First Flight: Federal Space Book 1, page 31
“Understood, sir. Opening up the throttle.” Flight Lieutenant York started easing the throttle level forward.
The rumble increased in intensity, and the downward pull started increasing until the accelerometer in Mason’s HUD measured 1.5 g, and his wounded left thigh started to throb with renewed intensity. Mason gritted his teeth and tried to distract himself by focusing on the tactical overlay, watching for the Cendies’ reaction to Independence lighting her drives and announcing her existence to all of Sol. Behind Independence, 1st Fleet’s fighters hovered a few degrees over Jupiter’s horizon, still engaged in their long-range duel with the Cendy occupation fleet. After two minutes, a few of the Cendy battlecruisers broke formation with the rest of the fleet and started burning hard for the jump limit, joined by a swarm of fighters. Given the lightspeed delay, the Cendies’ reaction was quick and logical. They knew they’d never beat Independence’s head start with a direct pursuit using longburn drives. They were going to head outside the jump limit and use their stardrives to cut off their escape.
The 1st Fleet saw that, and formations of Conquers and Lightnings vectored to intercept the fleeing warships.
A notification appeared in Mason’s HUD—the bridge had repressurized. Popping the seal of his helmet, Mason pulled it off and held it before him. A gouge ran over the top of the helmet, and there were countless smaller scratches marring its sides. Mason had caught more of the blast to his face than he thought. He was lucky the only thing that had punched through his hardsuit was the bit of metal digging into his thigh.
“Funny how a little gravity can make wounds hurt more,” Colonel Shimura said. She had taken her helmet off and handed it to Major Hauer.
“Speaking from experience, sir?” Mason.
“Oh, yes. I’d be screaming if my hardsuit wasn’t pumping me full of painkillers,” she said.
Major Hauer’s medics started arriving on the bridge, troopers with red crosses stenciled onto the shoulders and helmets of their hardsuits.
They swarmed over Mason and Shimura, the two wounded on the bridge. They were both loaded onto stretchers, as was the late Commander Peeters. Once the medics carried them out of the bridge, the medics carrying Peeters broke off, presumably to take his body to storage.
There were more troopers in the corridor, busy stuffing dead Cendies into body bags. Mason suspected they were going to the same place Peeters was.
After an elevator ride one level down, Mason arrived aboard Independence’s med center, which was filled with medics, the wounded, and civilian volunteers.
The medics lay Mason down on an acceleration seat, where he watched Colonel Shimura be carried towards the med bay’s surgical section.
Jessica stopped short of following Colonel Shimura and walked up to Mason, laying a gloved hand on top of his. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad, all things considered.” He grimaced as a throb of pain shot through his leg.
“Hurts?”
“Oh yeah, but I’m sure it won’t be too hard to fix,” Mason said.
“Assuming the Cendies don’t blow up the ship,” Jessica said.
“You and I have a pretty good track-record of keeping the Cendies from blowing up ships we’re aboard,” Mason said.
Jessica smiled. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
A nurse in a red and white jumpsuit approached. “Hello, sir. I’m Ensign Fadel.”
“Hello, Ensign Fadel,” Mason said.
She kneeled over Mason’s leg, getting a close look at the shard of metal sticking out of his thigh plate. “That’s quite the piece of shrapnel sticking out of you, sir,” she said.
“There’s quite a bit of it sticking into me too,” Mason said.
“Well, let’s see if I can’t fix that,” she said.
“You’re not part of the medical team we brought along,” Jessica said.
“No, sir. I’m part of Amalthea’s medical staff. The military part, at least,” Ensign Fadel said. “Spent most of my time doing regular checkups of shipyard workers and fixing the odd overuse injury.”
“Well, I got a genuine battlefield injury for you to play with, Ensign,” Mason said.
“I see that, sir,” Ensign Fadel said. She pulled on a pair of thick gloves and started prodding the shard. “We’ll have to pull this out first, then take off your hardsuit to treat the wound itself. Can I access your hardsuit’s health monitor, sir?”
Mason opened the connection for her. “Done.”
“Thanks.” Fadel’s expression became distant as she examined something on her HUD. “You weren’t kidding when you said there was quite a bit sticking into you.”
“Sounds like you might have some experience with that,” Mason said.
“Encountered a few working as an EMT on Starport Leonov, sir,” Ensign Fadel said. “Before the war with the League.”
“You’re from Starport Leonov?” Mason asked.
“Born and raised, sir,” Lieutenant Fadel said. “You Jovian too?”
“Starport Armstrong,” Mason said.
“Welcome home, sir,” she said.
“Thanks,” Mason said.
“Okay, this is going to start bleeding bad once I pull it out,” Ensign Fadel said. “Hardsuit’s gel layer will put pressure on the wound, but once we take it off, I’ll need someone to put pressure on the wound.”
“I think I can handle that, Ensign,” Jessica said.
Ensign Fadel nodded. “Thanks, sir. Okay, Flight Lieutenant, this is going to hurt like hell when it comes out.”
Mason gritted his teeth and grabbed a hold of his armrest in one hand, and Jessica’s hand in the other. He signaled he was ready with a curt nod. With a pair of forceps, Fadel slowly pulled the shard out of Mason’s thigh. The pain overpowered the painkillers, and a moan escaped Mason’s lips.
“And it’s out,” Fadel said, planting the sharp, knife-like piece of bloodied metal into the tray. “Okay, next step is getting the hardsuit off.”
“I’ll need to stand up for this, won’t I?” Mason said.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Fadel said.
“Belts and zones.” Mason took a moment to gather his courage. “Okay, help me up.” With Jessica and Fadel under each shoulder, he stood up and locked the legs of his hardsuit so it would stand on its own. He sent the signal, and the hardsuit opened around him. Jessica and Fadel pulled Mason out of the back of his hardsuit. The left leg of his black jumpsuit was a shade darker from all the blood soaking into it.
They sat him back down, and Fadel put a pad on Mason’s leg. “Keep pressure on the wound while I cut the pant leg away.”
Mason nodded and placed his hand on the wound. Jessica’s gloved hand rested on top of his. He looked her in the eyes and nodded, grateful she was there. Fadel produced a large pair of safety shears and made quick work of cutting the pant leg. Setting the shears aside, she started to peel the sticky, blood-soaked cloth off his leg, careful to remove the cloth from around the wound without needing to take the gauze pad off. She disposed of the remains of Mason’s pant leg into a plastic bag, and then started tapping on a pad. A robotic arm unfolded from the bulkhead behind Mason’s head, the claw at the end opening, each digit sporting a frightening looking tool.
“Okay, Lieutenant, you can take pressure off. I’ll get this closed up quickly.”
Jessica let go of the bloodied pad, clearing the way for Fadel to get to work. Fadel tapped a screen, and the robot arm descended over Mason’s legs. A pair of arms unfolded and squeezed the wound shut, while another ran up his leg, suturing it closed like it was zipping up a bag. The arm finished by covering the sutured wound with a teal pad, held in place by a strong adhesive. The thought of it pulling out his leg hairs when it had to come off turned Mason’s stomach. Strange to dread something so petty.
“All right, that will take care of the wound for now,” Fadel said. “You’ll just need to take it easy.”
“Thanks, Ensign Fadel,” Mason said.
‘My pleasure, sir,” Fadel said. “Not to seem like I’m kicking you out, but I have other patients that need tending to, and we can’t have non-life-threatening injuries crowding the med bay.”
“Right,” Mason said. “Can I walk on this safely?”
Fadel nodded. “Those sutures will hold for normal walking, but I wouldn’t do any more than necessary, not in this gravity. And anything more strenuous than that should be avoided.”
“Understood,” Mason said, standing up, feeling more than a bit ridiculous to have his leg bare up to his thigh.
“So, where to?” Jessica asked.
“First, find a pressure suit, and then back to the bridge,” Mason said.
“You sure?” she asked.
“This ship’s understaffed as it is and, besides, I’m the most experienced gunner on this ship,” Mason said.
Jessica chuckled. “Thinking of changing careers?”
“Not a chance. Just want to shoot more Cendies,” Mason said.
After riding the elevator back up to the command deck, Mason limped back to the bridge with Jessica. His leg ached, but the pain was manageable now that he no longer had metal sticking out of his thigh.
Captain Ferris glanced at him. “Shouldn’t you be in the med bay?”
“Too crowded for walking wounded, sir,” Mason said. “Figured I’d return to manning Independence’s gunnery station.”
Ferris shrugged. “If you insist, Flight Lieutenant.”
Mason return to the gunnery seat, sighing as he took weight off his wounded leg. Even without his hardsuit pumping painkillers into him, it felt a lot better than it did before Ensign Fadel worked her magic.
“I’m going to handle electronic warfare systems,” Jessica said. “That’s actually an area I have some experience with. You should spend some time familiarizing yourself with Independence’s big guns. We’ll likely need them.”
“Right,” Mason said, bringing up the status display of the battlecarrier’s main armament. Independence had eight main guns in four turrets. Each turret was designated A, B, C, and D. B and D turrets were mounted furthest from the hull and had full 360-degree firing arcs. A and C only had 270, blocked by the barbets of the other two turrets. The magazines were only partly filled, and only with basic ammunition. Quarter-ton command-guided kinetic kill vehicles. The kinetic kill vehicles didn’t have seekers of their own, just an antenna on the back and a cluster of maneuvering thrusters for making mid-course corrections. The rounds needed Independence’s help to home in on their targets, which limited their effective range to inside a light-second. However, they were highly resistant to countermeasures since they relied on Independence’s big sensors and powerful AI’s for guidance. A starship would always have better sensors and smarter computers than could be packed inside a KKV or a missile.
“Captain Ferris, is Independence generating enough power for the main guns?” Mason asked.
“More than enough, Flight Lieutenant,” Captain Ferris said. “Though those weapons were never test-fired after installation.”
“Guess they’ll have to be tested in battle, like everything else on this ship,” Mason said.
“Wow,” Jessica said.
“What?” Mason asked.
“I knew the electronic warfare systems of this ship were first-rate, but actually seeing them working is something else,” Jessica said. “I’m picking up Cendy transmissions from all over Outer Sol. It’s all encrypted, but I’m willing to bet most of them are about us.”
“It’s nice to be noticed,” Mason said.
“Looks like they’re breaking off from the 1st Fleet. Bunch of battlecruisers and arsenal ships are burning hard for us, but with our head start, we’ll be clear of the jump limit long before they reach us–”
A launch alarm interrupted her.
“Oh bugger,” Jessica said.
The Cendy fleet launched a large volley of torpedoes towards Independence, probably whatever they had left over from their long engagement with the 1st Fleet.
“Okay, that’s a problem,” Mason said. “That’s way more torpedoes than Independence’s point defenses can handle.”
“Good thing not all of them are going to make it,” Jessica said.
“I take it you got something in mind?” Mason asked.
“It’ll take four hours for those torpedoes to reach us,” Jessica said. “That’s four hours I can use Independence’s big, powerful ECM systems to fuck with them.”
“Well, proceed with the fuckery, Lieutenant Sinclair,” Mason.
“I shall,” Jessica said. “Torpedoes are mostly going to rely on command-guidance from their launching starships for most of their flight,” Jessica said. “So, I’m going to try and jam up the sensors of the starships, while at the same time creating false torpedoes for their systems to try to guide. With luck, they’ll have a hard time distinguishing between their real torpedoes and my ghost torpedoes.”
“All right,” Mason said.
It took a minute for the photons Jessica sent out towards the Cendies to hit the sensor arrays of the launching vessels and the seeker heads of the torpedoes. After Jessica started her electronic fuckery, Mason noticed a change in the torpedoes’ courses. It was subtle at first, minor deviations in course that would have huge effects when they reached terminal range. But as soon as torpedoes started to waver, they returned to their original course. All of a sudden, the incoming torpedoes multiplied.
“Dammit,” Jessica said.
“What’s happening?” Mason asked.
“It wouldn’t be called electronic warfare if the enemy couldn’t fight back. Cendies are trying to fuck with us back,” Jessica said. “Let me unclutter our sensors first.”
The false torpedoes disappeared from the tactical screen, but then the Cendy fleet multiplied.
“Oh, that’s clever; creating false contacts for me to spoof,” Jessica said.
The false starships disappeared as Jessica figured out how to differentiate real contacts from the illusory ones. “Well, Independence’s sensors are well hardened. Cendies are pouring a lot of energy into jammers and dazzle lasers. Flight Lieutenant York, please put Independence into a clockwise spin. That will make it harder for the Cendies’ dazzle lasers to keep focused on us.”
“Roger, rolling the ship,” Flight Lieutenant York said.
“Okay, that’s better,” Jessica said.
Mason watched the missiles. They weren’t headed directly towards Independence, but towards a point ahead of the accelerating carrier. Nothing particularly unusual about that, leading the target was a basic part of any firing solution. Mason noticed their vector would take them close to one of Jupiter’s irregular moons, Pasiphae, a captured asteroid about halfway between the highest and lowest points in its orbit.
“Hey, Jessica, those torpedoes are going to pass really close to one of Jupiter’s irregular moons,” Mason said.
“What of it?” Jessica asked.
“I don’t suppose you could try and trick the torpedoes into thinking Pasiphae is us?” Mason asked.
“I don’t see how. The torpedoes aren’t activity seeking just yet,” Jessica said. “They’re relying on in-flight guidance from their launch vessels.”
“But they’re still tracking us, right? Whatever changes in course Independence makes, they have to match. What if we adjusted Independence’s course so that the torps flew into Pasiphae?”
“Cendy torpedoes almost certainly have built-in collision avoidance,” Jessica said. “And the Cendies would just instruct the torpedoes to move around.”
“Yeah, but not by a very wide berth,” Mason said. “It would waste delta-v, and those torpedoes are probably near the edge of their effective range.”
“Yes… let’s see. Pasiphae is just under ninety kilometers across and the torpedoes are clustered in a group about… fifty kilometers in radius,” Jessica said. “Okay, Flight Lieutenant York, do you think you’re up for some highly precise flying?”
“Precision is what starship drivers are trained for, Lieutenant,” Flight Lieutenant York said. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to adjust Independence’s course so that the torpedoes’ vector passes through Pasiphae,” Jessica said. “I’m going to try and coordinate that with an EM attack to get those torpedoes to ram into the moon.”
“Oh, I like that,” Flight Lieutenant York said. “Just tell me what you need Independence to do.”
“The timing for this needs to be perfect,” Jessica said. “Can you make the necessary commands to the Flight AI?”
“I’m already on it,” Flight Lieutenant York said.
Mason tried not to dig his hands into the armrests of his seat as he waited for Jessica to give the word. From his position in the gunnery station, he could see Flight Lieutenant York’s fingers dancing over the controls, plotting the course change.
“I have the maneuver plotted and uploaded to the Flight AI,” Flight Lieutenant York said. “It’s ready to execute as soon as you’re ready.”
“Right, begin course change in five… four… three… two… one… now.”
“Changing course,” Flight Lieutenant York said.
Independence started to change course, her movement so slow and subtle Mason couldn’t feel the massive ship turn. After two minutes of lightspeed delay, he saw the torpedoes start to change course, their vector edging ever closer to Pasiphae.
“Executing program now,” Jessica said.
Independence’s dazzle lasers and jamming arrays burst with activity as Jessica’s program overloaded them, shunting a significant portion of the warship’s reserve power through them. On a screen, a wave representing the photons carrying Jessica’s attack flew from behind Independence. The wave split in two as it flew, the leading wave directed towards the Cendy fleet, and the trailing wave directed towards the torpedoes. The lead wave further split into beams of disruptive light focused on each Cendy arsenal ship. The second wave stayed concentrated, an invisible front headed for the clustered Cendy torpedoes, intent on blinding their collision avoidance systems for the crucial second as they closed near Pasiphae. Independence stopped maneuvering, and the missiles expected vector passed right through the tiny volume of space that Pasiphae occupied.
