It took three hours to reach the moon from Earth orbit. At first the parked ships were merely spots against the face of the Luna surface. Slowly, details came into view, seven ships all orbiting in a line. Hood was second in the row.
Size was always a tricky one to judge in space. The lack of any external reference points really messed up a person’s judgement size and distance. However from the flight deck of the shuttle Hood looked desperately small and, with her flush bows and high conning tower, desperately outdated.
During the trip she’d managed to read through the file the Admiral had given her. Unlike most of her contemporaries, Hood had a centrifuge, making her suitable for extended duration operations. This, in turn, had given her a longer and more varied career. Her last duty before her final decommissioning had been customs duties. Fortunately, at some point after she’d been decommissioned, she’d had been returned to the fleets’ standard blue grey, but there was still the odd flash of bright yellow here and there. The ship had also been through other modifications. The two bow missile launchers, which had caused much of the class’s problems had been removed and plated over decades ago. Plus in place of her two plasma cannon sponsors, were four shuttle bays, two on each side, another left over from her customs days. The end result of these changes was that Hood barely had the firepower of a modern destroyer.
There was no one waiting at the airlock when Willis pulled herself through. Most of the lights were on, but the air still had that edge that comes from the deep cold of space.
"Hello? Anyone?" She called out. Her voice echoed down empty passageways. Then a rating stuck his head round a hatchway.
"Ma’am?" he asked in a puzzled voice.
Inwardly she took a deep breath to ready herself.
"Commander Willis. Who’s senior here?" She demanded.
"That would be the chief ma’am, he’s on the day bridge. Do you need me to show you the way ma’am?"
"I’m sure I’ll manage." Willis replied coolly, then consciously corrected herself. "Finding my own way will be a good chance to get to know the ship. You can go back to what you were doing."
"Yes ma’am." He replied before disappearing again.
"Faith?" Vincent’s voice echoed through the docking hatch.
Willis looked back down the airlock.
"Have we got the right ship?" Vincent asked.
"Looks like it, I’ll talk to you later Vince."
Vincent flipped her a salute.
"Look after yourself Faithie, and remember, I’m only a radio transmission away."
Hood might have been small compared to modern cruisers but Willis still ended up going round in circles a bit trying to find her way into the ship’s centrifuge. Nothing she saw filled her were optimism, although she could feel the vibrations of a generator, the ship didn’t feel like it had come alive. When she finally got to the day bridge it initially appeared deserted. A small noise made her look around the back of a control console. A pair of buttocks protruded from underneath.
"Chief?"
With a grunt a white haired man levered himself out and up. Willis wondered briefly whether her new Chief Engineer had been kept in deep freeze somewhere on the ship, only to be thawed out when the ship was taken out of mothballs. He was a short man, slightly overweight. But while his hair was white his round friendly face was almost unlined; like most old space hands he clearly hadn’t had the chance to absorb much UV light.
"Commander Willis?" He asked in a soft welsh accent.
Willis nodded.
The engineer came sharply to attention and saluted.
"Welcome aboard ma’am. I apologize for not having a side party ready to greet you. We weren’t expecting you for another couple of hours. I’m afraid there’s only about six of us aboard at the moment."
"That’s all right, under the circumstances I wouldn’t have expected one. Now who are you, Chief?"
"Chief Engineer David Guinness ma’am."
"You obviously knew I was coming before I did."
"Well, I was told that someone would be turning up."
Willis nodded.
"Well chief, I, Commander Faith Willis, on the date of twenty sixth of July Two thousand and sixty six, am formally taking command of the Battlefleet cruiser Hood." Words she’d dreamed of saying and now… it seemed like a let down. She stifled the emotion.
She looked around the bridge, her bridge now and felt a deep sense of gloom settle over her. Everywhere she looked there was signs of age and long use; cracked and discoloured plastic seats, metal handholds worn shiny by a thousand grips. And the equipment, she hadn’t seen anything like it outside the fleet museum. In her opinion Hood was a casualty of war looking for somewhere to happen.
Belatedly she realised she had allowed a silence between them to develop.
"Alright chief, what have we got?"
Guinness studied her for a moment before answering.
"Not as bad as you might think ma’am." he said. "Me and the lads have only been aboard since oh seven hundred but we’ve got most of the major systems going including the reactor and the generator. Haven’t had a chance to look at the tactical systems yet. Main problem at the moment is in the command lines; since we repressurised and powered up, we’ve had some condensation problems. The Lazarus systems would get us moving right now if we had to, of course that would leave us without any slack and we’d soon conk out. Lucky for us when they converted this old girl to customs duties some of her electronics got updated. A bit anyway, it’s still gen-two stuff. No, it’s the lads trying to get those old Storm class ships going I feel sorry for."
"I think we’ll have ourselves to feel sorry for if we have to take any of these buckets into action." Willis mentally bit her lip. That one had slipped out, to show uncertainty in front of a subordinate was one of the cardinal sins of command.
Guinness folded his hands behind back and shifted to the at ease stance.
"Permission to speak frankly, ma’am."
Willis nodded.
"I know what you’re thinking ma’am; that she’s an old rust bucket that will likely shake herself to pieces the first time we roll the engines. But you’re wrong, ma’am. She is old and she is worn out but she’s an Admiral and the Admirals never let the side down." Guinness patted a support beam fondly. "I know the history book say they were failures, but neither of the ones we lost gave up easily. The Nimitz was still firing even as she broke up, the Scheer even with the forward third either gone or smashed and not a working gun left in her still held her place in the line. As for the Icarus, well she wasn’t a proper Admiral but she had the spirit of one."
"You’ve served on this class before haven’t you?"
"Not just the class." He looked around with a smile. "This ship, she was the first one I ever served on. I know her of old, Commander. Trust me I can get her going."
"You’re a veteran?" She asked
"Yes ma’am. Battle of the Rings under Admiral Lewis, back when he was a commander. I was on her for the Second Battle of Pluto as well."
"What was your last appointment?"
Some of the enthusiasm drained from his face to be replaced with a hardness.
"Mississippi."
"Oh. You were…"
"Yes ma’am under Captain Crowe, and with all respect I don’t give a damn what the political gobshites say, he saved our bacon out there. If any ship has got out of Baden I’d say it’ll be his."
Willis blinked, surprised by his passion. He truly was glad to be there. The sheer power of his will and belief in the ship for a moment penetrated Willis’s gloom, but she looked around and sank deeper into depression.
Guinness sensed that his words had failed to reach her as the uncomfortable silence between them returned.
"StarForge III sent up a crewing list while you were on route." He said as much to break the silence.
"Then I think I’ll leave you to it chief. If you need me I’ll be in my cabin working out where we’re going to put people."<
br />
Without waiting for a reply she turned and walked out of the bridge, her footsteps sounding leaden against the deck plating.
Guinness watched her go, face creased into a worried frown. There were a lot of dangerous things out in space, but few could match a skipper who didn’t have faith in their command. He wasn’t surprised though, he’d heard much the same from the Petty Officers and ratings he’d come aboard with. Compared to the fleets current workhorse, the Myth class cruisers, with their thick armour and heavy guns, Hood was a toy. But Hood had something they lacked: history. It was in every plate and weld, in the very air. Her bridge had known the shout of orders as broadsides crashed into her hull. And the crews, they’d been giants, undismayed even when their ship threatened to come apart around them. These youngsters, however, they seemed to go to pieces without their modern toys. Guinness sighed and shook his head. Then he did what he always did when presented with problems he couldn’t solve, shrugged his shoulders and went to do something else.
Chapter Eight
The Dubious
28th July 2066
The jump conduit walls glowed and shimmered, bathing the four ships travelling down it in a soft blue light. At the head of the line was the destroyer Piranha, next the Fighter Carrier Dauntless, followed by Piranhas sister ship, Hammerhead, and finally the supply ship Samuel Clemens. All four of the ships were only firing their engines very occasionally, merely to compensate for the gravitational turbulence within the conduit. Most of the time, they were allowing momentum to carry them. While the support ship and the two destroyers were modern designs, the carrier they escorted was of a much older vintage.
Dauntless was an old ship, the last veteran of the Contact War still in service; although long since relegated to the role of training ship. Mounted on the flanks were the fighter hangars, resembling twelve great shipping containers bolted onto her. Nestled between each pair of engines, were the radiators, which immediately made obvious why the small squadron was travelling at such a slow pace. Unlike her more modern compatriot’s radiators, which remained black, Dauntless’s glowed a dark orange as they attempted to purge the ships waste heat.
Deep inside Dauntless Rear Admiral Emily Brian sat in her cabin, brooding. Her round, and usually expressive face blank. On the computer screen in front of her, the mission outline remained forgotten. Every few second the hull of the old ship would gently groan or creek, as it was buffeted by the gravitational forces of jump space. But like the computer screen, this was ignored. Above the desk, the public address system speaker came to life. Or at least tried, the first few words were unintelligible. Like everything else on the ship the PA system was worn out. On the bridge someone tried again.
"Attention all hands. Attention all hands. All hands close on jump-in positions. Realspace re-entry in five minutes." It squawked.
Brian glanced across the tiny cabin at her survival suit, still in its canister. Regulations said all personnel should have their suits on for realspace re-entry; she considered getting up and putting it on, then she shrugged her shoulders. Regulations said many things. In all likelihood they said Rear Admirals should be on the bridge of their flagships for the start of an operation, but she wasn’t going to do that either. Captain O’Malley was more than capable of running the whole operation without her assistance. He had no reason not to be; if he’d managed to run dozens of these kinds of missions without a flag officer, then he didn’t need one now. Leaning back she continued to think back on the choices that had brought her here.
"Good morning Admiral Brian, you can go right in, he’s already waiting for you." The Staff Captain informed her as she came into the outer office. Never the less she tapped on the door before opening it.
"Come in."
The office was almost completely bare. There was a desk, a computer terminal and a couple of chairs, but there were no personal touches anywhere in the room. Even signs of work were few and far between, the office’s owner preferred to keep most of his files elsewhere and only brought in what he expected to use that very day. Brian knew a lot of visitors found the stark office somewhat intimidating, she suspected he knew that too.
Admiral Lewis rose from his desk as she limped into the room and they exchanged salutes.
"Sit down Emily." He said waving her towards the rooms other chair.
Immediately there was an uncomfortable silence between them.
"You certainly know how to choose your words" He said in a weary voice. "What was it you called Vice Admiral Sudell, a backward looking inbred cretin?"
"Yes, something to that effect." She replied evenly.
"And you really had to do it in front of a group of ratings?" He continued.
Brian made no reply.
"You do know that he has made an official complaint of insubordination to Admiral Wingate? Had you blown off at Sudell in private, I think this would have been laughed off by all concerned, but you did it in public and Wingate can’t ignore that."
"I wouldn’t ask him to." She replied woodenly.
"You could publicly apologise to Sudell, it might stand some small chance of heading this off."
"Yes, sir, but with respect, I’m not going to." Her voice remained as flat as ever.
Lewis fingers drummed on the top of the desk, but otherwise he remained calm.
"Emily, is there any particular reason I’m getting the silent treatment here?" He asked eventually.
"Sir?"
"I know you weren’t happy about the decision to cancel the project, but that was months ago."
"Permission to speak frankly."
"Of course."
"The committee didn’t come out against the carrier due to its findings; they were looking for an excuse to cancel it from the very start. That report was a whitewash designed to ‘prove’ that another class of battleships would do the job better than a pair of carriers. That’s why I told that cretin to go to hell when he told me I had to sign off on the report."
Lewis sighed and leaned forward.
"I agree with you, for what it’s worth. Much as I would like to strengthen the battle line, I believe we need at least one extra carrier to cover maintenance cycles. Especially now that it’s agreed Illustrious will become a drop fighter carrier." Lewis replied quietly. "But unfortunately what you’ve said and where you said it means I can not bail you out this time."
"As I’ve said, sir, I’m not asking anyone to." She looked past him out through the windows. "I don’t think we’ll have any space fighter carriers ten years from now. Not if those idiots in planning get their way."
"This was just one battle Emily, that particular war goes on. I’ve already put on the record that I reject the committee’s findings, but now I have to take action against you."
Brian made no reply.
"I’ve persuaded Wingate and Sudell that a court-martial isn’t necessary or desirable. In six weeks time, when you reach sixty, you will be given a full discharge." He glanced toward her weak leg. "On medical grounds. The fleet owes you that much at least."
"Am I to keep Akagi until then?"
"I’m sorry but no. On that point I couldn’t sway them. You’re being transferred to Dauntless, nominally to provide a review of the training regime."
"In other words, a posting that will keep me out of the way." She replied bitterly.
"Yes, that’s basically it."
The whoop of the alarm once again broke her thought. The pitch of the deck plating vibrations had changed now; without conscious thought she used her good leg to brace herself. There was a moment of silence then Dauntless lurched violently back into real-space on the outer limits of the Alpha Centauri system. With the transit complete the rumble of the engines dropped away. Now that they had arrived the first order of business would be purging the carrier’s heat sink before they moved deeper into the system.
She should probably go up to the bridge now that the jump-in had been complete and perhaps she would in a few minutes. Or perhaps not.
&n
bsp; "ALL FIGHTERS SCRAMBLE! ALL FIGHTERS SCRAMBLE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!" The PA abruptly screamed.
Brian automatically leapt to her feet, and staggered as her weak leg sent pain shooting through her and threaten to collapse. Frantically shaking her walking stick into the open position, she half limped, half hopped out of the cabin. As she got into the passageway her intercom started to buzz.
"Brian here." She snapped as she shoved the earpiece into place.
"Admiral, you’re needed on the bridge immediately."
__________________________
Trainee Flying Officer Alanna Shermer ran her fingers around the back of the connection between the helmet and body of her suit, checking for any stray hairs that might weaken the seal. Only once she was satisfied all was in order, did she pull on the thin ‘skin’ gloves over her hands. The gloves were only a very thin layer of a semi permeable material, lightly reinforced across the back of the hands and fingers; they would keep air in but allow sweat to pass through. They were inadequate against hard vacuum, but the protection they did grant would give enough time for the wearer to don heavier gloves. Unlike starships, fighters didn’t depressurise their cockpits, so flight crews used gloves which didn’t limit the sense of touch to the same extent as heavier gloves. The rest of the squadron were also putting on their suits; around them Dauntless trembled and groaned as the ship prepared for the jump back into real-space.
At the head of the room Squadron Commander Moscoe, continued to outline the exercises planned for the next ten days. Alanna was only half listening to him really, more a case of making sure there were no last minute changes being sprung on them, the fleet liked to do that sometimes. The next ten days represented the last phase in their training as fighter pilots. Not quite a formality, but it was unusual for anyone to fluff it at this stage.
The Nameless War Page 18