by Linn Schwab
Leaving Pogo and his team to work on their project, Commander Ingman led the admiral back to the lift and informed him there were other things they needed to discuss.
“First of all,” he said, “on the regrettable side, I have Captain Hilliard stewing in my brig right now. I’m convinced I have enough evidence against him to warrant a full investigation of his actions. Now, normally you might consider that a pressing issue, but I suggest we focus our attention elsewhere right now. I have something else to show you that is far more important. Aerial photographs of the enemy homeworld’s surface.”
The admiral was clearly surprised to hear this. “Aerial?” he said. “You mean as in…”
“Taken from within the planet’s atmosphere. Captain Vance and Jay are in my office right now, scouring the images for crucial details. If it turns out we can’t learn anything from that destroyer, at least now we’ll have a little information to work with when the time comes for us to attack the planet’s surface.”
They left the elevator and started walking toward the commander’s office.
“Just how detailed are these pictures?” the admiral asked.
“From what I’ve seen, there’s enough detail to make out individual trees.”
“What about infrastructure?”
Commander Ingman frowned and shook his head. “In the pictures I saw just before you arrived, I didn’t see so much as a flagpole on the surface. Just vast open areas of wilderness … which, now that I think about it, is exactly what this pilot was hoping to find.”
“Pilot?”
“Yes. Well, not actually a pilot. Did I ever introduce you to Karl Millich?”
The admiral searched his memory, then nodded. “Ah, yes. The gentleman who had a knack for recalling facts.”
“That would be him.”
“Now you’ve lost me,” the admiral insisted. “I admit, I’ve seen you come up with some unconventional tactics before, but I can’t even begin to fathom what you were thinking by sending Mr. Millich out in a fighter.”
“It’s a sad story,” the commander informed him. “Karl was a longtime friend of mine. But his health was failing. His days were numbered. So he came to me with this cockamamie idea to make a suicide run at the enemy planet. Said he wanted a chance to see it up close, and maybe live out his final days in the wilderness. I guess that might explain why these photographs are short on infrastructure. He might have been intentionally avoiding such things in the hope that no one would come track him down.”
“Well, whatever we learn is more than we knew before. Hats off to Mr. Millich for taking the initiative on this.”
Commander Ingman stopped outside his office and allowed the admiral to enter first. Captain Vance and Jay were leaning over a tactical display, carefully examining an enlarged photograph.
“Have you found anything yet?” the commander asked.
Captain Vance paused and looked up from the display. “I believe so,” he said. “Take a look at this. We’ve been able to plot Karl’s progress from the instant he entered the planet’s atmosphere.”
He called up a hologram of the enemy homeworld, complete with depictions of the planet’s land masses.
“Now, we already had a fairly accurate idea of the shapes and sizes of the various continents. The particular continent we’re looking at is this one here in the southern hemisphere. Our pictures follow a path from west to east, almost dead center the entire way. We end up somewhere out over this ocean before the fighter ultimately runs out of fuel, and plunges nose first into the water.”
“Do we know for sure if Karl made it out?” the commander asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jay said, pointing to the photo. “He was right about here when he finally ejected. It looks to me like he stayed with the fighter for as long as he could, and bailed out near the coastline, just like we discussed.”
“I don’t suppose he shows up in any of these photos? It’d be nice to know if he landed safely.”
“No,” Jay said. “But we did find this.” He placed his finger down on the eastern edge of the continent, pointing to what appeared to be a large white structure. “And not only that, but there’s this,” he said, moving his finger to another point of interest.
“That’s a landing strip!” Commander Ingman said.
“Yes it is,” the admiral agreed. “And a lightly defended one at that. If we can seize that strip without much of a fight, we can land our shuttles there and establish a base of operations.”
“That should be easy,” Jay said. “All we have to do is take out this white structure on the bluff here. We can swoop in with our fighters and level it with bombs before they even realize what hit them.”
Admiral Sands shook his head. “That building you’re looking at is just a decoy. They’ve done everything they can to make it conspicuous. The real target is here, just north of the airstrip. If you look closely enough between the treetops, you can just make out the outline of a sprawling complex, with a vast network of interconnecting structures. That’s the target we need to concern ourselves with. Neutralize that, and the landing strip is ours.”
Jay leaned in closer to get a better look. “You’re right. It looks like there really is something in there. I could’ve flown right over that and not even noticed it.”
“I’m sure that’s the point,” the admiral said. “Whatever that installation’s purpose is, the enemy went to great lengths to disguise it. That suggests they consider it extremely important. Might even be some sort of command center. If and when we go after this airstrip, targeting that hidden structure should be our first and foremost priority.”
When the 2nd Battalion arrived on the spur, Suzanne issued instructions to each squad captain, informing them what their upcoming missions entailed. The Wasp, Coral, and Sparrow had been loaded with supplies to be ferried out to the carrier Zephyr. ECHO 5 was to fly the Cricket to Aries, where they would wait for repairs to be completed, or possibly bring back an alternate ship, depending on what was available.
Before boarding the Cricket, Robin reminded Suzanne that the ship had developed a persistent fuel leak.
“That’s a problem,” Suzanne agreed. “Aries is pretty far from here. We need to make sure you don’t run out of fuel before you get there. You’ll have to station hop along the way.”
“What does that mean?” Robin asked.
“It means you’re going to stop and refuel at every station along your flight path. From here you’ll proceed directly to Orion. From Orion you’ll proceed to Libra, and so forth. Follow the most direct route you can. You’ll probably end up stopping at least four times along the way.”
“Will all of these stations give us fuel?”
Suzanne gave Robin a mischievous grin. “If anyone gives you any trouble, Captain Starling, tell them they can take it up with Commander Eldridge.”
After poring over the photos for a while and finding little more than forests and savannahs, Commander Ingman and Admiral Sands rode the lift back down to see if Pogo had learned anything.
“Lieutenant Amarelli,” the commander said, “have you made any progress with the radio yet?” He could tell from the frown on Pogo’s face that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted to hear.
“No, sir,” Pogo said glumly. “I mean, the radio’s working, but it won’t decrypt the cipher. I can definitely pick up enemy transmissions, but it’s the same gibberish we’ve been hearing on our own equipment.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” the admiral asked.
Pogo held up an electronic device small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “Because somehow the cipher knows this ship is dead.”
Commander Ingman stepped closer and examined the device. “What exactly is this?” he asked.
“A failsafe,” Pogo said. “A very clever one, designed specifically to monitor cabin pressure and other functions of life support. If conditions on the ship should prove fatal to the crew, this failsafe pulls the plug on the cipher, thus preventing us f
rom getting our hands on it.”
“Damn,” Commander Ingman said in disgust. “So much for that idea, I guess.”
Admiral Sands took the object from Pogo’s hand and turned it over, studying every detail. “Is there no way to reverse engineer this device?”
“Possibly,” Pogo said. “But that won’t necessarily restore the cipher. I think our best chance of eavesdropping on enemy transmissions is to get our hands on a ship that’s still alive.”
“Alive?” the admiral asked, eyebrows raised.
“Well, I mean alive in terms of that device,” Pogo explained.
Commander Ingman leaned against the communications console and used his right fist to prop up his chin. “So we’d have to capture an enemy ship,” he mused, contemplating the challenges that might be involved. “Is that something we’ve ever attempted before?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” the admiral said. “But I’m certainly willing to consider the idea. I suppose one of their patrol ships would be our best option, if we can manage to isolate one and subdue it.”
“Yes, but subdue it how? The only thing I can think of would be to somehow disable it.”
“We could try to harpoon one,” the admiral suggested.
The commander chuckled. “Harpoon a destroyer? Talk about grabbing a tiger by the tail.”
“If we can hit one from behind and reel it in close, that should prevent it from bringing its weapons to bear.”
“True,” Commander Ingman said. “But what would you use to reel it in? You’d have to get your hands on a pretty big spool. Do we even have anything like that out here?”
Admiral Sands walked to an intercom panel and prompted a response from the Melbourne’s bridge.
“Yes, Admiral,” Lieutenant Berens replied.
“Lieutenant, I need you to contact the Mona Lisa. Find out where she is, transmit our coordinates, and tell her captain to rendezvous with us as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“You’re really gonna try this,” Commander Ingman said, still somewhat surprised by the admiral’s decision. “I’m not sure I’d want to be in Captain Hoile’s shoes right now.”
“The last time I laid eyes on Captain Hoile’s ship, he’d just tangled with a destroyer and lived to tell the tale. That’s no small accomplishment for such an unseasoned captain. He may be just the right man for the job.”
“Or it may be that he was just lucky.”
“Either way he’s going to get a chance to prove his worth. If the results of his actions are based primarily on luck, let’s hope it continues to hold out for him.”
Commander Ingman tried to envision what it would be like to snare a destroyer with a harpoon. “It’s going to take more luck than most captains see in a lifetime just to get close enough to fire a shot.”
“He’ll need a diversion,” the admiral agreed. “Perhaps we can use the Impala as bait. If her crew died before they had a chance to react to the collision, the enemy may not yet be aware she’s missing. Lieutenant Amarelli,” he said, bringing Pogo back into the conversation, “do we know if that ship has some sort of distress beacon on board?”
“I’m pretty sure it does,” Pogo said. “But there’s no way they could have activated it. All power to the bridge was knocked out by the impact.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, Lieutenant. I need you to figure out how to get it working. We’re going to use it to lure an enemy patrol ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Pogo said. “I’ll get it working. Just give me some time to figure out where they put it.”
The admiral turned to Commander Ingman and said, “We’re also going to need a large harpoon.”
“I’ll get my engineers on it right away. Shouldn’t take them long, seeing as they’ve already had a little practice.”
With the first leg of her journey to Aries complete, the Cricket sat idle at a dock on Orion while the service technicians prepared to refuel her. Taking advantage of the opportunity to stretch her legs, Robin wandered along the spur, and found it largely empty at the moment. Aside from the Cricket, there was only one destroyer present. To her surprise, it turned out to be the Calypso.
“Captain Starling,” Delia said stepping out through the airlock, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What brings you to Orion? Is Volaris in trouble?”
Robin shook her head and said, “We’re on our way to Aries. The Cricket needs one of her engines replaced. I wasn’t expecting to see you either. Has your crew been reassigned to Orion?”
“We had to come back here for repairs,” Delia explained. “We took a few hits between here and Volaris when we ran into a group of enemy ships. A carrier, a battleship, and two light cruisers. And enough fighters to keep us completely off balance. We got one torpedo hit on the battleship before the fighters crippled our hydraulic pumps.”
“I think we saw those same ships,” Robin said. “But we had to hide because they took out one of our engines.”
Delia picked up on the disappointment in her voice, and said, “There’s no shame in that. You did the right thing. Which engine did they hit?”
“Number three. They hit us before we even knew they were coming.”
“Well then, you’re lucky to get out of there alive. I might still engage in combat if I lost engine number two, but losing one or three is a much bigger problem since they have a greater impact on maneuverability. How are things on Volaris? Is Commander Eldridge still there?”
“No,” Robin said. “She left a little while ago. Suzanne is the station’s commander now.”
“Yeah, I heard Suzanne got promoted to commander. The Hornets were here on Orion for a while. Do you know if they made it back to Volaris?”
Robin frowned and lowered her head. “Zoe didn’t make it. An enemy pilot killed her.”
“Oh,” Delia said. “I’m sorry to hear that. She was part of your sister squadron, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. It hurts that she’s gone. She was…”
“Bubbly,” Delia suggested.
“Yes. She was bubbly. People were always happy to see her. I wish there was something I could do to bring her back.”
“Don’t forget her, Captain Starling. That’s all you can do. The friends we all lose live on in our memories. They’re a part of what makes us who we are.”
“I won’t forget her,” Robin insisted, and made an effort to etch Zoe’s face in her memory. Bubbly Zoe. Smiling Zoe. The Zoe that was always friendly and helpful. But when she tried to picture Zoe’s face in her mind, the image of a dolphin somehow found its way in there as well. And again she was reminded of a silly childhood fantasy.
Shortly after the Mona Lisa’s arrival, Captain Hoile was summoned to the bridge of the Melbourne so Admiral Sands could inform him what to expect. Commander Ingman kept quiet as he observed the exchange, half expecting the young captain to fall over when he heard the details. Though his face went pale and he teetered just a little, to his credit he managed to take the news standing up. But judging from the fatalistic expression on his face, the captain was convinced he was going to die. This was clearly not the look of a fearless man with boundless confidence in his own abilities.
Well that answers one question, the commander decided. Captain Hoile had best hope his luck holds out.
When the meeting was over, Captain Hoile returned to his ship to oversee installation of the harpoon launcher. After his departure, Commander Ingman received word that Pogo had something to show him, so he and Admiral Sands returned to the reassembled bridge.
“Lieutenant Amarelli,” the commander said when they arrived, “have you made any progress on that distress signal yet?”
“Yes, sir,” Pogo replied. “It won’t be a problem to get it working.”
“Can you make it work remotely?” the admiral asked.
Pogo had to stop and think about that. “Sure, I think we can rig something up. Where do you want to control it from?”
“The Mona Lisa’s bridg
e would be the best location. That way Captain Hoile can set the beacon off when his ship is in position to spring the trap.”
“Makes sense,” Pogo said. “How much time do we have?”
“We’re just starting work on the harpoon launcher, so you still have a fair amount of time to work with. Would eighteen hours be sufficient?”
“Yes, sir. Eighteen hours should be plenty”
“Lieutenant,” Commander Ingman said, “I was told you have something you wanted to show us.”
Pogo pointed to the Impala’s systems console. “To find out how the distress beacon works, I had to search through the ship’s command systems. While I was scrolling through the list of commands, I found something I think you might find interesting. Take a look at this.” He entered some keystrokes on the systems console, and a heading appeared on its monitor.
Admiral Sands approached the console and read the line of text out loud. “Automated ship to ship fleet roster update. Sounds interesting, but what exactly does it do?”
“Pretty much just what the name implies. Whenever two of their ships establish contact with each other, they swap information about each other’s condition. Then at some point later on, they transmit that information to a central database. It’s sort of like an automated inventory system, so they know how many ships they have at their disposal, along with each ship’s current state of combat readiness.”
Admiral Sands looked at Pogo dumbfounded, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just been told. “Are you telling me you can provide us with a complete rundown on the enemy forces?”
“Possibly,” Pogo said. “But it won’t be easy. Let me show you what I’ve managed to come up with so far. Each enemy ship has its own serial number, or I.D. number, or whatever you want to call it. When I entered the Impala’s I.D. in the fleet roster update, it showed me a column of similar numbers, which I think might be a comprehensive list of their warships. I punched in a few of those numbers to see what would happen, and so far each one of them corresponds to a ship of some type. Trouble is, I can’t find any way to automate the process. And there are a lot of numbers on this list. So if you want to find out what all these ships are, someone’s gonna have to key all these numbers in and transfer the results to our own equipment.”