As far as his sensors can determine, Susan thought, coldly. She kept that to herself. Any officer worthy of the name would already know it. The enemy might have a rough idea where we’ll make transit even if they don’t know the precise location.
She dismissed the thought. “Order the fleet to begin making transit, as planned,” she said. “Deploy drones, then rotate them to suggest we’re preparing to make a last stand.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Richardson said. “Lion reports the gunboats are ready to deploy.”
“Deploy them,” Susan ordered.
She smiled, despite her bone-wrenching tiredness. The virus wouldn’t believe she intended to make a last stand, of course. It was unlikely to believe it had managed to keep her from jumping out, not when the majority of her ships could still make the jump. It would see her bluff for what it was, she hoped; it would see weakness and rush to the attack before she could make her escape. And if she was lucky ...
***
Tobias hadn’t felt as if he’d been set up for disaster since ... since his schooldays, when he’d been ordered to join a team that didn’t want him and charge up and down a muddy field that offered plenty of opportunities for everyone else to trip him up or kick his backside whenever the PE teacher wasn’t looking. Or when he was looking ... the arsehole had openly favoured the sporty kids and penalised the rest for not taking the match seriously. He might as well have covered Tobias in steak sauce and thrown him into the lion’s den. This time, at least, their deaths might be in a good cause.
Fuck, he thought. They’d been given a chance to rest, when it had become clear the gunboats couldn’t hit the alien carriers, but he felt as if he hadn’t slept. This could end really badly.
The gunboat drifted in interstellar space, close enough to the tramline to jump through it ... if, of course, they’d had a Puller Drive. The boffins kept promising to come up with a miniature FTL drive, but - so far - they hadn’t managed to devise a working model and put it into mass production. Tobias felt weirdly exposed, even though they were under stealth, as the remainder of the fleet made transit. The sensor ghosts surrounding their position wouldn’t fool anyone. He’d been told the plan involved not fooling the enemy, that it would be better if the virus thought it had seen through the deception, but it seemed to him as though the admiral was trying to be clever. His instructors had warned him that trying to be clever was a good way to get killed.
Which is true, he thought, ruefully. I was always smarter than Colin. It didn’t stop him beating me up all the time.
“Pick your targets,” Marigold said. “But don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.”
Tobias nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The enemy fleet was picking up speed, launching missiles at the drifting hulks instead of trying to bypass them. Tobias hoped that was a good sign, as he selected his targets. The brainship was obvious, but there were others. If he could take out the carriers, which were recovering their fighters in preparation for the jump, the fleet would have a good chance of keeping ahead of the battleships until they reached New Washington. If ...
Marigold cleared her throat. “Tobias?”
“Targets locked,” Tobias said. “I’m uploading targeting data to the missiles now.”
He sucked in his breath. The enemy fleet seemed to be trying for a hard transit. They’d be vomiting on the decks if they made transit at speed, if - of course - the host bodies actually vomited. The thought bothered him, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the catapult transit had been so rough because the virus didn’t need to worry about jump shock. Perhaps ...
“I’ve programmed the missiles to fire when the ships reach Point Alpha, unless they scan us first,” he said. “We don’t want them sweeping the missiles out of space.”
He braced himself as the seconds ticked down. They’d unloaded hundreds of missiles - almost the entire reserve - into space. If they were spotted before they went live, the entire exercise would be worse than useless. He didn’t want to die for nothing! His eyes narrowed, sweat trickling down his back as enemy sensors swept over their position. The decoys should distract them, but it was growing more and more obvious that the decoys were just sensor ghosts. They weren’t shooting at the advancing ships.
The display flashed red. “They have us!”
He hit the firing key, as Marigold flash-woke the gunboat and yanked it around on an evasive pattern. The enemy seemed stunned as hundreds of missiles came to life, screeching towards their fleet at point-blank range. He cursed under his breath as they cut their drives ... they’d probably damaged their drive nodes, hitting the brakes like that, but it would keep them from impaling themselves on the missiles. Their point defence came to life seconds later, sweeping dozens of missiles out of space. But the remainder kept coming ...
It might have been a mistake, targeting the brainship, he thought. It’s the most heavily protected ship in the fleet.
He felt his heart leap as a handful of missiles made it through, tearing into the enemy ship. For a moment, he feared the worst ... and then the brainship exploded. The remaining ships seemed to flinch, their coordination falling apart as they fought desperately to survive. A carrier fell out of formation, a destroyer was vaporised ...
“We got the bastard,” he cheered. “We got him!”
“Don’t get too pleased,” Marigold advised, as she set course for Nehru. “The rest of the fleet is still coming.”
“Yeah.” Tobias grinned. “But we bought the fleet some time.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Admiral, Nehru just crossed the tramline,” Richardson said. “The ambush worked.”
Susan nodded, stiffly, as the report blinked up on her display. She hadn’t expected much from the ambush. She’d only consented to deploying so many missiles because she’d believed she’d lose them shortly, when the virus resumed its attack on the fleet train. And yet, it had worked. The gunboats had taken out the enemy brainship, then barnacled themselves to the destroyer so she could carry them back through the tramline. Susan told herself she shouldn’t have been so doubtful. The virus had been so desperate to keep her from escaping that it had impaled itself on her missiles.
Which should buy us a little time, she thought, grimly. But will it be enough?
She studied the display as the fleet moved off the tramline and plunged further into the deserted system. They were only two jumps from the RV point - and four from New Washington - but that only ensured the chances of interception were a great deal higher. Susan wanted to believe the Americans would launch a spoiling attack out of New Washington, forcing the virus to decide between intercepting the fleet and knocking the Americans back onto the defensive, but she knew it wasn’t likely to happen. The Americans didn’t have any way to know what was happening on the far side of the tramline. And even if they did, they had to put the safety of New Washington first. There were millions of people on the surface.
“The fleet is to cloak, as planned, before we alter course,” she ordered. She was tempted to follow a least-time course, on the assumption it would be the last thing anyone would expect, but there was such a thing as outsmarting herself. The brainship was gone. The virus’s ships might follow an unimaginative course and wind up winning by complete accident. “And then we begin a dog-leg to the next tramline.”
She stroked her chin, hoping - praying - that her crews would have a chance to rest. If they managed to lose themselves somewhere within the trackless wastes of interstellar space, they might just be able to take a break and perform repairs before they forced the next tramline. The repair crews were already hard at work, patching holes in hulls while the transhipment teams emptied the freighters into the warships. Susan suspected a number of the freighters would have to be abandoned, sooner rather than later. They were becoming a serious liability. Her lips twisted in annoyance. Losing the freighters would be a liability, too.
Her eyes turned to the starchart. In theory, if the survey crews hadn’t missed anyt
hing, there wasn’t any major enemy presence between the fleet’s position and the RV point. In practice, who knew? The virus had presumably established a flicker network that ran as far corewards as New Washington. It could be deploying its forces to stop her ... she silently ran through the calculations, asking herself where she would put the ambush. She’d strike in the last system, bar one. It wouldn’t do to accidentally alert the Americans to her fleet’s survival. The virus would have to assume the Americans would come to her aid.
We could use the 5th Calvary coming over the hill right now, she thought. She’d watched a bunch of cowboy movies as a young girl, although it hadn’t taken her long to notice they all followed the same basic formula. I’d even settle for a squadron of battleships.
She dismissed the thought as the fleet continued into the empty system. Questions spun around and around in her mind. How long would it take the fleet to make transit, without the brainship? What would it do? Was there enough viral matter on the ships to make up for the lost brainship? Would the fleet try to hunt them down? Or would it proceed to link up with the next enemy fleet, then turn to face the human ships? She just didn’t know.
The hours started to tick by, one by one. Susan kept a wary eye on the reports, breathing a sigh of relief when it appeared she wouldn’t have to abandon any more ships. Even powered down, they might have served as a trail of breadcrumbs that would have led the enemy right to her. And ... she keyed through a series of reports, watching grimly as the datanet noted and logged the evacuees, then suggested placements for them. There would be Russian engineers in Chinese engine rooms and French pilots flying off American carriers and ... she shook her head. They’d cope. They had to.
“Admiral,” Richardson said. “We’ve reaching the passive sensor limits. We won’t be able to monitor the tramline for much longer.”
“Understood,” Susan said. She hadn’t placed much faith in the passive sensors. The fleet was already too far from the tramline to be sure of spotting a cloaked ship, when it made transit. If the enemy fleet had finished licking its wounds, it could already have jumped through the tramline and started searching for them. Doctrine suggested deploying a handful of drones to monitor the tramline, but she didn’t have any to spare. “Order the sensor crews to keep an eye on it.”
She sat back in her chair, forcing herself to think. Their options had narrowed significantly in the last two days. She could alter course radically and dart back through the tramline, taking an extremely long route home, but she didn’t have the supplies. The logistics report was grim. They were short on everything from ammunition to spare parts. The starfighter and gunboat crews had been pushed to the limit. She was no longer confident of victory if she reversed course and engaged the pursuit fleet, let alone whatever might be waiting for them further up the tramline. She had to admit the virus had played its cards well. It had forced her into a situation when she knew there was a trap waiting for her, but she had to spring it anyway.
Our only chance is to sneak through as carefully as possible, she thought. And it knows that, too.
She stood. “Get some rest,” she ordered, addressing the entire compartment. “That’s an order.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Richardson said.
Susan smiled, then headed into her cabin and closed the hatch. Her head was starting to hurt. She’d drunk too much coffee ... she was going to pay for that, even if she hadn’t risked taking anything stronger. Half her starfighter pilots were in for a world of pain once the stimulants finally wore off. They’d be in no state for a fight, at least until they got a day or two of rest. And ...
Her heart sank as she kicked off her boots and clambered into bed. It wasn’t easy to forget that the fleet was being hunted, that the enemy might stumble across them at any moment ... that they might blunder straight into a trap because they didn’t dare risk using the active sensors. Susan could imagine all sorts of horrors, from the enemy copying her missile trick to simply laying a minefield in her path. The Royal Navy generally considered minefields a waste of resources - it was impossible to be entirely sure the enemy would remain on a predictable flight path - but if there was any interstellar power that would feel differently, it was the virus. And if Susan was worried, the people under her command would be worried as well.
They’re not the ones responsible for getting us out of the mess, Susan thought. The entire mission concept had been her idea. She’d get the blame if the mission failed, although - if it did - it was unlikely she’d live long enough to face a court-martial. I’m the one who has to get us clear.
She closed her eyes and lay back, but sleep was a long time in coming.
***
Tobias couldn’t move.
The gunboat was docked safely on the ring, the hatch blinking green, but he couldn’t force himself to get up and stagger to the hatch. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him - he hadn’t taken that many stimulants - yet ... he felt as if he was simply unable to move ever again. Marigold didn’t sound any better, from what he could hear. He couldn’t turn his head to see her.
He coughed, loudly, as he stared down at his console. His shipsuit felt grimy. He was uncomfortably aware he probably stunk like ... his imagination failed him. They’d been in the gunboat for hours, during the brief engagement and then the transit through the tramline and the flight back to Lion. The battlecruiser hadn’t waited for them. Tobias understood, intellectually, that the battlecruiser was far more important than the gunboats, but it still felt like a betrayal.
The terminal pinged. “Are you two decent in there?”
Tobias flushed and tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was hard to muster the energy to care. He wanted to sleep and yet he was too tired. The hatch hissed open behind him, something that should have worried him ... he’d learned the hard way not to ignore someone behind him, but ... he just didn’t care. He didn’t even jump when he felt strong arms fiddling with his straps, pulling him free.
“Richard?” Colin. It was Colin. Tobias was almost too tired to be alarmed. “Tobias?”
“... Fuck,” Tobias managed. He felt as if he was about to slop out of his seat and turn into a puddle on the deck. “What ...?”
“I’ve got you,” Colin said. He finished freeing Tobias, then hauled him out of the seat and slung him over his shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”
Tobias’s awareness blurred, as if he’d fallen into a fever-dream. His worst nightmare was coming true, right in front of him. Colin was carrying him through the hatch ... he saw a green-skinned alien, right in front of him; he saw the bulkheads start to shimmer, bending and twisting in ways no human could comprehend. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to work and ...
His awareness snapped back to normal. He was lying on a bed, staring up at an intimidating array of machinery. It looked like a set of dentist’s tools or ... his head spun as he realised he was in sickbay. Someone had stripped him, then covered his body with a sheet. He started to sit upright, even though the deck seemed to be heaving like a ship caught in a storm. Bile rose in his throat. It was all he could do not to be sick.
“Welcome back,” Doctor Haugen said. “How are you feeling?”
Tobias coughed. He’d seen ... he wasn’t sure what he’d seen. His stomach felt uncomfortably empty, as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Hunger had never really been part of his life, whatever else one could say about his childhood. Ration bars were free, even if no one wanted them. And yet ... he felt dazed rather than sore. How much of what he’d seen had been real?
“The stimulants have burnt their way out of your system,” the doctor assured him. She held out a mug of water, her dark eyes watching him intently as he sipped. “You slept through most of the aftermath, for which you should be grateful. I saw fit to keep you under until the last of the effects left your system, too.”
“Thanks,” Tobias managed, somehow. He felt woozy, as if he hadn’t had anything like enough sleep. “What ... what happened to Marigold?”
“She’
s in the next bed,” the doctor said. “She took more stimulants than yourself and the after-effects were considerably worse. She should be fine, once they’ve worked their way out of her system. I’d prefer to keep an eye on her, and you, but ... we’re in a pickle. You might have to go back on duty at short notice.”
Tobias stared at Marigold. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her sleep, but ... she looked unhealthily pale. Her freckles stood out so clearly he half-thought she was dead. She was naked, her modesty preserved by a towel ... he wondered, suddenly, who’d undressed them both? The doctor? Or ... he didn’t want to think about it. He’d heard enough changing room bullshit to last a lifetime.
“I ... fuck,” he managed. He put the mug to one side, then wobbled to his feet. “Can’t I stay with her?”
“Not until she wakes up,” the doctor said, bluntly. “For the moment, I advise you to get something to eat and then go back to your bunk. You should try and get as much sleep as possible before you have to go back into battle. Do you understand me?”
Tobias nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”
Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16) Page 34