by Garon Whited
“I’d argue that, but I don’t really disagree. What say we sack in early tonight and get some sleep before the briefing?”
“Let me finish dinner, you lecher. Then you can drag me off to bed.”
“Deal.”
* * *
The briefing was held in a large conference room. Captain Carl was seated at the head of the concrete conference table when the last of us sat down. He rose to his feet and we all stood up with him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the mission briefing for Operation Angel. Please be seated.” He sat, we sat, and he continued. “For those of you who may not be familiar with all present, I will go around the table with introductions. To my right is Commander Katherine Edwards, my executive officer and the pilot for this mission. Next is Lieutenant Commander Maxwell Hardy, chief engineer of Luna Base and designer of most of our equipment. Lieutenant Fleming is our base physician and the medical officer for this mission. Ensign Jiang Tsien is our captain of marines and leader of the actual assault force.”
I hadn’t met our newest officer. The new Ensign Tsien didn’t look like a Marine sort of guy—he looked fit and healthy, but he didn’t have the wire-and-steel toughness of the Marines I’ve known. But I nodded at him and he nodded at me and I got a good look at his eyes. I don’t pretend to be a perfect judge of character, but I got the feeling Tsien was one of those people who would do whatever it took, no matter what it cost, to Get The Job Done.
That, combined with the fact Captain Carl picked him, was enough for me. I inwardly called him a Marine until proven otherwise.
“Petty Officer Armanova is our chief ballistician and astronomer.” I traded small nods with her. “Petty Officer Li is the artillerist for Luna Base. And Petty Officer Peng is our weapons officer for the Luna. Any questions?”
Ensign Tsien raised a hand. Captain Carl nodded at him.
“Sir. It is my understanding that the trip will involve a high-energy approach to the target. Thus, Marine forces will have only two days of practice in zero-gravity combat. May I request firearms for those qualified in their use?”
“I have already considered that,” Captain Carl replied. “You and I will review the Marines and I will make a decision based on that review.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are there any other questions?” he asked. There were none. “Very good. Let us take things in order. Petty Officer Li, our first step is to launch projectiles at Heinlein Station. Please elaborate.”
“The plan calls for the existing launch catapult to fire six cargo shells on a trajectory to slingshot around Earth and head for Heinlein. These are loaded with explosives and submunitions, as well as small, radio-controlled thrusters for terminal guidance. When they reach Heinlein Station, they will each be targeted on a separate module linked to Ensign Mishenkova’s in order to isolate the one she is in, whether it be her prison module or one of the inhabited ones. Excess rounds will be tasked on other modules to incapacitate them and slow any reaction from station personnel. This ends the artillery preparation phase prior to the Luna’s assault.”
I listened to Li with more than a little pride. He sounded good, just like a professional military man giving a briefing. That boy’s from my department, thank you.
“Thank you, Petty Officer Li. Petty Officer Armanova?
“Targeting data for the artillery will be divided into two phases,” she began. “The initial phase will depend on the base astronomical instruments to discover the location of Galena—excuse, please; Ensign Mishenkova—at the time of the approach of the assault force. This is my responsibility. Once that data is passed to Petty Officer Li and then to Kathy, they enter phase two.”
Captain Carl nodded. He ignored Svetlana’s lack of rank in her remarks and moved on.
“Commander Edwards?”
Kathy noticed Svetlana’s lack of protocol. Protocol is a lubricant in social interactions; Svetlana really didn’t need to add more sand to the friction between them by being disrespectful.
“The Luna will shape an orbit above the lunar ecliptic to be out of the line of fire of the artillery preparation. Our mission window places us close enough to act as both the forward observer and real-time fire direction center. With Petty Officer Armanova’s intelligence data, I will select the target modules of Heinlein Station. The Luna will send targeting information to the artillery shells already in flight and correct their courses for the modules selected. As Petty Officer Armanova has described it, this ends the second phase of the artillery.
“After the artillery preparation, the Luna will approach Heinlein Station and attempt to disable all OTV’s with her new on-board weaponry. After the attack run, the Luna will dock, if possible, with the module containing Ensign Mishenkova. If the module does not have a suitable airlock, or the airlock is damaged, the Luna will stand away while the Marines go EVA to enter the module and extract her. In either case, the Luna will continue to provide cover against spaceborne threats, including, if necessary, firing on undamaged station modules.”
Captain Carl glanced at Kathy before speaking.
“The primary duty of the Luna,” he said, “will be to see to the safety of the Marine extraction force, not to assault non-threatening portions of Heinlein Station. Correct, commander?”
“Yes, Sir,” Kathy agreed, straight-faced. “Understood, sir.”
“Good. Ensign Tsien?”
“The security element of the Luna will consist of myself and five Marines. We will be suited up and ready for an EVA when we approach. We will enter the module containing Ensign Mishenkova through whatever means is most feasible. We will sweep the module to locate and acquire the target, neutralizing anyone necessary to achieve that goal with a maximum of safety and speed. We will bag her in a life-support ball and withdraw immediately to re-board the Luna.”
Kathy took over again.
“Once the Marines have boarded the Luna, we will launch immediately for a return orbit to Luna Base, firing on Heinlein Station or OTV’s only as necessary to insure the safety of our withdrawal.”
“At that point,” Anne said, “I may or may not have work to do. I hope I don’t. I’ve been working with one of the habitat nurses on battlefield first aid; our experience with a previous gunshot wound has indicated the need for experienced medical personnel.
“However,” she continued, looking significantly at the Captain, “I am irreplaceable as the base physician and will not be on this flight. I will stand by here to give instructions for the treatment of any wound beyond the skill of the Luna’s crew complement, and will be ready to administer emergency treatment to any wounded upon their return to base.” She sounded like she was reciting something.
Captain Carl nodded agreement, then nodded at me to continue.
“Because of the time crunch,” I said, “we are beginning this operation before all our ground-based systems are ready. Launching the Luna won’t be a problem; I’ve got a liftoff ramp for that. Landing the bird is going to be a bit trickier, since we’re looking at a fuel shortage.
“The landing runway for the Luna isn’t going to be a problem; it’s just a matter of waiting for the robots to finish grading it out. Some stretch of it will be paved, but that’s not necessary for a single landing.
“The unknown factor is the ringwall. We’re working on blasting a notch in the ringwall to provide the Luna a shallow angle of attack for the landing maneuver, but this is like blasting a new pass through a mountain range. If it weren’t for the fractured breccia of the ringwall and the low gravity, I wouldn’t even be trying it.
“Back to the landing path. The shallower it is, the less fuel the landing will require. We have no way to know in advance just how shallow that angle will be, though. Since we don’t have accurate data right now, we can’t calculate the return orbit precisely. Commander?”
Kathy elaborated. “At the moment, we have a return course programmed in that can place us in Lunar orbit. Given our fuel limitations, this is not ideal. I’ve
requested additional fuel stores in the cargo area and Lieutenant Commander Hardy has graciously provided several drums. We’ll be adding them to the remaining fuel in the tanks during our outbound leg.” I added my own two cents.
“Since the oxidizer is stored at cryogenic temperatures—liquid oxygen, obviously—I can’t just whip up some hundred-liter drums and roll them aboard. Fortunately, fiberglass and vacuum work well as insulators, and the cargo doors of the Luna should keep the extra tanks from picking up heat from the Sun. The aluminum slurry actually has to be kept fairly hot to keep it liquid, but the solution is the same.”
They were still going to have a very, very small margin for error. There are three things you don’t want to run out of during a short spaceflight: Air, power, and fuel. They would be dangerously close to running out of the last; the revised math said the Luna would land with dry tanks even if everything went according to plan.
“So,” I continued, “once we have the new height of the ringwall for our landing calculations, we’ll send the course correction data to the Luna during her return orbit. We’ll save on fuel by having her come in around the moon in a Garrison landing—just a single spiral in, instead of wasting reaction mass in establishing an orbit—and let her use up anything left as the pilot sees fit during landing. This could be important, since I anticipate some uncleared rubble along the landing path. It’s going to be a hell of a blast.”
“And that,” Captain Carl resumed, “is the go/no-go for the mission. As quickly as I want Ensign Mishenkova recovered, the rescue operation is pointless if we cannot safely return the rescue team. Lieutenant-Commander Hardy, I need your assessment of your department. How much longer do you need on your end of things before we can launch?”
Captain Carl warned me about that a half-hour before the briefing. I had time to run some rough numbers beforehand, so I had an estimate. It wasn’t a precise timetable, but it was a damn good guess. Then, add twenty percent by rule-of-thumb…
“Sir. If I can have absolute priority on the project and eight hours to work, I’ll have a flat spot for landing and a line-of-sight to use it. But I’ll need most of our production facilities for the fuel, the special parts for drilling, ramp work, rock climbing and clearing…”
Captain Carl stood up. We all stood up.
“Lieutenant-Commander Hardy, I want my officer back. You have priority for the next twelve hours. Dismissed.”
* * *
I was wearing my Officer Face when Peng came into the shop; I was not on schedule and somewhat less than pleased about it. Everyone in my department was on duty and hammering at something. If it wasn’t being built, it was being drawn, refined, or taken apart for salvage.
I was included in my own work schedule. Richard needed more drill bits than the ones we had and I wasn’t just supervising, but actually making a pattern for the computer-controlled cutters to use. Others were working on additional drilling rigs—not full-fledged robots, just drilling tripods—to supplement our existing drill capacity.
“Sir!” Peng said, and saluted. I nodded back. We have a standing rule in the Plumbers’ Corps; anyone with their hands full can return salute by nodding. I don’t want an accident with a welding torch or electric saw.
“We’ve got the forward demolitions post completed,” he continued, and put a data display pad on the bench. “Wang is headed out there right now with some extra air.” I nodded again.
“Good work. I didn’t think we’d have it dug out and roofed over for another hour.”
“I borrowed Li and Chuck and gave them manual controllers. They had a race between themselves to see who moved more ground.”
“Practical application of video game skills, mixed with a dash of competitive drive. Good idea. What else?”
“Did you want a door for it?”
“No. We haven’t got time to pressure the thing. Besides, that close, the blast will probably spring a leak. What else?”
“I let Svetlana borrow Walter. Since he’s not fully qualified on our shop equipment, I had him on miscellaneous duty. Hashiko was been keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s checked out on the equipment he uses. He’s been making knives for the Captain, as well as razor blades; there was a real shortage of shaving utensils. Those old folks have some tough whiskers.”
I grumbled a little. “Why didn’t this go through me?” I demanded.
“It wasn’t anything that would interfere with our schedule, sir,” he replied, a little defensively. “I can’t run everything past you or I’m out of a job.” He looked worried as he said it, and I sighed. He had a point.
“You’re right, Peng, and I’m sorry I snapped at you. Walter is one of our newbies?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “He used to be some sort of artist before he retired. Now he’s a village blacksmith. Or shavingsmith.” Peng grinned and I joined him. It felt good; we’d all been hard at it for seven of my twelve hours. Maybe a break was a good idea.
“Been going through a lot of razors, hmm?” I mused. “I guess I need to look at the quality of the steel he’s using. Or I’ll see about making a few with a sapphire-plated edge and we’ll see how long those last.”
“Hashiko put that on my list of suggestions for you, sir.”
“Sapphire plating?”
“Yessir.”
“How’s she doing on supervising other people?”
“Pretty good. Most of the shop likes her, and nobody gives her flak.”
“Mark her down as a potential promotion and keep tabs on her. Now, what was I talking about before?”
“Svetlana?”
“Right,” I continued. “What did she want Walter for?”
“She said she needed help with setting up a remote observatory. Something about parallels and triangulations.”
“Parallax,” I corrected.
“That’s the word. He used to be an amateur astronomer, in addition to being a professional artist. You know, the guy who did all those ultra-tiny metal sculptures?”
“I think I might have heard about him. He did some designs or something on the head of a pin?”
“That’s right. Very fine detail stuff.”
“Yeah, I remember something about it. Did she requisition anything else?”
“Not from us. I think she took the other car, though.”
“Probably,” I sighed. “We need to see about making a third rover,” I added. “We should always have a vehicle at the base so we can go out and fetch back anyone who has a breakdown. The robots are slower than a tax audit. I don’t like the idea of waiting until someone comes back with our ride.”
“I’ll make a note. Should I get someone to design it with a sunshade?”
“Definitely. No more solar radiation for me, thank you.”
“Oh?” he asked. “You mean you want it with a radiation shield, as well as a sunshade?”
“We’re worried about weight?” I countered. Peng shrugged.
“Okay. So how’s the drilling?” he asked.
I looked at the half-finished cutting head.
“Well… Richard says he can cope with the existing ’bots for preliminary drilling, but it’s not ideal. It’s also slow going to get to his drill points. Half our trouble was carving a path up the side of the ringwall. But now that we’re almost done with that, our real holdup is going to be transporting that much go-juice out to holding tanks at the sites; we haven’t got enough insulated drums to hold it all. Even with everything at full blast, we just can’t make insulation fast enough.”
“So the problem is getting stockpiles out to the drill sites?”
“Not as such. The grinders that chewed out the base go a lot quicker when they’re just flattening a chunk of rough mountainside into something a bulldozer can crawl over. We have a path to almost all our drill points now, and various ’bots have tank carriers rigged on them. They’re trundling back and forth like worker ants, hauling fuel out to a forward supply dump by the observation post. But it’s the making of the t
anks and drums, not moving them, that’s the problem.”
“We could use the drums from the Luna,” he suggested. I gave him my best Unhappy Officer Look until he wilted.
“No,” I replied, coldly, “we can’t. The extra fuel for the Luna is not optional.”
The light came on in Peng’s head as he recalled my priority on that—he remembered who would be flying the ship. He had the grace to look embarrassed. Me, I’m not making excuses to anybody on that score. If there’s something wrong with me that I want my wife and child to come back intact, I’m happy being broken. Fixing that kind of breakage will require taking either my head or my heart apart, and I’m not pleased with the idea of surgery.
“Yes, Sir. So, you want more capacity diverted to making drums?”
I sat down to think about it; I’d been too focused on the drill heads to really think.
“No. Our problem is the insulation manufacture… the heat the drums pick up from the Sun is our problem. Without insulation, the liquid oxygen boils and the drums burst. Get someone to build a sunshade beside each drilling site as an ammo dump—nothing fancy, just a few big sheets of aluminum, like the one near the bunker. We can stack the drums in the shade and won’t need to spend so much effort on making them insulated; that’ll make things go faster. They won’t be out there long, anyway. Once I get this pattern made, we’ll have the drills Richard says he needs, and we’ve already got the drilling ’bots on schedule to use them.”
“Are we going to make it under the Captain’s limit?”
I chuckled.
“It’s my limit, Peng. I said we’d give the mission a go-ahead if we got eight more hours to work on it. The Captain gave me twelve. Maybe I’m an optimist, but I’m not a liar. You’re not going to make me a liar, are you, Peng?”
“No, sir! Excuse me, sir; I’ve got to get back to work—and so do you.”
* * *
Whenever I think of artillery, it always brings back a memory of the old USS Missouri. That old battleship was retired before Captain Carl ever made it to the Naval Academy, but they still fire her guns on ceremonial occasions.