Turner looked over at Vance. "Can you squeeze this thing in through the airlock?"
"Tight, sir, but I think we can manage her."
For Geoff it was his first look at Concordia as they came up several kilometers off the starboard beam and lined up to swing in for a head-on approach into the landing bay. He felt his pulse quicken. The ship was beautiful, far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Her lines were sleek, white paint fresh and glimmering in the harsh sunlight. As they turned into final approach, he felt a tightening in his throat at the sight of the insignia of the Fleet, painted across the ship's bow. He had always felt an affinity for the emblem as far back as he could remember. But now it was different. They were at war, the first attack was boring in and this beautiful ship was the point of the javelin that must be hurled back to stop them.
"Hands off the stick, Geoff," Vance said quietly. Geoff released his hand from the stick and sat back to watch as Vance jockeyed Lazarus into alignment with the launch bay airlock. He gave a tap of vertical thrust to ease Lazarus down another meter and slipped through the airlock with less than half a meter clearance for the tail. Geoff could sense the tension on Vance's part. If he should screw up the approach and crack it up, they might very well block the launch port, which would most assuredly be a death sentence for the carrier.
Vance pivoted Lazarus forty-five degrees, clearing the launch bay, and nudged Lazarus in between two personnel transports. It was Geoff's first view inside a fleet carrier. His only previous experience had been aboard the old training ship Schweinfurt, where he did his qualification landings for surface-to-space flight. The launch and deck area looked absolutely cavernous and swarmed with what appeared to be a madhouse of confusion. Flight crews were scrambling around a line of Wildcat fighters, loading them with fuel and armaments. He sensed that, though it might look like insanity, the crews were actually performing a well-choreographed drill.
Turner was already out of his seat, climbing over their passengers. Going aft he popped open the access hatch, while Geoff and Vance shut Lazarus down. Stepping down onto the deck of Concordia, Geoff saw Turner talking with the launch officer, clearly identifiable by his bright red baseball hat.
A young enlisted woman was summoned over and with her leading the way Turner took off again at a run.
Geoff looked over at Vance. "We'd better stick with him, we still might be useful."
The two took off after Turner, abandoning the thoroughly confused passengers who stood in a silent knot. Going through a double row of damage control doors, which a marine locked shut behind them, they sprinted to catch up to Turner as he raced up several flights of stairs, was cleared through another set of double doors by a marine guard, and finally reached the Combat Information Center in the center of the ship.
"Valeri, what's the latest?" Turner asked, coming up to the side of the lieutenant commander who was staring intently at a holo display field which filled the center of the room.
Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson stepped up close to the field, held up a hand control unit, and clicked it. Several hundred flashing red dots appeared on the screen with solid lines projecting from them, all the lines tracing in to a single intersect point.
"We have, at this moment over three hundred inbound strike craft, Commander, a mix of Kola class fighters and Gomora class heavy strike bombers. The first wave will hit our outer defense perimeter in twenty-seven minutes."
"They're moving damn fast," Vance interjected.
"Four of them slowed down in less than a minute to nail a light corvette that was halfway up to the jump point on a routine patrol. Just before we lost the ship they reported that all the strike craft had strap-on boosters."
"And the capital ships?" Turner asked.
She hit the hand control unit again and the holo field displayed an overhead projection of the system, showing McAuliffe and jump point Alpha. A tight red bundle of blips appeared near the jump point, with half a dozen blips strung out in line and moving down into the system.
"Five carriers, two battleships forward. They've got a stream of craft still coming through. Four more battleships, eight cruisers so far, and two heavy-assault transports."
"That's not the fleet we spotted," Turner said, looking back at Geoff and Vance. "This is the main strike right here. The other fleet must be hitting the Landreich like we figured."
Turner walked around the holo field and then turned to face Valeri.
"Are you the senior officer on board?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where's Captain Mifune?"
"Still down on McAuliffe, sir. Last report was that he commandeered a Hurricane, but traffic on Johnson Island is shot to hell. There was a bad crash on the primary runway. It'll be at least forty-five minutes before he gets up."
"Are the engines on-line?"
"We'll be up and running-" she hesitated and looked over at the engineering display," — in thirty-two minutes sir."
"Your orders from Captain Mifune?"
"Wait for his arrival. Admiral Long has ordered all ships to undock, but to stay inside the area of the orbital base shielding."
"Any other signal traffic?"
"We intercepted the translight burst from the CIC, sir. Also an encrypt from Rear Admiral Dayan's task force. They are approaching jump point Delta but are still nearly ten hours out."
"Dayan's coming? Thank God, what does she have?"
"Two wagons, and carrier Ark Royal, plus escorts."
"Damn," Turner whispered, "not enough by a long sight." He drew a deep breath. "Valeri, you were a damn good student of mine twelve years ago. You remember the Panama war game?"
She smiled and looked over at the holo field. "We've got it right here. They've got a shield-busting weapon, there's no mistake. Otherwise they wouldn't be attacking like this."
"I'll take the heat for this," Turner said quietly and then he drew himself up so that he was standing at attention. "Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson, by the power of Fleet Regulation Seventeen I am hereby taking command of this ship as the senior officer on board in a time of crisis."
A flicker of a smile creased Olson's features. She looked over at a chief petty officer who was standing by the main console.
"Chief, you have heard Commander Turner's orders. I acknowledge Commander Turner's authority and hereby relinquish command of Concordia. Note the time, Chief."
Geoff watched the formalized ritual as it was played out amidst the confusion of the bridge. There was but a momentary pause as the several dozen enlisted and commissioned personnel observed what was happening, then went back to their desperate effort to bring Concordia on-line.
Olson saluted, then handed over the holo field controller. Turner acknowledged the salute.
"How many personnel are not on board?"
"We have just over forty percent on board at this moment, sir."
"Pilots?"
"Twenty-nine out of eighty-three, sir."
Turner went over to the main board and looked around for a mike. The chief petty officer, as if sensing what the new captain wanted, unclipped one from the console and handed it to him.
"Switch me onto the main ship system," Turner asked, and the petty officer hit a button.
"This is Commander Turner speaking. I was on McAuliffe on special assignment from Admiral Banbridge. Those of you from the Academy might remember me." He hesitated, knowing the image he had for many as the woolly professor. To hell with classified information, and besides, it was twenty years ago. "I should add that, prior to that, I was commander of Marine Commando Six, so I do have combat experience."
He waited for several seconds, then pressed on. "As senior officer aboard I have formally taken command of this ship until such time as the executive officer or captain return on board. As you know, the Kilrathi have launched a sneak attack. In less than thirty minutes their fighters and bombers will hit the outer shield area. We have reason to believe they might have weapons capable of penetrating our shields."
He waited for what he had said to sink in.
"If we stay here, Concordia will be destroyed. We are therefore going to power this ship up, get out into open space, and fight this ship the way it was meant to be fought. I will be honest with you. We might not live through this day, but if we are fated to die, Concordia will go down fighting and we will take some of the bastards with us!"
Geoff could hear a defiant, angry cheer erupt in the ship, to be picked up by the personnel in the combat center.
"All pilots, man your planes, prepare for launch the moment we clear base shielding."
Turner clicked the mike off. There was a moment of silence and then the crew set back to their work.
"Richards, Tolwyn."
Turner motioned for them to come over. "Vance, head down to the flight deck. Grab a free plane."
Richards grinned, saluted and left the room.
Turner looked at Geoff as if weighing a decision.
"Have you ever handled a Wildcat?"
"Only in the simulator, sir."
Turner nodded. "I could use you here, son, but what do you want?"
Geoff took the information in. He knew that, even in the full simulator, his time was limited. The Fleet usually expected a minimum of five hundred hours of flight time on a Wildcat before they'd assign a new pilot to a combat wing. And yet, if he did stay here, a decision that no one would really question, he knew that he would question it for the rest of his life.
"I'd like to take a crack at the bastards, sir."
What looked like infinite sadness clouded Turner's features, and Geoff realized that the commander felt as if he was allowing yet another young man to go to certain death.
"A hell of a lot of good people are going to die today, sir," Geoff said. "I'll be in good company."
Turner could not reply. Rather than salute he extended his hand.
Geoff shook it, stepped back, saluted, then sprinted from the bridge.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mcauliffe
"My Lord, the leading edge of the strike should be closing now!"
The Crown Prince said nothing in reply. Speculative talk was a waste of breath at this moment. He realized that in the next hour he would either emerge as the greatest hunter in the history of the Empire, or would be dead by his own hand. He had felt such supreme confidence in his plan, and especially in this particular aspect, the strike to destroy the main base of the Confederation and the carrier fleet stationed there. Yet so much could go wrong, in fact had gone wrong. The loss of the carrier in the jump had deprived him of nearly a fifth of all his strike craft. Targets were being reassigned even as the attack went in, which was adding to the confusion. It was a crucial reserve that might affect plans after the attack.
Nargth was dragging his heels as well. The battleships were lagging behind, the admiral claiming that he wanted proper tactical formation. None of the strike wave craft were equipped with burst signal capability.
The two craft that were to go in without weapons to serve in that capacity were out, one lost on the destroyed carrier, the second one losing both engines right after launch. The time lag using sublight radio was now stretched out to nearly eight minutes and would not decrease until the battle was engaged and the carriers finally caught up. The delay could be crucial for redirecting attacks.
And yet… he watched as the latest translight scan appeared on the screen. All the ships were either docked or still inside the heavy shielding. Half a dozen were showing heat signatures from their engines but most of the rest were still cold. Intercepts of radio signals were coming in without any scrambling, revealing widespread panic.
The Crown Prince returned to his command chair and sat down to wait out the first and most crucial part of the attack.
Prince Ratha felt as if he was going to black out and closed his eyes, grunting for breath. His fighter shuddered and groaned with the strain as all engines fired in order to brake his high speed for the run down to the target. He opened his eyes again to scan his instruments and then up. His back was to the target area as the braking maneuver continued and he saw a flare of light as a fighter disintegrated from overstress, debris spraying out in a widening plume.
The first wave started to penetrate the planet's atmosphere and met no resistance. The next few seconds would decide…
Sergeant Major Manuel Ulandi stepped out of the headquarters building and, lighting another cigar, he looked up to the hills north of the city. Thirty years of discipline would not allow him to feel disgusted with an admiral who was his boss, but the feeling was pretty damn close to the surface. Command had totally broken down, with orders being shouted only to be countermanded a minute later, and then changed yet again. He heard the thunder of a flight of Hurricanes taking off and, looking over his shoulder, he saw them lifting up, banking and then streaking off westward, afterburners glowing. Sirens echoed from the town while, out on the flightline, a hysterical mob of personnel, cut off from their ships, swarmed around the transports. Thousands of others streamed towards the base of the skyhook tower and he shook his head.
"Poor bastards." He sighed. "They'll get caught when the Cats blow it."
A file of marines barged out of the headquarters, surrounding a Hurricane that had been pulled up to the door of the building. Ulandi watched as Admiral Long emerged, squeezing himself into the back seat of the Hurricane trainer. The pilot, already in his seat, pulled the canopy down and locked it. The Hurricane fired up and headed for the taxiway, weaving its way around the wreckage of several ships which had slammed into each other in the confusion. Without even waiting to gain the runway, the Hurricane went to afterburners, rumbling across a concrete apron then onto what passed for grass on this world and finally lifted off, going into a vertical climb.
A rolling peal of sonic booms rumbled across the sky and, shading his eyes, Ulandi saw a score of contrails tracing in from the west. The Hurricanes were now just glowing dots of light which disappeared from view as they punched through the shimmering waver of the shields. He could feel a crackling in the air as the shielding went up to maximum, the view on the other side distorting so that what lay beyond the base looked like a shimmering mirage. Any ship that hit the shield at high speed would be ripped to shreds. If it slowed subsonic speeds to make the transit, the defensive batteries would tear the target apart… at least, that's what the book said.
Through the shimmer he could see the mushroomlike spread of heavy shields activating over the reactors, which were buried deep in the mountains, one of them under Highcroft.
I bet the officers still stuck out there are crapping themselves, Ulandi thought with a grin.
Flashes of light ignited off to the west, one of them detonating with a brilliant white-hot intensity that caused Ulandi to turn away.
Nuke airburst he realized. Reaching up to his helmet, he snapped down his protective goggles and then turned back. Everything was dark for a moment except for the glowing point of light, which spread out and dissipated. The goggles gradually shifted so that, after several seconds, background light started to come back in, and then snapped back down as half a dozen more nukes lit up the sky.
Ulandi stepped back under the protective shelter of the doorway. Ground defense was kicking up and he could feel the rumbling in the soles of his feet as the batteries on the other side of the shield fired off a barrage.
"Sergeant?"
A corporal, one of the headquarters MPs, was beside him, crouched down low.
"Just watching the show."
"Everyone's heading down into the shelters, sergeant."
Ulandi smiled and took another puff on his cigar.
"Better get down there yourself-" he looked at her name tag," — Corporal Danner. I'll be along in a minute."
Another flare of light spread across the sky.
"Damn, what the hell was that?"
"Guess the Cats are using nukes to make sure they knock down our fighters and ground defenses."
"Serge
ant, we'll get cooked out here!"
"Shields will block most of the pulse, but you better go on inside, corporal."
The young woman looked at him nervously and then shrugged.
"Guess we're dead then anyhow," she whispered and didn't move.
The girl unclipped a handheld comm unit, clicked it on, and punched in a channel. Static hissed and crackled on the unit…
"Got ten, got ten bombers bearing two nine six, angels seventy-three, eight clicks outside shield… he's on my tail, get him off me…"
Ulandi half listened as the girl, trying to control the shaking of her hands, held the radio up. Another nuke popped off. Standing inside the shadow of the doorway, Ulandi saw the harsh white glare illuminate the city, which was outside the base shielding. A shockwave from one of the blasts swept across the town, shattering windows, collapsing some of the flimsier buildings. He wondered sadly if Four Dollar Suzie's was still up. Most likely old Suzie was pouring free drinks at the moment.
"The bombers are slowing down… get them, get them!"
One of the Javelin batteries on the far side of town kicked in, lancelike bolts tearing straight up into the sky, the rockets trailing fiery plumes of smoke as they sprinted towards the heavens. Other lines of fire erupted from nearly straight overhead, streaking down. Ulandi turned his back and pushed the girl up against the wall. There was another flash of light, this one far brighter.
"Javelin's down, nuke pulse…" the radio crackled, the words drowned out, then came clear again.
"What the hell… bombers have dropped ordnance, moving Mach 10…" There was a momentary pause. "The damn missiles, they're penetrating the shielding to the reactors! What the hell is going on, missiles have penetra…"
Ulandi felt the ground beneath his feet buckle and roll as half a dozen torpedoes, tipped with ground-penetrating nuclear warheads slammed into the reactors north of the base. The crackle in the air snapped off. Crouching down, he covered the girl's head and pulled her in tight. She started to sob and he felt as if, at that moment, he was holding his own little girl again, comforting her when the summer thunder rumbled in the night sky.
Action Stations w-6 Page 21