Starfist: FlashFire (16 page)

The main thing was that they, along with the dreadnought, were out of the fight until the volley completed its run. It was also probable that one or more of them would be totally knocked out of the fight.

Before Solwara could select his next targets, Admiral Hoi came on again and designated targets Delta and Eta, a heavy cruiser and a fast frigate. “One battery on each,” Hoi told him, “keep one battery in reserve. Let me know when you’re ready to launch at Delta,” the heavy cruiser. “I’m going to coordinate your launch with
Broward.
Launch at Eta when ready.”

“Aye aye,” Solwara replied. Then, “Main batteries, status.”

“One minute to rearmed,” Main Fire Control reported.

“Here are your targets, one battery at each.” He tapped buttons on his console to transmit the target data. “Let me know when you’ve got solutions.”

“Aye aye.”

On the display, several missile icons turned to Xs, including three of the missiles headed toward the
Kiowa.
Others changed course, chasing chaff or flares. Solwara checked the positions of target Delta and the
Broward;
when they launched at the heavy cruiser, their missiles would come at her from different directions, making it very difficult for the heavy cruiser to defend. By the time Main Fire Control reported the batteries were rearmed, only three missiles were still on course to intercept the
Kiowa,
and the icon for one of the Coalition fast frigates had changed to a pulsing red circle.

Solwara reported readiness to fire to the admiral’s CIC.

“Stand by,” the admiral’s CIC said. Solwara waited, never taking his eyes from the main display. The destroyers screening the dreadnought released chaff and fired off flares. A missile from the
Broward
began moving erratically and one from the
Pawnee
veered off, decoyed by a flare. The others continued on course. Another of the missile icons heading for the
Kiowa
terminated in an X. Only two still threatened her.

“
Kiowa,
launch at target Delta. Ready your reserve battery to repeat on Delta.”

“Launch at target Delta, ready my reserve battery to repeat on Delta, aye,” Solwara replied, then ordered Main Fire Control to launch at target Delta and find a solution for the third battery to launch at the same target. Moments later he saw the icons of
Broward
’s launch. It would be a couple of minutes before the heavy cruiser would react to the launches, so he looked back at the dreadnought.

More missiles in the volley had veered off or were juking about confusedly, but four of them were homing directly on the three destroyers. Forty were still headed for the dreadnought.

Solwara looked back at the two missiles homing in on the
Kiowa;
they had both gotten past the torpedoes. Inertially guided? Possibly.

“Release chaff and flares,” he ordered. The
Kiowa
continued turning up and right, and increasing velocity.

At least twenty missiles were past the destroyers screening the dreadnought. One of the destroyers showed as a pulsing circle, and another had turned away, apparently too badly damaged to continue screening. The dreadnought released chaff and flares, sending some of the missiles awry. More missiles passed the destroyer screen.

Closer, the chaff and flares weren’t decoying the missiles closing in on the
Kiowa.

“Close-in Fire Control. Do you have a solution on the two bogies coming at us?” Solwara asked into his comm.

“That’s an affirmative. Ninety-four percent probability. Nearest approach in one hundred forty

seconds.” Two and a third minutes. He could wait until they were closer, to increase the probability of a first strike hit, but ninety-four was a very high percentage—the “book” said to fire when probability reached ninety-five percent, Solwara had been very conservative when he’d held fire for ninety-nine percent.

“Fire when probability reaches ninety-five, then prepare for another shot.” “Fire at ninety-five and prepare for a second shot, aye.” Target Delta was throwing chaff and flares, and trying to maneuver out of the way of the missiles from

the
Kiowa
and
Broward,
but three missiles were ignoring the decoys and closing rapidly. One of their

icons suddenly became an X, struck by close-in fire, but the other two continued to close. A small cloud appeared on the display representing the
Kiowa
’s close-in fire. One of the bogies Xed out, but the other kept coming at the starship.

“Close-in, can you get it?” Solwara’s calm voice showed nothing of the sudden anxiety he felt when the last Coalition missile made it through the fire from the close-in defensive guns. “Working on a solution,” close-in Fire Control replied.

“Fire when ready.” “Firing,” close-in Fire Control reported seconds later. Solwara felt the tremors sent through the ship by the firing of the close-in guns. On the display, he saw the cloud indicating the defensive pellets rapidly approaching the missile icon—and pass by it without the icon X-ing out.

“Stand by for impact!” the captain said sharply, and made sure he was properly strapped into his

command chair. Throughout the
Kiowa,
klaxons blared a warning, then the same female voice that earlier had announced general quarters began a countdown to impact. The main display whited out when the missile hit, and the warship staggered. Reports immediately began coming in from Damage Control.

The missile hit on the aft port quarter. Initial reports indicated that the inner hull wasn’t breeched, though several bulkheads were buckled. Well-drilled Damage Control teams immediately headed to deal with the damage.

“Sir,” the officer of the deck reported, “steering has been affected. The aft port vernier isn’t responding to the helm.”

“Do we have any steerage?” Solwara asked. “Yessir. The other steering jets don’t seem to be affected. We can compensate, but turns won’t be as sharp as usual.”

“Understood.” Solwara returned his attention to the main display while he waited for the chief-of-ship to report with details of the damage to the aft port quarter.

The icon for Target Delta had changed to a pulsing red circle. Admiral Hoi’s CIC again came on, first with a request for a damage report, then instructions to engage Target Eta when ready. Solwara transmitted the damage assessment data he had and instructed that updates be copied to the Admiral’s CIC, then asked if Main Fire Control had a solution for Target Eta.

“Yessir, battery three is ready to fire.” “Fire battery three. Acquire solution for battery one on Target Eta.”

“Fire battery three, aye. Acquire solution to fire battery one on Target Eta, aye,” Main Fire Control replied.

“Skipper, I have a damage assessment,” Chief-of-Ship Groene came on.

“Give it to me, Chief.”

“We’ve got five panels of the outer hull blown out.” The chief transmitted the detailed data to the captain’s console. “Aft port vernier is totally missing. Inner hull is badly buckled next to engine room three. A Damage Control team is working to shore it up, but the bulkhead could bust free at any minute. Request permission to order the engines shut down and the compartment evacuated.”

Shutting down the engine would reduce the
Kiowa
’s maximum velocity, but not evacuating the engine room would jeopardize the lives of crewmen in it. On the other hand, losing the power from engine room three, combined with the reduced maneuverability from the loss of the steering jet could jeopardize the entire ship and all hands.

Solwara delayed making a decision by asking, “How long to replace the vernier?”

“Well, we have to replace four struts before there’s a firm base for the jet, and run tubing and cables from the nearest junctions. I’ve got a good crew on each of those jobs now. About twenty, twenty-five minutes to complete those jobs. Then another twenty to mount a new jet—longer if we have to wait for the replacement to arrive. That’s assuming the inner hull doesn’t blow.”

“You’ll have the vernier in time. How long to shore up that bulkhead?”

“That’s harder to tell. Every time we get one part secured, a bulge opens somewhere else on the inner hull. I’m thinking an hour before we can begin to breathe easy and just pay attention to repairing the damage.”

Solwara thought hard for a few seconds, then told Chief Groene, “I’ll have the engine room crew get into vacuum suits and evacuate the atmosphere.”

“Sir, you realize the engine room crew can’t work as well in vacuum suits. And the vacuum might damage some components of the engine.”

“I know that, Chief. But reduced function and the possibility of future damage are preferable to losing the engine altogether in the middle of a battle. Do your best, Chief. That’s why you make the big creds.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Solwara breathed a bit easier, the damage was not as bad as he’d feared. The missile that hit the
Kiowa
must have been damaged by the close-in gunfire; it should have been able to penetrate the outer hull and maybe the inner before it detonated, but its warhead had exploded just inside the outer hull. A big portion of the outer hull was destroyed, and steering was damaged, but the inner hull wasn’t breached —yet. He got on his tube to the chief engineer and told him to suit up the crew in engine room three and pump the air out. The chief engineer didn’t like it any more than the chief-of-ship had, but agreed with the captain’s reasoning.

That emergency dealt with, Solwara returned his attention to the battle. The dreadnought had taken four hits and was slowly turning away without engaging any of the starships in Task Force 79. A task force destroyer, the
Jerseymann,
was dead. So were two of the Coalition’s fast frigates and another of its cruisers. The other ships of the Coalition fleet were turning about and heading north or south, presumably to where they could jump into Beamspace.

The 27th Division landed without opposition. Like the Confederation Marines, they made a combat assault landing—straight down from orbit. Unlike the Marines, they made planetfall on land. Major General Cazombi greeted them with considerable relief, and quickly integrated them into his defensive scheme.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The company didn’t ace the battalion commander’s inspection, though they came close. But then Commander van Winkle and his staff weren’t as tough as First Sergeant Myer had been in the company commander’s inspection. The clerical section almost passed, so Top Myer didn’t have enough reason to convince Captain Conorado to cancel liberty for everybody for the entire week until the FIST pre-IG.

In fact, the Top was highly chagrined when the only gig given during the FIST pre-IG was to the command section, when Captain Tamara, the assistant F2, FIST intelligence, found a forgotten, half-smoked stogie in a drawer of the first sergeant’s desk. There were only two other gigs in the rest of the company, gigs minor enough that the IG inspectors might pass over them.

The Marines were given base liberty the rest of the week, and shore liberty from the end of Fifth Day to eight hours on Seventh Day, when they had to be back to take care of last-minute details.

Lieutenant General Himan Xintoe, Inspector General of the Confederation Marine Corps, arrived on a navy VIP corsair, the CNSS
Thresher,
and made planetfall directly onto Camp Major Pete Ellis’s Boynton Field four days before his scheduled inspection of the FIST units. After a brief meeting with Brigadier Sturgeon, he paid a courtesy call on Rear Admiral Blankenvoort, the commander of the navy supply depot that had been the initial reason for the presence of Marines on Thorsfinni’s World. Xintoe and Blankenvoort were entertained that evening by Brigadier Sturgeon in the FIST commander’s home. Xintoe and his staff commenced their inspection of the FIST headquarters the next morning.

Another navy starship arrived early on General Xintoe’s third full day planetside, bearing a full colonel carrying an urgent message for Brigadier Sturgeon. Sturgeon read the message through once, then handed it to Xintoe. Xintoe read it, then handed it back without comment.

Sturgeon gave the orders to his chief of staff, Colonel Ramadan, and said, “Read this, then assemble the major element commanders, their XOs and sergeants major, along with my major staff, and the Whiskey Company commander. Don’t tell anybody why I want to see them.”

Ramadan quickly skimmed the document and caught his breath before replying, “Aye aye, sir. Is twenty minutes soon enough?”

“Yes.”

Whiskey Company, a catch-unit normally pieced together under dire circumstances in the field, also often called “cooks and bakers,” was comprised of clerks, truck drivers and mechanics, and other noncombat personnel. Except that 34th FIST’s Whiskey Company wasn’t a catch-unit. Following 34th FIST’s return from the Kingdom Campaign, then-Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps Anders Aguinaldo pulled some highly unofficial strings to assign an additional 118 Marines to 34th FIST to serve as on-hand replacements when it had heavy action and consequent losses.

Thirty-fourth FIST had a
lot
of deployments, and suffered heavier casualties than any other expeditionary unit in the Corps.

Lieutenant General Xintoe looked on expressionlessly. When Ramadan left to summon the major element commanders and other people to the meeting, he asked somberly, “May I attend your meeting?”

An hour later, all the company commanders and first sergeants of the infantry battalion and other major elements were summoned to commander’s meetings at their own headquarters. An hour after that, Marines throughout the FIST were surprised to be called to company formations.

The Marines of Company L stood at silent attention in their ranks behind the barracks. They all had the same thought on their minds: “What’s this about? We know what’s happening tomorrow. A formation now is only wasting time we should be spending on final prep for the IG.”

When Top Myer came out of the barracks with Captain Conorado and the other company officers, many of the Marines got a sinking feeling in their guts—the first sergeant
never
attended a company formation unless it was something big, really big.

Captain Conorado looked somber when he took his position in front of the company. His eyes swept the company quickly, then he said in a strong voice, “There’s been a change of plans. There will not be an IG inspection tomorrow. Instead, we will be boarding the SAT
Lance Corporal Keith Lopez,
which is in orbit now. We have a deployment. The brigadier has granted shore liberty to the entire FIST until eight hours tomorrow morning. At that time I will brief you on what I have been able to find out.”

Conorado looked over his company, drew in a chestful of air, and called out, “That is all. COMP-ney, dis-MISSED!”

He stood in place, watching his Marines racing back into the barracks to change into their liberty clothes.

“I wonder how many holes we’ll have in the formation when we next assemble here,” he said quietly when his Marines were inside.

“I don’t know,” Myer replied, just as quietly.

Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher merely shook his head. He’d already been briefed on where they were going, and didn’t like it at all. Like the other two, he’d noted the expressions of concern on the faces of some of the Marines. A one-day notice for a deployment was highly unusual, and shore liberty the night before was virtually unheard of. The more experienced Marines, those with the most concerned expressions, realized they were in for something
very
big.

General Xintoe had quietly approved of Brigadier Sturgeon’s decision to sound liberty call for his Marines. Xintoe understood that it would be a long time before any of them had another opportunity— for some of them, it would be their last opportunity.

“What is this bullshit?” Lance Corporal MacIlargie yelled once third platoon was back in its squadbay. “I busted my hump for this IG, and now it’s been called off?” He wasn’t experienced enough to understand the significance of a last-minute cancellation of an inspector general’s inspection.

“Dumb guy,” Corporal Claypoole snarled, whapping the back of MacIlargie’s head. He didn’t fully understand the significance either, but he could make an educated guess.

It was the kind of dumb question Lance Corporal Schultz would normally let pass with nothing more than a quick you’re-too-dumb-to-live look. But Schultz was experienced enough to know
exactly
what the cancellation meant. He whapped MacIlargie upside the head much harder than Claypoole had and sent the other man sprawling.