Susan nodded, tersely. The lone planet was cold enough to make Mars look warm and welcoming. There were no gas giants or asteroid belts, nothing that might provide fuel and resources for a space-based civilisation. It was possible that someone might have hidden a settlement on the surface, burrowing deep underground, but it was unlikely. They’d be so dependent on modern technology to survive that the odds of being detected, if someone troubled themselves to look, would be quite high.
“Right now, that’s not our problem,” Susan said. She tapped the console, bringing up the tactical concepts her staff had devised during the voyage. “I think we’ll proceed with Lightning-III. Send the updated concept to the fleet.”
Richardson nodded. “Aye, Admiral,” he said. “I’ll transmit the orders at once.”
Susan could hear the doubt in his voice. They’d worked through hundreds of scenarios, from the destruction of the catapults to the arrival of the alien fleet before the catapults had been pressed into service. Lightning-III gave them the best chance to take out the enemy ships before they could destroy the catapults, but it also gave the enemy a chance to do just that if they realised what was coming before it was too late. Susan had agonised over the tactical problem, coming up with concept after concept she knew wouldn’t have worked in the real world. They had to gamble. There was no hope of getting the entire fleet into attack range before it was too late.
She looked up. “Pass targeting orders to Lion,” she said. “The brainship is the priority target.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Richardson said.
Susan grimaced. Standard tactical doctrine called for stripping away the escorts first, then targeting the capital ships. She was going to lose a bunch of gunboats ... hell, she was probably going to waste a great deal of missiles. But the last thing she wanted was the enemy actually thinking. If she took out the brainship first, she might just wipe out the remainder of the enemy fleet before it started having ideas about destroying the catapults. And it should make it easier to take out the rest of the fleet.
She sat on her chair and watched, feeling oddly isolated, as her staff hurried to relay orders to her ships. The captains and their crews knew what to do. They’d gone through dozens of exercises, each one working out more and more of the kinks until the fleet was a finely-oiled machine. They’d learnt to work together as a team ... she frowned as she studied the datanet taking shape and form. She hoped - prayed - that the datanet would stay intact, if - when - the enemy started trying to knock it down. And that the fleet would hold together if anything happened to her.
Her lips twitched. The flicker network had been in its infancy when she’d been a captain. She’d never really been able to phone home and request orders. Like most older officers, she’d regarded the network as a godsend and a bloody nuisance. There was nothing more dangerous than a politician who thought he knew what was going on, issuing orders that didn’t quite fit the situation. And yet, independent command came with responsibility. She couldn’t pass the buck up the chain of command. She could ask her subordinates for advice, but the final decision rested with her. She was solely responsible for the entire fleet. If the mission failed ...
If the mission fails, I should probably not go home, she thought, ruefully. I won’t be very welcome back there.
Richardson returned. “Admiral, the fleet is ready to make transit,” he reported. “All ships report full readiness.”
“Good,” Susan said. She trusted her officers not to engage in creative editing. She understood the reluctance to declare one’s ship unfit for combat, particularly in the more repressive navies, but a ship that wasn’t capable of handling the mission risked everything. “Start the countdown.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Susan sat back, crossing her legs and projecting an impression of calm. Her impassive face betrayed none of her inner turmoil. It had been years since she’d commanded ships in action ... at least, outside an admiral-grade simulator. Something would go wrong. Something always went wrong. And it would be something unpredictable. Battles had been won or lost before on something as minor, something as simple, as the lookout needing to take a piss at the crucial moment. Or on a horse becoming lame as the rider was trying to summon reinforcements.
“Admiral,” Richardson said. “The countdown has begun. Transit in ten minutes and counting.”
“Good,” Susan said. “And now, we wait.”
***
Thomas knew himself, without exaggeration, to be a brave man. It would have been easy, with his connections, to ensure himself a posting to the orbital defences, or a desk job in London ... perhaps even a regimental command in the Home Guard. There was no shortage of positions for officers a bit long in the tooth, officers smart enough to handle the ceremonial aspects of the job and leave any real fighting to his subordinates ... hell, Thomas had been offered a post on his last visit to Earth. It was a way to look good without being in any actual danger ... he shook his head. He doubted it would have fooled anyone who mattered. And he’d have been bored in a week.
And yet ... he studied the sensor records, ice congealing in his heart. Thirty catapults ... all hell was going to break loose, when the recordings reached Earth. He didn’t have to check the live feed from the analysis deck to calculate just how much tonnage could be thrown hundreds of light years in the blink of an eye. He didn’t want to think about it. At what point did resistance become futile? And at what point ...
“Captain,” Lieutenant Michael Fitzgerald said. “We will make transit in five minutes.”
Thomas nodded, keying his console. “Commander Donker?”
“All decks report ready, Captain,” he said. “The gunboats and marine shuttles are ready to launch as soon as we cross the tramline.”
“Good,” Thomas said.
He looked at the display. The line was growing closer and closer. It was easy to believe an entire fleet was waiting on the far side, ready to open fire the moment the human ships arrived. He would have preferred to make transit quite some distance from the primary star, but the admiral had decided speed had to be put ahead of stealth. Thomas had the feeling the resulting compromise pleased absolutely no one. They were going to make transit too far from the enemy fleet to catch them by surprise, yet too close to be assured of remaining undetected long enough to sneak up and open fire. Thomas understood the logic, and the importance of making sure the catapults were destroyed if they couldn’t be captured, but ... he shook his head as the countdown ticked mercilessly towards zero. They didn’t have time for any more qualms. It was time to make war.
“Transit in twenty seconds,” Fitzgerald reported. He started counting down the last few seconds. “Three ... two ... one ...”
Lion shuddered as she made transit. Thomas gritted his teeth, ignoring the phantom pain in his chest as the display blanked and hastily started to reboot. Dozens of icons - enemy icons - blazed a brilliant red, as if the system had measles. He smirked at the whimsy, even though it wasn’t funny. The system genuinely was infected. He felt as if he could feel the virus looking at him.
“Transit complete, Captain,” Fitzgerald said.
“The enemy doesn’t appear to have detected us,” Lieutenant Commander Sean Sibley added, slowly. “There’s no hint they’re preparing for combat.”
Thomas wasn’t convinced. They’d made transit far too close to the enemy position for his peace of mind. If the virus’s ships had spotted the fleet making transit, it might just try to get ready to repel attack without making it obvious. A nervy captain might stand his ground, relying on passive sensors to track the enemy fleet. Thomas wouldn’t have taken the risk, not with such an important system, but who knew what the virus considered acceptable? Captain Campbell would have taken the risk. Thomas was morbidly sure of it.
“Launch gunboats,” he ordered. The tactical concept was relatively simple. Like most simple concepts, execution would be quite complicated. “Prepare to fire missiles on ballistic trajectories.”
“A
ye, Captain,” Sibley said. The display updated rapidly. “Gunboats ... launching now.”
Thomas nodded, curtly. The die was cast.
***
Tobias felt sick.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been into combat, but ... he still felt sick. He sat in his chair, straps around his wrist and arms, feeling as if he wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. The tactical sensors were passive only - turning on active sensors would tell the enemy precisely where to shoot - but they were still telling him things he didn’t want to know about the enemy defences. Their battleships could pump out enough point defence fire to take out the entire gunboat squadron without even noticing while they were engaging Lion and the rest of the fleet. He’d seen the plan and thought it sucked. He and the gunboats were going to be frighteningly exposed ...
He glanced at Marigold. Her head was hidden behind a helmet - they’d both donned shipsuits, ensuring their chances of survival rose from infinitesimal to microscopic - but he could tell she was tense. How could she not be? The slightest mishap would be enough to get them both blown to atoms, wiped out of existence in a moment so small he didn’t have words for it. He wanted to run to the hatch, to throw it open and dive back into the ship ... fear yammered at his mind, fear of death and destruction and ... everything.
Tobias wondered, not for the first time, how Colin coped. He got down and dirty with the rest of the groundpounders. But then, Colin was used to it. He was probably too dumb to know he was in danger.
That’s not fair, Tobias told himself, sharply. He’d seen enough of the adult Colin to know the bastard had grown up a lot. He was far from stupid, even if he lacked formal qualifications. He probably just doesn’t let it get to him.
A low quiver ran through the craft. Tobias swallowed, nearly jumping out of his skin when something went bang behind him. His imagination supplied all kinds of possibilities, from accidentally swatting the battlecruiser’s hull to crashing into a piece of debris. He’d been told the odds of collision were very low, but ... hitting something as small as a screw at a sizable percentage of the speed of light would be utterly disastrous. He wished the boffins would hurry up and invent force fields. They were needed desperately. He’d seen enough movies where the starfighters had force shields protecting their hulls from enemy fire ...
“We’re loose,” Marigold said. Her voice was quiet, even though she knew they couldn’t be overheard. “We’ll enter engagement range in thirty minutes.”
Tobias nodded as he keyed his console. The laser network linking the gunboats together had been stepped down as much as possible, even though the odds of detection were very low. He wanted to talk to the others and he didn’t want to talk ... he knew, deep inside, that none of them would understand his feelings. How could they? They’d never flown a combat mission before. It wouldn’t hit them until they returned to the battlecruiser, all too aware that some of their comrades would never return. Tobias swallowed, again. How many of the newcomers wouldn’t come home?
The console bleeped. “The missiles are on their way,” he said. His voice sounded raspy, even to himself. “They’re ready to accept targeting data.”
Marigold sounded tightly composed, so composed he knew she was nervous, too. “We’ll be within engagement range in twenty-five minutes.”
Tobias forced himself to take deep breaths and calm down as the timer continued to tick down to zero. He’d paid close attention in the briefing, then the endless simulations. He knew the closer they got to the enemy ships before they went active, the greater the chance of completing the mission and withdrawing without losses. And yet, the urge to activate the targeting sensors and send the missiles blazing into the heart of the enemy formation was almost overwhelming. His fingers twitched. He wanted to do it. He knew it would compromise the mission, to the point the entire operation might fail, but he wanted to do it. He wanted ...
“When we get home,” Marigold said, “where do you want to go?”
Tobias blinked at the question. He hadn’t given the matter any thought. They’d been so busy, they hadn’t been able to snatch more than an hour or two together since they’d departed New Washington. Back on Earth ... what were the odds of getting back home? They struck him as very poor. Gunboats had a better chance of survival than starfighters, but not by much. He knew how close he’d come to death on the last mission and that hadn’t included a headlong dive into enemy space.
“I don’t know,” he said. His chest hurt, as if Colin had hit it. Again. “Luna, again? Or somewhere new?”
“If we can go somewhere new, sure,” Marigold said. “Is there anything open these days?”
Tobias shrugged. They’d had problems going places even before the London outbreak. The lunar settlements had decent checkpoints, with everyone who went in and out having their blood checked before they were allowed to proceed, but planetside it was a whole different game. It wasn’t easy to move around in Britain, let alone the rest of the world. The days when one could take a flight to Ireland for the day were long gone.
“Mars, perhaps,” he said, as they flashed closer to their targets. “Or maybe even further away.”
It felt like the promise of a better world, a future they could share ... later. Tobias allowed himself to dream, before the console bleeped an alert. The alien craft might have detected them. He forced himself to concentrate, hoping and praying it was just a random sensor fluctuation. If they could get a little closer ... the display flashed red. They were out of luck.
“Fuck,” he swore. The alien ships had brought their sensors on line. The gunboats were suddenly as naked as ... a very naked person. He giggled at the absurd thought, even though they were in deep shit. “Go evasive!”
“Got it,” Marigold said. “Get the missiles up and running.”
Tobias nodded as he ran his hand down the console. “Going live ... now!”
Chapter Sixteen
“Captain,” Sibley said. “The missiles have gone active.”
Thomas nodded, resisting the urge to curse under his breath. He’d hoped the missiles would get closer before the enemy started looking for them in earnest. The latest designs were hard to target precisely, when their drives were up and running, but when they were powered down - in ballistic mode - they were as easy to detect as anything when the enemy started sweeping for them. The virus’s active sensors were at least as good as his own, he acknowledged, and the brainships were very capable. Given time, they’d wipe out the missiles before they became a threat.
“Deploy the second salvo,” he ordered. It was hard to be sure they’d thrown enough missiles at the brainship to take it out. The brainship was crammed with point defence weapons and it was surrounded by a squadron of smaller ships. He was surprised the enemy carrier wasn’t already launching its starfighters. “And prepare to pass control to the gunboats.”
A shudder ran through the battlecruiser as she emptied her missile tubes. Thomas ignored the sound, trusting his officers to alert him if something required his attention. Instead, he watched the first wave as it converged on its target. The enemy was deploying one hell of a lot of ECM, enough to make it hard to get a clear bead on the brainship, but the gunboats were too close to be fooled effectively. Thomas allowed himself a moment of relief. The enemy was so intent on covering the brainship that the gunboats might get away before it was too late. They weren’t easy to target either, but the battleships could fill space with one hell of a lot of firepower.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the first missiles starting to vanish. The brainship was firing madly, sweeping space with countless plasma bolts, but ... had it scored more hits than anyone had expected? No one believed the virus would sit on its hands and do nothing, after it had seen Lion in action. Had it come up with a countermeasure? The xenospecialists claimed the virus was alien, and that it didn’t think in ways a human could understand, but it couldn’t be that alien. It had to have some sense of self-preservation. One might as well wander onto a shooting range
clad only in one’s socks.
Which didn’t stop Great Uncle Aggie from meeting an unfortunate end while fox-hunting, Thomas thought. He’d never liked fox-hunting, even if it was an old tradition. He really didn’t know what he was doing.
“Impact in twenty seconds,” Sibley said. “The enemy carrier is launching starfighters.”
Thomas nodded, tersely, as the surviving missiles started to slam home. The brainship was solidly built, easily tougher than a battlecruiser ... or even the legendary Ark Royal. A dozen laser heads detonated, stabbing beams of deadly force into its armour; five contact nukes flew through the chinks in the defences and detonated against the hull. For a dreadful moment, Thomas thought the giant ship would survive. The hull had remained intact, despite everything. And then three more missiles plunged into the gashes and detonated deep inside the ship. The brainship fell out of formation, spewing superheated plasma in all directions. Thomas was morbidly impressed. The brainship was dead, yet the hull remained largely intact ...
The heat must have killed the viral matter, he thought. The virus couldn’t hope to seal all its compartments, not without cutting itself into smaller and smaller sections. It was just a matter of time, the analysts insisted, before the virus started copying the human solution to the problem. Thomas doubted it. The virus wouldn’t find that very comforting, any more than a human would want to cut off his arm ... even if he had no choice. The brainship is no longer a problem.
Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16) Page 15