Fire Among the Stars (Coalition Naval Academy Book 1) Page 3

  “No.” I said, feeling a bit dense. “I hadn’t noticed. I spent most of the year studying and practicing for football.”

  “She was a cheerleader, Jack, it’d be perfect.” She laughed.

  “Maybe,” I said, “I just really hadn’t given it much thought.”

  She was about to say something when Captain McCormick’s voice came over the ship-wide speakers. “All hands, stand by for an Armed Forces Hyperwave transmission.”

  “Odd, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, not the norm.” She said.

  The speakers crackled for a moment. “Now AFHR takes you to Chicago, where President Miller will address the Coalition from the Presidential Office.”

  There was a short pause, and then the President spoke. “My fellow citizens, today a major victory has been won in the war against the Banor. On the planet Chiodrick III, Coalition and Allied forces have engaged and defeated one of the largest Banor field armies encountered so far. More than half a million allied troops made landfall on the world over the past week. These gallant troops faced down Banor forces nearly equal in strength, forcing them back and finally defeating them after a prolonged siege of their base.” He paused a moment.

  “Such a great victory, though, does not come without a cost. Over the course of the battle, seventy-three thousand two hundred ninety-eight Coalition and Allied Soldiers and Marines gave their lives, with another fifty thousand wounded. To the families of the fallen, we owe you a debt we can never repay for your loved ones’ valiant sacrifices.”

  Chapter 4

  For two days we cruised at warp speed, before slowing to make a major course correction. The convoy slowed as a unit, while our ship and another frigate, the Samuel B. Roberts, continued into the system to scout it out. I was standing a watch in the Combat Information Center as we arrived.

  I sat at an auxiliary station, monitoring the large screen displays at the front of the CIC. “Anything on sensors?” The ship’s Tactical Action Officer asked.

  “I have a small anomaly in the gas giant’s rings, I am attempting to resolve it now.” The long-range sensor operator reported.

  “CIC, Bridge, we have a sensor anomaly, showing up in that gas giant’s rings.” Captain McCormick called over the intercom.

  “Bridge, CIC, we see it, trying to resolve it now.” The TAO said.

  “Contact is moving, accelerating and changing

  course.” The sensor operator reported calmly.

  “Spike it.” The TAO reported. Spiking the contact

  meant sending an automated identity request. Coalition

  and Allied ships responded to the spike with an automated

  reply, identifying the ship, its registry number, and the

  commanding officer’s name. Civilian ships usually

  responded similarly, but with information regarding the

  type of vessel and its port of record.

  “Response?” the TAO asked.

  “No response.” The sensor operator replied. “Bridge, CIC. No reply to buddy spike,” He began.

  A window popped up on his screen as he was talking,

  “Vessel is transmitting but not on standard military or

  commercial frequencies.”

  The bridge didn’t respond directly. Instead, alarms

  blared, and lights flashed red. The speakers in the CIC, and

  around the ship, came to life. “General Quarters, General

  Quarters, all hands, man your battle stations. General

  Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle

  stations.”

  I realized, in that moment, that today would not be

  a pleasant day.

  The CIC filled quickly, with enlisted personnel

  manning the various stations. Communications, Sensors,

  weapons, all came online.

  Karissa entered and took the console next to me.

  “This is fun.” She smiled, trying to hide the worry on her

  face.

  “Oh yeah.” I said.

  “Convoy is clearing light speed.” The sensor

  operator reported.

  “Four more contacts!” A man at another sensor

  station reported.

  “Hostile?” Captain McCormick asked as she

  walked in.

  “Probably.” The TAO said.

  “Sorry, kids.” McCormick said, looking at us.

  “Looks like you’ll have to grow up a bit quicker. Ebert, I

  want you monitoring the convoy. Clairemont, watch the

  status of our guns.”

  “Aye Ma’am,” We said in unison.

  McCormick went to work. “Send to Roberts, form

  on us and we’ll make a torpedo run on the initial contact.

  And ask for fire support from the cruiser.”

  As the various officers and petty officers carried

  out her orders, the convoy was making a very organized

  course correction. To my surprise, only our own vessel,

  along with the Roberts and the Gettysburg, were out of

  position. The remaining warships held their ground

  against the other advancing warships.

  “Captain, I have a long range visual ID on the

  unknown contact. Profile matches Banor light cruiser.” A

  sensor operator reported. I pulled up the visual in a pop-up

  window, to see the cruiser myself. Theship’s hull had a

  hexagonal profile, flared at the stern by the engineering

  spaces. The bow was oddly shaped, roughly curved, with

  a pair of turrets below the bridge, similar to the two rows

  of turrets along the sides of the hull. At the middle of the

  ship, six masts comprised its warp field generators, giving

  the ship an odd and somewhat hostile appearance. “I was afraid of that.” McCormick said. “All ahead

  full, ready all torpedo tubes, arm the particle cannons.” “Convoy control says five minutes to light speed,

  Captain!” I reported, reading the update as it came across. “Acknowledged, Mr. Ebert. And Mids, take a deep

  breath.”

  It occurred to me that, as the lights dimmed in the

  CIC, no one was yelling, no one panicked, just firm, but

  calm, determination filled the headset. These truly were

  professionals.

  “We’re in range.” The TAO said.

  “Fire torpedo tubes one, three, and five and

  reload.” The Captain ordered. A trio of thump noises

  accompanied a minor vibration in the deck as the

  torpedoes werelaunched. “Fire two, four, and six.” She

  ordered, without waiting for another reply.

  Again the thump noise and vibration. “One, three,

  and five reloaded.” The Torpedo controller reported. “All

  weapons flying hot, straight, and normal.”

  “Standby guns and torpedoes.” She said, bringing

  the forward visual sensors up on the main display. Roberts

  had likewise fired a volley of torpedoes, and the dozen war

  shots streaked in on the enemy cruiser. The cruiser,

  however, was not content to sit back and let us do all the

  shooting. Green energy beams leaptfrom the ship’s guns,

  streaking through the vacuum of space, impacting the

  Roberts, stitching small explosions along her dorsal hull. “Robertsis hit, but she’s staying in.” the Sensor

  operator reported. The torpedoes hit the cruiser a moment later, two glancing shots bounced off its hull and exploded. One torpedo hit the enemy cruiser right in the nose,

  blowing the forward quarter of the ship away.

  Two more torpedoes hit the ship along the port

  side, blowing giant holes into the vessel, causing it to drift

  off course. Her running lights flickered, and with
what

  might have been the last energy she had, fired her dorsal

  aft turret. Three energy beams impacted the Armstrong,

  causing the ship to buck violently. “Damage report.”

  McCormick asked,

  “Hull buckling on the bow, looks like we lost a

  section of the external hull. Pressure hull is holding.” “Enemy status?”

  “Adrift for now, Roberts just launched two

  torpedoes to finish them off.”

  “Get me a report on the Roberts’ condition, and

  what is the status of the other warships?” McCormick

  asked.

  “Ma’am,” I said, “Two of the attackers were

  destroyed, the other two fled the system.”

  “Not a bad day at work.” McCormick said, “Mr.

  Ebert, Ms. Clairemont, congratulations. You are now

  officially combat veterans.”

  ***

  In the common room several hours after the battle, Sergeant Raines addressed all of us. “Mids, today was an important day for all of you. Captain McCormick has instructed me to update everyone’s files. All of you are now authorized to wear the Combat Action Ribbon with

  the naval engagement device.”

  Everyone in the room cheered. “Now, this is

  important because this is, to my knowledge, the first time

  a group of midshipmen have been aboard a warship

  engaged in combat in quite some time. When we return to

  the academy, you’ll have something none of your

  classmates have.”

  I looked around at my classmates, and everyone

  was trying to suppress a smile. “Sergeant?” I asked, raising

  my hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Ebert?”

  “Do we know the status of the Samuel B. Roberts?” “Roberts took a number of direct hits from that

  cruiser, but was able to continue on the mission. Both our

  ship and the Roberts have, however, been assigned to the

  trail position within the formation. Our own damage, for those wondering, was minor. At our first port visit, the missing hull plates will be replaced. Sickbay reported only minor injuries to two crewmembers: One broken arm and

  one with minor burns.”

  The meeting broke up, but Karissa and I

  approached Sergeant Raines. “Sir, there’s something I

  don’t get.” I began.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Our first two torpedoes, they bounced off the

  cruiser. How does that happen?”

  “Cruisers tend to have heavier armor, and it

  depends on where the torpedoes impacted. If the area was

  angled away from the torpedo’s trajectory, it can deflect

  off course before detonating. That doesn’t mean it was

  totally useless: that kinetic energy transferred by the

  impact can still damage the hull, and the force of the

  explosion can be devastating.”

  “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Simple physics, really. Same thing with the hit we

  took. Had those particle beams hit us squarely, they

  probably would have punched through both the outer and

  inner hulls and done far more damage.” Raines explained. “So, we got lucky?” Karissa asked.

  “Very lucky. That fight seemed fairly straight

  forward, but look at the way Captain McCormick and

  Captain Nyles from the Roberts handled it: At extreme

  range, they fired as many torpedoes as possible at the

  cruiser, rather than closing in to good gunnery range. The

  cruiser’s guns are larger and more powerful than ours, and

  she has more extensive armor. We could have beat them

  with our guns, but it would have been a long, ugly fight.

  Instead, we overwhelmed them with the most powerful

  weapons we have.”

  “Makes sense. Isn’t that what the old seagoing

  destroyers and frigates used to do?” I asked.

  “Mostly, but their torpedoes were far shorter range,

  so they would have to run into the enemy’s guns for long

  minutes before launching their weapons.”

  Chapter 5

  Our first stop with the convoy was fairly routine. I was again on the bridge as we came out of warp. The sensor board was full of contacts: Warships of every description, from massive battleships and battlecruisers to small corvettes and gunships.

  “Welcome to the 3rdFleet’s home port.” Captain McCormick said.

  “This is a lot of ships.” I said.

  “This isn’t even half of the fleet, Midshipman.”

  McCormick said, “The 3rd Fleet consists of more than a thousand warships, made up of dozens of task forces, task groups, and squadrons. And that’s just the actual warships, not counting the small craft.”

  I felt speechless. Through the bridge windows, I could see most of the ships hanging in space, in what Lieutenant Casim said was part of a preplanned grid. “Convoy element three five nine one is breaking formation to offload.” Karissa reported from the sensor station.

  “Now, kids, watch how this works.” Casim said. The large container ships and tankers docked with the massive station, while smaller transports made for the planet’s surface to unload passengers and smaller cargo. The speakers above my head crackled to life again. “UCSS Armstrong, this is Harbormaster Central, you are clear for dry-dock3.”

  Captain McCormick looked puzzled for a moment, “Harbormaster Central, Armstrong Actual,” She said, holding the radio and using the “Actual” call sign to identify herself as the commanding officer, “We didn’t request a dry-dockberth.”

  “ Armstrong Actual, berth was requested per Commodore Dewey, report indicates your ship sustained battle damage.”

  “Understood, Central. Armstrongout.” She said, hanging the handheld back up. “Helm, port speed on the beacon. Handling crews to stations.”

  In the days of seagoing ships, the handling teams would have been responsible for receiving mooring lines from the pier, and tying off the lines to the various deck cleats. With modern technology, handling teams insured that umbilical connections from the station were connected properly, and that the boarding tubes were properly sealed to the ship’s airlocks and pressurized.

  The massive bay door admitted our ship easily, and within moments the umbilical lines were connected and the tubes locked into the airlocks on the port side.

  “Lieutenant Webb,” Captain McCormick said, “You have the conn. Set an essential stations only watch bill. Any person not on duty will be permitted to visit the station. I’ll be in my cabin discussing our situation with the Commodore.”

  “Aye, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Webb said, her voice carrying a touch of an English accent. “Shall I assign the midshipmen as watch standers?”

  Captain McCormick looked to Karissa and I, then back to the Lieutenant. “Within reason, consult with Sergeant Raines first, though.”

  Karissa and I stayed at our posts while Lieutenant Webb called down to Sergeant Raines. Once the call ended, she turned back to us. “Ms. Clairemont, Mr. Ebert, you stand relieved, per Sergeant Raines’ suggestion.”

  “Aye, Ma’am.” I said, turning on my h eel and leaving the bridge. Down in our berthing space, Sergeant Raines was waiting, with the majority of the midshipmen.

  “Alright, here’s the deal. You all have liberty aboard the station: That means you get your butts back here and check in by 21:00 hours and not a second after. There is plenty to see and do on the station: Restaurants, some limited shopping, a holomovie theatre and a performing arts center. But remember, this is a military installation. Civilian clothes are not authorized.”

  “Aye, Sergeant.” We all said at once.

  “Now, some other quick ground rules: Anyone gets introubl
e, it’s not at my discretion what becomes of you, so obey the Uniform Code of Justice and use your common sense. You are Alpha Company, first and finest at the Academy. Hold yourselves to that standard.”

  ***

  “Jack,” Karissa said as we approached the airlock, “I need a liberty buddy.”

  “I’d be honored.” I said, smiling at her. After days of wearing our duty coveralls, it felt like a pleasant change to be wearing our service uniform: A stand-collar gray coat with Academy devices located on either side of the collar, black trousers and black, polished shoes. Everyone had also added combat action ribbons to the Wartime Service Ribbon and the marksmanship badges everyone wore.

  “So, where first?” She asked.

  “Itsnoon now, wanna grab lunch?” I replied. “Sure.” She smiled, and we approached one of the

  restaurants located on the promenade. We sat at a booth in the back and looked over the menu. “They must get a lot of allied ships through here,” Karissa said.

  “How do you figure?” I inquired.

  “Kurvala,” She said, “It’s Valderan. Ever tried it?” She asked.

  “No, I haven’t.” I said.

  “Try it. You’ll like it.” She winked at me. “Okay…” I said, unsure

  “My dad was in the Marines, and he was assigned

  as an embassy guard at the Coalition’s main embassy in Valderis City, I got a decent appreciation of their food. And culture.” She said.

  “That must have been so cool. I grew up just outside of Milwaukee, and we didn’t travel much. I mean, I saw the big places on Earth, but not offworld like that.” I said as the server approached.

  I ordered the Kurvala and got a Coke to go with it. Karissa ordered a dish made of an exotic off-world meat and vegetables. “Look, Can we talk?” She asked. “Yeah, absolutely.” I said.

  “Jack, youare one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.

  I really like you.” She said, nervously making eye contact while she swirled the straw in her water glass. “Rachel told me. Actually, people seem to think we are already going out.” I said, looking at her eyes. “Is it that obvious we like each other?”

  “Maybe?” She said, uncertain. “So now, I guess, where do we go from here?” I asked.

  “We could consider this a first date, I guess?” She said,