The silver fleet the com.., p.45
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 45
No, it wouldn’t do to back someone like Davitz into a corner. Their needs would best be met if they could convince him that he was making a positive contribution to the team rather than feel that he was constantly having to justify himself.
It was a good idea. Unfortunately, it was undermined by the fact that, five minutes after they were due to start, Davitz still hadn’t managed to put in an appearance.
The meeting opened with Yamada and Ensign Roberts repeating their briefing for the assembled staffers. Faulkner looked around at the familiar faces of his officers and then along to the virtual presence of Raj Parnashikan. Ardent had wanted him to be there as Blackthorn’s representative. The decision had surprised Faulkner at first but then he saw the sense of it. By giving Parnashikan this responsibility she would be able to get on with her own work unhindered by his constant oversight.
Faulkner glanced around the room, feeling that something was missing. Then he remembered: Webster. It would have been good to have had his XOs counsel at that moment.
He was also missing Johanna Silva’s presence. Her guidance had proved invaluable back on Blackthorn. He had checked on her condition with the medical authorities there before the meeting began and had been pleased to hear that she was responding well to treatment but was a little frustrated that he hadn’t been able to speak with her personally. At the back of his mind there was the nagging doubt that he should have delayed his return to the Mantis in the hope of bringing her back with him.
But then, at the time, he’d been desperate to get a handle on what was going on. He couldn’t do everything. He’d just have to try and speak with Webster. Get him to look into having moved back to the ship as soon as possible.
Once the initial presentation was over, Ensign Roberts packed up her things and left. She was far too junior to be taking part in a discussion of this significance, though Faulkner was also aware that, without her vigilance, they’d still be in the dark as far as the threat posed by Big Daddy.
Faulkner didn’t like to recall that if he’d had his way, Big Daddy would already have been destroyed by now leaving Blackthorn blind to any subsequent attack from Tom Thumb.
Faulkner re-took his position at the head of the table, “So that’s the situation as it stands. We need to figure out a way of dealing with Big Daddy before Blackthorn deals with Tom Thumb.”
“With respect, captain,” Parnashikan said, his voice crisp and clear despite the connection. “Aren’t we cutting things rather fine as far as this Big Daddy is concerned? Wouldn’t it be best if we were to take that out first and give ourselves a little breathing room?”
From somewhere in the room, there came the sound of a laboured sigh. Parnashikan might be an excellent business leader but he had a poor grasp of how actual space combat worked and how the issue of time delay over such vast distances could impact on the decision-making process.
“Can I deal with this?” the Deputy Navigator, a woman named Foster, asked. “The laser batteries based around Blackthorn are most effective at approximately 140,000 kilometers. Any further than that and accuracy becomes a limiting factor, so it makes sense for you to wait until the target comes within that range before firing. Our missiles may take a lot longer to reach their target but they have an extended range of up to 300,000 kilometers. Blackthorn will need to hold its fire on the mass generator, Big Daddy, until after we’ve verified that Tom Thumb has been destroyed.”
“That seems to me to be leaving things a little too late, in my opinion. Why can’t we just agree to target the mass generator after your missiles have passed the Big Daddy and leave it at that?”
The Deputy Navigator smiled, trying to frame her answer with her hands. Working with Science savvy crew members, it was easy to forget that not everyone thought like you did.
“By destroying Big Daddy you are effectively masking Tom Thumb’s movements. It would be nice to think that she’ll stay on track but that could prove to be a costly mistake. If she accelerates, for instance, she’ll be on top of us before we know it.”
“I still don’t get it…” Parnashikan said but then, after seeing the way that everyone was staring at him, he decided not to pursue it any further. “I’m very aware of Blackthorn’s vulnerabilities as a fixed object in space.”
“Which is something we are all very mindful of,” Faulkner said. “Especially as we have crew members aboard your station who we are just as keen to protect.”
Parnashikan made a dismissive gesture, eager to move on.
Faulkner said, “I’d just like to reiterate that we are aware of your concerns and will act at all times to defend the interests of Blackthorn and its peoples. A unified response will be the best way to ensure that we’ll be able to target and destroy both threats. Lieutenant Commander Bertran, I believe that you have been looking at our attack options.”
“Indeed I have, sir,” Bertran said, eager to get on with it. Unlike some of the others, he appeared to relish the spotlight. “As requested, sir, I looked into our nuclear capability as this proved to be our strongest suit when combating the previous alien vessel. Unfortunately, the two nuclear warheads we have on board, while they each carry a reasonable payload, lack both the speed and maneuverability required for such a targeted strike.
“As a result, I have drawn up two potential weapons packages which might provide us with legitimate alternatives.”
“Will this take into account the enemy’s shields?” Faulkner said. “That’s where we struggled last time.”
“My intention is to overwhelm their shields with a series of pre-emptive strikes. We still know precious little about their defensive capabilities but I’m working on the idea that they haven’t found a way of circumventing Newton’s laws of motion. If we hit them with enough raw power, we’re hoping to simply overwhelm them, because that power has to go somewhere.”
“And that’s where I’d have to disagree with you.”
Everyone turned at the sound of Davitz’ voice. He was standing in the shadows at the back of the room looking slightly dishevelled. No one had seen him come in.
Bertran threw up his hands, as annoyed by the interruption as by anything else.
Faulkner said, “Go on, Chief.”
“I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes here but has anyone had a chance to take a look at the Da’al shuttle we captured?”
The officers turned to one another, unsure where this was going.
“It would seem not,” Faulkner said. “But I assume that you have.”
“I’ve had a look at her, sure,” Davitz stepped further into the room. “Took a look at the thing’s electrical circuitry. There’s a lot of power going to its forward receptors which would suggest that it’s got its own generator. It’s not linked to the main engines.”
“You think its shields are somehow linked to its weapons systems?” Yamada asked.
“No, I thought the same at first but this shuttle doesn’t have any weapons, that is. She’s used purely for transportation. No, there are two big circuits – effectively port and starboard – and they’re all concentrated around the prow.”
Davitz went over to the display board and drew a large V.
“We’d have to test her to be certain but I’m pretty confident this is how their shields are aligned: with all their defences turned to the front with little or nothing covering the rear.”
“Sort of like a hospital gown,” someone said, drawing a few chuckles.
It was Faulkner who spoke next.
“What was it that Einstein said? Make everything as simple as possible…”
“And no simpler,” Davitz said, completing the quote.
“And you think that these other, larger ships might be operating the same set-up?”
Davitz was smiling, shaking his head.
“I’m not saying anything, I’m just making an observation. This is the system they use on their transports. Might be completely different on their attack craft.”
“But you don’t think that’s the case, do you?” Faulkner said.
Davitz seemed wary about committing himself. The implications of what he said next could prove crucial.
“No, sir, actually I don’t. These shields, though effective, take up a lot of power. I’m guessing up to a third of the ship’s overall output so you couldn’t afford to use them all the time. And in a battle situation you need all the power you can get. No use having shields if you don’t have enough power to run your engines and life support. At the end of the day, good engineering is all about making compromises between your maximum and minimum tolerances. That’s where we have to operate.”
“What makes you so sure that the ships we’re facing are using these V shields?”
“For the very fact that they have proved to be so effective in frontal assaults. If you’re attacking head on, you only going to need those kinds of shields.”
Davitz shrugged. It was a good point.
Morton leaned forward. “I studied the tapes on the man who we captured. If what he says is true then the Da’al seem to think that any form of retreat or surrender is a sign of weakness. That’s probably why there were no escape pods on that last ship. They fight or they die.”
This resulted in a ripple of conversation around the table. It all made sense but no one relished the thought of having to fight an enemy who wouldn’t surrender.
“It would certainly fit with the picture we’re developing of the Da’al culturally,” Faulkner said. He turned towards Davitz. “We have to trust to your expertise on this, Chief. What I’m hearing you say is that you think there’s a chance that they’re exposed at the rear?”
Davitz shrugged, unhappy with this amount of attention. “I don’t know. But it certainly makes sense from a practical point of view. Shields are an expensive luxury energy wise – which is why we don’t use them. I don’t think it’s beyond the realms of possibility that whatever works for their shuttles has been sized up for their larger craft. At the same time, I’m not making any promises. There are no guarantees.”
“Understood,” Faulkner said. “That’s settled then. Mr Bertran, I thank you for all your hard work so far but we’re going to need you to re-configure our firing pattern so that our missiles approach Tom Thumb from the stern. Is that possible?”
Bertran puckered his lips, deep in thought. It was several moments before he said anything. “I’m not sure how we’d go about it but I’m sure we can come up with something.”
“That’s settled then,” Faulkner pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for your input, gentlemen, ladies. Chief, if I might have a word?”
As the other officers started to drift off, Bertran stood but stayed where he was. Morton noticed this and shot Faulkner a sympathetic look before departing.
Davitz came around the table until he was standing facing Faulkner.
“You want an update on the engine situation, I take it?” he said bluntly. But when he spoke again he adopted a more conciliatory tone. “My apologies for not keeping you better informed, sir, but we’ve had a few issues we didn’t anticipate.”
“Which is why I haven’t pressed you sooner. What can you tell me?”
“Good news and bad, sir,” Davitz was wringing his hands. “Good news is that the quality of build on these things is first rate. They’re really going to be something when we get them installed.”
“And the bad news?”
“There’s a lot of protocols involved in setting them up. They’re meant to fit into a brand-new ship, not a classic design like the Mantis, so we’re constantly coming up against incompatibility problems. The main frame keeps telling us that the engines can’t link to our existing systems. The problem really is the other two engines.”
“There’s not a problem with those as well, is there,” Faulkner’s composure was fading fast.
“No, they’re fine in themselves. It was just that they keep sending contradictory data to the new engines meaning that their fail safes keep shutting them down.”
“But you’ve resolved that issue now, I take it?”
“We’ve had to re-route everything to fool the engines into thinking that they’re working independently. But the only way we could do that was by shutting down the two existing engines.”
Faulkner looked over at Bertran, hovering in the background.
“So you’re telling me that currently the Mantis has no operating capacity whatsoever?”
“In a nutshell, sir, yes.”
Faulkner braced himself against the edge of the desk, trying to put all of this into context.
“Then how are we going to get into position to fire our torpedoes? Because we certainly can’t do that while we’re sitting in a docking, now can we?”
“No sir, we can’t.”
“Mr Bertran, you may as well join us. I take it you heard all that?”
Bertran nodded.
Faulkner turned back to Davitz. “How long before we can have those engines back online?”
“Forty-eight hours, sir. Tops!”
“Which won’t do, will it Mr Bertran?”
“No, sir. We need to launch in the next twelve hours if our plan is to have any chance of success.”
“And yet we’re sitting here with no visible means of propulsion. I trust that our thrusters are still working?”
“That’s right, sir. But they’re not enough on their own to be able to get us to a minimum safe distance for launching.”
Faulkner looked at Bertran. “What do you think? Any chance that under the circumstances we could bend the rules a little?”
Bertran looked appalled at the idea. “Firing any kind of ordnance in a restricted area is strictly prohibited in maritime law. There’d be too many obstructions anyway. A missile’s AI capabilities don’t kick in until they’re within a few hundred thousand klicks of the target so we’d effectively be firing blind – it’d be a miracle if we didn’t hit something. Also, I feel that it’s my duty to remind the captain about what happened to the crew of the Fastidious.”
“The man was an idiot,” Davitz said, before checking himself. “Sorry, sir, but anyone who fails to check their tubes before ordering a dry firing exercise deserves everything they get.”
“They were lucky that no one was killed,” Faulkner agreed.
The missile the Fastidious had fired hadn’t been armed at the time but it had still done millions of credits worth of damage. The captain and his first officer had been court martialled on a charge of gross negligence with both of them serving time in the brig. Faulkner seemed to remember that things hadn’t gone well for the other officers involved either, even though they had been largely blameless.
Bertran said, “I’m sure there’s another alternative, sir.”
“Yes, so am I. Now don’t let me keep you. We’ve all got work to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Webster made his way along the corridor searching for the right room. Unhelpfully, the rooms in this section weren’t numbered as they were in the rest of the hospital. This was where all the VIPs were kept so each room had a name mounted over the door only they weren’t referred to as rooms but suites. No doubt people thought that, by being treated separately, the patients up here were getting a better quality of care.
Moving with a clear sense of purpose, Webster liked to think that he could bluff his way through most security checkpoints but, with a couple of broken fingers and with a bandage over one eye, chances were that the nursing staff hadn’t challenged him simply because they’d assumed that he was one of their patients.
He had come to the hospital to check on the condition of five of his Marines, all of whom were being treated for gunshot wounds. Two of them were still in surgery but he had managed to grab some time with the other three.
Four other troopers hadn’t been so fortunate. They’d been taken straight to the morgue. Killed on his watch.
But it could all have been so much worse. It had only been down to Markham’s quick thinking that they had managed to turn things around. As soon as the elevator door was breached, Markham had wasted no time contacting Private 1st Class Shaiju back at the barracks, providing him with the security codes to the safe where their weapons were being stored.
Shaiju had enjoyed a somewhat chequered past before joining the Marines and so had no problem acquiring a truck with which to transport their small arms across to the terminal building. Private Crick had helped him get the thing loaded. They’d driven the truck straight in through the front door, only stopping when they came to the sealed security doors. The manager of the Terminal had initially refused to over-ride the safety protocols on the main doors but, somehow, the pair of them had managed to persuade him otherwise. Webster didn’t like to think how.
Once the Marines were re-united with their weapons they had wasted no time asserting their authority, with twenty mercenaries being killed before they had a chance to surrender. Markham had been quick to take charge of these ‘prisoners’ while also ensuring that the area was secured.
It would only be a matter of time before they were ready for the next group of evacuees.
Yet, Webster still felt guilty about the fact that he hadn’t returned to the terminal once his injuries had been dealt with. And, as much as he tried to persuade himself that he was only doing what Faulkner would have wanted him to do, he couldn’t help but feel that his actions were now motivated as much by his own self-interest as anything else.
After a little time searching, he found the room he was looking for. It was the Redwood Suite which appeared to be the largest of all the suites.
After everything he’d been through to get this far, it felt slightly odd knocking at the door and waiting for a response.
“Come in.”
Webster had prepared himself for the worst, so was more than pleasantly surprised to find Johanna Silva sitting up in bed wearing a white towelling robe, her leg, cocooned in a compression cast, stretched out in front of her. She was reading something on her tablet and didn’t look up immediately he walked through the door.
