Earthdome Space Fleet

Earthdome Space Fleet

Genie Driscoll and AJ Trook

Copyright © 22 November 2009

Genie Driscoll and USMC Staff Sergeant AJ Trook

All rights reserved. First Edition.

ISBN: 9781452390697

Dedicated to all those worldwide who fight for freedom.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Books by Genie Driscoll

Stargate Aquarius: Starbase

Stargate Aquarius: The Dragon

Romance Anthology #1

Romance Anthology #2

Tavonovich ~ Spy Anthology

V~The Sirrians Return (Book 1)

V~Resistance (Book 2)

Earthdome Space Fleet

Poetic Passions

—oOo—

Captain Genie Driscoll stared down from the Bridge of the Carl Vinson with bleary eyes. She had been aboard 24 hours after being dropped off by the shuttle Endeavour. She had met most of her senior staff, and they all looked impossibly young but incredibly eager. She wondered what it was with crews in general, and why they always seemed to be so enthusiastic. She guessed she just felt a little tired and irritable, as it had been a very long day and she still had lots of work to do. The Carl Vinson was station-keeping 100 klicks from the old space telescope of Hubble. In the years following the last world war, Hubble had taken a huge radiation pounding, and to all intents and purposes was considered a hulk in space. Sighing she looked over at her OPS officer and said, I am going below for dinner and bed. If you need something, contact the CAG.

The second officer nodded, his cap slipping slightly down his face. She wondered with a small shake of her head why it was that the senior crew always got caps that never fit properly. What did they think, they would grow into them? She knew that the crew worked around the clock, 7 days a week, and all of them sacrificed personal times with family and Earth based friends to get her ship ready to defend the Earth against anything. It was hard work putting the Carl Vinson together, and the dedication of everyone showed in getting where they were today. Below, on the flight decks waiting for immediate launch, were the AH-64 Black Hawks, F-18s, B-1Bs, F-14s, E-2s, EA-6Bs, S-3s, and SH-60s; all converted from land fighter aircraft and helicopters from the past, for space travel today. She watched as a squadron of F-14 fighters buzzed the Carl Vinson just to let them know that the USS Kitty Hawk had arrived.

The men and women of all the ships were doing their jobs every day to defend the new way of life. These young people were the next breed of heroes and she was pleased to be a part of it all. ‘What was coming up today, and what was yet to come, pre-planned by God and destiny. And I will be there!’ she thought stoically. She left the Bridge as everyone came to attention in respect of her departure.

After going down to the officer’s mess and having a plate of the best food she had had in months, and complementing the chefs, she picked up a Navy Times from the onboard PX and took it to her quarters to have a look through. On her wall was an old autographed antique picture of Secretary of State for 2002 Colin Powell. Her great-grandfather had left it to her family, having worked for the man during a foreign services campaign once. Her grandfather had cherished that photograph. And now it had come into her possession. Also on her wall were a few campaign medals her stepfather had given her, and some her mother’s father had left her when he had been alive.

She missed them and the stories they used to tell her of their exploits during the wars. But they, like many things taken for granted, were now a part of history, and hopefully would never be repeated again. Her stepfather was now the President of Mars. She wondered what had ever happened to her real father. Was he still alive? Did he know he had a daughter? Her mother wasn’t very forthcoming about any information regarding her real dad, so she had given up asking.

She looked over at another old photo near her desk, this one bearing the seated figure of the first female Rear Admiral, Fran McKee, a hero of Genie’s. Admiral McKee had the ultimate victory over the male dominated world of the 21st Century. Ultimately it was the woman’s rise to that position that had pushed her into doing what she was doing at that very moment. She wanted to eventually rise to that precious position. She had read that Admiral McKee had been the first female officer to attend the Naval War College and the first to command the Naval Security Command. Now she had become the first to command a Space Carrier Task Force. Her ultimate victory!

Genie lay on her bunk in her quarters and opened the Navy Times. To her surprise she saw a layout of her carrier the Carl Vinson, down to the barest details, and was appalled at the apparent lack of security. What if anyone else besides military personnel got hold of the material inside? She looked down the list:

SPACE CARRIER ORIGIN COMMISSIONED:

AUGUST 1, 2120 CONSTRUCTION AERO-TECH SPACE DIVISION

LUNA ORBITAL SPACE TECHNOLOGIES

SHIPS IN CLASS: Kitty Hawk

GROSS MASS LIGHT: 646,269 TONS

FULL LOAD: 890,755 TONS

DIMENSIONS LENGTH OVERALL: 1,724 FT [525.6 M]

BEAM OVERALL: 804 FT [245.1 M]

HEIGHT OVERALL: 608 FT [185.4 M]

HULL DEPTH: 254 FT [77.4 M]

SUPERSTRUCTURE HEIGHT: 222 FT [67.7 M]

2 x 450 MW LASER PULSE CANNON QUANTUM PHASERS

6 x 300 MW PHASER ARRAY SPATIAL DIVERSIFIERS

4 x 50 MW QUANTUM PHASERS

30 x PHALANX II QUANTUM TORPEDO LAUNCHERS

72 x KEW/ PHASE TORPEDO LAUNCHERS

PROPULSION HELIUM 3 FUSION ENGINE WITH MODIFIED DILITHIUM CRYSTAL OUTLAY

3 x CHEMICAL ROCKET ENGINES (ON STANDBY)

4 x MODIFIED WARP COIL ENGINES

PERFORMANCE MAXIMUM SUBLIGHT VELOCITY: 1/4 IMPULSE

MAXIMUM ACCELERATION: WARP 10

ENDURANCE AT MAXIMUM VELOCITY: 7.1 YEARS

POWER 2 X MF-3600 FUSION REACTORS WITH MODIFIED WARP ENGINES COMPLEMENT SHIP’S COMPANY: 1 600

AIR WING: 168 x SA-43s

HAMMERHEAD ATTACK JETS: 14 x AT-72s

BARRACUDA FIGHTER/BOMBERS: 4 x SWACs

SPACEBORNE WARNING AND CONTROL VEHICLES:

16 x ISSAPC ARMORED PERSONNEL CARRIERS

8 x SSRT SUBORBITAL SHORT-RANGE TRANSPORTS

8 x LC-19 LANDING CRAFT 60 COBRA FIGHTERS 80 VIPER FIGHTERS

Her face screwed up with anger as she also noted the written addition:

And modified battle-ready land-fighters from US Armed forces.

She looked further and then chastised herself, it was a note from her X.O. Captain, I didn’t know if you got this notation from Admiralty, and I knew you personally collect your paper, so I put it inside for your perusal. She grinned to herself remembering the Sgt’s insistence that she take his paper instead of the one she had picked up. Obviously the X.O. had ordered him to give that paper to the C.O. when next she went off duty. She reminded herself to thank the Sergeant next time she saw him. She read the rest of the Naval Times and tossed it to her desk in the corner, then lay back and looked at the ceiling for awhile before she dropped off to sleep.

—oOo—

Gunnery Sergeant Trook watched through the forward viewer as the shuttle closed on the massive Carl Vinson. Shaking his head, he settled back into his G-harness. Sixteen years in the Corps, and his twilight tour was supplying security on a space carrier. The thought of hanging out with a ship full of whiny flyboys turned his stomach.

She’s huge, Gunny! Corporal Atkins stared out at the rapidly growing carrier. It’ll be like living in a city!

A city full of sniveling brass. Trook shook his head. You stay away from those flyboys, y’hear?

Aye, Gunny. Atkins sat back, subdued.

Trook simply stared at the far bulkhead, his mind going back to his old H.Q. on Earth, where he’d had a conversation that had almost sent him to the First Civilian Division.

Sergeant Major! What IS this crap? MARDET for the Carl Vinson?

Sergeant Major Guy stared up at the angry gunny. Is that what your orders say?

Yeah, but…

Then start packing, Devil Dog! The Corps has need of your unique skills on the Navy’s new carrier. Sgt. Maj. Guy turned back to his paperwork, assuming that the conversation was over. After a minute, he looked up at the gunny who was inexplicably still standing in front of his desk. Yes?

Trook waved the orders an inch from Guy’s nose. This is crap and you know it! That ship already has a detachment NCOIC. I’m not needed there by any stretch of the imagination.

Guy snatched the orders with a snarl. Funny. I got a call from HQMC three days ago. Seems that particular gunny met with an unfortunate accident. Something about a seal blowing on his EV-suit during zero-G training. Freeze-dried him before he could blink, so I’d say there’s an opening for you. And you were selected on my personal recommendation, so don’t think that crying to me will get you anywhere.

Trook slumped. "You recommended me? Why?"

Guy smiled. You’ve ticked off too many of the bigwigs here on Earth. If I don’t find a new home for you soon, they’re going to return the favor, and officers don’t play nicely when they’re gunning for you, no pun intended. You’re a good Marine, but you have no tact. Frankly, I’m amazed you made it to gunny without getting yourself court-martialed for insubordination or disrespect. But it’s high time you move on, or that’ll change. He handed the crumpled orders back to Trook. So take your happy little self to the BEQ and pack that seabag. You report next week; dismissed. Trook took the orders, snapped to attention, then pivoted and marched out of the office, still in shock.

—oOo—

Trook went over the specs of the unit in his mind as they made final approach for docking. One hundred Marines. Three platoons of thirty grunts, a first lieut OIC, himself, three armorers, two supply clerks, and three admin pogues. He’d done some time on a wet-Navy carrier before as a lance corporal. The memories of the prima-dona pilots still rankled him. Then he remembered the Navy lieutenant that he’d butt-kicked during a General Quarters exercise when the lieutenant had been slow getting out of the way of his squad. He’d spent the better part of a week cooling his heels in the brig for using excessive force, but it still remained as the highlight of the tour. Wonder what they’d do to a gunny out in space?

Trook felt the shuttle thump down on the landing pad and grabbed his gear. All right Marines, listen up! Soon as security clears us, we’re heading to the MARDET admin office to check in. Rack assignments and gear issue to follow. Chow after that. The groans in the back of the shuttle brought a smile to his face.

—oOo—

Bloody hell. Alex said, barely under his breath. On the ground all was in a state of near chaos, albeit that particular brand of organized chaos that only a military organization can achieve. Up here, in the tower, it was all laid out clear as day. Like a map in a briefing room. Fires, craters, smoke charred equipment and little clusters of people rushing to and fro. No bodies though. The bodies had been rushed out almost immediately.

Sir, Alex was greeted by an old Warrant Officer who emerged from the tumult. Been a bastard of a morning, hasn’t it? Warrant Officer Barnet had known, and served under, Alex’s father and grandfather at one time or another, and was privately glad to see the lad intact. That was more than could be said for several pilots and ground crew after that morning.

What happened? Alex stepped up to one of the observation windows, and snaring some carelessly discarded binoculars, scanned the base. Terrorist strike I presume, at least I hope that bloody mess wasn’t pilot error.

Nope, it was an attack alright; came out of bloody nowhere. Barnet removed his peaked cap and mopped his thinning brow with a white handkerchief. Reports coming in now, Sir. The two of them stepped over to a free terminal and scanned the stream of text that began to run across it and discussed its contents.

Yeah, it looks like they used that tanker, but I didn’t realize that Sub-Orb Shuttle was part of it, I just thought they brought that down. Barnet said, rubbing his chin.

No, Alex pointed out of the window at a greasy column of smoke, dropping it where they did sent up the reserve fuel station and blew the hell out of runway 4, as well as effectively blocking 2/3 of the fire control groups in that corner of the airfield.

Christ! A junior flight control officer had walked up to the window as well and was staring out at the fires and confusion. It was bloody insane! Brutal… callus…

Genius. Alex finished, quietly. Barnet crossed himself mentally as the officer rounded on Alex, who was still looking out of the window.

I beg your pardon! The man almost shouted.

Between the Regiment and the Snowdrops we have infantry strength on this base of about 320, not accounting for other staff. Now according to those reports the ‘terrorists’ numbered six. Alex turned on the officer who was bearing down on him. Six men attacked this base, and in the space of three minutes took out all six runways and both fuel stations as well as one hanger and a handful of parked craft. Hell, they even brought a fighter down that was taking off, and that took out a barrack and admin block! Alex turned back to the window; the other officer paused, as if he’d run out of steam.

Barnet breathed a silent sigh of relief. If we were at war with Mars then this would be called a devastating commando raid, and while there would still be the anger and consternation, there would also be a grudging respect for the six servicemen that pulled this off. As it is, we are not at war, and they are simply filthy terrorists. Brutes who delight in bringing about senseless destruction. Alex paused and shook his head. Crazy… just crazy. He continued quietly.

Well, exactly. The other officer agreed, glad that the thinking had come around to his viewpoint. They’re just… He was cut off as Alex turned on him and for the first time actually looked angry.

Not them! Us! he spat, and stalked off across the control tower.

You know, back during the Crimean war, following an engagement, the British or French commanders would generally request to extract their wounded. Barnet nodded, even though Alex, with his back to him, staring out of the window, couldn’t see. Barnet knew all right, he’d heard the same stories from the lad’s Granddad, but it was the first time he’d spoken since the outburst of a few minutes ago, and in the nervous silence of RAF Coltishall’s flight control tower it was good to hear someone speak again. The fighting was generally so close that the British and French troops were shoulder to shoulder, extracting the wounded and sifting for valuables among the dead. They’d chat, trying out their French or English, share tobacco, souvenirs, exchange food and drink for something different. They got along perfectly well. When they faced each other, it was as professional soldiers.

Sure, and most of the front line infantry of World War I said that the best game of football they ever played was against the Germans on Christmas day. But think about all the shit that kicked off for so long in the Middle East. They were fanatics, and it was a different kind of war entirely. We don’t know if that isn’t what we’re dealing with here. Barnet said, stepping up next to the young officer.

But that’s just the point! Alex turned on the NCO. "We don’t know! There’s been no real contact worth spit with Mars for 5 years, and Intel can’t dig up shit-all. They make these attacks, and we’re the ones giving them names like ‘Red Dawn’, and calling them terrorists, lumping them in with all the others. The question is, what do they think they are. An army of professionals, or Freedom Fighters, or maybe they’re a holy order of some kind. Hell, maybe we’ve just seen mercenaries hired for individual jobs. No, until we find out what they think they are we’ll never really know what this is going to grow into. Alex shook his head and turned his back on the damaged airbase. Christ, maybe if we’d got our own world sorted out before we went colonizing another one, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. Alex put his cap back on, patted it into place and turned to gaze out over the base again. You know something Warrant? He asked Barnet. I reckon even if we do discover life on other planets I swear we’ll never find any sentience quite so innately stupid as the common human being."

Can’t disagree with that, sir. Barnet said with relief. The young man was smiling again, albeit a little wanly, so the worst was over.

How long till I can get off the ground. I was supposed to take that F/A-18 out of runway 2 about half an hour ago. Alex asked, scanning the runways one at a time. The situation didn’t look promising.

We aren’t going to have a runway operating for six hours. They’re too unstable, and we’re finding secondary munitions in the rubble. Barnet apologized.

The officer nodded and looked around, then pointed. Is that thing Vac ready? He asked.

Sure, we can have it Orbital primed in two minutes if you want. Barker offered. I doubt anyone will miss it. It’s overspill from Ark Royal.

Okay, Alex said moving to the door with renewed purpose. Prep that bird. I’ll go see the CO, pay my respects and then ship out. Returning the salute of the Tower Officer, Cotterill turned and left.

Tower, this is Baker 147, I’m powered up and ready to go. Requesting clearance condition and permission to depart.

Roger that, Baker 147, Warrant Officer Barnet’s voice came back over the radio, with all the runways busted the sky is yours, for the moment. The CO has confirmed you have permission to depart.

Okay tower, thanks. Alex flipped the engine nozzles to 90 degrees and prepared to power up, then paused and hit the radio stud again. Jack?

Yeah, what’s up? Barnet responded.

Would you remind our noble commander that his daughter’s birthday is in six days? Alex asked.

Are you suggesting the Group Captain can’t remember his own daughter’s birthday?!

Why not, he didn’t remember mine. Alex said and powered up. With a rising scream the modified Harrier GR9 shuddered and then lifted vertically.

He most certainly did! Alex heard as he slid the nozzles back to level and eased from vertical to horizontal thrust, pulling gently back on the stick so that he continued to climb, picking up speed the whole time. Eventually.

Jack? Can you imagine how Sarah would react to a memo saying ‘Happy Birthday’ that showed up a week late? Alex asked, easing into the flight path that showed as a fine tracery on his HUD, and priming some of the newer flight systems.

You have a point. Came Barnet’s response after a moments pause. I’ll do it. Good luck boy.

Thanks Jack. Firing Orbital pods in 3… 2… 1… Contact!

—oOo—

Well, he’s cleared our airspace. Barnet said, turning to the officer standing behind him.

For better or worse, he’s on his way.

Yes, Group Captain Cotterill watched the scanner trace as it rushed towards the edge of the screen, and maybe he’ll settle down at last. The base commander turned and strode across the control room towards the door. Sergeant? Would you please call my staff car?

Sah! The big man sprang to attention and left.

The Group Captain turned to look at the old Warrant Officer. I think I’d better go shopping. The NCO burst out laughing.

—oOo—

A film once used the tag line ‘In space, no-one can here you scream.’ This is of course broadly true, as the vacuum means that sound waves lack a convenient medium to travel through. That explained why, with a dreadful slowness, the blooming rose of fire that unfurled from the transport shuttle, halfway between Kitty Hawk and Carl Vinson, happened in total silence. The Carl Vinson deck crew watched in frozen horror as the blast tore out through the doomed shuttle and engulfed the F-14 escort just ahead of it. They prayed the pilot never knew what hit him.

Hit the…! someone managed, and then the shrapnel struck the CV as a great ringing clang that screamed the reality of what had just happen. Of course the relative size difference between the shuttle and the carrier meant that the small pieces of metal flying through the vacuum did little damage to the CV, which didn’t even shudder. But that didn’t make it any better for those who witnessed the explosion.

In her ready room Captain Driscoll rushed to her window as she was advised of what had just occurred. Looking out she could see the spinning, disintegrating remains of the Tomcat that had been bringing up the rear of the flight. With a surge of relief she also saw, just above it, the winking light of a pressure pod. The pilot had obviously ejected safely when the shuttle had blown up ahead of him. She was just uttering a prayer for small mercies when a thought struck the Captain. What would have happened if the explosion had gone off after the shuttle had docked?

She watched as a British fighter settled on her deck, and was descended into the hanger below. She wondered what the new officer was like. He won’t be at all appreciative of what she had in mind for him though. She left the Vid and walked back into her ready room saying When Mr. Cotterill gets up here, send him to me directly.

The CAG looked at her and nodded saying, Aye Sir.

—oOo—

Carl Vinson this is Baker 147 approaching on pre-assigned vector, requesting clearance to land. Alex called as he pulled in towards the huge ship.

Understood Baker 147, we were wondering if you were going to join us after we heard about the attack on your base. We also have a security situation, sir, so would you please do one flyby to starboard for a security scan and then we’ll transmit your landing codes.

Understood Carl Vinson, I’ll keep her 300m out and switch off all ECM systems. Alex said, flipping switches.

Much obliged, Sir.

Cotterill’s fighter landed at the given co-ordinates, and as he powered down he was subjected to curious looks, but they seemed to only be in hurried glances. He saw someone approaching him, a flight lieutenant.

Er… welcome aboard, sir. The lieutenant was looking at the plane, and then at the officer, then at the data pad he held. I’ve been asked to welcome you…

Which you have. Said Alex with a pleasant smile.

Er… yes… Sir, I can’t help noticing that… well… isn’t that a Hornet, sir. He gestured at the aircraft.

It isn’t! Alex looked shocked. I say, you’re not telling me I’ve flown off in the wrong bird again! He gave the junior officer a wink. Now then, shall we proceed to the bit where you tell me where my cabin is so I can get washed and brushed up for the Captain?

Sorry sir, not quite in that order. McCauley? He called to a nearby grease monkey. You and your team take care of the Exec’s bird, I gotta get him to the Captain right away. If you could follow me sir, the lift is this way. And the lieutenant set off at a brisk pace across the flight deck. Alex stood there for a moment, his lips working around something that was bothering him, and then he set off after the officer.

Excuse me, you mean Flight Commander, right? Not XO? I’m a Flight Commander, not the XO. Alex said, nervously.

You are? I mean… you aren’t? The lieutenant said worriedly and checked his pad again.

Damn.

Admin screw up? Don’t worry about it, we get ‘em all the time. Alex said, relieved.

New ship. The Lieutenant said with a shrug, by way of explanation.

Sounds like new computers to me. Alex said as they approached the lifts. More bugs than a B-movie.

You’re not kidding. Alex stepped into the lift as the lieutenant leaned in and showed him the floor he wanted. You’re to report to the Captain’s ready room immediately… you know, you’re the first officer we’ve had aboard today who didn’t ask the question.

What question. Alex asked puzzled.

They all ask ‘What’s the Old Man like?’ referring to the Captain of course, the lieutenant said.

Alex shrugged. Don’t need to. No matter the service, they’re all basically one of two templates, only the names and uniforms change.

What templates? The Lieutenant asked as the lift doors began to close.

They’re all basically my Dad or my Granddad. Alex said as they shut, which meant that he didn’t see the lieutenant’s smile.

After a few moments he hit the hold button and then loosened his collar slightly. Out, he said, shifting his left arm slightly. There was sudden movement under his flight suit, erupting from under his left arm, in a hollow under his sidearm, surging up his front and out of his collar. He suddenly found himself nose to nose with a horrific vision of sharp teeth, hair and wild, shining eyes. He had to admit to himself that at a range of two inches Winston Churchill was pretty fearsome. At anything more than that he was just a reddish brown weasel, who began to ferociously lick his nose.

Okay, alright, yes you were very good and stayed put for the whole trip. He extracted a little cube of sweet biscuit from a pocket and gave it to the little creature that grabbed it and crunched it down with relish. Now, pay attention! We aren’t going to the cabin just yet, so I need you to stay put for a bit longer. Stay still, and then when we get to the cabin you can get out and have a run around. I might even see my way clear to giving you a nice little bath later, okay?

Winston