Authors: Thomas DePrima
"There's nothing wrong, Eddie. It's the XO. I could hear her behind me the whole time, calmly telling me to relax, breathe evenly, make sure of my target and lock, and gently squeeze the trigger instead of just pulling it; just like she did every time she was down here during sim practice. You didn't feel her presence?"
"You're losing it, Flip."
Flip chuckled. "You've just scored higher than you ever have in your service career. Do you think you would have accomplished that if the XO hadn't been pushing us to spend more time training, and to put greater effort into our training time? She may not have been physically behind us during the battle, but she was there in spirit. I definitely felt her standing at my shoulder."
* * *
After being whisked through the ship in a transport car to Section Seven, Jenetta took a lift to Deck Eleven. She found people rushing around as she neared the damaged section. A Marine corpsman was tending to a seriously injured rating lying on the deck. The senior engineering officer, Lt. Commander Cameron, was barking orders via his CT as he observed the commencement of exterior repair operations on a portable monitor screen that had been rolled out flat against a bulkhead wall and temporarily fastened there. The thin, lightweight material provided a meter square 3-D image similar to that of a SimWindow. Resolution is far superior to a holo-magazine tube, but you need a flat surface against which to affix it. Otherwise, it keeps trying to roll itself back up for storage.
Lt. Commander William ‘Wild Bill' Cameron was one of the best engineering people in the military, which is why he had been posted as the new senior engineering officer aboard the Prometheus. If he couldn't fix it, no one could. After graduation from the Academy he had spent several years at such prestigious engineering schools as RPI and MIT. Space Command hoped to use him in design, but he reveled in getting his hands dirty and didn't feel comfortable sitting behind a desk all day. At forty-six he was at the top of his game. Standing five-foot-ten, with dark brown hair, and brown, hound-dog eyes, he had rugged good looks and kept himself reasonably fit. Jenetta watched the image over his shoulder for a few minutes, waiting until his attention could be distracted.
"How bad is it, Bill?"
"Bad enough, Jen," he said, as he finally became aware of her presence and stepped slightly to the side so she'd have a better view, "but we'll get it patched. We were fortunate that only one live torpedo got through. The hull outside our torpedo rooms are heavily armored, but this one sailed right on through like it had an engraved invitation. Our people in there never had a chance. On Deck Twenty-Two, a torpedo penetrated the hull, but a laser gunner had already destroyed the firing electronics. Even so, the torpedo casing held together and it made it halfway through the hull. Several of my guys are up there trying to remove the high-explosive warhead, but it's pretty badly damaged. There's almost no chance that it can explode, but I'll feel better when there's no chance."
"What are you estimating for repair time here?" she asked.
Pointing to the monitor, he said, "Right now my guys are cutting away the wreckage so we can begin rebuilding the cross-members necessary for attaching the plates. My chief assistant is supervising the preparation of the replacement plates down in engineering. Ships don't carry replacement torpedo tube hatches so we'll have to weld hull plating over the areas where tubes five and six are located. The tubes themselves are scrap so that'll do us until we can reach a repair yard. I estimate thirty hours to complete the work to a point where the sections on both decks can be re-pressurized. By then we'll have the middle tritanium layer intact and we'll be ready to install a new outer membrane and finally the outer layer. At the same time we can be replacing the inner membrane and the innermost tritanium plates and radiation shielding. Then it's simply a matter of building up the layers of armor, but that'll wait until all our emergency repairs have been completed."
Jenetta nodded, her face reflecting intense concentration as the chief engineer talked. "What about the other hull breaches?" she asked when he had finished.
"At last count the bots have located about three-hundred forty-three holes, and they're still finding them. Based on that, I estimate that the count could go as high as six-hundred. Most are tiny and self-sealed, so we never lost atmosphere in those sections, but they still have to be examined closely and patched. We have five major breaches where we lost atmosphere but the structural integrity will be fully restored by replacing the plates. Those areas were fortunately empty during the battle and have been sealed off until repairs are completed."
"What's your best estimate of time for all emergency repairs?"
"Two days minimum, and maybe as many as four. That's working around the clock just to get the torpedo damage patched and plug the major breaches where we're losing ‘atmo.' I can't be any more precise than that right now, but we could continue the fight right now if need be. Our wounds are serious, but certainly not disabling."
"Thank you, Bill. Carry on."
"Aye, ma'am."
As they had been talking, the wounded man was taken to sickbay, Jenetta's next destination.
Medical personnel engaged in triage activity, were scurrying about when Jenetta entered the outer waiting area of the sickbay. The room was filled with moaning crewmen waiting for attention on temporary ‘oh-gee' stretchers. Jenetta tried not to let the sadness she was feeling show on her face as she walked through the area and into the ward, but she was far from successful. She found Lt. Commander Hong, the ship's acting chief medical officer, putting a cast on a crewman's arm.
"Doctor, I was led to believe that there were only a half dozen injuries?"
"There were only a half dozen life threatening injuries, Commander. All have been attended to. Surgical nano-bots have been administered, and the crewmen are expected to recover. Now my people are treating the broken bones, concussions, lacerations, and contusions. Most of the more serious injuries occurred in the torpedo rooms adjacent to the room that was destroyed. The shock from the explosion pitched everyone not belted down into whatever solid objects were nearby."
"Is there anything that you need? Replacement supplies or anything?"
"No, we're fine here. The supply officer has already delivered the extra supplies we requested from our medical stores locker."
"Has the death toll changed?"
Lt. Commander Hong shook his head. "Just the eleven in the original count. Most were working in the torpedo room that took the hit. I understand they haven't yet recovered the bodies of two crewmen that were sucked out when the hull there was breached?"
"Yes. Thank you, Doctor."
"
Thank you
, Commander."
"For what, Doctor?"
"For caring enough about our crewmen to come here less than a half hour after the battle ended."
Jenetta looked sadly around again before saying, "It's little enough. It's been my great privilege to command these brave men and women. I know they're in excellent hands. Carry on, Doctor."
"Aye, Commander."
Returning to the bridge after visiting each of the locations requiring emergency response measures, Jenetta made her report. "Captain, repairs are underway and everything is under control. Commander Cameron estimates three or four days before emergency repairs are complete, but Sections Seven and Eight could be re-pressurized in as little as thirty hours. The ship is not disabled and could continue fighting if necessary."
"Thank you, Commander. As senior officer at this engagement, I've assumed command of our forces. The Chiron fared about as well as we did, and damage is light on most of the ships that arrived later in the engagement, but we have one ship destroyed and three with crippling damage. In addition to numerous hull punctures, the hatch cover on the Caracas' temporal field generator repository was severely damaged and its generator can't be extended for examination. The Asuncion lost her starboard sub-light engine, in addition to
her
numerous hull punctures. But the most seriously wounded of the three is the Song. It suffered a massive torpedo strike that killed all senior bridge officers. Things appear to be falling apart over there. They weren't even sure who the ranking officer is." Glancing down at the command pip on her collar, he said, "Commander, I'd like
you
to shuttle over and assume command. Assess the damage and determine if it can be repaired here or if the crew should be offloaded and the ship towed to a repair facility."
"Aye, sir, I'm on my way."
"It's just after 2400 hours. Call me with a status report by 1200 hours, Commander."
"Aye, sir."
Jenetta hurried out and down to the flight bay, and within fifteen minutes, she and a shuttle pilot were on their way to the Song. Pronounced ‘sung', the ship's name doesn't refer to a melody but to the Imperial Chinese Dynasty that ruled from 960 to 1279, and which is noted for its art, literature, and philosophy. At nine-hundred-eighty meters, the vessel is only half the length of the Chiron and Prometheus. And with just a two-hundred-thirty-six meter beam, the hull encompasses only a third the interior space of the battleships, but it's a formidable vessel in its own right. Since it carries significantly more than half the number of crewmen that would eventually be aboard either of the two great battleships, living quarters, flight decks, and available cargo space on its nineteen decks is considerably more limited.
* * *
"Captain," the com operator said to Gavin, "the senior officer of the Peabody Fleet would like to speak with you. He's identified himself as Commodore Andre Blosset."
"Put him on my CT, chief. And put his image on my right hand viewscreen."
"Aye, Captain."
A second later, the image of a slightly heavyset man wearing the light blue uniform of Peabody Protection Services appeared on the small monitor attached to the command chair. He looked to be in his mid-seventies, and his lower face was sheathed in an affable smile, but his eyes told a different story. They were filled with sadness, no doubt over having lost so many of his people. A single star on each shoulder denoted his rank. Sitting next to him was a much younger officer wearing rank insignia that indicated he was a commander. At forty-eight-years-old, the commander was the same five-foot nine-inch height as the Commodore, but his face was anything but composed. The strain and agonies of the past hour were etched in fine detail. In the background was the bridge aboard the destroyer Peabody Clarice.
"Commodore Blosset," Gavin said, "I'm Captain Gavin, commanding officer of the Prometheus and the senior officer of the GSC ships at this battle site."
"I've heard of you, Captain, although I don't believe we've ever met. We are deeply in your debt for your actions here today. On behalf of myself, my crews, Peabody Protection Services, and the Mawcett Archeological Expedition, I most sincerely thank you for saving our convoy from the Raiders."
"You're welcome, Commodore. I'm pleased that we were able to arrive here before they managed to overcome your excellent resistance."
"It was close, sir. My list of casualties is extensive, and our ships have been heavily damaged. It might take weeks to make them ready to continue our voyage."
"That's true for us as well. It appears that none of us will be going anywhere soon. If any of your people are injured beyond the capabilities of your medical people, we'll take them aboard one of our ships and do what we can."
"Thank you, Captain. I'll inform our doctors of your offer."
"Now, if there's nothing pressing, I have to see to our emergency repairs."
"Yes, of course. You know," the commodore said, smiling more widely, "your arrival was so fortuitous, I half expected to see Jenetta Carver on your bridge."
"Commander Carver was here until a few minutes ago. I've sent her over to take command of the Song. Its bridge crew was killed in the engagement."
"I grieve for your losses, sir, but I was referring to
Ensign
Jenetta Carver."
"Yes, I understood. Ensign Jenetta Carver is now Lt. Commander Jenetta Carver."
"Are you serious?" Commodore Blosset asked with obvious astonishment.
"Perfectly. Commander Carver is my second officer, and has been acting as my XO in the absence of a first officer in this new command."
"Uh— I was just joking about her being on your bridge."
"I'm not, Commodore. Now, I really must go. We'll talk again when time isn't so critical."
As the connection ended, Commodore Blosset looked over at Commander Schwann, whose jaw was hanging open after hearing both sides of the conversation. "Imagine that," was all Commodore Blosset said as he leaned back in his chair and stared enigmatically up at the large monitor at the front of the bridge.
* * *
As the Prometheus shuttle approached the Song, Jenetta ordered the pilot to make several slow passes around the ship. A steady tapping on thruster controls produced a helical orbit around the massive vessel that was close enough to visually identify the tiny bots crawling over the entire surface of the ship as they hunted for damage and punctures in a coordinated search procedure. Just forward of amidships, in the vicinity of A Deck, damage from the torpedo strike responsible for killing the bridge staff was gruesome. The gaping black hole in the ship's scarred armor looked almost as large as a flight bay doorway. Several other torpedo strikes had inflected serious wounds as well, but none so severe as the damage near the bridge.