Troy Rising 2 - Citadel (39 page)

“Esmeralda Steere, Coxswain Mate Third Class Dana Parker,” Erickson said. “Comet, Esme. She introduced the Marines.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Esmeralda said, holding out her hand. She frowned after a moment, though. “Comet?”

“Long story,” Dana said.

“And, by the way, Wardog,” Rammer said. “That would be Coxswain's Mate Second Class.”

“Spoken like a proud boyfriend,” Erickson said, holding up his glass. “I raise a toast! To our newest E-5! May she occasionally manage to avoid the edges of space!”

“Hell, yeah,” Rammer said.

“And to the Troy,” Dana said. “May she continue to make messes even if we have to clean them up.”

“I'll drink to that,” Father said. “And, last, to the first President never to have run for office.”

“The Commander-Pro-Tempore,” Erickson said, raising his glass.

“Huh?” Rammer said.

“Temporary Commander-In-Chief,” Dana said.

“Oh,” Rammer said. “What the hell were the Rangora thinking? They dropped two KEWs on open farmland!”

“One of which hit uncomfortably close to my aunt and uncle's house,” Dana said.

“Two on open farmland, one in the Irish Sea,” Erickson pointed out. “Aliens. I guess they figured if they took out our leadership they'd destabilize us or something.”

“And can we change the subject,” Esme said. “I know that for the rest of you, war is a way of life. But I'm here to enjoy myself.”

“So where'd you meet the hairy one?” Dana asked, leaning around Erickson.

“I just transferred up here,” Esmeralda replied. Probably low forties but “well-preserved,” she was honey-blonde. Almost certainly from a bottle but she had the basic coloring for it. “I'm with LFD which is the parent company of Apollo. I'm an accountant.”

“Who is now nickel and diming my department to death!” Erickson said.

“Oh, hush,” the woman replied.

“But, CM2 Parker,” Erickson said. “I must ask a question. You are sporting two remarkable shiners.”

“Slipped in the shower and banged my nobe,” Dana said, by rote.

The corpsmen had managed to fix the nose, which was only slightly broken, right up. And there were new drug regimens that would have had the swelling gone in no time. But the PA had muttered something about “reminding her not to make me more work.”

“So it had nothing to do with ‘two Navy she-bitches and a platoon of Marines' invading Murphy's?” Erickson said.

“Not a thing,” Father said. “And, for the record, it was two Marines.”

“Sorry to mention this,” Erickson said. “But I am a Marine. Former. And knowing the welders on this station, you don't look like you'd last long.”

“My first tour was in Recon,” Father said. “My second tour, after my first divorce, was in Force Recon. My third was in the Fallujah after my second divorce. This is my . . . fifth?”

“Ah,” Erickson said. “One of those.”

“But I must admit that we would have had much trouble were it not for a certain Navy Chief, and local partisans, who assisted.”

“Assisted?” Barnett said from over his shoulder. “Assisted?!”

Dana turned around then turned back quickly, covering her eyes.

“Holy Gods, Chief!” Dana said, giggling. “I mean . . . really!”

Barnett was wearing a purple bikini with hot pink polka dots. Dana didn't even know they made bikini tops in Troy size.

“Just cause you want to wear a shirt,” Barnett said. “Ah, speaking of local partisans.”

“Hey, hottie,” BFM said, slipping his hand under the water to give the chief a squeeze. “You with anybody?”

“Sure am, BF,” Barnett purred.

“Oh, this is just . . .” Dana said, shaking her head.

“Wrong?” Father finished.

“Get a room, Chief,” Dana said, giggling again.

“Oh, like you're one to talk,” Barnett said, breast stroking over to the other side of the bar. BF could just walk. “Hey, gal, set me and my friend up some long necks, will ya?”

“Esme, Bill, my Squadron Flight NCOIC, Chief Barnett,” Dana said, waving at the Chief. “And her . . . friend . . . ?”

“Ben Price,” BFM said. “Price or BF. We didn't really get much of chance to chat the other night.”

“Call me Liz,” Barnett said, picking up her beer and half draining it. “Ah, that hit the spot. If I never see another piece of Rangora scrap, it will be too soon.”

“Amen,” Dana said. “At least we finally got all the prisoners picked up.”

“Picking up prisoners and scrap is better than the alternative,” Erickson pointed out.

“This is true,” Barnett said. “And at least they targeted leadership. Now if the rest of the world's leaders would learn to stay out of cities we'd be cooking with fuel oil.” She looked over at Esme and raised and eyebrow. “You find that . . . cynical?”

“I've never really had much experience with the military,” Esme said, frowning in thought. “I mean, the first guy I ever dated who's been in the military was Bill. So I'm sort of trying to . . .”

“Adjust?” Barnett said.

“I'm not against the military,” Esme said. “But the last person in my family who was in the military was my grand dad in World War II. And now I'm spending half my time dealing with sailors and Marines or . . .” She looked at Bill and grinned. “Guys who can get out of the Marines but not get the Marine out if you know what I mean.”

“The job of the Marines is to protect civilians,” Patricelli said. “And one of our special tasks is protecting the President. But there's not much we can do about KEWs. So I hope you understand that while we joke, we're not really happy about the situation.”

“I don't understand why we can't stop them,” Esme said. “I mean, there's Troy and all the orbital defenses we've been spending money on. Why can't you stop them?”

“Well, uhm,” Dana said. “I drive a boat. So not only is it not my job . . .”

“Think about an absolutely black room,” the chief said. “You ever been in absolute darkness. No matter how close you get your hand to your face, you can't see it?”

“When I can't find the light-switch here, yes,” Esme said.

“Now, in that room is a wasp that doesn't hum,” Barnett said, taking a careful swig off her beer. “It can be anywhere in the room. And it's closing on you. And when it stings you, it's going to kill you.”

“I don't like the thought,” Esme said. “But . . . okay.”

“Nobody likes the thought,” Barnett said. “Just some people can think about it without their brains turning off. Some can't. You still with me?”

“Yes,” Esme said. “Dark room. Killer wasp.”

“You have in your hand a laser pointer,” Barnett said. “The light doesn't scatter at all but if you hit the wasp, it kills it. How hard is it to hit the wasp.”

“Impossible,” Esme said. “But is it really . . .”

“Harder,” Erickson said. “Much much harder.”

“The wasp makes a little bit of sound when it first enters the room,” Barnett said. “And then when it gets about an inch from your skin. And you actually have a bunch of laser pointers, too many for a human to handle, and a whole bunch of wasp sensors that if the wasp nearly hits them can detect it. And the room is about the size of a football stadium.”

“The fact that we get any of them is the surprising part,” Father said. “And by ‘we' I mean Athena and Paris.”

“Hey, we do some stuff!” a guy on the other side of the bar said. He was tall, black as the ace of spades and probably in his mid thirties. Also, Dana had to admit, pretty good looking. He was accompanied by a brunette who had to be at least five years younger.

“Who are you?” Erickson asked.

“Jim Sharp,” the guy said. “I work in the command center. And, chief was it?”

“Yes, sir,” Chief Barnett said.

“That was a pretty good analogy.”

“I've been working on it, sir,” Barnett said, precisely.

“What's with the Chief,” Rammer whispered.

“Dunno,” Dana replied.

“No rank in the mess, Chief,” Sharp said, grinning. “Definitely no rank at the Acapulco.”

“Yes, sir,” the Chief said.

“I'm the chief tactical officer of the Troy,” Sharp said. “Since the Chief clearly recognizes me, being incognito is out.”

“Wait,” Dana said, blanching. “Captain James Sharp?”

“The same,” Jim said, shrugging. “Hey, I just came down for a beer and a swim. Like I said, no rank in the mess. Please. And you are the famous Comet Parker?”

“Famous?” Esme said.

“Uh, yes, sir,” Dana replied.

“That was an amazing display of boat handling, Comet,” Sharp said. “Even the Admiral thought so. We weren't quite taking bets on whether you'd make it, but everybody was rooting for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dana said.

“So about the problem of the missiles,” Sharp said. "The Chief's analogy is pretty good. The Rangora threw one hundred and thirty-eight missiles at Earth, more than any of the Horvath attacks. Ninety-three made it through Troy's pocket, the area around the gate. While, I might add, we were having to fight more throw-weight than anyone had ever seen in this system. We had to divert some of the SAPL to engage the missiles which slowed down stopping the Rangora who were still throwing missiles . . . It's a tough call every time. But ninety-three made it through.

"Athena stopped all but twenty-five of those in their coast phase, when they're nearly impossible to detect. Which was way over what we thought she could do. Our estimate was that sixty to seventy should have survived to secondary boost phase.

"Sixteen initially targeted US leadership and went active. The orbital BDA clusters got seven. The other nine hit the top four leadership targets, three of our remaining cities and two bases. Of the remaining nine, three targeted the British PM who was on the ‘protected' list under the Alliance contract. Only one made it through but it unfortunately got the PM. No other damage in Britain.

“Six targeted other world leaders. Three of those six were destroyed by the BDAs. Of the remaining three, one got the Premier of China, one the PM of Russia and one the PM of France. The targeted countries of those remaining six were China, Russia, India, France, Brazil and Australia, presumably all going for leadership targets. All the Allied country missiles got stopped.”

Dana thought about that for a bit and then frowned.

“That sort of looks like we deliberately let non-Allied leadership get killed,” Esme said, dubiously.

“Just what I was thinking,” Dana said.

“When we lost our own President?” Erickson said, angrily.

“The point is being made by the international media,” Sharp said, shrugging. “And the response is what . . . Sorry . . . you are?”

“Bill Erickson, sir,” Bill said. “I work for Apollo.”

“What Mister Erickson said,” Sharp said. “We lost our entire upper leadership, more cities and two bases. We sure as hell were trying to stop the missiles. But the Alliance contract is precise. First defense goes to Alliance countries. Which is why when single missiles were targeted on Alliance leadership, we were able to stop them.”

“That should put some teeth in the choice to join the Alliance or not,” Bill said.

“It was not a deliberate choice,” Sharp said. “The fortunes of war and what we'd said were the parameters of the Alliance, yes. So . . . yes, it puts some teeth into it. The fact is, though, that three of those last missiles were going to get through. And they got the President and the PM of Britain, both Alliance countries. Being part of the Alliance is no surety of survival for leadership.”

“Has . . .” Chief Barnett said, thoughtfully. “Has anyone analyzed the targeting parameters, sir?”

“You hit the nose, Chief,” Sharp said, grinning. “Squarely on the nose.”

“What do you mean?” Esme said.

“The Rangora don't like the US and Britain,” Father Patricelli said. “They want to get Terra to surrender by targeting our leadership overall. But they really hate the US and Britain.”

“Ta-da,” Sharp said, nodding. “That took a team of analysts about a week to agree upon. And it's less hate than have a rational view, a surprisingly rational view, of the relative dangers to them of the different nations of Earth. China and Russia should have been equally valid targets. The Rangora, though, don't view them that way.”

“So by fighting them, we're making ourselves targets?” Esme said. “I'm not sure it's a good idea to fight, then.”

“Fight or be slaves,” Patricelli said, shrugging. “Live free or die.”

“But people are doing both,” Esme said. “And in case it's not apparent, nobody here is dying! People on earth are dying!”

“We lost three boats in that last action, Miss,” the Chief growled.

“There has to be an answer,” Esme said.

“There is,” Sharp said. “A really easy one except there's no way to do it.”

“Which is?” Dana asked. “Sorry, which is, sir?”

“Load the Troy up with enough internal systems that she can fight without the SAPL and hold a system against a Rangora fleet of any conceivable size,” Sharp said. “Then, somehow, move her through the gate into the E Eridani system and hold the gate from there.”

“So . . . Why aren't we doing it?” Esme said.

She looked sort of cross when all the military personnel started to giggle. Even the brunette with Captain Sharp was giggling. BFM, to his honor, was simply chuckling.

“What's so funny?” the accountant asked, angrily.

“Heh,” Chief Barnett said, wiping her eyes. “You're an accountant, right?”

“Yes,” Esme said.

“So you can do math,” Barnett said. “You pretty good at doing it in your head or you need a calculator?”

“I've got implants,” Esme said, icily.

“Is that what those are called?” Barnett said. “Okay, here's the numbers. The Troy weighs two point two trillion tons. That's two point two followed by . . .”

“Nine zeroes,” Esme said. “I know it's large . . .”

“Wait, wait,” Barnett said, holding up her hand. “You asked, I'm letting you figure it out. The SAPL, furthermore, is up to . . . What? A hundred petawatts? Is it classified?”

“It is not,” Sharp said. “One twenty.”

“One hundred and twenty petawatts,” Barnett said. “Now, a watt is one joule per second. A Joule is a Newton meter and a Newton is a kilogram meter per second squared.”

“What?” Esme said.

“I need a white board,” Barnett said.