Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  II

  Sophie Heisenberg brushed back a wisp of her straw blonde hair from her eyes and surveyed the mess deck of Donner, crowded with hands. “We’re here today to bid adieu to a man all of you know and love, particularly loved and certainly well known to those of you who are his fellow Fleet Marines.” There was a titter of laughter through the compartment.

  “I needn’t regale you with a long-winded description of Gunny Chow’s achievements in his thirty years of duty as a Fleet Marine. He does that every time he’s had more than two beers -- usually sometime before noon.” There were more titters.

  “Suffice to say, the gunny has been kicking heinies, taking names and helping the rest of us find our backsides for a very long time now. He trains everyone, Marine, Fleet, Port, officer and enlisted alike, with the same care and attention -- not to mention unparalleled zeal.” A wry grimace graced Sophie’s face.

  This time the laughter was general and sustained. “This is the third time I’ve served with Gunny Chow and I’m happy to report that his final memo to me was only four single-spaced pages detailing ‘a few areas’ where I might improve my Efficiency Rating. At least he used 12 point type, and I quote ‘so these matters, most of which I’ve mentioned to you before, can be clearly understood and remedies applied.’” There was even more laughter at that. Gunny Chow’s memos were famous throughout the Fleet.

  She gestured at her twin sister, who was standing grinning, a few feet away. “Irina has only served with the gunny once, but he made a lasting impression on her as well. The two of us discussed what we should get the gunny as a present from all of us to him as a sign of our appreciation for the very real services he’s done us, over the years.

  “My first suggestion, to get the gunny exactly what he would like most, Irina nixed. Something about Fleet Regs not being in line with having ladies of that particular Occ-Spec aboard, particularly in the numbers that would likely be required.” Some of the laughter was uncontrollable giggles, others were belly laughs.

  “Then I suggested we bake a really large cake and jump out of it ourselves. Irina reminded me that we are Fleet captains and that we are supposed to comport ourselves with a certain degree of dignity. That and now that she’s married, her husband would probably turn her over his knee and paddle her. Irina says this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but I’m not sure why.” The laughter continued unabated.

  “Finally, we opted for something a little more low key...” Her next words were cut off by the chirp of her phone. As people had quipped for centuries she said, “I told them not to call me here.” Irina’s phone chirped as well and the two sisters stared at each other as they reached for their communicators.

  “Cap’n Sophie,” she said firmly.

  “Comms, Captain. Captain, we’ve received a Flash Operational Immediate message. It has the code for all-ships sortie and reads, ‘War warning. War warning. No drill. All ships stand to and sortie.’ The message has today’s authenticators. I have checked and verified them personally.”

  “Mister Cole, sound General Quarters. Lift when ready. You have the con.” She pushed the button and the Chief Engineer picked up a heartbeat later.

  “Malley, boss,” Ken Malley replied. Ken was her oldest and best friend, not counting her sister.

  “How fast can we get her up, Ken?”

  The chief engineer didn’t need any hints, if nothing else, the GQ gongs sounding throughout the ship told him what was needed. “Captain, we were working with Blitzen on the drive sync project. The engines are hot. As soon as the party was over, we were going to be at it again.” A short pause followed. “Call it two minutes, thirty. I want to get all my people on station and make a final check. Now two and fifteen.”

  “Standby for emergency departure.”

  Irina had vanished; so had everyone else. Sophie walked the twenty meters from the mess deck to the bridge at a steady and measured pace, quite at odds with everyone else’s breakneck dash.

  “Comms, get us a clearance,” she spoke when she arrived on the bridge, her voice level and calm.

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” It was a different voice on communications that replied.

  On the bridge the comm talker gestured and she waved for him to speak. “Gunny Chow reports Fleet Marines are closed up. Comms is manned and ready. Navigation is manned and ready. Sensors are manned and ready. Engineering is manned and ready. Weapons is manned and ready. All departments report manned and ready, Captain.”

  “Do we have a clearance, yet?” she asked.

  The comm talker spoke into his mike, and then looked up shaking his head. “Waiting 30.”

  Around them the ship began to tremble. Not their engines -- someone else’s.

  She gestured and the talker reported, “Breitenfeld is lifting.” His face grimaced. “Captain, Maunalua reports, and I quote, ‘Vector downloading, we are cleared for maximum safe lift in one minute fifteen. Designated lift vector has been passed to navigation and engineering. Port says, expect an attack by an unknown number of ships, coming from an unknown direction. This is an official war warning. This is not a drill.’”

  “Roger. Prepare for maximum lift in seventy seconds.” She pressed two buttons on her phone, hooking her to the ship’s intercom. “Now hear this, now hear this! No drill! No drill! War Warning! War Warning! Lift in sixty seconds, lift at maximum! All hands prepare for maximum lift!”

  Time slowed to a standstill, even so the bridge was filled with orders and commands, quietly given, competently executed. The talker updated her. “Captain Irina is aboard Blitzen. They will lift in company. Port has cleared both lifts.”

  The sound of Donner’s engines were now deafening as they spooled up far louder than one would normally hear at lift. The navigator spoke, “Lifting now!”

  The engines throbbed and screamed and through the racket she could hear Blitzen’s engines as well. The sound of Donner’s engines changed slightly, as did Blitzen’s. The sound took on a new tone, beating in resonance.

  “Captain, this is Engineering! We did it! We synced the drives! It’s even better than we hoped! A fourteen percent improvement! Hell of a thing!” Ken Malley was clearly jubilant.

  “Very good, Chief Malley. Thank you.”

  She waved at her navigator. “Where are we going?”

  The officer bobbed his head and a three-d projection of circum Terra appeared on the main plot. “We are tasked to a light second ahead of Luna. Mission tasking dump is now complete, we are loading it to the battle computer.”

  Sophie glanced at the words in front of her. They were boiler plate op plans, mostly. The comms talker spoke. “There is a ship coming in from the Belt, Fenris, a fast frigate, escorted by Rim Watch corvette Ridgeway. Fenris is showing the Paul Revere transponder code. Fenris is currently listed as attached to Armstrong Fleet Base, Fleet World.”

  The comms talker suddenly paled. “Captain, Space Watch has just ordered all civilian traffic inbound for Terra, Luna or Mars to cancel their approaches! All ships must assume paths keeping a light second separation from the major bodies.” He looked at her. “We are ordered to fire on any ship that fails to change orbit; any ship detected launching down bound missiles is to be destroyed at once, with no further warning.” He frowned, concentrated, and then spoke again. “Captain, we have just received the authorization codes for nuclear weapons release. I am authenticating.”

  Sophie nodded. “Weapons, this is the Captain. No drill. Load two tubes, counter battery. The other eight tubes remain counter ship. Fire on my order only.” She spoke her authorization codes and her weapons officers entered theirs and the weapon controls came live.

  The captain thought for a moment, and then pressed the General Quarters button again. “This is the Captain, battle stations, battle stations! This is no drill! We have been authorized nuclear weapons release on my authority, against any ship maneuvering to approach Terra, Luna, or any of the orbital habitats! This is not a drill, repeat, not a drill! Consider this a formal war
warning. Heads up! Be sharp! This is the big game! You’ll never be in one bigger!”

  On the bridge officers were pale, but went about their tasks with a competence that had been honed long and often under their captain.

  III

  Commander Evelyn Warner looked up from the comp she carried, checking off the last of the preparations on the command deck for the forthcoming lift. Captain Carlson was in his cabin, checking reports, leaving her to deal with the mundane minutiae of lift preparations. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t going, but was simply an emergency understudy for someone else.

  A man, tall, older and dressed -- oddly -- appeared on the bridge. He glanced around, and then moved to the navigator’s station and looked over the navigator’s shoulder for a moment.

  Commander Warner frowned. An unauthorized person penetrating this far into a Fleet ship was, given the circumstances, nearly unthinkable.

  Yet, this person was wearing blue jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, and slouched around with his hands in his pockets, and wearing a battered Stetson. “Excuse me, sir,” she addressed him, trying to sound polite. “May I help you?”

  The other shook his head and smiled slightly. “Just looking, thanks.”

  That was something you told an overzealous sales clerk in a store; not the XO of a Fleet ship, however temporary her assignment was. “May I inquire, sir, what it is you’re looking for?”

  The man looked at her curiously. “You may. I assume you even can. The question of the hour, though, is where would Captain Carlson be? Where is Lieutenant Commander Mendoza? The captain and the XO of Nihon?”

  “Captain Carlson, sir, is in his quarters -- I can call him if you wish. Commander Mendoza, sir, made an error.”

  “An error?”

  “Sir, he stopped on the dock to look at the ship. He was hit by a load lifter who had assumed he would follow a different path. Broken ribs, broken pelvis, internal injuries.”

  “And you are?”

  “Commander Evelyn Warner, sir. I was supposed to be on my way to another ship; Captain Carlson asked Fleet if I could stay over a few more days until they find a suitable replacement for Commander Mendoza.” Commander Warner tried to seem not at all upset that she was going to be replaced by someone junior to her and didn’t mind staying home.

  “Get me Captain Carlson,” the man commanded with certain finality.

  Commander Warner nodded, and pushed the button to call Captain Carlson.

  Captain Carlson was an incredible man; she’d known that from the instant she’d met him. She’d heard how he’d lost the arm; it hadn’t seemed to slow him down a bit. The captain popped out of his cabin, saw the stranger and leaped at him, heartily slapping the other’s back with his artificial limb. “Charlie!”

  “Evan! You’re looking as good as ever!”

  “I didn’t expect you for another day.”

  “Places to go, Evan. How fast can you get her up?”

  “You mean, how close are we to departure? That’s scheduled for 2300 hours tomorrow evening. Thirty eight hours.”

  “Now.” The solitary word hung in the air for a fraction of a second.

  Commander Warner watched the expressions play across Captain Carlson’s face. He turned to her abruptly. “Is there any area where we are less than eighty percent of nominal, XO?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir.” XO? He’d addressed her as the XO!

  “Shore parties, XO?” There it was again! It hadn’t been an accident!

  Commander Warner settled down and spoke evenly, “There are three people off the ship, sir.”

  “Are any of them critical?”

  “No, Captain. No officers, no chiefs. Just a working party under a PO 2. They should be back in two hours, Captain.”

  The captain walked over to the intercom and pressed a button. “Jack, the engines. How are we doing down there?”

  The voice from below came back instantly. “Ready whenever you need them, Captain.” Since the first day of the war, no ship captain had his engines down, unless it was required by the exigencies of maintenance.

  “Now, Jack.”

  “Engines in all respects ready, Captain.”

  The captain turned to one of the people sitting at the communication position, watching the drama with fascination. “Lieutenant Holmes, call the Port, tell them we need a Fleet emergency clearance priority, ASAP.”

  The other bent to the task, and Captain Carlson pressed a button. “Nihon, prepare to lift in two minutes! Lift in two minutes! All stations report ready!”

  Captain Carlson turned to Commander Warner, who was still mildly shocked at the suddenness of this. “Regrettably Commander, you’re going to miss your deployment to Ridgeway. I am sure you will be dreadfully heartbroken that you once again you will have to stay aboard a puny research vessel like Nihon.”

  She shook herself out of shock and then grinned as she suddenly realized they were going out. It was impossible for her not to giggle. “Not!”

  The two men grinned at each other and then the casually dressed stranger stuck out his hand to her. “Charlie Gull, Commander. Let’s get the show on the road.”

  She shook his hand, stunned again. This was a vice admiral? He laughed at her expression, reading her mind. “Two months ago, I was a retired vice admiral. Today....” He shook his head. “Let’s lift; I'm in a bit of a hurry.”

  Commander Warner took a deep breath and nodded. Captain Carlson grinned and flipped the intercom again. “Engines, are you ready?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Comms, do we have that vector?”

  “Downloading now, Captain.”

  “Lift! Match vector as rapidly as possible,” the captain ordered.

  The navigator turned to look, saw the expression on his captain’s face and hit the key that lifted Nihon on the last computed track, an exercise from two hours before.

  The projected track appeared on the screen, the moment the communications officer announced the download was complete he compared the vector with the actual one they lifted with.

  “Look at that, Evan!” the admiral said gleefully, reading the numbers for himself. “We’re less than forty degrees off course!”

  The navigator had begun computation to match the intended orbit as soon as he’d received the order; there was a slight lurch, and then Nihon settled down. Commander Warner looked at the track and mentally shook her head. A few weeks ago a navigator that far off course would be looking at a career aground. Now, he simply plotted the corrections and no one said anything.

  Admiral Gull appeared at her shoulder, looking over the plot. “Close is good enough for government work, eh?”

  The admiral leaned down and tapped the navigator on the shoulder. The man managed not to jump, but turned to the admiral. “Sir?”

  “If we accelerate at max all the way, how fast can we get out of the fan well?”

  “One hundred and fifty minutes, sir. But we’d be breaking all of the inner system flight regs.”

  “Plot the course, start it running. Report the new vector to Traffic, give them our ship’s number.”

  The navigator hesitated and Evelyn wished Anna Chung was still sitting in that seat. Now there was a navigator!

  “Lieutenant, Traffic knows who we are, and what we’re doing. So if you would, please make the call,” Evelyn said the words quietly, but there was a mild giggle in her voice anyway, at the sheer audacity involved.

  “Yes, XO,” the navigator sounded dubious, turning to his console to do as he was ordered.

  Evelyn was surprised when Admiral Gull patted her on the shoulder. “I like you, Commander! I like you! Now, have the CE report to Plot -- the four of us need to have a little chat.”

  A few minutes later the four senior officers aboard Nihon were in the Plot room. “Normally we would cruise with the fans at eighty percent power, is that correct, Chief?” Admiral Gull asked Nihon’s chief engineer.

  “Yes, Admiral, tha
t’s correct.”

  “And a very low risk.”

  “A fan failure every two point one million hours of operation at that level, Admiral,” the engineer responded without hesitation.

  “And at ninety percent?” the admiral asked him.

  “A chance in a twenty, between here and our destination,” the chief engineer replied, again with no hesitation.

  “At a hundred percent?” the admiral pressed.

  “Sir, above ninety percent, the odds turn bad. The odds of a malf between here and Snow Dance at one hundred percent of max rated power, sir, is about three to one. Sir, we would have a malf.”

  “And at ninety percent it will take sixty-eight days to get there?”

  “Sir, sixty-eight days, six hours and some odd minutes.”

  “At ninety-seven percent, we would then, knock some 115 hours off that flight time? Nearly five days?”

  “Yes, Admiral. With a risk of failure of approaching unity.”

  “In less than ninety minutes we’ll be out of the fan well. I request and require you, sir, to bring the engines to ninety-seven percent of max rated power at that time. Also, at that time you will present me with a formal report, using your best judgment, concerning the risks of remaining at ninety-seven percent for the remainder of the trip to Snow Dance.”

  The room was silent for a moment, then the chief engineer said quietly, “Aye, aye sir.”

  Captain Carlson grinned at his engineer. “Charlie’s in a bit of a hurry, Chief. Get it done, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” He turned and vanished.

  Charlie Gull turned to the two remaining ship’s officers. “Evan, I have data disks of everything we know about the enemy, plus another couple of speculation. I want you and me, plus Commander Warner, to put our heads together for the rest of the flight. I need some kind of plan to ambush the enemy if they come into Snow Dance.”

  “Just us, Charley, or do we have some help coming?”

  “Well, there will be help coming shortly. Two fast corvettes will be dispatched later today. Donner and Blitzen. As fast as they are, Nihon will be there faster. Probably thirty-six to forty-eight hours ahead of them. Assume we will be unsupported at first, and then once we’re done with those plans, plan for what we’d do with a little help.”