At the end of the assault on his senses, when it was absolutely quiet, he began, “Right this moment, you are sitting or standing with your brother on one side, and your sister on the other. Right this minute the dark Void is far removed from your reality. But as I stand here today, soon you will be alone with your fears and your uncertainties. You will not have league upon league of warriors at your back – they will be at your front. They are faceless, implacable. They do not make many mistakes, they do not get rattled, and they do not seem to get confused. They climbed over the bodies of their enemies to become the most formidable force in space, and now they have come to our space.”
The chief paused, his hands gripping the sides of the podium in what I knew was a veritable death grip, and for some inexplicable reason he turned his head to the side and looked down at me. Then, he said, still looking at me, “When this foe comes at you, there will be no one who can tell you that it will be all right. In fact, it may not be all right. It may be that you see no way to survive. You will struggle with all your might to retain control, to think instead of react. I tell you now, there is one and only one way for you to win that struggle – and that is for you to learn everything that you possibly can, here in Lubya, because that terrible day will come and if you fail now to learn everything, learn it in your bones, you will fail there, and then you will fall.”
“Do not kid yourselves. You may do everything right, and still not return to your carrier. War is like that. In that moment when you come face to face with the possibility of your own death, you will feel panic come crowding in. In that moment, your training will take over, unless you have failed your training. Do not fail, do not waste these few precious days that have been given to you.”
The chief turned and left the podium, and there was not one single sound.
Later, Admiral Tretiakov sent for us. We had just a short visit with him, but he greeted us all with his trademark kiss on the cheeks. He had us sit down with him around a small and apparently very old and delicately beautiful table, on which a tea service had been set out. He served us himself, using Russian style glass cups with ornate silver holders.
Once we were all settled in with our hot glasses scalding our hands, the Admiral turned first to Carolyn and asked her where she learned her programming skills. She answered shyly but concisely. After, he turned to Master Chief Kana and said, “Chief, I am sorry to have thrust this heavy burden of fame on your shoulders, yet, you do have very broad ones, and I feel that you will bear up reasonably well.”
Chief Kana clearly did not like attention, but he faced the admiral with calmness. This was one of those situations where you just have to stand and take it. It struck me later, that the admiral spoke to my chief as one man to another, to an equal, or perhaps, to his better.
The admiral continued, “Chief, did you know that I fought in the battle of York? No, probably not. I was a young lieutenant then, and recently promoted at that. I served on a destroyer, the old Gresham. You probably have not heard of him. He was an unlucky vessel, he was. We were ordered to make maximum speed to go to your aid. Our captain was a, what you would call a captain of the paper? Well, if not correct, perhaps you will understand. I served at that time on the bridge, and I noted that as we closed on the battle, he grew uncertain, frantic. He had not prepared himself for the possibility of death, and when it faced him, he failed, just as you spoke about today.”
The admiral paused, looked down at the floor, his eyes unfocused. He looked back at us and with a look of intense pain and suffering, he continued, “Chief, as we prepared to make our final jump, he faltered, and could not give the order. His collapse was seen by all, and in one single moment, his panic spread to the entire bridge. He stood there physically, but he was gone, gone. Chief, in that moment, I saw two futures for me. One led to something worse than death, it led to disgrace. The other led to possible court martial. I made my choice. I called for engineering to make the jump, and I ordered the sergeant of arms to escort our captain to his cabin. The captain could have refused, and it would have killed us all, but, thanks to God, he did not. I assumed command, and I did not kill our ship. We engaged at long range with missiles, and at first I feared that our crew would collapse into anarchy, but somehow, I do not know how, I was able to hold them together. I talked to them on the comm, kept talking through the entire battle. We got our missiles off and they did their small part in turning the tide of battle. Our men – we did not have women on that ship - served magnificently. Later, I was taken off and had to testify. It was a very painful period. I was acquitted, and transferred to another ship.”
“Just two months later, the Gresham was lost with all hands. It was one of the last ships to enter a small, unnamed battle. It came out of hyper and right into the path of a missile that had lost track. There were no survivors.”
This story chilled me, chilled us all. I looked around at my companions and said, “Sir, with respect, I pray that I will always have men and women such as these at my side, for with this, I can not fail.” The admiral looked on me with a growing smile. He said, “My son, you are now no longer alone, in the sense of an unmarried man. You have a wife who is also a warrior. You must not fail to do your duty, but just as important, you must be alive at the end of it all, for she has promised to give her father grandchildren.”
He stood and we rose with him. Time was short and there was so much to do.
In the coming days and nights, Elian and I worked tirelessly to ensure that all three ships were given as much attention and care as possible. The Krakow fighters were remarkably well trained, and we found very little to add, yet there were some things the crews could not have prepared for. We found nearly one quarter of the total number of fighters were inadequately modified, either due to improper knowledge or lack of care. The maintenance crews got even less sleep than the pilots, but by the last day, we felt secure that all the fighters and hawks were as stealthy as we were able to make them.
In addition to the three carriers, our Hawks were going out as well, while the Genera returned to Earth. We expected three replacements momentarily; all fitted with the capital missile launchers. Much rested on these ships, for the fighters could not defeat the bugs. We would have required five times as many, and would have lost half of those.
Meanwhile, I finally received a report from our civilian missile techs. I had reported to them my shock and dismay at the ease with which the bugs located and destroyed our missiles. I asked them to go over our sensor records, and any other records they could find, so as to give us something to work with.
They hand carried the results of their investigation to me, and after I read it, I saw why. They told me that the missiles we went to so much trouble and death to launch were defective. They had not been prepared with the modifications that our first experiences had shown to be necessary. Worse, far worse, they had been manufactured after the date set by our buyers for introducing the updates. This was an incredible shock to me, and I realized that this must not get out to our crews. I was white hot with fury, but I had no time.
I wrote a hasty message to Admiral Lee, telling him that we were going out again, and of my discovery that the missiles we launched at such a great cost had not been modified. They had been certified as such, yet they had not been updated. I asked him to seek justice for the three crews who perished, and I told him that I would return if I could. I appended the missile techs report.
At almost literally the last minute, the three Dresden class destroyers jumped into Lubya. They were told to proceed with all possible haste to our fleet base. That took most of twelve hours. The admiral in charge of this mission postponed the launch of the attack so that we could integrate them into our plans.
I requested and received permission to immediately shuttle over to the Dresdens. The moment I arrived aboard the Stone I commed the captain. I asked to meet him in the port missiles hold, but did not tell him why, just that it was an emergency.
The captain, whose nam
e was Yamata, almost beat me there. At my urgent request, he cleared the room, and was by now somewhat alarmed. When we were alone, I told him of my report. He stared at me in disbelief for a moment, then his eyes grew wide as the potential disaster we faced hit him. I told him, “Sir, I have the knowledge and expertise, just barely, to open up a missile and determine what we have. I wanted to bring my Master Chief, but his presence with me, and our beeline for these missiles might draw attention to the problem. I learned of this late last evening, and I told the civilian missile representatives not to say a single word to anyone, for any reason. We must learn what we have here, and if these missiles turn out to be unmodified, I’ll have to go to the admiral and tell him. I will not lead my men into battle with a weapon that is more dangerous to our own crews than to the enemy.”
Captain Yamata went through the same gamut of emotions as I had before him, from horror to anger to fury. I asked him for permission to proceed and he nodded his head, unable to speak. I began working on an access hatch that took me ten minutes to open. Inside, I turned on the onboard diagnostics and waited for them to boot up.
The missile I was working on was huge and unspeakably expensive to build and maintain. This model had been in Fleet inventory for three decades with little or no improvement, until the bug war revealed its weaknesses. The modifications, if performed, enabled the missile to perform its intended mission, but only just. Fleet needed a better weapon, and one such was certainly within our means and technology to produce; yet we were still waiting, and apparently we were destined to wait much longer. The Mark 65 was what he had now.
I began my search by the simple expedient of asking it when it had last been worked on. If it reported a date prior to our white paper and its subsequent adoption into Fleet Standards, we had an immediate crisis. Much to my relief, it presented a date, one month earlier, and well after the cut off date. Next, I queried it to describe the work performed, and by who. It listed all the modifications, and who performed them. Good.
I closed up the missile and went to the next. Three missiles later, I turned to Captain Yamata and said, “Sir, all four missiles were modified at the same time, on the same date, by the same technician.” Captain Yamata looked as if he was in intense pain, which of course he was, as was I. I continued, as if he wasn’t there, “The modifications require partial disassembly of the missile body, the replacement of numerous components, from forty to forty three, depending on the model and original build date, and then, after it is put back together, it must be tested to verify that the missile meets the new, more stringent requirements. All that, taken together, requires approximately fifteen to sixteen hours of labor per missile. Conceivably, it could be done in one work shift by an experienced maintenance crew with the proper equipment, but four in one day? There is not one tiny difference in the certifications. They are exact copies. These missiles are death warrants, served on our own men and women by a greedy corporate bean counter. I want him arrested and tried, publicly, but later. Now, I need to take this to the admiral.”
Captain Yamata said, “Lieutenant, before we go one step further, I am bringing in my own crew, and we’re going to go through all these missiles. It is just possible that we have some that will work.” I hadn’t thought of that, and nodded my head in understanding.
The captain commed his exec and called for his own senior chief. They arrived in the missile room within five minutes. The captain ordered two marines to stand guard at the hatch and bar entry to anyone. After the hatch had been sealed he turned to them and said, “Exec, chief, we have a problem. The Mark 65 missiles Lieutenant Padilla and his Hawk crews launched against the bugs were post-modification versions, but they not only failed to do much damage, the assault resulted in the loss of three Hawks and twelve crew. That is bad enough, in fact it is a tragedy, but there is more. Lieutenant Padilla’s civilian missile techs analyzed the sensor readings from those attacks and have reported that the missiles had not been refitted. Just now, Lieutenant Padilla opened up four missiles, those four in fact, and queried their on board processors. They all reported the exact same work, performed on the exact same hour and day, by the same technician. It is our belief that those certifications were forged. We have just a few hours to inspect all one hundred twenty missiles on this ship. You two are going to do all the work, you will not tell anyone what you are doing and you will not report your findings to anyone save me, or to higher competent authorities, and then only if specifically requested to do so. Lieutenant Padilla and I are going to the Zhukov, where we will speak to its captain. We must inspect every single missile in all three ships, and we must do it in secrecy. Do you understand the nature of this crisis we find ourselves in?” The two men stood rooted to the deck, and nodded their heads. Captain Yamata said, very quietly, “Well, perhaps you could explain it to me then. Get to work please.”
We left the missile room, leaving explicit instructions to the marines before we departed by shuttle for the Zhukov.
We were met by its captain as soon as we docked. She was curious to learn why we had come, but Captain Yamata only asked, “Captain, would you please escort us to your missile room? And, if you please, comm your exec and senior chief to meet us there?”
We were in the boat bay, surrounded by crew, and not able to speak. She could see that there was urgency and simply commed for the two to meet us at the missile room.
Once all of us were inside, Captain Yamata began. “Captain, we have discovered a problem, one that threatens our mission. Lieutenant Padilla and his Hawks attacked the bug flotilla, as you know, and lost three Hawks and their crews, while only a tiny handful of missiles managed to reach their target. The performance of the Mark 65 was terrible. Lieutenant Padilla asked his civilian techs to analyze the missions’ sensor readings and they reported back a short while ago that those sensor readings revealed that the version of the Mark 65 that they were given had not been updated. Worse, when the Lieutenant and I inspected four of the missiles in my ship, all reported that they had been properly modified. All four were modified by the same technician, on the same date, at the same exact time. It is outside the bounds of possibility that this could be so. As we speak, my exec and senior chief are tearing into every single one of our missiles in the hope that we will find some few that have actually been modified. It is clear that the manufacturer simply pocketed the millions of credits this modification cost, and failed to do the work – they falsified their reports. They assumed that once the missiles were launched, there would be no way to prove anything.”
Captain Taylor looked stupefied, as did her exec. Only the senior chief failed to look shocked. I asked him, “Chief, you seem to find this unremarkable. I am interested in learning why that is so. Off the record.”
The chief looked down at his feet and I had a sinking feeling. He looked up and said, “Sir, I don’t know what you mean.” His captain looked at him calmly for a moment, then commed her marine contingent. One minute later, the hatch opened and two marines entered. She said, very quietly, “Escort the chief to, um, my quarters. Ensure that he cannot communicate in any way or fashion, station a marine on my hatch and prohibit entry to anyone. Do it now. Oh, do not allow him to speak to anyone on the way. Try to get there quietly, if you can. Go.” They saluted and the chief went out the hatch without another word.
Captain Taylor thought for a minute, speaking as she thought, “I thought that I had a tight crew. I thought that we wanted the same thing, the safety and security of our peoples. I was wrong.”
She commed her marines again and a moment later four very large men entered the hatch and came to attention. She said, “I have a job for you. We must inspect all one hundred twenty missiles, to determine their status. Lieutenant Padilla here will pass over to your pads the steps to take to perform this query. You must not report your findings to anyone other than myself, or the exec. You must not delay. Do it now, please.”
She turned back to us and asked, simply, “What now?” Captain Yamata s
aid, “We must get over to the Conti. We’re running out of time.” Captain Yamata nodded and commed the crew of our shuttle to stand by, and to ferry us over to the Conti as soon as we boarded.
We shook hands, silently, and we left.
Our reception on the Conti was similar in nature, although we didn’t find a rat in our midst.
Captain Yamata and I returned to the Stone where we checked in on the inspections. He commed the admiral and requested an emergency meeting of the command team. He was granted his request without a question.
We shuttled over to the Fleet Carrier and immediately upon landing were escorted by an aide to the admiral’s briefing room. Upon entering, we saluted and the admiral looked closely at us as he returned that salute. He knew something was up and said, simply, “What?’
It took five minutes for Captain Yamata to bring the admiral and his staff up to date. There was dead silence for a long moment as everyone realized the disaster we had on our hands. The admiral turned to his aide and said, “I want to know how many Mark 65’s are on board our fleet, ship by ship. I want that information yesterday.”
It took but five minutes for us to learn we had a total of one thousand three hundred and eleven. The admiral ordered, “I want to speak on a secure channel to every ship captain in our fleet. Voice only. Now.”
Hawk Seven (Flight of the Hawk) Page 44