Kris Longknife 13 - Unrelenting

by Mike Shepherd

  “I’m only taking a little,” Jack said, raising two fingers and spacing them only a bit apart.

  “But that little bit,” Kris said, raising her own fingers up, then using both hands wide apart to make her point, “will likely cause a big disruption.”

  “Such is war,” Jack said, as Kris managed for her and baby to stand up.

  “I think that has two meanings in the present situation,” Kris said.

  “Yep.”

  “You do your Marine thing, and I’ll do my Navy thing. Maybe we’ll even survive.”

  “Likely we will. You have a great track record. You and that Vicky Peterwald gal. I wonder how she’s surviving without you around.”

  “Oh, so that’s it. I’m all bloated and fat with your child, and now you start talking about Vicky Peterwald.”

  Jack laughed. “I figured mentioning Vicky would get you in a fighting mood.”

  Kris sighed. “Fighting for you and baby. Always. Now go. I’ve work to do.”

  Jack left, and Kris found herself staring at her situation board.

  While Jack had been holding her, another suicide boat had found its way to Jump Point Beta. It had shot in at well over 1 million kilometers an hour. Very close to 1.5 million. It had been a test for the new jump guards.

  The division of Hispania and Esperanto League frigates had been pulling full duty at the jumps; Kris couldn’t risk two ships missing the speedsters. Defending the jumps had cost her an entire squadron. Those eight frigates had just been relieved by six ships designed specifically for guard duty.

  The Bird class were compromises piled on top of halfway measures. Nine Earth-built freighters had been molded into six gunships with three reactors each. To that mix had been added forty-eight 20-inch lasers made surplus by the up-gunning of five of Kris’s frigates. The idea looked decent on paper.

  As work progressed, its flaws became evident.

  The hulls were thin; they kept space out and held in a mixed crew heavy with Ostriches and Roosters. Each ship had four lasers forward and four aft. The lasers’ cradles had been modified to allow them to fire though an arc thirty degrees up to thirty degrees down.

  On a regular ship, that kind of swing was to be avoided. It left a gaping hole in the ship’s armor.

  On these ships, it didn’t matter. There was no armor. Not a stitch!

  Nor was there much Smart MetalTM for hull-strength members. Someone did a workup of what would happen if the ships tried to make 3.5 gees, the normal fleet speed.

  The computer simulation collapsed in upon itself like a tin can.

  But, for a ship moored with two others and on constant guard for some suicidal maniac, it was good enough. Three of them had just proven it.

  The extremely fast mover had shot through the jump going close to one and a half million kilometers an hour and adding to that with a 3.24-gee acceleration. It took it a second to locate Alwa but had started to swerve around to head straight at it.

  That was the firing solution presented to the Turkey.

  Kris had accepted Ostrich for the first one. Cock o’ the Walk had been the best suggestion out of many for the second ship. Eagle and Falcon had gone to the next ones.

  But Turkey had shown up repeatedly in Kris’s suggestion box.

  After repeated rejections, Kris relented, and Turkey was commissioned right along with Egret.

  So, of course, it fell to the Turkey to have its forward battery pointed at the jump when the speedster shot through, intent on his death and millions of others.

  Turkey got its first shot off within a second of the ship’s appearance. It was a miss. The gunnery computer hadn’t made allowances for the target’s speed.

  The officer with the conn, a colonial, wasn’t about to let that first miss be Turkey’s only shot. She broke her ship out of mooring, sending the other two ships spinning off and wrecking their firing solution as she honked her ship around to follow the shooting star. They held their fire until they had a solid solution, then slashed at it with first one laser, then the next, finally the third.

  All three hit although the last was firing on scattered chunks of hot metal. The reactor didn’t turn it to gas, so all three ships bent to the task of making what was heading for Alwa into smaller, if speedy, bits of debris. In minutes, they had the wreckage sliced and diced into truly tiny portions.

  Kris sent the division praise for a job well-done and breathed a sigh of relief. The Bird class had the best possible fire control computers for just this kind of fast mover. The aliens were nothing if not persistent.

  And they were getting more persistent at faster speeds. This latest test showed that humans still had the upper hand. They had to. One slip, and there would be hell to pay.

  Kris kept a division of ships at Cannopus Station always ready to get under way on an hour’s notice. If a leaker got through the jump guards, they’d have to do their best to shoot them down close in. It would be harder, but it had to be tried.

  Kris looked at what they had done today and found it good. Still, the birds would be a problem in a serious fight. Unarmored, they’d vanish at a single hit.

  Kris shook her head and studied the sites that were launching against her. Eighteen of them.

  If each had sixteen warships then that made for . . . too many. Say 272 ships in seventeen launch sites and the mother ship with a few more at the last one.

  “Nelly, what launch site is it that the crew of the Challenger are so eager to check on?”

  “The two in the middle. They figure one of those must have the mother ship.”

  “I’m looking at 272 ships at seventeen sites. You throw in sixty-plus with the base ship, and you’ve got over three hundred. Has a mother ship ever had three hundred warships?”

  “The one that came at us in the Battle of Alwa had over two hundred, but some of those were survivors from the first wolf pack we took down.”

  “Yeah. Nelly, get a message to Commander Hanson. Tell him I’ll bet him a case of Alwan whiskey that he doesn’t find a mother ship behind either of those two middle jumps.”

  “Kris, he says he’s sworn off the booze. He does stupid things when he drinks, and besides, that whiskey is undrinkable unless you’re already drunk, but he’ll take the bet. What two systems do you think he should check out?”

  “There are eighteen nests. I’d pick the fifth in from each edge.”

  “Kris, I checked the jumps to all four of them, and the quickest jump sequence is to one of yours. He says he’ll check it first.”

  “Tell him to pick what he wants to bet, and I’ll see if I can match him.”

  “He says that’s the problem with trying to bet around here. No one has anything decent to lose. He expects to be under way in less than four hours.”

  “Tell him I’ll see him and his crew off. Nelly, remind me when it’s time.”

  46

  Kris missed wishing the Challenger off; it got away in three hours. “We’ll find you those two base ships, Admiral. No need to see us off, we didn’t use up all your luck from last time.”

  “I can’t even get respect from guys I’ve keelhauled and given a second chance,” Kris muttered, but she liked that spirit.

  And she did want to know what was threatening her other flank.

  She eyed her star map. Winning a battle depended on good ground and making better use of it than your enemy. If three base ships formed up at System X, they would be twelve normal jumps from Alwa.

  Do I fight them at every jump? If I do, will they outflank me?

  Kris studied the “ground” the jump points gave her and saw swirling battles as alien ships and her squadrons turned and twisted, each driving to catch the other overextended.

  She’d lose that battle.

  What if two more swooped in from a different flank? Kris shook her head.

  “Do I defend here, defend forward, or damn it all and attack them now? Worse, is this battle plan coming out of my dreams about standing up to my mom and dad?” />
  Kris paused; she found herself smiling. It had always been mother and father before, never a familiar mom and dad like other kids. She patted the top of her belly. “Well, little one, there’s not enough room in here for two kids. It looks like mom may just have to grow up. But does that make it the right way to fight this battle?”

  Kris slept on her idea; her night was dreamless. She and baby slept soundly curled up against Jack’s strong chest. Six million years of evolution trumped the reality of her situation. She was grateful for the comfort.

  Next morning, Nelly passed the word to her admirals that there would be an 0900 meeting. To the fleet went out the preliminary order “Prepare to Sortie.”

  The admirals arrived looking cheerful. Kris pulled no punches.

  “Betsy, I want you to take the rest of Third Fleet out to support Shoalter. Miyoshi, you’ll take Second to support Zingi.”

  The Musashi admiral’s face stayed unreadable, but Kris was pretty sure the idea of having half his forces made up of Yi and his questionable obedience did not make him jump with joy. “I’m pulling Yi’s task force out of your fleet and replacing it with Cochrane’s,” she quickly added.

  Now he gave her a feral smile. “A fight. Bonzai!”

  Kris turned to her last fleet commander. “Amber, I’ve kept you back tending the home fires while I’ve gallivanted around having fun.”

  “I wouldn’t call it fun, but you do have more miles on you than I do.”

  “Can you get the Princess Royal away from the pier today?”

  “In four hours, I’m told.”

  “Then those are your orders. Take First Fleet out to support Admiral L’Estock. You can have Commodore Suluc’s Saladin and the rest of BatRon 14 to bring you up to strength.”

  Kris paused to eye the grinning admirals she’d just given sailing orders. “Your orders are to delay the enemy by any means possible. In doing that, you are to be governed by the principal of calculated risk. You will inflict the maximum amount of casualties on the aliens while incurring the minimum amount yourself. I am sending you to bleed them, but to retain your forces intact for the coming battle, which will determine the fate of Alwa and all who live on it. Anything you can do to make them backtrack and look for another series of jumps to flank you is to be counted as a victory.”

  “We’re playing for time,” Admiral Kitano said.

  “Exactly. They can afford to lose a hundred ships if it takes out one of your fleets. We can’t trade them three ships to one. Thirty ships to one will still be a high price. We can never know when one ship will be the difference between the survival of Alwa and its destruction.”

  “You want no casualties?” Miyoshi asked.

  “I can’t expect that. The enemy has a vote,” Kris said. “Bleed them. Delay them. Withdraw in good order. I expect they intend to concentrate in System X. When they do, withdraw to overwatch positions in the next system. Keep me informed by courier. I’ll see about spinning out more couriers, but I want the yards to make me more frigates.”

  “Who gets to name them?” Betsy asked, sparkle in her eyes.

  “Me,” Kris snapped. “I’m tired of mythical beasts or dead men you have to research to see who they are and likely won’t care much for what they fought for. I want something fitting like Tenacious or Relentless backing me up.”

  “You won’t have much here,” Miyoshi said, maybe a bit guilty for who he was and wasn’t taking into battle.

  “I’ve got what’s left of Yi’s task force. We’ve reorganized the Helvetican division, and I’ve got the trusty old Wasp. Or the new one. If the yards can get me another squadron, I’ll have three at full strength, plus the Birds guarding the jumps.”

  “Good luck,” Kitano said.

  “And good luck to all of you,” Kris answered them. “Godspeed and good hunting.”

  “The same to you,” Kitano said.

  “I hope not. I’m going to sit myself down and hold in place,” Kris said with a chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Betsy said as she took her leave.

  “You can believe it. Someone has to hold the fort.”

  Quickly, they were gone, busy to get their fleets away from the piers. Kris headed off to see Benson in his yard superintendent’s office.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “I hear you’re sending my ships out to fight aliens with us not in them,” was his rejoinder.

  “Yep, three fleets sortie today. We’ll see how good a fleet of thirty ships is at slowing down a wolf pack. They were getting too good at dodging around a squadron of eight.”

  “Well, what do we get to fight?” he demanded, but not all that forcefully. His feet were still up on his desk, and his eyes were flitting to the ship being spun out in the dock below.

  “The next one you make after that one.”

  “Damn you, woman. I don’t get the Steadfast. What am I going to end up fighting this time?”

  “Well, I was thinking the next class might be the Inflexible. Doesn’t that fit you?”

  “Let’s see, the Inflexible, Indomitable, Invincible, Indefatigable,” he rattled off from memory. “It beats the Fairy Princess and Mischievous Pixie. But we need eight names. Tirpitz and her folks want a chance to fight for their lives. Valiant, Vanguard, and might I add Vindictive and Victorious.”

  Kris was none too happy to have him taking her naming prerogative, but she had to give him credit for some rather distinctive fighting names. “Don’t you think Invincible is a bit optimistic?” she sallied.

  “It did get blown up, but”—he shrugged—“sometimes you win, sometimes the dragon does.”

  “So, do I have to visit all the yards to find out how things are coming, or can I just ask you?”

  “Tirpitz did very good. She managed to respin the Bird class while keeping her four main docks reserved for the Tenacious, Persistent, Steadfast, and Relentless. I’ve got the kernel of Vigilant started here, and the other yards attached to Cannopus Station have the Insistent, Stonewall, and Unrelenting coming along, too. Now that the new Earth squadron has cleared the yards, these are all we’ve got to work on. If you give me the go-ahead, we can start the Inflexible class as second priorities and put the Tenacious class into high gear.”

  Kris made a face. “What do you say we lay down the Victorious first and let that be the name ship for the class?”

  “Only if I get to lay it down here and command it when we’re done.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Admiral.”

  “I’m stuck serving under a slave driver,” he shot back.

  They shook.

  “I’ll see if I’ve got any scraps lying around the yard I can call a keel.”

  “Why do I suspect you’ve been plotting this next class for at least two, three days?”

  “Because I have. I can count the odds as well as you. I can also count the number of Sailors we have around here. You have yet to tap the crews of the repair ships. They got stuck dirtside last fight. They really want a chance to kill a few bastards this time.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. Now I’ve got to do some scraping and scrimping to put together crews.”

  “Go have fun. I understand Yi is really pissed about the officers, chiefs, and petty officers Pedro shanghaied out of his task force.”

  Kris grinned. “I signed the orders. I know everyone he lost. Hard to tell a man he can’t accept a promotion, XO to CO, gunnery to XO, chief to Warrant, petty officer to chief. Admiral Cochrane didn’t ask for a single lateral.”

  “He must have been dog robber to a really sleazy admiral back in his early days.”

  “No doubt,” Kris said, and left Admiral Benson to work on his next miracle. Ahead of her was her second-most-difficult leadership challenge, right behind Sampson.

  Admiral Yi was on his flag, the George Washington. He’d been none too happy when Kris ordered him to join Admiral Miyoshi’s Second Fleet tied up to Cannopus Station. However, rem
oving him from Gosport Station had given both Admiral Bethea and Admiral Tirpitz a chance to operate outside the poison he exuded. Not surprisingly, both flourished.

  As for Cannopus Station, it had pretty much ignored the Earth admiral, and he’d returned the favor, in spades. Kris found Yi in his day quarters, a space larger and plusher than hers if much farther from the bridge.

  “You didn’t send me with the rest of Second Fleet,” he said bluntly, as she entered his quarters. He also refrained from standing from where he was sprawled on a red leather couch.

  Has he been drinking?

  If he had, Kris could detect no odor.

  “I’m holding your ships as the main strike force of Fourth Fleet.”

  “Who commands this new Fourth Fleet?”

  “I do.”

  “Oh.” He considered that for a moment. “And what do you intend to do with this new fleet?”

  “It’s holding the fort while the other three delay the alien wolf packs headed our way.”

  “Wolf packs. That’s not a bad name for the bastards.”

  “They do fight in packs,” Kris agreed.

  “You going to steal more of my men?”

  “Quite likely. I notice that you’re adding colonials and Ostriches into your crews. Even a few Roosters.”

  “I’ll take any that pass muster and keep their noses clean,” he allowed.

  “We’re in the final stages of commissioning another squadron of frigates. I’ll likely promote more of your officers to work with those crews. I plan on drawing down the crews of the repair ships, but I’ll need experienced line officers and senior petty officers.”

  “And if I won’t release them?”

  “If I sign the order, you will release them,” Kris said, evenly. Was he drunk enough to swing on her? That would settle a lot.

  He examined the obvious for a very long time, then nodded. “Send me your written orders.”

  “You will have them this afternoon.”

  With that, she turned and left.

  KRIS, COULD THAT MAN HAVE WALKED A STRAIGHT LINE?

  I DON’T KNOW, NELLY. WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT I’M GOING TO BE VERY CAREFUL WITH HIM.