First Salvo by Charles D. Taylor

long table over coffee and cigarettes. He saw nothing to indicate they were armed. That made eighteen marines, six of whom would have to be dispatched immediately, leaving twelve who would make trouble within seconds if they were allowed to pick up anything that would shoot. Ryng knew they could save the aircrews until last, but they couldn’t take them for granted.
    Back outside, Ryng explained, “We’re going to wait until they start loading those two bombers. That’ll get the crews out here and the coolies farther away from their guns. When I give the word, Wally and I will hit the shed. All I want to do is hold it long enough to blow the decoys. Denny, you and Rick handle the ones out here. Don’t give them the slightest chance. More often than not, those flyers have pistols or other survival weapons in their flight suits. Take them first, then the work party. Then get those explosives inside the planes. I want them burning from the inside out. Then we’ll scatter some time-delay grenades to keep their cleanup crews busy for a while—can’t let them reopen the field,” he added.
    “Sounds simple,” remarked Bush.
    “Very,” agreed Ryng, “if you believe no one else is going to come running as soon as the shooting starts.”

TOM CARLETON
    A n overhead speaker in the Yorktown ’s pilothouse crackled into life. “Permission granted to detach for maneuvering exercises. Request you maintain standard ECM and long-range AA guards per my Op Order 12-2. Over.”
    “Roger. I thank you. Out.” Tom Carleton handled the transmission himself, since the maneuvering exercises were for no one other than him. The man he relieved hours earlier had assured him that his OODs were superb ship handlers, so it was apparent that only Yorktown ’s new captain needed to be qualified in handling the cruiser.
    “This is Captain Carleton. I have the conn,” he called out to the bridge watch, following the Navy’s time-honored tradition. The acknowledgment echoed back to him, then he said, “Right standard rudder… come to course one zero zero.” He eased his well-fed bulk out of the captain’s chair and moved calmly about the pilothouse to refamiliarize himself with the myriad dials and displays.
    Before putting his ship through her paces, he would take her about five miles outside the perimeter of the formation. The process wouldn’t be a long one. Carleton had commanded ships before, and he was a superb ship handler—any ship, any sea conditions. His purpose was simply to get the feel of Yorktown ,to know before he gave an order how she would respond, how quickly she could accelerate, how she reacted in tight turns at high speeds. He had to know her personally not only under combat conditions, but also in close quarters with other U.S. ships.
    Each vessel had a personality of its own. Though they were built following the same specifications, they were as different as human beings, each rudder biting just a tad differently, each mighty engine with its own quirk, each hull taking the sea with slight aberrations. Very few men could sense such minute differences. Most who could were commanding officers. Carleton was at home when he could feel a ship’s personality through his feet or identify with her sounds through his pillow as he slept at night. But now there was little time to understand Yorktown ,for everything pointed to the fact that she might have to fulfill her design obligations any hour now.
    There were engine controls on the bridge. With a flick of the wrist, the powerful gas turbines could accelerate the ship instantly, the only limiting force being the drag of the water against her hull. Carleton first put the engines through their paces, increasing speeds slowly, then faster, then backing down, then forward again, full speed. He watched her wake, he felt her talk to him through his feet, and he learned very quickly how she would answer him.
    Then he toyed with her rudders, turning sharply one way, then