Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Which is what I am about to do, he thought. And they might wind up being hung beside me.

  “XO, file a protest anyway,” he said, curtly. If they succeeded, the log could be quietly ignored. He’d happily testify that Staci had protested his orders on his orders. He smiled at the thought. That little logic bomb should upset the beancounters. If they failed ... there was no reason Staci’s career should go down the toilet with his. “Everyone else, see to your duties.”

  Staci looked thoroughly displeased. Mitch understood. No matter what he said, during the inevitable Board of Inquiry, there would be people who thought Staci had put a knife in Mitch’s back. Bastards. There were the ideals of naval regulations and the messy realities of wartime service. Staci was caught between two fires, just like everyone else. Mitch would do what he could for her, but he knew it might not be enough. Hopefully, the admiral would go to bat for her, too. God knew she understood what it was like to face such a painful dilemma.

  Mitch settled back into his chair as the frigate picked up speed, silently considering his options. The enemy, damn them, would know where to go. They’d know where they’d meet Admiral Onarina and her fleet. Mitch didn’t. His best guesses were still guesswork. He could accelerate and circumvent the enemy ships, to carry the warning to the admiral, but ... he didn’t know where to go. It would be quite easy to take the wrong tramline, or accidentally inform the enemy that their planned ambush had failed. If they got it wrong ...

  He forced himself to wait as the enemy fleet started to make transit, without slowing down at all. Mitch had suspected the virus was largely immune to jump shock, or at least able to continue operating despite the pain, but it was still disconcerting to see it confirmed. He tried to tell himself the virus knew it was jumping into empty space, yet ... it was hard to believe. The virus should be more vulnerable, not less. It was just another thing about it that didn’t quite make sense.

  “Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. They’d be making the transit far too close to the alien fleet for his peace of mind. “Communications, prepare an emergency transmission. If they target us, I want a warning screamed to the entire system.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Mitch took a breath. He had few qualms about risking his life, yet ... he would never know, if the virus spotted them and opened fire, if his death had saved the fleet. The thought cost him a pang. He’d always thought he’d die in battle, perhaps blown away by enemy missiles or ramming his small frigate into an enemy battleship to save a larger ship, but he’d always seen his death as being meaningful. Here ... he had no way to know, now or ever, if there would be anyone in the system to hear his final words. The scream might fade hours - or days - before Admiral Onarina made transit. He might have thrown his ship and crew into the fire for nothing.

  The display blanked. Mitch forced himself to project an appearance of calm. They might die before the display rebooted, the hull evaporating under the fire of nearly a hundred enemy ships. He counted down the seconds, each one feeling like an hour. He heard a breath echoing around the bridge as the display came back to life. The enemy fleet, hidden under cloak, was heading away at terrifying speed.

  “Helm, shadow them,” Mitch ordered. “Sensors, can you spot the admiral?”

  “No, Captain,” Hannah said. “The system appears to be as dark and silent as the grave.”

  Poor word choice, Mitch thought, as they picked up speed. Very poor word choice.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Susan wasn’t fool enough to think they’d lost the enemy ships completely. They’d moved too far from the least-time course to be certain the system was empty, and the need to keep their sensors powered down made it harder to spot any watching eyes, but - as they prepared to jump into the next system - she felt almost optimistic again. The enemy hadn’t spotted them ... probably. They might just make it through the next system - and the next - before they ran into real trouble.

  She took one final look at the fleet’s status as the countdown began. They’d repaired everything that could be repaired, at least without a shipyard. She had no illusions about how long they’d last, when the enemy found them again, but they’d have a fighting chance. And her crews had had a rest, even the damage control teams. They were about to be pushed to the limit, but ... she shook her head. There was no way they could get a proper rest. That wouldn’t happen until they reached New Washington - or, perhaps, travelled all the way back to Earth.

  We have to get to New Washington first, she thought. If we don’t do that, we won’t be getting home at all.

  “Admiral,” Richardson said, as a yellow icon appeared on the display. It turned to green as he spoke. “Pinafore just made transit. Local space beyond the tramline is clear.”

  “Take us through, as planned,” Susan ordered. The enemy fleet wasn’t waiting for them ... where was the enemy fleet? She wanted to believe she’d escaped contact, but she knew it was unlikely. “And deploy four additional recon drones as soon as we’re through the tramline.”

  She braced herself as the countdown reached zero. Pinafore was a good ship, and Susan knew her commander personally, but it was quite possible she’d missed something. Space was immense. The entire enemy fleet could be lurking a short distance from the tramline, far away enough to escape detection while close enough to move in for the kill. She let out a breath as the display rebooted, displaying a star system that hadn’t been particularly developed even before the virus had swept down from Alien-One in the early days of the war and taken possession. There was no sign of the enemy fleet.

  “Transit completed, Admiral,” Richardson reported. “Local space appears to be clear.”

  “How ... convenient,” Susan said. She stared down at the display for a long moment. Her experience told her to expect trouble. “Signal the fleet. We will proceed as planned.”

  She let out a breath as the fleet started to shift onto its new course. It would add several hours to the journey, but - hopefully - it would keep them clear of any ambushes. The virus would have to shift position if it saw them coming - if it was out there, waiting for them - and that would give her sensor crews a chance to spot it. She checked her remaining drones obsessively, cursing the shortage under her breath. If she had more, she could surround the fleet with an entire flotilla of drones. It would be a great deal harder for anything to sneak up on her.

  The minutes continued to tick by, each one feeling like an hour. Susan bit her lip to remain alert, all too aware they might be lulled into a false sense of security. She knew she should be resting, that her alpha crew should be resting too, but she’d never forgive herself if she was off the deck when the alarms howled. Her lips twitched. She’d have worse problems if the alarms woke her when she was fast asleep. The headache would leave her wishing the virus would hurry up and put her out of her misery.

  She kept a wary eye on the display as she worked her console, trying to calculate the odds of being intercepted. It was impossible to draw any real conclusions ... she deleted her projections in a flash of irritation. They told her nothing she didn’t know already. The fog of war had enveloped the fleet, leaving her guessing ... she hoped, deep inside, that the virus was guessing, too. It might have a rough idea of where she was, but that rough idea encompassed a whole series of star systems. Who knew? Maybe it had given up the chase.

  We’re still in its territory, she reminded herself. It won’t let us go so easily ...

  “Admiral,” Richardson said. “The drones are picking up sensor distortions.”

  Susan kicked herself, mentally, as she stood and studied the reports. Sensor distortions didn’t always mean a prowling enemy fleet, but they were so deep in enemy space she couldn’t afford to ignore them. They were in an odd place, further from the system primary than she’d expected ... she frowned, wondering if the enemy had simply gotten lucky. Or if they’d tracked the fleet ever since it had broken contact and jumped through the tramline.

  Or we have an infected person
onboard, she thought. It should have been impossible - the bioscanners, blood screenings and UV lights should have revealed any zombies - but she couldn’t dismiss the thought completely. They could be calling the enemy fleet right to us.

  “Divert two drones towards the contact,” she ordered. The enemy ships - if they were ships - were already too close for comfort. Their sensors would probably be able to detect her fleet, even though they were cloaked. There were just too many ships in too close proximity. “And put the starfighters and gunboats on alert.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Susan watched, gritting her teeth as the seconds ticked away. The longer she waited before launching starfighters and altering course, the greater the chance the enemy would land a solid blow on her ships. But if she launched starfighters, which couldn’t cloak, the enemy would know she was there. It crossed her mind to wonder if she was poking at a decoy, something intended to flush her out of hiding. The virus was perfectly capable of being subtle. It just didn’t bother very often.

  “Crap!” Richardson cleared his throat. “Admiral, incoming starfighters!”

  “I see them,” Susan said. The drones had picked up the carriers, too late. The virus looked to be copying its earlier tactics, hiding the battleships behind the carriers. Did it expect the trick to work twice? Or was it trying to trick her into thinking it was repeating itself? “Launch starfighters, then bring us about. Try to widen the range as much as possible.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Susan’s mind raced as the carriers started to launch starfighters. The virus had found them, which meant ... what? Her fingers danced over the console. It was possible the virus had just gotten lucky. The fleet they’d evaded two systems ago could have caught up with them. Or ... she keyed a command into the console, as the cloaking devices were deactivated. A sensor focus might reveal an unwelcome travelling companion ...

  “Admiral, the drones have isolated a number of enemy drive signatures,” Richardson reported. “They’re the ships we encountered earlier.”

  “Good,” Susan said. It wasn’t really good news. The drones were revealing more and more ships behind the carriers. The enemy was clearly coordinating its assault, even though there wasn’t a brainship in sensor range ... perhaps the enemy ships had simply used the flicker network to ask for orders. It was hardly impossible. “Deploy the gunboats to deter them from getting any closer, then alter course again. We have to get through that tramline.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Susan sat back in her chair, trying to project an image of calm. This time, they couldn’t afford to hunt down and destroy the enemy flicker station. This time, she couldn’t risk a long, drawn-out engagement. This time ...

  They could have gotten their fleet past us without us noticing, she told herself. If they had some way to track us, they didn't need to risk an engagement ...

  She groaned, inwardly. The virus wasn’t closing the range. Again. It was forcing her to defend herself, expending her supplies for nothing. And she had no choice, but to play its game until she could get through the tramline ...

  ***

  Tobias felt uneasy as the gunboats lanced away from Lion, heading towards the enemy carriers. They weren’t maintaining a CSP, somewhat to his surprise, but they’d moved enough escorts forward to protect the carriers. It was a crude tactic, yet workable. The gunboats could evade the escorts - they were far faster than any starship - but the missiles couldn’t. The enemy were pumping out so many sensor pulses that even ballistic missiles were unlikely to remain undetected long enough to get into striking range.

  He gritted his teeth as the range closed sharply. The remainder of the gunboats were spread out, a grim reminder of the simple fact there were only four gunboats left. He wanted to feel guilty at forgetting the dead - at not really knowing them at all - but it was hard to feel much of anything. He’d gone beyond horror, beyond anything save for the need to stay alive for one more day. They could make it home and then ...

  “I have missile lock,” he said. The carriers weren’t really trying to hide. The haze surrounding them wouldn’t be enough to shield them from detection, although he supposed it would make it harder for anyone to lock missiles directly on their hull. The gunboats were close enough to see right through it. “Missiles targeted, ready to go live.”

  “Go live,” Marigold said.

  Tobias nodded and tapped the console. The gunboats reversed course, spitting out a handful of sensor decoys as they fled. He left her to handle the piloting as the missiles went live, picking up speed as they flashed towards their targets. The salvo should have been larger, he noted grimly. Only one missile survived long enough to strike a carrier and it didn’t do anything like enough damage. It looked as if the carrier had lost a single flight deck, but so what? There were three more.

  A handful of enemy starfighters swooped down on them. Tobias watched, helplessly, as the automatics handled the engagement. The battle was just moving too fast. A lone gunboat was blown to atoms, wiped out too quickly for the crew to escape. Another ...

  The gunboat shook. The gravity field flickered and died, the displays blinking out of existence seconds later. Tobias froze in horror as he heard a whistling noise echoing through the craft. They’d been holed! There was a gash in the hull! He felt liquid trickling between his legs as he realised they were about to die, unless they got very lucky. His fingers were suddenly clumsy, terribly clumsy. It was all he could do to pull himself free of the straps as the gunboat careened out of control. Marigold was caught in her seat, unable to get free. Tobias shivered, the cold starting to get to him as he yanked his helmet into place, pulled down his mask and stumbled towards her. She was trapped ...

  He pulled at her straps for a second, then realised his mistake and disengaged the whole chair. The installation came apart, leaving her drifting in the middle of the compartment. Her eyes were wide with fear. Tobias managed – somehow - to get her mask into place and yank her towards the gash in the hull. The stars beyond were spinning in circles ... he took her masked hand, wrapped his arms around her and dragged them both into interplanetary space. He could feel the cold, even through the shipsuit. Panic yammered at the back of his mind as the gunboat vanished into the distance, a sparkle of light suggesting it had exploded. They were screwed. They were dead. Their only hope for rescue was the virus and that would rescue them only to infect them. Tobias wondered if he’d have the nerve to commit suicide, if the virus would let him. He couldn’t bring himself to pull his mask free and start sucking vacuum.

  Marigold pulled herself up towards him. Tobias almost giggled as they tried to line their helmets up. They looked absurd. They really had to look absurd, as if they were fighting and hugging at the same time. Her mask had tinted automatically, but he could see her eyes behind it. She was scared, as scared as he ... the cold was starting to leech into his bones and drain his energy. Bagehot had sworn blind the shipsuits would protect them from the vacuum, but Tobias was starting to think he’d exaggerated. A few seconds might be fine. Hours or days ... he didn’t want to think about it.

  He clicked his PLB on, hoping it would attract attention. The right kind of attention. Someone would be on SAR duty, right? Someone might pluck them out of space before it was too late ... he swallowed, hard. There wasn’t much time, not for them ... not any longer. And if they died ...

  I’m sorry, he thought, although he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Marigold? Bagehot? Colin? His mother and sister and dead father? I just wish ...

  ***

  Mitch awoke as the alarms howled, cursing under his breath as he rolled out of his bunk and hit the terminal with his bare hand. The alarms quieted, but didn’t stop. He’d given strict orders, as the ship shadowed the alien fleet towards the second tramline, that the alpha crew was not to be awoken unless the shit had really hit the fan. He hoped someone had jumped the gun, or screwed up so badly the rest of the crew would hate their guts. The alternative was worse.

  “R
eport,” he snapped. Staci should be in her cabin, leaving the bridge in Lieutenant Hinkson’s hands. “What’s happening?”

  “Captain,” Hinkson said. “We just detected an engagement. Preliminary projections suggest our fleet was jumped by an undetected enemy fleet.”

  Mitch keyed the terminal. They were quite some distance from the engagement, but certain things were clear. Admiral Onarina had run into a second enemy fleet, which was ... Mitch’s blood ran cold. The admiral didn’t know about the first fleet. She couldn’t. It was waiting for her, readying itself for the kill while the second fleet drove her into its waiting jaws. The sheer enormity of the trap made Mitch stare in disbelief. They’d been cautioned, time and time again, not to be clever on an interstellar scale. Boring but practical was far superior to awesome but impractical. And yet, the virus had pulled it off. The scale of the trap was probably why the admiral hadn’t seen it coming.

  They pulled ships off the front line and sent them here, he thought, numbly. The jaws were steadily closing. It wouldn’t be long before the admiral was caught between two fleets, unable to break contact with one without running into the other. If she could get past them ...