by John Ringo
And it was welded solid. Also slightly bent.
"We need to get it open," the Navy guy said. "The team on the opening says they can get that out of the way in about an hour. What do you think?"
"I don't know for doors," Butch said, looking at the joins. The hatches were melted together and the door seemed to have welded into the walls as well. Some of the wall metal had melted down over the interior of the hatch. What the exterior looked like was anyone's guess. "I can cut it open. I mean, just chunk it up into scrap. I'm not sure what to do about it then, though. The good news is since it's micro we can probably move the parts. Any way you cut it, it's going to take a while."
"You can't just . . . get the welds cut?" the Navy guy said, nervously. "This is a very expensive piece of equipment."
"It used to be a very expensive piece of equipment," Butch said. "Now it's scrap. I don't think just popping the welds will work. It's bent. And if we go trying to melt the welds on the steel, the wall, which has a lower melting coefficient, is going to weld again. Chunk it up and get rid of it is my suggestion."
"Okay," the Navy guy said, sighing. "Let me get authorization on that."
"You do that," Butch said. "I'll be figuring out what we need for it."
"One Four Three Three Six, this is Thermopylae Shuttle Control."
"Roger, Shuttle Control," Dana said. She remembered when Troy's main bay was this chaotic but it had been a while. The main entrance was crowded as hell with shuttles going both ways and the small contingent of two Connies and four Independence frigates headed outbound.
The main bay wasn't any better. There were shuttles moving around seemingly at random. And a bunch of shuttles were docked to the Therm's pencil bay.
"You need to stack up in the queue for bay twenty," Shuttle Control said. "Just wait until the other shuttles move out then unload and load."
"Stack in the queue for twenty, aye," Dana said. "Wait to load and unload, aye."
"Gotta go."
"They sound a little harassed," Hartwell said.
"Maybe cause the 143rd can't find their ass with both hands?" Dana said, dodging a shuttle that seemed to have no clue where it was going. The "queue" at twenty was just a bunch of shuttles that couldn't seem to figure out how to maintain a line. When she had to dodge another outbound shuttle, though, she figured out why they were scattered. She got back in what should be the formation and tried to keep an eye all around.
"I've got forward, up and port," Dana said. "Keep an eye on down, aft and starboard."
"Got it," Hartwell said. "Got a drifter from twenty-one. Stand by . . . One-Four-Three Fourteen. You're out of position. Please maintain station."
"Screw off, Thirty-Three," the coxswain replied. "I don't take orders from faggot Condoms."
"Since you're reading as a CN," Hartwell said, coldly, "you're God damned well going to take it from this Condom or I'll have you up on charges. AI, connect to CM1 Glass . . ."
"One Four Two units . . ." Glass commed as he was talking. "This is on our channel and I didn't say the following. One Four Three is a cluster grope. Just try to avoid the idiots. We're working with their flight officers to get some control, but it's not going to happen. They're just too screwed up. The following is official. Use such maneuvering as necessary to maintain safety and integrity of your shuttle and passengers. Mutant out."
"Crap," Dana said, dodging another 143 shuttle. She was getting to where she could tell the 142nd units without even looking at the information icon. They were the ones maintaining station and not drifting all over the damned bay.
". . . just leave 'em in the Troy," Glass said. "Just get 'em to dock and stay docked. We can handle this."
"That's what I'm trying to convince their flight NCOIC to do," Chief Barnett commed. "He's got orders to have them shuttle back and forth. And I can't get ahold of MOGS or any of their chain of command. Everybody's in meetings."
"Well, if they keep endangering my people, we're going to start opening up with lasers," Glass said.
"That is, increasingly, an option," Barnett commed. "But let's just try to survive and worry about this in the AAR."
"I got authorization to just cut it away," the Navy guy said. "They didn't even blink. Apparently that's what we're doing with a lot of stuff."
"Great," Butch said. "Then we can get started."
"I've got two other teams I'm monitoring," the Navy guy said. "I gotta go."
"Got this," Butch said. "Go on. Jinji, we're going to have to be careful with this. There's guys working up the tube from us."
"I understand," the Egyptian said. "We will be very careful."
"I want to see each of the settings on the laser heads before you start cutting," Butch said. "I'll set them to cut two meters and no more. Don't mess with them."
"Yes, Mr. Allen."
Butch checked each laser head as the Coptics picked them up and spread out. There wasn't much room in the missile tube, but there was enough for the five man team.
The tube was circular so Butch had decided to take it out in quarters. He slid forward and used a laser to mark the cut points. Down the middle and across in a cross. Then cut away the edges of each quarter.
Four of the Egyptians started cutting as soon as he was done, he and Jinji standing back to monitor.
The four started from the cardinal points, working towards the middle. The lasers were powerful but the metal was, deliberately, refractory. It took some time to even burn through and cutting across was slow.
"BF, Butch."
"Go, Butch."
"We're starting work on the door," Butch said. "But this is going to take a while. We're having to cut it out."
"All good. Make sure you get the edges good and smooth. The missiles don't slide along the edges but they could come close. Cut close and smooth it out."
"We don't have any grinders."
"I'll get some down to you. How's it going?"
"Slow. But otherwise fine. Where're you?"
"Up at the head of the tube. If you think that's going slow, try getting two hundred tons of melted NI out of the way."
"Heh," Butch chuckled. "Better you than me."
"Just stay safe. Nothing here worth dying over. And if you die, you can't spend your pay."
"Will do."
✺ ✺ ✺
"Good lock," Hartwell said.
Waiting to get docked was just about the scariest thing Dana had ever done including working the scrap yard. At least in the scrap yard the stuff went on a predictable vector.
"Get the cargo out," Dana said, wincing as a shuttle nearly hit her docked. "Fast. I do not want to be here any longer than necessary."
"Get this," Hartwell said as they undocked. "The ‘Marines' are Pathans."
"What's a Pathan?" Dana asked, maneuvering carefully through the chaos. It was getting to be less of a mess, which was nice. Apparently somebody had gotten a dose of sense.
"The Therm has a bunch of Alliance groups," Hartwell said. "Afghanistan's a part of the Alliance. They sent a bunch of their guys to be trained as space marines."
"These are Afghans?" Dana said. Her assigned vector had a shuttle sitting right in it so she had to go out of route. Which put her in someone else's route. "Sorry," she commed.
"No problem," Twenty-Four replied. "Figured you had to dodge that idiot."
"Southern Afghans," Hartwell said. "Pathans. Pushtuns."
"Okay," Dana said.
"You don't get it, do you?" Hartwell said, chuckling. "These are the guys we were fighting for something like twenty years in Afghanistan. Okay, Taliban?"
"You're pulling my leg," Dana said, finally getting it.
"Nope," Hartwell said. "Taliban and Pathan aren't exactly the same, but they were most of the Taliban forces. And their commanders? They're not Marines. They're US Special Forces. The guys that took down the Taliban in Afghanistan then fought there for twenty years."
"We gave 'em laser rifles?" Dana said. "What are we, crazy?"
"I feel like the XO of the Yorktown," Commodore Pounders said. "We're clearing a lot of the damage by cutting it away and jettisoning it overboard. Which means we're leaving an even larger trail of debris. The good news is, we'll have about 80% functionality in an hour."
"So . . ." Admiral Kinyon said, considering the scratch plan. "The last question is maneuver control. Can we make the insertion?"
"We figured out why we were getting anomalous delta at least," Captain Pohlman said. "We took multiple hits on the Orion, sir."
"But it's running, right?" Kinyon said, frowning.
"Yes, sir," Pohlman said, shaking his head. "It's still running. Just sort of . . . sideways. Spring four took most of the impact and it's a bit . . . bent. We've figured out the compensation. And internal rotation is, of course, unaffected. We . . . should be able to make the insertion. But the Troy's not a really precision instrument. And it's a narrow window."
"How long to get into position?"
"We'll be in position by the time Colonel Helberg's teams are done, sir," the captain replied. "We're maneuvering for insertion at the moment. Just using very light adjustments. We'll have to increase delta for insertion."
"Understood," Kinyon said. "The orbital vector in Eridani is higher."
"To boldly go where no battle globe has gone before," Captain Sharp said. "It's true. Humans really are crazy."
"The station is going into the Eridani system?" Gorku said. "Are you insane?"
"It's a big station," Tyler said, looking at the plans. "Getting through the gate is going to be interesting. As to insane . . . Yes. We're insane. As a species we do things then see if it works. It's called ‘trial and error.' Mostly error, admittedly. Also ‘the scientific method.' Which is just trial and error dressed up in fancy language."
"It's not can you get through the gate," Gorku said, nervously. "It's what might be on the other side."
"Should be light forces," Tyler replied. "And a bunch of Rangora engineers desperately trying to take down the space docks before something comes through the gate. The fun part is trying to get through before they're ready to leave."
"And you intend to go along on this suicide mission?" Gorku said.
"I'm not the only one, Niazgol. You're going, too."
"What?"
✺ ✺ ✺
"All hands, civilian and military, this is Admiral Kinyon.
"Troy Battle Globe, BG One, has been ordered by the President of the United States, in consultation with the Alliance partnership officials, to move forward into the Epsilon Eridani system, determine the nature of enemy forces therein, engage enemy forces at will and remove from that system any materials which can be moved in no more than one day. This can be styled as a reconnaissance raid in really enormous force. It's purpose is to show the Rangora that Terra is a strategic threat and thereby get them to the negotiating table. We anticipate light forces guarding the AV support ships. Light being defined as one or more battleship squadrons with supporting cruisers and frigates.
"Commander's intent is to have the Troy engage all armed vessels in the system then launch CruRon One, augmented, as well as Shuttle Squadrons One Four Two and One Four Three with elements of Fifth and Ninth Marine regiments to take such vessels as are determined to be mobile enough to remove from the system. We are particularly interested in the semi-mobile repair docks for the AVs. That is the primary target.
"Boot them in the ass, don't piss on them. For the first time, Earth is not standing on the defensive. We're about to teach these lizard bastards why you don't mess with Terra. We're going to teach that lesson by blowing the crap out of their pussy little cruisers and battleships and taking their stuff. If I could paint a skull and crossbones on the side of the Troy I'd do it. I want a great big ‘Arrh!' from all hands as we pass through the gate. That is all."
THIRTY-FOUR
"We could send some of the battle ship squadrons in . . ."
"Anything that can destroy an AV squadron is not going to have much trouble with a battleship squadron!" Star Marshall Gi'Bucosof shouted.
The staff officer slid down in his seat, quivering.
The arguments had been going on for the last three hours as the two Marshals tried to figure out some way to pull victory from defeat.
The support fleet, with two Aggressor squadrons, was parked on the out-going side of the gate twenty thousand kilometers from the exit. They had waited in vain for the return of the AVs until it became obvious no-one was returning. Since then they had been taking down the docks.
The main battle fleet, the AV Dwarf Marauder and twenty-two Aggressor squadrons, was hovering on the input side of the gate as its various staffs and commanders shouted at each other and tried to assign blame.
"We should retreat as fast as possible," Marshall Lhi'Kasishaj said. "Hook up the tractors of the ships and pull the docks through the gate. Kulo only knows what the Terrans are going to send through any moment now. They've clearly been building ships faster than anyone anticipated."
Lhi'Kasishaj was pretty much resigned to his fate. He was going to get his head cut off, even though his people had pointed out that six AVs were simply insufficient.
Taking down the docks was, as always, taking time. They had to be disassembled and then moved through the gate in portions otherwise the relatively fragile platforms would be damaged. But at this point, he was ready to get out of the system. Even though that probably meant being shorter.
"You spineless coward!" Gi'Bucosof screamed. "That would be your choice. You and your working group that couldn't even figure out the Thermopylae was online!"
They'd gotten that much of a transmission from the second group. That they were taking fire from the Thermopylae and the Troy was physically blocking the gate. The humans were back to thoroughly jamming hypercom so they didn't know more than that.
"When we get back I am going to denounce you as incompetent and a coward," Gi'Bucosof continued. "This was, after all, your command."
"Which you, unilaterally, took over," Lhi'Kasishaj pointed out. "The mission logs show that every order was given by you. I was relegated to listening to my mission be destroyed by your orders!"
"We'll see what High Command has to say about . . ."
"Marshall . . ." Captain Azugom said. "I'm getting word that there is a gate activation. The codes are for Terra."
"Perhaps . . ." Gi'Bucosof said. "Perhaps the first group survived?"
"And perhaps this battle is truly over," Lhi'Kasishaj said, voicing the thoughts of every sane person in the meeting. "Captain, send a signal to the fleet to prepare to defend the system against the Terran mobile forces . . ."
"Marshall . . ." the captain said in a low tone. "It's not cruisers . . ."
"Damn . . ." Kinyon said. "We fit!"
"Close," Captain Pohlman pointed out. "We actually had to sort of bump off of some fields on the gate. That's a pretty powerful system."
"And we have . . ." Captain Sharp said. "Uh . . . oh . . ."
"Define ‘uh, oh,' " Admiral Kinyon said, looking at the tac screen. "Uh, oh."
"Uh, oh," Low Commander Osipheth said as the mass of nickel-iron emerged from the gate.
Aggressor squadrons consisted of one Aggressor, four Cofubof cruisers, two Gufesh destroyers and two Sheshibas frigates.
As the commander of the Sheshibas class frigate Yettoj, LC Osipheth was about the lowliest commander in the system. But it was still a command and one that he loved.
Watching the Troy emerge was, therefore, pretty much the end of any joy he might have had. Because the entire fleet was well aware that six Assault Vectors had just taken it on and not come back. Their effect was evident from the scarred surface. Which, along with a credit, would buy you a drink in the club.
"Jachchud signals taking override control," the tactical officer said.
The A
ggressors could integrate fire from their full battle group. With the Jachchud taking control of the battle, that was pretty much it for commanding as well. Except for the battle damage.
"Relinquish control," Osipheth said. "For what good it will do."
"We hit it!" Ucelef said. "I don't know who or what . . . But there's a continuous set of . . . nuclear explosion . . . s . . ." He trailed off.
Osipheth had been looking at the same readings and had the same moment of elation. But he'd also gotten to the fine print faster than his tactical officer.
"I think . . . that's their drive," the commander said.
"Hah, hah!" one of the tactical enlisted Rangora said. "That's their . . . that's their . . ."
"Twenty-five megatons every tenth second," Ucelef said. "Twenty . . . five . . ."
"That's their drive!" the tactical tech said. "Their drive! Their drive! Hah, hah . . . hahhahhahhahhahahaaaaaaa!"
"Appears to be slowing them down, though," Osipheth said. "I think we need a medic up here. And I could use a drink."
"I have twenty four Aggressor squadrons, total," Sharp said. "Two forward guarding the docks. That was expected. The twenty-two and an AV were not."
"Hit the guards first," Admiral Kinyon said. "Boot them in the ass, don't piss on them. Then swing around the gate to engage the heavy forces."
"Kick in the ass, aye," Sharp said. "Full launch, Sector Two. Target Sierra Twenty-three. Full launch, Sector West. Target Sierra Twenty-Four. We need to maneuver to engage with lasers. I don't have any guns on North."
"Maneuvering, come about," the Admiral said. "Bring West and Two around to target the guard forces on the way by. Keep East, One and North towards the main fleet. Prepare to launch parasite craft."
"Come about, aye," Captain Pohlman said. "West and Two to spinward, aye. East, One, North to anti-spin, aye."