The First Casualty

Chapter Five

Four hours later, Torchy stood beside Mattim. As test reports from throughout the ship flowed to his handheld board, it slowly turned from red to green. At 1430, it was all green.

“You got one good ship here,” the superintendent crowed. “I'm yours to the jump point. I'll ride the target tugs back.”

Mattim glanced around; the bridge was four times larger than what he was used to, and most of the people were strangers. Sandy was at navigation and Thor Jagel now wore lieutenant stripes as he sat in his usual place at the helm. Mattim turned to his exec.

“What does the ship's company say?”

“Our boards have been green for a month, sir.”

“Ivan.” Mattim tapped his comm link. “One last time. Is the power plant safe?”

“As safe as a babe in his mother's arms.”

“Comm, send to the flag. Sheffield ready to get under way.”

Thirty minutes later they got their orders. Reply and Significant had cast off two hours earlier. They now trailed the station in orbit by five hundred kilometers. The five new cruisers were to sortie as a group. To maintain separation, odd ships were to duck below the station, even ships above.

Nothing said whether this was based on the newly painted hull numbers or their order along the station. Mattim raised an eyebrow to the XO. “What's the Navy way for this?”

“Captain, I've never been on the bridge for a multi-ship departure. All the ship handling manual says is follow the admiral's instructions.” She paused, then added softly. “Smiley may be trying to make you merchant skippers feel like, uh, feel dumb.”

“He's succeeding. Now what?”

Ding pursed her lips. “Whenever navigation orders are unclear, you have the right and obligation to ask for clarification. But don't expect a thank-you for telling the admiral he doesn't know how to write orders, sir.”

“Right. Helms, keep us tied up. Comm, send to flag. Sheffield requests clarification. How do we determine which ships are odd? No, make that even, I refuse to feed anyone a straight line.” Mattim glanced at the clock. “Wonder how long this will take.” Two minutes later, a window opened on the main view screen. Smiley was not smiling.

“For all its claimed eagerness, the Sheffield does not seem to know how to get under way. Ships count off, starting with the Sendai , and maneuver accordingly. Flag out.”

Mattim stuffed his anger away. “I don't think he likes us.”

“He did put us last in line,” Ding added.

“We'll have to show him we're better than that.”

“Without showing him up anymore,” Sandy suggested dryly.

“Sir, we're an odd ship,” the helm offered.

“Very good.” Mattim had taken the Maggie out with just himself, Sandy, and Thor. Not today, “XO, you have the conn. Prepare to get under way.”

She grinned. “I have the conn. Bos'n, order the crew to underway stations. Announce weightlessness in ten minutes. Quartermaster, initiate the mission clock.”

Ten minutes! Mattim usually got the Maggie away in two minutes. With ten times the crew and so many green hands, Mattim leaned back in his chair, ready to see how the Navy did it. A chief pulled a bit of gleaming metal from her open collar and leaned close to her mike. After blowing a couple of notes that Mattim had only heard on old vids, she announced. “All hands to underway stations. Weightlessness in ten minutes.”

The XO depressed her comm button. “Deck inport watch, single up the lines. Prepare all attachments for separation. All departments, report readiness to get under way to the Officer of the Deck on the Bridge.” A young lieutenant JG who'd been following the XO with attention turned back to his station as a light appeared. Mattim tapped the display on his own console, searched through his menus and converted his station to a copy of the JG's—and shook his head. He didn't care about the doc's or supply's readiness. Going back to his main menus, Mattim searched. Yep, Chief Aso was bossing the underway detail. As hatches were secured and attachments cast off, Aso's board went green. This list Mattim watched while Ding prowled the bridge, checking the quartermaster's log, watching the OOD's board, and having him hassle departments that were slow reporting.

When the bos'n reported “Five minutes until weightlessness,” the OOD's board was getting green. Three minutes later the XO ordered the last hatches secured. A half minute later, Chief Aso's board was all green. Again, the XO paced the bridge, looking over everyone's shoulders, verifying for herself that reports were accurate and the ship was ready for space. Sitting in his chair, Mattim did the same, flicking his console through the stations. He got the same data—and caused his crew a lot less stress.

Satisfied, the exec saluted and reported, “Ship ready to get under way, sir.”

He stood to return her salute. “OOD, engage the running lights. Torchy, your gang got anything to say?”

The yard superintendent took a full minute to scroll through his board. It was green from top to bottom. “Quit dilly-dallying, Matt. I want my space pay.”

Mattim reached for the brass bar overhead and braced himself for weightlessness. “Announce weightlessness. Mr. Jagel, back us out at five meters per second.” The hull rattled as the pier grapples slowly moved the ship backward and kept it from spinning into the next ship to port. As each grapple reached the end of the dock, it released. Thor softly added power, helping the three, now two, now one grapple move them along, keep them parallel to the dock. With a thunk, the last grapple let go.

“Increase speed aft to ten meters per second. Sensors, let me know if any of those other cruisers so much as look in our directions. We are not going to ding or be dinged.” Much more slowly than normal, they backed clear of the station.

Mattim tapped his comm link. “This is the captain. Police up your stations for drifting gear. We'll get gravity back in a minute or two, and I don't want anyone hurt by falling objects.” Behind him, someone got explosively sick. He went on. “There are burp bags under your seats. You were issued motion meds when you came aboard. If yours aren't handy, don't be ashamed to ask. Officers and chiefs were issued extras. That is all.”

“Bos'n, I've got some spare meds,” he said, turning himself on the overhead rod and pulling several pills from his pocket. He came to a quick halt. The chief bos'n's mate was the one holding a bag over her mouth.

“Sorry, sir, won't happen again,” she mumbled around the bag. The chief quartermaster beside her slapped a patch on her neck.

“No problem, chief, too much shore duty will do that to anyone. I took my pill before lunch.” He got a weak smile as he turned back to business.

“Helm, bring us around one hundred twenty degrees to port. Tell Ivan to stand by for one-quarter gee acceleration.”

“One-two-zero degrees to port. Stand by for point-two-five gees. Aye, aye, sir.” That hadn't changed from the Maggie D . Mattim would boot any helmsman off his bridge who didn't repeat his orders. Thor swung them about and brought the ship to a deft halt in space. One by one, the other cruisers dropped back toward the flag and took station behind it, the Sheffield last. They came around smartly, but not quickly enough to avoid comments from the flag. Mattim shrugged it off and studied the squadron from his unique position at the rear.

The lead cruisers, Reply and Significant , were regular Navy. Twelve eight-inch guns made them the squadron's real hitting power, reaching out as much as thirty thousand kilometers. The rest, Topeka , Garibaldi ,Aurora ,Jeanne d'arc and Sheffield were conversions with six-inch batteries made of off-the-shelf components. Their range was twenty-five thousand klicks, but Mattim doubted they could toast bread out there.

The next six hours held no more than the usual surprises. The new crew went through standard drills and got the standard sprains as they got used to moving in varying gravity.

The first real excitement came when they put a defensive spin on the ship. Given enough time, lasers could cut through any amount of reflector and ice. In battle the ship spun around its long axis. This should spin damaged armor out of the line of fire before burn-through. Spinning a ninety-thousand-ton ship required balance. Now Mattim learned not all of the reaction mass was there for the engines. As they spun up, pumps moved fuel, keeping the ship perfectly balanced.

Right up to 2.6 gees when one pump locked.

The Sheffield shook like a belly dancer's hips. In the ten seconds it took to slow down, a console popped its bolts and careened into his chair. Mattim got his hand out of the way a split second before he would have lost fingers.

Torchy waited until they were back to 1 gee and no spin before he undid his seat belt and checked his chair. One bolt had snapped. “Matt, you promised me a shakedown cruise. You didn't have to put that much shake in it.”

“The Maggie always satisfies the paying customer. Damage control, find out what went wrong and fix it.”

“Comm here. The flag wants to know if we're returning to dock.”

Smiley was offering Mattim an out. If enough of the merchant skippers took him up on his offer, he'd be off the hook. Mattim really did not want to spend tomorrow up to his ears in a space battle. But he wasn't about to give Smiley another chance to smirk down at him from the message screen.

“Advise him we had a minor problem and will be back on station within an hour.”

At her station, Sandy shook her head. “Boys.”

“Flag says they'll delay gunnery practice until we rejoin.”

“Damn.” Mattim muttered.

“I'll get my crew on it right away,” Torchy said. A half hour later, they met the specs ... 5 gees and 20 rpm.

They rejoined just in time for the shoot. The lasers powered up in alphabetical order. Turrets A, B, and C forward, D, E, and F amidships, and X, Y, and Z aft. C and Y refused to hold a charge. “I'll get teams on them immediately” was Guns' reaction. “We'll have them on line in five minutes.”

“We'll wait until we've powered down the main battery, Guns. Let the yard people tackle them one at a time.”

“It's not necessary, sir. The system has baffles to isolate each turret.”

“That hasn't been tested live.” Mattim cut him off. “Guns, prepare for a seven-gun shoot. Captain out.”

Then things got real bad. Tugs twelve thousand klicks off to starboard fired targets, balloons that expanded until they were the size of a ship. Turret A shot first.

“Guns,” Mattim snapped, “three shots at this range to hit a target that size?”

“Captain, that's damn good shooting. It would earn an E.”

Not from Mattim, but the other ships hadn't done any better, even the flag. Mattim was damned if he'd fight colonials with shooting that bad. “Sandy, is the Westinghouse SG-190 fire control on line?”

“And waiting, sir.”

“Feed the numbers to B turret,” Mattim ordered.

“What the hell are you sending me?” came from Guns a second later. “There are three firing solutions!”

“And a recommended fourth,” Mattim answered. “Use it.”

“This isn't regulation,” Guns snapped.

Mattim windowed into B turret's gun laying station. It used numbers that must have come from the Navy's standard local fire control—and missed. The second shot used the updated numbers from Sandy —and hit. Guns was back a second later. “You've got a central line control up there?”

“Westinghouse SG-190 series,” Mattim answered.

“They never passed mil specs. You can't count on them to take a pounding,” Guns shot back.

“This one's still working after our little balance problem.”

Guns was silent for a long minute. “Please take the Westinghouse off line until I say so.”

Sandy worked her board. “It's on standby,” she said.

“Target launched,” Guns said. “Bring system on line.”

“System on,” Sandy answered. 'Target acquired. Solution up.”

“Fire.” Guns shouted. There was a brief pause. “Damn, we got the target before it was a quarter size.” There was a longer pause this time. “Captain, I've always wanted to get my hands on an SG-190. Let's finish this shoot, then we have to talk.”

All targets expended, the squadron continued its 1-gee acceleration toward the jump point. While Torchy's crew, supplemented by specialists from engineering, worked on the two recalcitrant lasers, Guns paid a visit to the bridge. As Sandy put the SG-190 through its paces, he shook his head. “I been telling HQ for years we needed a central fire control. Something that could take every sensor—laser, gravity, radar, visuals—and refine their results into a single firing solution. What's a merchant doing with one of these?” He changed the subject.

Mattim smiled. “Long before the frontier planets decided humanity needed a redistribution of the wealth, various individuals took it upon themselves to try their hand at it. We only had a four-inch gun, but I wanted it to make hits early and often. That was usually enough to scare unidentified ships away. Chief Aso was on the gun the one time we had to burn our way through a persistent one.”

“Aso. He's leading the deck crew,” Guns mused. “Good man?”

“Best.”

Guns blew out a long breath. “Listen, Captain, this doesn't come easy for a Navy type like me, but it looks to me like we're about thirty-six hours away from a live fire exercise. I want to use your fire control, but I want an experienced gunner on it.”

Sandy looked about to come out of her chair. And Mattim was not about to have anyone on sensors but his Jump Master. There had to be a win-win solution to this. The bridge was big enough. “Ding, could you rig a second station beside Sandy's?”

“If the admiral keeps us at one gee, it shouldn't take but a couple of hours.”

“Commander Howard, I've wanted someone from gunnery on my bridge. You willing to move your battle station up here?”

Guns laughed. “Saves me from having to beg. XO, you do that. I got some guns to straighten out. At least one of them needs a new turret lead. Chief Aso's crew is under engineering.”

Mattim tapped his comm. “Ivan, mind losing chief Aso to gunnery?”

“That's where he belongs, Matt.”

“Guns, I think you got yourself a new man.”

“Thank you, sir.” But Guns did not leave. “When the politicians decided to keep merchant shippers on the converted cruisers, some Navy types were a bit worried.” Did his eyes wander toward the XO? “I won't talk for other ships, but we got a damn dinkum good skipper here.” Guns' salute was the same Mattim had given his father. Not the day he was commissioned, but after he'd commanded a ship for a year. After he'd learned just how tough the old man's job was.

Mattim returned the salute with the same feelings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bos'n of the watch talk into her comm. What was happening here would be throughout the ship in a matter of minutes.

Guns and he had taken a major step into welding the Navy and merchant halves of the boat into a single crew, into turning the collection of bolts, chips, and flesh that rode the Sheffield into a living, breathing ship. Good!

The rest of the voyage out was drill and hard work. The Sheffield was as ready as any green warship by the time the big jolt came.

“Captain,” the exec reported. “We are at the jump point.”

“It's not there.” Sandy cut her off.

“Of course it's there. That's the buoy,” Ding snapped as if Sandy had called her a liar.

“That's the buoy, but I got three atom-laser gyros hunting for the gravity variance of Gamma jump point. It's supposed to be where you see the green dot. None of them are pointing there. The damn thing's wandered.”

Mattim hit the comm. “Anything from the flag?”

“Nothing sir, not a peep.”

“Sandy, find it for the admiral.”

“But, Matt, if Smiley boy can't find the jump, no battle.” Mattim didn't back down from his order; Sandy turned back to her board. “With us all dressed up, it would be a shame not to go help those poor marines.” Then she grinned. “And to see Smiley's face when a merchie tells him where his jump has wandered to.”

“What do you mean, wandered?” Guns asked from his new station at Sandy 's elbow.

“This jump point is a category A risk. It's going to swallow one ship out of every thousand through it, maybe more if you don't treat it with respect.”

“The Navy hasn't lost a ship in fifty years. Technology has improved so there is no risk to ships.” Ding gave a textbook quote, which was all she probably knew. In peacetime, the Navy contracted for Jump Masters.

Today, Sandy wasn't buying a textbook answer. “We haven't had a war in fifty years, and the Navy, like most shipping lines that want reasonable insurance rates, only use G and H jump points, and go through them at a few klicks a second.” Sandy raised a questioning eyebrow to Ding. Right?”

The puzzled look was back on Ding's face. “I guess so.”

“And you'd guess right,” Sandy assured her. “Even as much as Matt here wants fast voyages, he steers clear of anything higher than an E. Now, this damn war comes along, and we're trying to support marines on the wrong side of an A. Wonder if anybody gave the damn politicians a basic primer on jump point safety.” She turned back to her board. “Anyway, low jumps tend to wander, and this baby is a real pilgrim. Didn't anybody record where that help message came from yesterday?”

“That's impossible. It's in orbit around the star.” Suddenly Ding stopped and her eyes widened. Sandy grinned, but said nothing. “Which star is it orbiting?” Ding almost whispered. “This one, or the one on the other side?”

“You got it, sister. We didn't make these suckers. We just use what we found. Most dance to the gravity of two stars. This one's got three, plus another ten percent. It's a real gypsy.”

“Another ten percent?” Guns asked. Mattim took the moment to check the bridge. The squadron continued decelerating at 1 gee, following the admiral who still hadn't admitted he didn't know where he was going.

“Yeah,” Sandy went on. “Add up all the vectors from both stars and you should be able to figure an orbit. G's and H's you almost can. Pick your average E and no matter how hard some college professor does the math, you're missing at least ten percent of the vectors. This SOB is over twenty percent. Damn, I wish we understood these things better.”

“In history class, they said we lost one of the first three ships that jumped out from Earth,” Ding said. “Is this why?”

“I don't know how they lost that first one. Earth's one jump point is such a docile little H that you'd have to try to get lost in it.” Sandy tapped her comm. “Ivan, honey, I need your atom laser.”

“It's all yours, best friend.”

“I'll thank you tonight.” She switched off and made a fourth display appear. “With our broadside to the jump, I need a longitudinal baseline. Ah, there she be.” The green dot went red. A new one appeared with numbers next to it. “Five thousand kilometers in just thirty days. Honey, you got to pay your rent. You can't keep toddling around like this.” Sandy looked up. “Do we really have to tell our little admiral?”

Mattim glanced around his bridge. Ding and Guns took the question for a joke. Mattim knew Sandy was serious. “Yes.”

Sandy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she mashed her comm button. “Comm, send my board to flag, with the captain's compliments.”

Sergeant Mary Rodrigo slipped past the hospital's front desk. They were busy, and Lek had told her which room the LT was in; Lek'd even hacked his medical charts. Reading was not the same as seeing, so the platoon had asked her to check up on him. Everyone hoped he was getting better treatment than they were.

The people passing Mary in the halls, whether patients or staff, all wore cloth. Since the hospital was buried fifty meters under the crater's floor, she guessed they were safe. Still, she was in battle armor, helmet under her arm. She'd learned not to take chances.

She also hadn't had a bath since the battle. People passing her tended to speed up, even those hanging onto intravenous packets on rolling stands. Since Mary had a map of the hospital layout, she didn't ask directions. Since the people were nonthreats, Mary ignored them. Crashing relativity bombs and sparkling lasers—those she paid attention to. What could not kill her, she ignored. It was amazing how simple life became.

She paused before a closed door. For a moment she froze. What if” the lieutenant had forgotten them, like some in the platoon said? What if they were a part of his life he wanted to forget as quickly as he could? The rest of his life was going to be screwed up. She hesitated, but only for a moment. You don't read your mail, you never know what's happening.

She slipped through the wide door.

The LT sat in bed, his nose in a reader. He glanced up. “Mary!” His broadening grin left no doubt she was welcome.

“Hi,” she answered, giving him the best salute she could.

“Don't waste that on me.” He tossed it off with a wave of his left hand. “Save it for some dumb lieutenant who still thinks it matters. Tell me, what's the platoon up to?”

“Not much, sir. No colonials have tried to take our pass. We're doing what we're told.” No need telling him what that was. “What's been happening with you?”

“I got my first lieutenant promotion.” He beamed. “And the Navy Cross, or so they tell me.” Mary glanced at the sheets covering him; his body under them stopped too far from the foot of the bed. She didn't know what to say; the LT helped her.

“They couldn't save the legs. Too much damage and too long before the docs got me. But I'm getting a new set real soon. In a month they'll insert neural leads in both stumps, then attach prosthetics. I've seen vids. I'll be good as new.”

Mary didn't hear much depth in his cheerfulness. “Will you be coming back to the platoon then?” she asked.

“No. Worse luck. It's staff duty for me. Just because a Sthet can run doesn't mean they want you in combat.” He scowled and looked away. When he faced her again, he'd round his smile. “So tell me, what's the platoon been up to? They got you and Cassie out telling everyone how it's done. Lek a warrant officer, running battalion communications. Talk to me.”

There were too many things Mary couldn't say, so she mumbled. “We're doing okay, sir. Some of us missed you, and they wanted to know how you were doing. I hitched a ride back on a supply run. I got to be getting back or they'll leave me.”

As she talked, the lieutenant's eyes went from crinkled smile to hard and angry. “Damn it, woman, don't start treating me like some stranger. You folks were there for me when I was up to my neck in dirt and bleeding to death. I may have been a standard issue shit-for-brains second louie most of the time, but I got my act together that day. So did all of you.” His voice ran down. “Don't start treating me like I don't exist.” He glanced around, seemed to take in the whole hospital at a glance. “There're enough people doing that. Don't you do it too.”

Then he looked her hard in the eye. “Something's wrong.”

“Not really wrong, sir. Just everything back to normal, I guess. The whole company's up and we're kind of under-strength what with you gone and others. We got the detail of cleaning up the mess we made, collecting the busted-up rolligons, artillery, that stuff.”

“You didn't have to bring in the bodies?” the LT whispered.

“Somebody had to. Captain said we should since the other platoons were on full alert.” The first night after the battle had been bad—on Mary and a lot of others. After looking the corpses in the eyes, lugging them to the trucks, Mary wasn't the only one who took herself off net each night. No need to wake everybody when she came awake screaming.

“Mary, let me see the back of your helmet,” the lieutenant said softly. She flipped it over; he glanced at it. “You've still got NCO markings on it. I put you in for a battlefield commission. They haven't given my platoon to another LT?”

“No, sir.”

“Is Captain Spoda including you in staff meetings?”

“Staff meetings, sir?”

“Okay.” The lieutenant glanced away, fixed his eyes on the picture on the wall. Mary stared at it; ocean waves rose up and tumbled onto yellow dust. She'd seen vids of oceans; all that water made her uncomfortable. She looked away. The LT got her attention when he mashed a button beside his bed.

“Yes, sir?” came a cheerful woman's voice.

“Doctor Mardan should be about through his rounds.

Could you ask him to drop by my room? It's a matter of urgency.”

“Yes, sir. Uh, your vitals are a bit elevated, but nothing to set off alarms, sir.”

“This is a military matter, not medical.”

“Yes, sir.” The voice clicked off, sounding puzzled.

“Sir, I really have to get back to the supply truck,” Mary said, edging toward the door.

“Mary, you and I both know a supply run never arrived back on schedule. And now that I know what you people were scrounging, I'm damn glad of it. Whatcha after this time?”

“Anything we can lay our hands on. Pickings are getting slim, and it's kind of hard to find good trading stock. Dumont always had the best luck when he took a few of the younger girls in the platoon. But lately ...”

The lieutenant chuckled. “I heard someone ran a ship in here loaded with booze and women and set up shop.” He studied Mary for a moment. “Haven't any of you had a shower in the last month?” Mary backed away; she hadn't meant to bother him.

“No, no, you get back here, woman. I spent a week on jungle survival, and boy, did I stink. What is happening to you? The platoon's got a support van assigned to it. You can get a hot meal and a shower. Why aren't you?”

“The captain's got us in reserve. We're back a couple of klicks from the pass. The other two platoons are dug in close. We dug the command and support vans into the rim. They're solid, but ours is sitting out in the open. Ain't nobody getting out of armor, not even Dumont 's kids, no matter how horny they get.”

The door opened; a gray-haired man with a silver oak leaf on one side of his collar and a medical insignia on the other came in. His nose wrinkled, but in a second it was replaced by a smile. “Morning, Lieutenant. How you feeling?”

“Hanging in. Commander, I'd like you to meet Sergeant Mary Rodrigo, the fightingest marine in the corps and the reason you aren't in a colonial POW camp.” Mary turned red, wondered if she should have saluted this doctor-officer. She was starting to when he held out his hand. She shook it.

“Glad to meet you, Sarge. You need anything, it's yours.”

“We're fine, sir,” she stuttered.

“I disagree with the sergeant,” the lieutenant said and quickly filled the doctor in on what he'd extracted from Mary.

The doctor's smile quickly turned into a glower. He shook his head as the LT finished. “I've spent forty years attached to the corps, patching up you boys and girls that refuse to grow up. This is about the most childish stunt I've heard of. You put her in for a commission, you say?”

“Yes, sir. The originals are on the hospital computer in my personal files, along with a recommendation for the Silver Star.”

“Mind giving me a hard copy? I'm playing poker tonight. Commander Umboto usually shows up to lose a few bucks. Tomorrow night I'm sharing supper and Shakespeare with Captain Anderson. I think both of them would enjoy hearing about this.”

Mary was on the verge of panic. “Sir, I don't want... I don't mean ... The boss man'll...”

The doctor didn't seem to understand a word she was saying. The lieutenant waved a hand. “Mary and a lot of her crew had twenty years mining asteroids before they joined the corps.”

The doctor nodded. Then the crinkles around his mouth and eyes turned into a smile, warm as the sun and understanding as a proud mother. “I imagine you heard in boot camp that there's the right way, the wrong way, and the Navy way.”

“Often, sir.”

“Well, you are about to see that applied in spades. Don't worry, Sergeant. I've worn this uniform for forty years and never lost a patient to bureaucratic ineptness.”

“Yes, sir.” Mary didn't know the Navy or Marine way all that well. She did know basic physics. Shit rolls downhill.

She doubted even a doctor who was a commander could change that.

“I really have to get back.” Mary needed away from these people. Nice was something she could only take in small doses, especially from strangers like the doctor ... and the LT.

As she edged toward the, door, the doctor's hand closed on her elbow like a vise. “Even with your suit's biocleaners, if you haven't had a bath in a month, you're a first-rate candidate for skin disease. While you're soaking, we'll get your suit cleaned and liner recharged. It's the least we can do for the people who keep us in business.”