Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1

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Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1 Page 11

by Bill Robinson


  I keep the nav screen on a rotation on my left display, alternating with screens of RISTA running gun simulations. The co-pilots and engineers practice with them. We mostly let the computer do the sighting, but with multiple weapons facing six directions, sometimes the tactical situation makes it smarter to give one battery to one person (port, starboard, upper, lower), and even the bow and stern guns. I'm betting McAdams keeps them all in her team at the end, 18 guns easier than the 44 on a destroyer or 78 on a cruiser.

  My right screen stays with purchase orders for engine components, until I realize I have no concentration and switch it full time to weapons drills, with the left on the nav screen. Every now and then I peek at the engine displays, but true to her word, they are both nominal down the line.

  Second to last shift, we do operational planning, locked in our couches. I'd much rather do it face to face, but we can't spare the time at zero gees.

  "Too many unknowns for us to be comfortable here, ladies and gentlemen. Assume they know we're here, and that they've taken steps to protect their hull. Assume we're going to take at least one hit, probably more."

  Sun Tzu teaches to discover where your enemy is and keep him in the dark about your position. Impossible in this kind of battle where each of us can calculate the velocity and acceleration vectors of the opponent, and orbital mechanics limits what we can do. Space battles are more often won because of luck or a mistake than by some unexpected tactic.

  We go through each station and what options we have, though we're all almost certain it will come down to our ability to hit 42 inch wide targets at 50,000 kilometers. Takes well over an hour.

  "No evidence that they have any missiles, and I am loath to use ours. My estimate is that a 42 inch gun would be an awfully effective anti-missile defense."

  "Affirmative, sir, we ran 100,000 simulations and got through 3.6 percent of the time." Should have known RISTA would have been on top of that.

  "Thank you, Ensign. In sum, we've taken control of the timing of the battle through our course, and once it begins we must seize and maintain control of the tempo. We're faster, quicker, and our weapons should have a higher fire rate. On the downside, we won't know how many cannons they have until they open their ports, and we probably won't have good targets to shoot at either until then."

  "Questions?" Once again, I'm sure they have then, but nobody asks. Something I need to keep working on. If I'm not dead, that is.

  Final shift change is slightly extended, so we can put on our battle uni's. Battle uniforms are one piece cloth outfits which seal at ankle, neck, and wrist, then you put on gloves and boots that seal against the base uniform. From neck down, you are self contained in a thin multilayered cloth garment that gives you relatively free movement, but some protection if you need to evac in vacuum. You hang your spacesuit helmet off of your couch, and you're good to go.

  Command cabins have extra insulation and armor, no destroyer cabin in history has ever been penetrated before the ship was already lost. Fundamental ship design: take the two spots you can't lose, command and engineering, and design the ship so that they are always the last to go. Optimizes weight and function, though isn't particularly popular with the crew whose battle stations are elsewhere.

  We strap back in and resume the decel program, two hours out.

  Could have been two weeks. I now understand how 18th century sailors felt when they could see the sails of their targets, but at a half knot closure rate, might need a day to get within gun range, or two captains maneuvering against each other for 12 hours trying to get the wind at their back.

  Orion is in it's decel program, tail toward where Packard will be in couple hours, and where we will be in 97 minutes. We're coming in at an angle, minimizing the opportunity for them to fire on us, but with only 23 minutes at the end to act.

  They'll get to us just at the end of their decel, so at worst, even if they squash us like a bug, they'll have to alter course, and it will give Packard precious time to get away. The trick is matching our course and speed at precisely the point we want, so we fall toward Gamma Omicron 2 together.

  At 150,000 kilometers, we go to battle stations. No alarms this time, everyone is already there, I just remind them on the speaker.

  "All hands," I try to use my calm voice, "Prepare for action." Then I go back to local comm.

  "Mr. Jordan, all cannons hot." There's couple seconds delay.

  "All cannons report ready, sir."

  "Jump engines to standby."

  Jordan again. "Jump engines report ready, 1 through 4." Just in case we need the shield.

  "Commander?"

  "Damage control parties in place. All hands at battle stations. Yorktown ready for combat."

  "Thank you. Everyone focus on your responsibilities, and we'll teach these cowards what a Union frigate can do."

  Our plan is to initiate action at 50,000 kilometers, but we don't get the chance. Orion hasn't deviated once in more than a day, now, with just minutes to go, that changes, she has a plan too. We're at 100,000 kilometers now when RISTA sees it.

  "Aspect change on Orion," there is little excitement in McAdam's voice, she's gotten increasingly calm as we've gotten closer to the enemy, "Her engine's are off."

  Thrusters are firing on Yorktown as Garcia compensates, our engines accelerating briefly to adjust for Orion's now greater closing speed.

  I break radio silence, earlier than planned. My left index finger triggers the challenge radio, I will simultaneously transmit on every known Union, Royal and Dynastic military and civilian frequency, which sounds like a lot, but is really just 52. As soon as he hears me, Summerlin's orders are to break silence and get Packard the Hell out of here.

  "This is Captain Katana Krieger of the Union Starship Yorktown to CSS Orion, surrender or be destroyed."

  I wait 10 seconds, no response.

  "Orion, this is Yorktown, you have 15 seconds to surrender or we will open fire."

  You can't see an infrared laser being fired, especially in deep space, and you don't feel it when it hits unless something bad has just happened to your ship.

  Yorktown shudders, the damage control screen automatically overriding on my left, red splotches showing.

  "Five outer hull breaches," Petty Officer Jordan is remarkably calm. "Inner hull secure." Exactly what I see. Yorktown's ‘tween hulls space is divided into small compartments, much like her internal structure, to keep damage isolated. Fine until either there are too many punctures and the structure collapses or a second hit on an outer hull breach causes an inner hull penetration and decompression within the ship.

  We can see Orion's starboard side now, three laser cannons open to space. Mighty inviting targets, but scarey big sized relative to what we're used to seeing.

  "McAdams, port broadside, target weapons only, all cannons fire." I try to use my calm voice, but I know it was a little on the excited side.

  She doesn't respond, but there is an instantaneous flicker of the lights on the bridge as the ship unleashes the stored up energy in its cannons. She must have had her finger sitting on the button, the barrage already programmed.

  The center cannon of Orion's starboard broadside explodes outward, direct hit, and we get an unusual rainbow of color on the video feed a couple meters toward the stern. One of our cannons must have missed and the blast bounced off the side, but a light show from that is something else we've never seen before.

  It's been 35 seconds since we were hit the first time. Palmer estimated 40 seconds between shots on Richard.

  "Mr. Garcia, engines to standby, activate jump engines, now!"

  She complies, but doesn't respond, all of our sensors instantly go dark, we're blind, but hopefully protected within the jump field. The jump instruments register a sharp uptake in power, which dissipates over another five seconds. Jordan clarifies.

  "Definite laser hit, jump engine swallowed the power, but barely. Power at 93% of maximum breaker capacity." I'd say something, but I'll hold it
til I get a private moment. Garcia only hit two of the jump engines, and it almost killed us.

  "Jump engines to standby. Rotate 180 degrees, put our starboard broadside on them. McAdams target Orion."

  The world appears once again in our screens, Orion just where she was. We're done with our rotation.

  "Mr. McAdams..." I don't get the rest out, Yorktown shudders, harder this time. Tricky bastards. I assumed they had fired both remaining cannons at us, but in reality they fired one holding the last to fire when we presented, knowing we couldn't tell behind the jump shield. Sun Tzu would be proud.

  My damage screen is a mess.

  "Six starboard hull breaches, inner hull holding, cannon 10 disabled. Landing ship open to space." Jordan's summary is not good.

  We can take one, maybe two more of those, and the inner hull is going to go. The landing ship, attached to Yorktown's starboard side, is dead.

  "Orion rotating." We're within 50,000 clicks now, she's turning her big fat belly to us, no guns on it's perfect white surface, trying to fool us again into firing at something we can't penetrate.

  "Hold fire. Assume they've got that coated. Mr. McAdams, target all three lasers when their port guns appear, two on the center placement, one each on the bow and stern." We've got four available lasers facing.

  "Aye, Skipper."

  "Weapons free, fire on your mark." You may fire when ready, Gridley.

  "Aye, my mark." There's a devil in her voice, I like it. It's down to who's got the quicker finger and better aim, one ship is about to die, high noon at the Omicron corral. I can see everyone in their couches, but somehow I can't hear anything, my world is one right finger poised above one control panel. We should have an old fashioned mechanical clock over a court house so we can hear the click in the middle of the street.

  Lights flicker on the bridge, brighter light flares from Orion's side in three spots where her gun ports are. The skin of the enemy ship bows outward, a pressure change expressing itself by making art deco from the metal, then the entire port side ruptures and flies apart, looking more like a sheet of stained glass with a baseball through it than an exploding ship bulkhead. You can count the suddenly exposed storage compartments on visual from bow to stern. Half my bridge explodes in a cheer.

  "Nice shooting Ensign." It's the best I can think of on short notice. "Everybody stay focused, no tricks this time."

  We watch for a few seconds as the ship drifts, no thruster or engine activity, nothing to suggest they're still in the fight, no attempt to stop the rotation. If they're faking, we'll know in a second when their starboard battery, or what's left of it, comes around again.

  Bass wakes me up, "Overload in progress, main reactor." He pauses for a second, "It's intentional sir, they're detonating."

  "RISTA, target the reactor, fire at will. Mr. Garcia, get us out of here, maximum acceleration, all engines." If we can melt the core it will stop the detonation and let us board the ship. Otherwise, we're in some danger from a multi-megaton blast.

  Takes three seconds before we are twisted and splashed against our harnesses, at least seven gees between main engine fire and thrusters changing our vector as Garcia whirls us away from Orion. Eyes unable to focus because of the pressure, I can make out a blur on the screen as she comes apart in that unique flash of white nuclear light. Debris will be flying after us, unknown velocity, but fast.

  Once we stabilize, I replay the video. It's not like any explosion pattern I have ever seen before, McAdams must have gotten a shot off milliseconds late and the inward push of its contact with the ship met the outward explosive force. Seems to have shifted the debris pattern to our benefit, however unintentionally. Either way, no pieces big enough heading our way to do us any real harm.

  Shelby has something. "Skipper, Orion's control cabin."

  I flip my display to her's and I see what she sees. The control cabin appears to be in one piece moving away at high speed from the force of the explosion, spinning, not under anyone's control, but definitely intact as far as visual goes. The cargo containers were full, must have shielded the far end of the ship.

  "Thank you First. Mr. Garcia, alter course, intercept control cabin, your course, don't ask, I'll yell if I see something I don't like."

  "Intercept, aye." Her hands fly across her controls, and Yorktown, still accelerating at more than four gees, swings around. We had our original velocity vector parallel with Orion, then the unintentional course deviations caused by the weapons hits, followed by the emergency get the heck out of here maneuver. I'm glad I don't have to do the math to figure out where we're going and how to get us where we want to be.

  A blue light appears on my overhead comm panel, indicating Engineering wants a private conversation.

  "Mr. Garcia, engines to two gees, not to exceed unless ordered."

  "Do not exceed two gees, aye." She hits her console and I weigh half what I did a second ago. The blue light goes out. I'll apologize to Lt. Powell later.

  Then we rotate, stern toward the remains of Orion, slowing. Only Yorktown's two tail guns that way, but seemingly no more tricks up their sleeves, at least nothing they'll try against our two 24 inchers. The control cabin is moving away from the battle position at several hundred meters per second, spinning once every couple of seconds. Not likely anyone is alive inside. Takes 15 minutes before we're stabilized and coasting, a stone's throw from the sphere.

  I get back on the intercom.

  "Lt. Palmer, ready your assault team for entry into the control cabin. Get your spare team out into the debris field hunting for pieces of the hull with that coating on them, and any pieces of those 42s."

  "Boarding party ready, sir. ZR ready. I'll coordinate with Sergeant Sullivan, 1st Squad in the lifting body today."

  "Acknowledged. Coordinate with Commander Perez, too. I'll be joining you in five."

  "Roger that."

  I have another thought. "Ensign McAdams, Ensign Marcos, report to the boat deck, take the second gig. Sergeant Yeager, I'm on my way."

  The two Ensigns float out of the bridge like they were shot out of one of our missile launchers. I take a loop to meet Shelby as she moves to take command.

  "You don't need to go," she asks, "The Marines can handle it."

  "True, but I need to see it. Smell it."

  She shakes her head. "Then go over with the Marines, not in your gig."

  I reach out and touch her shoulder. "Shelby, don't you remember what happened the last time I got in an assault ship with a bunch of Marines? We have to learn from our mistakes."

  Her eyes give her away, they almost start laughing remembering an incident from a couple years ago. Then she shifts to that I'm going to hit you look again. Finally, she's back to being her. "Stop trying to fix me."

  "Just doing my job, commander, just doing my job. The ship is yours. Anything comes our way, turn it into electrons." Then I float off to the gig.

  I hear Shelby clear both Marine ships and our two Ensigns for departure while I'm on my way down, Yeager and I can take our time with everyone else already gone. As we exit the ship, we can see the ZR edging in on the spinning cabin. It takes a skilled and experienced pilot to do that well, and Palmer obviously knew what he was doing when he drafted this one for our expedition.

  The assault ship has a handful to ways to deal with craft that don't want to be assaulted, or in this case, that are simply out of control. The easiest one is a rubber skid pad that will slowly use simple friction to stop the rotation. The pilot makes something look easy in reality that I had trouble with in simulation, he edges in close, then nudges the body of the spinning wreckage, which ever so slowly slows.

  He never stays on long enough to overheat his ship or put it in danger, he is completely in control of the situation. Pops in gentle, rides the bronco steady as can be, slides back out to cool, then settles back in. On the sixth cycle, we're ready to go.

  Once stabilized, the ZR shifts a couple meters to the left, locks on to the hull with its ele
cto- magnets and its laser cutter opens a circular window into the cabin bulkhead. They could have used the hatch, but too many chances its booby-trapped. We listen as they enter, report all occupants down, and tell us they're opening the hatch.

  McAdams and Marcos are moving in without waiting to be asked. I slow them down.

  "Mr. Marcos, hold position until hatch is open."

  "Hold position, aye." He can't hold his disappointment out of his voice.

  I have Yeager take us down to station keep with them, and then coordinate the two ships moving in together.

  Once we're out, I have words on the quiet channel with them. "Ensigns, it's probably pretty brutal inside. If you have to leave, go, do not ask."

 

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