He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2)

by Rob Buckman

  “Here’s one,” Janice said, holding up a slip of paper, “is there a way to hide our drive signature?” Whoever wrote it, obviously knew how vulnerable a ship was to detection by its drive signature.

  “Huh, that’s a question, not a suggestion, Janice.” Gable grumbled.

  “I know, but it's a good question.”

  “Never thought about it before,” Adam answered, pulling on his ratty looking mustache he was trying to grow, “but it’s worth considering.”

  “What constitutes a drive trail, Adam?” Mike asked, sipping coffee.

  “It's the Graviton signature the dives put out. It disturbed the gravitational field lines around us as we push against them.”

  “From an engineering point of view, what do they look like now, Adam?” Mike asked.

  “Good heavens, you know what? I have no idea. Never really thought about it until now. Mostly you see it as a graphic representation on the screen.”

  “What do you see on your sensor screens, Janice?”

  “Just magnetic, or gravitational turbulence, sir, something like you see when water comes out of a pipe underwater, swirls and eddied.”

  “Seems to me, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir," Conner put in, “no one has really looked at an actual drive trail in a long time, everyone just accepts that they're there.”

  “Conner’s right, Adam, maybe it’s time you and Gable really had a close look for once. It fits into both your areas of expertise.”

  “I’ll add it to my list, sir.”

  “Can’t you put some of the electronic rating on it?”

  “Could do, sir.”

  “Tell them what you want and let them have at it.”

  “Good point, Skipper.” Mike saw he needed to teach both Adam and Gable the art of delegation.

  If nothing else, all the brain-work did help dispel the boredom. Now everyone had something to work on, even the Marines. Mike had given them the task of coming up with improving for their equipment, as most of it was designed fifty years ago and had never been updated. Between his regular duties, Mike read up on naval history and technology, working on the germ of an idea he’d had the night of the Admiral’s dinner party. Most of it wouldn’t work in space, but a few of the submarine tactics held merit. One he investigated and found true was the ability for a ship to hide in the drive trail of another ship. Sensors looking directly aft were blind due to the amount of turbulence, just as with a submarine. That was good to know, and something no one had thought of using in space. The precaution of suddenly turning to port or starboard to check the blind spot was also a good idea. If one man can think of it, so can another. Then his cabin comm unit chirped.

  “Captain, aye.”

  “Message coming in, Skipper.”

  “What do their Lordship’s at the Admiralty have to say now?” He answered. “Anything interesting?”

  “Yes, sir, we’ve been ordered back to Earth for a refit. That’s odd, the first time I requested it, I was turned down, now this.” Another thought struck him. “Could be someone wants a closer look at our ship?”

  “No, Skipper, the orders signed by Admiral Rawlings, so I doubt it's that, also, H.M.S. Sutherland will take over our patrol area in two days, according to the message.”

  “Set a course so we don’t meet her, just exchange signals, then on to Earth, Number One.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They passed the Sutherland the next day, and after exchanging, brief, terse signals the Nemesis proceeded on to Earth. The ‘Sutherland’ did query the fact that she could pick them up on her scope, but Mike ordered Pete to ignore the message and just send a thank you. Traffic control gave them an insertion vector and they came in over the North Atlantic, shedding velocity as they plunged through the decent window into atmosphere. Unlike the old descents where ships entered the atmosphere at high velocity, with the Ag systems, the ship could enter at any speed the Captain wanted, from high speed as in a combat maneuver, to as slow as a feather falling to Earth. Dropping through the clouds under the speed of sound, they entered into the local traffic pattern and crawled along behind a bulk cargo freighter heading for Portsmouth, watching the gray waves roll by under their keel. A Naval Police Cruiser flashed up and down the long line of ships, keeping everyone in place, and even if they were Navy, it didn’t get them any priority where docking was concerned.

  “Christ on a crutch! We can travel half way across the bloody galaxy in a wink of an eye, yet it takes us hours just to dock.” Pete Standish grumbled.

  The sheer volume of inbound and outbound traffic was astonishing, and it took almost an hour and a half before they could break out and enter the military lane for Davenport Dockyards. That was faster, but not by much.

  “Comm, query Davenport traffic control and ask them where they want us to put down.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Bet we end up out in the salt marsh again, Skipper.” Pete commented with a chuckle.

  “I’m not going to take that bet, Pete.”

  “Guess what, Skipper?” Janice called.

  “What?”

  “Number One was right. We are to land at slip 819.” She chuckled.

  “Right back where we started.” Pete added.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  As they came slowly up the estuary and turned onto the slipway, they could see a small group of people waiting for them. Even the environmental shelter was still there, the doors open and ready to receive them. Cindy looked over at Conner Blake, as if asking if he wanted to take the helm, but he smiled and shook his head.

  “You did it alright in that knife fight, so you can do this, girl, nice and easy.” He said, sitting back in his helm seat.

  Mike was pleased to see that she didn’t take offense at the Chief calling her girl. In fact, none of the female crew took offense over such things. The Navy might take a dim view of it, what with all their rules and regulation about politically correct speech and forms of address. That might work in civilian life, but in the cramped quarter aboard a warship like this it just got in the way. Cindy took her very gently and set the Nemesis down on her landing sponsons, then signaled ‘Finished with engines’ on the telegraph. The Ding! Ding! Of the reply sounded through the Bridge and quite descended.

  “Excellent, well done, Cindy.”

  “Thank you, Skipper.” She sat up straighter in her seat, feeling proud.

  “We’re home people.”

  “Shore Leave, Skipper?”

  “Yes, Pete, ask for volunteers for a stand-by crew and give the remainder thirty days leave.”

  “Aye-aye, sir, I will tell them to take their comm units, just in case of a sudden recall.”

  “Good idea, also, use the shuttles to drop them off at some central points in London, they can all meet there if they need to get back in a hurry.”

  “Aye, sir.” Mike and the XO made their way down to the dock, seeing Cynthia’s grinning face as they stepped ashore.

  “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  “I missed you, Cynthia.” Mike grinned and hugged her. “But sorry to say, I didn’t come bearing coffee and donuts this time.”

  “Good to see you again, Mike, and you Conner.” She gave him a broad smile, and winked.

  “I did take the liberty of bringing a small present from the ship's mess, sir.” Conner held out a tissue wrapped bottle.

  “Ummm bribing the local natives again, Conner.” Pete chuckled. Cynthia accepted the bottle and carefully unwrapped it. Her smile got even bigger when she saw it was Torgon brandy.

  “Did you get into trouble with the Inspector?”

  “No,” She shook her head, carefully re-wrapping the bottle and slipping it into the side pocket of her overcoat. “I pleaded insanity and they let me off with a warning.” She grinned.

  “I bet they did.” Mike was betting it went deeper than that, but let it pass. The group slowly walked around the slipway, following Cynthia on her inspection tour.

  “No
, seriously, they wasn’t much they could do about it. Your ship didn’t officially exist, so how could they make a big deal about it, not with the union breathing down their collective necks.”

  “So, why are we here?” Mike asked.

  “Refit. I’ve got to replace that damaged drive plate, plus a few upgrades.”

  “Right, a brand new ship, and already she needs upgrading.”

  “That’s how my orders read, so don’t pick on me. I just work here, and by the way, what on Earth did you do to my nice shiny ship, she looks horrible.” She let out a mock groan and shook her head in disbelief.

  The Nemesis did look a bit ratty with the Gable coating. Parts of it were already starting to flake off, due to the extreme cold of space, combat. It gave the appearance that she was molting. The torpedo hit they’d taken was on the Port side, but thankfully their upgraded armor plate, and shields worked better than Mike expected. The near miss had stripped off more of the coating, but that was a small price to pay and things considered. If she’d been just an ordinary Corvette he doubted he’d still have a full crew.

  “Oh, that, blame Gable for it, it's just a little camouflage.” He said offhandedly.

  “Well, I’m supposed to strip that off...”

  “What? You can’t do that.” Three people yelled at once.

  “...and apply a new coat of something.” She finished, looking at the three men.

  “Something, what paint?” Pete asked, looking worried, thinking she meant to paint her in regulation navel colors.

  “No, it's definitely not paint, some sort of anti-radiation coating, I think.” She scratched her head for a moment. “It has to go on about an 3” thick all over in 1” lifts, and with what looks like titanium chicken wire between each layer.” Mike and Pete looked at each other.

  “I have the feeling that the Admiral has had someone working on Gables coating.”

  “Oh, this didn’t come from the Admiralty, this came from Gravatronics R&D people.” Seeing the surprised look on their faces. “I see you took some battle damage to the hull.” Cynthia stopped and looked up at the damaged plate.

  “Yes, and the forward battery, but thanks to you, nothing serious.”

  “Hmm, I’d better get that hull plate off and send it over to the R&D lab.” Cynthia took out her pad and added it to the list of repair items.

  “Why R&D, Cynthia?” Pete asked, looking a little puzzled.

  “Oh, they like to do a detailed examination of damaged hull plates. That way they can tell much about the state of the enemy ordinance from the blast pattern. It helps the R&D weenies improve our armor plate and shielding.” She saw Mike and Pete nod. “I take it you’ll be leaving a standby crew on board, Mike?”

  “Yes, for security mainly.”

  “Good, I have orders to maintain a very tight security myself, and only use people I know and trust.”

  “I suspect you and Conner Blake will be working closely together on security, Cynthia.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” She flashed him a smile, blushing slightly.

  “Anything else you have to do?”

  “Yes, a few minor retro fits on your weapons, plus the installation of some small launch tubes, but I have no idea what they are for.”

  “We do, and I’m sure Adam will be delighted.”

  That was one thing Adam had complained about, not being able to launch his counter measure canister correctly. He felt that part of the dispersal problem was due to the canisters falling into the drive wake, and said so in his report. The tubes Cynthia was installing gave him the ability to shoot them out sideways near the stern and away from the drive plume.

  “My instructions read that you are to get top priority for refitted, and get you back out of here as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve given the crew a thirty days, is that too much?”

  “No, that’s just about right. We should have everything finished by then.”

  “Good, it’ll give me time to catch up on a few things in the mean time.” He desperately wanted to go to London and see Lady Ann, but with everything that was going on he doubted he’d have time.

  “You might want to get some shore digs for a few days, as we will have to power her down, and it’s going to get noisy in there, Mike.”

  “I’ll have Jenks check on our old digs and see if they are available, that way you’ll know where to find me if I’m needed.”

  Mike took the leave parade, his eyes travelling over his smartly turned out crew. They all look proud and eager, chests straining the shiny brass button on the dress blue uniforms.

  “Nice turn out Chief Petty Officer Blake. Well done.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Well.” Mike stood on a landing jack so they could all see him. “I take it you are all eager to get back to your duty station. We do have a whole list of items...” Rude noises started coming from the rear of the parade. “Do I take it that you’d prefer to go on leave instead of working on your...”

  “Parade, dismissed.” Pete barked, grinning from ear to ear as he cut Mike off in mid sentence. With the sound of a cheer and a lot of laugher the crew fell out and climbed aboard the waiting shuttlecraft. Mike smiled and waved, wishing them luck and a happy leave.

  “Well, so much for the chain of command.” Mike grouched, as he patted Pete on the back.

  “You couldn’t hold them back much longer, Skipper, you’d have a mutiny on your hands.” He chuckled.

  “You have fun on your leave, Pete. See you back here in a month.

  “Aye-aye, sir. You too.” Thankfully, it didn’t take Jenks long to convince the landlord to let them have several rooms.

  Adam was staying behind, as was Chief Blake and Sergeant Rice. That only left five Marines and six sailors onboard as the standby crew. Their main function was security, not to watch the yard crew, but for any unauthorized visitors. No one wanted a repeat of the last time, and a virus in the main frame, so even the communications units was completely shut down. As a precaution, Janice and Grace Goldman removed the hard drive and locked it away the moment the ship powered down. His first act was to send a message to Lady Ann, informing her that he was back, but even after he arrived at his digs, there was still no response. He had to admit to himself, that she did have a few other duties to take care of, besides seeing to the romantic and somewhat licentious thought of one lowly Leftenant. Reluctantly Mike moved into his digs, three small rooms, and a bathroom. It wasn’t much, but them again it was a lot more than he had aboard ship. The first night he couldn’t sleep at all, it was too quite. He was use to the feel of the ship around him, and the small sounds you hardly hear. The slight vibration from the drive, or the muffled sound of hatches opening and closing. None of them really intruded on a conscious level, but they were there, nonetheless. The sound of wind softly whistling around the eaves of the old house seemed out of place, more like the sound of air escaping than anything.

  The following day, with nothing better to do, He took a stroll around Davenport, marveling how little the place had changed in all the years it had been here. At one time they built sailing ships for the Navy, then steam and iron hull vessel. Yet, with the coming of the space age and Ag units to lift ships into space, the town had remained much the same. In some ways, the town itself seemed to resist change, as if it had some sort of time shield around it. He imagined himself walking around these street 200 hundred years ago. The street advert and names over the shops might have changed, and maybe the window displays. But the town itself would be the same with cobbled streets and Elizabethan houses, the smell of seaweed, tar, and salt in the air. In a way it brought a feeling of peace to his soul, and anchor in an ever changing world. He was glad the town fathers had resisted the drive to rip everything down and build some ugly modern building in their place. Most had no character and little taste.