Jethro: First to Fight (15 page)

In a lot of ways they were learning the
hard way. For instance, the watch, and protocol of the watch. Some of her
senior people were just as green as her junior officers. They desperately
needed the seasoning too.

She had taken to doing paperwork on the
communication's watch. She let the communication's officer to the grunt work of
managing it, while she stayed in the background and tried to not look like she
was looking over his shoulder. It wasn't that she didn't trust the lad, it...
no, hang it, she had to be honest with herself, it was because she didn't fully
trust him. He was in charge of a massive warship and he was nineteen with a
year's training at the college. He may be a spacer, but he'd never been on a
ship until his middy cruise. He'd been wrapped in bubble wrap the better part
of his life, stuck in day care for the first half of it.

Which was another thing that bugged her.
Midshipman. She had four of the snotnoses. Twice a year, a class of sixty or so
graduated from the college. They had settled on a two year course load for now,
so those who hadn't gotten the full benefit of the class load were either SOL
or were trying to make it up with correspondence classes. Even when the kids
passed the two year college course they still had a year of practical sailing
to get under their belts, and while doing that they were expected to take and pass
correspondence classes as well. Mayweather hadn't seen the latest numbers, but
something like fifteen or sixteen percent washed out before they made Ensign,
finding the job just too tough. Those that made it through the gauntlet would
hopefully move on to other ships and postings.

Downloads and sleep teaching made up for
a lot, but for some, they only learned through experience, through doing. For
some it took a long time and a few tumbles to knock the rough edges off and
gain the polish of a veteran. And for some, that experience broke them. She
hated it, hated seeing the kids just go under like that. She'd learned to check
her helping hand, to toss them a life preserver now would do her and future
commands a disservice. It was better for them and for the navy to break now, in
peacetime than in combat.

Those who had the full two year course
along with the year on ship were earmarked for advanced promotion, which
bothered her. Those in the much venerated tactical track doubly so. That was a
problem in her eyes, they may be good on paper, but that was a classroom, this
was
real
life. They had no common sense when it came to being on a ship,
they had no seasoning. Sure they did fine in a sim, but deep down, everyone
knew that a sim was just that, a
sim
.  A simulation, as in not
real. Fantasy. When it was over, it was over and you went on with life.
Learning that their decisions could affect lives... including their own... that
was something they had yet to learn. They had no consequence for their actions,
they didn't have to tour a sickbay and look at broken bodies and try to explain
how she had screwed up but still won the day.

They were all so full of life, full of
hope and promise. It was hard to try not to crush that. To crush their
initiative. She'd had a couple of close calls, and she knew the XO had stepped
on a few rambunctious toes.

As the current flagship and the largest
ship in active service, they usually got the lion share of each midshipman
class. Also, since they had the extra space and life support, they tended to
get the... shall she say, non Terrans most of the time. That was...
interesting. It definitely added a different dynamic to her officer dinners.

She frowned. She was still getting used
to having a steward, of trying to deal with that. She'd come to like some
traditions, but others.... others were getting on her nerves. She missed
Vargess, someone she could sit down and talk with about it all, someone with,
from his perspective, the experience in it all to help ease her into it. But he
was off on his own ship, the destroyer Fuentes. That didn't seem fair, to her.
Besides, she was horny.

She snorted at herself and then looked
down at her tablet and then away. It all sort of jumbled together after a
while, all the forms. She had to read them, some were important. But a lot of
it was signing off on inspection reports or logistics reports, that sort of
thing. Tedious. She'd love to give her yeoman carte-blanche to rubber stamp
them all but she knew what sort of trouble that might bring. She looked at the
clock. Janice was coming on shift soon, she needed to get some downtime during
that time. Something told her that when the exercises kicked off, all hell
would break loose.

“We're as ready as we can be Captain.
I've stood down as much as the crew as possible for downtime. They will need as
much rest as possible,” Firefly reported.

Mayweather grunted. “Me too,” she
finally said. “I'll be in my quarters,” she got up and gave Shelby a look. The
exec nodded. “I suggest you get some downtime too number one, you'll need it.”

“If you don't mind, I'll just do a quick
once over one more time before I turn in Captain,” Shelby replied. “I want to
make sure there is no number two to worry about.”

Mayweather snorted. “Cute. Carry on
then,” she said with a nod as she exited the bridge.

...*...*...*...*...

Janice, senior navigational officer was
antsy to get into hyperspace. At one point she had even considered resigning
her commission in order to take a helm slot on an outgoing freighter. Only the
camaraderie of being with her other Carib Queen shipmates like the Captain kept
her on board. As a first Lieutenant, she was long in her rank as an officer in
charge of Navigation. The Helm department was usually manned by petty officers
and she knew it.  Mayweather had also pointed out to her that if she
didn't get off her ass she'd have someone younger and inexperienced over her
shortly. The wakeup call hadn't been nice, but it had been effective. She had,
on her off time, trained in Hyper-navigation and had even passed the first
Lieutenant promotion's test seven weeks ago. She was currently studying for
Lieutenant Commander. She had to go through her time in grade, but she'd get it
done.

The 'wetting down' party had been a
blast, she was looking forward to another soon. The Marines were slow to take
on the formal traditions and ceremonies, being more focused on training and
their work, but apparently that was slowly changing.

She liked it. Both services were taking
on a polish, formalism yes, but every day they looked and acted like the
military personnel they were. They weren't play acting as some of Governor's
media supporters liked to suggest.

She was still getting used to the
responsibilities of manning a watch, but had come to realize it wasn't all that
different from being a helms-woman or navigator. Both put the safety of the
ship and the crew in her hands after all.

She'd realized she wasn't at all like
Lieutenant JG now Ensign Sam Halfold, also known as Halfcock for his little
stunt. He had done well as a OOD for nearly a week before youthful exuberance
had gotten the better of his brain. He'd gone off, half cocked as they later
said, and taken the ship off course on a joy ride. At the time Firefly had
scheduled his downtime to coincide with the communication's officer's watch.
Since there had been no warning of his eagerness, no one had any warning he
would go off mission. Fortunately it didn't make the public news.

Half-cock as he was later nicknamed had
been demoted to Ensign after a thorough ass chewing by just about everyone in
the chain of command, including Commander Logan. The Ensign was now serving as
a junior logistics officer in some off the wall posting and pretty much had
toasted his career.

She shook herself, getting rid of thoughts
of the wayward Ensign and back to her own field. She looked over the lecture,
frowning.

She had thought the course would be a
cake walk, how little she had known. Things were a lot different now than in
the old days, and the new training was to the standards of the old Federation.
That had been a wakeup call to her.

For instance, the current methods for
Hyper-navigation were simple. They had devolved from the actual need to
calculate and plot a course of yester-year, which was what the new
correspondence course had required, much to her chagrin. Now they would load a
canned plot from jump point A to jump point B. Along the way there were way
points, identifying natural or artificial markers in hyperspace that the
computer and crew could recognize. They acted as markers, which allowed the
crew to maintain their plotted course. The navigator would tie into the sensors
and orient the ship on each identifying marker. They would then adjust the
ship's heading and feed that to the helm as needed... with a healthy dose of
luck they made it to real space in one piece, if not in good time.

Markers could be anything from a
hyperspace ripple caused by a mass in real space such as a planetary body or
star system, or even a black hole. The objects mass caused space in hyperspace
to bend and twist, a mass shadow as some called it. By recording these places,
they had a way point. The ships of course had to have the sensor resolution to
see them, so no ship moved faster than it's ship's sensors could reach.

Places between mass shadows were where
there were intense electron discharge. Electrons freed in hyperspace could be
collected by the ship's hyperspace collectors, giant bussard ram scoops that
used the shields to funnel free electrons to collection systems. Thus the system
allowed the ship an element of free energy to power the systems on board. There
was never quite enough to power all the systems totally, there is no such thing
as a free lunch of course, the law of conservation of energy still applies, but
it was enough to stand the power demand down on a reactor to minimal levels.
The higher the band, the higher the compression and the more efficient the
bussard ram scoops became.

Unfortunately most ships now couldn't
get into the higher bands, thus putting more wear on their reactors over time.
Over the centuries that had caused a vicious feedback loop.

The basic course had forced her beyond
what she had known and into the realm of actually calculating courses and
plotting new more efficient ones. That had made her come to understand the
foundation of hyper-navigation much more thoroughly, and therefore appreciate
the course and it's challenge. When she had completed the course she had been
elated that she had risen and surpassed the challenge, and then momentarily dismayed
by the sight of the next hurdle.

But knowing what she knew now, that she
could handle it if she put to mind to it, whether it was manning the bridge or
plotting her own course had helped settle her. She was now ready for it. Since
she wanted to continue bettering herself, she'd set the goal of becoming a
first Lieutenant, and now even dreamed of becoming a Lieutenant Commander! “My,
if mom could see me now,” she murmured.

Ensign Wickety looked up and over to her
from the tactical chair. She waved a hand. “As you were.” she said softly. He
nodded. She caught his sidelong look out of the corner of her eye before she
settled back down in the Commander's chair. She smiled slightly, using a finger
to scroll down on the tablet in her lap.  After a moment she allowed
herself to smile slightly. She had indeed changed, matured. She no longer just
wanted to keep her posting, keep her head down, be a button pusher. Now that
she had seen what was around her, she was for the first time interested in
being something more.

She looked up periodically, checking the
other stations. Her implants showed her the basic functions of each station,
their read outs like heading, weapons and power status, location, and
communications as she looked at each station. She nodded, noting nothing had
changed and then went back to her tablet.

When she came to the end of lecture
exercise she stopped. She realized she had been woolgathering and sighed,
scrolling back up to where she had drifted off. She had to pass the advanced
navigational course before she could move on. She would get there, eventually.

Still, it would be nice for something to
happen. To get back to hyperspace once more. Though, the coming exercises, they
might be fun. She looked at her clock widget. Eight standard hours until the
fun started.

FARETEP Fleet exercises began with
opening ceremonies and the fleet passing in review in front of the Annex in the
Navy controlled portion of Pyrax space. The review wasn't broadcast, they
didn't want information on the status of the fleet to get out to the
Horathians. Still, it added an element of pomp and pride to those who did get
to see it.

Normally the governor would be on hand
to witness it. However his invitation had arrived late and he had not had
sufficient time to clear his schedule and cross the system to attend.
Fortunately, Lieutenant Governor Enrique Salazar had been on hand to fill in
for him.

The ships passed the annex viewing
window, with Firefly at the point of a delta formation. Fuentes was off her
port, Maya off her starboard. Gunships filled in the remaining slots behind her
and formed another delta behind the larger ships. Fighter squadrons also formed
smaller deltas. To some it was quite impressive. To someone like Commander
Logan, it was intensely annoying, they had come so far, yet had so much further
to go. His yeoman nudged him. He grunted, flashing a slight frown her way
before he turned to the assembly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you know I'm not
big on speeches,” Commander Logan's voice rasped over the navy network. A few
smiled at that, the Commander was well known for rolling up his sleeves and
diving head first into engineering projects, just like Admiral Irons had done.
Both had hated paperwork, and had treated it like a necessary evil.

“The next several weeks are going to be
the closest thing we can get to combat. It is designed to test men and
equipment to their breaking points. All too many will break. It is how we
handle such situations and how it effects our mission that will determine who
will rise to the occasion. Don't treat this as a time to goof off, this is war.
War is serious business. The schedule is on its way out, I've got my work cut
out for me on my own ship, so get to work. The umpires will call the first
exercise shortly. Dismissed.”

He turned from the podium and shook
hands with a few of the officers on his staff as he tried to make his way to
the door. As usual he didn't quite make his escape as planned. Nor did
Lieutenant Commander Thornby or Lieutenant Zek. All had been cornered by media
groups or visiting dignitaries like Judge Farley.

The Fleet Armed Readiness, Exercise,
Testing, and Evaluation Program was a grinder, similar to the Marine boot camp
crucible in a lot of ways. It was a make or break week of testing for every
ship in the fleet. Independent observers drawn from the yard as well as each
ship AI would keep score.

The ship crews had had nearly six weeks
to prepare, but some were still floundering, not an auspicious start to the
program. Since none had ever gone through the program before, that had been
expected, but the observers didn't make or accept excuses.

There was a bit of confusion as they got
the process under way. Despite the blizzard of memos not everyone was on the
same page, many people just didn't respond well to reading page after page of
memos. Nor did they respond well to endless dog and pony show meetings. Some
learned by doing.

Ships who participated in the training
exercising found that their duties didn't end. Ships were rotated from guard
duty on the jump points to participate. Transit time had been factored in, but
refueling time hadn't been, which also effected the schedule.

...*...*...*...*...

Firefly had an hour after the review to
get to the designated coordinates of her first training exercise. Wendigo, her
opponent, had beaten her there. The scenario called for an ambush, and with the
delay in the ceremonies as well as the paperwork snafu, it had given the
smaller ship plenty of time to find a nice place to hide in the thicket of
asteroids.

“Tricky tricky,” the Captain murmured,
watching Wendigo's icon on the plot. The Neo-orangutan's were well known for
subtle, some would say incredibly sneaky tricks. She was wary, trying to think
and see what she had overlooked. She was fairly certain what she was looking at
was a decoy, but she couldn't be certain without deploying a recon drone or
fighter. Which she was expressly forbidden not to do since they couldn't afford
losing them or putting excess wear on the equipment. “So what the hell am I
going to do?” the Captain murmured.

“Fight. If you aren't cheating you
aren't trying hard enough. Officers, especially commanding officers are
expected to take every advantage presented to them and then be on the look out
to generate more or take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself,”
Firefly responded.

Mayweather glanced at the avatar with a
cool expression. “Well, you're no help,” she said.

The AI spread his hands. “In this case,
I'm not expected to be Captain. Sorry. I'm the umpire here.”

“Right,” the Captain replied, settling
in to her seat. She rubbed her jaw and then turned to her tactical officer.
“All right tac witch, any ideas?”

“I was wondering when you would come
calling Captain,” the elf replied magnanimously. “As it happens, I do. But
first, I suggest we go to silent running and alter our course.”

“Ah,” the Captain replied with a nod.
“Very well, let's do that little thing,” she said.

“Silent running. Rig for silent running.
Ship is in stealth mode,” the AI said over the intercom. The lighting changed
subtly, dimming and changing to a reddish hue.

After a minute the tactical officer
looked up. “Ship is in stealth mode Captain,” the elf reported.

“Very well. Helm, alter course, oh, say
ten degrees nadir. Slow to one quarter speed. Let's take the scenic route shall
we?” the Captain said.

“Aye Captain, one quarter speed, alter
course ten degrees nadir,” the Coxswain said looking up.

“And keep a look out for rocks in our
path,” the Captain said.

“Mines?” The Veraxin JTO asked in a
stage whisper to his senior.

“Possible but unlikely. I'm wondering if
that is Wendigo at all. It could be a decoy.”

“But we're not supposed to use them
right?”

“It's up to the Captain to overrule such
things. It's on her head if the decoy is lost or damaged.”

“Ah.”

“So where do you think Wendigo is?”

“Anywhere and nowhere. She could be
sitting right there. She could have box launchers somewhere waiting to flank
us. Or she could be stealthed like we are,” the elf said. “The important thing
is not to sail in fat dumb and happy.”

The Captain eyed the two and then went
back to looking at her display. She frowned, tapping at her lips with one
finger before she clasped her hands together. She hated it when she looked
nervous, it spooked some of the crew.

“Captain, I recommend we over-rule the
rule on no recon drones and send a few out. We can send them in ballistic with
passive sensors only,” Purple Thorn said.

“On the theory it is better to get our
hands slapped for breaking the rules over getting our ship shot up and egg on
our face?”

“Something like that. We have some
passive sensors that can be replicated Captain. They are cheap microsats.”

“I wonder if Wendigo deployed a few?”
the Captain mused.

“Perhaps she did. We can't pick them up,
they are plastic and hard to spot even when you know where one approximately
is.”

“Ah. And you think we can recover them?”

“Or replace them,” the elf replied.

The Captain tapped her jaw, hiding a
grimace. “Very well, do it. Kick them out, at least one along our original
flight path, no, make it two.”

“Two?” the elf asked, tapping at her
controls.

“Two. One facing forward, the other to
the stern.”

“Ah,” the elf replied with a blink. “I
see.”

“Right. Helm, take us another fifteen
degrees to port. Plot a course to bring us to the flank of that ship's current
location.”

“Captain, if I may suggest... we are
heading on a same plane intercept. I suggest we alter it, coming in high or
low,” the JTO suggested, clacking his mandibles.

“Noted,” the Captain replied. She
frowned and then shrugged. “Might as well go hog wild,” she murmured then
raised her voice. “Tactical, kick out a decoy along that path. Then a passive
sensor high and low. Helm...”

She paused to look for a suitable rock,
tapping at her controls until she found one about a kilometer across
proximately two thousand kilometers off their starboard. “Helm, set course for
the rock I'm giving you coordinates to. I want us in her shadow.”

“Aye Captain, new course accepted and
plotted. Estimated arrival time ten minutes.”

“Initiate,” the Captain said, tugging on
the hem of her skinsuit.

“Timid?” The JTO asked his boss over a
chat channel.

“No, just not willing to swallow the
bait. We're bigger but Wendigo can still hurt us if she plays her card's
right,” Purple Thorn said to the JTO. “She's buying time and not sailing in fat
dumb and happy.”

“Ah.” She noted the cluster of tiny
asteroids around the bigger one. They were almost a cloud, slowly being sucked
into the larger asteroid's mass shadow. Eventually they would crash into it,
adding to the larger's mass, unless they hit at just the wrong angle and
ricocheted away.

A minute into their travel and the first
sensor readings came back from the passive recon drones. The first found that
the Wendigo they had plotted was indeed a decoy, no surprise there. Nor were
the box launchers and mines set up on the back side of several asteroids.
Wendigo's crew had been quick to set them up.

“Captain, we haven't cleared our
course,” Purple Thorn said cautiously as they approached the asteroid.

“Eh?” Mayweather asked, studying the
feed from the passive drones that had gone high and low.

“The asteroid Captain. It is the only
cover large enough for Firefly in the engagement range...” the elf said.

Suddenly the Captain looked up. “Oh
shit!” she said, just as they crested the horizon of the rock and Wendigo began
to fire simulated weapons. “Hard about!” she said.

“Gotcha!” the insufferable Neo Orangutan
said gleefully on the Guard channel. The hunter had indeed become the hunted.

“Damage to shields, bow and keel shields
down.  Bow sensors offline,” damage control reported.

“Where the hell are they?” Mayweather
demanded.

“Playing cat and mouse...” Purple Thorn
grumbled, tapping at her controls. They were now half blind. She frowned and
then looked up. “Captain, we have them on passives. The drones caught a whiff.
She's circled the asteroid and is coming back to hit us again. This time with
something on tow,” she reported.

“Shit. Helm, alter course. Speed us up
and get us in tighter to this rock. Tactical launch another damn decoy, this
time on our previous course. Then pop that tiny asteroid with a graser.”

“Captain, it's a pebble. She'll blow and
melt. A missile would be better,” the elf replied.

“None to spare. I want the hot spot and
cloud. Get on it. Then get a fighter out. No, a shuttle. Get them on this rock
and then have them stealth. They can also play our eyes,” she ordered.

“Aye Captain,” Purple Thorn replied. She
knew the fight to come was going to be fun and unconventional. She was all for
that.

...*...*...*...*...

The hot wash on the first exercise went
quickly, with a provision that they would do a more detailed critique after the
cycle of exercises concluded. Mayweather and the other senior officers knew
they would be talking about who did what, at what time, the mistakes they made,
and kicking themselves to death for the next several weeks. For now they had no
time, the next exercise was ready to launch.

There was one point the acting G-8,
Fuentes had to point out. “So much for the rules about not using decoys or
recon drones,” the AI said in an aside to Firefly.

Firefly responded with a series of 'I
told you so' texts. “Recon drones and decoys are cheap. They can be replaced
easier than a ship and ship's company.”

“True,” Fuentes replied. “But those box
launchers and mines aren't cheap.”

“No, which was why they were simulated,”
the AI replied.

“We could do the entire exercise in a
sim,” Fuentes replied. “I don't see why we don't,” he said.

“You and I both know it is better
training this way. A sim would only allow the bridge officers and the main
engineering teams to participate. This way the entire ship's company has to be
on its toes. Besides, there is no better way to see what will break. Equipment
or people.”

“True,” Fuentes replied. “I'm not happy
about that part either. The wear on equipment...”

“It is acceptable. Short term.”

“And my duty is to the long term,”
Fuentes replied.

“Ah, the joys of being a bean counter,”
Firefly retorted. Fuentes closed the chat.

...*...*...*...*...