Strike Battleship Engineers (The Ithis Campaign Book 2)

by Shane Lochlann Black

  “Injectors aligned! Maximum yields! Coolant sink on standby condition green! Chamber temperature two eight zero degrees and climbing! Plasma barrier in sixty seconds!” Dempsey shouted. The sound of millions of cubic feet of coolant accelerating through the overhead conduits caused the deck to vibrate gently. Then the vibrations began to intensify.

  “Stand by to activate ignition sequencer! On my mark! Five! Four! Three! Two!”

  Dempsey clamped both gloved hands on the two-inch-thick bar switch at the top of his panel. It was surrounded by so many warning signs he prayed he was performing the correct procedure. He felt like his heart and several ribs were about to climb into his throat. The roar of the cooling system didn’t help. He heard Chief Brogan shout “One!” and pulled with all his strength. There was a metal-on-metal groan and then the switch slid into the down position with a mighty thump.

  Red LEDs activated around the top edge of all the control mechanisms. A klaxon sounded. The LEDs began to slide in a pattern around the circular reaction chamber. Light bathed the four-story-tall number four painted on the aft bulkhead in an ominous crimson glow.

  “Chamber temperature now three four one zero degrees and rising!” Dempsey shouted. It was on his screen in yellow, so he reported it. Three thousand degrees sounded like something out of a science-fiction story, but marine corporals weren’t paid to think. They were paid to follow the orders of Senior Crew Chiefs when it came to the ship and these finicky expensive machines that kept them running. Skywatch policy for starship non-commissioned marines was fairly simple. If it moves, salute it. If it doesn’t move, pick it up. If you can’t pick it up, paint it.

  “HA-HAAAAA!” Brogan shouted. “Fire in the hole!” A moment after the Chief’s voice echoed through the chamber just loud enough to be heard over the coolant roar, a deep resonant buzz filled the metal floor with a powerful vibration. The power readings on Brogan’s console suddenly jumped to life and he punched the reactor comm station channel control.

  “Engineering to bridge!”

  A pause.

  “Go ahead Chief!” Ensign Grant shouted, trying to make himself heard over the thunder of the cooling systems he could hear in his own headset.

  “Transfer all power to reactor control! Stand by to engage the mains!”

  Grant hurried to the bridge engineering station and quickly authorized the correct series of power transfers. “Affirmative Chief! Reactor control at the engineer’s command!”

  Brogan’s face was lit by the command display’s message as it conveyed total control of the entire ship’s power grid to a single console. He reverently let his fingers rest on the keyboard. All of the vessel’s command and control mechanisms were now accessible from his station. He carefully directed reactor four’s energy output to energize the reaction containment field.

  “Bridge! Engineering! Main power now at zero point two percent capacity and climbing! Argent is hot! Request permission to cold start reactor five!”

  “You are go, engineering! Mains engaged! Take us to fifteen percent as quickly as you can!”

  Brogan proudly walked over to the mass control bank. Corporal Dempsey was wide-eyed and looked as if he had just escaped a burning building.

  “Congratulations, corporal.” Brogan shook Dempsey’s hand. “You just turned the key and started a battleship.”

  Twenty-Four

  Kilo Alpha Three rolled out of the Sarn formation and attempted a textbook evasive peel, but wasn’t prepared for the other Skywatch ships. Black Seven came screaming in on Three’s starboard edge. Her wings were raised like a belligerent sand crab, weapons glowing with barely restrained destructive energy. Behind the angry-looking little gunship loomed the guns of the escort frigate Minstrel.

  “Dominique, how come there’s a big red three on the screen?”

  “Please specify readout identifier, Commander. Each is labeled underneath the console control section.”

  “Oh, it says tac-a-til display ‘leven.”

  “Tactical display eleven is tracking the position of inbound contact Kilowatt Alpha Three.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kilowatt Alpha Three is a Sarn Agitator-class interceptor destroyer with primary type four energy mounts forward and an enhanced point defense battery aft. She displaces approximately 40,000 tons with a crew of 105 officers and men.”

  “Are they bad guys?”

  “Kilowatt Alpha Three is designated a hostile contact with 98.4% confidence.”

  “Can we fight them?”

  “Affirmative, Commander.”

  Aibreann began to perform her own combat readiness procedure, which consisted of making sure Boots was on her left side and Checkers was at her right. She straightened her oversized helmet as best she could, but it kept slipping down over her eyes.

  She still couldn’t see anything clearly outside Black Seven’s forward viewports, so she grabbed the controls of Black Seven and started turning the maneuvering bar back and forth. Fortunately for her, the gunship was still under the primary autosystems’ control. She hadn’t made the mistake of disengaging the battle computer, mainly because she didn’t know how and likely wouldn’t do so even if she did. She liked talking to Dominique too much. So for the time being, Black Seven at least looked like it was crewed and battle-ready.

  It was all scant consolation for destroyer number three. Its captain would later undoubtedly receive commendation for being the only commander in the attack force well-prepared enough to actually engage the Skywatch formation, such as it was. The only problem was the Sarn weren’t all that well-acquainted with Tarantula-Hawk technology.

  Black Seven’s panic reactors went into full overload configuration. The ferocious little gunship’s forward battle screens amplified to the point where they were easily equivalent to a cruiser’s defenses. For a ship this small, such energy loads couldn’t be maintained for long, but the key to gunship combat was knowing when and where to focus the first power burst. It was the T-Hawk way: Start no fight before your opponent has been punched in the mouth at least once.

  Kilo Alpha Three opened up with her entire four-gun main battery. Under normal circumstances, the disruptive energy of Sarn anti-ship weapons would do considerable damage to a full-sized starship. White-hot beams of explosive plasma flashed through space and slammed into the oncoming forward section of Black Seven. A strobing deflection blast lit up space for a thousand miles.

  The gunship tumbled out of its attack run and spun past destroyer three, forward screens fighting on the one hand to turn aside the enemy firepower and on the other hand to contain and absorb as much of the energy as possible to channel into its own reactors.

  Aibreann clutched Boots and Checkers tightly and shrieked. The entire universe turned into a spinning, tumbling roar. Overload alarms went off all over the board, and the reddish glow of the gunship’s battle alert filled the inside of the cabin.

  “Dominique! What’s happening?!” A coolant junction burst in the aft section, filling the interior of the ship with a deafening hiss. Aibreann held on to her helmet with both hands and screamed again, but the sound of her voice was overwhelmed by the blast of escaping superheated vapor.

  The command computer did not answer, as the entire vessel’s operational capacity was working on the problem of avoiding a second hit from the destroyer’s main guns. The battle computer’s suggested course of action overrode the rest of the options, as expected. After all, Black Seven was anything but a cargo shuttle. Fortunately for everyone involved, it turned out Aibreann’s constant outdoor adventures, climbing, exploring and running around had unexpectedly prepared her for the next maneuver.

  The gunship’s main engines surged to 140% of their rated power just long enough to right the spinning vessel’s navigational orientation. Somehow, Aibreann managed to survive the resulting 7G turn without losing consciousness. The new heading gave Black Seven a magnificent five-point weapons lock on Kilo Alpha Three’s dorsal hull. The battle computer was just ab
out to request a firing order when the not-quite-ten-years-old command pilot unexpectedly shouted, clutching her plush animals.

  “Get ‘em Dominique! Get ‘em!”

  The battle computer interpreted Aibreann’s outburst as a firing order. It instantly deactivated the safety protocols and set the gunship to weapons-free. Less than a second later, Black Seven opened up on the attacking Sarn destroyer.

  Electromagnetic shields flashed and burned with arcing plasma energy as the angry little gunship’s brawler cannons tore gash after gash in the destroyer’s battle screens. The Sarn warship’s hull lurched and shook with the punishment until it finally roared out of range directly into the path of DSS Minstrel .

  Meanwhile, aboard the Skywatch frigate, Hollis Meier was firmly ensconced at his own conn with his battle harness fastened and more than a little perspiration visible across his forehead.

  “Kilo Alpha Three is on an intercept course. Estimated time to weapons range 48 seconds.”

  While he was a more than capable executive officer, serving in the shadow of one of Skywatch’s most promising young skippers came with more than its share of challenges. Rebecca Islington was a shoot-from-the-hip captain with a sheaf of accomplishments to show for it. She was also a lethal and unpredictable space combatant and she knew her ship backwards and forwards.

  Lieutenant Meier, on the other hand, was a personnel and training specialist. He knew his job well, but Lord Nelson he wasn’t. Under his command, Minstrel would acquit herself adequately, but there would be no flourishes, doffs of a hat or roses cast into the arena after the victory.

  “Re-verify our range to target.”

  “Inbound contact range now 130000 miles and closing on oblique course.”

  “Signals, raise Argent on priority frequency,” Meier said as he pulled up the course information for Black Seven.

  “Channel open and you are patched in.”

  “Captain, any chance you can remotely pilot the gunship out of our command area? Minstrel can’t maneuver if we have to bring it inside our missile screen.” Meier spoke as he tried to configure access to the fleetwide battle computer.

  “I’m sure it can be done, XO, but unfortunately there’s nobody present on the bridge with the knowledge. Cal’s never worked with a gunship wing before. Lieutenant Tixia could do it, but frankly I’d rather have her where she is.”

  “Can Lieutenant Tixia advise?”

  The channel clicked.

  “Affirmative, Mr. Meier,” Zony said. “But I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. I’ll defer to the Captain.”

  “With all due respect, Lieutenant, you can’t defer to the Captain. She can’t take command of Argent, and you can’t relinquish command of Argent. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it by the book,” Meier said. “We have a civilian in Sarn energy weapons range.”

  “As you were, XO. This isn’t the time,” Islington replied.

  “Ma’am, you and I both know–”

  “Mr. Meier,” Zony interrupted. “I’m not sure what all the protocol details here are, but at best I’m about eighth in line to command Argent, and I’m not aboard. Until we have orders otherwise, regardless of my regulation precedence I’m going to defer to the only one of us lieutenants qualified to be addressed as captain. Fair enough?”

  There was a tense moment of hesitation as all three Skywatch officers watched the tactical track of hostile contact Kilo Alpha Three bear down on Minstrel .

  “Fair enough, lieutenant. I don’t have any special understanding of the regs. I just don’t want to end this little war standing tall in a room full of admirals. Minstrel out.”

  The frigate’s bridge crew sat tense, waiting for orders.

  “Alright tactical. Plot us an evasive course port side three three one mark two niner zero. Sound battle stations missile. Stand by the mains. All ahead attack speed.”

  “Aye, sir,” The bridge lights shifted red as the action rigs activated the alert klaxon signaling a change in battle configurations. “Coming about to new course three three one mark two niner zero. Helm answering all ahead attack speed.”

  Hollis gritted his teeth. He should have coordinated his run with the gunship’s, but without battlespace telemetry there was no way to synchronize the frigate’s systems with those of the Argent gunship, and talking a civilian through the procedure would be impossible even if he had the time. It was all the more disconcerting to be flying into battle with such a massive advantage in tonnage and a simultaneously massive disadvantage in firepower.

  But, advantage or not, Lieutenant Hollis Meier had a civilian to protect and a command to preserve, to say nothing of protecting the largely abandoned irreplaceable leviathan in orbit behind him.

  As the agile little frigate veered out of the destroyer’s optimum firing envelope, the Sarn ship decelerated and banked into a new course to pursue. Fortunately for the crew of the Minstrel , this was exactly what their ship was designed for: Evading nose-to-nose engagements while pouring anti-ship missiles into an attacker’s teeth.

  “Report weapons status!”

  “Missile stations report weapons banks one through four armed and standing by!”

  Meier checked his sideconn for possible electronic obstacles before entering the authorization for a standard attack pattern.

  “Jettison launch! Aft missiles two and three!”

  The second watch tactical officer locked waveforms and released control to the firing sequencer. Four “Phantom” TOG anti-ship missiles were blasted into space by each of two aft rotary launchers. Each bird went into sprint mode and screamed into space on a bluish-white trail of chemical energy. The destroyer’s forward point defense came to life like a stadium full of flash photography, pouring destructive energy bolts into the path of the oncoming missiles. Seven birds were ripped out of space by ugly explosions. The eighth punched the destroyer’s forward shield with enough explosive energy to rock the entire ship. Internal fires initially caused by the gunship’s attack re-ignited in the destroyer’s dorsal weapons array. The sleek vessel started trailing plasma again as it banked port to try and close range with the dodging escort frigate.

  Twenty-Four

  Senior Lieutenant Rebecca Islington recognized she was out of time. She only had eight percent power from a single reactor, but it was going to have to do. She took the pilot’s station on Argent’s bridge. She expertly fastened her six-point harness and pulled up the ship’s maneuvering overlay. Then she activated her commlink.

  “Alright, Brogan, it’s you and me. We need to get Argent in the fight. Does the conn have main power at command?”

  “Affirmative, bridge. You’re going to need to get us to 40 degrees starboard delta and synchronize engines one, two, seven and eight. If you overshoot, we’re going to catch the edge of the atmosphere on our starboard quarter and lose a flight deck. If you under-maneuver, we go down nose first, but that’s only if we stay in one piece.”

  “Acknowledged, engineer. It’s been a while, but I’ve had my moments at the wheel. Stand by to transfer all power to engines.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Just remember flying this thing is like kicking whales down the beach. If you turn the wheel, she’ll get around to it next Tuesday.”

  “I’m going to leave power levels and vectors to you. Give me some kind of clock so I know when to break range and bank us to bearings-level flight. Stand by on priority intraship.”

  Captain Islington shook her hands to relieve the tension in her wrists and fingers, and then she took Argent’s controls, throttle in her left hand and the manual navigation bar in her right.

  “Cal, you watch our deflectors. If feedback energy breaks ten percent, that means we’re cutting atmosphere. Give me the count and stay with it!”

  “Aye, ma’am! Navigational deflectors to maximum! We are cleared for manual flight mode!” Cal grabbed the edges of his own console, anticipating what was about to happen. Under normal procedures, autosystems would pull heavy or superheavy vessels out of
orbit due to the precision synchronization necessary. This time, it was going to be done by two officers and an engineering chief separated by thirty decks.

  “Breakaway course starboard! Vectoring zero four zero relative! All ahead full!”

  The immensity of the power that surged into the structure of Argent’s decks and bulkheads was almost more than Captain Islington was prepared for. She knew every sound her own ship could make. The almost seismic subsonic resonance was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her entire body shuddered.

  As the engines were filled with practically the entirety of reactor four’s power, battleship hull 740 started to overfly its orbit. Captain Islington waited until her relative forward velocity was enough to overcome the first inertial push. She held the throttle tightly, drawing more and more energy from the mighty vessel’s port-side engines.

  “Watch that coolant flow, corporal!” Brogan shouted across the auxiliary control bay. “If it drops too much it means turbulence in the transfer mechanisms. We’ve got no heat sink capacity left in this thing at all so we can’t miss our numbers!”

  “Affirmative, Chief!” Dempsey yelled back. He sort of understood some of what Brogan had shouted. It was amazing what a completely untrained combat marine could learn in a half-hour at a reactor mass control console.

  Islington held on to the controls like she was trying to tame a mustang. “Report tactical!”

  “Feedback now zero point seven and holding!”

  Islington decided not to wait. She banked Argent’s starboard edge and watched the readout. Two degrees. Three.

  “Reverse starboard engines! One percent per clock second!”

  “Affirmative, bridge! You’ve got it!” Brogan shouted. The sound of the coolant roaring through the connector deck at supersonic speeds made him feel like he was in a fusion-powered hurricane. He held on to the electronic shielding cage doorway near the auxiliary power controls to ride out the captain’s breakaway maneuver.