Barracuda: Final Bearing

It was a layered neural network floating on a conventional distributed control system. Onasuka took the neural network and replaced the upper functions with parallel processors, multiplying the processing speed by a factor of ten thousand, with the use of biological DNA soup processors. The soup processors were composed of genetic material taken from the brain stems of small animals and cultured into the liquid soup that functioned as a biological process-control module. It was revolutionary and radical. The Divine Firmament was renamed the Curtain of Flames and became the first Destiny III class. And the unit performed admirably, if expensively. The Destiny III was matched against various Destiny II-class ships in exercises. The Two-class crews were literally fighting for their jobs; to lose an exercise against a Three class would signal the admirals that the time had come for the computer to replace manned crews. Unfortunately, although the manned crews invariably came out on top in combat, the MSDF leadership had still decided on committing the fleet to the Three class. Perhaps it was all the promises they had given the government, or the men standing to make a profit from the computerization. Whatever the reason behind the decision, the MSDF admirals had decided on the Destiny III, spending the next two years building nothing but Three-class ships, neglecting even to maintain the Two-class vessels. The result had been disastrous, Toyoda thought. The intelligence message on his personal pad computer told the complete story. The Three-class computer-driven ships had triumphed in sinking the enemy surface fleets, but in the process they had been sunk, smashed to bits by the fleet-escort submarines. After spending the time and resources to build more than a dozen Three-class ships, they were now gone, not responding to their orders to transmit their locations to the Galaxy satellites. And now the defense of the Home Islands was left to the Two-class submarines, which were capable but neglected for two years by the shipyards of Japan. There were dozens of American submarines sailing for the Home Islands, and only a limited number of torpedoes on the Destiny II-class ships deployed to guard Japan. What would happen when those torpedoes were gone? Less capable American submarines would survive to fire overwhelming numbers of torpedoes at the Two class. The American torpedoes were small and slow and relatively ineffective, but ten of them together could certainly sink a Two class, double hull or not. If the leadership had built more of the Two class and less of the Three class. But there was no sense thinking that way. Toyoda got up, put on his shoes and took his evening walk through the ship, going first into the control room, where his first officer Ryunosuke Kusaka presided over the modified battlestations section watch. Toyoda waved Kusaka over to the forward door of the room, where the other officers in the watch section couldn’t hear their conversation. “Any contact?”

“No, Captain. You know I would have called you if there were.”

“It just seems odd. The computer files — are they set correctly?”

“Sir, the Second Captain is scanning the sea for the known characteristics of all flights of American 688 class, with a secondary scan in action for any units of the British Royal Navy or the French Navy. There has been nothing, nothing at all.”

“Maybe our job is over, maybe the enemy will pull back.”

“I think there will be more action. Captain. I feel it.”

“I feel it too, First. They are out there and they’re coming for us.”

“Yes, sir.”

There seemed little more to say. Toyoda left and took the stairs to the middle level and the messroom. He was amazed at the officers awake in the messroom, some of them studying for the next rank, some writing haiku, some in a lively discussion that died when he came in.

Toyodo thought of the loneliness of command, that he had no one to confide his own thoughts to. He smiled at the men, wondering why these off-watch men didn’t sleep. In another six hours they would be on watch with him in the control room. Probably they were awake for the same reason he was — tension. He spoke a few words, wondering if Toshumi Tanaka — the lead commanding officer of the flotilla and a flaming maladjusted martinet — ever took time to speak to his men. Not that it mattered, Toyoda thought. He said good night to the men and returned to his stateroom.