Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1

by Bill Robinson

  "Twenty seconds, jump fields up." Garcia has replaced Marcos as the pilot, shifting her second to her right. She makes one last confirmation of the panel. Camera screens go black.

  "Ten seconds.... Five.... Jump....."

  Just as she says it, McAdams is in our ears, "Skipper, stop....."

  Too late. Jumps are nothing. Jumps are uneventful. Jumps are peaceful. Except today.

  The ship rocks like a airplane in a thunderstorm, we're thrown into our straps, then back against our couches. Yorktown starts to roll to port and pitch downward, initiating a spin, slightly dizzy, but I know what happened. My panels are yelling at me in every shade of red there is and horns are sounding, the horns we dread the most.

  "Fire! Fire! Fire!" It's in the instrumentation bay, lowest deck, where all the computer hardware that runs Yorktown is located.

  Shelby's on top of it, doing her job. "D.C. party to the instrumentation bay, Lt. Palmer, 1st squad to instrumentation bay, security alert squads two and three."

  "Belay that order." With the main comm system down, I am automatically on ship-wide intercom, the one system not rigged through the computerized comm system. "Everyone stay in acceleration couches. Flight crew switch to manual controls. Lieutenant Powell give me four gee acceleration as soon as able. Mr. Garcia, point our nose toward the planet and pretend we have a course set to Gamma Omicron 2."

  There are a variety of acknowledgments in my ear, I reach to my overhead panel and seal the doors on deck six. If anyone was in that room and not dead from the explosion, I just killed them. Ten seconds then Powell's voice warning us just as we are slammed backwards once again, Yorktown fighting to get stable and to speed. Garcia and Marcos would normally be watching their panels as the flight management system kept the ship precisely on bearing. Now their hands are flying across their controls, modulating pitch, yaw, and roll by hand.

  I keep going. "Mr. McAdams, report."

  "Sorry, Skipper, my fault. The numbers at the bottom of the message translate to 423605 in base 10, the nav constant for Gamma Omicron, the original in base 8. The dictionary stops at seven, I didn't think about it until just before the jump. As soon as I did the math I knew the message meant the bomb was in the jump computer. I should have seen it sooner."

  "Roger that, I was actually asking if there are any targets in our vicinity."

  "Sorry, sir." She talks to Bass and Manuel at their side stations. "No targets visible Skipper, limited range however due to main computer damage. Working on improving."

  "Thank you RISTA, let me know if the situation changes. Do not blame yourself."

  "Aye, sir, sorry again."

  I briefly take myself off ship-wide comm and speak as loudly as I can. "Folks, since they didn't know where we were jumping in, they may have missed our bobble. I want them to see us underway at strong acceleration to give them doubts about whether or not their plan worked. Do nothing that shows the outside world we're not 100 percent." Then I go back to the ship-wide system.

  Shelby has good news. "Skipper, fire out." Expected, no air in the sealed room, but still needed to hear that.

  "Copy that. Mr. Jordan, systems status?"

  "We can't read anything here captain, all our screens are dead." Means all the functions are at manual stations in engineering. I can see all the other screens, my left has gone into default mode which means it cycles through every status screen on the ship, three seconds at a time.

  "Copy, expected. Mr. McAdams, do you have laser control?"

  "Aye, Skipper, manual firing capability at my station is active, all guns currently extended."

  "One bit of good news. Missiles?"

  There's a pause. Not a good sign.

  "Skipper, outer door control shows on my board, but is non-functional. Manual programming functions available, but we'd blow the ship apart launching."

  "That figures. And, Mr. McAdams, we're both fools here, me the bigger one. I just had a blinding flash of insight. I saw Mark Darlington on deck six, actually Commander Perez and I both saw him with a co-conspirator, on Earth. We'll give you time and date and you can check the security cameras once we're safe."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Mr. Powell, engine status?"

  "We're go sir, don't recommend jumping any time soon. Mains are on local backup processors. All other systems appear to be operational on manual, but we won't know for sure until we're able to get out of our seats."

  "Understood, just like annual proficiency drills. Let's go four gees for four hours, then coast. Keep me informed if anything changes."

  "Aye, Skipper."

  "Mr. Garcia, keep us on course to Gamma Omicron 2. Hopefully we'll be more functional by the time we have to do the orbit insertion."

  "Gamma Omicron 2, aye, we've activated the local processor. It will keep us straight and level, but that's about all, sir."

  "Understood. Ok everyone, by the book now. We're not the first ship in history to lose it's computers and network, that's how they figure out what goes in the book. We're going to two shifts on the command deck now, Commander Perez will command first shift and Lt. Ayala second. I will be wherever I need to be. Each division head except engineering will transfer two staff to the First Officer, Lt. Palmer will transfer one squad, for damage control work."

  "The second we go to free fall, Marines will enter the instrument bay and gather whatever evidence they can recover. Then the First and the Chief Engineer will coordinate clean up and repair."

  "Our sensors are now running mark one eyeballs instead of computers. The bad guys are here, folks, they wanted us here too and they got us. We need to find them and find them before they find us. Everybody available should be on a sensor screen. If we forget to ask you, please find an empty seat and get to it. Three hours and 45 minutes to engines off. Use that time to plan. Krieger out."

  With only one intercom, each division leader (Garcia, McAdams, et al) has to set up the change from three eight hour shifts to two 12 hour shifts and transfer their extra staff over the same wire, which let's me see their management and coordination skills. Every time one finishes, they make me glad I brought them along, more glad than they might be about it right now.

  We drop to zero gee on schedule, coasting outbound at 1.8 million kilometers per hour.

  "Commander, let's go down and survey the damage."

  The smell is nasty as we get to deck five, then almost overwhelming on six, not just from the fire, but I think recycling is malfunctioning as well. I am not the computer expert, but I know we're not fixing what's in the instrumentation room. There are normally six equipment racks in there, three racks of 10 blade servers each on the starboard bulkhead that are the flight control systems. Each one does it's independent calculations, then the three compare notes and use various algorithms to decide what to do if they disagree. All that's left are unrecognizable piles of twisted metal.

  The other racks run all our internal and external comm and network gear, data processing for RISTA, and the various ship systems such as life support and recycling. Each system has one, that's one, local processor backup, which means you have to be where the screen is to run the system, that's why Powell had to turn the engines on and off while Garcia steered. Not optimal, especially with another 240,000 ton ship out there, or two, or three.

  Chapter 11

  No one on Yorktown gets much sleep for the next 35 hours. On duty bridge crew stare at screens, and do by hand what computers normally do for us without our intervention. Off duty, they move over to side couches and stare at smaller screens. What sleep is had is had in work couches by folks unintentionally dropping off while hunting for what awaits us.

  It makes no sense that they would let us cruise out here without attacking. We have no computer control of our cannons, too much of an advantage to sacrifice in my book. I hope that it's because they see us moving, and are therefore unsure if their bomb worked. In that case, it's better to surprise us in close to the planet where our maneuverability advantage is lessen
ed. Not the way I would play it, but so far their strategies have been extremely effective.

  I do make a sacrifice, we launch our one comm probe to Gamma Theta letting our three corvettes know Yorktown's situation, and ordering them to jump home, get some spares for us, and jump back. That's at least four to five days until we see them, probably more until we can dock them. I'm hoping the good will from our first deployment will not be cancelled out by admitting the problems with this one. I order a long list of spares, on the assumption that the bad guys might get a hold of the list somehow, and this way they'll be unsure of what's wrong with us. Probably overly paranoid by a factor of 100.

  There are 10 spare servers on board, one third of what normally run just the bridge systems, none of which have any software installed or tested. It takes one person approximately 25 hours to get one of the servers up and running, and once they all are, another day to configure the coordination software that lets them talk. We don't have 10 folk qualified to do the software installs, only three, so by the time we're ready to start our orbit insertion burn, we'll have no more than three up, not tested, and not working together.

  Book says start with sensors, that's two servers, then weapons, which is also two, but we're following the instructions in part B to do it with one. Problem is that the book is written for destroyers which do not have missile launchers. We adapt as best we can. If we're alive a month from now, we'll be writing some new chapters.

  Book also says to rebuild your network by gluing a bunch of spare pads to the walls of critical compartments and activating network hub apps on them. Works, but what fool thought of this? They'll almost certainly come off the walls if we do another nine gee maneuver.

  During the burn our three computer folks will be down to one, and he will be working to configure the second weapons server.

  I'm pretty sure this is where the attack will come, with our tail in the direction of travel, slowing down to achieve orbit, though we can't find anything that might want to attack us. I make everyone get into their battle suits as the time for the decel program approaches. I am not paranoid, I know the attack is coming.

  "Mr. Garcia, ready for orbit insertion burn?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Mr. Powell, engineering ready?" The engineering seats on the bridge are empty, everybody down below on their manual controls, so I have to ask the question on shipwide comm.

  "Aye."

  "Mr. Powell, jump engines to standby as well. If I yell for them, that means we're being shot at and we need the shield, not that you are to take us somewhere. Understood?"

  "Aye, Skipper." She's laughing, I'm not sure if I am or not.

  "All right you two, get us into orbit."

  They acknowledge and start an oral countdown on the intercom. About three hours and forty minutes at four gees to decel, I know we'll be at battlestations before it ends. I already have the cannons out, missile doors open. They reach zero, and we are pushed to the edges of our couches, already at the edge of our seats, figuratively speaking.

  We're less than an hour from achieving orbit when it happens. Smooth, nothing I can see on any screen, nothing anybody reports on any of their screens. But all heck breaks loose.

  Yorktown waivers, shoves to the port side, shakes violently, tries to right herself, but can't.

  "Enemy contact, bearing 090 mark 000, range 100,000 meters, closing. Cannon three is inoperative, presumed destroyed." McAdams. Where did they come from? Four hull punctures register on my screen, I get the cannon three alert as well.

  "Return fire. Mr. Garcia, rotate 180 degrees, Mr. Powell, full thru...." I never get it out, we get slammed again, tossing me sideways in my harness as hard as I have ever been. Fortunately, I don't need to start over, my butt lets me know that Yorktown is swinging into nose first posture, and our engines are spooling up. A couple more punctures on the outer hull.

  I switch my right screen to visual in time to see the rainbow flashes that tell me we missed.

  "Continue firing, missile one prepare to launch."

  "Aye, sir, cannons six, seven and eight inoperative, nine and ten returning fire." Three seconds later. "Missile launchers report inoperative."

  Our missile launchers are on the same side as the guns that just went silent, and in between them. Thanks again to whatever genius put all the launchers on our starboard side. I'm watching the clock on my overhead panel, programmed to run in 40 second spurts. It's at 36.

  "Mr. Powell, engines to standby, jump engines active."

  The gees depart, and the visual screen goes black, exactly as it should. Then my cycling left screen gives me a heart attack.

  "Engineering, we need all four engines on line, now!" One is up, just one, not nearly enough. We survived one cannon with two jump engines last time, one is nothing.

  Emily's on speaker, maybe with our famous last words. "Backup software malfunction."

  That's all she gets out. The blast from a 41.22 inch cannon lights the jump shield a purple color I have never seen before, like the last rays of the setting sun back home reflecting off scattered clouds. Then the field collapses inward on us, I get a brief glimpse on my screen of the giant white whale calling us to our doom, silhouetted by the stars.

  The ship bounces, a crushing multi-gee simultaneously up and down and sideways motion, followed by a serious echoing yaw and the beginnings of another slow roll. My left screen goes red, it's Shelby who yells into the intercom, the damage screen on her monitor, no other way to communicate.

  "Inner hull breach, turret 5, inner hull breach, decompression alarms, Marines respond. Turret five open to space." More than enough to be our death knell.

  Turret five is the rear most port gun, technically in the engineering space, the only part of that compartment not doubly reinforced, inches from our engines and power reactors. If it opens into engineering, we won't have time to get to the evac balloon. I try to ignore that, go back to getting us out of here.

  "Lt. Powell, full thrust, anyone in engineering, if you can hear me, full thrust, all engines."

  Someone thankfully hears, Yorktown leaps seemingly along four axes at once while Garcia and Marcos desperately try to stabilize 8,000 tons by hand. We're at 2.5 gees, vibrating like a card stuck in the spokes of a little kids bicycle, but moving away from our enemy, velocity increasing.

  "Mr. Garcia, point us toward Gamma Omicron 1."

  "Aye, sir, heading planet one." The nose of my ship swings around slowly, thrusters must be compromised as well.

  Emily Powell is on the horn, her voice muffled, she's got to be on oxygen. "Skipper, we can't keep this up for long. Engines three and four are out. Engine two not running normally."

  "Understood. Enemy ship has no cannon in it's nose, if we keep ahead, we keep alive, let it get a broadside on us, we're done."

  "Roger that, sir, you have my word number two will get us out of this."

  "Copy, I'll buy it lunch when we get home."

  Shelby's talking to someone on a handheld radio. I get her attention.

  "Commander Perez, damage report." I have my eyes on my rotating screens, nothing good there, hoping for better news.

  "Inner hull breach sealed, Captain, fire crews at work." She pauses. "We lost Sergeant Sullivan."

  "Frak!" A captain should remember that they are on ship wide intercom, but frak that too. The echo of that outburst has barely died when I have an idea. I turn off the intercom and use my loud voice.

  "Mr. McAdams, report enemy status."

  "They've taken position astern, Skipper, we caught them by surprise I think, or they were just slow to realize what we were doing. They are 32,990 clicks away, slipping. They have no weapons they can bring to bear."

  "Copy that, when you determine their maximum acceleration, forward to engineering and helm so they can spool back number two a little, and hopefully schedule a couple of potty breaks."

  "Aye, sir."

  Once again, we're back in the days of sailing ships where chases could go on for d
ays, each side trying to find the little bit of wind that would turn the tide in their favor, no one in any immediate danger, yet often able to yell at their opponents, taunting them about what was to come.

  The most powerful computer I have available is my pad, which is not designed for what I am asking it to do. I bring up the nav screen on my right display.

  Shelby is in my ear. "Fires out. Engineering reports smoke, but no decompression. Jump engines out. Recycling out. One air recirculating pack out. Cannons 3 through 10, 17 and 18 inoperative. We have the nose cannon, the five top and keel cannons, and two starboard cannons. Close in missile system reports operative, but recommend against getting close enough to use it."