''He is one of those damn Longknifes,'' his skipper reminded her technician.
''Yeah, I know. I heard about it. Read it in the history books. Figured it was crap and legends.''
''Sometimes it's harder to hate my father than others.''
''Yes,'' the Duty Lieutenant agreed, then flinched away from his skipper's glare.
''All right, folks, tomorrow will be an early day, and I don't give us better than two-to-one odds of getting uninterrupted sleep, so if you got a rack and eight hours off, I recommend you use them,'' Sandy ordered.
Good advice, Kris decided … and took it.
9
Next morning Kris found a blue shipsuit outside her stateroom. After breakfast, Kris wanted to use the shipsuit as an excuse to bury herself neck deep in the recalcitrant innards of PF-109. Instead, she and Jack headed for the Halsey's CIC. The Duty Lieutenant, a diminutive blond, took Kris in with a glance, gave Jack a smile, and went back to applying silent encouragement to the three enlisted crew on the passive sensors.
The main display table showed the Wardhaven system. Six bogies, labeled Hostiles 1 through 6, blinked red not quite a third of the way from Jump Point Beta. They'd have to flip and start decelerating late today to make orbit in two days.
''If they don't flip, could they find a gravity well to slow them down?'' Kris asked.
''No,'' Nelly answered, a second ahead of the battle board.
''Good question,'' Sandy said from behind her. ''I hope you'll keep your computer out of my ship's innards. It may be standard Navy issue, but I've got it configured just the way I want it.''
''Nelly?'' Kris said.
''I wouldn't think of touching it without your asking.'' Nelly sniffed. Kris and Sandy exchanged skeptical glances.
Kris leaned on the battle board. ''I think it's best to intercept the hostiles late. Give the politicians time to come up with a formal policy. I'd much rather sail with authorization than as rebels.''
''Definitely,'' the destroyer skipper agreed.
Kris frowned at the board for a long minute. ''In the vids, the gallant heroes charge off to meet the evil assailants head-on in one great cataclysmic battle … that still manages to fill the last twenty minutes of the vid. Board, assuming we've been accelerating away from the station for ten minutes at one g, how long would we be in firing range of a battle fleet decelerating and carrying about the same velocity?''
''Large battleship lasers, three minutes from maximum range to minimum, to maximum. One-third that for secondary batteries.''
''And, of course, we'd then be on a reciprocal bearing with the battleships between us and the station,'' Kris said, grinning at Sandy. ''I did learn something during my tactical course at OCS. Not as much as I wanted, but the commander gave me one hell of a reading list. I got through most of it on the Typhoon.''
The destroyer Captain nodded. ''So you know enough not to use the vids to plan your battle.''
''And that you know a whole lot more and earned command of this destroyer when I was still doing term papers on Milton's poetry. Tell me, Commander, how do we fight this battle?''
Sandy eyed Kris for a long moment, then leaned forward to study the battle board. ''Sorry, Longknife. You played the princess card. You demanded the command. We gave it to you. You can't dodge out on it now.
''Besides, when those battleships are breathing down this station's neck, getting all dressed up to blast Wardhaven back to the Stone Age, the only thing between them having a field day and us maybe, just maybe, converting them to spare change, are those twelve PFs under your command. You're going to be the one who runs them in. You've already shown me you can do it.''
Sandy looked up, fixed Kris with eyes as sharp as any 18-inch laser. ''I watched you plan the rescue at Brisbane—and then juggle the plan as the fight came at you. The Commodore showed me the attack plan you used on him. I like that idea of going for simultaneous hits on the battlewagons. Face it, Kris, you've already shown yourself the natural leader of the PFs, and the other skippers showed they'd follow you.''
Kris opened her mouth to argue, but Sandy waved her off. ''Yeah, some needed more persuading. Hell, gal, even I did. But then you showed them how it was done. You've got them, Princess. They're yours to command, so you, by God, will command them.
''Yes, you and I and anyone else interested will come up with a plan, the best plan we can. But out there, when hell's overheating, it's gonna fall apart. And when it does, it's gonna be you and that collection of disorganized chips around your neck that are going to come up with a new plan that will work better.''
''I hope that wasn't a reference to me,'' Nelly snorted.
''You know what I mean,'' Sandy said, turning back to the board. ''Board, advance the intruders. Assume one g acceleration continues to flip point and one g deceleration up to making orbit at High Wardhaven's level. Show results.''
The board showed the track in yellow, putting time marks along the line at twelve-hour intervals. Then it adjusted the situation around Wardhaven. The yellow line met the planet just at High Wardhaven. ''Yep, they plan to take out our access to space on the first pass. Get the main yards, the beanstalk. All interstellar communications. Perfect timing.''
''Board,'' Kris said. ''Is there any other course and time track that allows for those results?''
''None that put them over Wardhaven before our fleet could return from Boynton,'' Sandy said. ''I already checked it.''
''So Mother Nature decrees where and when we fight.''
''It's often that way,'' Sandy said. ''You can't mess with the laws of physics.''
''So we fight in less than three days.''
''Yep.''
''How close to the station?'' Kris asked.
''Closer than the station folks would have it, but no closer than we have to,'' Sandy said.
''If the government chooses to fight, what're the advantages of fighting within range of the station's defenses?'' Kris asked.
Sandy frowned. ''Defense lasers have this equal opportunity attitude toward ships. If it moves, shoot it. Being Navy, I kind of object to being shot at. Really object to being shot at by my own side. No, let's back off a bit. What say we take as many bites out of the apple as we can. With luck, the station gunners will be left nibbling at a very thin core.''
''We could swing around the planet and hit the intruders as they come in. Us on an elliptical orbit.''
''That's one option. A popular one,'' Sandy said. ''But where's Milna?'' The battle board had been simplifying the situation, showing only the picture within immediate Wardhaven orbit. Now it backed off to show Wardhaven's single moon.
''Ah,'' Sandy said with a grin. ''Someone didn't do their homework, or someone set the timing without talking to a good ship driver and tactician. Poor sod. Plot me a one-g course from High Wardhaven around Milna and intercepting the intruders.''
The board did.
A green line reached out to the moon, swung around it, then headed back. It formed an acute angle with the intruder's course. ''Perfect,'' Sandy breathed. ''We can choose our place and time to intercept them. Here, three hours out. Or here, two hours out. Or here, an hour out. We decide. It's like having the weather gauge in an old sailing frigate battle.''
Kris loved to race sailboats. She well knew the advantage of the weather gauge. She also knew the risks of orbital skiff racing. ''If we engage too close to Wardhaven, on this course, any damaged and helpless ships will be on a straight course to crash and burn on Wardhaven.''
''Battle board, see what tugs are available on the station. Arrange to have them in orbit and available to rescue crews,'' Sandy said, all business in her voice.
And Kris remembered that there was a lot more to planning a battle than made it into the history books. But it would be a lot easier for her to ask her crews to give that last desperate measure if she knew … and they knew … there was a tug crew out there risking their necks to save their own. Details. Details. That was where battles were lost and won. Someone out there had six battleships and their crews working on their details. All Kris had was herself and a destroyer Captain.