Dorsai!

Sub-Patrol Chief

“Five!” said Donai He felt a small crawling sensation down his spine. He had, before Lludrow turned him down the first time, worked out rather carefully what could be done with Newton and how a man might go about it. His plan had called for a lean and compact little fighting force of thirty first-class ships in a triangular organization of three sub-patrols, ten ships to each.

“You see,” Lludrow was explaining, “it’s not what craft I have available — even with what losses we’ve just suffered, my Blue Patrol counts over seventy ships of the first class, alone. It’s what ships I can trust to you on a job where at least the officers and probably the men as well will realize that it’s a mission that should be completely volunteer and that’s being sneaked off when Staff’s back is turned. The captains of these ships are all strongly loyal to me, personally, or I couldn’t have picked them.” He looked at Donal. “All right,” he said. “I know it’s impossible. Just agree with me and we can forget the matter.”

“Can I count on obedience?” asked Donal.

“That,” said Lludrow, “is the one thing I can guarantee you.”

“I’ll have to improvise,” said Donal. “I’ll go in with them, look at the situation, and see what can be done.”

“Fair enough. It’s decided then.”

“It’s decided,” said Donal.

“Then come along.” Lludrow turned and led him out of the office and through corridors to a lock. They passed through the lock to a small courier ship, empty and waiting for them there; and took it to a ship of the first class, some fifteen minutes off.

Ushered into the ship’s large and complex main control room. Donal found five senior captains waiting for him. Lludrow accepted a salute from a gray-haired powerful-looking man, who by saluting revealed himself as captain of this particular ship.

“Captain Bannerman,” said Lludrow, introducing him to Donal, “Captain Graeme.” Donal concealed a start well. In the general process of his thinking, he had forgotten that a promotion for himself would be necessary. You could hardly put a Staff Liaison with a field rank of commandant over men captaining ships of the first class.

“Gentlemen,” said Lludrow, turning to the other executive officers. “I’ve been forced to form your five ships rather hastily into a new Sub-Patrol unit. Captain Graeme will be your new chief. You’ll form a reconnaissance outfit to do certain work near the very center of the enemy space area; and I want to emphasize the point that Captain Graeme’s command is absolute. You will obey any and all of his orders without question. Now, are there any questions any of you would like to ask before he assumes command?”

The five captains were silent.

“Fine, then.” Lludrow led Donal down the line. “Captain Graeme, this is Captain Aseini.”

“Honored,” said Donal, shaking hands.

“Captain Sukaya-Mendez.”

“At your service, captain.”

“Captain El Man.”

“Honored,” said Donal. A scarred Dorsai face neanng forty looked at him. “I believe I know your family name, captain. High Island, isn’t it?”

“Sir, near Bridgehead,” answered El Man. “I’ve heard of the Graemes.” Donal moved on.

“And Captain Ruoul.”

“Honored.”

“Well, then,” said Lludrow, stepping back briskly. “I’ll leave the command in your hands, Captain Graeme. Anything in the way of special supplies?”

“Torpedoes, sir,” answered Donal.

“I’ll have Armaments Supply contact you,” said Lludrow, And left.

Five hours later, with several hundred extra torpedoes loaded, the five-ship Sub-Patrol moved out for deep space. It was DonaTs wish that they get clear of the home base as soon as possible and off where the nature of their expedition could not be discovered and countermanded. With the torpedoes, Lee had come aboard; Donal having remembered that his orderly had been left aboard the C4J. Lee had come through the battle very well, being strapped in his hammock harness throughout in a section of the ship that was undamaged by the hit that had pierced to the control room. Now, Donal had definite instructions for him.

“I want you with me, this time,” he said. “You’ll stay by me. I doubt very much I might need you; but if I do, I want you in sight.”

“I’ll be there,” said Lee, unemotionally.

They had been talking in the Patrol chief’s stateroom, which had been opened to Donal. Now, Donal headed for the main control room, Lee following behind. When Donal reached that nerve center of the ship, he found all three of the snip’s officers engaged in calculating the phase shift, with Bannerman overseeing.

“Sir!” said Bannerman as Donal came up. Looking at him, Donal was reminded of his mathematics instructor at school; and he was suddenly and painfully reminded of his own youth.

“About ready to shift?” asked Donal.

“In about two minutes. Since you specified no particular conclusion point, the computer run was a short one. We’ve merely been making the usual checks to make sure mere’s no danger of collision with any object. A four light-year jump, sir.”

“Good,” said Donal. “Come here with me, Bannerman.”

He led the way over to the larger and rather more elaborate Control Eye that occupied the center of this control room; and pressed keys. A scene from the library file of the ship filled the globe. It showed a green-white planet with two moons floating in space and lit by the illumination from a G2 type sun.

“The orange and the two pips,” said Bannerman, revealing a moonless Freilander’s dislikes for natural planetary satellites.

“Yes,” said Donal. “Newton.” He looked at Bannerman. “How close can we hit it?”

“Sir?” said Bannerman, looking around at him. Donal waited, holding his eyes steady on the older man. Bannerman’s gaze shifted and dropped back to the scene in the Eye.

“We can come out as close as you want, sir,” he answered. “See, in deep space jumps, we have to stop to make observations and establish our location precisely. But the precise location of any civilized planet’s already established. To come out at a safe distance from their defenses, I’d say, sir—”

“I didn’t ask you for a safe distance from their defenses,” said Donal, quietly. “I said — how close?”

Bannerman looked up again. His face had not paled; but there was now a set quality about it. He looked at Donal for several seconds.

“How close?” he echoed. “Two planetary diameters.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Donal.

“Shift in ten seconds,” announced the First Officer’s voice; and began to count down. “Nine seconds — eight — seven — six — five — four — three — two — shift!” They shifted.

“Yes,” said Donal, as if the shift itself had never interrupted what he was about to say, “out here where it’s nice and empty, we’re going to set up a maneuver, and I want all the ships to practice it. If you’ll call a captain’s conference, captain.”

Bannerman walked over to the control board and put in the call. Fifteen minutes later, with all junior officers dismissed, they gathered in the privacy of the control room of Bannerman’s ship and Donal explained what he had in mind.

“In theory,” he said, “our Patrol is just engaged in reconnaissance. In actuality, we’re going to try to simulate an attacking force making an assault on the planet Newton.”

He waited a minute to allow the weight of his words to register on their minds; and then went on to explain his intentions.

They were to set up a simulated planet on their ship’s instruments. They would approach this planet, which was to represent Newton, according to a random pattern and from different directions, first a single ship, then two together, then a series of single ships — and so on. They would, theoretically, appear into phase just before the planet, fire one or more torpedoes, complete their run past the planet and immediately go out of phase again. The intention would be to simulate the laying of a pattern of explosions covering the general surface of the planet.

There was, however, to be one main difference. Their torpedoes were to be exploded well without the outer ring of Newton’s orbits of defense, as if the torpedoes were merely intended as a means to release some radiation or material which was planned to fall in toward the planet, spreading as it went.

And, one other thing, the runs were to be so timed that the five-ship force, by rotation, could appear to be a large fleet engaged in continuous bombardment.

“…Any suggestions or comments?” asked Donal, winding it up. Beyond the group facing him, he could see Lee, lounging against the control room wall and watching the captains with a colorless gaze.

There was no immediate response; and then Bannerman spoke up slowly, as if he felt it had devolved upon him, the unwelcome duty of being spokesman for the group.

“Sir,” he said, “what about the chances of collision?”

“They’ll be high, I know,” said Donal. “Especially with the defending ships. But we’ll just have to take our chances.”

“May I ask how many runs we’ll be making?”

“As many,” said Donal, “as we can.” He looked deliberately around the group. “I want you gentlemen to understand. We’re going to make every possible attempt to avoid open battle or accidental casualties. But these things may not be avoidable considering the necessarily high number of runs.”

“How many runs did you have in mind, captain?” asked Sukaya-Mendez.

“I don’t see,” replied Donal, “how we can effectively present the illusion of a large fleet engaged in saturation bombardment of a world in under a full two hours of continuous runs.”

‘Two hours!” said Bannerman. There was an instinctive murmur from the group. “Sir,” continued Bannerman. “Even at five minutes a run, that amounts with five ships to better than two runs an hour. If we double up, or if there’s casualties it could run as high as four. That’s eight phase shifts to an hour — sixteen in a two-hour period. Sir, even doped to the ears, the men on our ships can’t take that.”

“Do you know of anyone who ever tried, captain?” inquired Donal.

“No, sir—” began Bannerman.

“Then how do we know it can’t be done?” Donal did not wait for an answer. “The point is, it must be done. You’re being required only to navigate your ships and fire possibly two torpedoes. That doesn’t require the manpower it would to fight your ships under ordinary conditions. If some of your men become unfit for duty, make shift with the ones you have left.”

“Shai Dorsai!” murmured the scarred El Man; and Donal glanced toward him, as grateful for the support as for the compliment.

“Anyone want out?” Donal asked crisply.

There was a slow, but emphatic, mutter of negation from all of them.

“Right.” Donal took a step back from them. “Then let’s get about our practice runs. Dismissed, gentlemen.”

He watched the four from other ships leave the control room.

“Better feed and rest the crews,” Donal said, turning to Bannerman. “And get some rest yourself. I intend to. Have a couple of meals sent to my quarters.”

“Sir,” acknowledged Bannerman. Donal turned and left the control room, followed by Lee as by a shadow. The Cobyman was silent until they were in the stateroom; then he growled: “What did that scarface mean by calling you shy?”

“Shy?” Donal turned about in surprise.

“Shaey, shy — something like that.”

“Oh,” Donal smiled at the expression on the other’s face. “That wasn’t an insult, Lee. It was a pat on the back. Shai was what he said. It means something like — true, pure, the actual.”

Lee grunted. Then he nodded.

“I guess you can figure on him,” he said.

The food came, a tray for each of them. Donal ate lightly and stretched himself out on the couch. It seemed he dropped instantly into sleep; and when he awoke at the touch of Lee’s hand on his shoulder he knew he had been dreaming — but of what, he could not remember. He remembered only a movement of shapes in obscurity, as of some complex physics problem resolving itself in terms of direction and mass, somehow given substance.

“Practice about to start,” said Lee.

“Thank you, orderly,” he said automatically. He got to his feet and headed toward the control room, shedding the druggedness of his sleep as he went. Lee had followed him, but he was not aware of this until the Cobyman pushed a couple of small white tablets into his hand.

“Medication,” said Lee. Donal swallowed them automatically. Bannerman, over by the control board, had seen him come in, and now turned and came across the floor.

“Ready for the first practice run, sir,” he said. “Where would you like to observe — controls, or Eye?”

Donal looked and saw they had a chair set up for him in both locations.

“Eye,” he said. “Lee, you can take the other chair, as long as there does not seem to be one for you.”

“Captain, you—”

“I know, Bannerman,” said Donal, “I should have mentioned the fact I meant to have my orderly up here. I’m sorry.”

“Not at all, sir.” Bannerman went over and fitted himself into his own chair, followed by Lee. Donal turned his attention to the Eye.

The five ships were in line, in deep space, at thousand-kilometer intervals. He looked at their neat Indian file and stepped up the magnification slightly so that in spite of the distance that should have made even the nearest invisible, they appeared in detail, in-lighted by the Eye.

“Sir,” said Bannerman; and his quiet voice carried easily across the room. “I’ve arranged a key-in. When we make our phase shift, that library tape will replace the image in the Eye, so you can see what our approach will actually look like.”

“Thank you, captain.”

“Phase shift in ten seconds—”

The count-down ticked off like the voice of a clock. Then, there was the sensation of a phase shift; and abruptly Donal was sweeping closely over a planet, barely fifty thousand kilometers distance from its surface. “Fire—” and “Fire—” spoke the speaker in the control room ceiling. Again, the indescribable destruction and rebuilding of the body. The world was gone and they were again in deep space.

Donal looked at the four other ships in line. Abruptly the leading one disappeared. The rest continued, seemingly, to hang there, without motion. There was no sound in the control room about him. The seconds crept by, became minutes. The minutes crawled. Suddenly — a ship appeared in front of Ban-nerman’s craft.

Donal looked back at the three behind. Now, there were only two.

The run continued until all the ships had made their pass.

“Again,” ordered Donal.

They did it again; and it went off without a hitch.

“Rest,” said Donal, getting out of the chair. “Captain, pass the word for all ships to give their personnel a break of half an hour. Make sure everyone is fed, rested, and supplied with medication. Also supply every person with extra medication to be taken as needed. Then, I’d like to talk to you, personally.”

When Bannerman had accomplished these orders and approached Donal, Donal took him aside.

“How about the reactions of the men?” he asked.

“Fine, captain,” Bannerman said; and Donal was surprised to read a true enthusiasm in his voice, “We’ve got good crews, here. High level-ratings, and experience.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Donal, thankfully. “Now… about the time interval—”

“Five minutes exactly, sir.” Bannerman looked at him inquiringly. “We can shorten slightly, or lengthen as much as you want.”

“No,” said Donal. “I just wanted to know. Do you have battle dress for me and my orderly?”

“It’s coming up from stores.”

The half hour slid by quickly. As it approached its end and they prepared to tie into their chairs, Donal noticed the chronometer on the control room wall. It stood at 23:10 and the half hour would be up at 23:12.

“Make that start at 23:15,” he directed Bannerman. The word was passed to the other ships. Everyone was in battle dress in their chairs and at their posts, waiting. Donal felt a strange metallic taste in his mouth and the slow sweat began to work out on the surface of his skin.

“Give me an all-ship hookup,” he said. There was a few seconds pause, and then a Third Officer spoke from the control panel.

“You’re hooked in, sir.”

“Men,” said Donal. “This is Captain Graeme.” He paused. He had no idea what he had intended to say. He had asked for the hookup on impulse, and to break the strain of the last few moments which must be weighing on all the rest as much as him. “I’ll tell you one thing. This is something Newton’s never going to forget. Good luck to all of you. That’s all.”

He wigwagged to the Third Officer to cut him off; and looked up at the clock. A chime sounded softly through the ship.

It was 23:15.