No Way to Start a War (TCOTU, Book 2) (This Corner of the Universe) (5 page)

The
task group’s 13
ly
(light-year) trip from Titan to Lysithea to Metis took
only twenty hours using the instantaneous Type-B tunnels.  The only time consumed
was spent traveling through the Lysithea system between tunnel points.  Now, safely
inside the Metis system for the last seventy-two hours, the fleet cruised toward
the Type-A tunnel to Sponde at .15
c
.  Sailing alongside the task group
was an odd collection of civilian bulk freighters, tugs and a large military Belmont
class troop transport, all holding the promised fighters, their pilots and support
crews.

The
entire fighter wing had been transported from New London in such a rush that
the final two days of advanced spacecraft tactics training had been conducted
in the troop transport.  Three pilots had discovered by the end of that
training they had failed their final check flights at New London and would have
to return to be recycled into the next trainee class.  Traveling with the
pilots in the container ships were the actual F-3 “Pup” fighters and SEW-5
“Avocet” scout/early warning craft they had trained with at New London, where the
next fighter trainee class was forced to stand down for three days while waiting
for replacement craft.

The
transfer of fighters and their crews to their new homes on
Avenger
and
Eagle
had been fastidiously planned by each carrier’s CAG in conjunction with their
respective fighter squadron and flight commanders. 
Avenger
was constructed
as a heavy carrier with a massive hull that housed six internal launch decks
and tandem flat-top launch/recovery decks on her topside.  The eight decks
allowed her to carry six fighter squadrons (VFs) and one early warning squadron
(VAW) for a total of one hundred eighty fighters and thirty scout/early warning
craft.  Her consort,
Eagle
, was a much sleeker light carrier. 
Eagle’s
long and narrow frame contained a single internal launch deck and one flat-top launch/recovery
deck, limiting her carrying capacity to just two VFs totaling sixty fighters.

The
aggregate of those fighters buzzed about their carriers like angry hornets
around a nest.  All of the meticulous planning of craft and crew transfer had collapsed
in execution.  The pilots had originally been scheduled to land their own craft
on their assigned carriers at the combat speed of .2
c,
but the fleet was
forced to reduce velocity to .15
c
as pilot after pilot missed his
approach and aborted his landing to go around for another attempt.  Before the
advent of the technology that made these high-speed approaches possible, any
starship recovering a craft had been forced to reduce its speed to under .05
c
to ensure the safe capture of the returning vessel.  At faster speeds,
relativistic effects became prohibitively dangerous while attempting the
delicate task of marrying two separate ships.

Centuries before, the
Solarian Federation had tinkered with the concept of space fighter aviation but
quickly realized that bringing its fleets to an hour-long virtual stop in the
middle of combat was a recipe for defeat.  Consequently, the concept of space
carrier battles had been shelved until Brevic spies discovered the existence of
Hollaran designs for the first operational stellar carrier.  The Brevic General
Council reluctantly agreed to charter a research program into the feasibility
of space aviation in light of technological advances but so minimally funded
the project it had lagged severely behind.  The funding and sense of urgency increased
exponentially when, dozens of years later, the Hollaran Commonwealth arrogantly
transmitted a propaganda video of a naval parade with two fleet carriers at its
core.  Bree was now paying the price for its lethargy as the proposed two-hour
fighter transfer operation to
Eagle
and
Avenger
entered its
fourth hour.

*  *  *

Strapped
tightly in her F-3 cockpit, the exhausted pilot’s heart raced as she received
clearance to land on
Eagle
yet again.  She had already been waved off by
Eagle’s
approach control in the final moments of her previous three
attempts.  Blinking the sweat from her eyes, she barely moved the fingers of
her right hand to adjust the micro-thruster controls on top of the main
throttle to make minute speed corrections.  She was 5
ls
(light-seconds) from
Eagle
and just 2
ls
from the point the carrier’s automated landing
systems (ALS) would take control of her F-3 to commence capture.  Her Pup’s
velocity reduced fractionally as she appraised her approach. 
Okay,
w
ith
the revs lowered my
s
peed is shaping up, but my vector will still need plus-X. 
Fix it now, Denise
.  Her left hand applied light pressure to her fighter’s
flight stick.  
Eagle’s deck looks so narrow compared to the training carrier
back at New London
. 
How am I supposed to land on that?
she questioned
as more doubts began to creep into her mind.  She had to keep her fighter in
perfect alignment for just twenty-six more seconds before the ALS engaged.  Her
Pup’s nose yawed slightly right and began to line up with the instrument
approach cues on her cockpit’s 360-degree heads-up display as her direction of
travel caught up to her adjustments.  She ran through the landing checklist one
last time and was aghast to find her landing struts still retracted.

“Angel
Twenty-nine, approach is green, set flight controls to receive,”
Eagle’s
landing officer spoke over her headset.

Ensign
Denise Gables quickly lowered her landing struts and then thumb-clicked her
flight computer to accept the ALS instructions.  “Flight controls to receive,
Angel Twenty-nine on final.”

The
Pup’s computer synchronized with the ALS and violently decelerated from 2,997,924
meters per second to relative zero in the space of
Eagle’s
one thousand
one hundred meter long recovery deck even as the tiny fighter’s inertial compensator
redlined to sustain structural integrity and the pilot’s life.  Angel-29’s
pilot regained consciousness while her Pup auto-taxied out of the vacuum of the
recovery deck, through a containment field and onto an awaiting hangar elevator.

While
descending into the depths of the carrier, Gables cracked the seal between her
flight suit and helmet and cranked the vents on her helmet to full.  The sheets
of sweat on her face began to dry as she listened to the recording of the landing
officer grading her approach.

The
voice over the speakers was entirely dispassionate.  “Speed, point oh-oh eight
over, yellow.  Vector, X minus point one four, Y minus point oh seven, red.”

Gables
cringed.  
Another taco.
 
Well, at least I’m in good company; I think
the whole damned squadron was given unsatisfactory landing ratings
. 
Besides,
it’s almost expected from me.  I’m well beyond embarrassment since I’m ranked number
twenty-nine out of thirty-three pilots.  I think my flight commander would stroke
out if I got a “sat” and he didn’t
.

When
Spaceman Denise Gables had reported for Officer Training School, she had been
thrilled to discover that she had also been selected for the concurrent Flight
Training Program.  She loved flying shuttlecraft and had demonstrated a natural
aptitude for piloting during her time in Operations aboard
Anelace
. 
However, as both programs ground on, she found that aptitude did not help her
cope with the rigors of two heavily concentrated and demanding programs
designed to weed out any trainee demonstrating the tiniest imperfection.  Her
scores had suffered in both OTS and Flight Training, but she had somehow
managed to muster enough ability to exhibit the minimum requirements of both
schools.  Graduating near the bottom of both programs, Gables had yet to ask
herself if she regretted accepting dual admission.  Her schedule made her far
too busy for such reflection; however, she also avoided considering the
question because she was afraid of her answer.

Her
Pup rotated on
Eagle’s
elevator and began the taxi inside the hangar to
its stall.  Gables shrugged indifferently as she reconciled with her rankings. 
What did my flight commander say when he found out I ranked twenty-ninth in the
squadron?  “The caboose is part of the train, Denise.”
 
Hey, maybe I didn’t
exactly light up OTS and Flight Training like I’d hoped, but I’m here and a lot
of trainees aren’t.
  Near the end of Flight Training, her assignment
dropped and she was told she would join C-flight in VF-25, destined to be
stationed aboard
Eagle
.  Although she ranked near the bottom in her
squadron, by rating above the lowest three pilots, Gables had at least obtained
the distinction of having her name stenciled onto the side of one of C-flight’s
ten Pups.  The bottom pilots in the squadron were relegated to substitute status
and would have to borrow a fighter as needed.

Her F-3
now safely in its stall, Gables engaged the movement locks as the leader of her
maintenance crew activated the fighter’s canopy release.  Petty Officer Second
Class David Rhodes offered a salute before cheerfully placating her.  “Any
landing you can walk away from, Ensign.  Right?”

“How’d
C-flight do, Dave?” Gables asked as she began to extricate herself from the fighter.

Rhodes
grinned.  “You aren’t the last bus to land.  Pups Twenty-three, Twenty-five and
Thirty are still in the pattern.”  Each of VF-25’s three flights had ten F-3
Pups.  The tail numbers of C-flight’s fighters were numbered twenty-one through
thirty.

She smirked
at the news. 
See Denise, three other pilots in C-flight suck more than
you. 
“How many unsatisfactory landings?” Gables asked.

“Assuming the three still
out get unsats, C-flight will have eight total tacos,” Rhodes responded but
still maintained his smile.  He looked at the young ensign’s sour expression
and playfully punched her arm.  “Look on the bright side, ma’am, at least
nobody has actually crashed a bus into Eagle yet!”

*  *  *

The
automated landing systems of Brevic carriers made it nearly impossible for a
landing fighter to crash into a carrier.  The ALS would only initiate capture
if the fighter’s approach profile was within strict safety parameters and,
failing those parameters, the fighter would be instructed to miss its approach
and go around for another landing attempt.  However, these safety designs did
not stop Ranger-12, an SEW-5 Avocet, from slamming into
Avenger’s
starboard recovery deck twenty minutes after Ensign Gables had landed on
Eagle
. 
Inexplicably, Ranger-12 struck the deck at nearly three times the proper
descent angle resulting in its complete destruction.  The wreckage from the
crash flashed silently across the flight deck, traveling through the deck’s forward
containment field, tumbling the full length of the vacuum zone of the recovery
deck and out the aft containment field to continue off the deck and into empty
space.  Mercifully, none of the deck crew was hit by debris that had sped by
them faster than their senses could perceive.  Only the desperate, belated
warning from
Avenger’s
landing officer and Ranger-12’s own failure to
appear in the deck’s inertial snare gave any indication that death had raced by
them at 3,000,000 meters per second.

The
damage to
Avenger
was minimal.  Like all Brevic carriers, her recovery
decks had been placed on top of the ship and were designed such that a fighter
could fly down the length of the flight deck, through the containment fields,
and off the stern of the ship without striking any of
Avenger’s
superstructures.  The strength of the double-reinforced duralloy recovery deck,
while horribly gouged at the point of Ranger-12’s impact, had combined with the
low angle of the strike to deflect the blow down its length without being
penetrated.  Just moments after the accident,
Avenger’s
CAG closed the
starboard runway to all flight operations and requested Admiral Hayes to slow
the fleet to .05
c
.  The remaining eleven fighters and early warning
craft still in the approach pattern were directed to the port recovery deck
and, aided by the speed reduction, landed safely.

Heskan
had monitored the accident on
Avenger
from
Kite’s
bridge.  As
merely an escort, his role in the aftermath was simply to reduce his ship’s
speed and maintain
Kite’s
station inside the fleet’s formation.  He had
ordered Lieutenant Truesworth to focus the ship’s powerful APG-131x Hawkeye
optical lenses to locate the SEW-5’s wreckage in hopes that the crew might
somehow still be alive, but that notion was quickly dispensed when the debris
field was displayed on the main screen.

Exercise
Focus Lens was put on hold as
Avenger’s
safety inspectors conducted a
mandatory accident investigation to determine the cause of the mishap. 
Too
bad these squadron meetings weren’t put on hold as well
, Heskan thought as
he walked toward
Kite’s
main briefing room. 
So far, Brevic space
aviation is off to an inauspicious start
.  His thoughts turned to his
crew.  If they had any misgivings, they were carefully hidden among the endless
list of action items to attend to on board.  The original
Buckler
, the
first of its class, had ominously suffered an onboard fire during its
construction and was still in the yards. 
Kite
was just the second ship of
the Buckler class, and the first off the production line from Anthe; her
sister,
Aspis
, was the second.  The ships were truly marvels of missile
defense but each also showed signs of being rushed into service.  Worst of the
bugs was the Cerberus point defense package, which was an endless stream of glitches
on both
Aspis
and
Kite
.  The computer system was, in theory, the
future of integrated missile defense, capable of near autonomous coordination
with other fleet escort ships while compensating for the time lag experienced
from the incredible speeds and distances of space combat.  A functioning
Cerberus was supposed to continuously prioritize and allocate squadron defense
resources based on incoming trajectories and positions of the defending fleet’s
escorts and capital ships while factoring in the effectiveness of the point
defense resources it had at its disposal.  During an engagement, an approaching
“vampire” might be best defended from a particular point defense system on one
ship while at the next moment, a second system located on another ship might be
in the better position.  Cerberus was supposedly capable of allocating target
management between ships nearly instantaneously.  Its designers had boasted
that Cerberus could increase the point defense efficiency of a CortRon by one-third
or greater.

Cerberus,
however, in its current state was possibly more dangerous to the fleet it was
defending than to any incoming missiles.  The software often failed to adjust accurately
according to the time lag among the ships and targets, and oftentimes the
computer system mysteriously rebooted itself.  It was also having difficulty
integrating with non-Cerberus defense computers on other ships.  The problems
were so bad that Heskan had sullenly ordered the systems be placed into standby
mode during the upcoming exercise and for his crew to execute point defense the
traditional way.

While
Heskan was unhappy about Cerberus’ failings, Vernay was positively livid. 
During their travel from Anthe, she had railed on the civilian software crew who
had remained on
Kite
to the point where they now ran from her.  Third
Fleet Headquarters had compiled the escort squadron based on the premise that
the two Buckler class ships would compensate for the lack of true missile
defense frigates.  With that key advantage lost, the danger to the priceless
carriers was, in Vernay’s opinion, beyond unacceptable.  How could the
construction yards certify the ship as complete when its crown jewel was
useless junk, she had denounced.  Experience on
Anelace
had taught her
that Murphy’s Law would do its best to ensure that cold and carefully
calculated logistics of what
should
happen in a battle were scuttled,
and even the tiniest unforeseen happenstance could result in devastating consequences
to a ship and her crew.

The
door sensor at
Kite’s
main briefing room detected Heskan’s proximity and
opened for him.  The room’s only occupant, Lieutenant Vernay, stood as he
entered.  Heskan quickly waved her down as he said, “Hi Stacy, how goes
Cerberus?”

Vernay
growled, “It’s a three-headed pain in the ass.”

“Any
chance at all it will be functional when we arrive at Sponde?”

The
petite blonde shook her head.  “I wouldn’t count on it, sir.  The analysis team
is spinning in circles.  We’re trying everything but the software just plain
doesn’t work.”

Heskan
frowned but said, “Well, I have some good news.  The forward Omnicron looks
fine.”  During fighter recovery operations, the reaction chamber of
Aspis’
forward Omnicron 1200 power plant had begun to leak wildly. 
Aspis’
engineers had caught the problem immediately and avoided a ship-wide disaster,
but Kelly Gary was forced to shut the Omnicron down for repairs.  Had the fleet
been traveling faster than .15
c
,
Aspis
would have been left
behind.

Heskan
seated himself as he logged into the squadron’s secure net for the upcoming
meeting.  “It looks like it was just faulty installation and not a larger
problem.”

“I’ll
cross that one off the list, sir,” Vernay replied.  The wall screen flashed to
life and Heskan saw the escort squadron commanders and first officers present. 
The range of emotions on their faces varied from Gary’s boredom to the anxious looks
from the newcomers.  The squadron’s frigates had finally caught up to the
CortRon, bringing it to its full strength and adding new faces to the daily meetings. 
In charge of
Coach
, Lieutenant Min-jun Lee and his first officer tried
to appear stoic but Heskan thought he saw evidence of stress on the ship
captain’s face.  On a second wall screen panel
Chariot’s
captain,
Lieutenant Colleen Dixon, sat alone and in silence.  Lieutenants Moore and Gary
were talking in a private channel.  As usual, Durmont was late.

Heskan
cleared his throat and then said casually, “Hello to the frigate people,
welcome to the squadron.  I’m Garrett Heskan, the CortRon’s vice commander.  If
there is anything I can do to help you get settled, just let me know.”  Both
frigate captains replied with customary pleasantries.

 “Uh,
Colleen,” Heskan asked
Chariot’s
captain, “is your first officer going
to attend the meeting?”

Dixon
shook her head.  “I wasn’t planning on it.  He’s busy with my weapons officer
in a quad GP laser turret.”

Heskan
nodded in understanding. 
I may come off like a jerk but I don’t want to see
her get lectured by Durmont in her first meeting
.  “It’s up to you, Colleen,
but Commander Durmont’s unwritten rule is to have first officers attend these
meetings.  You might want to pull him in.”  Heskan shrugged.

Dixon’s
expression twisted with momentary annoyance, but she began to type into her
datapad.  “No problem, it just seemed a waste to tie him up for an hour.”

It’s
going to be more like a couple hours but I’ll let you discover that on your own
, Heskan thought ruefully. 
Durmont’s meetings were becoming notorious for their tangents, which gobbled
valuable time while adding little value.  Heskan’s promise to
Kite’s
section
heads was to keep his morning meetings to under thirty minutes.  Anything that
required additional time could be discussed after the meeting and then with
only the appropriate people present. 
There is no reason to have seven
officers twiddling their thumbs when only two of them are discussing something. 
Yes, sometimes you have to have meetings that last longer than half an hour but
you surely don’t have to have them every morning.

“Ladies
and gentlemen, the commander,” Durmont’s adjutant called out, bringing Heskan
back to focus and up on his feet.

Everyone
stood at attention as Lieutenant Commander Durmont walked into his briefing
room.  He stood at his chair while surveying his officers on the wall screen
and then finally sat.  Once seated, Durmont began to review his datapad while
keeping the other ship captains at attention.  Although Heskan was supposed to
stare straight ahead, his eyes wandered toward the frigate captains to gauge
their reactions.  He had grown used to the little power trip Durmont played
each morning but this was, undoubtedly, a first for Lieutenants Lee and Dixon. 
Lee stood rigidly at attention but Dixon’s expression started with confusion,
shifted to realization and then hardened into anger.  Heskan glanced to Gary,
whose eyes, also watching the newcomers, twinkled with perverse amusement. 
What’s
that about misery and company?

“At
ease, please be seated,” Durmont finally said.

Heskan
sat next to Vernay who subtly slid her datapad in his direction.  The screen
displayed the large numbers, 00:44.26.  Vernay then pulled her datapad back and
cleared the chronometer.

Durmont
opened the meeting with little further formality.  “CortRon Fifteen is now at
full strength with the addition of our frigates.  Lieutenants Lee and Dixon
will meet with me at fifteen-hundred so that I can brief them on their
duties.”  Durmont looked them over and frowned when his gaze came to Dixon.  “Lieutenant,
were you not assigned a first officer?”

Dixon
swallowed.  “He’s on his way, sir.  He was tied up at one of our GPs.”

Durmont
sighed dramatically.  “Well, I hate to be an inconvenience to your first
officer and I’ll tell him so this evening at eighteen-hundred.  I trust you can
make sure he isn’t late for that appointment, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,
sir.”  This time it was Dixon’s turn to sigh.

Durmont
entered commands into his datapad and the fleet’s revised exercise schedule
appeared on each ship’s wall screen.  “As you can see, festivities will kick
off a little later than originally planned.  Admiral Hayes has stated, however,
that this schedule will be adhered to come hell or high water.”  Durmont sat
back in his chair.  “This is our first chance to impress fleet leadership.  I’m
not sure if I’ve brought this point home yet: our performance will directly
reflect upon me and we
will
make a stellar first impression.”

Lieutenant
Moore spoke up immediately.  “We’re all behind you, sir.  I see the task group
will be within ten light-minutes of the tunnel point to Sponde when we complete
the exercise.  Will we dive in once it’s over or will we stay in the Metis
system awhile?”

Durmont
brought up the Metis star chart.  “Excellent observation, Stephanie.  The combat
fleet will dive upon conclusion of the exercise debriefing while the SupRon and
its escorts remain at Metis.  Hayes wants the combat elements of Task Group Three-One
in Sponde as soon as possible so he can coordinate with the existing ships in
the system.”  Durmont entered a few more commands on his datapad and Sponde’s
star chart along with a list of ships appeared on each captain’s wall screen. 
“These are the ships that will conduct the defense of Sponde.”

Heskan
had already studied the Sponde star chart.  The system’s M3V star was on the cool
side but warm enough to heat the three closest orbiting planets to a degree of habitation. 
Sponde-1 held no atmosphere, and while Sponde-2 had a small, self-contained
research colony, it too was otherwise devoid of humanity.  The third planet,
named Pan, orbited at the extreme edge of the “Goldilocks” zone and contained a
sufficient amount of oxygen to support Terran life.  Although mostly frozen on
the surface, the planet’s oceans, underneath the ice, were rich in life and
minerals.  The settlements along the planet’s equator had little trouble
supporting the provincial planet’s mining population.

Sponde’s
real value, however, was as a breakwater between the more developed Metis
district system (and vital Lysithea core system beyond it) and the contested
Kale star system.  Kale, located in the heart of the disputed zone between
Brevic and Hollaran territory, was just one of two “shortcut” systems in the
disputed region.  Normally, several dives through star systems located within
the disputed zone were required to transit between the two adversaries. 
However, the bitter rivals were just one system dive from each other at the
strategic Kale and Anesidora star systems.  This distinction made Sponde the
first line of defense against one of the most likely invasion routes the Hollaran
Commonwealth might take.

Heskan
quickly skimmed the impressive list of defense ships.  The Sponde system
defenses included an outpost station and a citadel defense fortress orbiting with
the Kale tunnel point.  These two defense structures would give pause to any
invading force by themselves.  Augmenting them would be Task Group 3.1
commanded by Admiral Hayes and an additional group from Second Fleet, Task
Group 2.2.

Task
Group 2.2 was a traditional combat fleet.  The eighteen-ship task group
consisted of one BattRon, CruRon, and CortRon each.  The battleship and cruiser
squadrons boasted a dreadnaught, one fleet tug equipped with three missile pods,
four command cruisers, four heavy cruisers, and two light cruisers.  Shielding
the attack ships was a single CortRon with one escort light cruiser, four escort
destroyers and an escort frigate.  Overall, it was a fearsome force. 
Between
the tunnel point system defenses, Task Group 2.2 and us, we should be able to
handle anything that dives into Sponde from Kale
, Heskan tried to convince
himself.