“Smartest thing you've said today,” she replied, looking at the monitors. “I'm not seeing anything but a few relay satellites anywhere else in the system.” She paused, then added, “You know they'll catch us sooner or later, right?”
“Hopefully later,” he said. “Go back to the cabin and find a couple of spacesuits.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Kamikaze.”
Shaking her head, she rose from her seat and climbed into the rear compartment, while Clarke focused on the battlespace. The fighter squadron had turned and was diving towards them, engines burning at full speed, and the O'Dell's second shuttle was in the air and in hot pursuit. Theseus was slowly turning towards the station, preparing to block their attack, and he ran the engines to full power, ignoring a series of warning alarms as he set the course for a collision with the station.
A thin smile crossed his face as he reached down to the life support controls, turning up the pressure in the cabin. If his plan was going to work, they'd have to cancel as much velocity as they could, and anything he could do to give them an extra boost would be vital.
Red lights danced across the navigation computer, someone attempting to hack into the system and alter his course to a safe trajectory. He glanced across at the autopilot, nodding in satisfaction. Given time, they might be able to find a way to bypass the manual override, but he was scheduled to impact the station in less than two minutes.
His hands carefully played the controls, guiding the shuttle onto the optimum collision course, and he looked up at the schematic of the station on the sensor screen, shaking his head in disbelief. Larger than anything he had ever seen, a huge antenna pointing at the stars, with a collection of support modules, fuel tanks, solar arrays and thrusters slung underneath. He could understand why they were so worried about the potential effect of his shuttle. One good impact would tear the whole complex apart.
“Any luck with the spacesuits?” he asked, turning back to the cabin.
“Getting them laid out now. How long have we got?”
“Less than a minute, I hope.” He looked up at the display, and with a smile, said, “Missile launch! Six warheads in the air, collision course in sixty-one seconds. On track to knock our debris clear of the station.”
“That's good news?” she asked.
“The best,” he said, reaching down to the controls, locking them into position. They might loose track a little, drift off trajectory, but the shuttle would continue at least in the general direction of its target. Climbing out of his couch, he raced back to the cabin, Blake already half into her suit, another arranged on one of the passenger seats.
“You know what you're doing?” he said.
“I've worn suits before,” she replied. “You?”
“Finished basic three months ago.”
“Top of the class again?”
He blushed, and said, “Actually, I only just passed. I was going to retake later this year.”
“Brilliant,” she replied.
Quickly but carefully, he pulled the suit on, locking the components into position one at a time, gloves, boots and helmet, tapping the control to boot the on-board systems, throwing another control to isolate them from outside infiltration. Not waiting for the diagnostic checks to complete, he walked towards the airlock, gesturing for Blake to follow him, and locked a safety line to connect them, tugging it twice to check the connection.
“Think I'm going to run out on you?” she said.
“I think we're going to need both our thruster packs,” he replied. “If this works, we should just about have enough boost to slow us down. We haven't gained that much speed.” His helmet heads-up display flashed an image of local space, the missiles ranging towards them, and he added, “Hang on. We've got to get the timing precisely right.”
He held his hand over the emergency release, taking one last glance at the safe shuttle cabin they were about to leave, and watched the sextet of missiles curve towards their target. They'd be within half a dozen miles of the station at the point of detonation, just close enough for his plan to work.
“Now!” he yelled, slamming the release. As the outer hatch cracked open the building pressure of the atmosphere inside did the rest, smashing out into the vacuum beyond, taking both the doors and the two of them with it, sending them tumbling away from the shuttle, spinning around each other. A second later, the missiles found their target, a halo of debris where the vehicle once was, heading roughly on the same trajectory as they were.
“This was your plan?” Blake said.
“With a little luck, they'll think we've died in the explosion. If not, the debris will stop anyone coming in to pick us up.” An alarm blazed in his ear, and he looked down to see a thin wisp of air seeping out of a rip in the side of his suit, tugging him to the side. On instinct, he ripped a patch out of the pouch on his belt, sticking it carefully in position. “As I was saying...”
“Wonderful,” she said. “And then?”
“Station in three minutes. The atmosphere leak killed a lot of our velocity, and we should just about be able to dump the rest if we drain our tanks.” He fired one quick pulse from his thrusters to turn them towards the facility, now easily visible in the sky. “Just grab any handhold you can find.”
“You realize they'll have us tracked on sensors, and that as soon as...”
“We're buying time now. Once we get onto the station, we just have to find somewhere to hide, and then we can try and find Susan.”
With a thin smile on her face, she asked, “And what happens when we find Susan?”
“I'll worry about that if we live long enough to get that far.”
The sensor display showed the fighters swinging around, splitting into two formations, one following the remnants of the shuttle, the other heading back onto station. Theseus was changing course as well trying to return to its former position with a long swing around the planet below. For the first time, Clarke had a chance to get a good look at it, a storm-ridden gas giant laced with browns and greens, a strange soup holding a collection of moons in its gravitational embrace.
“One minute,” he said, waiting to fire his thrusters at the last second. He didn't dare chance the suit computers, not knowing whether they might have been suborned, and had to try and judge the burn by eye, trying to keep the two of them stable. He counted down from five, then tapped the control to unleash the full force of the thruster pack, an action that every sensor in the system couldn't miss.
“We're down to twenty-nine!” he said. “Ten seconds!”
The latticework of the station was racing towards them, and he and Blake held out their hands to grab something, anything to avoid them simply being tossed away from the station. With a crash, he smashed into the side, the wind knocked from his body, and his hands slid over the structure until he finally snatched at a solar cell, bending the delicate structure almost in two, managing to tug himself to the station just as the fragile cell snapped away.
“Airlock,” she said, pointing up, gasping for breath.
He nodded, dragging her after him, climbing as quickly as he dared along the side of the framework to the waiting module. A series of amber lights were running down the side of his heads-up display, a warning of damage to his suit, but the hatch he was seeking beckoned, and he smashed his hand on the control to open the outer door, the two of them diving into the sanctuary they were seeking. With a comforting hiss, the airlock filled, and he pulled off his helmet, a dull klaxon sounding all around him.
“You think they're on to us?” Blake asked.
Before he could reply, a tinny voice said, “Attention! Attention! All hands to battle stations! Enemy ships entering system! This is no drill!”
“I guess we aren't the only guests today,” he replied.
Chapter 7
Churchill raced into the target system in a
blinding blast of Cerenkov Blue, diving back into its home dimension after five long days of transit. Jack stood at the rear of the bridge, next to the door, watching as the starfield reappeared on the viewscreen, a tactical display flashing into life as the sensors hastily harvested data from the surrounding space.
“What the hell?” Finch said. “Captain, we've dived right into the middle of something. I'm picking up Theseus, but she's on a trajectory taking her around the far side of the planet, and the fighter cover is scattered all over the place. It's as though there's a battle already in progress.”
Mallory took a few seconds to scan the display, then turned to Jack, a curt nod telling him everything he needed to know about her decision. This was an opportunity they could not afford to miss, a chance to end the fight before the enemy could mobilize. Without a word, he turned to the corridor, jogging down to the hangar deck, rushing past a technician waiting at his damage control station.
“All hands, go to battle stations,” Finch's voice said, echoing from the ceiling speakers. “Fighter squadron prepare for immediate launch. Thirty seconds notice to scramble.”
They'd planned to take it more carefully, to launch a series of feints to draw out the enemy forces, but with the current tactical disposition, the bombers might be able to dive right into their target, even at this range. Churchill's engines roared as he sprinted through the hatch into the hangar, Cruz tossing him his helmet as he ran for his fighter.
“Have fun, skipper!” she said, as he climbed into his cockpit. Over to his right, Sullivan and Xylander, the remainder of his Red Flight, were boarding their ships, and behind him, Bennett and her two new rookies were already ready in their interceptors, preparing for takeoff. He settled down into the familiar crash couch, his hands in their accustomed positions on the controls.
“Red Leader to Churchill Actual. Ready for launch at your signal.”
“Roger,” Mallory replied. “We're going to get you a little closer first. I'm taking Churchill down into a close pass to give you the best run at the target you can manage. Theseus can't reach us for at least eight minutes on this vector, so we should get one clean run.”
“The enemy fighters?”
“Are going to be more of a problem, but it looks like they've expended a lot of their ordnance on something. Sensors have a cloud of debris, could be the remains of a shuttle, but that's all we can find.” She paused, then said, “Watch yourself out there, Jack. This could still be a trap.”
“With bait like that waiting for us, it's worth the risk. Have Finch check the schematics one last time, see if there's anything we've missed.”
“Already on it,” she said. “Stand by for launch in fifty seconds. We're going to start cycling the elevator airlocks now. Good hunting.”
“Roger that, Churchill,” he replied. “Red Leader to Red Flight. Report status.”
“Red Two,” Sullivan said. “Good to go.”
“Red Three,” Xylander added. “All looks green here.”
“Green Leader to Red Leader,” Bennett said. “We going with Plan Alpha?”
“We are indeed. Make the most glorious mess you can, and we'll see about turning that station into scrap metal. One shot in the right place, and we'll have this battle finished before it starts.”
With a whir, the elevator airlock engaged, dropping his fighter down through the decks, settling on the outer hatch at the bottom, cold vacuum beyond. He looked over his systems with a smile, running the checklist for the thousandth time. He'd logged hundreds of missions in this fighter, back during the last couple of years of the War, and it felt like an old, loyal friend, a faithful steed to ride into battle once more.
The sensor display flashed into life, the data link from Churchill running, and he quickly looked over the tactical situation, a smile growing on his face. It looked too good to be true, the enemy formation dispersed to allow them an easy run at the target. There was a halo of missile defense satellites, a dozen in key positions, but with a little care they'd only pass within range of a couple of them.
For a moment, his eyes danced across the display as Churchill closed to their launch point, looking for the trap, but he couldn't find one. As far as he could tell, everything was exactly as it appeared, a defensive formation that for some unknown reason had been dispersed. Given the ships the enemy had, there was no need for any complicated strategy. Theseus, the fighters and the missile satellites would be more than enough to deal with Churchill and Monitor, deployed in any sensible formation. This defied logic.
A thought struck him, and he threw a switch, and said, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Jack Conway, Strike Commander of the Carrier Churchill, calling any friendly Triplanetary operative. Come in, please.” He paused, then said, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Jack Conway. We are engaged in offensive operations against forces belonging to Admiral Knight. Respond at once.”
After a few seconds, an uncertain voice replied, “This is Cadet John Clarke, calling Captain Conway on rotating encrypted frequencies. Do you read me?”
“I don't believe it,” Mallory said, breaking into the channel. “Cadet, this is Churchill Actual. What is your tactical situation?”
“We're on the station and on the run, ma'am, two of us, myself and a civilian, Alexandra Blake. We arrived in-system about fifteen minutes ago. Sir, are you Cadet Conway's father?”
“I am,” he replied. “Why?”
There was a long pause, and he said, “She's on board the station, Captain. At least, that's our assumption. I was trying to find her. We don't know where, but there's an excellent chance that she's somewhere here.”
Mallory broke in, and said, “Cadet, have you any way of getting to her?”
His voice somber, Clarke replied, “Not at this time, ma'am. I'm sorry.”
“Jack, this is Dirk,” Xylander said. “Recommend...”
“Negative,” Jack said, switching to an internal channel. “We're going ahead with the mission as planned. Prepare for deployment in seventy seconds. Kathy, find out anything you can about Cadet Clarke. Especially what the hell a Cadet is doing out here anyway.”
“Jack, if Susan's on board…,” Sullivan said.
“Don't you think I know that, damn it!” Jack replied. “Nothing, nothing about the tactical situation has changed. We've got one window of opportunity to take down that station, and we've got to take it while we can, or Knight wins. You understand? I'd expect you to do exactly the same if I was over there myself. Churchill, we're ready for deployment in fifty seconds.”
Mallory, her voice low, said, “Jack, this is Churchill Actual. Confirm deployment on schedule. Enemy fighters coming around for a second pass. We'll release Green Flight at forty seconds, mark, and Red Flight twenty seconds later.”
“Understood. Red Leader to Red Flight. I'll point for this mission. You guys cover me, and I'll take the shot when the time comes.”
“Damn it, Jack, she's your daughter!” Xylander said.
“Which is why I've got to be the one to do this,” he replied, throwing a switch. “Clarke, are you still there?”
“Clarke here, sir, go ahead. We're currently mobile and no sign of pursuit.”
“Cadet, if everything goes according to plan that station will be a wreck in about four minutes. Find your way close to an escape pod, and if I give the signal, bail out. Churchill's SAR shuttle will pick you up. Otherwise, find somewhere to hide and wait for orders.”
“Sir, Susan...”
“Damn it, Cadet, I am giving you a direct order, and you will obey it! Do you understand!”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Sorry, sir.”
“If you get any intelligence of use in the battle, relay it to Churchill.”
“Will do, sir. Good luck.”
“Green Flight launching now!” Finch said, and flashing lights spun on the hangar deck as the sleek Spearfish interceptors m
oved into position, dropping away from the ship and beginning their run towards the approaching fighters. They'd rehearsed this attack to make the final battle almost an anticlimax, Green Flight moving ahead to sweep clear any opposition, Red Flight moving in behind in arrowhead formation, the leader to take the final shot that would bring down the station.
And kill his daughter, assuming Clarke was right.
He fought to suppress his anger, his rage, knowing that there was no other decision he could make, that thousands, perhaps millions of lives depended on the destruction of that station. Knowing that he would give the order gladly if he would die instead. With a thin smile, he reached up and tapped a series of controls, isolating his navigation computer from Churchill, sending a false telemetry stream to prevent Finch from spotting the deception. One of McGuire's old tricks, that would come in useful now. While he waited for the launch, he made a few careful modifications to his trajectory, eliminating any possibility that he might survive the destruction of the station once he'd taken his shot.
He might have to kill his only child today, but he didn't have to live through it. As far as his targeting computer could estimate, he'd outlive her by about five seconds. Assuming a miracle didn't spare one or both of them, but somehow he didn't think he'd get one today.
“Red Flight, launch!”
The fighter dropped away from Churchill, engines roaring to guide him towards his target. His new trajectory was close enough to the one they had planned that no one would suspect until it was all over. Another good thing. His ex-wife was going to have enough to live with in any case, and his death could be written off as an accident, the fortunes of war, not suicide.
“Churchill Actual to Red Leader,” the speaker said.
“Go ahead.”
“We've got a rundown on Clarke. Our records list him as an applicant, albeit one that was almost certain to be selected. Now our database is six months out of date...”
Aggressor (Strike Commander Book 3) Page 7