CHAPTER 3
In 2166, the days of summer were almost warm at the equator on Mars.
The warmth came from over a century of terraforming that released carbon dioxide from the ice and created greenhouse gases that warmed the planet as they built up the atmosphere. Rivers of water flowed as the ice melted. Chemical oxygen generators used perchlorate and metal oxides in the Martian soil to create a breathable atmosphere. With each passing day, Mars became home to a growing dynamic United Planet’s citizenry. To meet the daunting challenges, they worked and sacrificed for 687 days a year.
That summer, Gallant reported to the UP Space Academy on Mars. It was his first day. The first time he was on his own.
Looking across the academy yard from the main gate, he saw a tiny patch of cherished green lawn with manicured shrubbery in striking contrast to granite buildings and marble monuments. Symbols of history, both ancient and recent, stood to punctuate the hallowed nature of the institution. A few rare trees lining the walkways, casting long shadows.
A red-bricked walkway brought him toward a group of new arrivals. They greeted him and made him feel welcomed. Everything ahead of him might be uncertain, but for that one wonderful moment, he relished the achievement of just getting into the academy.
Soon, he stood among his fellow classmates taking the Oath of Office as an officer in the UP Space Force. He felt he belonged, despite his heritage. All he needed was a chance to prove it.
At least that was how Gallant was remembering it when he was awakened by a buzzing alarm over his head.
He had slept fitfully on the coffin-sized bunk-bed within his tiny cubicle quarters. His was the bottom bunk along the metal bulkhead. The cubicle also included two tiny storage lockers, one for his clothes and personal belongings, and the other, like its associated bed, was unoccupied.
He could hear others stirring outside. Like the other tiny midshipmen living spaces, his cubical opened into the midshipmen's common room where Gallant had met his shipmates the previous evening.
A virtual computer display popped up over his bunk.
“Attention Midshipman Gallant, you have fifteen minutes to complete your morning ablutions and dressing. Report to the Executive Officer (XO) at 0600 hours in office 3-250-0-Q.”
“Great,” he said in exasperation as he jumped out of bed. He felt the cold hard metal of the deck and quickly stepped into his slippers. He grabbed a towel, dashed through the common room and into the officer’s showers even before the computer's voice faded away.
The shower splashed icy water over his body for the prescribed thirty-second allotment. He recoiled as the cold permeated his flesh. A twenty-second antiseptic cleaner and a ten-second rinse followed.
Showered and shaved in four minutes, he stood before his own reflection in the mirror. It revealed a face possessing steely determination, but he couldn’t deny the inexperience of youth that lingered there as well.
He donned his uniform and jogged to find the XO’s office - his comm pin bleeping out a series of right and left turns as he navigated the corridors.
“Midshipman Henry Gallant, reporting as ordered, sir,” he said when he reached the XO’s open hatch.
A single word greeted him from within, “Enter.”
Commander Eddington, the Repulse’s XO, sat with his face buried in a virtual computer display. His entire office was cluttered with large and small pieces of broken or damaged equipment. In one corner, brand new parts of hardware in unspoiled packaging peaked out. A few pieces of uniform were also sprinkled in the mixture. Either the XO’s office was substituting for a garage, or he was moonlighting as the ship’s supply officer in his ‘spare’ time.
His pallid bloated face matched his oversized body. His ruffled hair and scraggy beard could have signified a muddled individual, but Gallant suspected they might be the product of a harried work schedule with frequent crises.
The XO looked up at the ship's chronometer, and sighed. He was apparently occupied with some issue of minor or major significances. It was hard to tell. Nevertheless, he put aside the problem to focus on Gallant.
He looked through the computer information, “Gallant ..., classes ..., grades ..., mmm..., flight training ..., fighter qualifications ..., fitness reports ..., harrumph.”
This went on for several minutes while Gallant remained at attention, trying to keep his 'eyes-in-the-boat'. He knew that letting his attention wander would draw a rebuke.
Finally, the XO sat back in his chair and picked up his coffee mug. Sipping the hot mixture, he said, “How did you get assigned to Repulse? Did you request this duty assignment for your two year space deployment?”
“No, sir. My three requested duty assignments were all for ships at Mars Station. I was told those positions were being filled by more qualified midshipmen, but that there was an opening for a replacement pilot with Jupiter Fleet. So, I sort of volunteered, sir.”
The XO almost choked on his drink. He spat, “Volunteered, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, your primary duty here will be fighter pilot, but we've a great deal more to offer you, training-wise. Since you qualified basic fighter trainers on Mars, you'll first re-qualify on our Eagle fighters over the next three weeks."
The XO spoke very fast, "Eagles are two-seaters, so that’s a change from the training craft you’re used to. As a pilot, you will fly and handle weapons. Your astrogator will plot and feed you course and speed maneuvers. In addition, the astrogator will handle engine and environmental monitoring. Of course, you will have overall command of the craft and bear full responsibility for its performance."
The XO paused, and then said, "Once you complete re-qual, you’ll begin advanced flight instruction and prepare for your final flight exams in three months.”
"Aye, aye, sir.”
“Give me your comm pin. I’ll code you into a wireless connection for the ship’s library. It includes operational, technical, and repair manuals. It also provides course instructions and exams."
Gallant gave him his pin.
"You will complete all the online instructions and simulations. You will take the AI administered exams on the schedule it lays out. That covers your flight training. In addition, you will qualify as a duty officer on this ship within six months. Mmm..., let’s see... ” He paused and looked over the ship’s roster. “We have enough Engineering Officers of the Watch (EOOW) currently, so you will qualify as Officer of the Deck (OOD) first. That means standing watches as Junior Officer of the Deck (JOOD) until you qualify to Conn the ship. Next year, you can complete your engineering training. Also, you will relieve Mr. Neumann as Communication Division Officer within two days. I hope you remember something of your training from school. Your leading petty officer is Chief Howard. He’s a good man. Let’s hope he can keep you out of serious trouble.”
“I uh ...,” Gallant had a stunned look on his face.
“You got a problem with any of that?” asked the XO with a raised eyebrow.
Gallant set his jaw and furrowed his brow, “NO SIR! I’m going to do just fine …, sir.”
The XO managed a small approving smile, “Let's hope so. Your additional collateral duties, to fill up your spare time, will be assigned later.”
"Aye aye, sir.”
“That’s all, you’re dismissed.”
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Midshipman Neumann spent all of thirty minutes turning the Communication Division over to Gallant. He quickly ran through the classified documents, equipment, and personnel files. He demonstrated the procedure for taking incoming messages, decrypting them and distributing them to the appropriate recipients. He explained how the internal ship communications interfaced with the Artificial Intelligence computers and personal comm pins. He took Gallant to the Combat Information Center (CIC) where radars, telescopes, communications, weapons, and data plots were collected, integrated and the intelligence analyzed.
“This is the division’s Leading Petty Offic
er, Chief Benjamin Howard. He’ll introduce you to the sixteen men in the division and give you a tour of CIC and the communication division’s spaces."
One look and Gallant could tell Howard was a seasoned veteran. The jaunty way he walked marked him as a man who had developed his ‘sea-legs’ navigating a varying gravity. His thinning brown-gray hair and a slight potbelly took nothing away from his immaculate uniform, well-creased trousers and mirror glossed shoes. The cluster of decorations on his chest delineated an illustrious career.
“I’m glad to meet you, Chief.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” came a reserved reply.
Impatiently, Neumann offered a tablet for electronic signature. It described the turnover status of critical elements of responsibility within the division.
Gallant began scanning it, but his gaze became riveted on the final column. His heart gave a jolt. It showed a perfect one-hundred percent operational readiness with zero outstanding deficiencies in any of the critical categories.
He looked directly into Neumann’s deadpan eyes. He knew what he should do; must do. Tempted, he took a deep breath. But he let the critical moment pass. He didn’t challenge Neumann's reported status for the division. Instead, he signed the tablet and returned it for countersignature.
Neumann signed and turned away smartly, marching rather than walking out of the compartment without further comment.
“Would you like a tour now, sir?” Howard asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yes, please.”
They prowled the Combat Information Center together, squinting under the glaring lights of the brain center of the battle cruiser.
Howard pointed, “Over there is the sensing equipment; including seven different types of active radars and four passive telescopes. On this side of the compartment is astrophysics and plotting. They compute the course and speed of contacts. Every object we track has a specific emission signature that we can identify. The spectrum of our emissions is strictly controlled. We restrict all electromagnetic emissions in order to prevent others from detecting and tracking us. Engineering plays a major role in controlling emission, but so does communication.”
Gallant was familiar with some of the detection arrays from his academy classes. The various active scanning radars were broken down by frequency and pulse rate. He recognized the optical telescope instrument controls, as well as the x-ray and gamma detection controls.
Howard waved, “Over here is the communication array, including both internal and external gear. The information flow we regulate is critical for command and control. One of our most clandestine communication devices is this burst transmitter. It emits a focused beam only the recipient can detect. We handle priority and action messages. The ultimate responsibility for carrying out action orders is the captain's, of course, but he knows where to come if any messages are lost or gabbled.”
“Speaking of responsibility, the turnover report showed classified files and messages at one-hundred percent integrity with zero deficiencies,” commented Gallant.
“That’s completely accurate. Our equipment can detect, decrypt and translate every letter of a message even at minimal signal strength. Our encryption and decoding equipment is the best and we have been meticulous in documenting our work.”
“The unclassified monitored message traffic was also marked one-hundred percent with no defects. Can you tell me how that is possible?”
“Even the best equipment has limitations. For unclassified monitoring of routine communication, we can keep almost perfect records.”
“Almost, but not one-hundred percent?”
“Well, if the signal is logged out before it has faded to the degradation level we do not have to account for it as lost information.”
“And Neumann was able to make that standard practice for the division?”
Howard shrugged.
"What about that decryption equipment that those two men are working. The turnover sheet showed one-hundred percent equipment operational with no deficiencies.”
Howard dropped his smile. “Haggman and Curtis are repairing the main long distance transmitter. That’s one of the things you should have asked Mr. Neumann, before signing the turnover.”
“True, but I’m asking you now.”
Howard’s face was a rampant contortion of conflict.
“Could you give me the unofficial version, Chief?” Gallant realized he was asking for a leap of trust, he hadn’t yet earned.
To his credit, Howard revealed, “Well, according to the captain’s standing orders, equipment malfunctions must be reported no later than noon each day. Mr. Neumann orders were that we do not report any equipment out of service until noon. Instead, he required us to drop everything and repair any faulty equipment immediately. That prevented placing it out of service on the central status report.”
“But that means others wouldn’t know they couldn’t depend on that equipment being available.”
Howard look troubled, but didn’t add anything.
“What about maintenance? Is everything perfectly on schedule with no deficiencies there too?”
“There are lots of demands throughout the ship, and equipment down for maintenance interferes with operations. Mr. Neumann found that there is a thirty day grace period for exceeding a maintenance due date, if parts have been placed on order. He believed in ordering plenty of spares, even if we have some on hand."
“How much of the equipment is actually behind their maintenance schedule, unofficially of course?"
“Eleven percent.”
“Wow,” Gallant gasped in amazement.
“It’s your division now, Mr. Gallant. What are your orders?” asked Howard, looking to take the measure of his new boss.
Gallant reflected for a few seconds, and then said, “Any equipment out of service will to be reported to CIC, immediately. It will remain there until it is fully tested and back on-line.”
A smile returned to Howard's lips.
“Also, you and I will work out a maintenance plan that will get us back on schedule as soon as possible, despite the inconvenience to normal operations.”
Chief Howard looked at Gallant with a sympathetic eye. “If you’re feeling a little overwhelmed just now, let me assure you, sir,” He wore an ear to ear grin, “it’ll get worse.” It seemed obvious that the man loved what he did.
Gallant hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision. He put on a questioning expression, “I’d appreciate any help you could give me, Chief.”
Howard said, “I’d be glad to help, any way I can.”
“Thank you, Chief. I'd appreciate that.”
“Okay. Let’s get started and I’ll show you how to keep things running without losing any action messages. That at least will keep the captain from shooting you right off the bat.”
Gallant knew he was going to like Chief Howard.
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By the end of the first week, Gallant was again standing in the XO’s office.
The XO thundered, "What are you doing with the Communication Division, Gallant? In one week you’ve logged more equipment out of service for repairs and maintenance then Mr. Neumann did in the six months he was division leader. And what’s up with the garbled messages at long distance. We never had that trouble before. Are you letting Chief Howard do his job?”
The XO’s admonishment worried him, but he held firm to his decision for running the division, “We are only conducting necessary maintenance and repairs, sir.”
The XO was livid. “I want you to live and breathe maintenance and repair until everything is back to peak efficiency, just like you found it. If not, I will have you relieved and your record will reflect this failure. Is that clear enough for you?”
Despite his concerns, Gallant kept his own counsel, and said, “Yes, sir.”
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The Eagle was a fighter of sleek elegance, lightning speed, and explosive power. Gallant smiled the moment he
laid eyes upon it. The slow, clunky, single-seat nuclear trainer he flew on Mars defied comparison. He began to appreciate that re-qualifying as a fighter pilot on this ship was going to be challenging.
The F-715 Eagle had twin anti-matter engines. It was an all-planets tactical fighter designed by Mars Douglas Corporation to gain and maintain combat superiority against any comparable spacecraft. Fully combat-ready, it included an anti-missile missile (AMM-3 called Mongoose) designed for defense against incoming ballistic missiles. In addition, it had a 1.21 GigaWatt (GW) xenon-argon pulsed laser cannon.
The F-715 was sixty-six feet long, twenty-four feet high, with a wing span of thirty-six feet. Fully loaded and armed it weighed twenty eight tons. Its power plant consisted of two anti-proton nuclear fission engines capable of 0.01c for short periods and 0.004c for sustained travel. It had a titanium honeycomb fuselage with a shoulder cantilever wing. The fuselage, fins, and thrusters were made of similar material and covered by a carbon composite skin. It could detect and track spacecraft and small high-speed meteorites at great distances with unprecedented accuracy.
The pilot and his astrogator sat in tandem with the pilot in the forward seat. There was sufficient room for the crew to stand and maneuver within the cockpit, albeit with grueling effort. In addition, a small bunk bed was crammed under the crew’s seats for rest during extended flights. The remainder of the craft was occupied by engines, equipment, and supplies.
Midshipman Sandy Barrington was assigned by the XO as his flight instructor for re-qual. Thin, nervous, with exaggerated lines around her mouth she was a young woman who took her daily life very seriously. She was an expert pilot and was intent on demonstrating the Eagle's capabilities to Gallant in detail. She allowed him to get the feel of flying the fighter under her guidance.
Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space (The Henry Gallant Saga) Page 2