Astrid's War

by Alan Householder

  And then I had a whole train of other horrible thoughts. I saw the mutineers seize all crewmen who were loyal to the captain, and either execute them, or maroon them, or set them adrift in a lifeboat. Again, I pictured my head on a pike.

  Or maybe I’d become one of the mutineers. Mutineers are invariably tracked down—and executed.

  I didn’t much like either scenario.

  I decided to take a risk, and to express my misgivings indirectly. “I suppose that a slight modification of our vector will keep us clear of the enemy ships.”

  Jefferson said, “Amundsen, no! Didn’t you learn anything in my class?” His voice exuded disappointment, and maybe disgust.

  This time, I decided to play it safe. I said nothing.

  Jefferson shook his head and said, “Hopeless.” He sat down in front of the monitor and stared at it for about thirty seconds.

  Under those circumstances, it seemed like an eternity. I tried to maintain my composure, but I was becoming more and more agitated.

  I looked at Jefferson’s head. A pronounced cowlick marred the otherwise perfect contours of his hair. I wondered: Could that cowlick be the cause of his current nuttiness? I had the urge to reach out and try to flatten it. I figured that, just maybe, if I could plaster it down, he would return to normal.

  I don’t know where that absurd thought came from.

  Rabinowitz caught my eye. She patted her sidearm.

  And all the while I imagined the Kerleegan ships veering off their present course to intercept us. And I pictured them launching missiles, hundreds of them, with us—with me—as the target.

  7

  Course Twenty-One, Twenty-Five

  Finally, Jefferson said, “Talos, set course twenty-one, twenty-five.”

  Talos was the ship’s main computer. When Jefferson said “twenty-one, twenty-five,” I felt a sense of relief sweep over me. The captain’s break with reality was over. Disaster was averted. Lives were preserved.

  But then it dawned on me that this was not the format of a normal course change. It was code, and I was afraid that Jefferson was instructing Talos to modify the Valley Forge’s course so that it would intercept the enemy ships.

  Talos said, “To prevent misunderstanding or error, please repeat the order, and state authorization code.”

  Jefferson said, “Set course twenty-one, twenty-five. Code two, six, eight, Jefferson, two, two, one.”

  Talos said nothing.

  Jefferson said, “Well?”

  Talos said, “Awaiting the executive officer’s confirmation of the order.”

  Jefferson turned toward Rabinowitz and said, “Commander Rabinowitz, go ahead and confirm.”

  Rabinowitz said, “Sir, for reasons I’ve already expressed—”

  Jefferson interrupted and said, “Are you refusing my lawful order?”

  Rabinowitz said, “No, Sir, I’m following protocols. The requirement of confirmation contemplates that I will decide, independent of the captain’s order, whether the order to Talos should be confirmed.”

  At that, Captain Jefferson drew his sidearm from its holster, took off the safety, and racked back the slide.

  As I was watching all that, I couldn’t believe that it actually was unfolding before me. Even without reloading, Jefferson could put three rounds each into Rabinowitz, Silver, Newton, and me.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw the scene several hours from now. The confrontation with the enemy had passed. We lost four crewmen—mutinous dogs whom the captain had needed to kill. And the name of one of those dogs was Astrid.

  Or maybe we would have a running gun-battle. Jefferson would hunt us down. As we passed through the ship, we would gain allies, who would join us in the struggle. But in this particular nightmare, Jefferson seemed super-human. His sidearm never ran out of ammunition. Bullets bounced off his forehead. The entire crew was doomed.

  At least, that’s the way I pictured events.

  Back in reality, when Jefferson drew his weapon, it was clear to me that he had snapped. I wondered if he was going to shoot officers until he found one who would carry out his order.

  Jefferson said, “Talos, what happens if the executive officer is not available?”

  “Then the duty to affirm or disaffirm the order falls upon the acting executive officer.”

  “And if there is no acting executive officer?”

  Talos said, “Then the duty falls upon the bridge officer of next-highest rank, and so on, until someone is available.”

  Jefferson said, “And what if I’m the only officer on the bridge?”

  Talos said, “Then the command cannot be carried out.”

  Jefferson sighed in frustration.

  At this point, I felt that I was in the middle of some epic historical event, a mutiny or near mutiny against a commanding officer who plainly had taken leave of his senses. I was also certain that I wouldn’t live to tell this story unless the mutiny were carried out.

  Jefferson said, “Tell me this, Talos. Are there any circumstances under which you will carry out my order without confirmation by another officer?”

  “No, Sir, there are none.”

  “All right, Talos,” Jefferson said. He holstered his weapon and then said, “Please give over all navigation functions to Commander Rabinowitz.”

  Talos said, “Yes, Sir. Done.”

  Jefferson then looked at Rabinowitz and said, “Commander Rabinowitz, implement the order I gave to Talos, and do so immediately.”

  Rabinowitz said, “I’m sorry, Captain Jefferson, but I don’t think I can do that.”

  Jefferson called out to Waters, who was still on duty just off the bridge. “Lieutenant Waters, please take Commander Rabinowitz into custody, and place her in a cell in the brig.”

  That was an odd request. If Jefferson was going to have someone take Commander Rabinowitz into custody, it should be a Navy master-at-arms, since they are more like military police. Not only that, but the Marines weren’t even in Jefferson’s chain of command.

  I was pretty sure, though, that Waters would obey, in part because of professional courtesy, but in part because Waters would rather that he himself carry out the order. That way he could bend the rules if he thought it was necessary.

  And sure enough, Waters entered the bridge, and he departed with Commander Rabinowitz walking civilly beside him.

  Again, I glanced at my wrist-computer. With each minute that passed, the Kerleegan formation was over two thousand miles closer. The Valley Forge’s present course wasn’t the most direct route toward the enemy. But it was contributing to the enemy’s rapid approach.

  What we really needed was for the Valley Forge to move decisively away from the Kerleegan ships, on a carefully crafted course. Killing our stern engines and lighting our reverse-thrust bow-engines wouldn’t be the perfect approach, but it would be a lot better than what we were doing.

  My main concern was that, even if we didn’t implement the captain’s insane plan of directly approaching the enemy, the passage of time would bring about the same result.

  We definitely were within range of the enemy’s sensors. We were also within range of their missiles, but they would want to come in closer before launching. Inevitably, though, several things would happen soon.

  First, the enemy would change course to intercept us, if they had not done so already. Second, when they reached optimum range, they would launch missiles and fighters. And third, if they could disable most of our weapons systems, or cause us to exhaust our missiles, they would board us. We were thoroughly outmatched, so this last possibility was what amounted to a certainty.

  As for Captain Jefferson, he had taken Rabinowitz’s seat. He was pressing keys on the navigation console, and I figured he had done his best to implement the course change that he wanted. I wondered whether Talos was programmed to alter such an ill-advised course.

  Soon it wouldn’t matter. We would be in a battle, eleven ships against one.

  8

  Bad News for
My Friends

  I wasn’t sure how things were going to play out, but I wanted to get back to my friends, so that I could warn them of what was happening and give them time to prepare.

  I knew that if we survived the initial onslaught by the Kerleegans, they would board us.

  We had been trained at Annapolis on techniques for repelling boarders, but now it was imperative that the five of us prepare ourselves mentally for becoming life takers, not merely in theory, but in practice. I knew that Adler’s view—that the Navy wouldn’t put students at risk—was shared by most of the others. Not by me. That’s not the way the Navy operates.

  I said, “Captain Jefferson, may I have permission to return to the other midshipmen? Since we’re going into battle, I’d like to be permitted to make final preparations with them.”

  Jefferson stared coldly into my eyes.

  The bridge was absolutely silent. I was pretty sure his mind was working overtime, trying to interpret what I had said as being insubordinate or insolent. And to be honest, I was wondering myself whether there was something like that in what I said, or in how I said it.

  But at last, Jefferson said, “Of course, Midshipman Amundsen. Return to your people. Prepare them for the conflict. We’re going to win this. Semper fortis.”

  Regardless of what the captain had said, you can be sure that in my mental state I would consider his words as the ravings of a madman. It was a little subtle, but I think what he said definitely qualified.

  At any rate, I said, “Aye aye, Sir. Semper fortis.”

  I was out of there before he had a chance to change his mind.

  I hated to leave Jefferson’s bridge-officers on their own. But realistically there was nothing I could do. It was like watching two trains approaching each other, on the same track, in slow motion. I was hoping that those other officers would jump onto both trains and throw the brake levers. But I knew that was unlikely.

  Then something else dawned on me. Would the other bridge-officers try to restrain the captain physically? I hoped that they would. But I had a rock-solid belief that they wouldn’t.

  The captain was forcing us into a suicide run that would gain us nothing and would result in the loss of two hundred sailors and a warship. That was the real-life thing that was happening.

  But looked at clinically, academically, and legally, our situation was merely a case of a captain leading his ship and crew into a battle against a superior force. That’s all. Nothing against that in the regulations. Absolutely no grounds for mutiny or even insubordination. That was the real problem.

  The other officers might be a little resistant, and grumble, and be slow about carrying out orders, but they were not going to go beyond that. And as much as I disapproved of Jefferson’s approach, he was the captain—not me, and not the other bridge-officers.

  I was willing to die for my country, and I half-expected that I would someday. But I didn’t want to die before I even graduated from Annapolis.

  Then I thought about my fiancé, Joseph. I wondered what his reaction would be to the conduct of Captain Jefferson. I liked to think that if Joseph had known, he would commandeer the Constellation, and make a mad dash to save us—because of me. But he was light-years away, and he likely pictured me sound asleep, or perhaps listening to a lecture on safety procedures.

  Next, I thought more clearly about my chances of surviving this debacle. Factoring-in all of the paths that led to survival, I grew more optimistic. Jefferson might change his mind. Somebody—even if not the bridge officers—might wrest control of the ship from Jefferson. The Kerleegans might have bigger fish to fry somewhere. Or some other event might save me. I put my chances of survival at about three in ten.

  Maybe a little less.

  As I continued to move toward the ready-room, I wondered what was happening on the bridge. The captain had instructed Lieutenant Waters to arrest Commander Rabinowitz, the executive officer. I wondered if the same fate would befall the other two bridge officers, Silver and Newton.

  I didn’t have to wait long for my answer to that question. As I was moving aft, I crossed paths with three Marines. We midshipmen came into frequent contact with the Marines, since they were a friendly bunch—if they liked you.

  Actually, as Marines, they weren’t even part of the crew per se. They welcomed outsiders like us—especially me, since I intended to go into the Marines myself, as did my father and his father. And as I mentioned, I knew Waters from Annapolis. I’m pretty sure he told the other Marines that we were okay. I knew all of them by first name.

  The three coming toward me were softly grumbling to each other until they saw me. One of them laughed and said, “There she is, guys. Cuff her and get her to the brig.”

  Another said, “No, Alec, just the ones on the bridge.”

  I came to a stop, and so did they. “What’s going on?”

  Alec said, “We should ask you that, Astrid. Waters has the XO in custody. We’re on our way to arrest Silver and Newton.”

  I shook my head and said, “Great, just great.”

  One of the others, Rupert by name, asked, “Astrid, what on Earth is happening?”

  I summarized the facts, and stressed that we were likely in for the fight of our lives against the Kerleegans.

  Alec said, “Shotguns, Astrid, shotguns. For the boarders.”

  I said, “I hear you.” I paused a second, then said, “Okay guys, fair winds.” Even though there was no wind in space, this was a farewell we often used.

  They wished me the same, and then they were on their way.

  The reference to shotguns was ominous. I hadn’t mentioned boarders, but the Marines immediately put two and two together.

  All of the officers, including us lowly midshipmen, possessed sidearms. We were also issued M90s, which were compact assault-rifles with fifty-round magazines.

  But the preferred weapon for use against boarding parties was the shotgun. And the Valley Forge had plenty of them. All of our ships had shotgun racks placed at intervals throughout. Each rack normally held eight shotguns with special magazines holding twenty-four rounds. The rounds alternated buckshot and slugs, so each magazine carried twelve of each.

  9

  General Quarters! All Hands, Man Your Battle Stations

  When I arrived back at the ready-room, Adler and Boyle had returned from their exercise. Those two, and Nash also, were laughing, throwing paper wads at each other, and generally wasting time.

  I surveyed the scene, feeling a little discouraged. These were the people the Naval Academy was sending against the Kerleegans.

  Finally, people noticed that I was just standing there.

  Boyle asked, “What’s up, Amundsen?”

  All of them quieted down. I guess I looked serious.

  “Astrid,” Nash asked, “what’s going on?”

  “We’re about to see action against the Kerleegans,” I said. “It’s six carriers and five cruisers against us. Haven’t you been tracking all this?”

  Lennox said, “I have. My provisional assumption was that we would be breaking off contact. When I first saw the enemy ships, I thought we would see combat, but after you left, I thought it through further, and I concluded there was no way of that happening. But now they’re accelerating.”

  Adler said, “Eleven ships against the Valley Forge? Lennox is right. Shouldn’t we be breaking off?”

  I said, “We should, but Captain Jefferson doesn’t see it that way. Rabinowitz, Silver, and Newton are in the brig, or headed there.”

  Boyle forced a laugh and said, “She’s joking, guys.”

  Adler thought he had an “ah ha” moment—he now was sure I was fooling—and he said, “It’s not funny, Astrid.”

  I locked eyes with him and said, “Do I look like I’m kidding? We have to get a line on EVA suits and be ready for general quarters.”

  The others all looked at one another.

  I headed toward one of the lockers, opened it, and began to pull out an EVA suit, inclu
ding a helmet. The EVA suits would protect us from decompression, which was likely to affect large sections of the ship if the hull were breached.

  Lennox joined me and did the same thing. She said to the others, “Astrid’s not joking.”

  Adler said, “Are you in on this, too, Lennox?”

  Lennox stared at him grimly and said, “Adler, stop being an idiot and get with the program.”

  Boyle said, semi-seriously, “Attention, all crew. This is your captain. We’re all going to die.” He joined us at the locker, and soon Adler and Nash did the same.

  The EVA suits were close-fitting, but they were made to go on over normal uniforms, after we removed our shoulder holsters. Still, I took off my long-sleeved camouflage shirt, but kept my T-shirt. So did the others. For the time being, we left our helmets off.

  As though he had the right to complain about the enemy’s strategy, Nash said, “Why would the Kerleegans want to bother with a ship like the Valley Forge, anyway? Seems like a waste of manpower and weapons. We’ll do far more damage to them than they will to us.”

  I said, “Percentage-wise, that’s a doubtful assertion.”

  Nash persisted. “But why attack us at all?”

  I said, “I assume they want our faster-than-light drive.”

  “We don’t have an FTL drive,” Nash said.

  I said, “I know that, and you know that, but the Kerleegans don’t.”

  We had piggy-backed on an FTL-equipped ship, which had dropped us off and departed.

  The Kerleegans were known to have at least two types of FTL drives. Ours were more effective in just about every way, and seizing one was a high priority for them.

  Nash said, “Rotten luck.”

  I tried to come up with something by way of refuting that, but I failed. All I could say was, “Got that right.”

  By this time, the enemy likely would have broken from their course, and they probably were accelerating. They might be moving sixty or more miles per second, closing on us at over three thousand miles each minute. At this point they would probably try to maximize their speed, to impart just that much more velocity to their missiles.