarding party with three possible objectives: surveillance only, put her out of commission and get off, take the ship. Too many unknowns to really know, I know, but do your best. Get Perez and McAdams to help, Summerlin if you want."

  "Can I borrow Yeager?" I nod.

  "Him and every other asset on board. Oh, and plan for me to be along."

  "Commander Perez isn't going to like that, sir."

  "Freefall today and tomorrow. Lunch, my ready room, 1200 tomorrow, bring your plans."

  "Yes, sir."

  I let him go, thinking that there's been more ZGM between my First and my Marine commander with conversation about me after. I get back to researching the purchase requisitions for engine parts. Early afternoon, Ensign McAdams floats over. Her team's been on duty all morning. Maybe two or three days. If they sleep it's news to me.

  "Found something, Skipper."

  She links her pad to my screens, probably sees the requisitions before I can get them off, I get her on my right, and the two boys on my left. The unfortunate odor has returned and is in the middle, where I am. I'll live with it.

  "CSS Opportunity, missing in Gamma Upsilon, 35 months ago. No trace. CSS Defino, missing in Gamma Nu, 30 months ago. No trace. CSS Suncoast, missing in Gamma Theta, just like Orion, 24 months ago. No trace."

  "Basically, first one in the most remote sector in Union space, borders nothing, then one sector over, one more ship, one sector over, two ships. There are other vessels missing, but these four are identical design out of the California shipyards, all 240,000 ton cargo carriers. Most of the others have at least some clue as to what happened, but these have none."

  "Orion seems to be operating with the engines it had originally, no upgrades. Thrust efficiency from radiant energy measurements and thrust patterns are supportive of the hypothesis that those are original equipment. Weapons, obviously, are not."

  "You're saying that even in our crippled state, we're still faster."

  "Unloaded, they should make 3.5 to 4 gees, depending on what shape they're in."

  "Ok, not much faster, but some. And depending on whether they've coated the outside of their ships with something or added insulation inside, they may or may not be hard for us to shoot," I ask and tell at the same time.

  "Correct."

  "I'm praying for really thick." She laughs.

  "Me too, sir. Coating probably reflects our lasers some, really thick just leaks out when vaporized."

  "Of course, still four on one, 960,000 tons to 8,000."

  "Skipper, I'd say we've got them exactly where we want them."

  "Ensign, why do you think they stopped moving? Jump. Jump. Jump. Then two in one system?"

  "Resources, sir. Gamma Omicron is full of iron, gold, copper, silver, diamonds, titanium, coal, various heavy metals. They stole a cargo ship and then another, all the while looking for cargo to go in it."

  I think for a second. "They're going into business selling the resources, or they want to use them?"

  "Hadn't thought of that. They did build those weird little ships we saw."

  "Yes they did. Give that some thought. And, forward a short report on this to Commander Perez and Lt. Ayala, please."

  "Aye, sir."

  They start to leave.

  "McAdams, Bass, Manuel." They stop. "Nice work. From now on, one shower each 24 hours, eight hours rack time in every 24, and enough food to prevent weight loss. Those are three orders I expect to be followed precisely."

  Weary smiles go on their faces. Two "Aye's" step on a "Roger." I hope they know I'm serious.

  All's quiet on the Yorktown front the rest of the day and the next morning. Palmer keeps his appointment at noon, along with my First, Second and RISTA.

  "What do you have for us, Mr. Palmer?"

  "Per your instructions, Captain, I have three assault plans for Orion. All of them are highly speculative, based on many assumptions. In each case we could be walking into a superior force with little possibility of retreat."

  "Orion is essentially 12 large containers held together by a thin outer shell, with a small compartment for operators in the bow, and a big space for engines in the stern. Think of it as an old school railroad train with the whole thing contained in metal tubing. We should be able to gain access quietly through the hatches that access the shipping compartments, or noisily by using the ZR's cutters. The compartments are normally pressurized, and there's little chance of security systems inside them."

  "Let's start with the plan to perform a recon patrol...."

  For an hour and a half, we're entranced. It might have been the most unrealistic meeting I've had since we got here, but it was also by far the most fun.

  To accomplish the recon, he suggests using Congress to ferry the second of our gigs to a point in front of Orion's flight path, have it park powered down, distract Orion's crew with an attempted missile strike, power up briefly, float to a hatch and cut our way in. Do the recon, get back into the gig, and sail home. Simple, and potentially deadly, two people versus how many once they get there? No way to know.

  He recommends against using personnel to disable the ship, suggests a missile strike or laser attack. I'm inclined to agree, and I am itching to see how long it takes to make Orion into oxygen with a 24 incher. If we have to, he suggests same plan as for recon, but bring one or two of the shoulder mounted ground to air missiles the Marines brought, and fire them inside the main body of the ship.

  If we decide to take her, he suggests again starting with the distraction plan, get two fools, I mean brave soldiers, into the rear of the ship, create their own distraction in one of the compartments, hope that the crew all go there, and then attach the ZR to a bulkhead between the command deck and the crew quarters and blast our way in.

  Good plans, except, as RISTA keeps pointing out, based on exactly zero intelligence. Not IQ kind of intelligence, data intelligence. How many crew on the ship? What weapons do they have? Where are they physically located within the ship? Are the spaces between the cargo compartments pressurized, or just the interiors of the bow and stern compartments? Are they carrying anything explosive on board other than the usual stuff like fuel?

  All good questions, and all the basis for a couple extended arguments between McAdams and Ayala. When we get through all the discussion, it's Perez who turns to me.

  "Skipper, you're not actually considering boarding this thing are you?"

  Everybody turns to me and waits.

  "Yes I am. We know nothing, as RISTA keeps pointing out. If we send 30 megatons their way and blow them to the Hell they deserve, we learn nothing. I'd like to take a crack at finding out something I could put in a report, other than big ship go boom."

  She's about to start in on me.

  "Commander, where is Bainbridge?"

  She thinks for a second about how to respond. I don't give her time.

  "Does anyone know why we've only found the women on these ships, not the men? The doctor's report says they injected something into the four on Trump, that's what those marks are, though we don't have the facilities to do an autopsy and test, so we don't know what. Any idea why they did that?"

  She's
defeated. "No sir, but," she pauses, puts her hand on her forehead and looks down, "Katana, whoever goes on that gig is going home in one of Tony's body containers."

  "Possible, not certain. It's also possible the ship is basically undefended inside, and we can slip in and get out without too much trouble."

  "Do you really believe that, captain?" It's Ayala, ganging up on me this time.

  "No, I don't. They had several of those small ships doing loading duty, that means flight crew, ground crew, and command crew on Orion, plus assorted other folks."

  Lt. Palmer adds his piece too. "Sir, it will also be impossible to practice. We normally create a mockup of the target, and run the scenario a thousand times before we go. This would be a one shot deal, no practice, one chance to get it right."

  Ayala starts to say something, McAdams goes back at him, and everybody listens to the debate team. I missed what started it, and I pay no attention to what continues. These two are great at creating space for me the think. Finally, I've had enough.

  "Ok, let's move on. Mr. Palmer, see if you, Commander Perez, and Lt. Ayala can come up with a way to distract Orion without letting them know that Yorktown or Congress are here. Thank you all, back to stations please."

  Everybody leaves, except Shel. She floats over to look me eye to eye, I'd rather do that to a mad tiger.

  "You're going to get yourself killed. Maybe I should have gone home and left you stranded, but alive."

  "Shelby, we've established a trail of at least five ships, and at least 200 dead crew. Do we leave knowing that?"

  "We jump out, get Showalter to jump back with Sherman and her battle group, and we pulverize the ships and their base."

  "Meaning we put the frigates out of business permanently, and we still don't find out what was going on. Who built those 41.22 inch laser cannons? Are there more of them out there? What if Orion is the only ship here and the others are gone? How will you find them? If they've armed the other ships, and one of them jumps in next to Armstrong Station, those 42's would rip it apart in no more than three broadsides."

  "If you're dead on Orion, we won't find any answers, I'll have to go home, there won't be a frigate fleet, and we'll be just as in the dark as we are now, only weaker."

  "Give me options, Shel, get with Palmer and give me options."

  She gives me a very unhappy salute, and floats off to do her duty.

  Chapter 6

  "Mr. Garcia, course approved, go on your mark."

  "My mark, flight plan is go." Five minute acceleration alarms sound throughout the ship.

  We're strapped into our couches ready for six hours at two gees. It will take us from our current position, 30 million kilometers behind Orion and matching her in course and speed, to a point hidden behind Gamma Omicron 6 waiting in ambush for her. I have roughly 30 hours to decide the form of that ambush. And, possibly, whether or not I lose a friend as well.

  Exactly on time an extra 240 pounds slams me back into the padding, my straps grabbing automatically to make sure I stay where I am. A quick peek without turning my head says my crew is handling it well, continuing to relay information among themselves and adjust their screens.

  My left is set to the nav display, which shows Yorktown perfectly down the line, where Garcia and her team will keep us for the next six hours. I turn my right screen back to the endless files of construction documents, still unable to locate any clue as to who might be responsible for the counterfeit parts in our engines.

  Everything goes according to plan until we're four hours and 23 minutes into the burn.

  "Aspect change on Orion." McAdams' voice makes me jump, and not in a good way.

  "Confirm, Mr. McAdams," I command, praying its an instrumentation issue, but knowing better. If they've turned, the time delay between when they did it and when we see it makes it almost a certainty that they know we're here and have a head start on doing something about it.

  "Orion definitely rotating, Skipper."

  "On my screen please."

  Her analysis board is always available to me, but she has so many things going at the same time it's easier to ask than to search through all her work. She's looking at the reflective sunlight on Orion's hull, the only electromagnetic signature we get off her when her engines aren't lit. Still don't know why that is.

  The amount of light has increased in the past two minutes, telling us that more of her 1,000 foot long body is facing the sun. The numbers should continue to shift along a predictable curve, going back to a minimal level if she goes through the 180 shift to begin retro fire. It's what we expected, just five and a half hours too soon.

  Only they rotate past 180 degrees before the engage their engines.

  "Orion engine thrust at 2.2 gees. Estimate maximum thrust available at her current mass Skipper."

  "In other words, they're going somewhere other than Gamma Omicron 6." My statement, but she knows it's a question too.

  "Aye, sir. Calculating possible outcomes now."

  "Take your time, be sure."

  "Aye."

  There's another long pause, followed by another statement we did not expect.

  "New target, bearing 176 mark 001 solar, outbound Gamma Omicron 2. Standby for identification." There's excitement building in her voice.

  Another ship, heading toward planet two, on a course that suggests it just jumped into the system. Suddenly the two pilots' hands are flying across their consoles, calculating possible courses. The ship's location we're seeing is about 97 minutes old, given our distance, but they can make a pretty good guess of where it is now and where it's going. McAdams' hands are flying across her touch screens, I can see the weapons panels pop up on her left and the nav and attack screens double booked on her right. She needs to get a third arm.

  "Standard Union nav signal received, Skipper, it's the Commercial Starship Packard, registered to the mining company that's got the contract for this system."

  Civilians, heading into a war zone, apparently unaware. Brilliant.

  "RISTA, update on Orion's course relative to Packard?"

  "Calculating."

  I know it's only 20 seconds, but I'm squeezing my armrests so hard there's no circulation left in my hands.

  "Captain, based on available data Orion on intercept course Packard, three hours prior orbit insertion."

  "Mr. Garcia, plot intercept course for us, put us 50,000 kilometers ahead of Orion, matching course and speed, prior to her intercept of Packard, no more than 2.5 gees."

  "Plotting, sir."

  "Mr. Perez. Recommendation."

  "Go weapons free, sir. Can't risk another civilian casualty."

  "Mr. Ayala?"

  "I concur. No option."

  Garcia comes back on. "Three possible intercepts, on screen sir."

  I call them up, knowing Perez and Ayala are as well.

  First one takes us well past Orion and swings around, we'll be cutting it close, but won't be in weapons range of the enemy until near the end. The second and third give us a lot more room to work with, but potentially put us under the 42s for an hour or more. We're taking door number one.

  "Mr. Ayala?"

  "Recommend option one."

  "RISTA?"

  "Concur."

  "That's a first. Mr. Perez?"

  "Concur, Skipper, but we're not going to be able to screw around once we get there."

  "Agreed."

  "Mr. Garcia, course one approved, alter flight path on your mark."

  "Course one approved, engines standby, now."

  And we're floating. Much easier and safer to turn the mains off, move the nose where we want our new acceleration vector to be, and then hit the gas. The ship rotates, we get a gee at least horizontally, she's not messing around. The alarms sound. I record a message to Summerlin to intercept Packard, maximum possible speed, and what to do depending on what he sees us do. We've seen twice what happens when a corvette and a 42 inch laser meet, far better for us to take our shot first. I give him a c
opy of my log to send home with Packard, just in case.

  "Acceleration warning. One minute. Acceleration in 60 seconds." Garcia's all business.

  That's a mighty long minute before we're slammed backwards in our couches. Assuming no alteration in Orion's course and speed, we're 32 hours from intercept, 2.5 gees every second of that except for the 15 minute potty breaks every four hours and corresponding shift changes. We'll slot in between the two 240,000 ton vessels, an 8,000 ton mosquito, planning on not being squished. I feel like I can see the 42's from here.