Read Online Come and Take Them-eARC by Tom Kratman - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Kratman
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shells.
Carrera turned away from the gun crew, walking into a dark, open rectangle in the concrete wall. Once past the edges of the entrance, red lights in metal cages set high on the walls marked his way to the fire direction center. Before anyone could notice his presence, he ordered, “As you were,” code for, “keep doing what you were doing.”
There were a half dozen closed circuit television sets to one side of the bunker. One of these was large. It gave Carrera the same view as the forward observation and lasing team for Battery McNamara had. That team sat inside a concrete position high atop a cliff facing the sea. The image, enhanced both for light and magnification showed him a radio controlled ship—more of a barge, really—twenty miles out to sea. This was nothing like the shells’ maximum range.
It had been a matter of considerable discussion. The short, balding, Volgan-descended Kuralski, also there for the test, had wanted to fire at near maximum range. Carrera had overridden that—he didn’t want anyone to know how far the guns could shoot the new ammunition. There were other barges out to sea as targets, as many as there were batteries firing for the day.
The job was not without its risks, but risks or not, a screen of patrol boats insured no other ships came close to the barge targets to see what was happening. The crews of those boats wore laser protective goggles.
Carrera was reasonably certain that the UEPF was taking considerable interest in goings on in the Republic of Balboa. He didn’t know the precise capabilities of their remote sensing, but assumed it was at least on a par with that of the planet’s premier power, the Federated States. Thus, he didn’t hope to hide that he was firing a certain kind of gun at a certain range. All he could do—and he hoped it was enough—was misdirect the Peace Fleet as to the real nature of the firing.
The other five televisions, all smaller, showed the barge itself, from a camera housed near the stern, as well as its nearby waters. Those cameras were mounted in an armored casing, sternward. Those televisions’ signals were encrypted to prevent anyone else from receiving them. Again, though, Carrera doubted that the UEPF couldn’t break the encryption. He had to assume they could.
There was a seventh camera in operation, though it wasn’t transmitting. Instead, that one took video showing a remote and distant view of the test firing. The camera was carried in a Cricket light aircraft.
* * *
The data from the fire direction center was on the sight, the gun loaded and laid. The special fuse that made the shell special was keyed to the laser frequency of the forward observer team that would lase its target. With his left hand, the gun chief stretched the firing lanyard taut. On command from the FDC, he struck the stretched lanyard with his right fist.
Kaboommm! Ahead, muzzle blast ripped leaves from jungle trees as concussion caused the crew’s inner organs to ripple and pulse in a sickening manner. Shortly after reaching the muzzle, the twelve sections of sabot that had held the shell steady in its travel down the tube split away. Much lighter than the shell, and of deliberately nonaerodynamic cross-section, the pieces of the sabot lost velocity rapidly, careening off into the jungle in a random pattern.
“Reload!” shouted the gun chief, as another long and oddly shaped shell arose through the elevator doors. A split second later another three bags of propellant arose from the other elevator.
* * *
The entire crew of the FDC groaned as a single man. The incredibly expensive and supremely secret shell had missed. It missed despite laser guidance. It missed despite the select crew and forward observer team. Admittedly, it didn’t miss by much, no more than a dozen feet. But still…
The TV showed the barge twisting in the water, just as would a ship that knew it was under fire. A second great splash, the mark of a missed shell, flew up
Carrera turned away from the gun crew, walking into a dark, open rectangle in the concrete wall. Once past the edges of the entrance, red lights in metal cages set high on the walls marked his way to the fire direction center. Before anyone could notice his presence, he ordered, “As you were,” code for, “keep doing what you were doing.”
There were a half dozen closed circuit television sets to one side of the bunker. One of these was large. It gave Carrera the same view as the forward observation and lasing team for Battery McNamara had. That team sat inside a concrete position high atop a cliff facing the sea. The image, enhanced both for light and magnification showed him a radio controlled ship—more of a barge, really—twenty miles out to sea. This was nothing like the shells’ maximum range.
It had been a matter of considerable discussion. The short, balding, Volgan-descended Kuralski, also there for the test, had wanted to fire at near maximum range. Carrera had overridden that—he didn’t want anyone to know how far the guns could shoot the new ammunition. There were other barges out to sea as targets, as many as there were batteries firing for the day.
The job was not without its risks, but risks or not, a screen of patrol boats insured no other ships came close to the barge targets to see what was happening. The crews of those boats wore laser protective goggles.
Carrera was reasonably certain that the UEPF was taking considerable interest in goings on in the Republic of Balboa. He didn’t know the precise capabilities of their remote sensing, but assumed it was at least on a par with that of the planet’s premier power, the Federated States. Thus, he didn’t hope to hide that he was firing a certain kind of gun at a certain range. All he could do—and he hoped it was enough—was misdirect the Peace Fleet as to the real nature of the firing.
The other five televisions, all smaller, showed the barge itself, from a camera housed near the stern, as well as its nearby waters. Those cameras were mounted in an armored casing, sternward. Those televisions’ signals were encrypted to prevent anyone else from receiving them. Again, though, Carrera doubted that the UEPF couldn’t break the encryption. He had to assume they could.
There was a seventh camera in operation, though it wasn’t transmitting. Instead, that one took video showing a remote and distant view of the test firing. The camera was carried in a Cricket light aircraft.
* * *
The data from the fire direction center was on the sight, the gun loaded and laid. The special fuse that made the shell special was keyed to the laser frequency of the forward observer team that would lase its target. With his left hand, the gun chief stretched the firing lanyard taut. On command from the FDC, he struck the stretched lanyard with his right fist.
Kaboommm! Ahead, muzzle blast ripped leaves from jungle trees as concussion caused the crew’s inner organs to ripple and pulse in a sickening manner. Shortly after reaching the muzzle, the twelve sections of sabot that had held the shell steady in its travel down the tube split away. Much lighter than the shell, and of deliberately nonaerodynamic cross-section, the pieces of the sabot lost velocity rapidly, careening off into the jungle in a random pattern.
“Reload!” shouted the gun chief, as another long and oddly shaped shell arose through the elevator doors. A split second later another three bags of propellant arose from the other elevator.
* * *
The entire crew of the FDC groaned as a single man. The incredibly expensive and supremely secret shell had missed. It missed despite laser guidance. It missed despite the select crew and forward observer team. Admittedly, it didn’t miss by much, no more than a dozen feet. But still…
The TV showed the barge twisting in the water, just as would a ship that knew it was under fire. A second great splash, the mark of a missed shell, flew up
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