Battlegroup (StarFight Series Book 2)

by T. Jackson King

  O’Sullivan nodded. “Understood. Star Navy base Green Hills out.”

  The man’s image disappeared from the curving front wallscreen. The wide expanse of the planet Valhalla now filled it. Green forests, yellow plains, purple mountains and the eastern seacoast where Stockholm was located shone bright in the daylight of Kepler 10. Briefly he wondered if the colonists had given the G-type star a name. Did they call it Odin, the chief god of ancient Scandinavia? He pushed aside the musing. Researching the human colony on Valhalla was another item on his To Do list.

  “Captain,” called Osashi. “Incoming neutrino call from Lieutenant Jefferson of the Philippine Sea.”

  Duty returned to him. “Put it up on the front wallscreen. And share it with everyone by way of the All Ship vidcom. Also share it with our other battle group ships.”

  The man who was just five years from full retirement nodded, tapped his control pillar, then spoke. “Going up. Her signal and our response are now being shared with everyone.”

  One of Jacob’s first decisions as acting captain had been to share everything that happened on the Bridge with the other decks and personnel of the Lepanto. He’d done it thinking his crew and fellow officers needed to know what was happening, in view of the death of most Command Deck officers. A similar reason led him to share most of what he did on the Bridge with the other ships in the battle group. Like the Lepanto, each of them was being led by a new captain who had forced open the dead captain’s digital safe, found the ship status change code, and given it to the ship’s AI so they could assume full ship control. His close friends Quincy and Kenji had told him that his sharing had reassured crew folks shocked by the sudden change in command. And by the later attack of the wasp-like aliens. The appearance of Joy Jefferson as an image inset in the middle of the planet’s image drew his attention.

  “Lieutenant Jefferson, what’s up?”

  The blue-eyed blond looked anxious. She occupied one of the two seats in the middle of her ship’s Bridge. To her left sat a young woman whom Jacob knew came from Wales. His access to the admiral’s personnel files had helped him learn people names, duties and personal histories. The name of Joy’s new XO was Aelwen Rhydderch. But it was the new captain who captured his attention. She scowled.

  “Captain, that bastard wasp ship is getting away!” Jefferson said quickly. “We killed one of its engines. Let me finish the job! Please, sir.”

  Jacob almost smiled at how the lanky woman had belatedly added ‘please’ to her demand. He had come to appreciate her fight hunger. And the abilities of her destroyer and its crew. Her demand brought back Richard’s issue. “Captain Jefferson, I have decided we will not destroy the departing wasp ship. I have several reasons. But the primary one is it will serve as a test subject for our next cartoon vid effort at opening communications.” He paused, noticed how Rosemary O’Hara at Tactical was playing close attention, and felt renewed amusement. She was another deadly woman. “That ship will take another 40 hours to reach the magnetosphere. Lieutenant Branstead has assured me her algorithm geeks will have a new vid to transmit before then. Be patient.” A thought hit him hard. “Jefferson, if that wasp ship stays in the system, do you think you could track it down?”

  The woman’s disappointed expression moved quickly to eagerness. “Yes! Even if they hide inside a comet their reactors will still send out neutrinos. We can find it. Do we kill it then?”

  Jacob sighed. Where did this long-limbed straw blond get her energy? Maybe the same place Daisy got hers, thinking back to his girlfriend’s intense curiosity and fanatically perfect piloting abilities. “No, you do not kill it.” He looked up at the room’s gray metal ceiling. Yellow light strips crisscrossed it in checkerboard patterns. “Melody,” he called to his ship’s artificial intelligence. “Does the destroyer Philippine Sea have the capability to bring an assault Dart inside its cargohold?”

  A low hum now sounded. “Unlikely. The destroyer’s cargohold access hatch is twelve meters long by six high. A Dart measures twenty meters long by seven high. Entry into the cargohold is not physically possible.”

  Jacob had known the size of the Dart. It was the details of the destroyer’s airlock hatches and cargohold entry that he’d not known. Still, every destroyer in his battle group was a big starship. They measured 300 meters in length. Half the size of a cruiser and one-third the size of a Battlestar. The excited look of Jefferson and Aelwen told him those people were pumped by his idea. “What about attachment to a destroyer’s outer hull? Is that possible?”

  “It is possible,” the AI said, sounding curious as its speech recognition software sought an analogue to Jacob’s voice tone. “The plasma battery on the top of the Philippine Sea lies in the middle of the ship’s hull. A Dart could be attached ahead or behind the battery, to the ship’s sides or to its belly.”

  The AI’s talkativeness was novel to Jacob. Especially in view of its past history of blaming humans for being redundant in speech. “How long would it take to weld attachment latches onto the ship’s hull? If they were similar to the latches that hold cargo.”

  “Four hours, twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds, using repair robots,” the AI said, its tone moving to machine flatness. “However,” it said, its voice becoming almost eager. “Placement of two gravity plates on the belly of the Dart would be desirable. Setting the plates to a two gee pull would further hold the Dart to the destroyer’s hull.”

  Below him Richard was looking up, his eyebrows lifted as the man’s curiosity over Jacob’s unfolding plans grew. He gave the Marine a thumbs-up, then looked at the wallscreen. “Lieutenant Jefferson, if I arranged with the Star Navy base engineers to weld on the needed latches, could your ship maneuver decently with three Darts attached to your hull?”

  Jefferson’s blue eyes brightened. She clenched her fists. “Yes! Between the latches and the added gravity plates the Darts would be secure during our transit. And our ship’s eco-system can handle the additional fifteen Marines.”

  Jacob nodded, then met the gaze of the Marine leader. “Chief O’Connor, it occurs to me that the most direct source of pheromone emitting radios is on this wasp ship. While I hope Lieutenant Branstead’s cartoon video gets a positive response, it seems to me taking further action before wasp reinforcements arrive is worthwhile. What is your opinion?”

  “I like it,” the man said, his deep bass voice filling the Bridge. “Do we make multiple hull entries after we arrive?”

  Jacob understood the man wanted to know whether all the Darts would be used in the assault on the wasp ship, or just one with two as backups. “Yes. Use all three Darts. We do not know how the wasp ship is arranged internally, other than the obvious presence of weapons rings on its nose, middle and tail, and fusion pulse exhausts at its tail. Three entries give your people three chances to find the right tech, and maybe capture a wasp or two.”

  O’Connor’s thin lips curved up. “Outstanding. Shall I work with my Marines on boarding simulations? We can use the true space and sensor records of the ship that attacked Valhalla as the basis for holo simulations.”

  Jacob felt good at the man’s reaction. The Marine’s combat experience in person-to-person fighting was greater than that of anyone on the Lepanto, or on the other ships. And his skill in handling people was something Jacob had noticed ever since their departure from Earth. He’d done his best, during the space battles with the wasps, to imitate the skills of both O’Connor and his father, hero of the Callisto Conflict and Earth’s only five star fleet admiral. While his father’s constant hectoring of him about space navy traditions, space maneuvers, Earth’s war history and what made for a good commander of ships and people had bugged him, he’d paid attention. And the classes and simulations of the Stellar Academy at Colorado Springs had pounded into him the most recent tactics and battle strategies. Much to his dismay. But he’d learned the value of getting advice and help from people who knew more than he did. Like his friends Daisy, Lori, Carlos, Quincy and Kenji, and other of
ficers like Branstead and O’Connor.

  “Chief, you do just that. You have plenty of time.” Jacob looked ahead to where his Bridge crew were watching their own holos, being attentive to their duties even while in parking orbit. Their distraction at Richard’s earlier questions had given way to covert listening as they worked. He looked down to where Daisy sat, her attention focused on her holo cross-section of the ship’s various decks and weapons stations. “XO Stewart, arrange with Chief O’Connor for his people to use the simulators in the Exercise Chamber.”

  “Captain, happy to do so,” Daisy said quickly.

  Jacob returned to the image of Jefferson on the front wallscreen. “Captain Jefferson, how do you feel about taking our Marines out to where they can board that wasp ship?”

  The woman gave him a big grin. “Captain, I feel super! Uh, do I kill the wasp ship after our Marines return?”

  He shook his head. “No. Leave it mostly intact. Use sufficient laser and proton fire to allow the Darts to penetrate the enemy’s hull. But once the Marines return, pull back and return to Valhalla. Lieutenant Branstead will have heart palpitations until you bring home whatever tech our boarders can grab.” One more point hit him. “If the Marines capture any wasps, isolate them and put them in a cell with half gee gravity. Feed them whatever they will accept. Put them all together in a single cell. I suspect they will go nuts without the presence and pheromones of their comrades.”

  She frowned, then nodded quickly. “Captain, I will do exactly as you order. Are we second in line after the Chesapeake?”

  “You are first in line,” he said, recalling the time lines involved in her ship’s long trip out to the system’s Kuiper Belt. “The welding work will not take long. Then you leave with the three Darts and the Marines. But all that happens after you attend the meeting in my conference room. Time for you new captains to see each other. Time to compile repair needs. And time for all of us to discuss future options.”

  Jefferson saluted him. “As you order, fleet captain. My ship, my crew and myself are at your command. Philippine Sea out.”

  Her image vanished from the front wallscreen. On it the planet’s surface had become mostly ocean, a wide expanse lying to the east of Stockholm. Their orbit at 400 kilometers high meant they circled the planet once every 80 minutes. With the result the image of the planet keeps changing. Jacob looked ahead. “Chief Osashi, establish a comlink with Captain Swanson on the Chesapeake. Time to work with her on getting her ship repaired.”

  “Neutrino comlink established. Imagery going up front.”

  Jacob fixed on the black face of the woman who had exposed her heavy cruiser to incoming energy beams as quickly as he had exposed the Lepanto. Unlike him, she had lost crew in the last attack. The stocky, middle-aged woman did not show evidence of that loss. But he knew from his own feelings that the death of fifteen crew had cut deep into her.

  “Lieutenant Commander Swanson, the Chesapeake is second in line for repairs at the Star Navy base. You heard the reason why I’ve moved the Philippine Sea ahead of you. Any problems with waiting?”

  “No problems, Captain Renselaer.” She looked as tired as Jacob felt. “My Weapons and Life Support chiefs will make do.”

  Jacob listened as the woman outlined her plans for the replacement of her right flank proton laser node. He sat straight and formal. It was the least he could do for a fellow officer, someone who, like him, had jumped into the job of commanding her ship right after seeing the video of the destruction of the meeting site by the wasps. She, like the other new ship captains, was still coping with a new reality. He hoped she was doing better than he felt. He still got the shakes when he was alone in the old captain’s quarters. Did the other new commanders of battle group ships feel as much at sea as he did? That was something he needed to find out during the all captains meeting. That was set for this evening at what was the first crew meal time. Three hours away. Maybe he could get a quick nap before then. He needed it. And he needed the tender caring of Daisy even more. When would they have time for each other?

  More important was the answer to his worry they might be attacked before Earth reinforcements arrived. Could the battle group survive an attack by a dozen or more wasp ships? Could the planet Valhalla be protected? The piling up of personal and professional worries and doubts made him wonder if his father the admiral had felt the way Jacob now felt, during his space battles at Callisto. It was an unwanted insight into his sole surviving parent.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Support Hunter Seven felt fatigue as his flying nest moved past the small gas world that lay in the sixth flight range from the local sky light. He had ordered his Flight Servant to change their flight angle to match their inward flight track. While Hunter One and the other Support Hunters flew well ahead of his nest, moving toward the edge of the local sky light’s magnetic field and a return to the colony of Warmth, still, he felt isolated. The fatigue just made it worse. He breathed deep through his spiracles, checked the perception imager that showed the local worlds and other flying nests to confirm the Soft Skins were not pursuing him, then decided to focus on something more life affirming than the fact of his nest being left behind by the larger flight of Swarmers.

  “Servant,” he scent cast to the Swarmer in charge of monitoring external space. “Where are good places for this nest to hide from detection by the Soft Skins?”

  The elderly Swarmer angled two antennae his way. The Servant straightened his posture on his bench and used one of his thorax arms to touch a color image panel. “Hunter, there are many ice balls flying beyond this system’s outermost world. Some are very large. We could make flight track for a large one that lies along our current path, then use our stingers to cut a deep hole.” The Swarmer twisted his head to put all five eyes on Seven. “Our flying nest could hide inside such a hole. However, the particle emissions of our energy nodes might betray our location.”

  Seven knew that, in a vague way. The particle emissions from his nest’s propulsive devices were the way his nest and all Swarmer nests tracked each other across distances too great for normal viewing. The energy node emissions were the same particles. Those emissions spoke in a way different than normal pheromone speech. He suspected the Soft Skins could track nests the same way. Still, they must find a hiding spot from which to watch the events on the fourth world and the actions of the eight Soft Skin nests that had survived the last flight battle. That was their assigned duty, until Hunter One returned with more flying nests to claim the third world.

  Hiding in one spot was not the normal lifeway for any Swarmer. Either you flew and explored, flew and found a mate or flew and fought an invader to one’s home territory. Rest periods during the time of daily darkness were short, compared to some lifeforms on his home world of Nest. But now they must do the strange. Now they must hide and be silent. While the Soft Skins would know they had not left this system of worlds, the abnormal two-legged beings might not find his nest if he and his Servants took care to hide all trace of their presence.

  “Servant, cast your eye tools ahead of us and find such an ice world,” he said in a rush of food trail, territorial and calming pheromones, mixed with a touch of aggregation scent. “Though it be a strange duty, we will cut out a hiding hole and rely on our tools to maintain a view of the Soft Skins.”

  “Searching,” the Servant replied in a mix of aggregation and signal pheromones.

  Seven looked around, seeking the familiar forms of his Servants, Fighter Leaders and the Matron to his rear. While all who flew within his flying nest were able to withstand long separations from Nest and their caste cohorts, still, it was not a natural way to live. Only the discovery of a new colony world in this system made his duty, and their duty, tolerable. Perhaps his Servants within the Flight Chamber would cope well if he asked the Matron to emit her pheromone song of Life Mating. It would remind all those within the hard shell of his flying nest of their duty, their future and the utter necessity of finding new worlds for the ex
panding numbers of his fellow Swarmers. And it would bring out the hope in all caste members that one of them might be chosen to mate with the Matron in order to produce more effective members of their caste. That was a reward he would withhold until the return of Hunter One. When that happened, their claim on the third world would begin with a new sky battle. Cleansing this system of the Soft Skin infestation was essential before they dropped colonizing Pods onto the warm lands of world three. It all made for better musing, better dreams than the disasters of the recent sky battles against these strange Soft Skins. Lowering his abdomen to rest atop his bench, Seven allowed his dream to fill his mind.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Aarhant Bannerjee turned away from watching the wallscreen that relayed the image of the Bridge and the conversations of the young whelp with the new captains of other battle group ships. At least he could feel safe within his own quarters, rather than on display in the Navigation Deck’s control center. One of his assistants was there now. It was her shift time. His time was one of rest. But he could not rest knowing how once again young Renselaer had stolen from him the rightful command of the Lepanto. He was the senior surviving staff officer. He should have been given command of the Bridge by the Star Base captain. Instead, the man O’Sullivan had sided with Renselaer and had confirmed his new status as captain of the Battlestar. Worse, the man had accepted the whelp’s command of the battle group! He could not understand why other staff officers on the battle group ships had not insisted on taking command of the fleet. They were all lieutenants or higher. Swanson of the Chesapeake and Mehta of the Salamis were lieutenant commanders like him. Surely they understood that a return to a normal chain of command was the right thing to do upon arrival at Kepler 10. But they had supported Renselaer. And once the wasp aliens had arrived, everyone was focused on battle tactics, fighting and surviving. Well, they had survived, except for the frigates Britain and Marianas. The memory of those ships reminded him of the trip made by the frigate Ofira. It would bring back new ships from Earth. Surely someone in command of the new fleet would see the wrongness of an ensign being in command of a battle group!