First Strike - An Earth@War Novel

ESS Argentina (D-868)

In Orbit, Kylar II

May 15, 2487, 0728 UT

Above Kylar II, a series of docks orbited the planet. Each dock was a two-story rectangular platform that could handle between one and four ships depending on the size and type of the ships. Four clamps held each ship to the dock and two tunnels connected the ships to the dock allowing the transfer personnel, food and parts to and from the ships. A separate series of lines allowed the ship to refuel. Additionally, the docks provided power to the ships allowing them to shut down their engines for maintenance. Shuttles ran down from the docks to Naval Base Oscar to provide officers and crew the ability to take liberty on the planet, as well as pick up supplies to bring back to the ships.

Currently docked at dock 12A was ESS Argentina, a 24-year-old Spain class destroyer. The 680-foot-long ship, with a 125-foot beam and armed with a 125-mm main gun, six 75-mm twin gun mounts for defense against spacecraft and a total of eight missile platforms, four forward and four aft. The ship, assigned to Destroyer Squadron Ten, had a top speed of 34 AMU, just slightly faster than the carriers it protected. Argentina was nearing the end of her career as the navy began replacing the older Spain class destroyers with the newer Norway class.

Ensign Albert Singleton was a 2486 graduate of the Naval Academy and with only four months aboard Argentina, the junior officer of the ship. Currently, he was serving as Supply Officer. It was a job that fit well with his organized nature and attention to detail. For now, though, he was on watch on the quarterdeck as Officer of the Deck. The quarterdeck was where the crew entered the ship through the dock when returning to the ship and was the control center of the ship while it was docked, performing the same functions as the bridge did when the ship was underway.

By 0728 on the morning of May 15, members of the crew had returned to the ship from liberty to begin the workday. At 0730, the Petty Officer of the Watch, a second-class Communications Specialist made an announcement over the intercom.

“Quarters. Quarters. All hands to quarters for muster, instruction and inspection,” the Petty Officer of the Watch announced. This was part of the normal “Plan of the Day” on the ship. At 0800, the ship would commence routine work for the day, ending the workday at 1600.

Thirty minutes until we are relieved, Albert thought. He was already planning for the day ahead. It wasn’t going to be very busy, which would allow him to work on his qualifications. A voice from the comm unit interrupted his thoughts.

“Quarterdeck, Communications Central.”

“Quarterdeck, aye,” Ensign Singleton replied as he pressed a button on the unit.

“We have flash traffic,” the voice over the comm unit reported.

“Okay. The Messenger of the Watch is on his way,” Al said, nodding to the Messenger, a junior enlisted woman recently out of boot camp. Great, Al thought, with only thirty minutes to go. That thought vanished when he read the message five minutes later.

150524870718U

From: Commander Fourth Fleet

To: ESS Argentina (D-868)

Subj: Emergency Underway

1. Get underway immediately. Move to Grid 084 172.

2. Report to Commander, Carrier Squadron One to

participate in an exercise on Black team.

Al reached over to the Comm Unit and switched it to broadcast over the ship’s intercom. “All hands prepare for emergency underway. Set the normal underway watch. On deck condition four, officers section one, enlisted section one,” he said. Then he switched the Comm Unit over to Engineering. “Main Control, Quarterdeck. Light off engines and shift to internal power.”

“The Officer of the Deck has shifted the watch from the quarterdeck to the bridge,” a voice announced a few minutes later officially relieving Ensign Singleton and moving command of the ship to the bridge. Al began making his way up to the bridge. Like approximately a quarter of the crew, Albert had never been underway on Argentina and since he had no other duties at the moment, he decided to watch the operation from the bridge.

Al entered the bridge, where the Captain, Rayford McCollum, was ensuring that the ship was prepared to get underway. The Captain, a 46-year-old veteran of the War at Masic Point, always impressed Al with his seemingly unshakable confidence in his abilities to command. Al watched as various crewmembers communicated to each other. The tubes withdrew from the dock, engines were brought online and thrusters readied. The navigation station, helm and sensor stations were all manned.

“XO, get us underway,” the Captain ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Commander Pete Williams, the Executive Officer and second in command replied. Turning to the enlisted woman on the Comm Unit, he ordered, “Unhook the docking clamps.”

“Aye, sir,” the woman replied. A half a minute later, she announced, “all clamps are clear.”

“Very well,” the XO said, then turning to another crewmember, “Boatswain’s Mate, over the intercom, ‘Underway’.”

“Underway,” the Boatswain’s Mate said, the intercom carrying his voice so that everyone aboard the ship was aware of the change in status.

“Right thrusters one-third,” the XO ordered the helm.

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman answered, his fingers tapping the appropriate buttons on the helm. “Right thrusters are at one-third.”

Looking out of the bridge windows, Al could see the ship begin to drift away from the dock.

“Secure right thrusters. Main thrusters ahead full,” Commander Williams ordered. Until Argentina was out of the Kylar System, she would be restricted to thrusters only. The main engines were for interstellar space travel only.

Ensign Singleton watched as the ship was handled skillfully and wondered how long it would take for him to gain that level of competence.

It took almost an hour for Argentina to clear the system. Once cleared, Commander Williams ordered, “Secure main thrusts. All engines ahead full. Make your speed 28 AMU.”

Naval Space Center

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

May 15,2487, 0150 Local, 0830 UT

AS ESS Argentina was leaving the Kylar system, a scramble order was issued to the spacecraft stationed at the Space Center at Naval Base Oscar. The Naval Space Center was located just two miles from Andrew Wilson’s four-story apartment building.

One of the wings that scrambled was the 18th Fighter Wing consisting of 20 SF-112 fighter spacecraft. The wing was divided into four flights (Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta). Lieutenant Commander Chris “C-Dog” Davenport was the newly appointed flight leader for Charlie Flight. Chris and the other pilots in his wing suited up and made their way to their fighters that were waiting on the tarmac where their crews were finishing prepping the craft for flight.

The SF-1112 was the Navy’s newest fighter. Designed to intercept enemy spacecraft, the fighters were tasked to defend carriers, to escort attack spacecraft to targets and to provide air cover during assault operations. The SF-112 had a maximum speed of 125 AMU and a range of 500 AMU. It carried up to twelve missiles, either the short-range AM-2s or the long-range AM‑6s. Additionally, it had a 35-mm laser gun mount and for defense, 20 decoys to fool incoming missiles.

“Any bets that I bag more kills during this exercise than you, C-Dog?” Lieutenant Donald “Dreamer” Franklin asked. Don was Chris’ best friend even though Don was two years younger than the 27-year-old Flight Leader.

“There you go dreaming again,” Chris teased. Done had earned the callsign “Dreamer” in flight school when he stated it was his dream to fly fighters. Chris slapped Don on the back. “This should be fun. We haven’t been on a carrier in a long time.”

“We sure haven’t,” Don replied. The 18th Fighter Wing was assigned to ESS London (SCV-7). The carrier had just cleared the system and was awaiting the arrival of its spacecraft.

“Time to fly,” Chris said as he arrived at his fighter. The SF-112 was painted gray with “Chris ‘C‑­Dog’ Davenport” painted in large letters underneath the cockpit on both sides of the craft. A small black star beside his name indicated that he was the Flight Leader. Since the spacecraft had to fly both in space and in an atmosphere, it looked like an aircraft with a needle nose and large wings with the engines located under each wing. The body was constructed of strato-steel to prevent overheating when the craft reentered the atmosphere.

Chris climbed the ladder and lowered himself into the familiar cockpit. He pulled the straps, securing himself into position and donned his helmet. He flipped switches, checking the status of the spacecraft’s system. Finally, he started his spacecraft’s powerful LX-15 engines. The shipped hummed as the engines came to life. He keyed his comm unit. “Charlie Leader to Charlie Flight, comm check.”

One by one, the rest of the flight replied with a “loud and clear” including Charlie Three, Don. With all systems looking good, Chris contacted the control tower. “Charlie Flight requesting permission to takeoff,” Chris said professionally.

“Charlie Flight, you are cleared for takeoff. Contact SCV-7 on 186.6 when clear of Kylar II,” the voice from the control tower replied.

“Roger control. Charlie Flight, Charlie Leader, takeoff pattern delta,” Chris ordered the Flight. Chris toggled a switch that brought the spacecraft eight inches off the ground and retracted the landing gear, the advanced the throttle slowly. The fighter surged ahead and Chris pulled back on the control, pulling the craft into a steep 70-degree angle. He glanced left and right, spotting the rest of the flight as he accelerated into the sky. In the atmosphere, the SF-112 used control surfaces similar to an aircraft to control the spacecraft. In space, thrusters were used to simulate the control surfaces, such as the wings and rudder, and allowed the spacecraft to be handled similarly in space and an atmosphere.

Two minutes after launch, the spacecraft exit Kylar II’s atmosphere at a speed of .8AMU. “SVC-7, Charlie Leader, requesting vector,” Chris said changing his comm unit to 187.6

“Charlie Flight your vector is 125 by 217,” came the reply.

“Roger,” Chris said, turning his craft to the new heading. He watched as the rest of the flight formed up on him.

It took a half an hour to arrive at the carrier. ESS London was the lead ship of the London-class carriers, the only class actively serving in the Navy. To describe her as large was an understatement. She was 1700 feet long and 750 feet wide. She consisted of sixteen decks and could hold 144 spacecraft: 72 fighters, 48 attack craft and 24 miscellaneous and support craft. Painted dark gray, the ship was moderately armed with twelve 75-mm gun mounts and sixteen 35-mm anti-spacecraft guns, not a lot of firepower, but with her embarked spacecraft to defend her, a formidable target.

Chris watched as his wing began landing on the carrier. After everyone else in the wing had landed, Chris circled around and lined up for his approach to the rear of the massive ship. The flight bay was on the eighth deck. The large doors were open, extending most of the width of the ship. Using his rudder and control stick, Chris lined up with the two lights in the bay that guided him in.

“Charlie Leader, speed 26, heading 227 by 168,” the control said reporting London’s course and speed. Chris looked at his HUD, verifying his heading was also 227 by 168 and his speed was 26.05 AMU. It was a perfect setup for final approach. As he approached the carrier, he could see red lights running across the deck of the flight bay. This line of lights indicated the beginning of the carrier’s gravitation field. As he crossed the line, he activated thrusters on the bottom of his fighter that would compensate for the gravity of the ship, keeping his fighter from slamming onto the deck of the carrier. He flew into the bay, into the landing area, extended his gear, throttled down and touched down gently on the deck. As he shut down his engines, he felt the telltale sign of the clamp that ran along the deck latch onto his fighter to move the SF-112 to the parking area. A red light, changed to a flashing yellow as the bay doors closed. Once the flight bay was repressurized, the light turned green and crewmembers entered the bay to assist pilots out of the spacecraft and to begin maintenance and refueling.

Cargo Ship Alexander

Approaching Antron System

May 17, 2487, 1430 UT

Captain Robert Wise was the Commanding Officer of the Cargo Ship Alexander and was on the bridge observing his newest officer who had the conn. Captain Wise was a veteran with SDK Shipping having served as an officer on the company’s cargo ships for 32 years. At 52-years-old, it wouldn’t be long before Captain Wise would retire, something his wife seemed to look forward to even more than he did. As the ship, sister of the Cargo Ship Vladimir, approached the Antron system, the young Fifth Officer continued to order reductions in speed. “Helm, reduce speed to three AMU,” he ordered.

“Reduce speed to three, aye, sir,” the helmsman replied.

“Captain, we have multiple contacts moving to intercept, bearing 115 by 010,” the Third Officer who was monitoring the sensor display announced.

“I have the conn,” the Captain stated quickly, taking control of the ship. The ships, three Batronian destroyers, were moving into view. “All stop,” the Captain ordered the helm.

“All stop, aye, sir,” the helm replied.

“Earth Cargo Ship, this is Batronian Warship 90B. You are approaching a blockade ordered by the Batronian government. Reverse your course. Do not attempt to enter the Antron system,” a voice announced over the short distance voice comm.

The Captain walked over to the Comm Unit and pressed a button. “Batronian Warship 90B, this is Cargo Ship Alexander. We have a cargo shipment destined for Antron. We are operating under an Earth charter and demand to be allowed to enter the system,” he said firmly.

“Cargo Ship Alexander, do not attempt to enter the Antron system or you will be fired upon,” came the reply. Like all civilian ships, Alexander had no weapons and the Captain realized he was in no position to argue.

“Helm, come to 290 by 170, speed 4 AMU,” he ordered reluctantly. Turning to his Fifth Officer, he said, “You have the conn. Maintain this heading and speed. I’ll send a message to corporate informing them of the situation.” The heading would take them away from Antron while someone figured out what to do.

Office of the Secretary General

United Nation’s Headquarters Earth

May 18, 2487, 0915 UT

“They what?” Secretary General Colón asked in a raised voice.

“We don’t know when they set up the blockade, but they intercepted one of SDK’s cargo ships, the Alexander, and refused to allow it to enter the Antron system,” Alex Weber said.

“What do we do?” Colón asked.

“I have requested that Admiral Morris dispatch two destroyers from Omar to escort Alexander back to Omar. We could use them to escort the ship to Antron instead, but that would escalate the situation. I just don’t want Alexander to think they are out there by themselves. The Admiral said he would cut the orders to the destroyers,” Alex reported

“Okay. I think I’ll have the Batronian Ambassador over for a chat this afternoon. Remind him of our position in this matter.”

“Another issue that may or may not be related. The Cargo Ship Vladimir hasn’t been heard from since the thirteenth when she left Omar to Kylar,” Alex said.

“Have we had any incidents on that side of Omar?”

“No, sir. I think Vladimir may be having comm issued. That’s a long way from Batron and Antron. Still, I’m having the fleet monitor the situation.”

“Very well. When is she due at Kylar?”

“The 28th,” Alex answered.

ESS London (SCV-7)

Black Team, Training Near the Kylar System

May 18, 2487, 1030 UT

The training exercises between the black and gold teams were entering their third day and were going well. Commander of Carrier Squadron One aboard London led the black team. The gold team was led by the Commander of Battleship Squadron Three aboard ESS Dallas (SCV-9). Rear Admiral Kilgallon was assigned as scorekeeper on Kylar II. So far both the gold and black teams had performed well, attacking and counterattacking professionally, despite the lack of experience of many members of the crews on most ships.

Lieutenant Commander Davenport and Lieutenant Franklin were the alert fighters waiting to be launched to defend London on a moment’s notice. They sat in their fighters in the flight bay, canopies open, but ready to close and launch if needed. They had been on alert for three hours with only one more hour to go before they were relieved. If they were launched, the rest of the flight would be launched in five minutes and the whole wing could be spaceborne in fifteen. Chris was reading a book. Being an avid reader helped when you sat in a cockpit for hours at a time. Don would undoubtfully be working crossword puzzles, his favorite alert fighter pastime. Since both sets of bay doors were close and the flight bay was pressurized, London’s crewmembers walked freely through the bay. A light, green in color, indicated the bay was pressurized and the doors were closed.

“You awake Dreamer?” Chris asked, keying the comm unit to Charlie Flight’s frequency.

“I’m with you, C-Dog. One more hour to go,” Don replied. Chris smiled as he pictured Don in the cockpit. The two had a great friendship, both on duty and off. They drank and chased women on Kylar II together, hung out on the beach on weekends and trained together during the week. The two of them led the flight in “kills” during the exercise, with Chris leading Don by just two. Donald, of course, promised that would change by the time the exercise was over.

“Launch the alert fighters,” a voice announced over the flight bay’s intercom and was repeated on the fighter’s comm unit. Chris dropped his book into a pouch hanging from his seat and toggled the switch to close the canopy without thinking about it as his instincts, sharpened by training took over. The ship’s crew began to move to the clear plastic enclosures, referred to as bubbles, that would remain pressurized during flight operation and allow the crewmembers to see and direct the launching of spacecraft. The formerly green light now flashed amber and an alarm sounded directing the crew to clear the flight bay.

One crewmember, already in a bubble to Chris’ right, twirled a finger in the air, signaling Chris. Chris pressed the engine start button and heard the whine of the SF112’s LX-15 engines as they came online. The cockpit pressurized and Chris rotated the stick to check the directional thrusters. Then, Chris throttled his engines up and then back down. He looked at the information on his HUD checking power, fuel pressure and thrust. Everything was in the green. One of the best things about the SF-112 fighter was its reliability.

Satisfied, Chris keyed his comm. “Charlie Leader is ready to launch,” he said.

“Charlie Three ready for launch,” Chris heard Don say two seconds later.

The flashing amber light stopped flashing remaining on now as a steady amber light. Chris’ spacecraft vibrated, almost like it was trembling as the flight bay was depressurized, the air being pumped from the bay into storage tanks to prevent it from being vented to space. The light changed from amber to red as both sets of flight bay doors opened.

“Bay ready,” a voice announced over the comm. Chris focused his attention on the Signalman, who was female, in the bubble. He felt and heard the clamps release his fighter. The Signalman saluted and pointed toward the open bay door at the forward end of London. Chris tapped a button lifting his fighter eight inches off the deck. He throttled up sending the spacecraft down the bay and out of the door. He exited London, accelerated his fighter to 100 AMU, broke right and climbed up relative to London. He saw Don exit the ship and break left as he climbed. Coming out of the turns, the two fighters joined each other “over” London. It had been just thirty seconds since the launch order had been given.

“Charlie Leader, Flight Control, vector 217 by 284, distance 90 AMU. Four attack craft escorted by two fighters,” the voice on the comm said. “Clear to engage.”

“Roger, Control,” Chris said. “Charlie Three break to vector in three…two…one…now,” Chris said. Chris shifted his stick left and down, coming quickly to his new heading. The two SF-112’s swung in perfect formation, Don showing his skills by precisely matching Chris’ movement. The fighters closed in on the approaching spacecraft from ESS Dallas. The HUD identified the fighters as SF-112s and the attack craft as SA-18s. “Engage the SF-112s first,” Chris told Don. Removing the fighters first would make picking off the defenseless attack craft easy, even though the attack craft were the real threat to London. Still, attack craft without their escorts were easy pickings.

“Roger that, C-Dog,” Don replied.

“Select AM-6s,” Chris ordered. The AM-6 had a range of 50 AMU and Chris desired to engage the other fighters from as great a distance as possible. Since firing a missile at another spacecraft in a training exercise was impossible, for the training exercise, a pilot “killed” another spacecraft by maintaining a weapon lock on it for two seconds.

The other fighters accelerated toward Chris and Don, leaving the attack craft behind and taking up a position between Don and Chris and the attack craft they were protecting. Chris engaged the spacecraft to the right leaving Don the one to the left. Chris got a lock on the enemy but lost the lock as the other spacecraft banked sharply fooling Chris. An alarm warned him that the enemy now had a lock on him. He broke right and pulled up, releasing a decoy and was relieved to hear the alarm stop.

He rolled hard to the right and located the enemy again. The other pilot must have been relatively inexperienced as he released two decoys before Chris attempted to engage him. Chris locked onto the SF-112 and held the lock this time.

“I have lock,” Chris announced over the training comm.

“Acknowledged,” the gold team pilot replied admitting defeat. It took Don nearly another minute to “destroy” the second fighter.

“Attack craft are bugging out. Switch to AM-2s and let’s get them,” Chris told Don.

“Roger that, C-Dog,” Don replied.

The fully loaded SA-18s had a maximum speed of 100 AMU, so Chris and Don’s SF-112s had no trouble catching up them. Staying out of the range of the 35mm guns on the SA-18s, Chris and Don used the AM-2s to lock on and “destroy” all four of the spacecrafts, gaining a clear victory for the black team.

“Flight Control, Charlie Leader. Vape six. Returning to the nest,” Chris said proudly.

Naval Assault Forces Recruit Training Command

Naval Station Bravo, Mars

May 18, 2487, 1430 Local, 1530 UT

“Eyes right!” Sergeant Blake ordered as Company C051 passed in front of the inspection stand. The men and women of the training company turned their heads to the right as Sergeant Blake saluted the Reviewing Officer, the Commander of Naval Station Bravo. This was graduation day for the 48 remaining members of Company C051. “Ready, front,” Blake ordered.

The company marched from the parade grounds and was dismissed to enjoy their first weekend of liberty since joining the Naval Assault Forces. Boot camp was over for these former recruits. Max Finley, Dave Roberts and Phil Moore headed to the barracks so they could change to their class B uniforms and explore the Martian city of Johnstown. When they arrived at the barracks, they found their orders were ready. Each man was handed a copy of his orders.

Phil Moore was the first to open his orders. “Third Division, Third Regiment on Omar IV,” he yelled. The orders confirmed what the Pass-In-Review ceremony symbolized. He was now a member of the Naval Assault Forces. This was a huge accomplishment for the young man who had escaped the slums of Atlanta to become a trooper assigned to Omar IV.

Dave Roberts opened his orders. “Oh shit! Third Division, Third Regiment on Omar IV, baby,” he said celebrating with Phil. They would continue to serve together to the surprise of the two men. Max was reading his orders quietly. “You’re going too, right, Max?”

“Third Division, First Regiment, Kylar II,” Max said. He was shocked that after starting their journey together, he would be leaving his friends. Like Phil, he had grown up in Atlanta. Unlike Phil, he was white and grew up not in the slums, but in a wealthy subdivision. On Earth, it was unlikely they would have ever met, but now it was hard to imagine being on duty without him.

“Oh man, I thought we’d all be station together,” Phil said, his excitement suddenly gone.

“Where? Omar IV? Hey, better you two than me. I’m going to Kylar II. Women and more women!” Max said trying to change the mood. “Let’s get out of here.”

The three men caught a shuttle over to Johnstown. They hit the nearest bar and drinking reminiscing about bootcamp as they did. Already, their stories were taking on a larger than life feel. As they drank and talked, Max was thinking about how hard it would be not to have them around.

“At least we’ll be on the transport together,” Dave said.

“Yeah,” Max replied trying to be strong.

Headquarters Fourth Fleet

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

May 18, 2487 1705 Local, 2305 UT

Kaitlyn had surprised Andrew by waiting for him outside of Fourth Fleet Headquarters. Admiral Morris was satisfied with the results of the fleet exercise so far ad made a mental note to thank Kilgallon for the idea while they were golfing the next day. Andrew, on the other hand, had his own plans this weekend and Kaitlyn save him time wither surprise of meeting him here. Andrew greeted her with a light kiss on the lips.

“Surprised?” she asked.

“Very, how did you manage to get here this early?” Andrew asked.

“I have 65 days of leave I hadn’t used, so I decided to burn some. Besides, if I didn’t use some soon, I’ll start losing days,” she replied as he led her toward his vehicle.

“65 days! Don’t you ever take leave?” Andrew asked.

“Not since Comm School,” Kaitlyn said with a giggle. “So now I’m on leave until the 28th.”

“I wish I would have known. I could have put in for leave, too.”

“It’s okay. They wouldn’t have approved your leave with the exercise going on anyway. So, I figured, if it’s okay, I’ll stay at your apartment and you could find out what it’s like to home to your girlfriend every night,” Kaitlyn said. Kaitlyn had just 18 months left on her contract and the decision to stay in or get out depended on where Andrew and her relationship stood. The idea of being a stay-at-home wife or mother was appealing to her, but so far, any discussion of the future the couple had was vague, consisting of more “if’s” than “when’s”.

Andrew opened the door and found the vehicle packed and ready to go. “You packed already?” Andrew asked surprised by Kaitlyn.

“Yep. I didn’t want to waste any of our time together,” Kaitlyn said with a smile getting in. “I’ve never been to a beach before,” she said as Andrew pulled out of Fourth Fleet’s lot.

“You grew up in Baltimore. How could you have never been to a beach?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t know. I grew up in the suburbs and just never got around to it.”

“Well, it will be great,” Andrew said as he turned toward the exit of the base.

An hour and a half later, they pulled up to a cottage near a small village on the Eastern Ocean. Kylar II had three oceans: The Northern, Eastern and Western. The larger resorts on the Northern Ocean catered to tourists from Earth and Earth’s settlements. These resorts featured nightclubs, parties and lots of drinking. The cottages on the Eastern Ocean were more private with less flash, geared towards romantic getaways and used almost exclusively by residents of Kylar II.

The cottage Andrew and Kaitlyn stayed at was small and cozy. It consisted of a large room with a kitchen area and a loft bedroom. The ocean was just 100 yards from the back door with a sandy beach covering the entire area between the cottage and the ocean. Palm trees surrounded the cottage and beach ensuring privacy. Andrew and Kaitlyn brought their bags in and set them down in the main room. Andrew was about to carry them up to the loft when Kaitlyn said, “Before we unpack, let’s go for a swim.” They changed into their bathing suits, then ran down the beach toward the water holding hands.

ESS Argentina (D-868)

Near Kylar System

May 19, 2487, 0915 UT

Ensign Albert Singleton stood alongside Commander Pete Williams on the Bridge. Onboard Argentina, the Captain had assigned the XO the job of training new officers for bridge qualifications. So, the XO was standing watch as Officer of the Deck while Al stood watch as Officer of the Deck Under Instruction. The two officers were studying the sensor display on the port side of the bridge. They were a contrast in appearance. The XO was short at 5’6”, Ensign Singleton taller at 6’. The XO had black hair, the Ensign sandy brown. And the XO at age 46 was double the age of the 23-year-old Ensign.

“So, to protect carriers and battleships, we must detect stealth ships. But it isn’t easy. In stealth mode, they are invisible both to our eyes and our sensors, unless they are traveling at a speed of say 7 AMU or more. And then they appear only as a distortion. That’s why most stealth ship Captains stay at a speed of 5 AMU or less when they are in stealth mode,” the XO said.

“But they cannot stay in stealth mode forever?” Al asked.

“No. The stealth ship cannot produce enough power to run the stealth system and power the ship. So, while they are in normal mode, they charge a large bank of power cells. Then, when they enter stealth mode, those cells supplement the power from the engines. But eventually, the power is used up and the ship will return to normal mode.”

“How long can they stay in stealth mode?”

“Two days, maybe three if the Captain conserved energy,” Commander Williams replied.

“Why not just build more powerful engines? Or larger ones?” the Ensign asked.

“Because the amount of energy required for stealth mode is proportional to the ship’s mass. Bigger, more powerful engines have more mass so it doesn’t solve the problem. Stealth ships are designed using as little mass as possible. That is why the armor of a stealth ship is so thin; it reduces mass.”

“That’s why we have the M-7 missiles?”

“Exactly. The standard M-4 anti-ship missile would pass right through a stealth ship before exploding. The M-7s are slower and have a shorter detonator,” Pete told the junior officer. “If there is a stealth ship in the area, locating it and destroying it is the top priority, even over enemy spacecraft.”

“Yes, sir,” Al said, the lesson obviously over. Al looked around the bridge. Unlike civilian ships, the bridge of naval ships was manned heavily. In addition to the Officer of the Deck, there was a helmsman, a Quartermaster of the Watch who handled the navigation systems, a Boatswain’s Mate of the Watch who was a carryover from ocean going ships and maintained the ship’s log and made announcements over the intercom, a Messenger of the Watch who ran errands for the Officer of the Deck. Additionally, there were various people on comm units to communicate with other spaces on the ship.

Commander Williams and Ensign Singleton walked over to the Navigation Station. The Quartermaster of the Watch acknowledged the XO’s presence and then said, “Sir, we are ready for the turn.”

“Very well,” the XO replied. “Make the turn Ensign.”

“Aye, sir. Helm, come right and down to new course 165 by 207,” Al ordered.

“Come right and down to 165 by 207, aye, sir,” the 21-year-old female helmsman replied, her hands moving over the controls executing the order. “Thrusters activated. Coming to course 165 by 207,” she said.

“Very well,” Al said, watching the stars shifting outside the bridge windows.

“Steady on course 165 by 207,” the helmsman said a minute later.

“Very well,” Ensign Singleton replied amazed that he could control Argentina with just his words. Of course, in reality, dozens of men and women were controlling every aspect of the ship. Crewmembers standing watches in the engine rooms, communication shack, combat information center and other spaces in the ship, worked together to keep the ship functioning. All 21 officers and 307 crewmembers had a job to do.

At noon, the Executive Officer and Al were relieved. Al grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed for the supply office, where he would try to do a full day’s work by 1600.

Golf Course

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

May 19, 2487, 0820 Local, 1500 UT

The ball bounced almost perfectly in the center of the fairway, 280 yards from where Admiral Morris was standing in the tee box at the 7th hole. The ball bounced and rolled another 20 yards, stopping in the middle of the fairway, setting up an easy second shot.

“Nice shot, sir,” Kilgallon said as he admired the shot. His own shot had been thirty yards shorter and in the light rough just left of the fairway.

“The gravity helps,” Admiral Morris replied as Kilgallon and he began walking down the fairway. He was referring to the fact that Kylar II’s gravity was only 97% of Earth’s.

“The gravity doesn’t make the ball go straight,” Kilgallon said with a smile. The two men walked together heading for Kilgallon’s ball.

“Frank, the exercise was a great idea. You made the right call,” Morris said.

“Thank you, Admiral,” Kilgallon replied

“We’re on the golf course, knock off the Admiral stuff,” Morris said. Although he currently outranked Frank, the Admiral thought of Frank more as a friend than as a subordinate. After all, they had served much of their career together and even when not serving together, still managed to stay in contact. Hell, they even met their wives together at a base club on Earth’s moon while Charleston was being repaired at the lunar shipyard from damage sustained a little less than halfway through the War at Masic Point.

“Okay, Bill,” Kilgallon said, reverting to the Admiral’s preferred name. He remembered that the Admiral had once preferred Will back before Masic Point. But for many years now, it had been Bill. Bill never told Frank why the change in preference, but Frank suspected it somehow reflected the changes that both men had gone through during the war.

Kilgallon pulled out his seven iron after estimating he had about 190 yards to the flag. Morris watched him as he hit the ball. He sliced the ball causing it to land 30 yards to the right of the green, but, at least, missing the bunker.

“Not bad,” Admiral Morris said. He started walking with Kilgallon toward his own ball. “Has the exercise helped?”

“Yes. Just the boost in morale alone has helped.”

Admiral Morris pulled out his nine iron. He hit the ball, bouncing it on the green and leaving it just nine feet from the hole.

“Incredible,” Kilgallon said shaking his head in disbelief.

“Practice,” Morris said.

Later that afternoon, the two men sat on the deck of Admiral Morris’ home drinking a beer. “Frank, do you think that Batron will attack us?”

“I don’t think they would attack us here. Omar IV maybe,” Kilgallon replied.

“That’s my gut feeling too. Still, Intelligence has no idea where their fleet is. We have a cargo ship missing and another one that was turned away from Antron. Frank, the fleet is not ready. If I was Batron, I would take advantage of that,” Admiral Morris said sipping his beer.

“Then, we should thank God that you’re on our side,” Kilgallon responded with a laugh.

Admiral Morris took a long drink. “I don’t want a war, Frank

“Me neither, Bill.”

“Masic Point still haunts me,” Morris said looking off into the distance. “We were just kids. Just like the crews on our ships today. Remember Ronald Allen?”

Kilgallon closed his eyes remembering the red-headed friend of theirs that was a practical joker. “Yeah, I remember.”

“He was only 24. He died in my arms.”

“I know. But it isn’t within our ability to stop a war. We can just give these boys the best chance we can,” Frank said.

“True. Well, let’s get them ready, Frank,” Admiral Morris said.

“We are. The exercise is helping,” Frank replied as the door from the house opened and the two wives stepped out on the porch. Rose and Evelyn had been friends long before they married Frank and Bill.

“You better stop talking shop on my back deck,” Rose told the Admiral sitting on his lap as Evelyn sat on Frank’s.

“Aye, ma’am,” Morris said with a laugh knowing his wife was the boss here.

Cottage

Eastern Ocean, Kylar II

May 19, 2487, 1925 Local, 0205 UT

Andrew and Kaitlyn strolled along the beach as the sun set opposite of the ocean. Kaitlyn, wearing a blue bathing suit was nicely tanned even before she came to the beach. As they walked, together, the smile never left her face. Kaitlyn looked so different without her uniform, Andrew noticed, softer and more feminine. He never tired of seeing her this way.

“I am so happy,” she said. She looked it. Not only the smile, but her body language in general showing a perfect continence that made Andrew pleased that they were able to make this trip.

“So am I,” Andrew replied. They stopped and he kissed her on the lips. His heart was pounding and his hands were clammy.

“What’s wrong?” Kaitlyn asked. Don’t let him be deploying, Kaitlyn silently prayed.

Andrew looked into her eyes and took her hands in his as he got down on one knee. Tears streaked down her face as she answered his question

Naval Space Center

Naval Base Bravo, Mars

May 21, 2487, 1300 Local, 1200 UT

A total of twenty troopers boarded the transport spacecraft destined for Kylar II, including Max, Dave and Phil. Dave and Phil would catch an additional transport to Omar IV from there, while Max would report for duty on Kylar II. The men passed their duffle bags to a cargo handler, then boarded the spacecraft, the three sitting together for one last time.

“You know, we’re all assigned to Third Division. We’ll probably all end up on either Kylar II or Omar IV together eventually,” Phil said. Ever since they had read their orders, Phil had been trying to focus on the three of them together again.

“Yeah,” replied Max even though he had a gut feeling that they would never serve together again. He was not wrong.

The TP-5 Transport Craft (Personnel) cold carry roughly a hundred people. However, counting the crew, there would only be 27 people on this flight to Kylar II. The spacecraft had a maximum speed of 80 AMU and a range of approximately 2400 AMU before needing to refuel. Since Kylar II was only 1452 AMU away, the craft could make the trip without refueling even though the trip would take approximately eighteen hours. Because flights on TP-5s could be so long, each craft had two crews. Each crew consisted of a pilot, copilot and two cabin stewards. One crew slept in a small cabin just off the flight deck, while the other crew operated the spacecraft.

A few minutes after boarding, the spacecraft lifted off. The twenty troopers fresh from boot camp were nervous and the nervousness showed itself as the troopers talked and joked into the night, while the eight troopers who were not fresh out of boot camp slept. Few of the new troopers slept at all during the eighteen-hour trip.