by Chris Hechtl
“Sometimes. It happens. Mister Rio kept to himself so was a bit of an oddity. He did a good job, kept his head down, and helped when needed.”
“That's my point. We didn't see his potential. Obviously, someone in BUPERS or the G-3 office did though.”
“Which we, we meaning the navy, can count our blessings,” the A.I. replied simply.
“Hear, hear,” Cynthia murmured as she went back to work.
]][#]]]{OO}===}==>
Part of Crusher sims were to test various skills under combat load. The sims weren't just single combat; sometimes they had to command a small fleet of ships, sometimes a carrier with fighters. Shelby had been allowed a few single combat sims to work out the kinks, but she'd then found more and more of her sims were in a division or larger group.
Some of the bigger sims involved multiple people and small fleets of ships with each student taking the hot seat. They not only had to deal with the pure tactical problems but also handle the occasional emergency or hiccup too.
The hardest sim to date had been the protection of a planet. She'd lost that sim. No one had won it, and it had been hard on everyone even though they all knew it was a sim. Knowing they could fail like that, that a planet could burn that easily had made for a sleepless night.
Their current exercise was to protect a convoy against an attack. There was no intelligence about the attacker so the class had no idea what to expect.
Shelby had been surprised that the entire class had been involved for the sim.
Shelby had control of a heavy cruiser above and midline in the convoy. Vlad had point. They each controlled a heavy cruiser, each of the twelve cruisers were spread out in an oval around the convoy, with their thinnest coverage on the Y axis, which was why Shelby was on the +Y dorsal axis. If she was an attacker, she'd scout the convoy from a distance and attack at where they were weakest. Vlad was on point as Cruiser 1. The cruisers along the flanks were numbered 1 through 8 in clockwise fashion. Cruisers 9 and 10 were on the ventral axis, Cruiser 11 and Shelby in Cruiser 12 were on the dorsal.
“So far so good,” Vlad said over the tachyon link.”
“There you go,” Shelby said in a fatalistic tone of voice as she scanned her instruments, then had her virtual crew launch another shell of drones. There were actually two shell drones out there—one with active sensors, another further inward under stealth on passives only. The newest shell would replace the active shell. Once they were on station, the old shell would stand down and then RTB to be recovered, serviced, refueled and powered, and then sent back out again.
That was the downside of using active sensors on a drone; they sucked up the power reserves in the birds fast.
“This is Cruiser 1. I've got a nibble here,” Vlad murmured. “At my two o'clock high. Twenty degrees by sixteen. It's gone now. Looks like it wasn't coming directly in though,” he said.
Shelby frowned as she noted the vector. Vlad's drones were on point further out from her. She had his data feed, but he saw it before she did. She saw the blip fade in and out. “Got it,” she murmured as she scratched her jaw. If she was the enemy commander, she'd get the escorts to focus in one direction away from the real thrust of his or her attack. “A shark circling to recon us.”
“We've got incoming low coming in at ten KPS and closing fast!” Lieutenant Commander Pallow in Cruiser 9 said, voice rising slightly in pitch with excitement.
“Decoy?” She heard someone else ask.
“One or both of them are. We don't know which,” Shelby murmured. “Vlad, launch one of your birds. Have it head out to your contact. Pal, you do the same.”
“Don't launch the entire brood?” Pal demanded.
“Not yet. Convoy come to a new heading. Steer three hundred forty degrees by six degrees. No change in velocity. Execute on the tick,” she transmitted.
She knew that by veering away from the enemy sighting on their bow she very well might be walking into a trap. But she needed to put some distance between the two and draw out the time it would take for them to get into position once more to harass her.
“This is Cruiser 5. We've got something coming up on our six! It is … shit, fighters and bombers coming in fast and hot! Looks like pirate ships based on the energy signatures,” Lieutenant Commander V'll'no reported. She'd tucked him back there as rear guard because she knew the Veraxin was steady and would most likely be the point of contact. He was also a carrier officer with a gift at managing a wing. Now she was glad she had.
“Fighters and bombers mean a possible carrier is dogging our heels. Watch all axis for threats folks,” Shelby said as she watched V'll'no launch his fighters on his own authority. “Cruisers 4 and 6, launch half your fighter cover to support Cruiser 5,” she ordered. She watched as tiny icons went out.
“Convoy, come to a heading of forty degrees by ten degrees nadir,” Shelby said as she noted a convenient asteroid off to their port on the heading she had previously chosen. “Cruisers 1, 6, 7, 8, watch that asteroid. Cruiser 8 see if you can get a bird around its back side to recon it.”
“Roger,” Commander M'roni replied. After a moment, she saw a recon drone spark out and then head off directly for the asteroid.
She frowned thoughtfully as she tried to put herself in the enemy commander's position. The attack on her stern was to harry her along. She refused to pick up speed. The nibbles on her starboard and keel had been to direct her to the asteroid. Was there a force waiting behind it, using the rock as a cover? She frowned thoughtfully as she gamed out what would have happened had she held her course. It was possible, she slowly concluded. What though …
“Recon drone has gone around the rock. No detectable energy signatures, nothing on … wait one …” Commander M'roni said. “The bird's radar was a bit wide; it caught a piece of the rock by accident. It looks like the backside of the rock is mined.”
“Ah ha!” Vlad said triumphantly. Shelby nodded. It was starting to make sense to her. Chase her to the asteroid, then it blows up in her face. Either an attack would come in behind it or from another axis, one that wasn't currently being monitored. She quickly ran some calculations and then nodded to herself.
“Convoy, come to a heading of three hundred five degrees by ten degrees nadir. Decrease acceleration by 10 percent,” she ordered.
She heard a click. The computer showed it had come from Commander M'roni. She knew why; the commander had been about to ask her why she was doing that but had stopped himself. Normally they sped up to get out of a trap. She wanted to do the opposite, something the enemy wouldn't expect but would also throw them off. Hopefully, she thought as her eyes went back to the furball growing in the convoy's wake. The additional course changes had forced the enemy fighters to recompute their loiter time. Her friendly fighters easily put themselves in-between the weak charges and the incoming raiders as did several of the defensive drones that had been launched. She nodded as the bombers launched early and from a distance. The fighters and drones stayed on the defense to soak up the fire.
Only four of the torpedoes got through; all of them were intercepted in Cruiser 5's outer defense zone. She nodded as she noted the enemy's retreat and its vector. She made a point of backtracking their possible vectors. That told her approximately where one of the enemy forces were, which was high to her. “Recover the fighters and drones. Convoy come to seventy degrees by five degrees zenith, speed adjustment 10 percent increase. Execute helm order when all fighters and defensive drones have been recovered,” she stated.
“We've got incoming on our starboard side. Coming in at four o'clock high,” Commander Epsi reported from Cruiser 2.
“Roger that,” Shelby said, noting the signals. The ships had tried to slip through the first drone shell but the passive shell had picked them up. They must have picked up on one of the passive drones since they'd lit off their drives. There were four ships, all cruisers.
“Helm stay with that previous helm order,” Shelby growled.
“We're going in
to them …”
“Right. Cruisers 1 through 3, engage with missiles at your discretion. Cruisers 11 and 4 on defense,” Shelby ordered, just as the icons of the incoming cruisers began to spew out smaller icons, their own hornets. “Cruisers 1 through 4, launch fighters after our helm change.” She knew her fighters would be on defense. They were almost a side show in the engagement, there as an added layer of protection to check the enemy's fighters and long-range torpedo attacks.
“Fighters and bombers coming in on our stern. Seventeen minutes to arrival,” Lieutenant Commander V'll'no reported.
“I see it,” Shelby said. If she launched her stern fighters now they'd have time to get into position but would burn a lot of fuel trying to keep up with the convoy. Split the difference? She shook her head after a moment. From the numbers, that was over half of a fleet carrier's brood, two hundred fighters and bombers. Either they were really there or there were only a few there and the rest were decoys.
“Cruiser 5, launch a recon drone down their throat. Let's see what we're dealing with. Cruisers 4 through 7 and 12 prep fighters for launch. Launch on four minutes to threat arrival time,” she said. “Coordinate the fighters to cover the vectors closest to them.”
A series of Rogers answered her.
Now, did she thwart the real attack or was it coming in from somewhere else, she asked herself.
]][#]]]{OO}===}==>
Shelby took a sip of coffee as she listened to the hot wash after battle. It had gone well. The critique had hit on a few minor things, but they'd pulled it off. Not without losses, but they'd gotten the bulk of the virtual convoy through the ambush. She'd had her doubts a few times near the end, but the zig zag course change she'd put in and had kept putting in had made the difference.
“Captain Firefly, your thoughts?” the grader asked, turning to the speaker nearby. That made Shelby sit up straight and set her coffee mug aside. She hadn't known Firefly had been involved!
“As the op force commander, I'd like to congratulate Captain Logan on her strategy of keeping my forces off balance and at bay. You did a good job randomizing your course changes while keeping on a general heading to your destination jump point,” the A.I. said as his avatar appeared under the holographic projection of the battle simulation. He had his hands tucked behind him. “I had expected the asteroid in front to distract you.”
“I remember Captain Mayweather running into that a time or two,” Shelby murmured.
“Indeed. I calculated that you would consider it a cover or distraction. Your third helm change however threw my carriers off. By the time they tacked back onto the right intercept course, you had changed vector and heading a second time forcing them to adapt. My fighters and bombers couldn't be recovered and turned around in a timely manner. Good job,” he said.
Vlad turned in his seat to shoot her a thumbs-up and grin of approval.
“Thank you, Captain,” Shelby replied with a nod.
“I am not certain if you were keeping your other fighters and defensive drones in reserve or had not thought of staging them through the other ships. Your thoughts, Captain?” Captain Firefly asked.
“Well, I had considered that, but part of the mission parameters was to consider future engagements. I know the old axiom of use 'em or lose 'em, but in this case I thought they would be best held in reserve,” she said carefully.
“That cost you several ships in the convoy as well as Cruiser 6. But it seems to be worthwhile in a long-term strategic goal if fear of any additional attacks were weighed in,” the A.I. stated, turning to the grader.
The Veraxin signaled assent. “I concur. But they should have been prepped and used when the engagement peeked.”
“That I admit I didn't think of at the time,” Shelby offered.
The Veraxin made a note on his board. “Very well. Moving on …”
]][#]]]{OO}===}==>
“Mother fracker,” Cynthia muttered loudly and with plenty of feeling as she read the latest email to come in from the ansible. The news was not good, and obviously, she wasn't happy about it.
“Ma'am um …,” a startled Neochimp PO near the hot seat turned to look at her.
“It wasn't about you,” the XO growled as she looked up. “We just lost the Good Hope,” she said.
“Um …,” the Neochimp's brows knit in confusion. “Lost …”
“The hospital ship.”
His brown eyes went comically wide. “How? To enemy action? I thought it was in Antigua, ma'am?”
“It is. I meant we lost it for the mission,” Cynthia explained, waving the tablet. She could see the other members of the bridge watch turn to her with interest. If she didn't explain, it would get around the ship's scuttlebutt like lightening and undoubtedly speculation and such would turn it into an ugly rumor. Best to come clean, she thought. “According to this it's been reassigned to an outbreak on Syntia's World,” she said. “The skipper isn't going to like this,” she growled.
“Isn't there another ship in the pipeline? The Florence Nightingale? I've got a cousin who is a nurse; she's supposed to be part of the crew when the ship launches. Can't they swap the ship?”
“Unfortunately …,” Cynthia frowned and checked the status updates. “We don't have the up-to-date status on every ship being built in Antigua, but apparently, she's going to launch sometime after our departure date. With working-up exercises and such, there is no way we can get her in time, Harry,” she said, shaking her head.
“I see. Well, pity about that, having some family along for the ride would have been nice.”
“I know the feeling,” the XO said with a nod.
“So, what do we do, ma'am?” Ensign Prometheus asked.
“That's what I'm going to have to try to figure out. The crappy thing is that there aren't any other Liberty class hospital ships around; the others are all assigned. I know there are two Doras here, but they are pretty small …,” she grimaced as she typed in a request for more information on the ships.
“At this point, beggars can't be choosers it seems, ma'am,” the A.I. replied. “A hospital ship is better than no hospital ship, even if it is a small one.”
“A small one with limited abilities, limited crew, and limited jump range … the works,” Cynthia growled. “I'll put an email through to the Pyrax staff so they can get started on the red tape. I'll CC this email, but I'll also put in to Antigua that we need a proper fix.”
“Should we let the captain know?” the A.I. asked.
Cynthia pursed her lips in thought as she looked up. After a few seconds, she made a soft puttering sound and then shook her head. “We will eventually of course, but she can't do anything about it and for the time being it is a distraction. Let's see if we can get a fix in place for her so we can present it to her, problem and possible solution.”
“Understood,” Prometheus replied with a nod.
“Glad you agree,” the XO said as she turned and started to type out emails on her tablet. The PO looked over to the A.I. The ensign made a shooing motion, so he went back to his duty station with a mental shrug.
]][#]]]{OO}===}==>
“So, how goes it?” Shelby asked tiredly as she took a seat on her bed. She rubbed at the small of her back with her right hand while her left hand did its best to massage her right shoulder and collar bone. She was stiff from sitting still for so long. Intense concentration in the hot seat tended to do that to her. She badly wanted a nice soak in a hot tub or whirlpool bath but all she had was a shower available.
“The ship is good. We're still getting some rough edges sorted out, but nothing we can't handle,” Cynthia replied.
Shelby's mental antenna twanged at her XO's cautious tone of voice. “I hear a but coming,” she said warily.
“But?”
“Quit stalling and give over,” Shelby growled as she switched side with her hands.
“Okay, well, the bad news is, we lost Good Hope,” Cynthia warned.
That made Shelby stop and stare at
the bulkhead for ten seconds. Eventually Cynthia cleared her voice over the audio channel. “Skipper?”
“Yeah, I'm still here,” Shelby said gruffly.
“Um …”
“What happened? Do I dare ask?” Shelby asked, fighting to keep her tone even and neutral.
“Well, there was an outbreak on Syntia's World so she was dispatched to handle it. I've been scrambling to figure out a fix. Unfortunately, the brass can only offer a Dora as a replacement.”
“You …,” Shelby paused and then closed her eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You aren't serious. I've been through that before.”
“It's not written in stone; I didn't sign over anything, Skipper. But that's it. That's all they got in the pantry. The cupboard is bare for the window we're supposed to depart in. They will only let us have one of them by the way, not the two that are coming available. The other is spoken for.”
“Lovely,” Shelby sighed.
“Mary Eliza Mahoney,” Cynthia said.
“I know. I looked into them when they offered them before,” Shelby said dryly. “You are certain there isn't anything going on here? No chicanery or other crap? Politics?”
“If there is, it isn't on our end, ma'am. It looks like it is a genuine outbreak; it's in the news.”
“I've missed the news for a while.”
“I know; you've been wrapped up in what you are doing.”
“Yes,” the captain said as she opened her eyes and looked down. “Okay.” She waved a hand and then got up to pace.
“Okay as in we're taking her?”
“No. We're going to hold out for something better. Make them sweat us holding the departure date.”
“It's already been announced, Skipper. The brass won't like it if it is pushed back; that's egg on their face.”
“Then they'll have to sweat to figure out a fix. At the least give us this ME Mahoney and something to help make up the difference. You can't turn a Dora into a Liberty; I don't care what sort of black magic they've got. Point out that if they sent a Dora to Syntia's World they'd be overwhelmed if anyone asks.”