by Chris Hechtl
“Which means they'll be screaming for help,” Meia said. “And want us to step in and use our ordinance,” she said sourly, “which we're not set up for. We're carrying for anti-shipping not ground ops.”
“I see.” The admiral rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “This is one of those problems you hate, but the answer is simple. They'll have to be careful with their ordinance. Ration it. Fortunately, General Busche has well, hit the bush.”
That was very true. The General had retreated into the hills and back country and was fighting a sniper and IED war with the marines. The marines were using aerial drones to get as much coverage as they could, but it was a lot of ground to cover.
“Are there many left?”
“Unknown. Since we aren't sure how many locals supported her …,” the admiral shrugged. “I've been reading the daily SITREP updates, but they are more of the same. The occasional skirmish, but many times no bodies or body parts.”
Meia made a disgusted face but remained silent.
“So, did you have a plan for us, sir?” the captain asked as they arrived at the Admiral's temporary flag bridge. Temporary, Amadeus thought with a mental snort. It was well past a year and still “temporary.”
“As it happens, yes. I had intended to switch my lights to Halsey, but I want to work the destroyers up first. Now that we have a full squadron, I'm going to do some switching about,” he stated, waving them inside the room.
“Yes, sir,” the captain cautiously said with a nod as he stepped within.
---<>---<>---
Admiral White took the destroyers off the jump point and replaced them with Halsey. Halsey was ordered to do working-up exercises of her fighter wing while the destroyers did working-up exercises in the inner star system. A cap flight and AWACS was kept up at all times patrolling near the jump point.
Meia worriedly oversaw the munitions and parts unloaded through the Fleet net. She was tired; she was working twenty-hour days on the norm but elated by the progress. But she worried about the munitions, having them in the inner system denied them to her out on the jump point. She immediately petitioned the admiral to throw a couple of rocks together or a transhab warehouse station off the jump point somewhere. Somewhere close enough to allow Halsey to resupply but far enough away to not be destroyed in an initial engagement. He sent back an email saying he'd take the idea “under advisement.”
Nearly a third of Halsey's compliment were pups on their first deployment. They still had problems with even the basic things like traps, but they were getting there. She'd certainly worked them hard in VR and each time they'd been in subspace getting to Protodon.
Her veterans were another problem. Some were good, but a few were a bit too overconfident for her tastes. She hoped that overconfidence didn't ooze into and infect some of the pups. She needed everyone up and on their toes.
The admiral had wanted to cycle two of the other six squadrons through her ship. Well, Vargess's ship, she thought with a pang. But that was a problem. Three of the squadrons were in mothballs; their fighter jocks got their flight time however they could. One squadron was operating on the ground in support of the marines. The other two squadrons were scattered on the destroyers. If they picked the fighters off of them, they wouldn't have the fighter support, and the already crowded escort carrier would start bursting at the seams.
The good news was that with the AWACS and cap flights out every day, they had some breathing room on the deck, enough to move around. But if a craft went down for a significant length of time and needed a complete tear down and rebuild, it would be a problem. Throw in extra planes … she shook her head and jotted out another email outlining her reasoning against the idea. Oh, they could try it, they probably should, she reminded herself, but she didn't want it to be a final fix.
If they did hot bunk the planes and pilots, they would have to keep a squadron out on flight ops around the jump point at all times. That wasn't a bad thing in theory, but it would mean a lot of flight time, which meant a lot of clock time on the hardware, pilot fatigue, and fuel use. The first two had her nervous; she didn't want an accident. They'd had a couple of close calls and one minor accident so far. She didn't need or want a ramp strike or worse. Nor did she want a fully loaded fighter to come in and bollix up a landing and explode in the guts of the carrier either.
She shook her head. That was a problem for another time she thought as she finished the report.
“CAG, alert five has reported in. All clear.”
“Good. I'm getting rack time. Let Lolita know she's in charge.” She meant Lieutenant Lolita, the newly promoted squadron commander of Squad 2. The red haired girl was good but not great.
“Aye aye, ma'am.”
The CAG finished wrapping her report up, shut the tablet down, and then stretched. She opened up her suit, stepped out of it, and then went to the refresher. When she came out, she stretched again and then went to bed.
Lolita had matured a bit since she'd encountered her in Antigua fortress command. She could carry the wing Meia thought. At least for one night she told herself, steeling herself against another call.
---<>---<>---
Major Pendeckle looked out over the battle torn landscape and nodded politely as Lieutenant Chaing came trotting up. The lieutenant didn't seem to mind the downpour. He shook himself out a bit, then took off his poncho and helmet. “Sir? You rang?”
“I want you to check out the hills in sector thirteen. Take a team with you. Go in heavy, but remember you might be on foot on the trails. It's woody, but there are parts that are mountain goat country. We've had some ambushes there. The natives are reporting some, up to a platoon of Horathians there.”
“And you're giving me a squad?”
“Scout, just scout. I'm giving you three squads since Recon is tied up on another assignment. Set up a fire base and then patrol. Let me know what you find.”
The lieutenant pursed his lips as he thought about the project, but there was really only one answer. “Yes sir.”
“Oh, and Lieutenant,” the Major said before the other man could finish getting his poncho back on. The lieutenant paused. “Be careful. There are some strange legends about those parts. Nasty shit. Don't step on any toes if you don't have to and watch your ass.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll do my best.”
---<>---<>---
Captain Harris grinned as he checked the status board. It was evening, and they didn't have another schedule or drill to run until after 0930 the next morning. He was tired but elated. This was how the navy should be run he thought.
He wasn't comfortable with all the other high rollers being in the same squadron. But he liked that he was third in command of the forces, right behind Captain Vargess. He was fairly certain Vargess wouldn't be a captain for long, not at the speed the navy was growing. Which meant, he would be moving up a step—possibly sooner rather than later. When Admiral White started to build his second destroyer squadron as well as his first cruiser squadron, he would need reliable officers to step up as squadron commanders. He was relishing the opportunity for advancement.
One thing that did bother him, the lack of AI. Each of the tin cans and the carrier had an AI and they had primitive AI in the fighters but that was it. And all of the AI were dumb AI, some barely class 1. He wished the admiral would do something about that and soon. He'd seen what the AI could do in a fleet engagement after reviewing the records of the battle of B101a1. He knew a battle was fought on many fronts; to succeed they had to excel on as many as possible.
He also had to admit his own limits. No matter how much he had tried he couldn't get a handle on carrier and fighter ops. He was a battle line commander not a carrier guy. Perhaps the admiral's comment in the Fleet Times was right; if you came up from one line or the other, you grew accustomed to using those resources, those ships.
He was tempted to put in for a transfer to a carrier. But no, he wanted a battle cruiser. He nodded to himself as he shucked his shirt
. Yes, a battle cruiser, maybe even Bismark or another capital ship before he took flag rank. He'd love to have Freedom or Justice, but they were already being worked up in Pyrax. To get there he'd have to transfer and spend months in transit twiddling his thumbs. No, he had to stay where he was.
But they'd better move soon; the BCs were starting to roll out of the production line. And here he was in Protodon! He shook his head. He must have miscalculated somewhere, his eagerness to get to the front perhaps? He set himself on the bed and took a sip of water. Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps. He'd have to sleep on it and game out the next steps of his career.
He drifted to sleep with a slight smile as he thought about the future ahead.
---<>---<>---
For the first time, the nine destroyers were a full squadron. Well, a full squadron with one orphan tag along for good measure. Ships were divided in squadrons of eight ships normally, though some species preferred other numbers. He liked eight; it was a nice round number. Fighters were normally divided into squadrons of twelve, though again, sometimes there were as few as six in a squadron.
Amadeus pulled the seventeen frigates in and divided them up into two squadrons. He left the thirty-four corvettes divided into two squadrons on each of the two jump points he had to defend: the one leading to B-95a3 and the one to Kathy's World. The thirty-six gunships he divided up similarly, with two squadrons on each jump point and the remaining ships in orbit off duty. He was seriously tempted to send a couple corvettes to Kathy's World to mind his back door.
The forces on the Kathy's World jump point would also act as a ready reserve for him to tap in an emergency. They'd have to cross the star system to get to the other jump point but at least he wouldn't lose them all at once if something nasty came through on the B-95a3 jump point. Besides, with so many ships working on one spot, they had started to crowd themselves. He couldn't have that. He wanted his people to get used to working as a squadron, so he set up tactical exercises for each squadron and then subtly guided them into a competitive spirit. A few hints about early promotion for the squadron commanders that did the best had sealed that deal.
For the moment he had one frigate and two corvettes shuttling fuel, supplies, and missile pods to the jump point defenders. Each ship couldn't haul a lot, but it added up. A third of his missile pods were now on the jump point, he thought; they were well outside the third outer mine ring. They were in clusters too, for easy access and fire control. The small ships could only handle so many even in daisy chain firing sequence and cloned targeting files, but it would have to do. They wouldn't stand the hardships of being in space for more than a few months, but he could rotate them off and have the engineers rebuild them as needed.
Any ship with the proper codes could access them and use them as well as the weapon platforms and drones seeded around the jump point. Even the fighters could provide targeting information to them if necessary. He liked that flexibility.
Jojo had reported that some of the missile pods that had been recently dropped off had been from their first expended batch. Reclaiming the pods had allowed Admiral Irons to refurbish and reload them and then send them back. Now, if he could get missiles or some sort of native missile construction going, he'd be set in that department and even have a possible surplus to play with.
He regretted not keeping a collier as a missile ship though. It would have been nice, but it would have meant modifying the ship, something he knew wouldn't have gone over well with Admiral Irons. Besides, a tissue paper thin freighter had no business mixing it up in a combat environment. He'd figure something else out eventually. Having a small collier running in system would have also been nice. He had put in for a pair of the small ones Pyrax was churning out. Hopefully, they would turn up soon he thought.
For the moment the two senior most officers in each frigate squadron would serve as their commanders. It would do them well for their careers, and if they excelled at it, it would be a point towards accelerated promotion.
Instead of dividing the squadrons up and exercising them against one another, he put them through their virtual paces in virtual exercises. It felt good to blow the rust off, he thought, though he knew they had a long ways to go. He fully intended to start exercising them against the escort carrier's compliment and then with Halsey within two weeks.
Jojo had gotten the convoy unloaded and reloaded with recruits and returning personnel in record time. In less than twenty-four hours everyone had been swapped out, and she had sent them back to Antigua with the admiral's blessings.
He planned to run his people ragged; then if they did well on the little test he was setting up for them, he planned to give them a weekend of liberty before the squadrons swapped places with Halsey.
Cutlass was his slowest and most elderly destroyer. She acted more like an escort carrier than a destroyer half the time he thought. The Arboths and Antelopes he had were great for frontal attacks, but they quickly learned that having all of their missile tubes in the bow was a serious design flaw when they had to fight a defensive engagement. They had no counter missiles in the stern or flanks. If he got bounced off the jump point and put on the defense, he would be in trouble. Serious trouble.
That meant he had to find a way to counter or redress the problem. Some trick, some strategy to turn the disadvantage around or at least mitigate it. Strapping missile pods onto the ships was a mixed blessing. The added firepower was nice to have but the additional mass meant they were slower and they occluded some of his sensors and weapons.
He put an email together for John, outlining the problem. He cc'ed a copy to Phil as well. A division of Nelsons might come in handy he thought, at least in a defensive engagement. He noted that down as well.
According to the latest report from the yards, Phil was holding back because Bismark was no longer around. He'd launched the first three battle cruisers and was halfway through the first squadron of North Hamptons. But he refused to kick any loose.
Antigua on the other hand was keeping half of its forces for Task Force 1 while sending the rest to Amadeus and TF22 and usually the best like Halsey. He had to break her in, but she was a welcome addition he thought. If he could score her sister ship or even a cruiser division, he'd be happy for weeks. Okay, maybe days he thought with a slight smile. At least he'd stop bugging them, he thought with a slightly broader smile. For a day or so.
Things were looking up.
Chapter 26
Alarms screamed as Hecate jumped into Protodon space. “We made it!” Adel said shaking her head. They were moving a bit too fast and they'd stressed their reactor but they had survived the translation intact.
“What, you had your doubts? That scares me,” Jim said, eying her.
“Ah, shut it. I got us here, didn't I?”
“Yeah, late,” Jim muttered.
“Move us off the jump point. Flank speed, Helm. Comm, get the word out,” the skipper said, all business.
“Consider it done,” Jim replied with a grin.
---<>---<>---
“Sir, Hecate is back early. She's transmitting … we're receiving an alert. A massive enemy force is in B-95a3 and presumably on their way here,” a communication's rating stated, turning to look at the captain.
“Red alert,” Captain Vargess intoned, voice dropping into a cool professional commanding voice. “Warm up the FTL com. Alert command. Get me updates on everything we've got. Boot the missile pods and mines.”
“On it,” the rating stated. Other ratings and his tactical officer acknowledged the order as the klaxons went off. Red shined in the captain's eyes. He keyed the ship's internal communications and called his steward.
“Pete, get me my suit and get the suits of everyone else up here pronto,” he said. “I think we're about to get very busy,” he said, looking at the camera feeds on the flight deck. The place seemed to explode with people and robots scrambling for the craft.
---<>---<>---
“What have we got?” the admiral demanded, sti
ll not dressed or out of his bunk.
“Hecate came back screaming bloody murder, sir. Two Derfflinger class BCs, four destroyers, four frigates, and a couple of support ships tried to pounce on her. Damn near succeeded.”
“Damn.” The admiral thought furiously for a moment. “Did they say …?”
“They think they were followed, Admiral.”
“Crap. Get word out through the ansible. Alert 1, go to battle stations. I want us moving out to the jump point now. All commands move to the B-95a3 jump point. March to the sounds of the guns, people. And hurry!”
“Aye aye, sir!” Jojo said as Amadeus flipped the covers off of him and moved as quickly as possible to get dressed.
---<>---<>---
“They aren't here yet. I think …,” Jim stopped himself when the computer screamed a warning.
Adel acted without orders to jink the ship up and away from the materializing ships coming in directly ahead of them.
“Skipper!”
“I see it,” Captain Gruber growled. He immediately keyed an inquiry into the tactical computer. The answer back was hardly comforting. It would take a minute for the space around the enemy ships to stabilize so they could be seen. They were moving forward at 100 KPS but now moving on the positive Y axis. His long fingers stilled when the red appeared. He didn't like it.
“Prepare defenses. Fire everything we've got into them as soon as the space stabilizes. Don't wait for my order,” he said, settling himself into his seat.
Jim turned to stare at him.
“You heard me,” the captain growled. “It's all we've got left to do. Our duty,” he murmured softly. The computer tech gulped and then turned back to his station.
---<>---<>---
“We're in Protodon space. The space around the jump point is occupied,” Commander Esenly stated flatly. She put a hand to the implant attached to the side of her head behind her right ear. “Ma'am, ship moving behind us. She's climbing. It's that frigate,” she said.