Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “I’m on my way,” he said. They had to act fast. “Power up the transmitters and send a warning, then start evasive patterns. I want everyone to hear the warning.”

  Hinkson didn’t hesitate. Mitch silently promised him a commendation. He knew they’d draw attention to themselves the moment they started to transmit. The cloak wouldn’t protect them, not when they were screaming in the enemy’s ear. They’d be fired upon before they had a chance to start repeating the message, unless they were very lucky. But they might just save the rest of the fleet.

  Grabbing his jacket, he ran for the bridge. If he was going to be blown out of space, he was going to do it on his bridge. And if they’d saved the fleet, it would be worthwhile ...

  “Start dumping our sensor records, too,” he snapped, as he burst onto the bridge. “Copy everything. Make sure they know about the alien world.”

  And hope to God enough ships survive to get home, he added, silently. The alien fleet was coming to life. Unicorn was dropping back, but she was still far too close to the enemy ships for comfort. If we don’t get the fleet out, and the message home, no one will know what we’ve done.

  ***

  “Admiral, I ... my God!”

  Susan started. “Report!”

  “Signal from Unicorn,” Richardson said, as the display started to sparkle with red icons. “We’re flying right into an ambush.”

  For a moment, Susan refused to believe what she was seeing. An enemy fleet was right in front of her, dangerously close ... too close. How the fuck had it gotten so close to her without being detected ... she looked at the first fleet and knew the answer. She’d been so intent on avoiding action that she’d let herself be driven straight into an ambush. A second ambush. And yet, Unicorn had saved her arse. The frigate shouldn’t even have been there, but she’d won the fleet a moment of time. It might just be enough ...

  Her mind raced. The enemy fleet had been crawling towards her, sacrificing speed for stealth. It would need some time to bring up its drives to full power, even if it took the risk of flash-waking its systems. It was barely starting to launch starfighters towards the human ships. Susan had a window of opportunity. She could not afford to waste it.

  “Alter course,” she snarled. “Ramp up the drives to full power” - she drew a line on the display - “and loop us around the enemy fleet. If any of our ships can’t keep up” - her words caught in her throat - “they are to be evacuated and abandoned. Launch two drones towards the fleet and two more along our flight path ...”

  And hope there isn’t a third enemy fleet also waiting for us, she added silently, as she continued to issue orders. She knew just how badly her fleet had been weakened. If that happens, we’re dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Unicorn shouldn’t even be here, Thomas thought, numbly. What the fuck is Campbell doing here?

  He told himself, sharply, not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The enemy fleet was far too close for comfort, but it wasn’t close enough. The admiral was already snapping orders through the datanet, commanding the ships to alter course and steer their way out of the trap. It was going to be close, as the enemy ships realised they’d been rumbled and started to pick up speed, but not close enough. They might just make it out of the trap.

  The display sparkled with red icons. Missiles. Long-range missiles. Thomas shuddered as he saw the sheer weight of the enemy broadside, fearing the worst if the enemy had also improved their missile designs. They might have configured them to slip through the human defences and ram into their hulls ... he put the thought out of his mind as the enemy carriers launched their starfighters. They intended to slow the fleet long enough to let the battleships close and batter it into submission. It could not be allowed.

  “Captain.” Bagehot’s image flashed up on the display. “The gunboat crews have activated their beacons.”

  Thomas cursed under his breath. The pilots would not have risked activating their PLBs unless there was no other choice. They had to have abandoned their craft, something they wouldn’t have done unless they’d been hit ... he cursed again as he studied the display. The fleet was turning away, trying to put some distance between itself and the enemy fleets. There was no time for a pickup and yet he couldn’t risk abandoning his pilots. He was their CO. He had a duty to them.

  “Launch marine shuttles on SAR duty,” he said, finally. He would have preferred to assign starfighters to the task, in the middle of a major engagement, but none could be spared. And besides, they’d have to make sure the gunboat pilots were their own men before they risked bringing them back onboard. It wasn’t likely the virus had managed to capture, infect and release them in the space of a few short minutes, but it had managed to pull off the impossible before. “And make it clear that this is a volunteer mission only.”

  “Aye, sir,” Bagehot said.

  Thomas scowled, inwardly. The marines would take up the mission. He had no doubt of it. Peer pressure, as well as the need to live up to their reputation, would see to that. And yet, he’d never liked pushing someone to do something they didn’t want to. It had always struck him as blatant foul play. Better to let a coward, or even someone who rationally calculated the odds, leave of their own accord then risk putting them on the front lines. He’d heard enough horror stories to know it was better to keep such people well away from danger.

  The marines went through commando training, he reminded himself, dryly. The Royal Marines were an all-volunteer force. It was the Home Guard that had to make do with unsuitable conscripts, men who shouldn’t really have been accepted into the military. They wouldn’t have passed the final exercises if they weren’t up for it.

  He sighed - it was a little too much like throwing good money after bad - and concentrated on the display as the wall of missiles advanced on their position. Lion was returning fire, as were the remaining battleships, but their combined firepower wasn’t anything like enough to overwhelm the enemy point defences. Thomas calculated the odds of scoring a single hit and decided they were far too low. The fleets were just too close - now - for any clever tricks. They were going to be banging away at each other uselessly until the range closed still further ...

  We’re going to be shooting uselessly, he thought, as the enemy missiles entered attack range and started to speed up. They’re the ones who are going to be scoring the hits.

  ***

  Susan kept her face impassive as the battle continued to unfold. The enemy fleets were picking up speed, trying to bring their main body into range before the human ships could escape the trap. They might just succeed too, she thought, as the enemy missiles roared into her formation. Hundreds died, but hundreds more made it through. The damage started to mount rapidly. A battleship fell out of formation, unable to keep up with the rest of the fleet. There was no time to evacuate. Her captain brought her about, intent on selling his life dearly in hopes of winning the remainder of the fleet time to escape. Susan was all too aware it wouldn’t be enough.

  She felt her heart sink as the enemy fleet closed on her position. She needed more time, damn it. She needed more time, the one thing the enemy wasn’t going to give her. The virus had gambled by pulling ships off the front line - her tactical staff had identified a handful of enemy ships, last seen laying siege to New Washington - and it had paid off for them. The Americans wouldn’t have the slightest idea the virus had given them a window of opportunity to push the front lines back, not unless someone alerted them ... she shook her head. By the time a messenger reached New Washington, it would already be too late. The virus would have beaten her fleet and rushed its remaining ships back to the front lines.

  The enemy starfighters fell on her ships like wolves on the flock. They ducked and weaved through a web of point defence fire, launching torpedoes as they closed to attack range before strafing her hulls with plasma fire. The latter did little damage to the hulls themselves, but they weakened her point defence and sensor nodes beyond immediate repair. Susan cursed as another
ship fell out of formation, followed rapidly by a carrier exploding into a ball of expanding plasma. Thousands of lives had been wiped out in a split second ... she told herself she’d mourn later, if there was a later. The enemy fleet was still narrowing the range at terrifying speed. By the time their battleships brought their main guns to bear, her ships would barely be capable of spotting targets, let alone engaging them.

  There was no point in issuing orders, no point in distracting her crews. Her mind raced as the seconds ticked away, her thoughts spinning in circles. Had the plan been flawed all along? Had she been wrong to attack the second enemy world? Had she made a mistake by not breaking contact and sneaking through the tramlines? Or had the outcome been inevitable, right from the start? She’d always known she’d have to break through the front lines to get back to safety. Her court-martial was going to be the shortest formality on record.

  “Admiral, Clinton is taking heavy fire,” Richardson reported. “Her captain is requesting additional cover.”

  “Granted,” Susan said, curtly. She might keep the assault carrier alive for a few moments longer. Its point defence, in turn, might keep the fleet going for a little bit as well. “And try to rally the starfighters ...”

  She cursed under her breath. The enemy had forced her to exhaust her pilots before showing its hand. Her starfighter squadrons had been shattered, makeshift formations hastily thrown together long enough for a single mission and then restructured - again - from the remnants of the previous formations. British pilots flew with French, Russian and Chinese wingmen, their differences forgotten in the desperate need to survive. It would have pleased her, if she hadn’t known they were trapped. She was only going to save a handful of her ships ... if she was lucky. The odds were good that her ship wouldn’t make it out.

  They’ll be able to blame me in peace, she thought, ruefully. The hell of it was that that might be for the best. If they blame everything on me ...

  “Admiral,” Richardson began. “I ...”

  He broke off. “My God!”

  ***

  Mitch had the uncomfortable feeling, as he put more space between Unicorn and the enemy fleet, that he had a ringside seat to the greatest naval disaster in human history. Human fleets had been beaten before - the Battle of New Russia had been a one-sided slaughter - but this was different. The enemy had outsmarted the human commanders, getting their ships into position for a hastily-planned ambush without being detected. It had deserved to win, Mitch reflected sourly. The only thing that had saved the human fleet from being crushed was sheer goddamned luck.

  And yet, we might not have saved the fleet, Mitch thought. His sensors were blurred, their readings distorted by weapons fire and sensor jammers, but he didn’t need precise details to know the fleet was taking a battering. The admiral was doing the only thing she could - evading the two fleets in hopes of breaking free - yet the virus knew it had her ships on the ropes. It just needs to keep pounding at us until we go down.

  Every instinct he had called for a charge into the teeth of enemy fire, to launch his ship into the enemy formation in hopes of buying time. And yet, cold logic told him he’d get himself killed for nothing. Unicorn would be swatted out of existence, as casually as a man might swat a fly ... if the virus condescended to notice her at all. It might simply ignore the frigate, confident she could do nothing to harm it. The virus would be right. Mitch could ram his ship into a brainship, taking both ships out ... for nothing. The remainder of the brainships would continue to direct the engagement until the human fleet had been crushed.

  Unless ... A thought crossed his mind. They don’t know we went the short way around, do they?

  He forced himself to think. The virus knew Unicorn - or someone - was behind them. It just didn’t care. The fleet was a far more important target than a lone frigate. And yet, the virus didn’t know Unicorn had been attached to the fleet. It might assume she’d been dispatched from New Washington instead. It might assume ...

  “Deploy the sensor drones,” he ordered. “I want the virus to see a fleet advancing from the rear.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Staci said. “It won’t fool them for long ...”

  Mitch shrugged. He couldn’t sit on his arse and watch the human fleet die, not if there was something he could do. The beancounters would bitch and moan about expending so many drones, but they’d whine more about losing the fleet. If the virus allowed itself to be tricked into thinking there was about to be smashed with a frontal attack on its rear ... his lips twitched, remembering the joke about the deserter who ran the wrong way and got the VC. Right now, he’d happily put up with all the jokes as long as it got the fleet out of the trap.

  “Deploying the drones now,” Staci said. “They’ll go live in two minutes.”

  “Good,” Mitch said. He silently counted the enemy ships, asking himself - grimly - if they’d keep their nerve. The drones would look like they were threatening the brainships ... the virus wouldn’t want to lose them, would it? And yet, all the virus had to do to win the engagement was to do nothing. “Direct the ghosts right at the brainships.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  ***

  Richardson found his voice. “Those ships aren’t real!”

  Susan was inclined to agree. The Americans had no reason to launch a probe so far into enemy space. If they had, they’d muffed it. They’d given up the chance to hit the brainships ... she shook her head. The fleet had to be nothing more than sensor ghosts, keeping their distance to provide an explanation for why they weren’t pouring fire into the enemy rear. And yet ...

  The virus flinched. Its fire slackened as it hastily redeployed ships and starfighters to stand against the new threat. Susan understood. The brainships were the only thing holding the enemy formation together. If they were taken out, the remainder of the fleet would have serious problems. And she thought the virus, for the first time, was feeling the pinch. It might just be unwilling to risk engagement against vastly superior forces ... forces that didn’t exist. The illusion was unlikely to last more than five minutes at most.

  “Long enough,” she said. She raised her voice as she drew out a trajectory on the display. “Signal the fleet. All units are to accelerate and punch through into interplanetary space, heading straight for the tramline.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Susan smiled, grimly. The enemy ships were already starting to show signs of hesitation, suggesting they’d started to wonder if they were being tricked. She wondered, idly, if it would take the risk of finding out the hard way. It was what she would have done ... perhaps, if she’d been sure the sensor ghosts really were illusions. Or that the damage she’d take would be worth it, in the long run. The virus might fold its hand, rather than risk a victory that might easily become a defeat ...

  Just a few more seconds, she thought. Just a few more seconds and we can turn this around.

  ***

  Space, Tobias reflected sourly, was cold. Very cold. He could feel it seeping into his bones as they tumbled through interplanetary space, despite the heating elements worked into his shipsuit. He tried to tell himself, as he clung desperately to Marigold, that he was imagining it, but it didn’t work. His fingers were slowly turning to ice. He held her tightly, wishing he could kiss her one final time. They were together, and yet they were alone. They couldn’t even talk.

  He saw flickers of light in the distance, tiny glimmers that suggested the battle was still going on. There was no way to know what was happening, who was winning ... he was uncomfortably aware that his PLB was pinging frantically, screaming for help. If the virus won, Marigold and he would be yanked out of space and infected ... he wondered, grimly, if they’d be able to kill themselves. They hadn’t thought to grab their service pistols before abandoning ship. He kicked himself, mentally. He’d tried to strangle himself, five years ago, and it hadn’t worked. He hadn’t really wanted to die.

  His heart started to race as he spotted a light moving towards him. A missile? A p
lasma bolt? He didn’t feel any better as the light took on shape and form and became a shuttle ... he wasn’t reassured. It was a human design, but that was meaningless. The virus’s fleets included ships from a dozen races, known and unknown. He tensed as the shuttle slowed, its hatch snapping open to reveal a man in a suit. A line snapped out towards them, yanking them into the airlock. Gravity asserted itself a second later, sending them falling to the deck as the hatch closed. He grunted as he hit the hard metal surface.

  The suited man removed his helmet. Colin? Tobias felt a flicker of panic, combined with the dull sense that Colin had saved his life. Or had he ...? The shipsuit mask could tell him if the air was breathable, but not if it was infected. Colin might already be a mindless slave. The nasty part of Tobias’s mind insisted Colin had always been mindless. And a slave to his baser appetites.

  Colin knelt beside him and carefully disconnected the mask. Tobias choked. The air smelt ... unclean. The virus? Or ... or what? He was breathing it already! He was ...