“Very well.” Max was exceptionally relieved to have the men back on board. He was also very, very pleased to have possession of the Krag assault shuttle. Not only was the craft essential to Max’s plan B for killing Admiral Birch; there were uncounted ways Max could think of to use the vehicle to make mischief for the Krag. Just contemplating the first three or four made him smile wolfishly.
“Skipper, receiving hardwired voice comms from the Nicholas Appert,” Chin announced. A comm interface in the docking mechanism provided intercept-proof hardwired communications between any two docked ships, so long as their port architecture and comms protocols were compatible, a given in the case of Union naval vessels. “Captain Anderssen sends his compliments, thanks you for the damage-control teams we sent over, and reports that the docking hatch blown by the Krag has been sealed with a static deck plate. Full outer hull and compartment airtight integrity are restored.”
“Outstanding. Reply to Captain Anderssen with my compliments and pass along the following orders: He is to notify us the moment the Krag grappling field fails—we will undock from him as soon as that happens. Our damage-control teams are to stay on board the tender for now—we’ll retrieve them later. Once we’ve taken up a position about 50,000 kilometers off his beam, we will signal CLEAR TO MANEUVER by laser semaphore. At that time he is to undock from the Krag ship, execute a standard breakaway maneuver, and accelerate at best speed toward this system’s Charlie jump point. If he should happen to reach it before us, he is not, repeat NOT, to jump, but to go to station keeping, monitor the situation, and await further instructions. If the Cumberland becomes a casualty, he is to jump through the Charlie jump point, report our destruction to Admiral Hornmeyer, and return to base. In no event is he to attempt any rescue or defense of this vessel. Make sure he understands that last part.”
Chin acknowledged the order and began speaking over his headset with his counterpart on the tender. Max caught the eye of the CIC midshipman and pointed to his coffee mug.
While Gilbertson, who had just relieved Hewlett, was performing the holy act of preparing the skipper’s sacred coffee in the manner of a priest of Apollo preparing a temple sacrifice, Dr. Sahin entered CIC and took his accustomed seat at Max’s left. He had come to CIC as soon as it was clear that there were no injuries for him to treat. He wanted coffee, but knew better than to ask while Gilbertson was performing his ritual devotions. And of course, he dared not walk over and pour his own. Long-sanctified naval custom dictated that ships’ surgeons never pour their own coffee while the vessel is under way—perhaps to prevent hot-coffee-spill injuries to their hands.
There had been barely enough time for Gilbertson to get Max a fresh cup of coffee and for the skipper to take his first sip before Chin suddenly pressed a key on his console and cocked his head slightly to the left. Knowing what that meant, Max was already giving the communications officer his full attention when he began speaking.
“Skipper, the Nicholas Appert has got most of its sensors back online. Their sensors/tactical officer reports that the Krag grappling field just failed. His opinion is that this is a genuine systems failure, and there are what appear to be numerous other systems failures on board the enemy vessel—I’m posting them on the Enemy Status Display.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chin. Alert the tender that we are undocking at this time,” said Max. “XO, undock us from the tender.”
This order and what followed illustrated starkly how different the reality of naval service was from the way it was portrayed in fiction. In every popular trid-vid drama about the Great Krag War, the steely-eyed, jut-jawed, rippling pectoraled, doe-eyed-lass-in-every-port skipper personally directed every maneuver of the gleaming warship and every action of its razor-sharp crew, issuing endless, minutely specific orders governing the smallest detail of even the most routine matters. By contrast, on the Cumberland, Max routinely delegated control of important but routine maneuvers to young officers, from DeCosta all the way down to the greenest ensign. The navy recognized and Max knew from his own experience that officers simply can’t learn in a simulator how to do what any one of them might have to do at any moment—take the con in an emergency or command the ship on his own. When a man makes a mistake in the simulator, he can hit RESET and correct on the next run. On a real ship, men have to live with their mistakes, if they are lucky enough to live through them.
“Aye, sir, undock the ship.” DeCosta knew this procedure by heart. Nevertheless, he pulled the checklist up on his console. Undocking was such a critical maneuver with so much potential for so many kinds of horrific disasters that regulations required the officer conducting the operation not only to follow in the most rigorous fashion a checklist from Norfolk, but also for that officer to check off on a computer screen that he has completed each step in turn before he can proceed to the next. Those same regulations required that the Officer of the Deck (or another officer if the OOD was the one doing the undocking)—in this case Mr. Levy—follow the checklist from his own station and call a stop to the procedure if any step were to be skipped or completed unsatisfactorily.
“SYSO, confirm that all inner and outer hatches are closed and safed.”
Chief Beaumont, the man at the System Operations console, flicked a few switches, stared fixedly for a few seconds at a bank of lights, and scrolled through several real-time visuals of hatches around the ship. “All inner and outer hatches confirmed closed and safed by auto-annunciation, by lights, and by visual feed.”
“Very well,” responded the XO. “Confirm that all conduits, lines, and vents are closed and shuttered.”
“Closed and shuttered, sir. All conduits, lines, and vents confirmed as closed by pressure testing. Auto-annunciation and visual feeds show them as shuttered. I have a straight board.”
“Very well. Confirm that there are no lines to the other vessel.”
Beaumont flicked a switch, spoke quietly into his headset, and listened to the reply. “Voice confirmation from the line handlers. Based on the traverse board and visual inspection, line-handling crew reports that there are no lines to the other vessel.”
“Acknowledged. Maneuvering, inertial attitude control to ready.”
LeBlanc turned a rotary selector switch on his console from STANDBY to READY, and the system’s status light went from red to amber. He checked an RPM readout that showed that the system was spun up. “Inertial attitude control system shows ready, sir.”
“Very well. SYSO, retract the docking clamps.”
Beaumont touched a key. A faint screech-thump communicated itself through the hull as the clamps slid out of their matching slots on the other ship and locked into their retracted configuration. Beaumont’s docking clamp indicator light for that hatch progressed from red for CONTACT/LOCKED to yellow for CONTACT/UNLOCKED to green for RETRACTED. He checked a video feed that confirmed visually that the Cumberland was no longer physically joined to the Nicholas Appert. “Docking clamps retracted.”
“Understood. Weapons, null the grappling field.”
Levy hit the key near which his finger had been hovering. Half a second later, an indicator light changed from blue for ENGAGED to green for READY. “Grappling field nulled.”
LeBlanc’s displays indicated that the Cumberland was drifting slightly relative to the tender. “My instruments show that we are free of external restraints, sir.”
“Very well. Maneuvering, engage inertial attitude control. Maintain current attitude on all axes.” LeBlanc acknowledged the order and turned the selector to ENGAGED. A second later the status light changed from amber for READY to green for ENGAGED, meaning that the computer was now directing the inertial system’s rapidly spinning flywheels in response to changes in the ship’s attitude as detected by the inertial measuring units and as commanded by the maneuvering controls.
“Inertial attitude control engaged.” Pause. About two seconds later, LeBlanc scrutinized his displays. “System is responding and providing three-axis attitude control. Ship is stable
.”
“Very well,” said DeCosta. “Bring the fine trim maneuvering thrusters online.”
LeBlanc pressed the key that activated that system. “Fine trim maneuvering thrusters online.”
“Sir,” said DeCosta to Max, “we are undocked from the tender and are ready to maneuver at your order.”
“Well done, XO.” During the procedure Max had apparently been scrutinizing several engineering status displays, while his mind was actually devoted to careful monitoring of DeCosta’s handling of the undocking maneuver. The young XO had done well. “Maneuvering, gently pull us away from the tender and take us straight away from her on her x-axis. Take up station keeping 61,443 meters off her beam, taking care to keep the tender between us and the Krag vessel at all times. I don’t want Mr. Whiskers to see us yet.”
“Aye, sir,” LeBlanc responded, “gentle separation—no scorching of the tender—61,443 meters in relative X.” First by controlling the relevant systems directly from his console, and then with expertly crafted orders to the men at the Yaw, Roll, and Drives consoles, LeBlanc directed the fine trim maneuvering thrusters, then the standard maneuvering thrusters, and finally the main sublight drive to position the Cumberland 61,443 meters off the Nicholas Appert’s beam.
“Station-keeping at the designated location, Skipper,” LeBlanc announced.
“Very well.” Max turned to Levy. “Gentlemen, my intention is to engage and destroy Hotel one using the POWER RUN maneuver. Discussion?” Silence. “Questions?” More silence. “All sections, configure your systems appropriately and give the XO a green light when ready.”
While the CIC personnel were executing that last order, Bram turned to Max. “Power run maneuver? I’ve not heard of that one. Are we going to deplete the enemy’s energy reserves and then retreat?”
Max shook his head almost imperceptibly. The stunning juxtaposition of the glittering peaks of his friend’s brilliance with the black chasms of his ignorance never ceased to amaze. “No. It’s a battle maneuver that works just like the power run play in American football.” Bram regarded him with an expression of total incomprehension. “Power run. You know, the play where the quarterback hands off to the tailback while the fullback and one of the offensive guards run blocks into basically the same point in the defensive line. Then the tailback reads the blocks, exploits the opening, and . . .” The doctor’s eyes had taken on a certain glazed appearance. “Never mind. I forgot that you don’t know anything about the game.”
“And I don’t care to,” Bram replied with a hint of superiority. “From what I’ve seen, it seems to be comprised of nothing but two moderately sized groups of very large men grunting and straining and colliding with one another at high speed. I don’t see the point.”
“You wouldn’t,” Max said. “Of all the professional team sports, that’s the one that is most like war.”
“All the more reason . . .”
“Skipper,” DeCosta interrupted the doctor, “all sections report ready.”
“Very well,” said Max. “Weapons, status on missile tubes one and two.”
“Sir, tubes one and two are loaded with Talons, launch coils on standby, missile doors closed,” Levy rattled off eagerly. “Status of both missiles: drives are enabled, warhead safeties are released. Warheads are not armed. Targets are not designated at this time.”
“Very well. Designating target for both missiles as Krag destroyer off our bow. Attack pattern is POWER RUN. Variant: DISCOVERED CHECK. Set both tubes for minimum launch speed. And to make absolutely, positively, totally, for damn sure that the missiles will not under any circumstances hit the tender, instruct both seeker heads to ignore any target with a mass in excess of 65,000 tons. Set both warheads for maximum yield.”
Levy acknowledged the orders, punched in the commands, and then began working on some apparently intricate task at his console.
“Oh, Levy?”
“Sir?”
“I want you—and I mean you, personally—to verify sequencing instructions on those missiles. Don’t rely on the ship’s computer to address the weapons’ sequencer. I want you to tie your console directly into the missile sequencers and check the control codes yourself. Do it twice, and let me know when you’re finished. The trajectory of those missiles will be very close to the Nicholas Appert, and I want to take every conceivable precaution to make certain that the missiles ignore her. Admiral Hornmeyer might take umbrage if we accidentally nuke his brand-spanking-new tender.”
“Not to mention that some of our own people are still aboard her, if I am not mistaken,” said Sahin.
“True,” Max said blandly. “There is that.”
Bram leaned toward Max to rebuke him for his callous attitude toward the lives of his shipmates—until the look on the skipper’s face told him that Max was speaking in jest.
“Already on it, Skipper,” Levy responded, ignoring the byplay. “I don’t think I can afford to have the admiral deduct the cost of a new tender out of my paycheck. I’m reading the machine code on the first missile’s sequencer right now.”
“Good man, Levy. Way to stay on top of things. Remember me when you make admiral.” Max was only half joking—it was not out of the question that a young officer as sharp as Levy might someday hoist his flag.
“You’ll be my favorite battleship commander, sir,” Levy said, smiling—not at the thought of being an admiral himself, an idea that he found extremely intimidating given his own limited experience, but at the chaos and devastation he imagined Battleship Captain Max Robichaux would inflict upon the enemy.
After about two minutes of furious activity at his console, Levy announced, “Missile programming complete. I personally checked flight and target acquisition sequencing at the machine code level by direct processor access.”
“Very well,” Max said. “And good job, Levy. Mr. Chin, signal the tender by laser semaphore, CLEAR TO MANEUVER.”
“CLEAR TO MANEUVER, aye, sir.” Chin hit the key on his console that executed the programmed coded light sequence from the Cumberland’s ten-watt signal laser. About five seconds later, as could be seen from several displays around CIC, the tender’s signal laser blinked three times.
“Tender acknowledges, sir.”
“Very well. Weapons, this is a nuclear weapons arming order. Abbreviated firing procedure. Make missile tubes one and two ready for firing in all respects.”
“Aye, sir, abbreviated firing procedure. Nuclear weapons arming order acknowledged. Making tube one and tube two ready for firing in all respects.” Five seconds later, “Missile tubes one and two: outer doors confirmed open and tubes visually confirmed as clear, launch coils at READY, missile drives energized, warheads armed and set for maximum yield, seeker heads activated.”
“Very well.”
“Maneuvering thruster activity from the tender, sir,” said Bartoli from Tactical. “She appears to be executing her breakaway maneuver from Hotel one.” A few seconds later, “Breakaway complete. She’s engaging her main sublight drive.” Pause. “Starting to pull away from the enemy ship.” Pause. “She’s clear—we have a direct line of sight to Hotel one. No sign of the enemy’s having spotted us through the tender’s drive exhaust.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bartoli,” said Max. “This is a nuclear weapons firing order. Weapons, fire tubes one and two. Reload both tubes with Talons.”
“Nuclear weapons firing order acknowledged. Firing one and two.” Levy hit the two FIRE buttons half a second apart. The men in CIC felt the launches as two hard, thudding jolts through the deck plates. “Tubes one and two fired.” After a second, “Both missiles running hot, straight, and normal.” Following the detailed attack profile painstakingly input and checked by Mr. Levy, the pair of weapons traveled in line ahead formation, half a second apart, at their slowest, most stealthy speed, straight for the plume of searingly hot and nearly sensor-opaque plasma being expelled from the tender’s main sublight drive. The missiles made for a point in the exhaust about 2500 meters aft
of the tender, where the tender’s drive plume was hot and bright enough to ensure that the enemy would not detect the weapons but not so hot that they would be destroyed during their brief passage. Once through, the first missile acquired the enemy ship and turned toward it, with the second missile, still a half second behind it, hard on its tail.
Even though the enemy destroyer did not detect the first missile until it had cleared the tender’s drive plume, that brief warning was still long enough for the Krag vessel’s most nimble point-defense systems to engage the missile. A particle-beam weapon rapidly slewed itself into alignment and transmitted a low-power aiming pulse to generate a lock. Once the pulse bounced back from the target, the weapon automatically began its two-microsecond-long firing sequence, which would culminate in unleashing a particle beam that would turn the missile into a ball of incandescent vapor. Only two microseconds.
One point four microseconds too slow.
The Talon’s sensor/computer suite detected the aiming pulse, recognized it as a harbinger of its own destruction, and detonated the weapon, unleashing 150 kilotons of thermonuclear hell only 1813 meters away from the Krag vessel.
For which the destroyer was ready. The sophisticated electronic intelligence directing the enemy vessel’s defense systems anticipated the warhead’s premature detonation by temporarily increasing or “surging” the ship’s deflector output in the affected area, turning aside the weapon’s destructive force almost effortlessly and leaving the ship undamaged.
Undamaged, but not unaffected. For .62 seconds the intense flood of light and radiation from the explosion blinded Krag sensors to any target approaching from that bearing. Because the second missile was on the same attack vector and only .498 seconds behind the first, no point-defense systems were able to detect and engage it. Further, the blast’s neutron flux pushed away most other subatomic particles in its vicinity, including the polarized gravitons with which the deflectors performed their function, briefly but significantly weakening the enemy’s deflectors for more than a hundred meters in every direction from the epicenter of the explosion. As a result the second missile was able to penetrate within 214 meters of the destroyer before the deflectors arrested its forward motion, triggering the warhead.
Brothers in Valor (Man of War Book 3) Page 17