by Rob Buckman
The craft passed several building yards, and when Scott saw different-sized ships under construction, he began to wonder about his battleship/carrier. With only flat plates available when they built the first three destroyers, they were something not even a mother could love. His trepidation of how ugly his ship would look was answered as they came up to moon orbit, and he saw the sun flash off something big. Just how big, he found out as they approached, and he laughed out of pure joy. Old George Lucas would be standing up in his grave applauding what his vision of the future had wrought. The half-mile-long, pure white V-shaped hull gleamed in the sunlight, as did the upper works, and overall the ship resembled a battleship of bygone days. The main deck had three steps, each with three barrels on a swiveling gun turret pointing forward.
While he watched, something shot out of a dark band below each massive turret. On his craft’s approach, he could make out a flight of fighters pulling into formation. He nodded to himself; they had placed the launch deck under each weapons emplacement for better space utilization. Smart thinking on someone’s part.
The stern had a similar opening across its width with a short, clear deck and a lit, tractor beam net, or “trap” for landing. The deck vanished into the hull through a dark opening, as witnessed by the fact they were heading directly for it. Below that, near the base of the V-hull, the main drive unit could be seen, but he couldn’t get a clear view: it was recessed under a step in the hull, presumably so as not to interfere with any spacecraft landing on the flight deck. An impressive sight, but he did have some misgivings about the vulnerability of the underside. After passing through the cold plasma curtain that kept the air inside the ship and berthing, the crew put on all the fanfare due an admiral. CPO Hardwick gave him a wink and used an old-fashioned boatswain’s whistle to “pipe him aboard” as he walked down the ramp. As tradition required, after saluting the flag, Scott “read” himself in, and took over the duties and responsibilities as admiral of the first Earth fleet.
“So you made it, huh!” he said in a soft voice to CPO Hardwick.
“That I did sir, thanks to you,” Hardwick answered as Jack Bingham, the ship’s captain, came forward. Captain Bingham saluted and formally welcomed him aboard before he walked Scott down the line of waiting officers. Each came to attention and saluted before shaking hands as he was introduced. Some Scott knew, some he didn’t, and he made a metal note to learn about their abilities as quickly as possible. Like him, they all looked young, some naturally, others thanks to Dr. Kessler’s manipulation. Each would have his own quirks and way of doing things, and it was his job to weld all the different personalities onboard into a whole. Any ship or fleet is more than the sum total of its parts, and this one would be also.
After that, he got the ten-cent tour, hitting all the high spots and other officers who were on duty before being taken to his quarters. This, as it turned out, was a complete suite of cabins, including a stateroom and dining area that could comfortably seat fifty people. Scott smiled to himself, thinking that this cabin was bigger than his first apartment after he got married. His next thought: after all the miles of passageways, he was ready for a drink.
“Do I have anything like a steward around the place?” he asked the captain.
“Yes, Admiral. CPO Hardwick is your coxswain, and is in charge of your quarters and security detail.” He pushed a button. A moment later, Hardwick arrived.
“Really?” Scott said.
“Yes, Admiral,” the captain replied. “When asked what job he’d like aboard the flagship, he said he wanted to be your coxswain. No one was sure what that entailed now, so we got him to write his own job description.”
“I won’t ask what those duties are right now,” Scott said. “I might get a surprise I’m not ready for.”
“Yes, Admiral?” CPO Hardwick asked with a smile.
“See if you can rustle up some coffee and brandy for me, Chief.”
“Coming right up sir,” he answered, and was as good as his word. In less than half a minute he was back with two stewards with trays, one of them Bill, his steward off the shuttle. They laid out the mugs, coffeepot, cream, and sugar on the table, along with the brandy decanters and glasses.
“Compliments of His Majesty on your appointment, sir.”
“Lord! That was nice of him. Hope I can live up to his expectations.”
“I have no doubt you will, Admiral.”
Scott filled his mug and took a shot glass of brandy, then waited until everyone had one in his hand. He looked around the assembled group, looking directly into each person’s eyes. Most looked directly back, especially Kat, who’d sneaked in without notice, but some looked down, mainly the junior officers. In time, that would change, as they grew more confident.
“CPO Hardwick, your hand is empty, fill it,” he said. Hardwick looked startled, then complied. While he did, Scott tried to think of some inspiring words, but drew a blank.
“I could quote you some famous admiral, general, or politician, but I won’t. I’ll just say four words. Let’s go do it!” He raised his glass.
“Let’s go do it!” they echoed, and drank the toast. They circulated after that, drinking coffee and just getting acquainted. He let them have at it for twenty minutes, until he judged all the formalities were done, then called a halt.
“Thank god that’s over. Now let’s get into something more comfortable. See you back here in one hour, those of you who don’t have other duties, that is.”
“Company dismissed,” the captain said. Everyone filed out, until only Kat and Scott remained. She still wore her sexy skirt and jacket, and the moment everyone left she found an excuse to go over and pick something up, turning her back to him and bending from the waist.
“Kat!”
“What?” she asked innocently.
“You and I need to have a little talk,” he growled, “my hand on your bottom!”
“Oh? When?” she said, smiling.
“Soon, very soon.”
“Oh good,” she said, placing her side hat on, “See you soon.” With that, she was gone. CPO Hardwick came back in just then, and spoiled his chain of thought.
“I’ve had the steward lay out your ship’s clothing, sir,” Hardwick said.
“What’s the order of the day?”
“Same as Group Captain Moore’s sir.”
“How come?”
“As of the moment you stepped aboard, this ship, and the fleet, went onto a war footing. That means we have to be able to get into space armor at a moment’s notice.”
“Good point. Now it makes sense. By the way, where is my suit?”
“You have two sir, just like everybody else. One is located in your day cabin next to the bridge, the other is here,” he said, opening the door to a small room. “If necessary, you can dive into this room and close the door. It has a self-contained breathing system that will last up to eight hours, and you have the same system in your day cabin.”
“All that just to get into my battle armor?”
“If the ship is hulled, it might be the only way you can survive.”
“I take it this is a precaution in case of sneak attack, and accidental rupture?”
“Correct sir. There are emergency lockers similar to this all over the ship. Those are painted in fluorescent yellow so you can see them in the dark. They contain general-purpose survival suits, and each locker can accommodate up to three people.”
“Smart. Someone took a lot of care thinking that one up.”
“That’s not all, sir. The smaller fluorescent yellow locker contains breathing gear for firefighting and vacuum conditions.”
“Well, it looks like our safety has been carefully thought out, I wonder about the rest of this ship.”
“She’s a good one sir, have no fear about that. I can feel it.”
Considering all he’d just heard, Scott began to change into a similar jumpsuit as Kat’s, but feeling nowhere as confident as she’d seemed donning hers. The quick
-remove long pants and jacket helped, although he found them more decorative than anything else. The suit kept his body temperature perfect, he soon learned, no matter the outside temperature. An hour later the senior officers, including Kat, reassembled, all except Kat, who’d worn similar suits while flying, looking somewhat uneasy in their suits. They got down to the business of who did what.
It didn’t take long for Scott to fall into old habits, listening, analyzing, commenting, and drawing the maximum information from the person in the shortest possible time. They all knew their jobs, so he gave them a free hand on how they organized their own departments, finding this the best policy over the years. People worked better when they ran things their way, and as long as it got the desired results and didn’t abuse the privilege of rank, he left them alone. As well as the normal ship’s complement, he also had a company of marines aboard. As on any ship, you never knew when they might come in handy. Scott renewed his friendship with their commander, remembering him as a somewhat quiet corporal in charge of a mortar platoon in the Mideast, now company commander. The air wing came under Kat’s command, and he listened attentively while she described the state of readiness and the expected arrival of the remainder of her birds. Engineering and environmental had their say, as did communication, operations, weapons and navigation. As each spoke, Scott tried to see the person behind the words, looking for their personality.
“Thank you, that was very informative,” he said when the last report was finished. “As you know, the day-to-day running of this ship is in the captain’s hands, and as I’m not big on meetings, I’d rather we had a social evening once a month to get together and relax.” He saw that this sat well, and suspected they had more than enough meetings to go to as it was.
“The captain will update me as needed,” he said, “but one thing I’d like to say—you are all qualified to do your jobs, so don’t come to him with your problems, come with your solution.” That got a laugh around the room, since most had heard it before: it had become something of a maxim within his old unit, and spread to others.
He turned to the captain. “Captain, with your permission, I’d like to poke around the ship on my own and try to find my way around.”
“I have no objections sir, but could I ask why?”
“No particular reason, I just like to know my way around, and who’s doing what to whom, so to speak.”
The captain nodded. “I’ll tell the crew.”
“Good, but tell them no jumping up and down when I walk in. I’m not inspecting anything, nor will I report to you anything not to my liking. This is your ship, and I’m just naturally nosy.”
“Very well, Admiral, I’ll so inform the crew.”
“Thank you. When I find out where the poker game is, I’ll let you know, but bring your money, we don’t take markers.” That got another laugh, but more than one officer looked at one another, thinking it funny that the admiral would know about the poker game.
During that night’s game, Scott learned that few newcomers knew how old he really was, or the history of how he’d got here, but when the old-timers heard, they laughed as well. More than once the skipper had joined in, when invited, and he was one hell of a player. By midnight ship’s time, he left instructions to be awakened at 0600 and went to bed, or tried to. Someone had beaten him to it, and she wasn’t about to let him waste time sleeping.
After breakfast the next morning, Scott got his first look at the bridge, hearing the familiar, “Admiral on the bridge” as he stepped through the door. The marine guard and the captain saluted, but the rest carried on with their duties. The captain indicated a seat behind and above his, where he could sit and see everything. In an emergency Scott could take over from the captain if he or the XO became incapacitated, so Scott familiarized himself with each operation. The bridge was laid out in a large horseshoe shape, and starting from his left side was engineering, environmental, then damage control. On his right were communications, navigation, and then weapons. In the center, right in front of his and the captain’s chair, was the helm, with two men on duty at all times. In front of that, dominating the whole bridge was an open area for the holographic projector to display outside space. Although this was called the “bridge,” it was in fact the CIC, or combat information center, and buried deep inside the hull at the base of the main superstructure behind tons of steel, plastic, ceramic, and shields. Too many times ships were put out of action due to a hit on the bridge that killed or wounded the captain and senior officers. That would not be the case here. When he’d walked in, the place was a hive of activity as they and the rest of the fleet prepared to move out of orbit. Within an hour after his entrance, the fleet moved from moon orbit into deep space for its first shakedown cruise, working out different positions for the escort ships and designating a deployment code for the computer.
“How many ships do we have on picket duty around the warp points?” Scott asked after they were underway.
“Fifteen at the three known warp points, sir, roughly in an enclosing formation.”
“How far apart?”
“Fifteen hundred nautical miles sir,” Captain Jack Bingham answered.
“Bit far apart aren’t they?”
“We have no way of knowing exactly which WP the alien ships will come out of at this point sir.”
“Right, I see.”
“Their instructions are to observe and report, not to intercept or engage. Is that all right, sir?” Bingham asked. In the absence of a fleet admiral, he’d taken it upon himself to make that decision, and Scott concurred.
“Nav?” he called. “At the known speed of the alien ships, how long would it take them to get from the closest warp point to Earth orbit?”
“Just under ten hours, sir,” came the answer a moment later.
“Let’s say eight to be on the safe side. Now then, describe a spherical volume of space, using Earth as one side of the sphere and the warp points as the other. I want to operate and shake down within that volume. I also want to be able to get from any point in the volume of that sphere to wherever the alien ships might be in six hours or less at our maximum speed.”
“Got it, sir,” navigation answered. They waited, and a few moments later, the answer popped up on the screen.
“All right, gentlemen,” Scott said. “That is the maximum distance we can move away from Earth and operate for this shakedown. From any position within that sphere, if the alien ships are spotted and we get the word in time, we can intercept them before they reach Earth. That’s assuming we’re at the maximum distance. Closer, and we add to the margin of safety.”
Captain Bingham agreed that it was a good plan. As long as they stayed within that volume, they could always reach Earth before the aliens. After that, Scott sent a quarter of his fleet off to act as aggressors, adding two squadrons of Kat’s air wing as wild cards, and started the first set of war games. They played hare and hound, ambush, counter strike, and stand-down surprise attack, gradually shaking the bugs out of the system. More than one ship had to limp back to moon base for repairs, two having to be towed in by a deep space tug, but all in all, there were surprisingly few problems that couldn’t be repaired by the crew. Week after week, he kept them at it, sometimes catching everyone by surprise by sounding the alert eight minutes after standing them down, or in the middle of the night. Imperceptible at first, then faster.
They started working together and making fewer mistakes, like pilots who came in at the wrong angle, too low, or crossed the ship’s drive path. Five fighters were wrecked because of that, and Kat’s recommendation was that they coast when retrieving spacecraft. Scott and the captain disagreed, because if they were under attack, cutting or starting the drive could put more than just the fighters at risk. They did, however suggest that on retrieval, the drive system would be cut to slow ahead. This was tried and found acceptable to her and the pilots, since the gravity wakes were minimized. She did place a restriction on all hotshot pilots who thought otherw
ise, threatening demotion and galley duty for the next one who thought he could cut across the wake, or try surfing along it. That had the desired effect, and Scott kept to himself any reservations he had about Kat using threats, having found it counterproductive. Letting one of them get killed was the preferred method. Once that happened, few if any would pull the same stunt again.