Hastings was going eight on one. That ship did not have a snowflake’s chance in a blast furnace. And they themselves would be directly on Hastings’ heels. Admiral Saito spoke what was on his mind loudly enough so everyone on the bridge could hear him. “Stay well back from Hastings. When the Blacks take her out, we’ll need to be far enough back to avoid the fireball.”
There was a choked sound of retching; that was his nephew. He could no longer spare that unfortunate soul any further thought and did what he had to do. “Sensors, is Hastings engaging the carrier?” Hastings’ commander was aggressive, but very correct. But Saito had to be sure.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Weapons. Fire on the other large ship. Two shots with the lasers. Fire one shot on the nearest other heavy target. Reserve the remaining shot and the missiles for close-in ship defense.”
“Firing,” the voice of the weapons officer was now calm, without inflection or emotion in his voice.
A second later there was a flare ahead of them, then another. “Targets eliminated. Ninety-five seconds to first recharge. Then every hundred seconds for the rest,” the weapons officer reported, still no emotion in his voice.
“Keep a working solution for the last laser; be prepared to fire at any time. Target only Black capital ships.”
Admiral Saito hadn’t wanted this; he had never dreamed of anything like this, not even in his worst nightmare. He had only a lifetime of his sense of duty to guide him.
He squared his shoulders and then glanced at his nephew. The young man was staring at the screens, staring in horror at the fantastic blooms of flame ahead of them and now to the sides. His mouth was open; he seemed unaware of the spittle running down his chin. He was trembling like a leaf in a stiff wind. He had soiled himself; he’d been sick on the deck as well.
Admiral Saito wrenched himself back to the moment. “Hastings is blowing a hole through their center,” he informed the bridge, leaving out their own contribution. “One second before we pass the last firing angle for the remaining two cruiser-class targets, fire the last laser shot at the closest. Do we have any aft capabilities?”
“Roger the first. Negative the last.” The weapons officer stared at his shattered captain for a long second and then spoke, “Corpsman! See to the captain!”
Admiral Saito laughed wryly. “We will all be court-martialed.” He had never heard of anyone usurping a command like this!
One of the bridge officers giggled and added, “God, I hope so! I can live with that!” The room rocked with laughter.
This crew had been wasted on his nephew! Utterly wasted! “How many other ships lifted with us?” he asked the sensor officer.
The same woman’s voice responded, cool and professional as she’d been throughout -- except for the giggle. “Hastings was first. We were second. Then a merchant vessel, then Fleet ship Kosovo, another civvie, then last, Fleet ship Agrabat.” A short pause. “The merchant ships have been destroyed; they tried to break to the side. Only the Fleet ships, following Hastings lead, are still alive. Agrabat has taken heavy damage. We have destroyed three Black Fleet targets. Hastings has killed six more. Agrabat two. Kosovo is firing against missiles only.”
That wasn’t very aggressive on the part of Kosovo, the admiral thought, but eminently sensible, given the circumstances. There were a lot of missiles aimed at them.
“Is anything currently targeted at us?” Eleven to four. He could die with that, if he had to. He would much rather not. He would much rather punish their enemies over and over again.
“Negative. Most of the initial shots were against the planet. Hastings knocked a hole in their center; we punched through behind them. We fired our last laser shot a half minute ago. We have another almost online.”
“How long until we are out of range to kill a target?” They and their opponents were now rushing apart every bit as fast as they’d been closing a moment ago; faster actually, since Nihon was still accelerating and so were their enemies.
“Admiral, a minute and a bit. Our relative velocity is now very high.”
“Cut engines in twenty-five seconds. Rotate the ship to until your weapons bear on the Black Force. Standby counter missiles. Fire the laser as soon as you have a firm solution.” He looked at the young weapons officer. Weaps’ eyes had flinched, but otherwise there was no expression on his face. The young man looked directly back at the admiral as he gave the targeting orders. The crushing pressure of the lift eased, then stopped. A moment of nausea as the ship spun on its axis.
“Anything coming our way? Any ships firing at any of the other survivors?” the admiral asked in a level voice.
“Two enemy ships are maneuvering to engage Agrabat. The computer says that it will take them an hour, at least, assuming their best observed acceleration, plus 20%, to engage us.”
“Lock on and fire at the furthest target from us that is moving against Agrabat; as soon as the next shot comes ready, fire on the closer. Then resume Hastings’ base course.”
“Firing. Admiral; the computer says we will have another possible solution in forty-four seconds. The remaining threat to Agrabat is taking evasive action, continuous random jogs of several hundred meters per second. They will be out of destruction range in twelve seconds.”
“As long as we are in range to so much as scorch their paint, fire on that ship as soon as you have a solution. If you don’t have a solution within ten seconds after the laser is ready, guess and shoot anyway. After we have fired, resume trailing Hastings.”
Nihon’s risk would be increased, but the odds of significant damage to the other warship were greater: battle calculus, a simple equation. You take eighty some-odd ships against an alien, hostile planet, expecting minimal resistance. Instead four ships burst off planet, destroying a fifth of your force in just a few minutes of savage combat. Unexpected and unpleasant, undoubtedly.
Yet, unless the Black Force commander was a total incompetent, the decrease in the volume of fire would have been noted and evaluated for what it was. How many ships would the aliens send in pursuit of the survivors? To be safe, empiric observation would lead one to make the number eight or ten after each survivor. That would be more than two-thirds of their remaining force. That would not be wise -- so, perhaps not. He changed his mind when he looked back at Gandalf. There was no threat to these others from Gandalf. The planet was dead, seared with nuclear fire.
He focused on Nihon’s situation. He had to ignore Gandalf; there would be time to think about it later -- if he ever had time to think about anything after this.
Suppose prior arrangements had been made? He would make additional arrangements if he was doing this. His eyes turned towards the battle screen. Hastings was retracing the path the Black Fleet had taken coming in. It was, the admiral thought, easily the best choice; the one least likely to have been anticipated and planned for.
He spoke into air, not directing himself to anyone in particular.
“I played golf with Captain Gallegly of the Hastings yesterday.” He was as much trying to calm himself as well as reassure the others. “He indicated to me that this evening his very bright, very capable, chief of engineering was going to have the command watch. And that while he did not know for certain, rated the odds that Commander Turbine Jensen would call an action stations drill as no bet.”
The communications officer spoke up. “Hastings reported lifting with Engineering Commander Thomas Jensen as acting-in-command.”
Saito politely sucked a little air. Ah so! It was true -- Jensen was as good as Gallegly had said! The battle, had he had the opportunity to plan how to react to a surprise attack, would have followed this scenario. Hastings had fired counter-battery as they first lifted, concentrating on missiles directed at the Fleet base and Pippin, and ipso facto, the ships there. Once Hastings had punched a hole in the initial wave of missiles, they had immediately switched to counter-ship. Nihon had lent a hand with the latter, and then Kosovo engaged the weapons that had been redirected
at the hasty defense, which had allowed Agrabat to escape as well, with a little further aid from Nihon.
He laughed bitterly to himself. Certainly he and his staff could have planned this battle -- if he’d known how many ships were coming, from which direction and when and what resources he would have. That... and a day or so of planning time.
This had, however, hinged on Jensen, who hadn’t needed any planning luxuries. He had created the opportunity for the others to exploit. That the others merely did what they could and it had fit well was a measure of the multitude of opportunities Jensen had created. With a half dozen more ships armed as Nihon, they could have swung back, reengaged, and perhaps destroyed the attackers. Next time! he vowed to himself. Next time we won’t keep running! Watch out for us! He saw Gandalf again, in his mind’s eye. We will never forget this! We will never, ever, forgive this! Beware of us!
Admiral Ito Saito drew his attention back to the battle screen. How would he do a blocking force? Zenith and nadir, he decided, inside the orbit of Gandalf. Survivors should have tried to use the bulk of the planet to screen their initial flight, and then used the star itself for a slingshot for final break out, heading towards the nadir and the rest of the Federation.
Hastings was standing directly out in the plane of the ecliptic, no deviations, having passed through the center of the enemy formation -- the shortest route out of the fan well. That was not something any rational commander would assume as likely in their planning. The Black Force center had died with that thought in their heads. If whatever they were had heads. The one big ship had been a carrier -- what had the other been? Command and control, likely as not. They weren’t, he thought bitterly, intent on the taking the planet, so it wasn’t likely to have been a transport. Had they killed the enemy raid commander? What would that do to their planning?
When the blocking force emerged from High Fan, Ito Saito allowed himself a small smile. They were very close to where he expected, although only towards the nadir. That was the direction of most of the rest of the Federation. And, as he expected, Jensen of the Hastings ordered them to take the fans themselves. They were headed for a rendezvous far enough out from the star as to be beyond detection range and there was a navigational aid close by as well.
A young man approached him and whispered to him. The admiral’s face grew grave for a minute. He gestured to the ship’s executive officer. The woman approached him diffidently. She was in her mid-thirties, rather older than most lieutenant commanders. In fact, a ship like this would usually have been commanded by a lieutenant commander.
“Commander Warner, Commander Park has taken his own life,” he told her gently. It was, he found, difficult to keep his voice level; he was nearly overcome with emotion. Had he nothing else to do at the moment, he would like to have found his way to the corpse and spit in his relation’s face. How had that weak, miserable, incompetent ever come to command a Fleet ship?
Something in his expression conveyed itself to his nephew’s executive officer.
“Admiral, this has been a bad day for all of us. I would be surprised if he were the last.”
Admiral Saito inclined his head. “I think I have usurped your authority long enough, Lieutenant Commander Warner.”
She shook her own head emphatically. “Sir, Nihon was -- is -- a research vessel. This crew was not selected for their combat capabilities. And that includes me -- I’m a theoretical physicist by trade. We are mostly reservists, called to duty for this study. We are scientists and technicians, not warriors.”
Evelyn Warner knew she was running off at the mouth and needed to stop. Later, maybe. “Admiral Saito, sir. You were at Tenebra. Everyone knows what you did there. And now you are here. Sir, there is not a person on this crew who would not rather have you in command, including me.”
“We will all be court-martialed,” he said with sadness. Yes, these people had been wasted on that pusillanimous coward!
“I can’t say it as emphatically as our navigator, Admiral. But, I can say that I can live with that. So can the rest of the crew. Your crew, Admiral.”
Never say no more than once, that was what he had always believed. “As you will. And Commander Warner...” She looked at him, unsure what was going to be said next. “Tell the crew: Well done! Very well done!”
“Yes, sir!”
“And Commander, are there spare parts for the laser capacitors? It seems to me that I’ve heard that those are the weakest component of the big lasers.”
“Yes, sir. We have a considerable supply.”
“Secure from General Quarters. Have the crew see to any personal needs; they have thirty minutes. Then see about creating additional capacitor capability for the lasers. Enhance anything about the lasers that we can. Decrease beam diameter, cycle time; anything that does not risk the ship or the weapons.” He had no knowledge of where the research on those areas stood, but those were elementary suggestions.
“Yes, sir!” she was much more emphatic and directed now. She saluted and began to bark orders, while he sat staring at the now blank battle map. What else could he do to be ready?
III
Admiral Saito entered Nihon’s bridge and for a moment regarded the crew at their tasks. Everyone was alert and busy with their work. It was clear that they worked well together and knew their jobs.
Commander Warner waved at a coffee machine set atop a cabinet. “Coffee, Admiral? We still have about twenty minutes before we come off fans at Shackelton.”
Admiral Saito walked over to the machine and poured himself a mug. He turned back to face the others, taking his first sip of the hot coffee. “You know, some historians date the beginning of the modern age of navies to the introduction of coffee. Before that, ship crews were simply surly mobs in the morning.”
There were chuckles around the bridge.
Admiral Saito nodded to Anna Chung, the navigator. “Navigator, the course plot is laid in?”
“Aye, aye, sir. We exit fans system south, on a course that will take us through the plane of the ecliptic, call it two light hours from the primary. We can go to High Fan at any point once we drop; everything is set on trips. Any detections and we're out of there.”
The weapons officer, Lieutenant Ferguson, spoke. “We should engage any hostiles we encounter.”
Admiral Saito frowned. “Hopefully, we won't see any. If we do, Mister Ferguson, I refer you to our orders. You will find no reference in the Paul Revere command set to picking a fight -- we are supposed to alert the system... or flee.”
“It was just a commander who gave us those orders.”
Admiral Saito's face turned bland and his voice became almost professorial. “Commander Jensen was senior to Park; that and we never got around to telling him that I had superseded my nephew. We didn't even tell him that Park was incapacitated. Now that Park has saved everyone a lot of trouble by killing himself, I am bound by the orders issued to him. In any case, they are exactly the same orders I would have issued, had I been in Jensen's place. I have absolutely no intention of engaging in combat unless we absolutely must.”
The lieutenant turned and stalked away, obviously not happy.
The navigator reported, “Two minutes to exit from High Fan, Admiral. All stations report ready.”
The exec laughed. “Oh yeah! Are we ever ready!”
Admiral Saito glanced at her, a guarded smile on his face.
“Exiting High Fan now, Admiral,” the navigator reported.
The fan sounds died away, and Admiral Saito grimaced and worked his throat, fighting nausea. “Coming off fans in one second is the pits. Cycle in zero seconds...” He shook his head in irritation.
The sensor officer reported, “No latch-frame transmissions detected, Admiral. I'm not picking up the inner system active sensors. I'm trying to see if I can find a passive sensor. We're well away from the...”
One of the other sensor officers interrupted, his voice excited. “Ships coming off High Fan in proximity! Four of them!”
Everyone’s eyes turned to the battle map. Ships far away had jumped, dropping close to them.
Anna Chung pushed a key and said laconically, “Jumping!”
Admiral Saito contemplated the battle screen, which was now blank, since they were on High Fan. “It’s really too bad we can't detect anything on High Fan.”
The navigator drew a quick breath. “Theory says we should be able to.”
Commander Warner sighed with her own relief and added, “Experience, however, has been otherwise.”
Lieutenant Ferguson looked up from his board. “You're not even going to look at Shackelton? There are forty million people there!”
Lieutenant Chung shook her head sadly. “Shack doesn't rate a Fleet base. An occasional ship visit, rarely more than one at a time. If anyone was here, they're gone now too.”
Admiral Saito turned to the navigator. “Lieutenant Chung, proceed as we discussed, per Paul Revere, to Khansas.”
IV
Ten days later, when they neared their next stop, Admiral Saito tried not to fidget while waiting for Nihon to return to the normal universe. He, like the rest of the bridge crew, was tired and emotionally drained, in spite of the days of delay.
Lieutenant Chung looked up. “Two minutes until we drop.”
The exec chuckled and looked at the lieutenant. “Okay, I’m a dirty-foot, I admit it! Rim Runner humor isn’t always clear. Why do they spell their planet’s name funny?”
“That’s because they have some nasty dinosaur-like carnivores roaming the planet. They want you to know from the first moment you arrive that you aren’t in Kansas any more,” the navigator told her with a broad grin on her face.
Commander Warner winced. “Well, I asked, didn’t I?”
“And we are down in the Khansas system, Admiral. On tick, and now confirming our position,” Lieutenant Chung informed the bridge.
Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5) Page 2
