Action Stations

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mcauliffe-Confederation day 2634.235

"All right, Turner, you have most certainly kicked up one hell of a storm," Admiral Long snapped as he stormed into his office, Admiral Nagomo in tow. "I don't recall authorizing that this whole damn base gets turned upside down."

Geoff spared a quick glance out the window behind Long. The view out the window as one of utter chaos-the tarmac in front of headquarters swarmed with hundreds of service personnel, many of them drunk and wandering around. Ground crews were cursing and yelling as they started to move some of the planes off of the apron towards hardened underground revetments, dozens of ship-to-shore landing craft were surrounded by shouting crowds, angry because the pilots could not be found. Sergeant Major Ulandi had apparently gone beyond his authorization, and Geoff was amazed at just how powerful an admirals topkick could be. Though he might have to salute first and call new shavetails sir, there was many a captain, and perhaps even an rear admiral or two, who might think twice before disagreeing with him. Geoff was amazed, as well, that a marine corporal had shown up, only minutes before the arrival of the admirals, with fresh uniforms for all three of them, along with razors and shaving soap. Though he still wished passionately for a shower, he knew he was somewhat respectable looking, as long as no one got too close.

"Sir, would you be willing to go to a full alert and scramble the fleet?" Turner asked.

"Look, Winston, there isn't a ship up there with much more than thirty percent of their crews. We scramble now, we'll have to turn right back around and pick up our personnel hours later. That's a lot of engine time loitering around, only to come back and dock again."

"Don't worry, we've got plenty of time, even if your report is true, and besides, I've only had your word so far. I've heard nothing from the CIC. So, let's just take it easy here."

"At least start powering up the engines, sir."

"Mr. Turner, I will not be told by you what to do and what not to do. Even if the Kilrathi popped through the jump point right now, it'd be hours before they reached here, and then what? Our shields are the strongest in the universe."

Sergeant Ulandi appeared in the doorway, the lieutenant who had first encountered Turner beside him. The lieutenant appeared to hesitate, but a look from the sergeant seemed to propel him into the room.

"Ah sir, this dispatch arrived after you left."

The lieutenant approached the desk and handed a silver pouch to the admiral. At the same instant the admiral's pager chimed. Long punched his coded access into the lock on the pouch, which popped open. The pager chimed again and, as he pulled the envelope out of the pouch, he switched his screen on.

Ulandi, who had stepped up to Turner's side nodded towards the lieutenant.

"Damn priority dispatch arrived more than eight hours ago," he whispered. "The lieutenant forget to get it to Nagomo. I just saw it sticking out of a desk drawer."

"Long here," the Admiral said while unfolding the letter.

"Sir, this is Sergeant Williams, over at Signals. Sir, you better see this!"

Before Long could even reply the sergeant switched the screen. A very young and obviously frightened lieutenant appeared.

"This is picket ship Java. Repeat, picket ship Java. A Kilrathi battleship has just come through jump point Alpha. Christ! It's opening up on us. It's…"

The image died, to be replaced by Sergeant Williams, who was obviously scared.

"We got that just under five minutes ago, sir. I just had a high-density burst scan shot out, and getting it back now. Image is rough due to solar activity, but there is definitely a Kilrathi Zulu class battleship at jump point Alpha. Wait a minute, sir, a second ship is coming through now, looks like a carrier, sir."

"Keep me posted!" Long cried.

The admiral stood up and Geoff felt a cold ripple of fear. There was a look of near panic in Long's eyes. He gazed back down at the dispatch from Banbridge, then back over at the lieutenant.

"Damn you, Carter. You've killed us all, you son of a bitch. This was an order to cancel all leaves and prepare to move the fleet. Why the hell didn't you get it to me?"

Carter gaped at him like a fish gasping for water as it flopped around on dry land.

Long started into a bitter stream of invective against the terrified lieutenant.

"Admiral!"

Long, his features flushed, looked over at Turner who had stepped in front of him. Turner was holding Banbridge's orders.

"Sir! Order a full scramble now! Get the fleet out of here, now!"

"It's only a single battleship so far," Nagomo interjected. "It'll be a minimum of four hours before it gets in range. Plenty of time to get a fair part of our crews up. Besides, Orange Five says the fleet stays within the shielding around the base upstairs."

"Its orders, sir," Turner shouted.

"Sir, we've a burst signal coming in from the CIC," the sergeant at the communications center announced, coming back on-line.

"Play it, damn it!" Long shouted.

"To all units, this is a Level Two alert issued by CIC. McAuliffe base, expect a full-scale attack, repeat full-scale attack…"

Geoff stood, horrified, as chaos engulfed the office. He had always imagined that in a moment of crisis a true officer would radiate calm control. Instead, with the voice of Banbridge in the background, Nagomo and Long were shouting at each other. He could see Turner edging forward to jump into the fray in an attempt to bring some order to it. The only one who seemed removed from it all was the sergeant major, who stood calmly by the door, his cigar glowing, arms folded across his chest. The sergeant major saw him looking, nodded slightly, then nodded towards Turner.

Geoff took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then exhaled. Somebody has to stay calm in all of this. If the sergeant major can, Geoff reasoned, so can I, damn it!

He walked up to Turner and touched him on the shoulder. Turner whirled about, as if ready to attack.

"Sir, that sergeant over at the comm center said a carrier had come through," Geoff said, forcing his voice to sound even and under control. "That's against standard doctrine, but it was a scenario you presented to us in class. They're most likely launching fighters and bombers now. They could be here in less than an hour and a half. This could be the Panama war game scenario, sir."

In the background the admirals continued to argue whether the fleet should abandon McAuliffe, Nagomo raging that Long would lose the war if he followed Banbridge's orders, which were issued without knowledge of the tactical situation.

"Sirs," Turner snapped, loud enough to cut through the yelling. "They may be launching fighters and bombers first. If so, you don't have four hours, you've got less than two."

"That's absurd, Turner," Nagomo said dismissively. "We'll tear them to shreds."

The executive officers and several additional staff were now in the room, some of them turning on each other. Geoff found himself wrestling with the fantasy of retrieving the blaster he had left in Ulandi's office coming back in, and shooting the whole lot of them. What had to be done was so simple and obvious… scramble all ships, withdraw from McAuliffe, let the base take the blow if need be, but above all else… save the fleet so it could fight again. On the comm screen the latest sweep showed four ships having emerged, and what looked like a spread of small dots streaming out ahead of them.

Geoff grabbed hold of Turner's arm again and pointed at the screen. "It's the Panama scenario. There's nothing more you can do here, sir. Now, let's go!"

Turner looked at Geoff in surprise, as if, after all their months together, he had really noticed him now for the first time. With an angry curse, Turner headed for the door, motioning for Richards to fall in with him. As soon as they were out of the office, Turner stopped and looked over at Ulandi.

"Come with us, sergeant," Turner snapped, "I need your help."

"Sorry, sir. I'm with the admiral, sir. He'll need me before this is done-" his tone was distant and sad, " — and besides, sir, it's what I signed on for."

"You might have saved something anyhow, Ulandi," Turner said sadly and extended his hand. "God watch over you, sergeant. Next time the drink's on me."

Ulandi took Turner's hand and smiled. "Stay alive, Winston."

Turner broke away and started into a run down the hall. Geoff caught the eye of the sergeant, who snapped to attention and saluted.

"Now Senator More can kiss your ass, son," the sergeant said with a grin, and then nodded towards the door. "You did good in there, woke old Winnie up. Take care of him, son. Stay alive, you might make a good officer someday."

The sergeant saluted, a gesture that startled Geoff. He snapped off a salute in reply and then broke into a run. As he sprinted down the corridor he looked back and saw the old topkick leaning against the doorjamb, his features obscured in a cloud of cigar smoke.

Bursting out of the main entry, Geoff caught up to Turner.

"We're going up. Maybe Concordia can get under way in time."

Geoff broke into a flat out run, heading for Lazarus, dodging and weaving his way through the swirling confusion of fleet personnel, ground crews, pilots looking for ships, and even some civilians who had tagged along as the military police emptied the town's emporiums. Apparently word that an attack was coming had already hit the crowd, which was quickly degenerating into a mob. As he ducked around a line of Thor bombers, most of them propped up on jacks, their wheel bays empty, he saw half a dozen men gathered around Lazarus, one of them hammering on the access key to the hatch.

"Get away from my ship, damn it!" Geoff roared.

The men turned. One of them, a lieutenant commander who was more than a little drunk, stepped forward.

"If you're going up, boy, I'm ordering you to take me to my ship."

Geoff ignored him as he punched in the code which unlocked the door. He scrambled up the ladder, and looking over his shoulder he saw that a crowd was starting to form, the drunken commander leading them up the ladder. Without hesitating Geoff leaped into the crew compartment, opened a storage hatch and pulled out a light assault gun. He turned and faced the commander.

"Sir, I am ordering you off this ship, right now."

"Like hell you are, ensign."

Geoff chambered a round and snapped the safety off.

"If you don't get the hell off this ship right now, sir, they'll be digging your brains off the wall behind you."

The commander looked at him, wide-eyed, then started to back out of the hatch, cursing at the men behind him to make way. With the hatch cleared, Geoff waved Vance and Winston through the gathering crowd, which was hurling imprecations at him. The two scrambled in and he stepped aside, but kept his weapon trained on the crowd.

Geoff looked at the mob. Some were drunk beyond any hope of recall, some were angry, shouting that they should rush the ship, others were obviously just plain frightened out of their wits. He knew that if he tried to sort them out as to who was best to take along, it would get very ugly, very quickly. He heard the ignitors kicking over on Lazarus' engine.

He pointed first at the lieutenant commander, then at the ten men and women closest to the ladder, making sure he pointed out two that had flight wings on their uniforms.

"You people, in now!"

They eagerly scrambled up the ladder, and as the tenth one cleared the hatch Geoff struggled to block the entry. A burly, overweight petty officer tried to shove his way in.

"Get back, damn it!"

"I'm coming too, damn you," and the crowd behind the petty officer started to roar and surge forward. The ignitor caught and Lazarus' engine flared to life. Several of the mob who were too close to the stern of the ship were knocked over and rolled end over end by the blast.

"You son of a bitch, I'm coming too!"

The petty officer reached out to grab Geoff's weapon. Geoff shifted it slightly and squeezed the trigger, catching the petty officer in the shoulder and knocking him down the ladder. Sickened by what he had just done, he looked at the man squirming on the tarmac below. There was a stunned moment of silence from the mob and, taking advantage of the hesitation on their part, he yanked the ladder in before someone else could grab hold, then slammed the door shut.

The ten whom he had chosen were sprawled out along the narrow access corridor leading from the forward cockpit back down to the stern gun position. Several of them had seen the shooting and looked at Geoff in shock.

The lieutenant commander stepped towards Tolwyn, as if to block his way forward.

"I'm off the Antilles and I'm ordering you to head there first."

"Listen, commander," Geoff said coolly, "Commander Turner is in charge of this vessel and we go where he orders. Do you understand that?"

"I need to get back to my ship right now," the commander started and then fell silent as he found himself staring down the bore of Geoffs gun. The argument settled, Geoff stepped past the lieutenant commander and went forward. Vance was in the left seat, and Turner in the right. As Geoff approached Turner scrambled out of the seat and took the gun.

"I can't fly worth a damn," Turner said. "You take over."

Again there was the faintest of smiles.

"You had to shoot him, there was no other way around it," Turner added, making sure his comment carried to the crowd in the access corridor. He then turned and looked back at them, as if noticing their presence for the first time.

"We're heading to the Concordia. If any of you have a problem with that, get the hell off now."

No one spoke up.

"This is going to be a rough one, people, so lie down and hang on."

Turner settled into the jump seat behind Geoff and strapped in. Vance tapped into the ground control channel, listened to the chaos for several seconds, then switched it off and looked over at Geoff.

"The hell with clearance, Geoff, keep your eyes peeled. I'm going to lift it straight off the taxiway."

Geoff grinned as Vance gunned the ship out of the parking area, weaving adroitly past half a dozen surface-to-space transports that were lumbering towards the strip. Reaching the taxiway, he clicked on the radio, announced his intentions, then pivoted and started to throttle up. Geoff saw a transport, which had just touched down on the main strip, hurriedly turning to clear the strip as a second transport touched down just behind it.

"We'll clear him," Vance announced as he slammed the throttles to the wall. Lazarus kicked to life. Geoff checked their speed, ignoring all the other instruments. If they had a malfunction, that was it. The transport continued on an intersect line.

"Speed?"

"Fifty, sixty, seventy…"

"Wish you'd left those bastards back there behind," Vance snapped. "Too much weight."

Geoff didn't reply. They were fleet personnel and he would be damned if he left somebody behind who could be saved, and could fight.

Vance pulled back early, the nose lifting. Lazarus rose several feet, lumbered in a stall, mushed back down, then lifted again.

"Gears up!"

Geoff slapped the landing gear lever back and spared a quick glance at the gauges. They were hovering at stall speed. If they mushed back down now, it was over and they'd plow straight into the transport that was crossing the taxiway a hundred yards ahead. He didn't look away, and continued to stare at the transport. He felt Vance nudge the stick back further for an instant. They gained a dozen feet, then he pushed the stick forward, dropping the nose as Lazarus shuddered on the edge of a stall. They just cleared the transport… for an instant Geoff could see the wide-eyed copilot looking up at them, his mouth opened as if shouting an obscenity. Lazarus dropped down so that Geoff felt for certain that they'd pancake, but they didn't fall the final few feet to disaster.

"We got ground effect," Vance said casually, "we're okay."

Airspeed started to build and, seconds later, Vance eased the nose back up and they started to climb.

"Boys, that was the hairiest damn takeoff I've ever seen," Turner sighed. Vance looked back over his shoulder.

"Piece of cake, sir."

Vance put them into a forty-five-degree climb, afterburners roaring, devouring the liquid hydrogen in the ship's tanks.

"Remember that crew chief on the Hell Hole said to keep the g's down," Geoff said casually.

"I know, thanks. But I think we're in a bit of a rush here." Seconds later Geoff could see the stars overhead.

"Sir, we've lost a carrier," Jukaga announced, coming up to stand by Admiral Nargth's side.

Nargth, surprised, looked at Vakkas son.

"I just received the report from our radar operator. The fifth carrier, Kathuga, was scheduled to come through several minutes ago. A spray of debris streamed out of the jump point instead. Part of it was identified as the bow of Kathuga. It must have misaligned on jump, or the jump engine failed to encompass the entire ship in its field due to the high velocity."

"My brothers second son was on that ship," Nargth said quietly. Without another comment he turned away from Jukaga.

Prince Ratha, roaring with a wild, passionate glee, was slammed back in his seat as the ship's catapult slammed him through the magnetic airlock field and out into space. Giving a touch of thruster he surged ahead of the carrier and, once well clear, slammed on full engines, including the extra strap-on units. The unleashed power set his pulse to pounding as he streaked forward, ignoring the calls of his wing support and the other three pilots of his section. The target area was still nothing but a blip on the center of his screen. He didn't even really need to watch that, all he had to do was follow the dozens of winking lights of those who had been launched before him. It still enraged him that his father had ordered him to go with the second squadron, rather than have the honor of being the first fighter to be launched from the first carrier. Yet still, it would be sung that he was part of the first attack on the Confederation, the attack that in one blow shattered their power.

"Concordia, we are coming aboard!"

"Sir, you are not cleared for landing yet."

Winston grabbed a comm mike and snapped it on. "Is Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson there?"

"I am not authorized, sir, to discuss that."

There was a moment's pause and a different voice came on the air.

"Winston, this is Valeri, you are cleared to land. Now get your ass in here, and I'll meet you on the deck."

Turner looked over at Vance. "Can you squeeze this thing in through the airlock?"

"Tight, sir, but I think we can manage her."

For Geoff it was his first look at Concordia as they came up several kilometers off the starboard beam and lined up to swing in for a head-on approach into the landing bay. He felt his pulse quicken. The ship was beautiful, far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Her lines were sleek, white paint fresh and glimmering in the harsh sunlight. As they turned into final approach, he felt a tightening in his throat at the sight of the insignia of the Fleet, painted across the ship's bow. He had always felt an affinity for the emblem as far back as he could remember. But now it was different. They were at war, the first attack was boring in and this beautiful ship was the point of the javelin that must be hurled back to stop them.

"Hands off the stick, Geoff," Vance said quietly. Geoff released his hand from the stick and sat back to watch as Vance jockeyed Lazarus into alignment with the launch bay airlock. He gave a tap of vertical thrust to ease Lazarus down another meter and slipped through the airlock with less than half a meter clearance for the tail. Geoff could sense the tension on Vance's part. If he should screw up the approach and crack it up, they might very well block the launch port, which would most assuredly be a death sentence for the carrier.

Vance pivoted Lazarus forty-five degrees, clearing the launch bay, and nudged Lazarus in between two personnel transports. It was Geoff's first view inside a fleet carrier. His only previous experience had been aboard the old training ship Schweinfurt, where he did his qualification landings for surface-to-space flight. The launch and deck area looked absolutely cavernous and swarmed with what appeared to be a madhouse of confusion. Flight crews were scrambling around a line of Wildcat fighters, loading them with fuel and armaments. He sensed that, though it might look like insanity, the crews were actually performing a well-choreographed drill.

Turner was already out of his seat, climbing over their passengers. Going aft he popped open the access hatch, while Geoff and Vance shut Lazarus down. Stepping down onto the deck of Concordia, Geoff saw Turner talking with the launch officer, clearly identifiable by his bright red baseball hat.

A young enlisted woman was summoned over and with her leading the way Turner took off again at a run.

Geoff looked over at Vance. "We'd better stick with him, we still might be useful."

The two took off after Turner, abandoning the thoroughly confused passengers who stood in a silent knot. Going through a double row of damage control doors, which a marine locked shut behind them, they sprinted to catch up to Turner as he raced up several flights of stairs, was cleared through another set of double doors by a marine guard, and finally reached the Combat Information Center in the center of the ship.

"Valeri, what's the latest?" Turner asked, coming up to the side of the lieutenant commander who was staring intently at a holo display field which filled the center of the room.

Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson stepped up close to the field, held up a hand control unit, and clicked it. Several hundred flashing red dots appeared on the screen with solid lines projecting from them, all the lines tracing in to a single intersect point.

"We have, at this moment over three hundred inbound strike craft, Commander, a mix of Kola class fighters and Gomora class heavy strike bombers. The first wave will hit our outer defense perimeter in twenty-seven minutes."

"They're moving damn fast," Vance interjected.

"Four of them slowed down in less than a minute to nail a light corvette that was halfway up to the jump point on a routine patrol. Just before we lost the ship they reported that all the strike craft had strap-on boosters."

"And the capital ships?" Turner asked.

She hit the hand control unit again and the holo field displayed an overhead projection of the system, showing McAuliffe and jump point Alpha. A tight red bundle of blips appeared near the jump point, with half a dozen blips strung out in line and moving down into the system.

"Five carriers, two battleships forward. They've got a stream of craft still coming through. Four more battleships, eight cruisers so far, and two heavy-assault transports."

"That's not the fleet we spotted," Turner said, looking back at Geoff and Vance. "This is the main strike right here. The other fleet must be hitting the Landreich like we figured."

Turner walked around the holo field and then turned to face Valeri.

"Are you the senior officer on board?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Captain Mifune?"

"Still down on McAuliffe, sir. Last report was that he commandeered a Hurricane, but traffic on Johnson Island is shot to hell. There was a bad crash on the primary runway. It'll be at least forty-five minutes before he gets up."

"Are the engines on-line?"

"We'll be up and running-" she hesitated and looked over at the engineering display," — in thirty-two minutes sir."

"Your orders from Captain Mifune?"

"Wait for his arrival. Admiral Long has ordered all ships to undock, but to stay inside the area of the orbital base shielding."

"Any other signal traffic?"

"We intercepted the translight burst from the CIC, sir. Also an encrypt from Rear Admiral Dayan's task force. They are approaching jump point Delta but are still nearly ten hours out."

"Dayan's coming? Thank God, what does she have?"

"Two wagons, and carrier Ark Royal, plus escorts."

"Damn," Turner whispered, "not enough by a long sight." He drew a deep breath. "Valeri, you were a damn good student of mine twelve years ago. You remember the Panama war game?"

She smiled and looked over at the holo field. "We've got it right here. They've got a shield-busting weapon, there's no mistake. Otherwise they wouldn't be attacking like this."

"I'll take the heat for this," Turner said quietly and then he drew himself up so that he was standing at attention. "Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson, by the power of Fleet Regulation Seventeen I am hereby taking command of this ship as the senior officer on board in a time of crisis."

A flicker of a smile creased Olson's features. She looked over at a chief petty officer who was standing by the main console.

"Chief, you have heard Commander Turner's orders. I acknowledge Commander Turner's authority and hereby relinquish command of Concordia. Note the time, Chief."

Geoff watched the formalized ritual as it was played out amidst the confusion of the bridge. There was but a momentary pause as the several dozen enlisted and commissioned personnel observed what was happening, then went back to their desperate effort to bring Concordia on-line.

Olson saluted, then handed over the holo field controller. Turner acknowledged the salute.

"How many personnel are not on board?"

"We have just over forty percent on board at this moment, sir."

"Pilots?"

"Twenty-nine out of eighty-three, sir."

Turner went over to the main board and looked around for a mike. The chief petty officer, as if sensing what the new captain wanted, unclipped one from the console and handed it to him.

"Switch me onto the main ship system," Turner asked, and the petty officer hit a button.

"This is Commander Turner speaking. I was on McAuliffe on special assignment from Admiral Banbridge. Those of you from the Academy might remember me." He hesitated, knowing the image he had for many as the woolly professor. To hell with classified information, and besides, it was twenty years ago. "I should add that, prior to that, I was commander of Marine Commando Six, so I do have combat experience."

He waited for several seconds, then pressed on. "As senior officer aboard I have formally taken command of this ship until such time as the executive officer or captain return on board. As you know, the Kilrathi have launched a sneak attack. In less than thirty minutes their fighters and bombers will hit the outer shield area. We have reason to believe they might have weapons capable of penetrating our shields."

He waited for what he had said to sink in.

"If we stay here, Concordia will be destroyed. We are therefore going to power this ship up, get out into open space, and fight this ship the way it was meant to be fought. I will be honest with you. We might not live through this day, but if we are fated to die, Concordia will go down fighting and we will take some of the bastards with us!"

Geoff could hear a defiant, angry cheer erupt in the ship, to be picked up by the personnel in the combat center.

"All pilots, man your planes, prepare for launch the moment we clear base shielding."

Turner clicked the mike off. There was a moment of silence and then the crew set back to their work.

"Richards, Tolwyn."

Turner motioned for them to come over. "Vance, head down to the flight deck. Grab a free plane."

Richards grinned, saluted and left the room.

Turner looked at Geoff as if weighing a decision.

"Have you ever handled a Wildcat?"

"Only in the simulator, sir."

Turner nodded. "I could use you here, son, but what do you want?"

Geoff took the information in. He knew that, even in the full simulator, his time was limited. The Fleet usually expected a minimum of five hundred hours of flight time on a Wildcat before they'd assign a new pilot to a combat wing. And yet, if he did stay here, a decision that no one would really question, he knew that he would question it for the rest of his life.

"I'd like to take a crack at the bastards, sir."

What looked like infinite sadness clouded Turner's features, and Geoff realized that the commander felt as if he was allowing yet another young man to go to certain death.

"A hell of a lot of good people are going to die today, sir," Geoff said. "I'll be in good company."

Turner could not reply. Rather than salute he extended his hand.

Geoff shook it, stepped back, saluted, then sprinted from the bridge.