Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga) (11 page)

He wondered what might have gone wrong aboard
Davao
. The fact that the ship had fallen completely silent was a bad sign. If her radio and gravitic drive had both become unserviceable, that suggested a total power outage on board.
A reactor failure, perhaps?
, he mused.
That’s highly unlikely. Besides, they’d still have their capacitor ring. That should provide power to their radio and other essential systems for several days, even on a partial charge.
He shook his head, and sternly commanded himself to stop worrying about it. It was none of his business, and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. The warships would sort it out when they rendezvoused with the visitor.

He activated the shuttle’s electronic warfare systems and entered parameters to set them up for the exercise. The battle computer would analyze all radar and
lidar signals it detected. The vehicle’s passive stealth features would protect it against distant detection systems, and a plasma field generated around critical areas of the shuttle would provide active stealth cloaking. If any nearby radar emissions approached detection strength, the computer would automatically apply counter-measures. It would aim a narrow-beam return signal directly at the emitter, using one or more elements of the shuttle’s active radar arrays, at precisely the same power but a hundred and eighty degrees out of phase. This would have the effect of canceling out any radar return. The powerful computer would handle the analysis and response in real time, its automated systems freeing the shuttle crew to handle other operational tasks.

As Steve transmitted the operating parameters to the other two shuttles’ electronic warfare systems, he felt the vehicle rocking gently on its gel-filled tires as the Marines began to take their places. Each of them now weighed several hundred kilograms in their armor, enough mass to make their presence felt even aboard a hundred-ton vehicle.
Abha slid in beside him, taking the auxiliary operator’s seat at his console, while Marine Sergeant Higgs took the pilot’s seat. Their helmets were still clipped to their armor, as Steve’s was to his spacesuit.

“Good morning, Sir,” Higgs said brightly. “Ready when you are.”

“Good morning, Sergeant. Here’s our course data and my planned orbital trajectory.” Steve passed the information from his console to the pilot’s. “As you see, we won’t have to worry about other traffic apart from a few low-orbit satellites. I’ve plotted our course to avoid them by at least double the mandated safety margin.”

“Looks good to me
, Sir.”

“Remember that we’re under strict emissions security until we launch the assault, so as not to
give away our position. We’ll use only tight-beam lasers to communicate with the other shuttles, and with OrbCon if necessary. I’ll secure all other emitters and aerials from this console until further notice, except our active stealth systems, of course.”

“
Understood, Sir. Less for me to worry about, too.”

Steve chuckled. “Yes, you can concentrate on your flying.” He turned to
Abha. “I’ll patch your suit radio into the tight-beam circuit, in case you need to consult Captain Shelby. We’ll use suit channel 83.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Despite her formal language, there was warmth in her voice. She extended a wire from a socket in her chest panel, and plugged it into the communications console.

From the load compartment, a Rolla NCO spoke up. “Permission to ask a question, please, Sir?”

“Of course, Sergeant Ackerson.
Go ahead.”

“Sir, why are you using a hard-wired circuit for communications? This is only an exercise, so wouldn’t it be simpler and more convenient to use wireless?”

“Yes, it would, but we’re trying to simulate combat conditions. An enemy would love to insert a virus, or worm, or Trojan horse, or logic bomb, into our systems. All they need is an access point – and wireless networks are, by definition, accessible by anyone who can tune in to their frequency. A wired network is open only to someone with a physical connection. All our warships, and more recent models of our shuttles, have reverted to wired or tight-beam line-of-sight networks for combat-critical systems. It’s less convenient, but more secure. We reserve wireless networks for non-combat and non-critical systems, and for peacetime use, of course. They’re isolated from more important systems by both software and hardware firewalls, to prevent any enemy ‘package’ from contaminating mission-critical systems by using them as a carrier. We’re conducting this exercise under combat conditions, so we’re going by the book and using wired networks internally for anything important.”

“I get it, Sir.”

Steve turned to Abha. “Lieutenant, I think everyone’s aboard. Before we seal the ramp, please have your Marines check their weapons one last time, to ensure they’re all fitted with exercise emitters and have no live beam generators installed. While you’re doing that, I’ll check that the plasma cannon is unloaded.”

“Aye
aye, Sir.”

“Pilot, please cross-check the plasma cannon with me.”

They reached up to the barbette above their heads and opened the cannon’s magazine, ensuring that no cartridge of deuterium-tritium pellets had been loaded; then rotated the three barrels, verifying that each breech was empty.

“Do you agree that the cannon is safe, Sergeant?” Steve asked formally, aware that every word was being recorded in case of any future inquiry.

“Aye aye, Sir. The breeches and magazine are empty. The cannon is safe.”

“Very well.
I’m locking it out on the weapons console.”

He entered the command. The cannon barbette rotated to point the barrels to the rear of the shuttle, then withdrew them and itself into the hull. Stealth shutters closed over them,
concealing their reflective angled surfaces from radar and lidar beams. The pilot watched the process, then said formally, “Sir, I witness that the cannon is locked out and no longer operational.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

Abha moved back to her seat. “Sir, for the record, the Marines’ weapons have all been checked, first by Master Sergeant Ioannou, and now by myself. All are unloaded, the Marines have no live ammunition on their persons, and each weapon has been fitted with an exercise emitter. We’ve also checked the basic load of weapons and ammunition in the shuttle’s lockers. They’re properly secured and sealed, so none can be withdrawn by accident.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Steve switched to intercom broadcast on the console.
“Attention all personnel! Sit down, strap in, and check your straps and those of the people next to you.”

He checked his own and
Abha’s straps, while she did the same for him; then she turned to check the pilot’s. He activated two tight-beam laser turrets, raised them above the hull, aimed one at each of the other two shuttles, and instructed them to lock on. After a moment, a green light appeared on his console, and he pressed the ‘Transmit’ key.

“Outpost One-One to Outpost shuttles.
Comm check. Over.”

A brief pause, then, “Outpost Two to Outpost One-One.
Five by five. Over.” The same response followed from Warrant Officer Labuschagne’s pilot in Shuttle Three.

“One-One to Two.
Put Outpost Six actual on circuit, please. Over.”

Another pause, then Brooks’ voice.
“Outpost Six actual on circuit, over.”

“Outpost One-One to Outpost Six.
We’re ready to go whenever you are. Over.”

“Six to One-One.
We’re ready. You have command for extra-atmospheric maneuvers, Sir. We’ll follow your lead. Over.”

“One-One to Six
, I have command, Sir. Break. One-One to Outpost shuttles. Take up formation as briefed and keep this tight-beam circuit active. Over.”

Both shuttle pilots responded with a brisk “Aye
aye”.

Steve turned to the pilot. “Very well, Sergeant. Seal the ramp, and let’s be on our way.
Low power, minimum altitude, as briefed.”

“Aye
aye, Sir.”

The ramp at the rear of the shuttle
whined up and closed with a solid
thunk!
against the rear bulkhead. Steve watched an air pressure monitor jump slightly on his console, proof that the ramp’s seal was operational, compressing the air inside the vehicle as it closed. Reaction thrusters extended from their housings, swiveled downward, and rumbled to life. The bulky shuttle rocked, shivered, and lifted from the hardstand, its wheels retracting into its belly. Beside it, the other two shuttles did likewise. Turning slightly, they moved off slowly into the black night, disappearing from the observers’ sight as they passed out of the floodlit area of the hardstand.

Steve queried his console, and smiled with satisfaction as the battle computer confirmed that the other shuttles’ active stealth systems were fully operational. No advance warning of their maneuvers would reach Hill 37.

For ten minutes they flew in silence, the pilot following the heading passed to her console by Steve’s instruments. At last, as the first faint glimmerings of dawn showed on the horizon, the silhouettes of the first of the Garabun Hills loomed up ahead. Steve glanced at his console.

“Pilot, take us up to two hundred meters. We’re going to fly a slalom pattern through the hills for five minutes, to allow the echoes to thoroughly confuse anyone trying to track us by the sound of our reaction thrusters: then we’re going straight up to low orbit. Follow the course changes as they appear on your console.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

The pilot threw the shuttle into a tight turn to starboard as the first course change came up. Glancing at his scope, Steve could see the other shuttles following them at a close, but safe distance. He smiled.
So far, so good.

His reverie was shattered as the radio crackled to life on the orbital emergency frequency, a man’s voice gabbling frantically.

“Customs Three to Orbcon, that merchie’s firing on us! We’re –”

The voice cut off suddenly. As he stiffened in shock, Steve’s eyes flicked downward to the orbital traffic display on his console, reflecting the information received on the System Patrol Service data channel from
OrbCon. The newly-arrived tramp freighter had been on track to slide neatly into her assigned orbit: but as the Customs craft had neared her, she’d suddenly changed course. She’d clearly used some sort of weapon on the Customs boat, which had staggered in its trajectory. It was no longer showing any drive emissions. The freighter was swerving towards SS
Mauritania
in her geosynchronous orbit near the Orbital Control Center. As he watched, two specks detached from the new arrival’s radar icon and headed in the liner’s direction.

A harsh voice crackled over the emergency channel. “Listen up,
Orbcon! You’ve been had. We’re no freighter – we’re pirates.”

Steve froze. A wave of black, bitter hatred swept over him.
I know that voice!

“We just shot your Customs boat out o
f space, an’ we’ll do the same to any others that come anywhere near us. We know you’ve got no warships in orbit or anywhere nearby – only the missiles on the Elevator Terminus. We’ve got missiles of our own, plus four laser cannon mounted in our holds. Two are aimed at the up an’ down cables of your Planetary Elevator, and two at
Mauritania
. Any trouble an’ we fire! Your point defense missiles can’t destroy us before we hit both targets, an’ you know it. If we hit those cables, say goodbye to your Elevator, an’ yourselves too, ’cause you’ll go down with the Terminal! If we blast
Mauritania
, say goodbye to the Group of 100 an’ that investment you wanted. We’ll target her passenger quarters first! Recall your small craft an’ keep all traffic away from us. Anyone comes close, we’ll start shootin’ without wastin’ time askin’ questions!”

Steve forced down the surge of emotion within him.
Focus!
, he commanded himself fiercely.
You’ve got to handle this professionally!
That would be difficult, he knew, because that voice had once condemned his friend, mentor and father-figure to death. It was the voice that had plotted to send a nuclear demolition charge to murder every prisoner aboard LMV
Sebastian Cabot
almost a decade earlier… a plan foiled by Steve and Vince Cardle, who’d listened to the pirate transmissions, then freed the prisoners and led them in an uprising to retake the ship from her captors. They’d made their escape, but Vince had died in the fighting. Steve had mourned him ever since.

The pirate continued, “Break.
Mauritania
, we know you’re monitorin’ this emergency frequency. You’re under our weapons. Don’t do anythin’ stupid! Two boardin’ parties are on the way t’ you. Open up an’ let ’em in, nice an’ easy, an’ no-one gets hurt. Resist, an’ you’ll get the same as that Customs boat! Your rich fat-cat passengers won’t like that. Understand? Over!”

A shaky voice replied,
“Mauritania
Officer of the Deck speaking. Who the devil are you? Over.”

An ugly laugh.
“I’m Johann de Bouff, you whoreson!”

Steve bared his teeth in a feral grin.
Thanks for confirming your name, you bastard – not that I needed it!