Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1 (7 page)

So in ship design you choose, stopping power versus target size versus fire rate versus targeting ease. Compromise. Then there is armor. Corvettes have one inch titanium alloy all around, a foot of insulation, and a half inch inner hull.
Yorktown
has three inches of titanium armor, four feet of an internal steel honeycomb filled with insulation, radiation shielding, and fire retardant, then a one inch steel inner hull. Here the compromise is weight against engine performance and fuel requirements.
Conclusion: without knowing the fire rate they can't be sure, but they think we can take the 42 clean if the hull is in perfect condition, and maybe, just maybe, one direct hit if it's not, or if they catch us with our ports open.
On that happy note, I take my own advice and get some sleep.
By 0520 I am strapped into my couch on the bridge, wet hair floating around, but should be dry and tied down before we go. Ayala happy to be relieved early. I get with Manuel to talk about the drone we have in orbit around DO 1. While I wait, he sends it a reprogramming message that will keep it on the other side of the planet from us once we establish orbit, and, if it runs into what it thinks is a ship, it will head to the north pole of the planet, and warn us.
We're going back the way we came, meaning accelerate for a while, then coast most of the way, three days in transit. I want us to find the other ships in this system before we reach orbit.
Nothing of note happens on the way in, except I think Shelby and Palmer get in some ZGM. Disadvantage of being the captain, I have to wait until we get home. I am doubly frustrated as we finish the planning for orbital insertion, basically we're just as blind as we were when we thrusted away from Beta.
Marcos puts us into orbit right on the line, elliptical, designed to give us maximum time over target when we get ready to send the team down, more variety to our camera angles for photographing the planet, and, we hope less likelihood that someone can sneak up on us. We're spending at least a day in orbit, getting ready.
Shelby and I leave Ayala on the bridge and go grab a couple treadmills, joined part way through by Lt. Palmer who gets on Shelby's right, even though I invited him, and Lt. Summerlin who gets on my left.
We had been talking about the photos appearing on the screen in front of us, courtesy of RISTA. Rocky, brown, no visible water, no signs of life other than the mining station, which is fully automated, so maybe safer to say no signs of life. There is an atmosphere, relatively thin, not breathable. Still 20 minutes from the crash site, that's why we're here now instead of later. I change the subject.
"Mr. Palmer, what do you know?"
He starts his report with the human side of the equation.
"Seven crew were on
Richard
, five women, two men. Three bodies found in the wreckage positively identified as Lt. Springs, and two rated seaman, both female. One body part and scattered remains found in the wreckage, all belonging to the other two women. No DNA found from any of the men on board."
"It's possible that we missed something, a random sweep in no way ensures we cover everything, or it's possible that the men survived and their bodies were some distance away, suited, and we missed them."
Shelby interrupts for me. "We didn't have any evidence of objects outside the debris field."
"No, ma'am, but we didn't do a full 360 sweep beyond 20 clicks either. Your people were looking for a ship or something large, not space suits, particularly with no power and deceased occupants."
All true. Still not right.
"Commander," I would turn to face her, but a zero gee treadmill works because you set a half dozen straps to provide effective gravity, and there's no way to move that far, "Let's get some of our freelance RISTA volunteers into the data files and see if they can spot something."
"Aye." She smiles.
"Personally," I continue, "I think it unlikely your squad missed anything Lieutenant, they performed flawlessly from what I saw."
"Thank you, sir. If I may continue. Our onboard testing confirms that only energy weapons were used to destroy the vehicle, and that the weapon was 41.2 inches, plus or minus 0.1 inch. That weapon diameter does not conform to any known laser device, nor to any known system of measures. If pirates built it by hand, it might explain the odd size. Otherwise, we have no explanation to offer. In addition, there appears to be small arms fire on one of the pieces of wreckage we recovered."
"Finally, data suggest that there were three shots fired, not two as originally thought. The first was at least 10 minutes prior to the second and third which were separated by perhaps 40 seconds, though it's hard to be precise from only the electromagnetic after marks."
"No conclusions?" Shelby, I think, is being legitimate and teasing him a little at the same time.
"Sirs, it was a prolonged struggle, not a quick hit. There was a pause in the action, but at no time does it appear that
Richard
got a shot off. We need significant additional intel before we can make sense of this scenario."
"Was she boarded?" The bit about small arms is new, I need to ask.
"Captain, no way to determine for certain, but we suspect there was at least an attempt to board. It is the logical explanation for the time delay between the shots, but again, no evidence other than one weapon discharge. I can call up the photos."
We spend at least 15 minutes looking at the photos, some pretty gruesome, most just of melted metal while Palmer and Summerlin tell us where on the boat each piece of debris is from. Then my pad beeps, telling me we're getting our first photos of the crash site. We change the screen.
At first, nothing new, just better resolution and cleaner than the old shots, but they keep coming. We hold on one about midway down the hull of
Trump
. There's a nice, clean, round hole in the wreck, and my guess is it's about 42 inches.
"Mr. Palmer, same weapon that killed
Richard
?"
"We won't know til we get there, sir, but I'd certainly bet a week's pay."
We run in silence for another 15 minutes, until we're out of good camera range, then head off for our respective showers.
By 0800 when I get back to the bridge we've made eight orbits, and learned little. I spent an hour going through the most relevant overnights sent to me by Manuel, a little less interesting than watching dirt. Oh wait, it basically is watching dirt. A brown dead planet with reasonably interesting geography, lots of historical volcanic activity and active plate tectonics, creating a mountainous landscape across most of the surface. Explains why its such a high value mining planet.
Planetary sunrise at the crash site is 1600 our time, we are planning to exit
Yorktown
at 1530. Two Marine squads in the LS, and a very happy two man crew finally getting to contribute, 3rd squad in
Yorktown
's lifting body, for backup, and me and Yeager in my gig.
Shelby and I have a private argument about whether or not I should be away from the ship under these circumstances. I win, of course. She's even less happy when I give her my orders: ship first. She's to run like Hell if something bigger than a marshmallow comes over the horizon, get home, and get help.
We do agree on one thing, I will stay down only for one orbit. Compromise. Our orbital path is 147 minutes, which works out to about 95 minutes on the ground between descent and ascent. Short, but enough to let me see the hole in the ship.
Right on time, we feel the LS detach, then Yeager drops us out of the boat deck, two minutes of station keeping with our mom before dropping away and igniting retros. The lander is designed to handle reentry heat anywhere by it's body structure alone, the gig not so much and is normally sprayed with a consumable coating before it goes out, but here the atmosphere is thin enough we can get by without it, though we have to be extra careful to maintain proper attitude.
By agreement with my First, Yeager and I circle for 10 minutes while the Marines land, secure their perimeter, and establish communication with
Yorktown
independent of the LS. They are within the shadow of the wreck, which itself is about three times the length of our frigate, and three times the diameter. It was cylindrical in the original plans we examined, but it's decidedly oval shaped at present, compression from the impact. Covered in dust, sunk partly into the ground, the bright red and orange logo of the mining company stretched to an unrecognizable and somewhat grotesque shape by the unhappy landing. By my estimate 30 feet shorter than it was, we identify a strange rip in the starboard side, maybe 50 feet toward the stern from the weapons hole.
Finally, we can let Shelby know we're landing, and put down within the Marine cordon, nice and clean. I let Yeager do the shutdown by himself, hop out and get ready to move.
"Lt. Palmer." On the open channel, try to sound commanding.
"I got you Captain, the hole. First Squad, you know the drill, let's find the lady a 42 incher. Second Squad, data collection, by the book." I ignore the slightly off color remark.
We bounce together, me, eight of Palmer's Marines, and Yeager, toward the unfortunate new opening in the side of
Trump
. It helps that I am wearing the same enhanced battle gear they are, no trouble keeping up. Only 10 feet inside the ship and we can see out through the weapons breach. Probably some decompression explosions within the ship caused by the abrupt change in pressure and the weakening of the pressure vessel, bulkheads blown out in a near circle with the hole in the center of the pattern.
We've got our suit cameras on, everything being relayed skyward.
"RISTA, Krieger, you getting this?"
"Aye, Captain, can you get us closer to the bulkhead marked 104-A-19?" It's tough to make her out, the metal ship interfering with comm. I have to move 20 feet right to get where she wants me to be. Don't know how she saw it.
"This what you want?"
"Aye, thank you, Skipper." I see what they want. Looks like blood evidence against a semi- destroyed wall. The Marines see it too, and take a sample.
"Captain, con, 20 minutes to signal loss."
"Copy. Proceeding inside."
We gather up, the Marines in front, weapons hot, going three at a time into every shielded space. Third wall, we find bodies.
"
Yorktown
, you copy this?" Four women. I zoom in on one of their heads, same haircuts as Garcia and McAdams. Hair is missing in spots, obviously roughly shaved, with a dark brown spot in the center of each bare scalp section. Three or four on each body. "Get the doc out of bed and ask him what these marks are on their heads."
"Captain." It's one of the Marines, she's has turned a body over while swabbing for evidence. The hands are tied together, something resembling a nylon handcuff. Quick check and all four are the same. Somebody was doing something that should get them three bullets in the heart, or one in the head if I find them first.
"RISTA, you receiving?"
"Aye, Captain, never seen anything like it." She's second year out of the Academy, trying to sound older.
"Roger that."
"Katana, I think it's time for you to get out of there, and leave it to the Marines. Five minutes to signal loss." Shelby is worried, I'm actually more determined.
"Objection noted, Mr. Perez, I have a weapon damage point to survey."
I face where I want to go, try to sound like a captain should. "Let's go Marines, we'll deal with this on the way out."
We cross through the last two areas, might have been rooms, might have been corridors, all we can tell now is that there used to be walls around them and stuff inside them.
"Captain, con, 30 seconds to signal loss."
"Copy that, see you in 70." We should actually regain signal in 55. Yeager and I scheduled to launch in 62.
There's no reply. We find the hole. It has a mirror image on the deck, the blast hit the ship with enough force to burn completely through the hull, quickly enough that the entry and exit points are a straight line to the naked eye. Palmer's men will measure, and we'll be able to calculate the actual stopping power of the weapons by how long they took to penetrate (that is, how far the ship shifted in relative position to the firing point during the time it took to get from upper deck to lower deck, probably milliseconds.) I decide not to measure the upper hole, because the lower one is exactly 41.22 inches.
"Captain, Palmer."
"Go, Lieutenant."
"Something for you to see. Suggest egress the way you came, and we'll bring you in our side."
"Copy that, on our way."
"Sergeant Sullivan?" He's the squad leader, one sergeant, one corporal, six privates.
"Yes, sir."
"Suggest you get onto your business, Master Sergeant Yeager and I can get me safely where I need to be."
He stiffens within his battle armor, almost as if he's standing to attention. "My orders, captain, are to ignore your orders. Shall we get going, sir?"
I give in, make an open hand gesture toward the far bulkhead.
We extricate ourselves from the ship, then bounce, it being about half Earth gravity, to Lt. Palmer's position. Tried really hard not to see the bodies on the way out, but failed miserably. Surface of the planet is littered with small rocks, takes all our concentration to move quickly across the surface.
Palmer and two men from second squad are standing beside the ship, tiny compared to its enormous bulk. We're used to the 50 foot high
Yorktown
, though we seemed insignificant next to it during the christening.
Trump
, compressed by the crash, is still more than twice as high, and seemingly infinitely long.
There's a hull penetration where they are, I recognize instantly what it means, but I let the L-T tell me anyway.
"Sir, we believe this is a contact bomb breach.
Trump
was boarded while still in orbit."
I take time to look over the site with him, let his corporal give me the details of size and nature of the weapon used to cut the hole. Not as clean as we do it, the ZR is designed to lock onto a hull and melt a nice clean opening to get the boarding party in. This is quicker and dirtier.
While we're admiring the hole, a rough circle about 10 feet in diameter, a private bounces up with a collapsible ladder. The hole opens three decks on the ship, would have done unimaginable damage on a cheaply built freighter like this is. From the ground, we can see the between decks bulkheads, a paltry four inches across, the entirety of one deck, and pieces of the other two. Opening up three decks is about random killing, not taking control of the ship or the situation.