The new bunch of yacht skippers were a mixed crew. Some were hired, like Luna; a few were actually the owners. Others were Navy, reassigned from tugs and other yard craft now that the Coasties had been brought in to run the rescue effort. One was a Coast Guard reservist. They eyed each other; one muttered, ''I should have known, with a Longknife on board, it'd get terminal,'' but they all nodded when one said, ''What do you have in mind?''
''We start the charge at 1.5 g's. Then work up to 2.0 g's, then 2.5 as we close. The final approach will be at a good 3.5 or better. I know you can't make accelerations like those.''
Faces suddenly gone pale nodded back at her.
''But if you were with us for the trot, maybe stay with us for the canter,'' Kris said, falling into horse talk.
''It would help?'' one skipper said.
''Give the battlewagons more targets,'' another answered.
''They'd be at extreme main battery range,'' Kris pointed out. ''You'd drop out well before we got into the secondary battery envelope, where the fire would get rough.''
''Where's the help in that?'' one skipper asked.
''I don't know about yours, but my wife would kind of find it a help,'' another snorted.
''But would it do any good?'' another said. ''Don't they have some kind of electronic stuff? Couldn't they tell us from you?''
Among the decoy yachts, a Navy OIC coughed. ''We were talking about just this kind of thing yesterday evening, when all those yachts came toddling over to the yard. No one's using any of the stuff on the old MK Vis yet. We could cobble together some decent maskers from them.''
The woman glanced around her fellow Navy types, got nods. ''It wouldn't work perfectly, but if we did a few things with your PFs, Your Highness, and a few things with your yachts, ladies and gentlemen, we could fix it so those bastards would be stuck scratching their heads for a whole lot longer than I'd want if I was in their shoes. Which I never want to be.''
This was going farther than Kris had intended. These were civilians, dragooned in at the last moment. She had hoped to talk them into starting the charge with her boats, then falling out quickly. She hadn't expected they could do anything else.
Suddenly, it was looking like they could do a whole lot more. But at a horrible price. Kris wanted to beg off, excuse herself, tell them to forget that she'd ever mentioned it.
Yet, if her PFs were to deliver their 18-inch laser blasts to those battleships, they needed all the help they could get. Might the sacrifice of these twelve be critical to victory?
Kris remembered Phil's story of the earlier Torpedo 8. Fifteen hopelessly outnumbered planes had bored in and been slaughtered. At the moment, their sacrifice had seemed a horrible waste. But the enemy defenses had been lured down low. They didn't notice the bombers up high. And those bombers had smashed them, redeeming Torpedo 8's sacrifice.
I can't not ask these civilians to do this. I'll hate myself, but Kris kept silent, let an icy cold freeze her heart. Allowed granite, hard and unfeeling, to replace the churning in her gut. She stood as men and women, some with cracking voices, talked themselves into a death ride.
''We have to. There's no other choice,'' was the final word from one woman, tears streaming down her face.
God, I'm coming to hate that phrase.
''Nelly, order more helmets for these boats.''
''Yes, ma'am. I placed the order as they were talking. Express to the Navy athletic center. They should be here today. We'll need to install high-g stations on all the yachts.''
''I figured as much,'' Roy said. ''I'll get my shops working on that. Can each of you report your needs ASAP?''
''Some of us have high-g stations,'' one Captain said.
''Very likely you'll want better,'' Kris said. ''You'll not only need to go straight ahead at two or more g's, but you'll need to be dodging right, left, up, down every two, three seconds.''
Several Captains gulped. ''That's gonna take a lot of reaction mass. Some of our directional thrusters weren't designed with things like that in mind.'' That started a lengthy discussion that ended with some of the Army rockets being stripped down to raw motor segments and strapped to the noses of some of the yachts. As they built up to higher g's, they'd use those solid rocket motor bursts to augment their thrusters.
''When you've used them up, drop out of the charge,'' Kris told them. And chose to believe the nods they gave her. Maybe they believed them themselves.
At two g's, with directional thrusters minimal, how do you break away from a charge? Don't ask the question, Kris, if you don't want the answer.
Kris sent the yard crews and the yacht personnel on their ways to load rocket launchers. She needed to study the battle board. She needed to study it a lot. This battle was getting more and more complicated.
Winnable?
She wanted to think so. But there was a long way between a battle being winnable and it being won. A long way.
Kris looked around, found she wasn't needed, and headed for the Halsey. She found Sandy hunched over the battle board and quickly brought her up to date on the changes agreed to at the meeting. Or started to.
Sandy knew what van Horn was up to. She waved Kris to a halt at the idea of stripping the MK VIs to outfit the yachts.
''No can do. Van Horn will need them. We can't have cargo ships running around a Navy gun line. Looks funny. I use a couple of tugs to fake it like tin cans and the gear from the MK VI on the freighters to fake them as cruisers.''
''So, how do I hide my PFs among some fast yachts for at least the first part of the charge?''
''Let's see what we can do about you having your cake while I eat it.'' She tapped her commlink. ''Beni?''
''This better be good news''—punctuated by a yawn—'' ‘cause I just got back… three hours ago from fixin' that PF's sensors.'' After another yawn, a ''ma'am,'' was appended.
''I got bad news and good news, Beni. There's a Longknife at my elbow, and she wants lots of electronic countermeasures.''
''And the good news is…''
''Doesn't your old man know most of Wardhaven's old crows?''
''Yeah.''
''Well, we need them and all the gadgets and potions they can lay their hands on up the beanstalk, say, in the next hour.''
''That's gonna be kind of noticeable.''
''We'll worry about the noticing. You worry about landing that flock on our doorstep soonest.''
''Yes, ma'am.''
Kris leaned over the commlink. ''And Beni, can I borrow your phone to call home, if it's not too much trouble?''
''Trouble's all I seem to get since a Longknife showed up. For sure not much sleep.''
''You got to apply to OCS,'' Kris said through a grin. ''You'll get plenty of sleep at OCS.''
''That's what I heard. Hearing it from a Longknife, I kind of find myself doubting the story now. You know what I mean.''
''Call your old man,'' Sandy said. ''Then get to CIC.''
''Yes, ma'am. Out.''
Sandy punched her side of the commlink. ''We'll see what that starts moving up the elevator. Singer, Sperry, lots of folks have stuff we can use. I expect to see a lot of lab stuff. Gear they think they can twist or tweak for us.''
''Non-standard. I thought you liked standard.''
Sandy sighed. ''I love standard. I love well-tested and proven. I like not being dead day after tomorrow even more. One out of three won't be too bad.'' A quick call to the yard made sure the MK Vis didn't get broken out for spare parts. About that time, Beni showed up with his phone and Kris called Honovi.
''You okay?'' was his first question.
''I'm fine. You making progress?''
''Slowly. I'm in a meeting just now. Father and her father, so I can't talk long.''
''We're needing to call out for pizza, several other things. It may start getting harder for us to go unnoticed.''