Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1

by Bill Robinson

  "Mr. Jordan," I do my best to be strong and quiet, "All cannons hot, open outer doors tubes three and four."

  We can feel the vibrations as those orders are carried out. Jordan comes back, also quiet, not very strong. "All cannons report hot, doors three and four open, missiles to pre-launch configuration."

  "Engineering, status?"

  "We're go, Skipper." Powell via intercom.

  "Jump engines active, one through four." Still my nice calm captain voice.

  "Jump engines one through four report ready." Emily is calm, no one's tried to frak with her engines this trip.

  "Mr. Garcia, set jump coordinates."

  "Coordinates set."

  "Mr. Hardy?" A little surprised that she doesn't have Marcos flying with her, but Hardy's a vet of many battles and perhaps she thinks this one won't be short and she'll need Marcos to rotate in.

  "Coordinates confirmed." I run down the list of everyone who has to agree, they all do.

  I enter my authorization code into the nav computer and press enter. Green lights go on. Another 10 seconds pass.

  "One minute," Garcia lets us know what we all know, "Systems nominal."

  "Twenty seconds, jump fields up."

  It goes black on all the camera screens, everyone would sigh a little that it looks right, but that would not be good Navy.

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

  Nice and quiet, just the way it's supposed to be. The jump engines go off line, but not deactivated, I warned everyone to keep them ready just in case someone jumps us in the ambush sense immediately after we come out of our jump. It is, fortunately, unnecessary.

  We're a couple hours at reasonable combat thrust from where we are sure the base is, our mines half way between it and us if their momma deposited them as planned.

  "RISTA, quick passive scan please." Nothing for 10 or 15 long seconds.

  "All scans negative, nothing on infrared, no radio signatures, nothing on visual." McAdams is her usual excited self.

  "Roger that. Go active radar, three pings ensign, make sure they hear us. Visual on the base please."

  "Affirmative. Active sensors, three pings. Main visual and radio telescopes on Gamma Nu 049."

  At this distance, it's a couple light seconds to the base, so we'll know what happens almost as it actually does. McAdams is back in my ear in less than a minute.

  "Four ships in close orbit to the asteroid, Skipper. Too much dust to be precise as to type, but definitely in the 30,000 ton range." That would be the Fitz's. Now we get to wait and see if they move, or we have to yell at them again.

  I give them 10 minutes, they aren't budging.

  "Mr. Garcia, zero point five gee, get us to 20,000 kph on course relative to the base."

  "Roger. Accelerate to 20,000 kph, course toward 049." We've figured a course that keeps the optimal attack vector for them a transit through our mine field. Garcia has it up on her plotting board.

  Yorktown fires up on one engine only, my butt now experienced enough to recognize number one by it's vibration pattern. I think it's Emily's favorite, it's never let her down. We go for just under 20 minutes.

  Engines go to standby, I check the nav screen and we are perfect down the line.

  "Nice work, Maria." I pause, then get back on. "RISTA, active radar, three pings, please."

  "Affirmative, active three pings." I watch her make it happen. Then Bass is in our ears.

  "Movement on visual and infrared."

  I switch to the combat information screen. Two of the Fitzgeralds are headed our way, we watch as the attack computer predicts all possible courses. Where they end up depends on how long they thrust, orbital mechanics having very clear mathematical outcomes. There's a big red triangle on our screens, which gets tighter and tighter.

  Finally, it stabilizes. They are in precisely the slot we want them to be, heading for us through our trap. Then Bass makes me even happier.

  "Two more targets under thrust." The attack computer takes those data and overlays an orange triangle on the red one. They appear to be following exactly the same pattern as the first two, which will leave them six minutes behind.

  First time we went after them they changed course and speed at the last minute. This time we're going to hang back and see if they'll come to us. The attack computer says they are 4 hours from the mines, we're 12 minutes behind them, hopefully not giving them any hints of what lies in store, and far enough away to avoid damage when they go boom.

  "Stay visual on the base. Move infrared and radio sensors to incoming ships."

  McAdams acknowledges.

  I know I keep telling you this, but space battles are like nothing from an era of advanced technology. The age of the aircraft carrier and the gas turbine is distinctly different from what we do. Instead, it's the age of sails that matches more closely the age of space.

  If we're at too high velocity, we'll get one shot at them as we pass by and it will take hours to turn and get in position for another. If we're at low velocity relative to each other, then we will have intermittent opportunities to fire while we jockey to get the favorable "wind" position. None of the ships are accelerating now, we're still closing at better than 40,000 kph.

  Most significant battles in history have been fought in the gravity well of a planet by large fleets, so there's always someone to shoot at and the math limits your options. In our current environment, they have to turn broadside to shoot at us which limits their movement, we can fire at them from any angle or through our missile launchers. They can only negate that through numbers, and so far, their courses do not provide any tactical advantage.

  We also have an unusual condition here with the numerous large boulders occupying a dense ring around the base. Except for "up" and "down" relative to the system plane, there's not much room to maneuver. If they change their minds and decide to come at us from above or below the plane, it will be much to our advantage, they will be exposed and we will not be.

  I expect them to keep on their course and plan on just slugging it out with them if they escape the mines, we'll go reverse thrust about when they get to them. Unless, of course, in all the time they've spent in the system they know something important that we don't know. We, of course, know something they don't know. Who knows the best thing that the other guy doesn't know is who will win, but we won't know that until somewhat too late to do anything about it.

  In other words, we're all working on ulcers for the next few hours.

  Time flies, even though it's actually slowed down at the velocity we're traveling. McAdams starts a countdown.

  "Minefield in 60 seconds.... 40..... 20..... Now...."

  Two seconds after she says ‘now' the ship on our starboard is no more, it must have hit more than one mine, or the detonation of one ignited another one or two close by. Either way, a man- made ball of dust added to all the natural ones.

  The second ship begins to rotate, apparently to reverse thrust. Huge mistake, the movement makes it a bigger target for the little mines. She takes one in the bow and one amidships, and becomes a second debris field in a quick burst of that all too familiar white light.

  We watch long enough to make sure no little pointy ships are getting away. All except McAdams.

  "Skipper, trailing ships changing course, going above the solar plane."

  "On my screen, Ensign." The attack screen instantly has her annotations on it, showing a curvilinear path for the last two ships. Minefield useless now.

  "Mr. McAdams, detonate remaining mines."

  "Affirmative, detonating." Another, bigger ball of nuclear light fills the space where the two dead ships were. Unlike previous generations, we don't leave unexploded mines laying around for some innocent to fly into.

  Odds are in our favor now, these two ships just need to get close enough that they can't dodge our missile strike. They are above the plane now, and into a decel program. Nav computer shows that they will have an equal velocity vector when we get to them, travel
ing our direction, matching our course and speed. Good. They will be essentially stationary targets for us. There's a subtle widening to their flight paths, indicating they are trying to bracket us, but they only have half a bracket left.

  Zombies. Not the ideal pilots for your space fleet.

  "RISTA, reprogram missiles three and four to account for altered courses. Standby to fire."

  "Missiles reprogrammed, Skipper, ready on your mark." Gomez is at the missile controls. McAdams must really like her, its always been her finger on the button before.

  The attack computer says we're well within range, I want us to be close enough that they can't rotate and bring their cannons to bear on the missiles. That means waiting until we're much closer.

  "Mr. Gomez, fire at 10,000 kilometers."

  "Acknowledged, 10,000 kilometers." She does not have a business voice, we'll have to work on that. She's way too nervous.

  We reach 30,000 kilometers. Then 20,000. 15,000. Her hand stabs out at the firing control.

  Nothing happens.

  McAdams' hand flies to her firing controls, she must have not completely trusted her subordinate. Fingers push into the glass, once, twice, three times a no go.

  "Skipper, missiles non-functional."

  "Cannon 1, pick a target, fire when ready."

  "Affirmative. Nose cannon weapon free." Her hands fly across the panel once again, she punches the screen.

  "Skipper, lasers inoperative." McAdams said it, I can see more to the story on my screens.

  "Mr. Jordan," he always seems to be at the engineering station on the bridge, roughly 24/7, "I'm reading no power to the weapons, yes?"

  "Sir, all power systems operative, reactor nominal, but I confirm, nothing is reaching the weapons. Must be a wiring problem."

  "Affirmative," I turn my head rather unnecessarily, "Mr. Garcia, course 000 mark 090, full thrust, get us out of here."

  "Aye, sir, 000 mark 090, nine gees in 10 seconds." The horns sound, the pre-recorded voice warns of impending doom to everyone not strapped in.

  Then nothing. No thrusters to rotate us, no engine start. I don't wait for Garcia, I hit the comm button for Powell.

  "Mr. Powell, status?"

  No response.

  "Engineering, status?"

  Nothing. I go to ship wide.

  "All stations, report engineering status. Engineering report to the bridge."

  Shelby gets the reports, recycling active, everything else, weapons, propulsion, life support, dead. No direct contact with engineering by anyone aboard. Two heavily armed warships minutes away. I flip another comm switch.

  "Master Sergeant Yeager, meet me on deck four, engineering hatch, bring both our weapons packs."

  "On my way, sir, 20 seconds."

  "Commander Perez, you have the con." I unhooked my straps as talked, now I rotate out of my seat, grab my helmet, and rocket out the bridge hatch and down the passageway, putting my helmet on and locking it in place as I move. Yeager is coming up through the hatch in full battle armor from deck three as I pass. He tosses my pack down the passageway after me then follows.

  Normally Yeager and Mussina would do this together, but Moose is with the Marines, hopefully in the middle of an assault on the base. I chose me to take his place, my pack catches up with me and I wrap both straps across my left shoulder.

  I grab the wall handle next to the hatch to Engineering and swing around, stopping my forward momentum and wrenching my elbow in the process. Fingers jab the buttons on the access panel next to the hatch, but there are no lights, red or green, it's just as dead as we are. I hammer every code I know into it anyway, an unanswered prayer.

  No time to screw around, I turn to Yeager.

  "Blow it, Sergeant, please don't take the deck out when you do."

  "Roger that, Captain, stand back."

  It's zero gravity, I can't actually stand back, but I move a few handles back the passageway toward the bridge, wrap my left arm through it and take my sidearm out of the pack with my right hand. Quick check confirms it, at least, is its normally reliable self.

  Yeager takes one of the contact bombs from his pack, attaches it to the operating handle of the hatch and pushes the timer.

  "Fire in the hole!" He yells and pushes off backwards, weapon held in front of him aimed toward the hatch as he floats away. It's Yeager's favorite move, he gets to stay on target and get away at the same time.

  The explosion is minor, minimal flying debris and dust moving blown into the passageway, but the ship starts rocking, pitching up, yawing to our left, horns, lots of new horns. Yorktown is in two slow rolls, one nose to tail, the other to starboard, uncontrolled, not a single thruster counteracting. One of the Fitz's just opened fire on us.

  Shelby is in my ear, obviously on ship-wide comm as well. "Outer hull breaches, prepare for decompression, repeat, all hands prepare for decompression." Maybe both of them opened fire on us.

  Yeager and I get to the remains of the hatch just as a second laser blast hits my ship. Must have been a near miss, we're a moving target now in a most unusual way. It increases the starboard spin, but not by much.

  Using hand signals, Yeager has me cover and he moves into the space opened by the explosive. I wait a second and start after him, covering his entry braced in the hatchway. Makes sense because he's wearing the armor, but he's blocking my view as well. There's a quick shot, small arms, not Yeager. It strikes metal and I hear a couple ricochets. Then I hear Yeager's much more powerful assault weapon fire twice.

  I start to move forward into engineering when a third blast takes us, Yorktown reels to port this time. I am thrown into the engineering space, ragdoll style, smashed 10 feet down into the housing for engine three. Nothing broken, everything injured. Shelby reports an inner hull breach in the water tanks. Not a death blow yet, no atmosphere there to lose.

  Powell's voice rings across the compartment.

  "Skipper, he's shut both weapons busses off at the reactor junction and all the main buss power breakers are popped." Mechanical shutoffs at points that aren't monitored electronically.

  Don't stop to think about why she needs me to restart them, I brace my feet against the engine housing that just beat the crap out of me, and push up as hard as I can. Twenty feet later at the top of the space I use the jutting components of engine one to throw myself toward the bow end of the ship and the reactor.

  Yorktown takes a fourth hit, I'm thrown to my port side, thrust my hand onto the piping to protect my head. My left arm slips, jammed between a couple pipes just as the rest of me comes crashing in at an angle. A bolt of pain shoots down the length of my arm and into my shoulder, then the pain recenters on my forearm and lays there throbbing, warning me to move at my own peril. Pretty sure I broke something on that one, maybe more than one something.

  Shelby reports deck five open to space, it's the Marine's area this time, not critical or mortal, yet. DC party responding. The spin is increasing, the Fitz's ability to actually target us is certainly affected by now, plus the 40 second recharge gap. Zombies at the firing controls perhaps saving our lives. They should have waited until they were right on top of us.

  There are two foot-long levers, iron, thick, painted white, both obviously designed to be pushed forward and blend with a matching cut out in the metal overhang, but they are jutting out at 90 degree angles. It's an old plumbers code, parallel is flow, perpendicular means no go.

  I grab the right one with my decent arm, brace my feet on the engine cowling, and push. It slides up and clicks into place. There are no lights or indicators up here, I have to trust that it restarted the circuit. Then I pretend to be a gymnast, reach across my body with my right hand and do the same with the left switch.

  Yorktown swings again, but this time my butt, despite being suspended in midair and decidedly bruised, knows what just happened.

  "Get ‘em Shelby!" No one can hear me, I'm sure, despite yelling at the top of my lungs, but missiles just left their tubes and what I felt w
as the reaction to their action.

  I spin around in the tight space, holding my left arm as tightly to my chest as I can, then push with my legs back toward the stern. Which is suddenly easier because Yorktown is stabilizing under her thrusters.

  The sight that greets me as I clear engine number one is not something any sane commander should have to ever see on board their ship. I float myself down, useless left arm not a transportation issue, but every motion hurts like hell. Powell is there, Petty Officer Blair is there, Yeager, two bodies, and a sea of floating globules of blood, bright red, pulsing through the air as if connected to a still beating heart.