Cripple squadron the 1st.., p.16
Cripple Squadron (The 1st Solar War), page 16
“I don’t see how that solves the problem, Dad. I’m part of the special squadron,” Victoria said.
Arnold Buckner handed his daughter a manila folder. “Those are orders detaching you from the special training squadron to the Wraith fighter research program. It not only assigns you to the now-official program but puts you in charge of it.”
“This isn’t a long-term solution though, Admiral,” Norman said. “Eventually Vicki will have to return to the squadron.”
Arnold nodded. “Yes, she will, but that’s not going to happen until we get a complete design for the Wraith space fighter and you finish training the pilots that will fly them. When that happens, we’ll dissolve the training squadron and assign you to my staff.”
The two lovers looked at each other. The solution wasn’t ideal, but it was better than one or both of them being kicked out of the Space Force.
“What if we were married?” Norman asked. The question elicited a gasp from Victoria and a grin from the admiral.
“It wouldn’t change the assignments, Norm,” Arnold said. “Even if you’re married to each other, she can’t work for you. Now I will say,” the admiral continued, “it will make the two of you living together more acceptable to Space Force as a whole.”
Norman looked at the love of his life. “What do you think, hon? I know I’m tired of sneaking around, and since it’s out in the open …” Norm trailed off.
“Since it’s out in the open, we should take advantage of it,” Victoria finished the sentence. “I don’t want to waste a moment without you, and being married will help with that.” Victoria looked at her father. God, our relationship has changed so much over the last two years. “That is, if we have your permission?”
“My permission as your father, or my permission as a senior fleet officer?” Arnold asked with a smile.
“Both. Either. I don’t really care, Dad,” Victoria responded.
“Of course you have my permission, my blessing, and my desire that you spend a long time with each other,” Arnold Buckner said to the two lovers.
*****
Chapter 15. The Shoe Drops
“Hey, Frank,” called a voice in the crowded locker room. “We’re going to go get chow. You coming?”
Missile Technician First Class Frank Chin looked up from where he sat on a bench in front of his locker. “I think I’m going to grab a shower first, but save a spot for me.”
Frank’s Alpha Team had just finished a twelve-hour shift in USS Hornet’s port flight bay. The twenty-four men were responsible for launching and landing the space carrier’s fighters. For fighters assigned to missions, the team fueled, armed, and loaded them into the launch tubes. For returning fighters, they replenished the craft’s life support, performed cockpit maintenance, and de-armed them. The uninformed might wonder why warplanes, or in this case space fighters, had their weapons removed after landing. But storing an aircraft in its parking bay full of explosive missiles or bombs was an invitation for disaster, so the deck crew removed them.
It had been a light day. There had been no exercises or training flights. The only thing Alpha Team had to do was launch and recover the four fighters of the combat space patrol every four hours. Still, twelve hours on duty was a long time.
Frank opened his locker and froze. Sitting on the top shelf was a small package and a note, neither of which he put there. He glanced around to verify that he was alone in the locker room before shakily opening the note. Frank had been dreading this day.
Frank Chin was a third-generation Chinese American. Forty years ago, his grandparents had emigrated to the United States from Taiwan. When the Chinese communists had overrun the island shortly after the third world war, many of his relatives went missing. His entire family grieved for the many relatives that were dead or missing and no one had heard from anyone in their former country since the takeover. That was until a Chinese agent contacted Frank.
Frank had just received orders assigning him to the Hornet when he received a strange email. At first, he thought it was spam and ignored it, but over the next two weeks, he continued to receive them daily. Frank finally took a chance and opened the most recent message and discovered it was from someone claiming to be a relative. The email contained detailed information about the Chin family.
Still believing it was a hoax, Frank hadn’t answered the message. But at a family get-together, he asked questions about the individual. His grandfather confirmed he had a great-aunt by that name. Believing he might have suddenly contacted a long-lost family member, Frank answered the email. It was that day that his problem started.
The distant aunt didn’t respond, someone else did, and informed him that if he wanted his family members to continue to live, he would perform certain favors. After exchanging several messages back and forth, they arranged a meeting and Frank met his Chinese handler. The agent produced pretty convincing evidence that many of the Chin family still in Taiwan were alive but would remain so only as long as he cooperated. They told Frank that they would contact him when they needed his services and then let him go.
And now they have.
What they asked Frank to do was pretty easy. Simply attach the object in the package on the outside of a Fang missile loaded aboard a space fighter about to launch. It disgusted Frank that he’d gotten himself into the situation. He was well past being able to go to Space Force Intelligence with the situation. Not only would he put his Taiwanese relatives in peril, the Chinese agent had promised they’d go after his American family.
Frank opened the package and looked at the device. It wasn’t much bigger than a ballpoint pen and was magnetic. The instructions were simple. All he had to do was attach it to the missile body, and they wanted it done on his next shift. Frank closed the package and buried it in the back of his locker. He forgot about the shower he’d been thinking about and quickly changed back into his normal working uniform. Frank shut the locker, secured the package inside, and exited the room. What the hell am I going to do?
When Frank and the rest of Alpha Team came on watch the next morning at 0600, the first launch of the morning, four fighters taking over as the combat space patrol, had already taken place. The team’s first job was to recover the relieved fighters. It took two hours to remove the fighters’ missiles, replenish their onboard systems, and then stow the fighters in their designated bays. Then it was time to prepare the next flight of fighters.
Frank had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to carry out his instructions. As the team missile tech, it was his job to pull a fighter’s missile warhead safety pins. The devices disabled the warhead’s detonators, enabling the ground crew to handle them safely. As the senior missile tech, he handled the lead fighter, and as he pulled the pins he attached the magnetic device to the last missile he armed. He then gave the fighter’s pilot a thumbs-up, indicating everything was ready.
Feeling responsible for what was about to happen, Frank stood just outside the launch tube. Normally, he would return to the crew’s ready room to take a break before the next flight landed. It’s only right that I go up in the explosion, he thought. I need to pay for what I’ve done.
Frank saw the strobe and then heard the klaxon announcing his fighter was about to launch. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. And nothing happened. The fighter launched just as it was supposed to, but it didn’t explode. Frank wasn’t especially religious but wondered if God had intervened.
What Frank didn’t know was the device wasn’t meant to explode when the fighter launched. That wouldn’t accomplish what the Chinese wanted. Destruction of a single fighter and ruining a single launch tube wouldn’t put the space carrier out of action. No, the Chinese had designed the device to cause the maximum amount of damage to the American carrier.
***
Four hours later, Captain Cathy Reynolds brought her fighter in for landing. Cathy commanded the second section of VF-21, one of Hornet’s six fighter squadrons. It was her section’s turn to fly what she humorously called dawn patrol. Just another boring patrol flight, she thought. But that’s what being part of a carrier air group is all about. One day of flying patrols, a day of shipboard training and maintenance, and then three days of flying either real or simulated training missions.
Cathy’s least favorite activity was flying combat space patrol. Four hours of flying her fighter in circles around the carrier. Wishing that something would happen while hoping that it wouldn’t. If something happened while she was flying the patrol, it could very well be the start of WW IV.
Captain Reynolds, as the section commander, was the last fighter to land out of her group. She flew her Mustang fighter right down the center of the bay in a textbook landing and hit the magnetic field that would grab and slow her fighter to a stop. The four-year veteran felt the jerk as her fighter entered the field. It was the last thing she’d ever know. The tiny explosive device attached to one of her Fang missiles sensed the magnetic field and activated its small explosive charge, which detonated the missile’s warhead. The other three missiles on racks next to it then detonated in sympathetic explosions. Cathy Reynolds was oblivious to this since the shrapnel of the first explosion perforated the fighter’s cockpit and killed her instantly. The fighter tumbled and slammed into the carrier’s landing bay deck. It then slid into the other three fighters at the forward end of the bay and exploded. All four fighters erupted into short-lived fireballs, which quickly disappeared in the vacuum of space. The four pilots and the Alpha deck team perished in the explosions.
***
Lieutenant Commander Cassie Summers, Hornet’s electronic warfare officer, had the morning watch as the officer of the deck. She lounged in the command chair reading department reports on a data tablet, catching up on her department head work.
“Explosion and fire in the port landing bay,” the Bos’n’s mate of the watch announced from the damage control panel.
Cassie Summers had only recently qualified as an officer of the deck and had stood only a handful of watches in that capacity. But Captain Rogers had trained her well. Cassie knew exactly what to do.
“Bos’n, seal the bay, then sound general quarters,” Cassie barked. She then hit the Captain’s call button on the arm of the command chair. “Captain to the bridge,” she announced over the circuit. And then moved on to the other items on her action list.
Every casualty on a warship has a specific checklist of what needs to be done if it happens. As the officer of the deck, it was Cassie’s responsibility to ensure that those were being followed.
Larger warships, like Hornet, had a dedicated damage control center that was manned constantly. Cassie needed to speak with them next. “Damage Control Central, we have reports of fire and explosion in the port landing bay. Dispatch two, I repeat, two damage control parties to the scene and report,” she ordered over the damage control circuit. As the on-duty officer assigned to the station acknowledged her order, the captain arrived on the bridge.
Cassie almost missed him. During routine operations, the bos’n’s mate of the watch would announce that the captain was on the bridge, but that person was currently busy. Busy scrolling down her checklist, Cassie didn’t realize the CO was standing next to the command chair till he touched her shoulder. Startled, she looked up, realized who was there and began to scramble out of the seat.
“Stay where you are, Commander,” Captain Jeffrey Rogers said. “Finish up the checklist and then give me a report.”
Contacting Damage Control Central was the last of her immediate actions, so Cassie closed out the checklist and made a report. “Sensors indicated an explosion and fire in the port landing bay, sir. I ordered the ship to general quarters and sealed the port landing bay. Two damage control parties are en route to the bay and will report as soon as they arrive.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Rogers said. “I’ll take over.”
“The captain has the deck and the con,” Cassie announced as she slid out of the command seat and began to leave the bridge, headed for her own battle station.
“Hold on there, young lady,” Rogers said. “I don’t want you going anywhere.” Hornet’s captain pointed at the XO’s seat. “We’re not under attack. So, I want you to coordinate with and pass reports to me.”
Rogers slid into his command seat and punched up the circuit to the auxiliary control room. “Dani, I want you to head down to the port landing bay,” Jeffrey Rogers said over the private circuit to his executive officer, Commander Danielle Nelson. “I want you to take a look and give me a detailed report of what’s going on and the condition of the bay.”
“On my way, boss,” Danielle responded.
“Communications, signal the flag and inform them we’ve had a serious incident in our port landing bay. Inform them it’s very early and we have no detailed information. Tell them I consider the port landing bay out of service. Inform the admiral that Hornet is still operational, but at a reduced capacity for fighter operations.”
Six hours later, a grim-faced Captain Rogers sat behind his desk in his space cabin, his XO at his side. USS Hornet’s two senior officers stared at the image of Admiral Arnold Buckner on the wall-mounted display screen opposite the desk.
“We are still reviewing all the data, Admiral,” Rogers said. “I’ve got my security people going through the film footage of the flight bay, but so far they haven’t seen anything suspicious.”
“I want you to put that on hold, Jeff,” Arnold said. The admiral and Jeff Rogers had flown together during the early days of the US Space Force. “We’ll turn it over to the experts to sort out. I’ve already contacted Commodore O’Shaughnessy and she’ll be sending over a team of intelligence specialists to investigate. I need you to concentrate on putting your ship back together.”
“Like I emphasized in my initial report, Admiral, we’re still operational, but with only one landing bay, it will definitely impact our ability to fight,” Rogers said.
“What’s the worst of it?” Admiral Buckner asked.
“We lost six of the eight forward elevators and suffered a lot of integrity damage forward of the flight bay. Several sections lost atmosphere but fortunately we didn’t lose anyone in those spaces. Our casualty totals are four pilots and the twelve members of the deck team that were on duty in the landing bay. All KIA,” Hornet’s XO briefed the admiral.
“We can actually fix all of that ourselves, Admiral,” Jeff Rogers continued. “It would take some time and effort, but we could make right all of that damage. But … we can’t fix the magnetic arrestors. The entire system is a total wreck, and that will require yardwork.”
Arnold Buckner, sitting in his space cabin aboard the fleet flagship USS Wasp, nodded at the statement. He’d already seen the preliminary reports and had spoken to Rear Admiral Murphy about support for the injured carrier. “Will you require dock time or just shipyard support?” Buckner asked.
The two carrier officers looked at each other, hoping the other knew the answer to the question. Seeing that his XO didn’t know any more than he did, Captain Rogers answered. “Frankly, I don’t know. I’m a fighter pilot that became a carrier commander, Admiral, not an engineer. All I can tell you is that my chief engineer says it’s bad and beyond his ability to repair.”
Buckner knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer when he had asked, but there was always hope. He’d gotten the same answer from Scott Murphy. They wouldn’t know more till the yard dogs could look at it. The United States only had one dock large enough to put the carrier in, and it was currently occupied by the USS Yorktown that was under construction. If Hornet had to go into the dock for repair, he’d have to decide to either tow the unfinished carrier out of dock and put the damaged carrier in or operate the ship in a reduced capacity. Neither option was palatable.
“The yard dogs are on their way. They should be there within the next four hours. They’ll start evaluating the damage and what needs to be done. Once they decide that, I get to figure out how we will accomplish it,” Arnold informed the carrier’s two senior officers. “We’ll get back together later this evening when that evaluation is complete.”
“Yes, sir,” the two officers said almost simultaneously, looks of dejection on each of their faces.
“Neither one of you is at fault,” Arnold counseled the two officers. “Accidents happen. Both of you handled the situation in a superior manner. Now do what you can to fix as much as you can. I’ll talk to you later.”
Admiral Buckner ended the meeting and closed the video connection. He didn’t believe it was an accident. It fit too neatly with everything else that was going on. Arnold hoped Nancy O’Shaughnessy’s teams would turn up something in their investigation.
Now I have to deal with McNair and explain what happened, Arnold thought. I also have to get my staff together and start putting contingency plans together.
Arnold realized he had one last important action to perform and punched a button on his communication panel. “Comms, signal all squadron and division commanders that I’m raising the fleet threat level to war imminent status.”
***
“You sent for us, sir.” Yan Choo, general in the People’s Liberation Army and China’s defense minister, turned the question into a statement as he entered the well-appointed office. The general was accompanied by General Sun Shi, commander of the PLA Space Force.
Premier Cheng Kwan, head of China’s Communist Party and thereby the de facto leader of China, waved at the two chairs in front of his desk. “I did, Generals.”
The premier waited until the two generals seated themselves before he continued. “I received troubling news this morning from state security.” The premier couldn’t help but notice the look that passed between the two generals. “They were in here tooting their own horn about how they had disabled an American carrier.”
