An Airless Storm: Cochrane's Company: Book Two

by Peter Grant

  “It’ll be a pleasure. I’ll see him later today, and announce his award publicly over the intercom. That should make the rest of the ship’s company sit up and take notice.”

  “I think it will, sir. The thing is, one corvette can control a salvo of only one hundred and twenty missiles of each type, offensive or defensive. That meant Datura could control less than half Narwhal’s defensive missiles in each salvo. If we’d had two corvettes assigned to Narwhal, they could have doubled the throw weight of the first salvo. We need to make sure that happens in future. Also, we should ask Kang Industries whether their battle computers can be reprogrammed. At present, they can control a hundred and twenty offensive missiles, and the same number of defensive weapons at the same time, but not two hundred and forty of a single type. Why is that?”

  “It’s probably because their fire control software is designed for destroyers, of which Kang’s design has exactly that number of each type of missile. They probably never figured on one ship controlling another vessel’s missile load, to exceed that number. I’ll talk to them.”

  “Thank you, sir. The initial weight of fire is important, because analysis of our defensive missile fire reveals several interesting things. We used almost four defensive missiles for every incoming weapon we stopped. Fratricide was a big problem, getting bigger the closer they got, because one of our missiles sometimes took out several more defenders in the blast of its warhead. We should consider a launch pattern that spaces them out better, to avoid that. It may even mean launching fewer defensive missiles in a salvo, because if we reduce fratricide, we increase the number of enemy missiles we can target.”

  “You’re making a lot of sense. Go on.”

  “We never knew they were coming until they opened fire. They must have sneaked into the system with everything shut down, so our surveillance satellite cluster couldn’t spot them. We wouldn’t have been able to fire back at them without the explosion of that mine. It forced them to power up their drive, to turn away from any more mines that might be nearby. That gave us an emission signature we could track and target. Without it, they’d have got clean away. I recommend we get a lot more mines, sir, and maybe sow the field as far out as five million kilometers around the planet, except for arrival and departure lanes. They’ll help keep sneaky visitors honest.”

  Cochrane guffawed. “That’s one way to put it. Mines we can get. I’ll see to it.”

  “Next, sir, they came right to where we were. They didn’t have to maneuver at all – at least, not using their gravitic drive – to get to us. That means they must have scouted this system, and sent back information to the attacker about where to come. How long that was before the attack, I couldn’t say. They might even have sent a third ship, sometime after the attack, to count the number of ships we had left and see how well they did. If all of them were emission-silent, we wouldn’t have known, sir.”

  “No, we wouldn’t. The only improvement we can make is to have orbital radar telescopes, which are pencil-beam rather than wide-array. They can pick up radar targets way out yonder, but unless they know where to look, they’ll miss them. There’s really no defense against an enemy, particularly one with a stealthy hull, who can come in without any emissions at all. Even a passive surveillance array spread over an entire star system is only effective out to four or five light-days, and even that won’t catch an intruder who’s emissions-silent.”

  “Yes, sir. Another lesson learned is that it’s far better to take out the launching platform before it can fire its missiles. While they’re aboard, we can concentrate on a single target. Once they’re in space, we have scores or hundreds of targets, each smaller and more difficult to hit than a spaceship. I know that, if we can’t spot the ship, we can’t target her, sir, but we need to figure out some way to improve that situation. If we fire offensive missiles at her the moment she starts launching, we might force her to concentrate on defending herself, rather than launching the rest of her offensive salvo. If we hit her, we hit all the missiles still aboard her, too.”

  “That’s an age-old problem in fleet and wet-water naval warfare. I’ll see whether there are any new technologies or tactics that might improve our odds.”

  “Thank you, sir. Next, we come to the volume of fire. The enemy put over a hundred and fifty missiles into space. Interestingly, they had different rates of acceleration. I think they bought missiles from several sources and put them all aboard one ship. She must have been an armed freighter, sir. A destroyer only carries a hundred to a hundred and twenty main battery missiles. She launched a lot more than that.”

  “There couldn’t have been two ships, you suppose?”

  “Not from the plot tracks, sir. All the missiles came off one course line, in rapid succession. If there were two ships, some of them would have shown up as offset to port or starboard, or ahead, or behind the others. I think this was one big ship, with lots of missile pods – rather like our arsenal ship, except she could clearly control her own weapons.”

  “Point taken. If we can arm big fast freighters, so can they – and they can get them into service faster than ordering a purpose-built warship from scratch. Next?”

  “Sir, we need to spread our standard orbital formation over a wider area, and use decoys. The enemy could focus their aim on a few targets, relatively close together, and pound each of them with lots of weapons. If our ships had been spaced further apart, and we’d had decoys spread out around them, broadcasting realistic beacons and gravitic drive signatures, they’d have had to target all of them. We could have concentrated our counter-fire on missiles whose trajectories showed they were aimed at real ships. Wider formations would make that clear, because the spacing between the missiles would increase as they closed in. Their targets would become more obvious. We could have ignored the other weapons, and let them hit the decoys.”

  “Another excellent point. I’ll ask Kang what they can offer as space vehicles to carry the decoys. It may be something as simple as cargo shuttles, or we may need something more complex. I’ll push that as a top-priority project.”

  “Thank you, sir. Finally, there’s the question of hitting back. The Albanians know where we are, but we have no idea where their base is. The navigation data we recovered from their asteroid collection ship, the first time we encountered them, and then from their destroyer after Mycenae One, were quantum-encrypted. We haven’t been able to crack it. How can we find out where they are, so we can dish it out as well as taking it? A lot of our spacers are on a slow burn about that. They want to hit back.”

  “So do I! All I can say, and all you can tell them, is that we’re doing our best. That officer you captured is probably too junior to be entrusted with the coordinates, but you never know. If we can persuade him to talk at all, we may be able to get something out of him. We’ll also look at… let’s just say, other avenues of information. I won’t say more at present.”

  “I read you loud and clear, sir. Just so it doesn’t take too long.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Cochrane glanced out of the window. “We’re coming up to Bowhead. Have you managed to recover anything from her holds?”

  “Yes, sir, but it’s very difficult without a real-time inventory. We’re working from printouts of a backup copy. Also, a lot of stuff was damaged by the laser beams. I reckon we lost at least a third of her cargo, if not more. It’s going to take months to sort it all out. Are you getting us a replacement warehouse freighter?”

  Cochrane explained his plans for multiple, smaller warehouse freighters. “You can put them in different orbits, so that if you lose one, you’ll still have the other. It’ll be less convenient to have to spread things around, but I hope it’ll be less costly if we lose another one.”

  “I guess so, sir. Sometimes logistical efficiency has to give way to tactical reality.”

  “Hmmm… I think I’ll quote that line to Lachlan MacLachlan, if only to see him wince!”

  14

  Infiltration

>   CONSTANTA

  The immigration officer slipped her passport chip into his reader and scanned the pages rapidly. “You’re from Onesta? I don’t think I’ve met anyone from that planet before. Welcome to Constanta, Ms. Funar.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What brings you here?”

  She feigned a blush. “Well… I met this man, and he lives here, and he’s invited me to visit him to meet his family.”

  “Oh, I see. What’s his name?”

  “Andrei Constantin.”

  “Ah, yes.” The officer glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he checked her passport, wondering if he should ask her to be more precise. Constantin was, after all, the most common surname in the phone directory – not surprising, since the planet had been named for the family that had organized and led its colonization – and Andrei was the most common man’s name. There were probably scores, maybe even hundreds of men with that combination. No, he decided. She looks harmless enough.

  “Do you intend to work while you’re here?”

  “Ah… I don’t intend to right now, but I suppose that depends on how well things go. If that changes, who should I see about a work permit?”

  Sounds honest, too, he thought. “You’ll find our Immigration Department very helpful, Ms. Funar, particularly since you’re an accountant. We issue short-term work permits for up to two years, with very little formality, to people whose qualifications will be useful to the planet.”

  “Oh, good! Thank you.”

  He made a quick entry into the system, then removed her passport chip and returned it to her. “Have a pleasant stay on Constanta, Ms. Funar. You can collect your baggage through there, then go through Customs on your way to the planetside shuttle.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She’s a bit old for me, he mused as he watched her walk away, but she’s kept her looks. She’s still got it, and then some. If her boyfriend doesn’t watch out, he’ll have a lot of competition for her.

  Customs proved to be as little obstacle as Immigration had been. As she walked down the space station’s passage toward the planetside shuttle, her luggage obediently following her on a powered cart, Jehona thought to herself, Remember, your name is Antonia Funar, from Onesta. You’ve never heard of Patos, or Jehona Sejdiu, or the Fatherland Project, or anyone or anything else from your past. Live your new character, believe that you’re her, and you’ll become her. Anything less, and they’ll find out about you, sooner or later – and that’ll be a horrible way to die!

  Over the next few weeks, she polished her command of the local dialect, drove and walked all over the city to internalize the details of the maps she’d committed to memory, rented a small but comfortable apartment, and bought a used car in good condition, a common model that would not arouse comment or be out of place anywhere. She paid extra to have a service tech go over it in detail, to make sure it was reliable and worth its price. She also bought several seemingly innocuous items from local suppliers, paying cash wherever possible. When taken home, disassembled, and reassembled or combined into new configurations, they were transformed into equipment she would find very useful, but could not have brought through customs without questions being asked.

  She also joined a weight training gymnasium that offered self-defense classes. The instructor who signed her up took her through a preliminary round of exercises, angling to have her sign up for his professional services at an additional fee, but soon admitted defeat. “I think you know more about this than I do, ma’am. I can see you won’t need any help.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ve been doing it for a few years, so I’m used to it.”

  Looking at her rippling, well-toned muscles and smooth, polished execution of squats, lifts and presses, the instructor couldn’t help thinking that she could give pointers to most of the staff, if she wanted to. Later that week, watching her deliver expertly timed kicks and full-power punches to a training bag, he silently decided that he’d rather be her student, if the opportunity ever arose.

  After a month, which she judged would seem long enough to any investigator for a budding relationship to turn sour and end abruptly, she went to Immigration and applied for a two-year work permit. The clerk promised that it would be ready within a week. “I’ve never met anyone before with a post-graduate degree in accounting from Neue Helvetica, or your work record. With those qualifications and experience, every business in town will want to talk to you.”

  NEW SKYROS

  Several hundred light years away, other infiltrators were also at work.

  Jock looked up from the stove, where he was cooking supper, as Henry opened the front door and walked into their efficiency apartment. It was in a working-class area of the city, unremarkable and just like thousands of others all around it. They dressed and acted to match the surroundings.

  “What’s the news?” he asked.

  “They finished the final round of builder’s testing yesterday, and the purchaser’s representative signed off on them. The passage crews have been trained and are ready to go.”

  Jock grinned. “They got over that attack of food poisoning?”

  “Yes, although it disrupted their training for a week until they’d all recovered. The restaurant where they ate was shut down by the space station sanitary department. It issued a big fine to the owners. They’re appealing it, because the Patos spacers were the only ones to get sick. None of the other diners there that night showed any symptoms, which they say proves the spacers must have got sick from their own poor hygiene, not the restaurant food. The shipyard jumped in on the side of the spacers, of course. There’s a big fuss brewing up about it.”

  Jock laughed. “That’ll give them something to think about.”

  “It sure will. Add that to the industrial action, breakdowns, power failures, and parts that didn’t turn up on time or in the right place, and the first pair of destroyers is four months late. The purchaser’s rep is blowing steam out of both ears, and threatening to invoke the penalty clauses in the contract, but the shipyard is claiming the delays are due to force majeure, which excuses them. It may end up in court, although I doubt it. Both sides have too much at stake to risk a big fight. They don’t like each other very much right now, but they’ll figure out a way to get on with it.”

  “Uh-huh. When do we get moving?”

  “Tomorrow. The weapons release form will be signed at the Orbital Arsenal, which will slide the missiles into pods as the last act before delivery. The two destroyers will be loaded with their six pods apiece next week, and the freighter that brought their passage crews will carry twenty-four more pods – two reloads for each destroyer – in its holds.”

  “That’s thirty-six pods in all. Sounds like the Albanians want to be ready for trouble.”

  “Either that, or they plan on using some of the spare pods on another fast freighter, like the one that hit Mycenae a few months ago.”

  Jock swore. “Bastards! I knew a lot of the electronics techs aboard Vulcan, and Sue’s a good friend. I hear she still hasn’t managed to get over it.”

  Henry shrugged. “She may never get over it. Some people can’t. I’m sorry, Jock. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just the way it is.”

  Jock heaved a sigh. “You’re right, unfortunately. All right. We’ll do what we can to hit back at them for her.”

  “That’s for sure! Anyway, once the release form is signed, a local firm will ship two range safety packages per missile pod up to the Arsenal. They’ll be inserted into one offensive and one defensive missile in every pod, to allow for future firing trials. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s see… with thirty-six missile pods, that’ll mean seventy-two range safety packages. I’ll need at least an hour to work on each one, so I doubt I’ll be able to do more than five or six before we have to leave.”

  “If we distribute them carefully through the shipment, that should be enough for one or two ships; maybe all three, i
f we get very lucky.”

  “Here’s hoping!”

  The following night, as they approached the factory, Jock said, “I’ve got to hand it to you, Henry. Here I was, I was beating my head against a brick wall, trying to figure out how to penetrate the security of the arsenal – and all the time you were working on an angle with no security to speak of. How the hell did you come up with this idea?”

  Henry chuckled. “You’ve just got to learn to think like a crook, Jock. I mean, think of your average rich man in his home. He’s got possessions he wants to protect, his wife’s jewelry, maybe a lot of cash, that sort of thing. He buys a decent safe, or maybe builds a vault into his house. He also installs high-security doors front and back, so it’s harder to break into his home. Now it’s all safe, right? No, it isn’t. You see, he’s focused on the nice shiny door, and the secure lock, and how plush the safe is inside, and all that sort of thing.

  “A thief ignores all that. He looks at the windows, and the spaces between the studs in the wall, and the exterior siding, and the interior surfaces – even the roof. He can remove siding, cut out a panel between studs, pull or cut out the insulation, and punch through the interior surface in less than five minutes on a good day. If he’s in a hurry, and doesn’t mind making a noise, he can do it in twenty to thirty seconds, using something like a stolen backhoe. That bypasses all the high-security features. Alarms are only as good as their wiring and their monitoring service. Both can be bypassed, or just ignored if he can get in and out fast enough – he’ll be gone before anyone can respond. If he does a little research, he can figure out exactly where the owner’s shiny new safe or vault is, and come in right next to, or behind, or above, or underneath it. One pass with a thermal lance around the vault door frame or one of its walls, or an explosive charge, and it’s open. If it’s a safe, he can pass a chain around it and pull it right through the wall, or blow or cut the floor and wall out from under and behind it, so it falls out of the house. He can pick it up and take the whole thing with him, to open it somewhere else.”