Kris Longknife: Defender (32 page)

Nelly had come up with a series of fleet orders. Kris had reviewed them with Jack the night before and found them probably workable. Nelly had issued the fleet its new order books with graphics to show her dozen jinks patterns.

Now they would find out if it worked. Today, all ships were at triple intervals. If this didn’t work as well as it should, hopefully they wouldn’t dent any of their Smart Metal
TM
.

The deorbiting burn worked as planned. They dropped no lower than Kris wanted, then blasted off for the closest gas giant. Along the way, Kris had the fleet form a line ahead of her.

“Yes, Jack, I’m keeping my flag at the rear of the line,” she told her security chief.

“Fine, Admiral. I really don’t see any reason for you to be at the head of it. Do you?”

Kris didn’t offer an answer, but then ordered the fleet to Condition Charlie and upped acceleration to two gees. Not an engine sputtered. This was going better than she’d expected.

Then again, they’d spent a day getting ready for this and weren’t making any of the mistakes Kris’s first squadron had in
their
first drill.

Kris crossed her fingers and ordered the fleet into a line abreast to the left. Ponderous battle lines had done this in years gone by, with the lead ship making a hard left turn and then having all the ships follow, making their turn at the same point in space. Then, when all the ships were in a column going left, or whatever degree had been ordered, they would all turn ninety degrees again and be in the desired column abreast.

Kris very much doubted the bastards would give them time for all those twists and turns.

Her fleet did it differently. The lead ship held its course and acceleration. The other ships altered course a few degrees in the desired direction and added a fraction of a gee to their speed. The entire line
swung
wide into the line Kris wanted. Once in position, the ships altered course and acceleration back to the fleet’s course, and there they were. All thirty-four of them with their six 20-inch lasers pointed at whatever they were headed toward.

“About-turn on my mark,” Kris ordered. She paused for acknowledgments from the squadron leaders to come in. They waited until all of their division flags reported that each ship had The Word.

This takes way too long!

Kris drew up a revised plan for her fighting instructions, where every ship would send its acknowledgment straight to her board. She’d implement that before they finished today’s exercises, but for now she was doing it the old Navy way.

“Execute about-turn,” she said, and the fleet did it at two gees. There were some interesting burbles in the drill. Some ships flipped up, others down. One ship swung to the right. Kris smiled. An old-line admiral would probably throw a fit, but she wanted her ships to be unpredictable.

“Well done, fleet. I liked the uncertainty in your maneuver. We never help the enemy by being predictable.”

How many of you commodores are biting your nails at that?

They went through the order book, with Nelly sounding more and more proud of herself. There were no surprises though Kris decided that she’d never have her ships at less than double interval when hard maneuvering was expected. Ships needed their room.

They were in two lines abreast, one atop the other, doing 3.75 gees and following Nelly’s jinks pattern 6, the toughest, when they approached the asteroid belt. Kris had altered the course to keep them clear of the big ones that had mining operations going full tilt. Still, she restricted her target practice to rocks of less than half a meter in size. There were plenty of targets, and few of them survived long enough to need a second shot.

Kris had wondered how good her personnel were. A cursory review of their files showed them young, fit, and all volunteers. Their officers were young, too, promoted ahead of their classmates. Often twice. The records had given Kris pause. Now she saw she had no reason to doubt them.

They drilled like grizzled vets. When they faced a wall of hostile fire, would it be another matter?

They made orbit around the gas giant, and each ship deployed a pinnace to refuel it. Again, Kris had the ships convert to Condition Able with extra fuel tankage. They loaded almost four times their maximum reaction mass and headed back to Alwa, looking like a maternity ward waiting to happen. Kris held the acceleration down to 1.5 gees and no jinks. Still, they went through different maneuvering drills and swept another section of the asteroid belt free of small targets.

They were back by 0900 the next day.

Docking didn’t go as smoothly as the departure. Several ships missed their hook to the station and had to wait for a second revolution to catch the pier. Still, when the
Wasp
came in last, the fleet landing had taken less than twice as long as it would have if done perfectly.

Kris called for her commodores and independent division heads to report.

“Well done. I know the book I gave you just hours before we sortied was different from any you ever would have expected.”

“I know Longknifes,” Commodore Miyoshi said, “and I expected strange, but you managed to surprise me.”

“With any luck, we’ll surprise the enemy. Have you reviewed thoroughly the reports of my last two fights?”

“Yes,” Hawkings said. “They’ve added some kind of stone armor, at least to their bows, but the 20-inch laser seems to have the range on them.”

“Exactly,” Kris said. “Our maneuvers are designed to take advantage of the longer range. We can expect to fight running away from them, so flipping ship will be a regular and reoccurring maneuver. Did jinking at 3.5 gees cause any crew casualties?”

Commodore Bethea from Savannah shook her head. “They told us you preferred young crews. I thought it was just because of your youth. Now I see why.”

“I’ve tried those jinks patterns with fortysomething officers and CPOs with disastrous results,” Kris said, and found herself wondering how Cookie, Mother MacCreedy, and some of the older boffins managed. None had ever complained. Likely it was a secret the old farts were keeping to themselves. Kris wondered if the day would ever come when she’d need to beg admission to their secret society.

“Kris, the
Endeavor
is about to seal locks,” Nelly reported.

“If we have nothing else, I’d like to see that ship off. Maybe it will find some answers about the people who insist we kill them or they will kill us.”

No one had any further business, so Kris fast-walked the short distance to where the
Endeavor
was tied up. Kris requested permission to come aboard from an Ostrich who seemed very serious about being the OOD. She quickly passed through familiar territory. The
Endeavor
was a replica of the earlier
Wasp
before the recent changes.

“Admiral on deck,” surprised Kris as much as it did the bridge crew.

“As you were,” still left a bridge watch of civilians, borrowed Navy, and Alwans of both varieties a bit flustered. Before anyone could speak, Kris said, “I’m just here to say good luck and Godspeed. I want you to come home with information.”

“We’ll do you proud,” Captain O’dell said.

“And we’ll come home, with as much to report as we timid souls can find,” Penny added.

“Fair winds,” Kris said, and excused herself.

As she walked back, the
Endeavor
was already backing out. Was that quick visit a waste of her time? Kris shook her head. A fighting team is a lot more than metal and circuitry. It was human heart and blood. Had Grampa Ray forgotten that, or was it just harder to spot under all the scar tissue? Jack was waiting as she returned to the
Wasp
.

“You give them a good send-off?”

“The best a Longknife can do.”

“Then they are well sent.”

“So why are you here?”

“We’ve got a report from one of our probes, and it’s ugly.”

Kris started to jog for the
Wasp
, then slowed. Admirals don’t jog. Not in public. Not when people around the A deck of the station are watching and looking worried. Kris walked briskly beside Jack, smiling, and even managed a laugh. Let the watchers wonder about the joke her security chief had told her.

She arrived in her command center only a few seconds later than a jog would have gotten her there. “What do we have?” she asked Captain Drago.

“A series of reports, of sorts, from our probes at Datum 2, the one that leads to the Beta Jump. We sent a probe through, and it reported several thousand reactors. More than it could specifically count.”

“That’s a mother ship and brood,” Kris said.

“Likely,” Drago agreed. “It pulled back and sent the report as expected. Then we sent the other through with orders to stay an hour and report back. It never did.”

“So they either don’t like us peeking at them, or they’re coming,” Jack said.

“Anything from the next system in?” Kris asked.

“Nothing, but remember we’re dealing with a lot of speed-of-light lag time.”

“How can I forget?” Kris muttered. “Thank you, Captain. Now, if you don’t mind, I have reports to catch up on. Running the fleet around on my string is fun, but I’ve got these two other hats, and I’ve got to wear them.”

Captain Drago withdrew.

“You know, Kris, you need a chief of staff,” Jack said.

“You applying for the job?”

“Nope. I got to drop down and do Marine stuff. The Alwans are now making hunting rifles and smokeless ammo. They’ve got a lot more power and range. They’re working night and day to arm the colonials and as many Alwans as want to fight. It’s surprising how many do. The hold of the elders is slipping away as the aliens get closer.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Ada has drawn up an evacuation plan. If the aliens get through you, we don’t intend to give them any big targets. And when they come dirtside, we’ll be waiting for them. My Marines are training the locals to hit something from four hundred meters.”

“Until they steal your air and water, or gas you, you’ll put up quite a fight.”

“Who knows, maybe you won’t be as dead as you could be. Maybe you can come charging back with a fleet to blast them out of orbit and save us poor settlers’ hides.”

“Happy thoughts. I thought you Marines were pessimists.”

“We just have to save our optimism for the right time.”

“Like when your back is against the wall, huh?”

“I’ll miss you while I’m dirtside.”

“I’ll miss you, too. And yes, I’ll try to stay safe and stay human.”

Jack gave her a kiss, then went on his way. She waited until the scent of him was pulled away by the air circulation, then dove into her reports. Good, the first 20-inch laser was up and holding a charge. It even worked when test fired.

While she was gone, the two last Star Line cargo ships had been respun into four smaller vessels and sent off to the asteroid belt. Big ships were nice, but when you needed them in four different places, smaller was better.

The miners had arrived at the second gas giant and were already digging into two moons. The third was a problem. It had a water ocean beneath a kilometer of ice. They were hunting for an island, but so far had found none. They doubted they would.

That gas giant might only have two battle moons.

So, of course, Beta Jump
would
be the one the raiders looked to use.

Kris sent a “well done” to all concerned with each project. It was nice to let them know the boss was watching and happy.

Kris went to sleep that night wishing Jack were in bed to distract her. She could not stop her mind from whirling from one project to another. She found herself staring at the overhead at 0200. She fell asleep only to find herself being chased by Vicky Peterwald and a dozen ugly bug-eyed monsters. Vicky insisted Kris dress for a ball. The monsters didn’t say anything but had huge teeth. Kris wasn’t about to let them get close.

At 0730 the next morning, Kris was awakened by a knock at her door. The aliens had made their move.

“The
aliens have jumped from Hot Datum 2 to a system only three jumps out,” Captain Drago reported to Kris in her day cabin. She was still in her sleep shorts and tank top.

“How’d they go from five jumps out to only three?” Kris demanded.

“It was always possible,” Nelly answered. “We covered all the jump points in a system, but some of the jumps take you farther than others, even if you stay at half a gee and no spin. This was one of the long ones, and why I said we had to cover six jumps.”

“Thank you, Nelly. Are there any more surprise double jumps that I don’t know?”

“No, Kris. There were a few jumps outside the six that went to four. To get to the closer systems, you have to be in one we’re monitoring.”

“Okay, they’ve jumped closer, faster. What do the probes show?” Kris said, moving on.

“They blasted the buoy when they came through the jump. The reporter buoy across the system immediately jumped in to let us know we had a hot datum. The receiving buoy then dropped back into the invaded system. It’s likely filling up with lots and lots of reactors.”

“How soon before they can jump to the next system?”

“Assuming the mother ship doesn’t go above one gee, we’ve got four days plus before they get here. If the baby monsters put on two gees, we’ve got less than two days.”

“So we wait and see,” Kris said, and went to shower and dress.

She took the reports that had kept her awake most of the night to breakfast with her and was asking for updates even as she ate. Pipra must have gotten even less sleep because she had them flowing back to Kris before she finished eating. The diggers were working on both Hellburner bases. Still no luck with the third. The lasers were doing well. All the Smart Metal
TM
from dirtside was back. Did Kris want to return it to the frigates it had been borrowed from or spin out more ships using the new lasers?

Kris thought long and hard on that question but had no one to talk it over with. Jack was dirtside, and Penny was flossing some lion’s teeth. This issue didn’t seem appropriate to Abby’s pay grade. She was pretty sure Captain Drago would vote for getting his armor back.

When she dropped by the bridge to ask him, Drago surprised her by thinking long and hard. “Yes, I’d like the armor back, but that will take yard time, and it would be nice to have more targets to confuse the aliens’ aim. Hard choice. How will you crew these new warships?”

“Good question. Bring back the Navy folks dirtside. Throw in some Alwans. See if anyone in the yard or station wants to ship out for the fight. There are merchant crews on the ships we’re likely to spin into frigates.”

Drago grinned. “You think they’ll be any more enthusiastic than they were when you shanghaied them into staying here?”

“I kind of thought with the aliens this close, they’d see the benefit of fighting.”

“Or running.”

Kris had gotten used to thinking in heroic mode. Should she offer her civilians a chance to go home, like she had the Fleet of Discovery? She shook her head. Unescorted, any transport was likely to end up boarded and dead. It could also give away too much information.

No, Kris would have to figure out a way to keep those unwilling to fight somewhere out of harm’s way, or at least not in her line of fire.

“I take it that you’d like your armor back? If I can get any effective fighting out of these jumped-up merchant hulls, I should consider it a bonus.”

“Untrained. Inexperienced. No practice either as a ship’s company or in formation. They strike me as more a hazard to navigation than as a fighting force.”

“Thanks for your advice. I’ll talk to the yard about rotating BatRon 1 and Div 10 frigates through the yard.”

“You do that and make it happen soonest. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing at attention.”

Kris really didn’t want to do what she had to do next. Shipyard artificers were a limited skill set. Still, in a few days, she’d be desperate for war fighters. Kris found Admiral Benson, ret., in his office, with his feet up on his desk, watching the analysis of the latest laser test firings. He seemed happy.

“Admiral, have I got a deal for you.”

The old Navy man put his feet down, leaned forward, and scowled. “My wife warned me when I took this job that you’d be saying that to me one day.”

“We’ve got all the Smart Metal back from dirtside. I need it pumped back into the frigates. Can you do it in the yard, or should we try to do it pierside?”

“It will go faster in the yard, what with the new reactor Mitsubishi loaned me. Bring the ships in tomorrow, and we can probably do all nine in one day.”

“Good, that brings me to my second offer. Do you want to spend the next fight here, a sitting duck, or would you like the plates of a fighting ship under your feet?”

He eyed her. “The answer is obvious, but, no doubt, the devil is in the details.”

“So true. Here’s the situation. We’ve recovered almost all the Smart Metal from the moon base. Can you believe some of it was replaced with stone?”

“The aliens are using stone for armor. What’s wrong with simple?”

“Well, we’ve got Smart Metal and reactors enough to spin out two frigates. When you add the ore carriers and mining ships, I think we could patch together another four.”

“Assuming the bastards give us time.”

“Yes. If we have the time, how many lasers can you produce?”

“I’ve got a dozen ready now and we’re doing four a day. We could go to eight if we got the materials.”

“Which are on the ore carriers we want to convert.”

“What about crews?” the retired admiral said, his face slipping into something sly and not at all ready to buy a pig in a poke.

“That is a problem. How many of your yard personnel are old Navy and don’t like being sitting ducks? How many Ostriches have you trained to fire the lasers? How many of the merchant crews will volunteer?”

“And are they any good? I’d trust a Rooster before I’d trust some merchies.”

“Down, Admiral. We’re all in this boat together, and we sink or swim together.”

“So I’ve heard. I haven’t heard it from any of them.” He paused, then said, “What do you propose to do with this bunch of untrained amateurs? I can’t picture Drago wanting them in a line with his
Wasp
.”

“He’s already suggested I not do that.”

“Smart man.”

“How about you commanding the auxiliary squadron?”

The old Navy man said nothing, just pushed back in his chair, gaining distance from Kris. “That’s what my wife warned me about. An offer of a fighting command in a hopeless situation. Damn you, Temptress!”

“It has been a long peace, hasn’t it?” Kris said. She knew she was talking to a highly trained and experienced leader of men who’d spent his entire career training for one thing that never happened. He had probably dreamed all his life of a fight in the worst way. And now Kris was offering him a chance to wade into a fight, but in the worst possible way.

He took a deep breath. “How long do I have to decide?”

“The longer you take, the less time you have to make it happen.”

“I hate your logic,” he said, as he tapped his wrist unit. “Send out Standard Memo A to all hands. Tell them they have two hours to volunteer or they get to wave good-bye to us warriors from the pier.”

“You already had the memo written!”

“The day after my wife warned me this would happen. She knew me better than I did myself. Smart woman. Promised she’d never speak to me again if I got myself killed.”

“I’m going to have Mitsubishi start spinning out the first two frigates, what with you up-armoring BatRon 1.”

“You tell Admiral Hiroshi that he can’t have more than one of those ships for his volunteers. And we all have to contribute crews to the other four.”

“The yard superintendent there is old Navy, too?”

“Who else do you think would volunteer for this kind of duty? The Emperor said there was a good chance of a hopeless fight with no survivors, and Hiroshi was out the gate a running. Just like me. Don’t worry, Admiral, Your Highness, Viceroy. You’ll have your ships.”

“BatRon 5,” Kris said. “In reserve, behind the line, and I’ll go easy on you old-timers when it comes to jinking.”

“You young brat. Remember, you’re getting older every day. Someday, you’ll be as old as I am if you’re smart enough to live that long.”

“No one is taking bets that I will,” Kris said as she headed for the door.

By the time she closed it, Benson was already talking to Hiroshi.

That evening, Kris got a surprise she didn’t want.