by Britt Ringel
Crimson light flickered in the compartment. A honking noise that he had come to associate with the call to battle stations sounded over the ship’s main channel. It was followed by a disembodied female voice: “This is an exercise. Battle Stations, battle stations. This is an exercise.”
There was a slight pause before Captain Kessler’s voice carried through every passageway inside the command cruiser. “Crew of the Lochaber, Argent Shield has commenced and I can now brief you on the upcoming engagement. We are simulating a Hollaran attack fleet that has fought its way past the Kale tunnel point defenses and is en route to Pan. Admiral Johnston has placed the enemy fleet twenty light-minutes out-system from us, at the edge of our detection range. Exercise rules dictate that both fleets have positive identification on each other and we’ve been ordered to approach the opposing red fleet at battle speeds. When we reach the standard missile range of five light-minutes, we’ll conduct our missile attack. If there are any red fleet survivors after our attack, and I have been notified by Admiral Johnston that there will be, we will close for an energy pass to destroy the remaining aggressors. We don’t know how many more of these exercises we’re going to get before the real thing. How you perform today is a portent for tomorrow. Kessler out.”
Twist hastily rechecked the status board: green. To his left, a small screen lit up with a sterile, top down view of the immediate section of space around TG 2.2.
“Ensign, I’ve given you a feed from the bridge,” Falk explained. “It’s the tactical plot that the bridge officers use. Use the controls around the edge of that screen to manipulate the image however you want but I’d recommend zooming in just enough to keep both fleets in view. Use it to keep your situational awareness of the battle. You should be asking yourself what you would do if you were the captain and compare it to what actually happens.” Falk twisted around as best he could to face the junior officer. “And if you notice something I’ve missed, be sure and tell me. If it’s something major, we’ll elevate our concern to Lieutenant Chappell.” The man grinned from inside his helmet. “Maybe you’ll save the ship during your first exercise.”
Twist doubted that. Instead, his goal was decidedly less grand: avoid dooming the ship. Movement on the tactical plot caught his eye. The fleet was rotating to an intercept course with the digital enemy. He neither felt the motion nor the ship’s acceleration to two-tenths the speed of light (.2c). As the fleet’s ships moved in unison to “battle speed,” Twist noticed that most maintained their position relative to Determined. Only the smaller escort ships in CortRon 7 broke away from the group, seeking a position ahead of the fleet where the Hollaran missile reply was expected.
Twist keyed a command to draw a line spanning the distance between the two fleets. They were 19.8lm (light-minutes) apart. After a moment’s calculation, the fire control computer informed him that it would take a full thirty-seven minutes to reach missile range. Even as his heart thumped in his chest, he knew space combat was endless hours of boredom followed by frantic minutes of panic.
“Anything I should be doing, Bill?” Twist asked while examining the tactical plot further. Already, Lochaber’s sensors section was identifying the Hollaran computer fleet. One dreadnaught, two command cruisers, four heavy cruisers, two light cruisers plus six escorts. Fifteen ships in total. Task Group 2.2 numbered eighteen.
Falk answered immediately, “One second, sir… Turret managers, I want ACS optimization and targeting computer initializing by twelve-fifty.” He released a button on his comm panel. “Sure, Ensign, why don’t you contact Lieutenant Chappell and report that Haze-One will be hot in seventeen minutes.”
“Will do,” Twist answered compliantly. It felt a little strange to have his NCO making “suggestions” to him but given the circumstances, it was comforting. He surveyed his communications controls. The touchscreen held the letters denoting each turret along with the organizational abbreviations for HAZ-2, HAZ/CC and OPS-A. Next to those permanent symbols rested an empty field with a circle over it. Falk had explained that Twist could input any organizational abbreviation into the empty field to communicate with any compartment on the ship. He had also been adamant that such a drastic action would be unnecessary.
Twist took a deep breath and considered Falk’s request before pressing his finger to the HAZ/CC symbol. A voice answered the comm request immediately. “Chief Townsend here.” The chief petty officer was Chappell’s senior NCO for the HAZ subsection.
“Uh, Chief, Haze-One will be hot in twelve minutes,” Twist said.
“Roger.” After a slight pause, “Is this Ensign Twist?”
“Yes, Chief,” Twist replied.
“Welcome to the show, Ensign. Townsend out.”
Twist released the controls with a smile. Admit it, this is kind of cool.
“Hey, Ensign,” Falk called behind him. Twist struggled underneath his shockseat restraints to face him.
Falk’s back was to him. He was typing rapidly on his main console. “We won’t be hot for seventeen minutes but don’t worry about it.”
Twist cringed. Crap. “Sorry, do you want— should I call the chief back?”
Twist watched Falk’s helmet shake back and forth. “Nah, I’m telling our gunners our OIC wants the turrets up faster and they better get it done. This is a good thing, Ensign. It’ll keep them on their toes.”
Twist breathed a sigh a relief. Boy, it sure is nice to have a NCO looking after you. Do all new officers get one? he wondered.
The immense distances of space took control over the phantom battle as Brevic crews across eighteen ships watched tiny symbols on maps plod slowly toward each other. With a simulated closing speed of .4c, the expanse between the two belligerents took over a half hour to cross.
Five minutes before TG 2.2 would enter the 5lm range of their anti-ship missiles, fire missions began to flow through the fleet. The orders were not destined for Twist’s HAZ-1, however, or any energy weapons platform. Instead, targets designated for extermination were sequentially sent to each of Lochaber’s twenty missile stations positioned along her starboard hull. The entire fleet maintained its forward speed of .2c but began to rotate until starboard beams were facing the enemy. The maneuver unmasked half of Lochaber’s forty missile ports in preparation for her attack. Twenty oval portals opened down her length to reveal the tips of anti-ship missiles (ASMs) equipped with gravity warheads awaiting inside.
The countdown reached zero and twenty simulated Javelin ASMs gushed forth from Lochaber’s broadside. Containment fields blinked over the open portals to create a sealed environment inside the missile launchers. Atmosphere gushed into each room and a secondary portal at the rear of each compartment opened as if the next simulated Javelins were being ushered inside. Once the missiles were secured in the launchers, missileers performed their checks to ensure a “good bird.” The hazy, red containment fields snapped off in a violent exhalation of atmosphere and the launchers fired a second simulated volley.
The process repeated every twenty seconds. Five minutes later, Task Group 2.2 ceased fire and the digital ASMs rocketed toward the Hollarans at half the speed of light. The phantom fleet had not been idle. Over three thousand enemy Dachshund missiles were inbound at .45c. Once the inbound simulated missiles were confirmed as “vampires,” new fire missions began to flow from every ship’s WEPS.
Twist was included in the orders this time. Although CortRon 7 would execute the heavy lifting of the missile defense action, the other ships inside TG 2.2 were responsible for their own protection against Hollaran Dachshunds that leaked past the forward-positioned guardians. If a missile made a run at Lochaber, Twist knew it would be in range of the heavy lasers first. If HAZ failed to knock down the inbound vampire, then the light laser turrets would join the defensive fray.
Twist’s heavy lasers were divided evenly between each side of Lochaber’s hull and only the “K” through “O” turrets would be facing the enemy for action. Falk had mentioned earlier that Admiral Johnston us
ed the fleet’s starboard side for the missile attack during the last exercise.
Twist’s fire control screen lit up brightly with symbols designating potential targets. Each target was an inverted “v” and dark green in color. He began to press an index finger against a symbol in the tasking queue to drag it along the screen and drop it onto one of his turrets. Before he could drop the tasking onto turret Kilo, the symbol disappeared underneath his finger and reappeared in the lengthy tasking queue once again.
“Hold on, Ensign,” Falk said loudly. “We don’t want to assign targets until we know if the CortRon destroys them.”
It made sense. Sure, Twist thought, if I allocate dead targets to my gunners, I might not have them available for a live one. “When will we know?” The nearest enemy missile was just under 2lm out.
“Not long, sir,” Falk answered vaguely. “Killed taskings will turn red and be dropped from the board. The ones we have to worry about will turn bright green. When that happens, we’ll start allocating them to our turrets. You start at the top of the list and I’ll start at the bottom.”
“Meet in the middle?” Twist asked with an intense tone.
“Yeah. Just be sure that you start with Kilo turret so we don’t double-up.”
“Bill, what happens if we get more taskings than we have turrets?”
Falk shook his head. “Won’t happen. In fact, we’ll get one, maybe two leakers at the most.” He tapped a command into his console and Twist’s tactical plot flashed to highlight CortRon 7. “Those escorts are designed to stop well over three hundred fifty missiles each wave. The red fleet only volleyed two hundred fifty missiles per wave.”
Twist considered the situation as the digital ghosts streaked across the tactical plot. I guess we’re set then. His knee was bobbing up and down, acting as a relief valve for his tension. The first wave of vampires entered into the CortRon’s defense umbrella. In the passing seconds, vast swaths of missiles were erased from the tasking board after the CortRon’s alpha strike. Follow-up shots over the next four seconds lanced out from the defensive squadron to extinguish the entirety of the first wave.
Over the next six and a half minutes, the escort squadron handled the remainder of the simulated missile attack with relative ease. The pattern of a massive, incoming wave being methodically taken apart followed by a twenty-second respite repeated itself over and over again. With each onrushing wave, Twist felt his heart rate spike but the tension was short-lived as defensive fire reached out to intercept each Dachshund missile. The CortRon’s complete success was easily apparent, manifesting as fading, red symbols on his tasking panel.
“All Clear.” The female voice over Lochaber’s main channel signaled the end of the missile threat.
“Who is that, Bill?” Twist asked.
“Commander Upshaw, the first officer.”
Twist zoomed out his tactical plot to locate the phantom Hollaran task force. While the Brevic fleet’s escorts had negated the enemy missile attack flawlessly, the same could not be said of the Hollaran defensive units. After its missile attack, the enemy had rotated away, burning its ships’ drives to kill their momentum toward the Brevic fleet. The maneuver had placed the two combatants only 3lm apart but with both fleets sailing at equivalent speeds, the gap between them remained constant. The faster Brevic missiles had chased the Hollarans down. While many Javelins were wiped from space, dozens of others had found targets.
Twist’s comm panel lit up and he hastily tapped the accept icon on the screen. Chappell’s voice came through the speakers in his helmet. “The admiral is expecting the remaining Hollie fleet will eventually turn to engage us with energy weapons,” he warned. “Expect a portside engagement.”
A soprano voice replied quickly before the channel cut off. “Sir, Romeo Turret still has that power fluctuation. It’s not on our end.” The voice was insistent.
“Hold on, Lucy,” Chappell muttered irritably. After a beat he said, “Yeah, I’m looking at it now. I’ll let WEPS know and he can fight it out with Engineering after the exercise.” There was another pause. “Caden, how are things in Haze-One?”
Twist hesitated to glance quickly over his shoulder. Without looking, Falk gave him a thumbs up. “We’re good, sir.”
“All right,” Chappell replied. “Keep up the good work, you two. We’ll be in firing range eight minutes after they turn. Sights tight!”
“Barrels bright!” Holt replied enthusiastically.
The channel closed, leaving a smiling Twist behind his weapons panel. The camaraderie was as tangible as it was inspiring. Soon, over one hundred sailors in Lochaber’s weapons division would be working as a united team, accomplishing a task far greater than any one of them could alone. The jaunty motto exchanged between his fellow officers cemented his desire to become part of that team. Twist knew that how he performed over the next eight minutes would move him either closer to or farther away from that goal.
As predicted, the computer admiral commanding the Hollaran fleet turned toward his enemy after witnessing the futility of his missile attack. Over the next minute, the invading force oriented toward their new destination: the heart of Task Group 2.2.
Three minutes later, as the light from the Hollaran maneuvers reached Lochaber, its sensors and then its tactical plot caught up. The two groups had closed to just under 2lm. Twist was mildly shocked when the crimson Hollaran fleet symbol jumped from 3lm and sailing away to the ominous orientation toward the Brevics at a mere 1.75lm. The jump had occurred inside a shaded circle around the fleet symbol called the “uncertainty zone,” the area where a ship or fleet could be depending on its, as yet, unseen actions. As the fleets had closed on each other over the past hour, the time lag between each fleet’s maneuvers and the light of those maneuvers reaching its enemy shrunk the uncertainty zone considerably.
“Four minutes until contact. Gunners stand by for your taskings,” Falk announced over the HAZ-1 comm channel.
On cue, Twist’s fire control screen lit up with ten distinct targets. He reached instinctively to the topmost bright green tasking and pressed a finger onto it.
The target, a Hollaran heavy cruiser, expanded in a burst of information. Target: Alpha-5-CA2. Target Aim Point: center mass, Twist read to himself before glancing to his datapad at the targeting checklist. Confirm target is hostile, check. Confirm downrange is free of friendlies. A rudimentary scan of the tactical plot ensured the slice of space behind the Hollaran task force was clear of shipping. Check. Confirm battery is ready for action… He looked up at Kilo Turret’s status screen. Every symbol was green. Check.
He dragged the tasking to Kilo Turret’s “basket” in the fire control screen and withdrew his finger. A square appeared around the tasking, locking it into the basket and briefly strobing before steadying into a reassuring, bright green.
Twist looked at the next tasking. The target was the same heavy cruiser. He pressed his finger against the screen. Target: Alpha-5-CA2. Target Aim Point: center mass. He glanced again to his datapad. Confirm target is hostile, check. Confirm downrange is free of friendlies, check. Confirm battery is ready for action… He looked up at Lima Turret’s status screen; all green. Check. He dropped the fire tasking into the proper basket and returned to the top of the screen.
The tasking screen was empty. Twist’s eyes darted to the rest of his port turret baskets. Each had an assigned fire mission. He felt his cheeks flush at the implication. Nice work, you idiot, he chastised. In the time it took you to assign two targets, Falk did all the rest. Twist subconsciously shook his head. How did he go so fast?
“Monitor the power levels, Ensign, and if you see additional fire missions, assign them to your turrets starting with Kilo and working your way down,” Falk reminded. A beat later, he added, “You’re doing great, sir. I’ve put a time-to-contact timer at the top of your screen. You want to let our gunners concentrate inside of fifteen seconds but you might want to give them a bit of encouragement at the thirty-second mark. It’ll be g
ood for them to hear your voice.”
Twist felt like events were unfolding too fast to interpret. Through the final weeks of OTS, he had begun to wonder what type of weapons officer he would be. He had fantasized about being the steady and prepared leader that calmed and inspired his gunners during the tides of battle. Now, he felt like he was desperately flailing against an undertow. Calm down, Caden. We haven’t even started shooting yet. He exhaled a long, slow breath.
He tapped the comm panel to open his subsection’s channel. “Haze-One, this is Ensign Twist. Let’s light that Hollie cruiser up and show the fleet how we laze in the Lochaber.” He glanced at the bank of turret status panels and chose a name at random. “Spaceman Poole, I’ve heard good things about you. Show me what you’ve got.”
Twist blushed at his own words. His encouragement sounded ridiculous to him but he broke out in gooseflesh when Falk issued a whoop of comradery that set off a series of war cries across the channel. The jollity was short-lived though and silence quickly usurped the adulation as the gunners of HAZ-1 regained their focus.
Twist felt himself grinning like an idiot, grateful that his helmet offered privacy from Falk’s view if he happened to turn around. Let’s just hope we’re all still smiling when the exercise is over.
Chapter 11
Twist stood under the steaming water of his shower. Although sonic showers were the norm, Captain Kessler had authorized water showers for every member of the cruiser’s weapons section. Exercise Argent Shield had been executed with near perfection. Not only had Task Group 2.2 defended itself flawlessly from a simulated Hollaran missile attack but also the fleet had gutted the enemy with Javelin missiles and then promptly closed to energy range to annihilate the remains of the red fleet. Lochaber had stood out in the simulated battle. Of the six hundred simulated missiles launched by Lochaber, thirty-three had found their mark. The captain had said that the astounding 5.5% hit rate was one of the highest scores in recent Second Fleet history. Kessler had quickly followed that he expected at least as good a hit rate when his missileers performed their jobs during real combat.