''You got that right, honey,'' Luna cut in.
''But with the princess around,'' van Horn said dryly, ''I thought mutiny was kind of the norm.''
''But I prefer to lead them, not have somebody else cut in on my act.'' Kris tried to sound lighthearted. Maybe she did.
''Well you just get yourself ready to have one thrown your way if you do that again,'' Luna drawled.
''Custer, what's your status?''
''Lower than I'd like, but higher than I expected. Say 34 percent of what I started with. Enough for one hell of a last stand.''
That was what it would have to be. One last stand. One all-out attack on the battlewagons as they came up on High Wardhaven station. Kris hunted for the right words as she keyed her mike.
''All right folks, this is what we came for. We're all going in together this time.'' There was a quiet cheer on net. Beside Kris, Fintch shook her head slowly as if to say, They don't know what they're asking for.
''The battlewagons are going to be slowed down to come alongside the station, make orbit to smash and batter Wardhaven. If we don't get them, the four reactors on those bastards are going to be powering up lasers to hack and slash Wardhaven to burning rubble. You want that for your families?''
''No,'' came back at Kris.
''You going to let them do that to your wives and husbands?''
''No,'' was almost a shout on net.
''Wish I had one,'' came from Fintch beside Kris.
''Get with the program.'' Tom grinned at her.
''I will, I will,'' the helmswoman promised. ''Just offer me something I really want to fight for.''
Kris lifted her finger off the mike. ''They're gonna shoot up the yacht club on High Wardhaven. No more racing skiffs.''
''They gotta be stopped,'' the young woman growled.
''All right, troopers,'' Kris went on, back on net. ''When the time comes, Custer's gonna fire off every missile they've got. Then we go in right behind them, every fast patrol boat and destroyer, every armed yacht and runabout. Anything that can fire or draw fire goes at them in one charge.
''And this time, we hold our speed down, no wild charge, ‘cause this time we ain't whizzing past them. Nelly will give you evasion programs that let you dodge at one or two g's. This time, Luna, you get to go gunning up close and personal. If they try to dodge away from you, you chase them down and shoot your lasers right up their engines.''
''Up the kilt, I like that.'' The woman chortled.
''Their hide is too thick, so we don't aim for ice, we aim for specific targets. They flash a laser turret, you burn it. They raise an antenna, burn it.
''Now, if your 12-inch pulse lasers are anything like the ones I've used, they have one setting. Shoot the works,'' Kris said.
''You got that right, honey,'' Luna drawled. ''When'd you ever work one of my holdout guns?''
''She stole a boat once with a set of them,'' Tom cut in.
''Tom, don't give away state secrets,'' Kris chided him, but there were general chuckles on net.
''Anyway, when I had cause to use armed yacht lasers, Nelly came up with a software patch that let me fire pulses at half down to one-tenth power. Anyone interested in that option?''
''You bet.'' ''Yeah.'' And ''Yes, please,'' came back at Kris. Nelly sent the patch, and Kris waited while the yachts loaded it.
''Hey, this really is nifty,'' Luna said. ''If a troublesome 5-incher pops up, I can stomp it and still have something left to shoot up the kilt of a battlewagon. Good going, kid!''
''Just remember, your 12-inch pulse lasers probably have a heat problem just like these battleships do. So you can't fire them too often before they'll overheat.
''But we can hit them,'' Luna growled. ''We can shoot them hot, straight, and up so close that they can't dodge, they can't hide. They came to Wardhaven not expecting a fight. Well, we're going to show them the fight those cowards never expected.''
That got cheers, even on the 109's bridge. For a moment, even Kris was cheering.
''Luna, you decoys better shuck those cocoons. Everyone, get it tightened down and dialed in. As soon as I bring Squadron 8 around to one hundred thousand klicks from those bastards, we all go in from both directions. See how they like that. Longknife out.''
There were some more cheers on net. Kris let out a sigh; she must have found words that weren't too far off. She glanced at her board. An hour before the hostiles came to a halt at High Wardhaven. Forty-five minutes before Kris could intercept them.
Another long wait.
''109, Tug 1040, we've left our Father Frost gifts on your quarterdeck. You want to pressurize and get them? And, you want any of our folks to help you load them rockets?''
''Appreciate the offer,'' Tom answered, ''but I don't want to have to bleed air again to let your folks leave, and I can't afford to take them with us. No extra high-g stations.''
''Thought the princess said it would be low g this time.''
''Two g is still rough when you're dodging like we'll be.''
''Who's this Nelly, and how do I get an evasion program?''
Tom raised an eyebrow at Kris. She hit her commlink. ''You're a tug, 1040. Your mission is rescue and salvage.''
''Ma'am, a target's a target. Give them enough, and they're bound to miss the one they ought not to.''
''Sure you aren't risking a mutiny?''
''Ma'am, looking around my bridge just now, talking to the folks out in suits, if I don't make this run in, I suspect they'd leave me outside walking home, and do it without me.''
Good Lord, where do we get these people? What has Wardhaven done to deserve them? Father, you must be getting someone else's well-earned deserts.
''Thank you, Tug 1040, your support is much appreciated.''
''Not just me, ma'am. I don't think there's a hull out here today that won't be in there with you.''
''May God bless us all,'' Kris said, the unfamiliar benediction borrowed from Tom. He smiled at its use and blessed her with a wink.
''My folks are clear, you can pressurize now,'' the tug skipper reported.
Tom did, and ordered all hands amidships to stow stores. Kris, with nothing to do but bite her nails for half an hour, dropped aft along with the rest. There was not one but two antimatter containment boxes, ready to be mixed with reaction mass and power the rocket motors of the 109. And there were twelve long 944's cases lashed carefully to the deck along with boxes holding four Foxers each.
Each missile and box of decoys got two crew members to help guide them forward. While the two hundred kilogram missiles might be weightless, they still had all their mass, and the damage they could do … to themselves and to the boat… was not something anyone wanted. Not now. Not with the attack only minutes away. Now was no time to have a wayward missile take out a comm unit as it was passed up through the radio shack, or the sensor workstation on the bridge, or smash into a just-recharged laser capacitor on its way to the rocket bay.
Each of the rockets was carefully handled. They had a date with a battleship.
Loading the Foxers was easy; their canister was opened and the rockets fed in. The 944s were longer and a problem. Each canister had to be freed from its launching tube, then gently maneuvered to where it floated above the main passageway where the missiles were coming up. Then the rocket had to be carefully slid from its traveling case into an empty canister slot.
''Do we just reload one canister?'' The gunnery ensign asked.
There was a long pause. ''I'd rather have six more in each,'' Tom answered. ''One could hang up, get damaged. You know the saying. All your eggs in one basket.''
The ensign nodded. ''You heard the old man. Do it right. But do it fast.'' Kami and the gunner's mates went to work, doing it by their book, just as they'd practiced for, what, three days.
Kris left, not wanting to juggle elbows or add pressure.
Nelly was another matter; her computer had no elbows. ''Have you gotten evasive schemes out to everyone who wants them?''