In the hot, sweaty confines of their firing chambers, the seven members of each missile crew were all too aware that they were expendable. That was a fact they accepted in exchange for the higher pay and prestige of their jobs.
“Range, leading ship, two-point-nine tachymeters,” Bon said. “Bearing two-zero-three-three-seven by five-one-six-zero-niner. Vector thirty-four degrees. Closing at point-two-eight per hour, steady. Minimum crossing range, one thousand two hundred kilometers.”
Ishiwa absorbed each new datum with a growing sense of anticipation. Here was a Sondak convoy headed directly across their bow presenting a passing gallery of targets for their missiles. What better hunting could Olmis ask for? “Lock on the leading warships, Lieutenant.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Time to firing range, forty-seven minutes,” Chief Kleber said quietly.
“Chief, target your last four missiles on the strongest nav-signals in the convoy. As soon as we fire the last…” Ishiwa paused as he stared at the convoy’s movement reflected on the plotting screen. “Do you see that, Bon?”
Bon, too, stared at the screen. “It isn’t possible, sir.”
“Martyrs,” Ishiwa whispered.
“Two ships breaking off from the convoy,” Bon said flatly. “Maybe it is just a routine maneuver, sir.”
“Convoy’s slowing, sir,” the deck piper added.
“I think they’ve spotted us, Bon. Damn.” Ishiwa double-checked Olmis’s instruments to ensure that all her external scanners were off. They were. Olmis was sending no signals to give her presence away. Yet somehow Sondak’s warships had managed to locate them again. But how? How? “What’s their current range and closing ratio, Bon?”
Bon shifted back to the target scope. “Thirteen-fifty and accelerating, Captain. Closing at point-three-six per hour.”
“Time to maximum range?”
Chief Kleber huddled with Bon over the scope. “Forty-one minutes, sir.” They both looked up at Ishiwa expectantly.
“What now, sir?” Bon asked.
“No suggestions, Lieutenant?” He hadn’t meant for his question to sound sarcastic, but it did.
“Accelerated attack, sir?”
Ishiwa wished Bon’s suggestion had been stated more positively, but he paused only for a second. “Excellent, Bon. Start engines and prepare to initiate a direct accelerated attack. Alert all hands.”
New commands rang through the ship. The crew quickly strapped themselves to their battle stations. The memory of Olmis’s last engagement was as fresh in their minds as the bruises they had suffered were on their bodies.
As he strapped himself in his command chair, Ruto Ishiwa wondered again how Sondak’s warships had detected them. He made a mental note to reevaluate all systems in an attempt to discover what had given them away. Now there were far more important things to worry about.
“Course, all ought, sir?” Bon asked.
“Affirmative. All ought, maximum acceleration. Change to all ought minus five at three hundred kilometers. Time to range and firing window, Chief?”
“Thirty-two minutes to maximum range with five minute window, sir. A maximum two missile shot.”
“Very well, Chief. Bon, target missiles three and four for the heart of the convoy. Chief, can we fire five and six after we pass the main body?”
Chief Kleber looked over at him with a frown. “Number five, is no problem, sir,” she said, “but at full acceleration I doubt we’ll be able to get number six away in time to hit anything.”
Ishiwa cursed silently. This was not the attack role anyone had expected Olmis to play. Instead of head-on confrontations with warships, she should be sitting on the convoy’s flanks picking off Sondak freighters one by one.
“Convoy’s accelerating again, Captain,” the deck piper said.
“Targets one and two still closing at point-three-six.”
With sudden inspiration, Ishiwa looked closely at the plotting screen. “Release target locks! New course…four-five-hundred by all ought! Speed, match plus point-four.”
Bon quickly shifted his gaze to the plotting screen. “Is that an interception course, sir?”
Ishiwa smiled slightly. “It is, Bon. Let’s see if we can shake them up a little and do some hunting at the same time.”
Olmis swung in a slow arc to her new heading. Before she reached it, the deck piper said, “Targets altering to follow.”
“What about the convoy?”
“Steady as before, sir.”
“Good,” Ishiwa said. “Lock on for two aft shots. And make them count, Chief. I want to even the odds a little.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Commander Rochmon handed Admirals Stonefield and Gilbert each a sealed folder marked Maximum Secret. Admiral Gilbert immediately broke the seal on his and removed the contents, but Admiral Stonefield just sat there staring at the ceiling and tapping the folder with an idle finger. Rochmon had seen Stony like this before and waited with the patience of practice.
“So,” Stonefield said finally, “Just what ‘do’ we know about these Wu-class hunks the Ukes have sent after us, Commander?”
“Only what you have before you, sir. They can accelerate to lightspeed almost twice as fast as anything –“
“Then the rumors are true?”
“Yes, sir. Their acceleration rate is twice as fast as anything we have except the experimental XA-16 attack ships. They are certainly –“
“How do you know about the XA-16?” Anger burned in Stonefield’s eyes. “That is a highly classified weapons system.”
Rochmon shook his head. “Not any more, Admiral. What I’m telling you is what we’ve filtered out of a series of coded Uke transmissions – and ‘they’ certainly know about the XA-16.” He paused for a moment trying to read Stonefield’s expression.
“That’s one leak you can’t blame on Bock,” Rochmon said quietly, “’cause none of us knew about it until the Ukes started telling each other.” He knew he probably shouldn’t have brought up Bock’s name, but he missed her services in cryptography and hated the fact that she was considered guilty of spying until proven innocent.
Admiral Stonefield nodded with a sigh. “Very well, Commander. I’ll remember that your Bock may not be guilty of that particular piece of treason. Please continue.”
“As I was saying, these Wu-class hunks are very heavily armored. The one Veda attacked took at least three direct hits from our spikes and never paused. We also know they carry long-range missiles that allow –“
“How long range? How far can they shoot at us?” Gilbert asked. The last thing the Combined Fleets needed was a threat like this one.
“Don’t know, sir. Our best estimates from the two reports we’ve received are that they can fire from an effective range of at least one thousand kilometers.”
“Damn,” Gilbert cursed. How were his ships supposed to fight weapons like that?
“That’s what we said, sir,” Rochmon continued, looking at his old mentor, and thinking of Mica on her way to Satterfield within range of this new Uke threat. “But we do have some good information for you.”
“Well?”
“Two things, Admiral. Maybe three. First, for some reason these new hunks of theirs are extremely easy to spot. Post Commander Jennings of the Veda said the one they attacked lit up their nav-screen with triple the normal luminosity. Our guess is that it has something to do with their new armament.”
“That’s something, anyway. What else?” Deep worry lines streaked across Stonefield’s face into the depths of his thin white hair.
“The second thing is that we’re pretty sure from the two attacks they’ve made so far, that like their old Zhou-class hunks, these new Wu-class hunks still only have one missile tube forward and one aft.”
“Surely the Ukes weren’t stupid enough to repeat that design mistake,” Gilbert said. “That cost them a lot of ships because they couldn’t reload and fire fast enough.”
“May be, Admiral, but appare
ntly they thought they could compensate for that with speed and improved armor. Anyway, their pattern of attack indicates they kept their old one-and-one design.” Rochmon paused looking from Stonefield to Gilbert and back again, and wondering how either of them had enough time to deal personally with this.
“The final bit of information is that the Ukes have had some production problems with this new hunk,” Rochmon said with a smile, “and we estimate have only been able to put seven of them in service so far.”
“All operating in polar region,” Gilbert said without humor. He was thinking of Mica and Henley Stanmorton. “With how many more to follow?”
“Don’t know the answer to that one, Admiral. We have a lot of sources in the U.C.S., but so far none of them can give us that kind of information. Our guess is that they –“
“Guess! Guess! I’m tired of guesses,” Stonefield said. “Don’t guess, Commander. Find out. That’s your job.”
Rochmon didn’t need to be reminded of what his job was, but he held his tongue and let Stonefield continue.
“It’s one thing for our ships to have to cope with half-a-set of these new hunks, and quite another if they’re going to be spacing hundreds or even thousands of them out there.”
After a long pause Gilbert said, “Tell us your guess anyway, Hew. I’ll settle for that until you can come up with something more definitive.”
“Of course,” Stonefield added, as though trying to make-up for his outburst of anger.
“Hundreds rather than thousands, sir,” Rochmon said, keeping his smile. Stony had a right to want more information, but Rochmon was proud of what his Cryptography had already gathered.
“Probably the low hundreds. Part of their production problems seem to have been caused by certain material shortages. Consequently, we don’t expect them to begin mass producing them any time in the near future. We also have some evidence that it is taking the Ukes six to eight standard months to train their new crews before sending them out.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Stonefield said after a long silence. “And please understand that we appreciate this information. If I was short with you, it was because all this,” he said with a wave of his hand at the file, “raises as many questions as it answers.”
“I understand, sir,” Rochmon said as he rose to his feet. “We’ll keep you informed of anything new we learn.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Stonefield said absently.
Rochmon gave them both a quick salute and left the office with his thoughts going back to Mica Gilbert. He prayed that she was safe and mentally kicked himself for not spending more time with her before she left.
Josiah Gilbert watched him go and unknowingly shared the same thoughts.
“You’ll alert all commands immediately, Josiah?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. I’d like to see you back here this evening with any ideas you have about how we can counter these new hunks.”
“Will do, sir,” Gilbert said. But as he left Stonefield’s office he knew the best place to go for those ideas was to the officers of POLFLEET and he hoped he could get through to them.
As he walked out of the building he was startled to hear chanting protestors outside the gate.
“Attack the Ukes! Attack the Ukes! Attack the Ukes!” they shouted.
Gilbert smiled and wished it were that easy. He wished they had the forces to attack the Ukes without holding back, and a small part of him wanted to be with the chanting crowd, adding his voice in the hopes that the Joint Chiefs – and especially Stonefield – might hear them.
Neither the legislative Tri-Cameral nor the Combined Administrative Committees had the power to force the Joint Chiefs to act, but nothing the J.C.s did could silence their persistent demands for the Services to take a more aggressive role in the war. Already a score of ranking members from both those branches of government had called on Gilbert to express their concerns. Like the crowd outside, the civilians in government didn’t want to hear about defense. They wanted to hear about battles won and the Ukes beaten back to the surface of their planets.
With another quiet smile he headed for his quarters. The civilians had given him at least part of the answer to pass on to Stonefield. If the fleets were going to beat the Uke hunks, they would have to take the offensive and attack the hunks whenever possible.
14
“WITH ALL DUE RESPECT TO YOU and to the members of Bridgeforce,” Frye said slowly, “I do not understand how we can embark on plans to build ships of this size. We cannot even find adequate materials to produce sufficient hunks and new launchships. How will we build bombships of such gigantic proportions?”
“It has been decided,” Admiral Tuuneo said softly, “and there is nothing you or I can do about it.”
“Can’t you reform Bridgeforce, sir?”
Tuuneo shook his head. “Six months ago I could have. Six months ago, the kyosei were still a weak faction. Now I find their perverted isolationism everywhere. If I tried to reform Bridgeforce, I would have a kyosei rebellion on my hands. How they have gained such support so quickly, I do not know. But I am too much of a realist to try to fight them openly.”
Frye suddenly felt sympathy for the old man and realized that he was making a great admission. If Bridgeforce was forcing these bombships on the U.C.S. against Tuuneo’s advice, then Frye knew his arguments would carry little weight.
“Please, Commander, you do not eat. Is the food too warm?”
“Not at all, sir,” Frye said absently. He forced himself to take a bite of the pickled rodiert. It was delicious, almost as good as Vinita’s. But his mind was not on the food.
“I apologize for displeasing you,” Tuuneo said.
That snapped Frye alert. He had been rude. “The apology should be mine, Admiral. I let my mind wander.”
“Listen to me, Frye. Listen carefully.”
Frye’s breath caught for a second. Tuuneo’s use of his first name was an unexpected breach of decorum. The intimacy of first names was reserved for the closest of family and friends.
“I have an illness,” Tuuneo said, looking down at his food, “an illness from which I may not recover.”
Those same words had foretold the death of the only woman Frye had ever totally loved. Now he was hearing those hated words from the one military leader in the U.C.S. for whom he had unqualified respect. Only politeness made him finish cheweing the now tasteless food in his mouth.
“I tell you this,” Tuuneo continued, “not to elicit your sympathy, for I know that you, above all others, will understand what is happening to me and my family.” He lifted his eyes and looked directly at Frye. “Bridgeforce has suffered since the defection of Marshall Judoff’s forces, and it will suffer more when I am gone. There will be a true power struggle. Judoff might even be foolish enough to return and participate in it.”
Frye slowly nodded, not knowing what to say, or where Admiral Tuuneo was heading. Deep under his heart he felt a terrible ache that refused to subside.
“However,” Tuuneo said with a slight smile, “I have made provisions for that contingency, and many others that Bridgeforce will have to face in my absence.”
“Please, sir. Do not speak with such certainty of your absence,” Frye said softly.
“I hear the pain in your voice, but I must speak the truth, Frye Charltos, and you must face it.”
Another echo from Vinita’s death stabbed through him. ‘Face the truth,’ she had told him before she died.
“I invited you here to eat with me this evening for a very special reason. In order to maintain some balance on Bridgeforce and retain the point of view you and I share, you have been promoted to Vice-Admiral. Tomorrow you will be installed as a permanent member of Bridgeforce. You were the price I exacted for their stupid bombships.”
Frye was stunned again. His emotions swirled with grief, honor, and disbelief before he could control them. “I, uh, I don’t know what to say, sir. It is a great honor.”
&nb
sp; “And a great danger, Frye Charltos. Never forget the danger. Bridgeforce was born in treachery, and in treachery it will die one day.”
Such a stark admission of the hidden truth about Bridgeforce was almost more than Frye could bear. It seemed that Tuuneo intended the impossible. “Is there more you wish to tell me, sir?” he asked hesitantly. Not since Vinita’s death had he felt so emotionally adrift.
“Only the obvious,” Tuuneo said with another slight smile. “If I live long enough, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you become Chairman of Bridgeforce.”
“I can’t take your place, sir,” Frye finally managed to say.
“Then do not try. You must make your own place on Bridgeforce – but you must make it quickly. Already those with kyosei sympathies are prepared to pick over my bones.”
Frye hung his head and fought the conflicting desires in his heart. He had no ambition to become a member of Bridgeforce yet, but he did have an overwhelming desire to shape its policies. If that meant becoming more involved in their squabbles and fighting the growing influence of the kyosei, then so be it. Against that was his overwhelming desire to concentrate all his attention on the war against Sondak and leave the policies to others.
He knew he could not have both without great compromises. It would mean delegating much of his direct responsibility for the daily conduct of the war, and he would need help to do that properly. He immediately thought of Melliman and wondered if his old AOCO would willingly serve him again after what he had done to her. If nothing else, maybe she would just be pleased to get away from Sutton and the lecherous Marshall Yozel.
“Forgive my intrusion on your thoughts,” Tuuneo said, “but you will have time for them later. From this moment forward, you and I must waste no time on private emotions. We have much to accomplish for the good of the U.C.S.”
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 37