She straightened as the holograms flickered into existence. She’d always preferred holoconferences, if only because she could use a filter to look perfectly normal while lying in her bunk or taking a shower. Every month, there was a scandal about someone forgetting to use a filter and giving their viewers an eyeful, a scandal that always faded because everyone knew everyone did it ... she smiled in welcome, wondering how many of her command staff were using filters. General Sampan and Admiral Li looked just a little too well turned out.
“General,” she said. “I trust the marines have returned to their ships?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Sampan said. He looked pleased, as well he might be. His part of the operation had been the most delicate, made worse by the lack of actionable intelligence, and yet he’d pulled it off with style. “Decontamination procedures are still underway, as you may expect, but preliminary reports suggest we don’t have to worry about infection.”
“Good,” Susan said. Seven marines were dead ... she promised herself she’d look at their records, when she had a chance. She owed it to them to remember their names. “The techs assure us the catapults can be pressed into service, so ...”
She looked from face to face. “We should be able to jump the entire fleet into enemy space,” she said. “It is my intention to proceed with Phase Two as soon as the catapults are online. Do any of you have any objections?”
The words hung in the air for a long, cold moment. It wasn’t an entirely fair question. They’d been through the pros and cons time and time again, discussing all the potential options well before the fleet had assembled and departed. Now ... she scowled, inwardly. A fleet could not be run by committee, yet she had to pay heed to their opinions. The CO of a multinational fleet had to be a diplomat as well as a military officer. She supposed it was a good thing they were so far from home. They all knew there was no way they could sit on their butts and wait for orders. Either they moved ahead with the plan or they destroyed the catapults and ran.
“As long as the catapults are usable, I see no reason we cannot proceed,” Li said, finally. “The plan was authorised before we left Earth.”
“We should proceed,” Sampan put in. “How long do we have before they realise what we’ve done?”
Susan shrugged. “We haven’t been able to locate a flicker station,” she said. “However, that doesn’t prove there isn’t one. The warning might already be halfway to the alien homeworld.”
“Or they might not have the slightest idea we blew their fleet to hell and took the catapults,” Sampan pointed out. “None of their ships escaped, did they?”
“As far as we know,” Susan said. “We have to assume the worst.”
She made a face. Standard naval doctrine insisted that a cloaked picket should be positioned well away from the fleet, watching from a safe distance. If something went wrong, the picket could break contact and sneak away without being detected. The virus might have copied the idea, and if it had ... she shook her head. There’d been so much sensor distortion during the battle that an entire fleet of cloaked ships could have escaped detection, if they’d existed in the first place. There was just no way to know.
“We’ll proceed, if we manage to get the catapults up and running before the enemy fleet arrives,” she said. “If you have any objections, you have two days to file them before we jump.”
She smiled, briefly, as she ended the conference. A handful of her own pickets would remain within the system, to record the jump and then sneak home. Her crewmen would have one last chance to write letters to their families, their parents and partners and children ... she wondered, idly, just how many letters would be carefully crafted to imply subtle disagreement with her plan without coming right out and saying it. Victory might have a thousand parents, but defeat was an orphan. The survivors would do their level best to escape blame for the disaster.
It won’t be a disaster, she told herself, firmly. The enemy might have thought about a giant fleet materialising in their backyard - they’d certainly come up with the idea themselves - but they’d have problems responding to the threat. Whatever they did, the human race would come out ahead. We’re going to win.
***
Tobias breathed a sigh of relief as the gunboat docked, a dull clang echoing through the craft as airlocks matched and mated. He’d hoped to return to the ship as soon as the battle came to an end, but fleet command had other ideas. The gunboats could remain on station longer than the starfighters and the admiral intended to make use of it. Tobias rubbed his forehead as he fumbled with his straps, all too aware he was drenched in sweat. He wanted to go for a shower, then climb into his bunk and sleep. It was all he could do to take off his helmet and place it beside the seat.
Marigold stumbled to her feet and removed her helmet. She looked terrible, her hair hanging down in sweaty ringlets. Tobias knew he didn’t look any better. He was probably at least as smelly as she was, perhaps even worse. Thankfully, he’d gotten used to the smell of too many humans in too close proximity. He glanced at the washroom, wishing he’d had a chance to use it before they’d flown into battle. It was worse for starfighter pilots ... he thrust that thought out of his head. He didn’t want to think about it.
“Grab something to drink,” Marigold said. “We’re going to need it.”
Tobias made a face as he fumbled through the drawer and removed a pair of nutrient drinks. His fingers refused to cooperate, forcing him to bite his way into his tube and drink it like a child. The flavour - it was supposed to be orange juice - revolted him. He’d had to drink something similar at school and it had never gone down well. He had to admit it made him feel better, but at what cost?
“We’d better move,” Marigold said. “They’ll expect us in the briefing room.”
“They’re so unreasonable,” Tobias said. He knew he sounded like a whiny social queen and he didn’t much care. “I want to sleep.”
He forced himself to stand and follow her towards the hatch. His body ached, as if he’d been locked in place for hours ... he had, he supposed. It had been hours since the battle began, yet it felt like days. His legs felt as if they were made of rubber. He gritted his teeth as he half-walked, half-fell, through the hatch. The battlecruiser felt like home, the air fresh and clear ... he had a sudden impression of a cloud of filth surrounding him. The CAG would take one sniff and order him fumigated. The thought would have made him smile, if he hadn’t been so tired. It became clear, as they walked into the briefing compartment, that he wasn’t the only one. The entire squadron - the entire surviving squadron - looked exhausted.
“Grab yourself a mug of coffee and sit down,” Bagehot ordered. The CAG looked tired, although it was hard to know why. He’d been sitting on his arse while the gunboats had flown against the alien hordes. “We’ll begin as soon as you’re ready.”
Tobias poured two mugs of coffee, passed one to Marigold and crashed into a seat. It tasted vile, but it jerked him awake. He’d never been much of a coffee drinker before he’d joined the military - his mother had loathed the stuff - yet the squadron couldn’t survive without it. His thoughts slowly cleared as he sipped the coffee, reminding him that part of the squadron hadn’t survived. He felt a pang of bitter guilt. He didn’t know the names of the dead men and women. He barely even remembered their faces.
They’re your fucking tribe, you arsehole, a voice said at the back of his head. It sounded an awful lot like Colin. You probably knew them online a long time before you actually met them.
The thought mocked him. Colin had once demanded Tobias attend a football match and cheer the school’s team, even though Tobias hadn’t given a damn who won and lost. It had never mattered to him. Why should he support a team that had treated him like dirt? Why should he cheer for a school that didn’t care about him? And yet, the dead pilots had presumably been recruited like himself. They’d been computer gamers, not ... Tobias winced, inwardly. They hadn’t deserved to die.
“The SAR teams did a sweep, but
they found nothing,” Bagehot said, without preamble. “Frank, Judy, Karen and Adrian are missing, presumed dead.”
Presumed dead, Tobias thought, sarcastically. It was beyond belief the pilots wouldn’t have activated their locator beacons, now the fighting was over. The PLBs could be activated remotely, if one had the right codes. The SAR teams would certainly have tried to activate them. They are dead and any suggestion ...
He stopped himself, feeling another pang of guilt. They were dead and they’d deserved better and there was nothing he could do to make it better ... he wondered, morbidly, if he’d be called upon to empty their drawers. He didn’t want to do it and yet ... better the gunboat pilots than a complete stranger. Bagehot would probably do it. He, at least, knew the dead better than Tobias himself.
“We’ll review the rest of the engagement later,” Bagehot continued. “For the moment, you did well. You handled the mission perfectly, killing a brainship and a fleet carrier. The admiral sends her congratulations.”
Tobias kept his face impassive, somehow. Bagehot wasn’t his old headmaster, the Beast. The CAG wasn’t anything like as fond of the sound of his own voice. He should understand what he was putting his crews through, that they were tired and wanted sleep and ...
“Go get some rest,” Bagehot ordered. Tobias wondered, in a moment of horror, if he’d dozed off in the middle of the briefing. He’d zoned out completely. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“And pray no one attacks while we’re asleep,” a pilot said. Tobias wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. “We need our rest.”
“Yes, you do,” Bagehot agreed. “Go.”
***
Colin emerged from the decontamination chamber feeling uncomfortably naked, even though he was wearing a shipboard tunic. The medics swore blind that the decontamination procedure was intended to ensure that not a scrap of alien viral matter remained on their skin, but Colin suspected it was really designed to torture its victims. They’d bathed his suit in UV light, then insisted he remove it and be bathed again before subjecting him to an endless series of increasingly invasive tests. He understood the importance of ensuring that an unwitting host didn’t board the ship, but still ...
Sergeant Bowman met him outside. “Good work, Corporal.”
“Thank you, Sarge,” Colin said. He had a feeling the meeting wasn’t coincidence. The fact he was being quietly steered towards a private room merely proved it. “The decontamination team took my hair!”
“What little you had left,” Bowman said. He closed the hatch and turned to face Colin, his face a blank mask. “How did Kevin perform?”
Colin frowned. He’d had no time to think about the engagement, let alone write his report. It was unlikely the sergeant really needed to know immediately, unless he wanted Colin’s unsullied responses. Not for the first time, Colin wondered who was backing the entire program. Bowman was way too junior to be in overall charge. He was surprised it wasn’t being handled by the company CO himself.
“He did well, Sarge,” Colin said, finally. “Handled the flight well, boarded the alien structure and coped without a breakdown ... frankly, he did better than many of us on our first deployments.”
“He would be used to alien environments,” Bowman pointed out. “He’s on this ship.”
Colin nodded in understanding. “We’re all alien to him, aren’t we?”
“Yes, and compared to the virus, Kevin is practically human,” Bowman said. “Are you happy to keep him under your command?”
“Yes,” Colin said. It was true. “He handled himself well. I’d be happy to keep him.”
“Very good,” Bowman said. “He’ll remain with you, for the moment.”
Colin leaned forward. “Sergeant ... is there something about this I should know?”
“Not really.” Bowman frowned. “The blunt truth, corporal, is that it is important that Kevin does well - and that he does well on his own merits. We cannot afford to reject him, for political reasons, but we cannot afford to push him forward either. Do you understand me?”
“I’m not sure,” Colin confessed. “Why is this important?”
“Politics,” Bowman said. “Believe me, this could still go horribly wrong.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Captain,” Staci said. “We’re tethered.”
Mitch nodded, feeling torn between concern and an unholy glee. They were going to jump into enemy space and take them from the rear ... he smiled, despite himself, at the double meaning. The virus was going to be taken completely by surprise and yet ... he scowled inwardly as he studied the display. Unicorn was tethered to Lion and the rest of the squadron. If they ran into trouble now, his ship would be a sitting duck. So would the rest of the fleet, but they had the armour to take it long enough to disentangle themselves and fight back. Unicorn’s main defence lay in speed, manoeuvrability and stealth. They were all denied to his ship as long as she remained within the mesh.
They just have to hold off long enough for us to make the jump, he thought. The admiral had deployed scouts up the chain. It was quite possible an alien fleet would sneak past them, but they’d have to go quite some distance out of their way ... assuming, of course, they realised the scouts were there at all. There’s no hint there are any other alien squadrons before New Washington.
He put the thought out of his head as he checked the countdown. The catapults had been charging for weeks, well before the human fleet had arrived to take control. It looked as if the virus had been fine-tuning the systems, readying them to hurl a fleet into human space and beyond. Mitch had checked the reports carefully, but there was no hint where the virus had intended to send its fleet. The command and control network hadn’t survived the engagement. The techs had had to insert human-designed nodes into the system to take control. Mitch feared the worst, but - he told himself - it didn’t matter. They’d won the race to the catapults. Whatever happened, the virus would have to start from scratch if it wanted to try again.
A thrill ran through him as the countdown continued to tick down to zero. He’d recorded a message to his family, then another to Charlotte. That was a risk - a censor might normally ignore a sexually-charged message, but this one was to another officer’s wife - and yet he hadn’t been able to keep from sending something. He had no idea how it would end, but he found it hard to care. He’d never really expected to rise any higher. That demanded good connections and he had none. Unless one counted Charlotte ... he snorted at the thought. Charlotte might be an aristocrat, but she had no connection to the Old Boys Network. She might be able to influence someone, yet ... they’d want to know why.
Staci glanced at him. “Captain?”
Mitch frowned. “Just thinking about our options, after we complete the jump,” he said, rubbing his forearm. The medics had given them all shots to prepare them for the jump, but they’d been unable to swear convincingly that they’d work. The last time a catapult - a human catapult - had been used, the entire crew had been knocked out. “And where we’re going to go.”
“Better hope we make it through the jump, first,” Staci said, practically. “And that we don’t find ourselves in Virus Central.”
“True,” Mitch agreed. “And that we’re not stunned beyond all hope of recovery.”
He gritted his teeth. The virus might have devised a solution ... assuming, of course, it knew it needed one. It had probably captured thousands upon thousands of war memoirs from the Second Interstellar War - there were so many that Mitch was certain that everyone who’d been there had written a book about it - but would it have read them? There was no way to know. Mitch would have, but he wasn’t an alien virus. It was possible to learn a great deal about a culture from its books - he’d heard stories about an admiral who’d learned to understand his foes by studying their artwork - yet there was no sense the virus particularly cared. And yet ...
If it gained access to the memories of a senior naval officer, he thought, it will have learnt everything he knew about t
actics and technology.
He shook his head. The virus wasn’t human. It wasn’t remotely human. And it had used catapults before, just on a much smaller scale. Either it had a solution or it didn’t need one. The end result was still the same. He rubbed his forearm, muttering a quiet prayer to gods he didn’t really believe in. If they completed the jump as planned, they should materialise in a minor system. The real question - he didn’t want to think about it, but he had no choice - was what might be waiting for them. Even a relatively small ship could do one hell of a lot of damage if it was firing on a bunch of sitting ducks.
“We’ll make the jump, then see what we find,” he said. The spooks insisted they’d be very close to a major alien system. Mitch hoped they were right. “And then we’ll fight our way home.”
Or keep probing the rear of their territory, his thoughts added. The idea of cruising around in the alien rear, blowing their way through every shipyard and industrial node they found was attractive, although he knew they’d run out of supplies sooner or later. We could give them one hell of a fight until we ran out of missiles and supplies ...
Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16) Page 18