Minutegirls

by George Phillies

  Henderson had had an opportunity to reorganize her formation. Her ships lay in a plane, its perpendicular pointed at the warp gate. The best ships were in six squadrons near formation center, while the other nine squadrons were in three demiflotillas further out. The half-dozen EW cruisers of the Radikul Distrukshun Group and four nearby reconnaissance cruisers were technically not under her command. Radikul Distrukshun would be extremely supportive. The Reconnaissance Cruisers were all from the State of Antietam Space Guard, dress uniform so flashy it would blind enemy scanners at two thousand leagues. They took orders only from their State Senate which, unbelievably, had delegated command responsibility to Antietam's governor. Fortunately, his orders sometimes included sharing information with other Americans.

  Sleeping in her battle armor meant she had been on deck within half a minute of Beat To Quarters. Her fellow officers on other ships might choose to fly into battle in their best dress uniforms, but she knew protection when she saw it. Besides, Monstrator's compartmentalization was miserable. Replay confirmed that bow screens on all ships had been up, or come up within five seconds of the hostile breakthrough. Getting the ships to full power would take longer.

  The intercept projector confirmed her estimate. Earmuffs had required much of an hour to execute, based on the somewhat unlikely assumption that the SLPSDF would have had substantial warning of the moment of an imminent attack. Now the enemy was moving. If the flotilla took the shortest line to the current EU trajectory, much of Panama flotilla could cut the path of the EU vessels. The two fleets would pass through each other at more than 400 miles per second, but for almost ten minutes US and EU ships would be so close to each other that evasive maneuvers would be ineffective. "Flotilla, this is Monstrator," she began. Across 20,000 leagues of space, American ships prepared to move in response to her orders. "...finally, each squadron will concentrate fire on one enemy ship of a targeted squadron. After inflicting substantial damage, you will shift fire to a different enemy squadron. American ships forced to fall behind because of battle damage will fall onto common positions as per strike plan Gamma." Would it work? Panama flotilla was trying to cripple enemy squadrons, damaging an enemy ship in each, on the assumption that EU squadrons would stay together rather than leave laggards behind. That approach would slow them enough that Bellerophon and neighboring squadrons could catch up.

  "Monstrator, this is Flag," the voice came on her private channel. Kalinin, Henderson thought, the Grand Commodore has taken over from Wilmot. 'Earmuffs' had been a completely appropriate strategy, if the FEU force had sat still. When the FEU made mass transitions into the subKuiper warp points in Sol system, it consistently needed the best part of an hour to sort out its formation before it got under way. The new FEU units had fewer challenges after a transition. Kalinin would doubtless have an alternative plan. Nothing would in any event be happening for several minutes in any event, not until the Flotilla was ready to move. "Rotate your formation's main axis sixty degrees sunwards, twenty degrees north, then make best intercept acceleration. Your entire firepower will come to bear at once, albeit at long range."

  "Flotilla, this is Monstrator," she announced. "Continue power up sequence. Prepare to receive new maneuvering instructions." She tapped her knuckles on her acceleration cage. Changing maneuvering plans once was possible. Two major changes in two minutes, given current training in formation maneuvers -- hopefully only five or ten percent of the flotilla would head off in the wrong direction. "Babs, rotate flotilla plane is a precomputed."

  "Ready for main screen," answered the older woman. Barbara 'Babs' Babineau held the exotic rank 'Senior Chief Petty Officer of the Grand Fleet', reflecting nearly a century of active duty in one service or another. Two decades ago, she had been given the nonexistent-as-per-regs MOS 'Jack of All Trades' and tasked to help ride herd on interesting situations. None of the century's service showed on her face. When gerontics first came along, she'd chosen to keep her current skin and hair, all seventeen and a half years age of it, and never regretted the decision. A SCPotGF didn't have to look threatening. It came with the intertwined serpents that replaced chevrons on the uniform.

  The main screen showed a ponderous rotation of ships spread across 20,000 leagues of space, leaving the ships closest to the enemy stationary, followed by a slow acceleration that left Panama Flotilla far afield from its target. "If we rotate as we advance, and rearward ships overload acceleration compensators, we get..." A more successful advance coupled to a very slow rotation left the Flotilla still well afield. "If we just accelerate, lead squadrons get on top of them," Babineau noted.

  "That's rough on the lead squadrons. But we cross their line of advance, enough they are englobed and have to go Brownian in three dimensions," Henderson said.

  "Then we can get really close. That's all-ballistic, all-hits," Babineau said. "Which erases one of their major strengths. They're no longer hard to hit," Henderson said. "Of course, they have a mass advantage over flotilla. Counting Monstrator we don't quite have two-to-one on them."

  Henderson stared at the combat tracks. "What's wrong with them? They're barely pulling 50 gees, only 35 effective." Henderson though momentarily. Panama was almost in EU point blank range already. So long as they lagged and dodged fire from Kalinin's formation, the EU ships would rather soon be in Panama's point-blank range, too.

  "Monstrator to Flotilla," Henderson said. "On Flotilla Ready To Advance, Advance, each squadron will advance ballistically along 30 East of sunwards, 15 north. We have 20 minutes to realign squadrons. Withhold fire and illumination, and remain ballistic, until we are at pointblank range, or until the enemy fires on us. After passing through enemy formation, our formation being an axe slashing them in twain, reverse thrust and advance to positions indicated by Fleet Flag."

  "Ma'am?" Babineau said. Henderson nodded. "That's not Pyotr Eustasovich's plan, and he'll have your hide. Also, with ballistic advance it will be challenging to rotate the plane of battle."

  "Advise Flag," Henderson said. "Due to engineering failures, I am unable to comply with some minor details of your orders. I am following an alternative path mazimizing my attacking fires while proceeding to your indicated destination." Rotating the plane would be completely impossible, given that Monstrator could not keep up with the rest of the flotilla. Indeed, thought Henderson, having a demisquadron of ships with no engines had just become a major opportunity. The Tucson-Class Cruisers were going no place, and she had found a maneuver that put part of her firepower closer to the enemy to compensate. "I will reach your directed positions by splitting their fleet at pointblank range. I am transmitting maneuver plan." It is a familiar plan, she thought. Let us, however, avoid getting shot by a sniper, the historical outcome. "After Tucsons empty their magazines, Martingale Squadron is to take Tucsons under tow, proceed due starwards 200,000 leagues and (or sooner if prudent), make rapidity transition to Versailles high orbit to reload. And compliments to Martingale and squadron for their rapid initiative with their gravlance attacks."

  Kalinin's image appeared on her private screen. "Good Morning, Commodore," Henderson said sweetly. "Pyotr Eustasovich, why are they only pulling 50 gees?" He would hear her in a quarter minute.

  "What engineering failures?" asked Kalinin, equally sweetly. "What are you doing? Who do you think you are? Your older sister?" Kalinin was beginning to glower.

  "Commodore, I am executing necessary auxiliary maneuvers needed to reach the positions you have directed," she answered. Hash marks on the combat display showed her ships executing her orders. "Also, Tucson squadron cannot comply with your orders in a timely way, so I am repositioning my other ships to compensate for the loss of firepower. Shall I cut in front of or behind the Demon-Class?"

  "Your maneuver is not at all like my orders!" Kalinin's nose was now ruddy.

  "Your directed positions are being reached, Sir. The engineering failure is to Tucson demisquadron, Sir. As reported through fleet yards maintenance yesterday, Sir, and each day previ
ous. Sir," she answered. She would bet a large sum of money that her reports, dutifully sent only through the correct channels in the yards, would reach Kalinin in the next century. But after her tongue-lashing last year by the Senate War Committee -- a lashing she had deserved -- who could complain that when faced with the identical problem she had responded as ordered by the Senate? The 350,000 league -- 12 second return -- gap between her and Kalinin made a delay in conversations. She could get carefully calculated sentences in between his questions.

  "You're going right through them! I wanted you to stop on your side." Kalinin began to look thoughtful.

  "Sir, my maneuver guarantees that my ships reach the pointblank range that you ordered. Also, I want to be sure of slowing them down for you. Englobement does that. With your plan that's marginal." Actually not, she noted to herself, so long as EU ships stay at 50 gees. But the Combat analysis manual says to assume EU ships jink at 120 gees, so to comply with fleet doctrine I must get closer than will really be needful.”

  "What engineering report? I don't see an engineering report!" Kalinin stabbed at a console, calling up all fleet messages to Lincoln. "My God! According to this, those missile cruisers don't have drives! They cannot maneuver! Why didn't I know this?" He glared at the message transmittals -- to Fleet Docks -- which was tasked with reporting these issues to him. They had somehow neglected to do so. If there was a staff surviving to hold a meeting afterwards, things were going to be very, very different.

  He looked very thoughtful. "Proceed with your plans, which you have altered appropriately from mine to match your engineering difficulties. And expect large numbers of incoming missiles from westwards as you pass through the FEU formation -- they're flying into some of the missile barges. Perhaps you should activate your IFF transponders. It's not that the FEU won't know where you are. But pass to the rear of the Demon. Don't get too greedy." Not to mention, he noted, that the Demon was with the faster ships. That formation was going to fall apart if the enemy van and rear did not come to some agreement about acceleration.

  Kalinin decided he should be happy that his subordinates could find better plans than he had, and an excuse for running their orders rather than his orders. Henderson's plan for chopping through the enemy fleet like a knife through a liverwurst was much more audacious than anything he would invent. It greatly resembled that western European naval battle, except that Henderson was not blind in one eye. Unlike her, he really was the dogged defender, not the brilliant attacker. Kalinin was briefly reminded of a famous game, the Lord of the Hexagon himself gaming the Soviet Armies in 1941. A German breakthrough captured Kiev in early July. The Hexagon Lord's subordinate identified the counterstroke, an attack that smashed through the Rumanian Army, wrecked the Hitlerite Sixth Army, and trapped the First Panzergruppe against the Dnepr in death ground without supplies. The Lord of the Hexagon had gleefully agreed that the subordinate should use the subordinate's plan. The First Panzergruppe failed to execute the specification of Sun Zi's maxim: In Desperate Circumstances You Should Not Fight. They had instead died. Kalinin had been a patriotic Russian, so it was a wonderful game outcome. "Find this engineering report," he mumbled to his Servile. "Advise Albemarle to attempt to duplicate the maneuver, if need be allowing Perfidious Albion to lag." They won't make it, he knew, but they'd get to better range.

  Chapter 26

  "In the 18th Century, squadrons of ships were sent across the world's oceans, to be out of touch with the headquarters, to be bereft of resupply, repair facilities, or reinforcements, for months or years at a time. These circumstances seem unlikely to repeat themselves. Nonetheless, there is a significant likelihood that during a future war the American Solar Navy will be reduced to ship raiding and fleet in being strategies, in which case captains of individual vessels may be called upon to act independently and improvise over prolonged periods."

  Meyer, Fleet Battle Tactics, New Washington War Institute Press, New Washington, 2139.

  BRIDGE DECK

  BATTLECRUISER NORTH CAROLINA

  July 3, 2176, 2:15 AM FNT

  Aboard BC North Carolina, matters were going from bad to worse. North Carolina had been closer than her sisters to the largest enemy vessels, and was taking the brunt of their fire. "Burnthrough, starboard ventral screens. Burnthrough bow #4 field. #4 and 5 xraser batteries are out. Blowoff shunts triggered Port #3 power room..." The Damage Control Ensign chanted off his reports.

  "Skipper, we're running out of rotation angles," announced Thomas Flaherty, Chief Damage Control Officer. "We've got about three minutes, and then we hit the death spiral." One rotated the ship to present surviving screens to the enemy. Rotation stopped working when you had holes on all sides. Death spiral was the state at which large scale damage started happening more and more frequently, leaving fewer and fewer working screens, leading to more and more frequent damaging hits.... leading to a warship undergoing a phase transition from solid steel to high temperature plasma.

  "Go to emergency notch, all chaos gates," Junior Captain Radescu ordered. "Signal Flag again: we need to rotate formation immediately." This was his first major command. His service record until now had consisted entirely of sims. If you lost a sim, you came back the next day and tried again. From this march through the trail of death, was there a way out? "Oh, right," he said. There was only no sane way out. Fortunately, he had had much sim time under the command of Junior Vice Commodore Henderson's older sister. Even more fortunately, North Carolina dated from a period when certain engineering problems were assumed certain of a rapid solution. "Captain to Engineering. Power Priority Number One: Shields. Priority Number Two: Warp Condensers. We will make a warp transition in two minutes."

  "Engineering complies...Captain, did you mean rapidity transition? Please confirm," came the panicked voice of Chief Engineer Bill McGonigal.

  "Negative. Negative. I want a WARP transition through the WARP POINT." Radescu counted the number of expletives he had added between 'warp' and 'point'. Five. That could have been a mistake. McGonigal was an extremely devout man, and might have been too distracted to hear the actual order.

  "Engineering Servile. Initiate Warp Point Emergency Transition Sequence," Radescu added. Having a servile take command from a functioning officer was a sure Board of Inquiry. He'd worry about his career if he lived through the experience. And someone would surely bitch that he was a coward in the face of the enemy. He was running away. His defense would be necessity -- his ship had given its all against the FEU.

  "Activating, Sir," the Servile said crisply. "Ninety seconds and counting."

  "All hands. This is the Captain," Radescu said. "All weapons, maximum overload rate of fire." He knew that wouldn't work -- too much power was going to the warp condensers. "We have taken too much damage to pass through the warp point locus and rendezvous with Decatur Squadron. I am therefore charging the warp condensers. We will then activate our warp generator. The odds of passing the warp point safely are perhaps two out of three. That's better than staying here. Any man who wishes to abandon ship may do so at this time."

  "God speed you, Captain." That was McGonigal. Status lights showed McGonigal had just armed his disembarkation torpedo and was going over the side.

  "Those of you staying aboard, thank you for your loyalty to North Carolina. And remember, we're about to make history. We're making all the recruiting sergeants who promised 'visit strange new star systems' into honest women."

  "Shall I kill drives and screens on transition?" asked Flaherty.

  "Yes. No, belay that. No. There are probably enemy ships waiting, and they have no reason to expect us," said Radescu. "What a shame."

  “Initiating warp transition,” the Engineering Servile announced. A deep, sourceless hum became louder and louder, growing into a shriek, a tidal wave of sound.

  "Geodesic disharmony," Radescu shouted, not clear he could be heard even via bone phones. Blinding sparkles of light, eye phosphenes suddenly brighter than the light of day, swamped his visua
l field. "God Bless America! Death to the Imper...." Radescu screamed. He slipped from consciousness. Outside the North Carolina, the brilliant actinic flare of an ongoing space battle was replaced by utter darkness.

  BRIDGE DECK

  BATTLECRUISER NORTH CAROLINA

  July 3, 2176, 3:21 AM FNT

  Junior Captain Florian Radescu squeezed his eyes, then tried to open them. The Bridge Deck was on emergency lighting. "Flaherty?" he choked. "Status?" A sharper look showed Flaherty was unconscious. Radar and lidar reported 'No external signals'. The bow external view screen was mostly black. Peculiar sparkles and an off-center, slowly expanding ring of white light were apparent.

  Engineering status indicators were flat amber -- no available data.

  "Sir?" Commander Mable Raincloud was the Bridge's engineering support officer. She was out of her crash couch, trying to cover three consoles at once.

  "What do you find?" Radescu asked.

  "Sir, every servile on the ship is down. Local control appears to be keeping the chaos gates open. I stress appears. There is no working datanet at all. The Warp Generator has some hard-wired status indicators. They're nominal, which requires chaos gates to be open. Screens are simultaneously reporting 'Full Power' and 'Screen Inactive'. Based on the one description I've read that matches our exterior view, we are in transit down a warp line and should emerge in two minutes or so."

  "What happened? The lights? That scream?" Radesu asked.

  "It's not in regs, Sir. My best estimate is we got as close to blowing up during a transition as you can get, short of dying. Qualification: No one has ever seen a ship blow up during a warp transition. They just disappear," Raincloud reminded Radescu.