Chapter Five
The Return
28th October 2066
The stylus hovered over the pad as Captain Ronan Crowe skimmed down through the dense text, listing the damage and the remedial action. Given what Deimos had suffered during the fall of Baden and the retreat back to Earth, the file probably contained a decent sized book’s worth of text. Damaged reactor room, an engine smashed beyond repair and a wing ripped off at the root, plus splinter damage pretty much the length of the ship. All in all it should have bought the ship at least six months in docks. But as one of only five flak cruisers the fleet possessed, Deimos has been classified as priority A1 for repairs. So three months later Deimos had now completed her re-commissioning trials and all that was needed to officially return her to fleet service was a signature. As he read, Crowe heard the dockyard manager let out a small but weary sigh. And ignored it.
It was nearly an hour later before the dockyard party left the ship. A few hundred kilometres away in a parallel orbit a pair of tugs were already starting to tow the dock’s next customer, a battered heavy cruiser, into position to dock.
A1 status hadn’t just meant priority repair. It had also allowed Crowe to mostly fend off the Fleet Personnel Department. Deimos lost a few crewmembers to reassignment but they were all junior ratings and officers and the ship’s complement of NCOs and senior officers remained intact. That left Deimos with a very solid command core, which was a comfort because the new people he was going to get were already a source of concern.
“Come in, James,” Crowe called out as Commander Hockley appeared at the hatch to his cabin.
“Sir, we’ve got everything squared away in the hangars, so we’re ready for the new arrivals.”
“Good. Have we found bunks for all the new deck crew?”
“Just about, sir. We sure as hell aren’t bringing anyone on board, not unless they can sleep outside.”
“Well I hope the wardroom extends a warm welcome to our new pilots.” There was something about Crowe’s tone that made the Commander hesitate. “Headquarters has just sent up personnel files for the pilots. Here, take a look for yourself.”
Crowe leaned back his in chair as the Commander read. As an escort cruiser, Deimos had never really been designed for main battle line duties. Her intended role had been to escort and protect the fleet’s fighter carriers. This war though, wasn’t what anyone had planned for and Deimos with her mass of rapid firing flak guns had proved better at shooting down Nameless missiles than most of her brethren. Their stay in dockyard hands hadn’t just resulted in repair. Modifications had also been made in line with the fleet’s attempts to develop new doctrines to fight the Nameless. The newest was that of layered defence. When they next went into action the flak gun barrage wouldn’t be the first line of countermeasures against Nameless missiles. Instead they’d have someone out in front.
As originally designed, Deimos carried a pair of Class Three ship-to-ship shuttles, one in each of the bays mounted on either side of the hull. Their refit had seen both of these removed and each replaced by a much smaller Pattern Fifty-Eight work pod, while the bays themselves had been enlarged by about a quarter. This gave just enough room for each one to accommodate a single Raven space fighter.
Hockley let out a whistle, “There aren’t many people who could call us lightweights but this one…” he shook the computer pad, “…she can.”
“Hmm…”
“Sir?”
“She was only survivor of the Dauntless task group,” Crowe said grimly. “The carrier, both escort destroyers, their crews and her entire squadron all killed. That’s… that’s a hard blow for anyone.” Crowe paused as he stared into the middle distance for a moment, remembering Mississippi as she limped home after that first encounter. “Anyway, keep an eye on her James. If there’s a problem, I don’t want to be the last to know.”
“Will do sir. Who’s the other pilot?” Hockley asked as he switched to the next file.
“The opposite extreme. Less than a year out of training and hasn’t seen any action yet.” Crowe shook his head wearily. “They tell us that fighters and layered defence is the future, then hand me one pilot who hasn’t seen enough and another who might have seen too much!”
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The Raven class strike fighter, D for Dubious slid slowly into Deimos’s port side hangar. The fit was tight and Flying Officer Alanna Shermer kept her eyes locked on the auto-lander’s readouts, ready to take control. Finally the wheels settled gently on the deck.
“Jesus wept, I hope we never have to make a hot landing in here,” muttered Petty Officer Kristen Schurenhofer, Dubious’s weapons controller, as she looked around.
Alanna made no comment as she worked her way through the shut down checklist. Outside the hangar doors began to close while a couple of suited members of the deck crew started to lock Dubious down. Schurenhofer was still talking but Alanna wasn’t listening. Instead she watched the stars until the hangar door closed and cut off her view.
“Welcome to your new home,” Commander Hockley said as he opened the hatch into the officer’s cabin. “It’s going to be cosy I’m afraid,” he added somewhat unnecessarily as Alanna shuffled in sideways, “although you shouldn’t all be in there too often.” The cabin was a two by three metre area and had been rated for two officers, each getting a bunk on either side. Deimos’s refit had added a third, which dropped down from the deckhead.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, sir,” she replied as she dropped her kit on the bunk. “Will I be meeting the Captain?”
“Yes, although he’s not onboard at the moment. He’s being briefed at StarForge Three, so I guess we’ll be getting underway pretty soon. Anyway you should see him sometime during second watch.”
“Should I dress to…?”
“No, Captain Crowe runs a fairly relaxed ship, at least as far as uniforms are concerned. The wardroom will welcome you this evening.”
When Hockley was gone Alanna lay back on her on new bunk and listened to the sound of the ship. She hadn’t been aboard Dauntless long before Alpha Centauri, but she had been there long enough to get a feel for the old ship. Almost everything on the little carrier had been worn out. Deimos was a much newer ship and yet there was a familiar feel to her. It wasn’t just that she was another Battle Fleet ship. Deimos’s war had already been a busy one and she bore the scars. She wasn’t the only one. Was I right to volunteer for this? she wondered. On board a carrier, the pilots and their planes were the ship’s point of being. The same was true of the Earth side and lunar fighter bases. But aboard a cruiser, a pilot was always going to be an outsider, merely a supplement and as such, a place for her to get through her tour, without attention.
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For ship captains’ fleet briefings were as much an opportunity to socialise as they were about serious business. A captain was master aboard his or her own ship, which in turn meant that there always had to be a certain distance between captain and crew. So the period between arrival and the beginning of the briefing was an opportunity to renew old acquaintances and have open conversations with those of equal rank. For Crowe, they’d been a particularly rare pleasure. Almost as soon as he’d received his captain’s stripes he’d volunteer to be seconded to Science Fleet to command exploration missions. A lot of officers hated such postings since the scientists and researchers who ran Science Fleet tended to treat Battle Fleet officers who actually crewed their ships as glorified taxi drivers. Science Fleet briefings were very different and on the Mississippi his role had mostly been about making sure the route and logistics were worked out. Poor old Mississippi. They’d passed within a few thousand kilometres of her on the way back from the trials. After that first clash with the Nameless she’d been judged beyond economic repair and parked in Luna orbit. The breakers clearly hadn’t got to her yet and it didn’t look like anyone had started cannibalising her for spare parts. But there hadn’t been many of her class to begin with and
in the last year the count had dropped sharply.
“Hello Ronan, thinking deep thoughts?” said someone behind him. Turning he found Captain Selha Tneba, commander of the Ganges, one of Mississippi’s sister ships and another veteran of Science Fleet. Behind him was another officer, with the shiny captain’s stripes of a new promotion.
“Well thoughts anyway Selha. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain,” the swarthy Libyan, replied shaking his hand. “Well I can complain, but no one is obligated to pay any attention to me. Oh, this is err, Captain Julie Lokke of the Zeus.”
“Glad to meet you,” Crowe said offering his hand. “And Captain Longman?” The question hung in the air.
“I’m afraid he was killed at Alpha Centauri,” she replied. Looking into her eyes, Crowe could tell she’d been there, not just at Alpha Centauri but on board Zeus, which made it a dead man’s boots promotion.
“I see. Well nonetheless congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you. Will you both excuse me a moment? I see someone I need to speak to. Captain Crowe, I’d like a word with you before you go, just for any insight you can offer on the Nameless.”
“Of course Captain. I’ll see you later.”
“You didn’t look at the list of casualties,” Selha commented as she walked away.
“No. After drawing up my own I couldn’t stomach it,” Crowe replied.
“Longman had his head knocked off by a metal splinter. I’m glad to say he didn’t suffer,” Selha sighed and took a sip from his drink. “Margaret Bernanke went up with Amazon. I’ve heard from survivors she didn’t even try to get out.”
“She loved that old ship. I always said they’d have to crowbar her out of it,” Crowe said.
“I know I’m supposed to say I’m sorry I wasn’t there for … but that would be a lie.”
“Yeah it was bad. Anyway I heard you damn near melted Ganges’s heat sink.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t try to get back in time,” Selha replied shaking his head. “Listening to my engineer’s complaints, you would think he was being asked to pay for the repairs.”
“Well don’t worry about it Selha. The thing about wars is if you miss one battle, the odds are there will be another one along real soon.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the briefing officer began as a few laggards found seats for themselves, “as you are most likely aware, since Alpha Centauri we have been dispatching reconnaissance elements in the direction of the Nameless retreat after the battle with the objective of regaining contact with the enemy.” Behind him a simplified star chart of the region between Earth and Landfall lit up. A rough line of stars, approximately three quarters of the way to Landfall, blinked red. “This is the point at which our scouts began to encounter enemy vessels. These were mostly of the scout type first observed by Mississippi a year ago, backed by an occasional cruiser. Heavier elements have not been observed so it seems reasonable to assume that this is a picket line formed for the purposed of detecting and reporting any move by us back towards Landfall.”
“So we don’t know where their fleet has gone since Alpha Centauri?” someone asked.
“No. No vessels heavier than their cruiser equivalents have been sighted since then. It is speculated that since a disproportionate number of their observed support ships, particularly tankers, were destroyed during the first offensive, they have withdrawn the bulk of their fleet to their starting line to reduce their logistical burden.” The officer paused for a moment before continuing. “But that is speculation. What is more concrete is that this represents a chance. Since Alpha Centauri the fleet has been committed to the close defence of Earth. With the Nameless having withdrawn so far, there is a chance of establishing a defence perimeter further out from Earth.”
On the display a second curving line of stars lit up in blue, approximately halfway to Landfall.
“We are calling this the Junction Line…”
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“We’re going back to the Junction Station,” Crowe said. With nearly every one of the ship’s officers’ present Deimos’s wardroom was filled to bursting and Crowe’s announcement was met by a kind of collective sigh. “It’s going to form the centre of a defence line. Starting here towards the rim, at a gas giant planet that has been designated Rosa, it then runs towards the galactic core terminating at another gas giant that is to be called Hydra. The star systems in between these three points are going to be seeded liberally with observation satellites.”
“So Hydra, Junction and Rosa are going to act as strong points and refuelling points?” Hockley asked.
“Yes. All three planets are small gas giants with deep mass shadows. So the Nameless can’t do a close range jump in like they did to Baden. The position will allow us to strike at their supply lines should they make another run at Earth. If they try to go over or under the line, they leave their supply lines exposed. Obviously fuel processing stations are going to have to be built at Hydra and Rosa,” Crowe replied.
“Odds are they’re going to have to build one at Junction too. The station was already pretty banged up when we rolled through,” grunted the gunner.
“And it may well have been destroyed completely after we left, so headquarters is planning for a complete rebuild if that is the case,” Crowe said.
“Do we really have to go back there Skipper?”
“The planet Phyose is still the best source of hydrogen anywhere within a dozen systems,” Crowe replied with a shrug.
“Yeah, but do we have to go?”
“I’m afraid so folks. Call it the price of competence.”
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For the officers and crew of Deimos the periods spent in jump space were the quiet times. The ships further down the jump conduit had to stay a bit sharper to make sure they didn’t either run down the ship in front or get hit from behind. But at the head of the convoy, Deimos could take a moment to relax.
In the wardroom the Chief Engineer was telling a joke that was probably a bit risqué for mixed company but the Doctor and Navigator seemed to be taking it in good part. To the Navigator’s left were Deimos’s two new fighter pilots. The first, Lieutenant Deyn had, on the handful of times they had spoken, always reminded Crowe of a puppy dog, with its tail wagging furiously. Alanna Shermer was harder to read. She certainly couldn’t be faulted with regards to her duties, which were completed in a timely and diligent manner but beyond that, she was a nonentity. Even now her eyes were lowered as she concentrated on her dinner.
“Lieutenant Shermer. How have you settled in, now that you’ve had a couple of weeks with us?” he asked.
“Well, thank you sir,” she replied, then paused to see if he had anything more to add.
Crowe sighed, before the war there had been an ideological battle going on within the fleet regarding the role of space fighters. Certainly in the planetary defence role they were useful, but many in the fleet had felt whatever usefulness they had in deep space, was largely offset by their need for large, expensive and vulnerable carriers to fly from. The pro-fighter lobby had been mounting a steady rearguard action when the war began but even so the number of flight crews being trained each year had been slowly dropping.
The layer defence had changed that but the losses suffered in the first weeks of the war, particularly the carrier Lexington and squadrons based at Baden, meant there now weren’t enough fighters to go round.
“So you aren’t having any difficulties being back on board a starship?”
“No Captain,” she replied.
“Well apart from possibly getting into your bunk,” the Engineer jovially butted in. “If nothing else the accommodation must have been a bit more comfortable aboard the old Dauntless.”
Conversation in the wardroom abruptly ceased. The officers present split between those glaring at the suddenly contrite Engineer and those waiting for a reaction from Alanna. For an uncomfortably long moment she stared at him without exp
ression.
“Yes, pilot accommodation aboard the Dauntless was more comfortable but I am managing here.”
“It must have been difficult losing your ship,” the Doctor said carefully.
“Yes it was, and I prefer not to talk about it.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. But if you do.”
“Thank you, Doctor but no,” Alanna replied. She paused then continued: “I appreciate you might be concerned about post-traumatic stress but I have been cleared for duty. I have accepted I survived Dauntless through luck, just as you must have accepted you survived Baden by running.”
Those officers around the table who had been at Baden now stiffened angrily, but Alanna’s attention had very deliberately shifted back to her meal. After a few moments conversation started up again but the atmosphere in the wardroom was uncomfortable. Crowe watched his pilot thoughtfully for the rest of the meal.
“That was quite a display Alanna,” Deyn said as he came into the hangar. Alanna was sitting in a wedged position, her feet against D for Dubious’s portside stabiliser, her back up against the bulkhead. She merely grunted in reply.
“I mean I’ve seen people burn bridges but that was break out the flamethrower and then lob in the thermite for giggles stuff.”
“Well you’re here, so it can’t have worked completely,” she replied.
“Well if you were looking to piss people off, congratulations. Even the Skipper looked unimpressed. Y’know you’re supposed to have your survival suit on in here.” Deyn nodded towards the main hatch.
Alanna glanced down at herself.
“To be honest I forgot.”
Deyn studied her fighter.
“Your gunner was telling me you were gonna call your bird D for Dusty,” he said.
“I changed my mind,” Alanna replied with a shrug. “Pilot’s prerogative.”
The Landfall Campaign (The Nameless War) Page 10