Kris Longknife 13 - Unrelenting

by Mike Shepherd

  “We’ve got L’Estock’s Sharp Steel Squadron from Pitts Hope heading out to relieve the Audacious,” Kris said. It had taken a long and difficult talk with her key staff and admirals to get their agreement to send three of her thirteen squadrons out to the picket line.

  “You’re dividing your forces,” Admiral Yi had grouched over and over again.

  “They’re divided into three clans,” Kris had repeated. “They are probing us. I don’t want to miss a chance to bloody their nose while we’re in the scouting stage of this meeting engagement. Let’s use the advantage the periscope gives us for as long as we can.”

  “Nip their whiskers as they come through,” Admiral Furzah had enthused.

  With the cat behind her, Kris wondered if she needed to turn around, but the others came along with her.

  “Letting them know we aren’t just sitting here waiting for them is good policy,” Admiral Bethea finally said for all. “We’ve got enough pickets out around Alwa. We can always fall back using the fuzzy jumps if they switch directions and come at us from somewhere else.”

  So Zingi got a chance for an independent command, taking his Yamato squadron out to guard the B Approach to System X, while Shoalter’s New Eden Ghost Squadron would cover Approach A.

  They were just approaching the Alpha Jump out of the Alwa system when the Temptress, under the command of Commander Lizzy Chekhov, jumped in ahead of them.

  Kris got the report as soon as it came in.

  “Three fast scouts from the Beulah Wolf Pack jumped into the next system out when we’d been on station at observation point B4b for five days. We blew them away as they came through the jump into our system. When I left to report, the next system out was empty. Request permission to return to station.”

  Kris ordered the Temptress down to the yards for a quick reduced availability and amended her orders to the battle squadrons going out to send a scout into the next system and see if there was anything the next jump out. “Oh, and picket that system, at least the jump from four out to the fifth they’re using. If they keep using the system, we want warning when they head toward our pickets at Four.”

  “They getting rambunctious?” Abby asked, as Kris enjoyed her lunch that noon. It was nice to eat for two and not have the extra passenger kicking about the chow. Speaking of kicking, the little passenger has taken to fluttering a bit. Jack couldn’t feel it, but Kris could.

  “Yes, Abby, our aliens are getting a bit rowdy.”

  “You think it’s time to ramp up the Navy’s side of production to fifty percent?”

  “Don’t tell me,” Jack said. “You’ve got a new plan ready.”

  “Of course me and Mata have a first draft of a revised plan,” Abby said. “Every morning, Mata has a revised, defense-heavy production plan ready. I keep telling her no one can read a Longknife’s mind. I can never tell if you’ll want forty-five percent, fifty, or bigger.”

  “What are we at now?” Kris asked.

  “Thirty-two percent, with the consumer side getting forty-three percent, but that’s only because we’ve got the new light-industry side turning out that stuff. It will be wasteful to cut the civilian side down much more. We’ve got mostly Alwans and colonials working that side. The new trainees that aren’t ready for the heavy side or ship duty.”

  “You plan it that way?” Jack asked, giving Abby a jaundiced eye.

  “No, it just works out. Kids got to start somewhere. Light industry is easier. It’s kind of harder to get yourself killed making a TV. Try falling into a vat of Smart Metal. It not only kills you, but ruins that batch. Ugh.”

  “Has that happened?” Kris asked.

  “We had to pull an Ostrich out of a vat. He took it in his head to chest butt with a buddy and bounced harder than he figured. Now they sign a pledge, in blood, not to butt on the job.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Kris said.

  “Even they think so. We run a film of what the Ostrich looked like when we fished him out of the vat. They’re cutting their finger before it’s finished to seal their pledge paper.”

  “You tell Pipra that both of you need to stop by my quarters after lunch,” Kris said, as Admiral Benson came up behind Abby.

  “We’ll be there. 12:45 or 1:00?”

  “Make it 1400. I may need a nap.”

  “Or to jump Jack’s bones. You don’t look tired to me.”

  “Away with you, Abby, or I’ll have you washing my hair again.”

  Kris’s erstwhile maid was out of her seat like a shot. Benson slipped right into it.

  “We want to go to two shifts at the yards. Twelve on, twelve off, seven days a week.”

  “What happened to folks wanting shore time to farm?” Jack asked. He had a pretty big grin on his face, like he knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway. “We don’t want to do anything to damage morale.”

  “Grubbing in the dirt is great when nothing’s happening. Word’s gotten out that the aliens are nibbling, and we’re blackening eyes. It was real smart of you to put the new ships out on the tip of the spear. Those folks have lots of friends. The Resolute was hardly in system before I was getting requests to return to work.”

  “So nobody really cares about all that farming stuff?” Jack said.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I think they really like the idea of having a place to call home. Every dude asking to get back on shift was quick to tell me that they had local workers, colonial and bird types, to keep the home fires burning and the crops growing. They care about those farms a lot.”

  He paused to eye Kris. “They care about staying alive and killing aliens more. Can we build ourselves some real frigates this time for the yard crews to fight?”

  “That depends on what goods and gear we can get out of the moon fabs and how long the aliens give us to build ships,” Kris said.

  “May they give us plenty,” Jack prayed.

  “Yeah, I know. What do you have in mind?” Kris asked her yard boss.

  “Commodore Cochrane of Earth’s BatRon 12 asked me if I could double his squadron into a task force. Pedro doesn’t care any more for Yi than anyone else. Unlike Yi, he’s been letting his crews sign up for homesteads and absorbing colonials and Alwans into his crews. Yi won’t allow us to do anything with the twelve ships he’s got surviving in BatRon 10 and 11. As Pedro sees it, he can double his ships using half Earth-born crews and the other half locals. With a task force, he’ll rank right up there with Yi.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a worse officer,” Jack said.

  “I’d also like to replace the ships we lost in the first battle,” Kris said. “The Atago, Constitution, Warrior, and Hotspur. Before we start adding new squadrons, it would be nice to get those squadrons up to full strength.”

  Benson nodded. “After that, do I get to knock off ten new ships for my shipyard workers to fight?”

  “I was hoping to turn all the empty supply ships that weren’t running around the system into courier ships. Armed but fast.”

  “We can do those in our side slips. If I’m going to double shifts, I can handle new construction and conversions. We’ve got plenty of 20-inch lasers taken off the frigates you’ve upgraded to 22-inchers. Why don’t you let me figure out what I can do? You just tell me what you want.”

  “Are you going to tell Pipra what you want out of her fabs: reactors, lasers, computers, sensors?”

  “If I have to.”

  “She’ll be in my flag quarters at 1400 hours.”

  “I’ll be there,” Benson said, and headed off.

  “So, are you really feeling in need of some sleep?” Jack asked.

  “I’ve been known to sleep with you, after all is done, and little said.”

  “You had enough of that salad?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Jack left half his sandwich on his plate as they hurried out.

  40

  Kris actually did come awake in Jack’s arms. She stretched like a cat. It felt good, and baby di
dn’t seem to mind.

  “Thank you,” Jack said.

  Kris put a sly and satisfied smile on her face. “You want to expand on that a bit? I can think of many things you might be thanking me for. I want to say, ‘You’re welcome,’ for the right one.”

  “Thank you for not ordering Wasp to go chasing out there. Most likely with the A Approach squadron since they’re the only one that hasn’t had a fight yet.”

  “I wouldn’t have ordered Wasp out there alone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was thinking of taking Hawkings’s BatRon 2 along with Wasp.”

  “Kris!”

  “Well, I was,” she said, pulling the sheet up to her chin. Only when she was in a fight with her husband did she feel a need for something between them.

  “But you didn’t,” Jack said, deflecting himself away from where Kris feared the battlefield would be.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “So, was it the admiral who admitted she needed to be with the main force, or the mother who thinks maybe chasing after every little chance to get yourself killed might be a bad idea?”

  Kris chewed on the question. “Could I get credit for all, maybe along with a bit of not wanting to get in a fight with my security chief over what I should do?”

  Jack pursed his lips, then licked his finger and made three imaginary lines in the air. “I think you deserve three attagirls for that.”

  “Good. Now, can we get in a quick shower so the evidence of my misbehaving isn’t there for everyone to sniff?”

  They were showered, dressed, and Kris was at her desk reading reports on production when the next meeting started to form up. Benson arrived first. Granny Rita called from dirtside, and suddenly she and Ada, with a few key staffers, were on the screen at the foot of Kris’s table.

  “Have my meetings gotten that popular?” Kris asked.

  “Has knowing what’s happening and what’s gonna happen become any less important than it was yesterday?” Granny Rita answered.

  Pipra arrived, with a half dozen men and woman trailing her.

  “Do I need to add a few more from my shop to keep the sides even?” Admiral Benson growled.

  “You got the Longknife on your side,” Pipra shot back.

  The rest of Kris’s staff showed up, thanks to Nelly’s notice: Penny and Masao, Jacques and Amanda, even Furzah. Abby sat with Pipra, but it seemed that the only chair for her was at the end next to Kris’s side of the U-shaped table.

  Somehow, Admirals Kitano and Bethea arrived before Kris started.

  I WAS HOPING TO AVOID A ZOO, NELLY.

  IT’S A JUNGLE AROUND YOU, KRIS. GET USED TO IT.

  Kris began by tossing the ball to Pipra. “No doubt you’ve heard there’s fighting on the picket line. Abby may have told you I’m muttering about upping the defensive level of effort. You may not have heard that Admiral Benson has yard workers volunteering for two shifts a day, seven days a week.”

  “Yeah, we heard about it,” Pipra groused.

  “So, what’s the answer from manufacturing?” Kris asked.

  “How’s it going to eat into consumer production for the colonials and Alwans?” Ada injected. “I know you Navy people are smelling the smoke, but not all the folks I got working for me understand matters the way you do. I can’t turn off demand like Admiral Benson can turn up production. By the way, you planning on leaving a lot of farmland, goods, and equipment just lying around like a bunch of toys?”

  “No,” Benson snapped.

  “Let me answer that,” Pipra said. “I’ve got the numbers she’s worried about.”

  One screen came to life. “That is what we’re producing right now,” Pipra said. “We’ve almost tripled the production of consumer goods. We could do that because the first thing we turned out were light-industry fabs specifically designed to generate consumer goods. You want TVs, commlinks, boats, and farm goods. Have we got them for you? Once we got those fabs up and producing, we reassigned the heavy-industry fabs to grow more heavy fabs. We’re up twenty-five percent. But to answer Ada and Granny Ruth’s concerns, the light fabs are designed for consumer goods. We can’t change them over to heavy industry. Unless you plan to raise an army, those fabs are yours to make all the goodies your people want.”

  “And if we want to equip an army?” Granny Rita asked.

  Pipra made an ugly face. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “Because I’m not all that for it,” Ada said.

  “Oh,” came softly from Pipra. “Which of you is my master?”

  “Can we outfit, say, twenty-five thousand colonials and twenty-five thousand Alwans with hunting rifles, light mortars, and recoilless rifles?” the former commodore asked.

  “I can ship you the hardware for them. Can you produce the wooden stocks?”

  “We can produce them faster if you ship me a couple of small lumber mills and lathes.”

  “We’ll turn them out first,” Abby offered. “Fifty thousand rifles, say, two thousand mortars and rocket launchers. That would eat into consumer goods a bit.”

  “Which will cause me trouble,” Ada said.

  “But we got plenty of goodies stored in the warehouses,” Rita shot back. “It will take a while to work off that inventory.”

  “We tripled our deliveries of light consumer goods,” Abby pointed out. “It can’t all have gone out the door.”

  “Your amateur farmers wolfed down a lot of it,” Ada shot back.

  “And most of that stuff is being passed along to the colonials and Alwans who work those farms for now,” Admiral Benson put in. “Assuming we beat back these damn raiders and there’s anyone alive to harvest the food.”

  “Point well taken,” Ada said. “My problem is do I want fifty thousand rifles roaming around my colony when this scare has vanished in my rearview mirror. A few hunting rifles, I have no problem with. A lot of rifles in a lot of hands, some not all that much out of the Stone Age? Good Lord, people, someone could start a war.”

  Kris could see where this was going. Now she stepped in. “Ada, there are more reinforcements coming out here. Even if the fleet loses a fight, if you hold on for a while, there may be ships swooping in to help you.”

  “So we do need to be ready to have a war down here, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so. Now, most of your guns are under lock and key,” Kris started, trying to sound oh so reasonable.

  “All our guns are under lock and key,” Ada corrected.

  “So,” Kris went on, “if you organize a colonial militia, their weapons can stay in armories when they aren’t in use.”

  Ada made a face. “That’s what Granny Rita keeps saying. I wish I could believe her. Those rifles you gave the Ostriches to get land use agreements, I keep hearing that there’s trouble down there.”

  “If there was trouble, I’d cut off their ammo supply,” Kris said. She also was hearing things, but so far she hadn’t been able to prove it. No settlers were harmed, and the Ostriches insisted none of them had been shot.

  You can’t solve a problem no one admits exists.

  At least there was only so much murder and mayhem they could get into with twenty bullets a rifle per month.

  Ada blew out a long sigh. “Okay, ship us the lumber mills. We’ll get Roosters operating them and the lathes. I can find colonials familiar enough with rifles to teach other colonials how to make them.” She chuckled. “You want to be in the militia, build your rifle first.”

  Ada eyed Jack. “I’ll need more trainers to teach my people, what do you call it, battle craft?”

  “I’ll give you some,” said Major General Montoya, Commander, Ground Forces Alwa Defense Sector, and technically General Commanding, First Division. It was also the only division.

  “But,” Jack said, “I’m not willing to give over all my ship Marines.”

  “How come?” came from Granny Rita.

  “The aliens tried something last time. Suicide boats sent at us. Those we hand
led with our secondary batteries. They also sent single men in rocket-powered space suits. Initially, we thought they were trying to surrender. When we tried to rescue them, they started shooting at us. Either they changed their mind or had something else on their minds from the start. Anyway, we left most of them to suffocate when their air ran out. Most blew themselves up when we pulled back. Any way you cut that deck, they got more wild cards, and we need to be ready. So, no, you can’t have too many of my trigger pullers.”

  “Maybe we ought to be looking to give them some of our troopers,” the old commodore muttered to Ada.

  “If you don’t think much of rifles turning up in the odd places of your neighborhoods, Ada, imagine how little I want dudes shooting off hunting rifles on my ships,” Kris said, dryly.

  “Don’t you just hate messy wars?” Penny said, wryly.

  “Okay, folks, you can make policy later,” Pipra cut in. “What I’m here to tell you is that I can boost Navy production from its present low of thirty-two percent, which, if I may point out, in actual tonnage of product is only a bit below what you were getting before at sixty percent, to fifty percent in three weeks. Maybe two. That will let us finish all the heavy fabs that we have in the production pipeline.”

  Pipra studied her readouts for a moment. “That should grow our heavy-production capability a good ten percent more, which will be nice, what with you leaving less than ten percent to us to cover spare parts and other problems.”

  “If we keep the aliens off your back,” Kris said, “you can try another round of starving defense to grow the base. If not, you won’t need spare parts because all your problems will be over.”

  “That is one way of looking at it,” Ada said, now taking her turn at dry humor.

  That resolved the issues for the meeting, but it rolled on for another hour refining details. Kris got a squadron of armed courier ships: Mercury, Hermes, Apollo, Sand Piper, Albatross, Kestrel, Sparrowhawk, and Merlin. Each was two freighters spun into one ship, now with four reactors plus four 20-inch lasers, mounted evenly fore and aft. They’d be stationed well out with the distant squadrons to bring word faster through the fuzzy jumps than it could be passed from one jump buoy to another across systems.