Brown, Dale - Independent 01

by Silver Tower (v1. 1)

  Two RAM missile launchers were mounted between the legs to provide defensive cover for the rear quadrant of the ship, but the most impressive new feature was the device on top of the pedestal: a huge elongated dish at least forty feet wide and fifty feet long, arranged so that the long part of the dish was parallel to the ship’s beam. The dish had two sections of steel folded down on top of it, hinged on the sides and supported by hydraulic pistons.

  “What the hell... I’ve never seen anything like that,” Saint-Michael said. “It looks like some kind of wing, but on a navy warship ... ?”

  The California was towed clear of the enclosure and the maintenance and security towers surrounding it, then pulled to a halt by two mules in the rear. A gangway was set in place with the familiar “USS CALIFORNIA” on the canvas sides, but its vessel designation no longer read “CGN-36”; it now read “DWRS-36.”

  “Well, stop gawking and get up here,” they heard from the ship. They looked up the newly painted side of the California and saw Admiral Clancy waving them toward the gangway. According to naval etiquette, they saluted the colors aft, then the officer of the deck, and then hurried up the gangplank and were met by the admiral.

  “Permission to come aboard, Admiral,” Saint-Michael said, saluting him. Clancy returned the salute.

  “Get your butts up here. I’ve been waiting all day to show you this.”

  They had to step lively to keep up with Clancy, who rushed up to the bridge and then around the catwalk facing aft across the huge device sprawled over the California's fantail.

  “All right, all right, Admiral,” Saint-Michael said as they finally stopped and stared out over the top of the curved stack of dishlike plates mounted on the ship. “What is all this?”

  “The future, Jason.” Clancy turned to a lieutenant commander waiting behind them. “Hit it, Commander.”

  “Aye, sir.” A few moments later a loudspeaker blared, “Attention on deck. Stand by to deploy array panels.”

  A deep-throated rumbling began on the pedestal below them, and suddenly the curved panels on top of the pedestal began to move, unfolding like giant flower petals. In less than a minute they had dropped into place. The device was now an oblong dish one hundred feet long and forty feet wide at its broadest point, deeply curved in the center. At the precise center was a receiver horn. On the face of the dish was painted “USS CALIFORNIA.” Then the dish began slowly to incline and swivel until it was pointing almost directly south, its rim almost touching the two pedestal legs supporting it.

  “Not a bad piece of work, right, Jas?”

  “Not bad, Admiral, but what is it?”

  “You haven’t figured it out?” He gestured at the dish with a sweeping wave of his hand. “This, sir, is my new California-class SBR fleet command and control ship. And that is my space-based radar data transreceiver.”

  “That’s an SBR receiver? Amazing-------- ”

  “Dedicated one hundred percent to sending and receiving SBR data signals,” Clancy said. “Four thousand square feet of antenna, over fifty tons—the largest antenna afloat. Shielded and hardened against electromagnetic pulses and designed to operate even in a nuclear environment. But that’s not the best part.”

  Again Ann and Saint-Michael had to scramble to follow Clancy as he led them down through a series of hatches, past crewmen standing at attention along the bulkheads, and into a circular room labeled “CIC.”

  “The California's new combat information center. The admiral motioned toward the center of the circle, where a raised platform, fifteen feet in diameter and curved like a shallow bowl, was under construction. “It’s not quite finished but you’ll get the idea. We call it the ‘DANCE floor’—but you don’t dance on it.”

  He led them over to the platform so they could examine it. “DANCE stands for Digital Advanced Near-space Communications Equipment. A mouthful, I grant you. It’s a twenty-first century version of the old craps-table situation-boards they used to have on command ships, the ones with the operators with long croupier sticks moving little ship models around. DANCE floor is actually a horizontal screen that displays SBR data in three dimensions. With it a fleet commander can get an instant three-dimensional map of the area around his fleet for thousands of miles. Images are put on the screen by laser projectors, so ships and their datablocks appear to be hovering in midair in perfect relationship to the fleet. When SBR data aren’t available the images can be frozen or the computer can predict where the ships or aircraft would be and update the board accordingly. We can also integrate shipbome radar and other satellite sensor data into the DANCE floor for real-time mapping.... I think that station of yours, and its gear, got to me. You and Ann saved thousands of lives out there. When I realized none of my ships had the capability to fully utilize SBR signals, well, I decided we should commit our resources to building one as soon as possible. The navy and the Joint Chiefs backed me all the way. What the hell choice did they have?

  “The California's new combat information center should be finished in a month,” Clancy said, moving out of CIC and back up on deck. “One month after that she’ll be ready for her first shakedown cruise.” They reached the port rail near the gangway and stopped to watch as the huge SBR receiver-antenna was being folded up again.

  “I wish you luck, Admiral,” Saint-Michael said. “She’s a beauty. Silver Tower should be fully operational in two months and as long as the Arkhangel and the Brezhnev stay in the Middle East, the station will be there—”

  “Not so fast, Jas. You still don’t get it. I’m going to need someone special aboard California. Someone who has command experience and knows Armstrong’s SBR system. I can think of only one man who fits the bill.”

  “You want me?”

  “Hell, yes, I want you. As commander of the new SBR section you’ll oversee all operations, fleet integration and training for the new system. We’ll knock the stuffy old U.S. Navy kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, Jas.”

  Just then the loudspeaker clicked on. “Attention on deck. Admiral Clancy to the bridge. Admiral Clancy to the bridge.”

  “Got to go, Jas. I need your answer. Soonest. You’ve got to look over your new command and get ready for your new trainees in one month. Ann, you’re a wonder.... Please give my love to your mother.” He turned and trotted down the deck.

  “He’s a little bit crazy,” Ann said, smiling. “Well, do you think you could spend a few months at sea with a fifty-year-old kid?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Us.” He took her hand in his. “I’d love to go, you know that. But I want you, I want us to be together on this. We deserve it. You could go back to the station and—”

  “No.”

  “Ann, listen. Leaving Space Command won’t change anything. If they have plans to turn that station into an armed fort and Skybolt into an offensive as well as defensive weapon, just leaving won’t change that. It’s a cliche, okay, but you’ve got to work within the system, not outside it if you’re going to accomplish anything....”

  “What could I do? I wouldn’t have any effect on the big brass’s decisions—”

  “Maybe not right away, but you could sure as hell speak up. And they’d have to give some weight to your opinions.... After all, not all the bugs in the laser have been worked out yet. You’re still probably the only one around who really knows how Skybolt works....” He smiled. “At least I’d know Silver Tower was being well taken care of.”

  She moved closer to him. “I’d like to take care of you”

  “No problem. Clancy can spare me for a few days? We could take off, Acalpulco maybe, the Bahamas, Lake Tahoe—”

  “General.... I’ve been in space. Can’t we just—”

  “We can,” he said, taking hold of her arm and signaling to their driver.

  Ann was not coy. “Wherever we’re going, let’s hurry.” Saint-Michael leaned forward, instructed the driver, then settled back into her waiting arms.

&nbs
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