Chapter 22: Sphere of Influence

Confederacy Navy Major Matt Schlemmer burst from his ready room onto the bridge of his charge, CSS Barnegat, hull number LFR-003. The meeting he'd just had with Commodore Swanson and that Payne fellow had been eye-opening, and a little scary. He'd been told what his ship's weapons could accomplish if handled in a certain way. He wasn't sure he wanted to handle his vessel's weapons in that certain way at all.

He had one other concern in addition to those planted there from this meeting he'd just had, a concern he correctly guessed that he shared with every fellow sailor on board. The brand-new ship and crew were about to enter combat for the first time, and like every warrior in history, the 105 men and women of the shore bombardment vessel were nervous. Each would find their mettle tested within the upcoming hours. Each hoped he or she would find in the core of their being that, despite the knotting of the stomach, he or she was not a coward. Nobody wanted to let his or her fellow sailors down.

Matt exhaled a breath he had been unaware he was holding, and began snapping orders to his executive officer, Commander Epstein.

"All hands to general quarters. All hands to battlesuits. That includes the concubines."

"Aye, Sir," Epstein responded, turning to the ship's intercom. "All hands to general quarters, all hands to battlesuits. This is no drill. This is no drill."

Klaxons sounded as throughout the ship the lighting switched to the eerie red glow of night adaptation and the well-drilled team raced to their stations. Backup bridge crew arrived in front of Matt, each carrying their suits, which they struggled into beside each bridge station. As each finished suiting up, the duty bridge crew were relieved to don their own suits.

The yeoman on duty brought Matt's suit to him. The barely seventeen-year-old man was obviously scared, Matt saw, but had a determined set to his jaw.

As each compartment was manned by pressure-suited personnel, a green light lit up a board in front of his damage-control officer, Lieutenant Velgi. Finally the swarthy man turned to his captain. "Green board. All hands at general quarters, all compartments manned and ready."

"Main gun charged and ready," reported a disembodied voice. "One round in the breech."

"All departments, report readiness," Commander Epstein snapped.

"Primary weapons systems, go," came a disembodied voice.

"Point defence weapons systems, go," Sergeant Babson, the sailor manning the Defence Sub-Systems station, advised the ship's Combat Systems Engineer, Lieutenant Rodegard.

Rodegard turned to Commander Epstein. "Combat Systems Engineering Department, go."

"Combat Department, go," called the commander of the small contingent of sailors detailed to repel Sa'arm boarders. Lieutenant Plaskett sounded all too eager to get his hands on a dickhead.

"Deck Department, go." They would be responsible for damage control and, if necessary, manning lifeboats and rescuing stranded sailors who had evacuated other ships destroyed during the upcoming battle.

"Engineering Department, go." This band of brothers would keep the ship's engines and life-support equipment functional, or die trying.

"Logistics Department, go." All equipment required by other divisions to perform their jobs would be issued and delivered by them.

The young yeoman checked his station's tell-tales, which included Sick Bay and the concubines' quarters. They too showed all green. "Admin Department, go."

Matt nodded. The time from sounding of the klaxon to "green board" was creditable, and got his grudging approval. "Set Condition Modified Afirm." Condition Afirm was the standard for General Quarters, and meant each compartment's door was kept latched tightly shut. When danger wasn't imminent, the ship could get away with Condition Modified Afirm, where you could go from one compartment to the next, as long as you closed the door behind you. It also meant that everyone could leave their helmet visors open. No sense having some claustrophobe lose his mind before it was absolutely necessary.

Matt added, "Expect to go to Condition Afirm in two hours. Number One, if I haven't given the order by that time, proceed in one hundred twenty minutes ... mark."

"Aye, Captain. AI, please remind me at that time."

"Aye aye, Commander Epstein," came the emotionless, feminine voice of the ship's artificial intelligence.

"Weapons," Matt called.

"Sir?" queried Lieutenant Rodegard.

Instead of answering Rodegard immediately, Matt requested, "AI, access that file that Clarke just squirted over."

"Captain Schlemmer, file 'Target Prime' is open and ready."

"Thank you," Matt said politely, even though he knew it was wasted verbiage. "Tactical on main screen. Show target co-ordinates from the file.".

On the main monitor, the AI overlaid a latitude-longitude grid over the live shot of Hesperus. A series of dots pulsed red, forming two lines girdling the planet midway between the equator and the poles.

Lieutenant Rodegard puzzled at the pattern. "Are those the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn?" he wondered aloud.

"Lieutenant Rodegard," the calm voice of the AI responded, "the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn are defined as the northernmost and southernmost points where the local primary star is directly overhead, and depends on the tilt of the planet in question against its orbit. These targets are aligned with the midpoints between the equator and the poles of the planet, rather than Hesperus' Tropics."

"Ah," the lieutenant responded, as he comprehended what the main screen's graphic had been trying to tell him. He checked the ammunition levels.

"We'll need more shells than we have," Rodegard predicted as the numbers flashed up on his board. "We'll be out after twenty-four hours."

"Very well," Captain Schlemmer acknowledged. "Communications, advise Fleet. We want resupply ready within that time."

"Aye aye, Sir," the duty communications sergeant responded. "Orbital Control confirms receipt of message."

"Tactical," Matt ordered.

Obediently, the main bridge screen switched to a tactical view of the planet Hesperus and the features in orbit.

"Hide us on the trailing side of that moon, there, for now." He pointed to an irregularly-shaped chunk of iron and nickel about a quarter the size of Earth's Moon. "Try to keep that ball of rock between us and the incoming Swarm," he ordered his helmsman. "We'll get the feed on the Swarm fleet's movements from the other ships, as long as they continue to survive."

The helmsman, Corporal Tomczak, gulped at the responsibility descending on her shoulders. The petite brunette had, mere months previously, been studying business administration at a community college and now had the lives of 104 sailors and their concubines in her delicate hands. It was amazing, she reflected as she set up the data links to the football-sized sensor satellites circling Hesperus, what going for a well-timed swim at the college's sports centre could do for your career prospects.

There was nothing more that the crew of the Barnegat could do except wait for the enemy to come to them. And waiting was the hardest part of any battle.

On board CSS Pendennis Castle, most of the crew had long turned their efforts into damage control and repairs of whatever systems they could. The bridge remained in vacuum, with all hands there sealed in their battlesuits. It was uncomfortable, being sealed for so long, but hopefully they'd be able to fix that soon.

Captain Wygant called out, "Damage report!"

The damage-control officer, Ensign Gaetz, answered her call calmly. "Crews are working on the hull breaches on compartments Bravo-Six and Hotel-Nine, estimate time to repair at another ninety minutes. Ship's engineer reports superluminal engines are not repairable with the equipment or crew on board. Shields have been restored to fully operational. Three point defence weapons are inoperative, due to electrical overload in Compartment Charlie-Three, estimated time to repair one hour fifteen. Primary weapons systems are also still off-line, and likely to remain so until we get back to a Navy yard. Medical reports all casualties have been through or are currently in medical tubes and are expected to survive. Concubines all uninjured. Bridge repair is being tested for airtightness."

Captain Wygant nodded. "So we're still trapped on the bridge?"

"Yes, Sir. However, that status should change in about fifteen minutes."

Captain Wygant reflected that Ensign Gaetz, a veteran of previous encounters that this ship had experienced with the Sa'arm, would likely be promoted off Pendennis Castle soon. It would be a definite loss for the ship, and hoped his replacement would prove at least as calm and competent.

The captain could do one more thing at the moment. "Sensors, do we have any updates we can send to Hesperus?"

"Sensor analysis will be finished in ten minutes," Corporal Buckiewicz called.

"Very well," Wygant called. Actually, it wasn't very well, not for her nerves, but she dared not say that with every crewman on the Bridge hanging on her every word. "As soon as sensor analysis is complete, let me know. We'll review it before sending to Hesperus Orbital Control."

"Aye aye, Sir."

Now, she reflected, she could concentrate on deciding where to go next. Having only sublight engines meant wherever she decided, the ship was going to take its time getting there.

"Navigation, which is the closest outpost to our position? Assume maximum sublight speed."

"Sir, Outpost Foxtrot Zero Nine is closest. ETA seven-niner hours at best speed."