by Randy Moffat
“Roger.” He peered into a video display in front of him, a camera on the outer hull showing them already clearing the huge open doors of sub’s workshop and turning into the sparkling reflection of the sun on the short river channel. A startled pleasure craft come to find out what all the noise was about jerked to a halt as the sub dwarfed it. Two girls in bikini’s standing on the bow shaded their eyes and practiced standing with open mouths. Bear was already on the com to Craig.
“Captain Craig, what is the situation?”
Craig’s wind-burned and lined face filled the screen. He was grinning and chomping gum busily.
“You know something admiral, you are one hot date!” Craig said smiling with his voice. “I haven’t seen so much action since the Tet!” Apparently adrenaline made him talkative.
“I was rather hoping you would send me a bit of an update on developments centered on the security of our installations.” Bear said in dry officialeze. No point in letting heady adrenaline lead people around by the nose.
“Sure thing. Whatta you wanna know?”
“Well, people were shooting and yelling and other objectionable actions of a general nature here. Anything like that going on elsewhere?”
The old man looked so happy the speed of his chewing gum gyrating in the pouch of his cheek doubled, looking like a demented kitten under the covers on a bed.
“Oh sure, plenty of that . . . . we got two other attacks. Our boys have sent them packing here at the bat cave. We estimate about a two dozen guys tried to get in over or through the wire and into the cave precincts. They had no shot at it really. Whatever’s left of ‘em are out in the woods plinking at the front door, but they lost a bunch in the first attempt and lose another guy every few minutes to snipers I got up on the cliff tops so the fire is really easing up by now. Personally I think it’s just all just a distraction anyway. Word is that the hanger out in Wichita got hit by twice as many banditos and is still up for grabs either way; but local cops are pouring in to reinforce my folks there and while it’s still nip and tuck I am hopeful. I hear the local gendarmerie like it since its more excitement than they have seen there in a century. I gather they drove you out of the barn over there in Groton?”
Bear smiled helplessly and waved his hands.
“A fair analysis . . . We are headed for sea as fast as we can in the ship. The only thing slowing us down is that the tail between our legs is dragging in the water.”
“Thought so—I figured you would try and get that fat old cow clear of bullets and stuff.”
“You confidence in my bovine herding instincts is inspiring.”
“Thanks. Where you headed?”
“Space—if this pile of bolts will do it. If we survive I will call you.”
Craig grinned.
“Good luck with that, don’t call me if you don’t make it. I hear the telephone rates are long distance from hell.”
Bear smiled.
“Really? Calls to you? The right hand of Satan? I imagine that’s a local call.”
Craig ignored that.
“I outta have our digs here clear in the next hour. I think at the hanger an hour or two after that. Ring again then for an update. I will settle down deep here at the cave I can hunker pretty good and send out patrols. I am already alerting security folks against the strike there and in Kansas. I am thinking you there in Groton wass the main effort. Watch your ass. “ He held up his thumb and finger in the ‘call me’ gesture.
Bear smiled.
“Thanks. I got some cheese in my refrigerator. You can have it if you save the place.”
Craig laughed, a grating sound like gears grinding with too little oil, the first time Bear could remember seeing him do it. He signed off. The gift of laughter late in life was not such a bad one.
Their motion through the water had increased with the water’s chop as they reached the intersection of the river and the sea. Wong clung to a stanchion like a subway commuter as the surf increased along with the current and she rolled about. The pitch almost bashed Bear’s head against electrical conduit running along the ceiling. Tall people had no business in submarines . . .
“It’s all the crap hanging off her—she is barely staying on the surface.” Killien reported from the con. “The electric motors we still have hooked onto the little bitty drive shaft we kept for maneuvering in water out to the Petrovski launch site is only giving us about three knots at most . . . .” Killien observed apologetically out of the side of his mouth while fighting the wheel in his hands. “It’s like driving a log. We’re just lucky the current is pushing us . . . If we are still at this when the tide turns against us we will be practically sitting still.”
“Make sure you put all that into the manual . . . as soon as we invent one.” Bear’s ears, attuned by years spent in battlefield control centers picked the next danger out of the background chatter, it was Chief Warrant Officer Maximilian uttering a quiet ‘Uh-Oh!”
Bear spun and pointed at him like a gun dog hearing a tell tale flutter of wings in the brush, grabbing an overhead pipe with his other hand to half swing himself over beside the big black man. The move made him look like an awkward simian but was wise since his handhold kept him from pitching into Maxmillian’s lap when the boat shifted course a degree and the waves half rolled her over.
“What is it?” He asked quickly holding his breath as the ship righted herself sluggishly . Maxmillian had the radar unit and was peering fixedly at the screen.
A hush fell over the team on the bridge who caught the urgency in Bear’s voice and stared.
Maxmillian looked up at him, startled to find himself the focus of so much attention.
“Uhh . . . radar contact. Looks like some kind of fast power boat coming out from shore. She is headed straight for us.” He pointed by way of proof at a blip on his screen that moved unswervingly in a straight line toward them.
Bear made eye contact with Wong.
“Will that rotary cannon on the sail that you got from the Iranians through that Armenian guy using those borrowed Euros do us any good?”
Wong shook his head.
“No. We have her lashed in tight for the sea portion of the move. It would take me a half hour to unship it and another half hour to calibrate the damn thing’s computer software. Longer probably, the code for it is written in some kind of untranslatable Suise-Deautch and frankly it has not been a priority to turn all the instructions into English.”
Bear nodded.
“Small arms then?”
“We have a few stashed . . . eh . . . below . . . hmmm . . . . somewhere.”
The ‘eh’ and ‘somewhere’ made Bear nervous. Equipment had been poured into the ship very fast in the last two weeks, it would probably take two days to find where the weapons had been stashed. Murphy dictated that even if they found the guns it would take another half day to find the ammunition which had undoubtedly been stashed in the opposite end of the ship during the kafuffle.
Bear sighed.
“We better send some folks below to search for them. If we get lucky issue them and stand by to repel boarders, assuming they actually mean to board us and not just sink us . . . unless . . .” Bear turned on Antonin. “Do you have any chance of a solution for immediate launch of the ship from here?”
Antonin was rattling away on a keyboard, working all kinds of lines of code and alternating with program controls on two separate consoles and at least five pieces of software. He smacked a few more keys forcefully and a graphic appeared that showed a curve with an intersecting line.
“Another half mile on this course and then a turn to 176 degrees and we can risk it though the depth is less than we had talked about.” The young scientist said firmly. “Not until then though. The curvature of the Earth will take us smack into the Appalachian’s until then.” He met Bear’
s eyes. “I think that might be bad.” He explained.
“Good thinking, Antonin. Trying to pass a submarine through mountains is bad. We’ll put that in the manual too. Everything you’ve got Mr. Killien!” Bear voice went up to a command roar on the last syllable for emphasis. “And I mean everything!”
Killien hunched forward as if to will the machine forward faster pushing all the way forward very hard on the speed lever for the fifteenth time and then clutching the tiny wheel with both hands until his knuckles showed white He looked like grownup in a bumper car. There was no perceptible change in their speed though. If effort of will alone could help or his physical position somehow placate the gods of speed, they would have gained two knots, but it looked more likely that they already had top speed for the tub that the ship had become while waterborne.
Bear ran up a spiral stair to the window they had mounted in the rear of the submarine’s sail, the tower that still rose up in the center of the fuselage. Here he peered out through the heavily armored and heated glass. He could see the bulk of the boat from the radar racing straight for them; it was still quite distant and loaded to the gills with dim pipes and sticks poking out at the awkward angles that spoke eloquently of weapons in abundance held by an overlarge crew. She crammed to the gunnels with men judging by all the little ovals that were probably human heads glimpsed through the reflected sunlight. Judging from her bow wave she was making 20 knots.
The sub bobbed about like a bad bathtub toy and wallowed along in her dawdling fashion at maximum speed, her hull four fifths awash and the boat was gaining visibly.
Bear saw a flash and a bit later the water erupted astern—a ranging shot from something or other like a light mortar or grenade launcher.
He pursed his lips and walked back to look out the bow view window opposite.
There was a buoy on the port side that crept closer and ever so slowly closer. Water blossomed again into a column just abaft the forward dive planes while he watched and . Water geysered within a few yards of the hull and the sub rocked to the concussion rolling suddenly right. Bear clung to the rail beside him. The buoy was now finally hard abeam the con and Killien spun the nose of the sub to the left keeping the slug in the channel.
“Left 264 degrees . . . 262 degrees . . . 260 degrees . . .” Killien called with a bit of squeak in his voice—leaning over Maxmillian’s shoulder at the con.
Bear walked back to the rear view port to see another explosion strike the wake neatly where the bow would have been if they had not turned a moment before. There was clearly a delay between the men in the boat’s firing and impact. The weapon was indirect fire, the round traveling in a parabola rather than a straight line. The fall of the round was hard to judge by the gunner if the sub jinked or his own boat hit a wave awkwardly which it was doing frequently.
The boat was visibly larger and gaining fast now that the sub was turning and not moving straight away from the pursuers any longer.
“228 . . . 236 . . . 234 degrees . . .”
Bear moved back to the bow window.
Water climbed in a column up just to the left of the sub close to where it had struck last time. The port bow plane, a useless appendage not removed in the hurried rush to change her from aquatic craft into spacecraft took the brunt of the damage and visibly bent upward, shredding on its outer edge under the force of the explosion. The nose of the sub heeled sharply right again from the impact and a second explosion a moment later missed by a wider margin because she had listed to one side from the first shot’s effect. Bear liked to think they were trying to fire a warning shot across his bows, but knew it was a lie. They were openly trying to hit the ship now.
Bear leaned over the rail from the platform where he stood looking out the windows—it hung over the control center.
“Gunnery’s improving!” Bear realized he was standing beside Maureen who clung to the back of a chair that was bolted to the deck—she looked nervous but seemed to draw strength from his nearness. She said nothing. Bear put a hand on her forearm and she managed a smile. “Mr. Petrovski . . . be ready to launch the moment we strike our bearing!” Bear called just to be sure no lapse in judgment delayed them.
“198 . . . 197 . . . 196 . . . Degrees” Killien called out.
There was a lull in the firing . . . they had the range and were making sure of their next shots.
Bear walked back to the rear observation window.
He could make out faces on the boat now. There was a flurry of activity on the forward deck, a handing forward of tubes and a bracing by a pair of kneeling figures . . . they had reduced speed on their fast boat to allow greater accuracy this time and the weapons they were aiming were direct fire rather than indirect. Anti-tank rocket launchers of some kind. The smashing impact of the hull jouncing on the waves had ruined her gunner’s previous aim. No more. She was in range and would make a relatively stable platform.
“180 . . . 179 . . . 178 . . .
“They are serious this time.” Bear said absently though his voice was still pitched strongly and everyone below heard it.
“Agreed!” Wong said, he had materialized to stand by Bear’s other side. He had a small bag of peanuts and was munching them in his noisy way. Bear smiled at his élan.
“Mr. Petrovski! Are you ready on the drive?” Bear used his parade ground voice from deep in his belly which made Maureen jump.
“Yes!’ Came the awkward answer instantly but faintly in comparison. Post graduate programs did not give you much practice on the parade ground.
“177..176 . . .” Killien called out, a bit of squeak in his voice.
There were three clear flashes almost all together on the forward hull of the pursuit craft as their gunners fired—Bear could literally see two of the rounds streaking at them.
“Engage Now!” Said Bear loud and clear; for emphasis.
Antonin pressed something below and the sea disappeared and the windows were full of stars and a billion floating fireflies of instantly flash frozen water brought with her from the ocean inside the energy bubble when the Petrovski effect kicked in and then kicked off again in orbit. The frozen drops reflected the sunlight as they scattered and floated about. It was beautiful. Loose things began to float inside the ship too; including people many of whom grabbed the nearest hand holds looking seriously disconcerted—there had been no time for weightlessness training. Wong’s bad luck held. He was rubbing his head having floated free only to knock it sharply on a conduit with a hollow sound.
TESS’ first official space craft of her fleet was in space . . . . barely.
CHAPTER 14—PAIR OF DICE LOST
“Put spin on her.” Bear shouted in command voice again holding the railing and using muscular tension to keep his feet pinned and spread ludicrously wide to the floor. Wong’s feet were floating about the level of Bear’s waist though his hands held the same rail. Clearly they all sucked at handling themselves in weightlessness. Bear heard someone vomit noisily somewhere below. Bear began pulling himself hand over hand along the railing to the main deck of the command center. A deck designed for a “down” that no longer existed.
Gaston was clutching his chair with one hand and both legs and using his free hand awkwardly bent over a keyboard to peck some keystrokes. Gratifyingly the ship began to turn around her central axis as rockets fired on three rings mounted around her outer torso. After a minute or two the crew felt themselves settle toward the outer hull side as centripetal force replaced about half the lost gravity. It meant they had to walk carefully since many walls along the outer hull where they feet now were held equipment and objects best not stepped on. A ship designed for earth did not necessarily work perfectly in space. Someday they would figure out how to make the places they were tempted to place their feet now into a more suitable floor space. Someday—when they could take off without actually being shot at.
&nbs
p; An alarm went off on one of the panels near Maxmillian’s head and a rosy light started flashing angrily.
Maxmillian stared at the light hard, clearly not remembering what it meant. There was no label on it. Killian and Pinta came over and stood beside him looking even i concerned, but even less enlightened. It was as if a critical mass of ignorance particles was drawn to the light like a moth to a candle.
Bear swarmed down easily against the weak gravity and joined them; hoping that a quorum of fools might somehow add up to the minimum level of intelligence necessary to turn the staring into comprehension. It never works.
“What the hell is it?” He asked staring at a pair of fuzzy dice that Gaston had hung above his workstation that now appeared to be glued to the outer hull. Something bothered him about it, but he was too busy to figure it out at that moment.
“We can’t remember.” Pinta said contritely. “We wired this thing so damn fast none of us can tell you. I think it’s either an electrical system failure in the generators, a nuclear coolant leak in the reactor or the kitchen circuit breaker has flipped because the stove is over-amped and the cook is down there making biscuits.”
Bear rolled his eyes.
“Anything else it might be?” The sarcasm dripped from his fangs.
Killien piped up.
“Could be an air leak! Yeah! Yeah! That is kind of the area on the panel for an air leak alarm.”
Others nodded in guarded agreement.
“What? Air leak where? Where?” Bear asked alarmed.
Killian poked his lips out thoughtfully.
“Not sure . . . somewhere forward . . . I think. A least I told them to wire them from front to back so the furthest light to the right would be . . . well . . . all the way forward . . . theoretically . . . at least I remember the wiring harness was red wires and this is a red light. I think we got pretty tired about half way through the job, but should have been using lights that matched the wires . . . !”