Kris Longknife: Defender

by Mike Shepherd

  “You can count on us, Admiral,” the captain assured her. Kris shook her hand, then left. Again, she’d done all she could do to emphasize her orders. Do the job and run.

  Before long, she would have to issue different orders, but for the moment, running for home was what she wanted. No heroics for now. Tomorrow, Kris would somehow have to figure out a way for each of her ships to kill seven or eight of the aliens’.

  That assumed there were only two hundred coming. The corvette Fearless had killed her seven or eight, but at the cost of her life. Kris didn’t want to trade one of her ships for eight of the aliens’. That wouldn’t guarantee that Jack and Granny Rita would not be pounded by the survivors. No, Kris had to repel the aliens with as much of her fleet intact as possible.

  How would she do that?

  Kris returned to the Wasp. There were no new surprises. The aliens were still in Hot Datum 3, doing whatever they wanted to do, with Kris none the wiser.

  Kris went to bed with visions of ships sweeping through space. Her fleet would flee, as long as it could, to keep the range open for the 20-inch guns.

  Assuming the aliens didn’t have a surprise of their own in the gun category.

  But Kris could only run so far before she had her back to Alwa.

  Kris brought Nelly into her thoughts, and the two of them studied the battles that Grampa Ray and Granny Rita had fought against the Iteeche. Kris examined them and found them wanting. The frigates really did mean a new way of fighting. They reached back farther into the appalling history of human slaughter. In the bloody twentieth century, Kris began to find bits and pieces that seemed to fit into her puzzle.

  She finally fell asleep to dream of aircraft climbing and diving as freely as her frigates in a three-dimensional battlefield.

  51

  Two days later, Kris was on the pier, impatiently waiting for the Intrepid to lock down and unseal her quarterdeck. As soon as she did, Kris was aboard and headed for the bridge. Someone from the quarterdeck must have been on their toes this time. The captain called “Atten-hut” even before Kris entered the bridge. For the first time in her life, Kris let them stay at attention.

  “I thought I ordered you not to get in a fight.”

  “We didn’t, Admiral. The lasers never fired.” The captain was trying to avoid smiling, but it was clear she was proud of herself and her crew.

  Kris knew exactly how it felt. She’d done that often enough when she was a junior officer and hung a senior officer on his own petard. Kris didn’t like being that senior.

  “You came very close to having to unload a few rounds. I’ve seen the reports. Their fast squadron was closing in on you.”

  “We left an hour before they got there, Admiral. You told me to be guided by calculated risk. We detached the first probe at the farthest jump, and it came up dead. I launched the next two and sent them through while we retrieved the first probe and fixed it. Then one of the probes returned and gave us a picture of what was happening on the other side. Yes, there were three ships headed for us at 3.5 gees, but they were hours away. So we hung there, switching probes through the jump point and getting a better and better picture of what was on the other side.”

  “Yes,” Kris said. “You got very good intel. You deserve a very well done.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Now the proud smile did slip out. “We left an hour before they were in range of the probe. They did enter the system, but when they saw us an hour ahead of them, they went back, after blowing up our probes. Ma’am, I was an hour ahead of them, and if I’d had to, I could have gone to four gees.”

  “And showed them what we have,” Kris pointed out.

  “Yes, ma’am, but if they had gotten there any sooner, they would have showed me what they had. Our cursory review of the intel says the big monsters are stuck at two gees and the mother ship is holding at around .75 gees. The new fast ones can’t beat 3.5. From the look of smaller ships spread out behind the three that reached our jump, I’d say they built a lot of fast ships, but most of them can’t hold 3.5 gees.”

  Kris’s analysis of the report agreed with hers. “Thank you, Captain. I’m glad to see you back. Now, the yard is waiting to reinforce your armor. Next time out, I’m sure you’ll need it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” sounded way too eager for the coming fight.

  Two days later, Kris was at the Mitsubishi yard to christen ships: the Temptress and the Kikukei, which someone said meant Lucky Chrysanthemum. If so, Admiral Benson’s Temptress had started something of a competition for the most outrageous name. The next two ships spinning at Mitsubishi were the Proud Unicorn and the Lucky Leprechaun. The two forming at the Canopus yard would be the Fairy Princess, with hints Kris should use it for her flag, and the Mischievous Pixie.

  While Kris had her reservations about approving the names, they seemed to be working. Crews were lined up for all six ships, and they might go to space with more than they needed.

  Kris said a few encouraging words, then stood by as two lovely young women from each of the yards broke a bottle of water over each ship’s bows.

  “Lovely girl, isn’t she?” Admiral Benson said as the girl emptied the water on the Temptress.

  “Very lovely,” Kris agreed, hoping her new policy hadn’t started April to December hookups.

  “My granddaughter,” the retired admiral said.

  “Your wife let her come?” Kris said, raising an eyebrow to back up the question.

  “My granddaughter signed up on her own. I spotted her name on the crew list and ordered her ashore. She hid out until we sailed. That little pixie has a heart of oak and a whim of iron.”

  “Will she be fighting with you on the Temptress?”

  “I’ve tried to persuade her she should join the Marines dirtside. How much luck do you think I’ve had?”

  The young woman caught sight of her grandfather. She gave him a sassy wave.

  “About as much luck as my great-grandfather had keeping me safe,” Kris said.

  “Oh, the younger generation. Thank God they aren’t as bad as my generation was.”

  And with that Kris returned to work.

  The aliens were in the last system out. Their speedy scouts had blown away the probes at the last jump, but not before the probes had gotten solid intel. Kris knew exactly what she faced.

  One mother ship, of the gigantic variety. Of the four- or five-hundred-tonners, there were 257 in two flavors. Most shared the same power plants as the three raiders Kris had fought around the dead mother ship and the Hornet’s refuge. Forty-five had different reactors, of the kind Kris had fought with the first alien horde. Apparently, the survivors had transferred their allegiance to this swarm.

  And swarm they were. Kris had poured over the reports, studying the way the smaller monsters huddled around the slow-moving mother ship or came to roost on it. Of squadrons or divisions, she could spot nothing. The ships seemed to ebb and flow around the central ship like a hive of bees.

  Would they fight that way?

  Kris arranged for one last probe to be deployed at the jump point. This tiny spy alternately deployed two different periscopes through the jump, getting a visual and a sensor fix on the advancing death. Together, they told Kris she had a good seventy-two hours before the mother ship would be ready to come through the jump.

  The twenty-four smaller but high-speed ships that lurked around the jump failed to detect the periscopes. Kris hoped they stayed as blind while she readied her deployment for battle.

  Kris had finally come up with an idea for how to get a Hellburner on that third, watery moon. Kris’s research in the twentieth century had given her the hint. They’d quickly spun out a submarine from the last of the Smart MetalTM and shipped it off. They drilled a hole through the kilometer-thick ice to launch it. The aliens could scorch a lot of ice and not get close to the sub deep in the ocean below. The
y would have to retrieve the sub as soon as the battle was over; it had only a week’s worth of oxygen.

  If the fleet died in battle, the sub crew would die a long, slow, and cold death.

  All through the system, operations were closing down. The last loads of ore and their miners had ridden in on the carriers that were now being converted to fighting ships. The moon fabricators were processing their final stock and shipping most personnel to Alwa, where they’d at least have air to breathe and a fighting chance. A handful of volunteers would keep the reactors going. In the event of the fleet’s defeat, they’d make sure the reactors lost containment. The aliens would find little to examine in their victory.

  When the fleet sortied, Canopus Station would not be totally abandoned. The fleet’s auxiliaries, the repair and replenishment ships, were still tied up to their piers. Their reactors produced enough plasma to blow them to gas. The last of the 18-inch lasers were being mounted on the station. Several teams of trained Ostriches had refused to withdraw and were demanding the chance to fight. Other than the Alwans and a volunteer reactor watch, the last humans would depart for Alwa in a matter of hours to hide away. There to await the victory or a long, bitter war of wits against overwhelming force.

  If Kris’s fleet couldn’t keep the aliens out of Alwa’s orbit, the station and the attached auxiliaries would also blow themselves to atoms. There was one last shuttle still attached. The crew on final reactor watch could use it to try for Alwa.

  They might make it if they were lucky.

  Very lucky.

  Kris’s next reinforcements weren’t due for at least a month, probably two. Those would be cruel days on Alwa if Kris’s fleet couldn’t stop the aliens.

  Kris went down her to-do list and found very little left. Nelly interrupted. “Kris, there’s a call from Jack.”

  “Hi, love. Have you found a nice south sea island to sit out the war on?” she asked.

  “Any south sea island here would be surrounded by ‘eats everythings’ and no fun to be on. How are you doing, Kris?”

  “I’m about done. We’re closing up shop and sending you everyone but the reactor operators and a few die-hard laser gunners.”

  “I know. We’re putting folks to work digging shelters in the deep woods or anyplace else we think they won’t flatten. There are a lot of colonials and elders who don’t want to abandon their homes. Despite my best effort, the bombardment may get a few people.”

  “You can only advise folk. This is a democracy, I think.”

  Jack paused to think long and hard before he asked, “Do you want me back?”

  “Of course I do, but you’ve got your job, and I’ve got mine. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

  “How are you making do? Your entire team is scattered to the winds.”

  “Lord, do I miss a good argument with you or Penny or lots of folks,” Kris said, seeing ghosts around herself.

  “When this is over, we’ve got to take a hard look at setting you up a staff,” Jack said.

  “When this is done,” Kris repeated. Emphasizing the “when.” No “if.”

  “Have you come up with a battle plan?”

  “I’ve got an idea that should take advantage of all we’ve got,” she said.

  “I know it’s a good one, honey, trust your gut. It’s taken good care of you so far.”

  “Thanks, love. You take care. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  “I’m looking forward to that. I’ve reserved our cabin on the beach for us once this is over.”

  “I’ll take you up on that promise. As I see it, I deserve a monthlong honeymoon, and only one day’s been used up.”

  Jack chuckled. “I like a girl who keeps count.”

  Maybe Jack ended the call with a kiss. Kris knew she did.

  She looked around the station. The silence echoed. Somewhere, Ostriches shouted in their own language as they rigged the last laser. They’d be sitting ducks if the fleet lost, but at least they would not be shot in the rear with their head in the sand. Kris found she was beginning to like those crazy folks. Maybe she should have one on her staff.

  She boarded the Wasp. This time out, it would be the last to leave the station. The battle squadrons were already launched and forming up. It was time to go.

  Kris crossed the brow and turned to salute the flag painted on the aft bulkhead, then saluted the OOD. “Permission to come aboard,” she said.

  “Permission granted.”

  Somewhere, the 1MC announced, “Alwa Defense Commander arriving.”

  Immediately, the order came down. “Seal hatches. Single up the lines. Prepare to stand out.”

  Kris headed for her command center. The final battle. No. This battle had just begun.

  52

  Kris sat in her egg. With the Wasp at Condition Zed, she commanded from a much-reduced and very solitary flag bridge. The screens around her showed her fleet array a hundred thousand klicks from the Beta Jump Point.

  If this was going to be a running gunfight, she intended to give herself a lot of running room.

  At the moment, Commodore Kitano, newly frocked up, had her BatRon 1 drifting in microgravity with their forward batteries aimed at the jump. Kitano commanded the seven big Wardhaven frigates that had been here the longest: Princess Royal, Constitution, Constellation, Congress, Royal, Bulwark, and Hornet, reinforced with the newly arrived Resistance.

  Each of the other three squadrons were deployed in a line by divisions to form a loose box around the jump. Commodore Hawkings’s BatRon 2 was high with the new Wardhaven ships, Renown, Repulse, Royal Sovereign, and Resolute brigaded with the contribution from Lorna Do, Warrior, Warspite, Nelson, and Churchill. Commodore Miyoshi’s BatRon 3 held the low position with Haruna, Chikuma, Atago, Tone, Arasi, Hubuki, Amatukaze, and Arare. Commodore Bethea’s BatRon 4 with the big cats from Savannah prowled off to the left.

  These last three squadrons were not in battle mode but had extended a pole from one ship to another so that four pairs of ships swung around each other, giving the crew some benefits of down for now.

  Twenty thousand klicks behind the four battle squadrons, the Ninth Division with the Helveticans’ Triumph, Swiftsure, Hotspur, and Spitfire held position beside Captain Drago’s own tiny Tenth Division of Kris’s flagship Wasp and the Intrepid. All swung at anchor.

  Thirty thousand klicks farther back, Commodore Benson’s reserve squadron of merchant cruisers swung in three pairs as best they could. Unbalanced, each pair did its own crazy little jig. What could you expect from the likes of unicorns, pixies, and leprechauns, Kris heard Navy types grumble.

  All the crews: Navy hands, retreads, or volunteers of human or Alwan persuasion now waited for battle in their high-gee stations. Every hour, one of the forward BatRons would break out into a fighting line, and the other would go into anchor mode.

  A second board showed Kris that all the ships were green: reactors online, lasers charged, armor and structure undamaged. No doubt, that would change soon enough.

  However, the fleet had been waiting for hours for the aliens to make their move, and the bad guys had declined to do much of anything. The periscope into the next system showed the alien mother ship parked ten thousand klicks out from the jump. Her monster brood ebbed and flowed around her. The speedsters were up next to the jump, but they, too, seemed to be waiting for the auspicious moment.

  Kris was as prepared for battle as she’d ever be. She waited, wondering if under another star, some alien honcho was sacrificing a goat and studying its entrails. She wished he’d hurry up. Waiting was boring.

  At that moment, one of the speedy ships nudged through the jump and began to flip for a hasty return.

  One laser from each of BatRon 1’s ships shot out, and the smaller ship vanished in a ball of gas. Apparently, the small guys hadn’t gotten the rock armor.

  Half a mi
nute later, a second and a third ship shot out of the jump, accelerating at 3.5 gees. Each was taken under fire by BatRon 1. As the rest of the squadrons deployed for the coming fight, BatRon 1 held the line.

  Then there was a long pause. Apparently, another goat was needed for sacrifice. Kris waited for what the aliens might come up with next.

  What came through next was tiny but moving fast. Kris thought atomics even as four recharged lasers from Katano’s BatRon 1 tore into it. Whatever it was, it vaporized before it did anything.

  “That had plutonium in it,” reported Professor Labao on net. “They’re using nasty stuff.”

  “BatRon 5, reverse course a hundred thousand klicks and return to alert.” If atomics were going to be flying around, Kris wanted those folks well back.

  “Aye, aye, Admiral,” Commodore Benson replied and began the hard job of shepherding his enthusiastic, if undrilled, charges back. Their line was ragged as they came out of their anchorage, but they did move quickly to obey.

  Three more fast movers shot through the jump, accelerating as they came, but dying nevertheless. Kris wondered how long their boss would keep this up. He had less than twenty of the small type left.

  This time, three bombs shot out of the jump. The gunners of BatRon 1 were on a hair trigger. Their lasers got all three again before any of them self-immolated.

  “Isn’t there supposed to be something about fratricidal destruction of other atomics when one goes off?” Kris asked Nelly.

  “It’s in the literature I was able to find. Maybe they don’t know about it?”

  “Or maybe they’d be happy if any of them got us, but we’ve caught them before they could arm and explode,” Captain Drago said. “They must have some safeties on them to keep them from exploding on the other side of the jump.”

  This time three huge monster ships popped though the jump. Kris had been expecting them. Three had led the way into the system the last time Kris had fought a mother ship and her brood. Three battle squadrons took them under fire. Sixteen lasers slashed into each one as they appeared. The stone armor bled to dust as a second volley speared the alien ships.