Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1 (16 page)

With only one intercom, each division leader (Garcia, McAdams, et al) has to set up the change from three eight hour shifts to two 12 hour shifts and transfer their extra staff over the same wire, which let's me see their management and coordination skills. Every time one finishes, they make me glad I brought them along, more glad than they might be about it right now.
We drop to zero gee on schedule, coasting outbound at 1.8 million kilometers per hour.
"Commander, let's go down and survey the damage."
The smell is nasty as we get to deck five, then almost overwhelming on six, not just from the fire, but I think recycling is malfunctioning as well. I am not the computer expert, but I know we're not fixing what's in the instrumentation room. There are normally six equipment racks in there, three racks of 10 blade servers each on the starboard bulkhead that are the flight control systems. Each one does it's independent calculations, then the three compare notes and use various algorithms to decide what to do if they disagree. All that's left are unrecognizable piles of twisted metal.
The other racks run all our internal and external comm and network gear, data processing for RISTA, and the various ship systems such as life support and recycling. Each system has one, that's one, local processor backup, which means you have to be where the screen is to run the system, that's why Powell had to turn the engines on and off while Garcia steered. Not optimal, especially with another 240,000 ton ship out there, or two, or three.

Chapter 11

No one on
Yorktown
gets much sleep for the next 35 hours. On duty bridge crew stare at screens, and do by hand what computers normally do for us without our intervention. Off duty, they move over to side couches and stare at smaller screens. What sleep is had is had in work couches by folks unintentionally dropping off while hunting for what awaits us.
It makes no sense that they would let us cruise out here without attacking. We have no computer control of our cannons, too much of an advantage to sacrifice in my book. I hope that it's because they see us moving, and are therefore unsure if their bomb worked. In that case, it's better to surprise us in close to the planet where our maneuverability advantage is lessened. Not the way I would play it, but so far their strategies have been extremely effective.
I do make a sacrifice, we launch our one comm probe to Gamma Theta letting our three corvettes know
Yorktown
's situation, and ordering them to jump home, get some spares for us, and jump back. That's at least four to five days until we see them, probably more until we can dock them. I'm hoping the good will from our first deployment will not be cancelled out by admitting the problems with this one. I order a long list of spares, on the assumption that the bad guys might get a hold of the list somehow, and this way they'll be unsure of what's wrong with us. Probably overly paranoid by a factor of 100.
There are 10 spare servers on board, one third of what normally run just the bridge systems, none of which have any software installed or tested. It takes one person approximately 25 hours to get one of the servers up and running, and once they all are, another day to configure the coordination software that lets them talk. We don't have 10 folk qualified to do the software installs, only three, so by the time we're ready to start our orbit insertion burn, we'll have no more than three up, not tested, and not working together.
Book says start with sensors, that's two servers, then weapons, which is also two, but we're following the instructions in part B to do it with one. Problem is that the book is written for destroyers which do not have missile launchers. We adapt as best we can. If we're alive a month from now, we'll be writing some new chapters.
Book also says to rebuild your network by gluing a bunch of spare pads to the walls of critical compartments and activating network hub apps on them. Works, but what fool thought of this? They'll almost certainly come off the walls if we do another nine gee maneuver.
During the burn our three computer folks will be down to one, and he will be working to configure the second weapons server.
I'm pretty sure this is where the attack will come, with our tail in the direction of travel, slowing down to achieve orbit, though we can't find anything that might want to attack us. I make everyone get into their battle suits as the time for the decel program approaches. I am not paranoid, I know the attack is coming.
"Mr. Garcia, ready for orbit insertion burn?"
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. Powell, engineering ready?" The engineering seats on the bridge are empty, everybody down below on their manual controls, so I have to ask the question on shipwide comm.
"Aye."
"Mr. Powell, jump engines to standby as well. If I yell for them, that means we're being shot at and we need the shield, not that you are to take us somewhere. Understood?"
"Aye, Skipper." She's laughing, I'm not sure if I am or not.
"All right you two, get us into orbit."
They acknowledge and start an oral countdown on the intercom. About three hours and forty minutes at four gees to decel, I know we'll be at battlestations before it ends. I already have the cannons out, missile doors open. They reach zero, and we are pushed to the edges of our couches, already at the edge of our seats, figuratively speaking.
We're less than an hour from achieving orbit when it happens. Smooth, nothing I can see on any screen, nothing anybody reports on any of their screens. But all heck breaks loose.
Yorktown
waivers, shoves to the port side, shakes violently, tries to right herself, but can't.
"Enemy contact, bearing 090 mark 000, range 100,000 meters, closing. Cannon three is inoperative, presumed destroyed." McAdams. Where did they come from? Four hull punctures register on my screen, I get the cannon three alert as well.
"Return fire. Mr. Garcia, rotate 180 degrees, Mr. Powell, full thru...." I never get it out, we get slammed again, tossing me sideways in my harness as hard as I have ever been. Fortunately, I don't need to start over, my butt lets me know that
Yorktown
is swinging into nose first posture, and our engines are spooling up. A couple more punctures on the outer hull.
I switch my right screen to visual in time to see the rainbow flashes that tell me we missed.
"Continue firing, missile one prepare to launch."
"Aye, sir, cannons six, seven and eight inoperative, nine and ten returning fire." Three seconds later. "Missile launchers report inoperative."
Our missile launchers are on the same side as the guns that just went silent, and in between them. Thanks again to whatever genius put all the launchers on our starboard side. I'm watching the clock on my overhead panel, programmed to run in 40 second spurts. It's at 36.
"Mr. Powell, engines to standby, jump engines active."
The gees depart, and the visual screen goes black, exactly as it should. Then my cycling left screen gives me a heart attack.
"Engineering, we need all four engines on line, now!" One is up, just one, not nearly enough. We survived one cannon with two jump engines last time, one is nothing.
Emily's on speaker, maybe with our famous last words. "Backup software malfunction."
That's all she gets out. The blast from a 41.22 inch cannon lights the jump shield a purple color I have never seen before, like the last rays of the setting sun back home reflecting off scattered clouds. Then the field collapses inward on us, I get a brief glimpse on my screen of the giant white whale calling us to our doom, silhouetted by the stars.
The ship bounces, a crushing multi-gee simultaneously up and down and sideways motion, followed by a serious echoing yaw and the beginnings of another slow roll. My left screen goes red, it's Shelby who yells into the intercom, the damage screen on her monitor, no other way to communicate.
"Inner hull breach, turret 5, inner hull breach, decompression alarms, Marines respond. Turret five open to space." More than enough to be our death knell.
Turret five is the rear most port gun, technically in the engineering space, the only part of that compartment not doubly reinforced, inches from our engines and power reactors. If it opens into engineering, we won't have time to get to the evac balloon. I try to ignore that, go back to getting us out of here.
"Lt. Powell, full thrust, anyone in engineering, if you can hear me, full thrust, all engines."
Someone thankfully hears,
Yorktown
leaps seemingly along four axes at once while Garcia and Marcos desperately try to stabilize 8,000 tons by hand. We're at 2.5 gees, vibrating like a card stuck in the spokes of a little kids bicycle, but moving away from our enemy, velocity increasing.
"Mr. Garcia, point us toward Gamma Omicron 1."
"Aye, sir, heading planet one." The nose of my ship swings around slowly, thrusters must be compromised as well.
Emily Powell is on the horn, her voice muffled, she's got to be on oxygen. "Skipper, we can't keep this up for long. Engines three and four are out. Engine two not running normally."
"Understood. Enemy ship has no cannon in it's nose, if we keep ahead, we keep alive, let it get a broadside on us, we're done."
"Roger that, sir, you have my word number two will get us out of this."
"Copy, I'll buy it lunch when we get home."
Shelby's talking to someone on a handheld radio. I get her attention.
"Commander Perez, damage report." I have my eyes on my rotating screens, nothing good there, hoping for better news.
"Inner hull breach sealed, Captain, fire crews at work." She pauses. "We lost Sergeant Sullivan."
"Frak!" A captain should remember that they are on ship wide intercom, but frak that too. The echo of that outburst has barely died when I have an idea. I turn off the intercom and use my loud voice.
"Mr. McAdams, report enemy status."
"They've taken position astern, Skipper, we caught them by surprise I think, or they were just slow to realize what we were doing. They are 32,990 clicks away, slipping. They have no weapons they can bring to bear."
"Copy that, when you determine their maximum acceleration, forward to engineering and helm so they can spool back number two a little, and hopefully schedule a couple of potty breaks."
"Aye, sir."
Once again, we're back in the days of sailing ships where chases could go on for days, each side trying to find the little bit of wind that would turn the tide in their favor, no one in any immediate danger, yet often able to yell at their opponents, taunting them about what was to come.
The most powerful computer I have available is my pad, which is not designed for what I am asking it to do. I bring up the nav screen on my right display.
Shelby is in my ear. "Fires out. Engineering reports smoke, but no decompression. Jump engines out. Recycling out. One air recirculating pack out. Cannons 3 through 10, 17 and 18 inoperative. We have the nose cannon, the five top and keel cannons, and two starboard cannons. Close in missile system reports operative, but recommend against getting close enough to use it."
"Copy that First. Mr. Garcia, Mr. McAdams, status update on enemy course and speed."
Garcia answers. "Intruder settled at 2.98 gees. We are at 2.99. If we hold there, we will reach Gamma Omicron 1 in 16.3 hours with about a 200,000 click lead, within their weapons range. Lt. Powell is not happy, but promises we'll make it."
"Copy that. Continue on course. Report any changes in enemy status." Question is, is that as fast as they can go, or are they playing with us?
"Aye."
It takes me four hours to do what would have taken the flight management computer much less than a second. I message it to Shelby to look at. She spends three hours redoing the calculations. Good thing I timed it for a course correction at the eight hour mark. She messages back an "Aye, Skipper" and a ;-). I take that to mean she likes it. I message it to Garcia.
"Mr. Garcia, new course and speed on your pad. Implement as required."
"Aye, sir." She looks at her pad, does some scribbles.
"Skipper, can I suggest that we..." Shelby cuts her off.
"Garcia. You are in a combat situation and your captain just gave you a direct order. Follow it!"
"Aye, aye, sir." She should also remember that she's not on comm and the entire bridge can hear her yell. There's too much sarcasm there. I watch her start to enter the data, slower than I know she can, then suddenly there is life in her fingers and they fly across the panel.
"Mr. Garcia, I see that you have figured out the plan and that you apparently agree with it. As captain, I value my officers and their input, but never, ever, assume that means this is a democracy. Am I clear?" My stern captain voice is pretty good after five years of practice. Made sure this time to have my ship-wide mic off.
"Yes, sir, sorry sir." Never want to do that in public, but can't have the disrespect there either.
I message the course to McAdams, with some additional details. First two on a circular course, maximum down angle at the moment of engine fire, then aim toward the keel. Third maximum accel at my mark, shortest course, maximum dispersion, my mark. She messages back an "aye."
Shelby messages me. "Good plan, Katana."
"Relies on them not doing anything unexpected. Every time we've done that, we've ended up with holes in the hull. What's the chance our luck is going to change this time?" My return message.
She doesn't respond. We spend the next eight hours praying. Praying that the enemy stays on course, praying that engine two stays together, praying that they don't see it coming, praying that we're quick enough. The overwhelming white outline of the ship stays in our visual displays, shark hunting it's tuna. The only news is that it's
Suncoast
chasing.
Our course puts us into the gravity well of the planet, makes us rotate and gives them a window to shoot. One window, assuming we stay on course, in 42 minutes. Twelve minutes after I expect to blow them out of the sky if they'll just frakkin cooperate. I go back to staring at my screens and watching the clock. Once again, it seems like a week passes before anyone talks again.
"Captain, 5 minutes to point Alpha." Garcia calls me to attention. That's what I called the key point in all this. Clever, huh?
"Copy. Intruder status?" I just checked 20 seconds ago, I have the same screens they do, but I can't help myself.
"Unchanged."
"Copy. All hands," not that they haven't been listening, but I need to talk to them. "Prepare for combat. I know everyone will do their duty. I want you to know I am proud to be your captain. Four minutes. Out."
We slide past our saviors, I secretly give them a wave. Normally, we'd have the computers figure out just when to activate, but today my brain is the computer.
"Mr. McAdams, missiles one and two, prepared course, full thrust, on my mark."
"Ready, go on your mark." We left them in orbit a month ago. Three Javelins I am about to shove up somebody's unpleasant body parts. I had to figure out how to put us between them in just the right spot. Made me test every bit of math I haven't done since I graduated the Academy.
"Wait.... Wait.... Now!" Her finger jabs forward a quarter inch onto her console. On visual, we see two missiles pitch over, accelerating beneath our travel plane.
"Enemy rotating, they see them sir." Bass has the sensors facing. McAdams has them too, but she's working on the big finish.
"Ready for number three, on my mark."
"Ready, Skipper, on your mark." She has the devil in her voice again.
I watch the screen, the enemy ship rolling to bring it's guns to bear on the first two missiles, my hands squeezing the armrests, waiting. There's a flash of light, missile one dies in the power of a 42 inch laser cannon, missile number two goes a couple seconds later
"Now, Mr. McAdams, number three, full thrust, activate mines." Her finger bounces into her console again. The mine layer missile, not designed for ship to ship action, roars to life, we can make out its trail on infrared.
Suncoast
has fully rotated, her cannons facing where the first two missiles were, nothing but that big fat belly facing all those beautiful little nukes. Normally I would have saved one of the ship to ship missiles for the coup de grace, but they require a lot better aim than a flight of mines and we have no attack computers.