The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3)

by Edmond Barrett

  As Crowe wondered, the bridge crew were already following the orders they been given before the jump. The rest of the Fast Division paused just long enough for the Deimos to slide up through the formation alongside Warspite. As their fighters deployed out in front, the torpedoes slipped clear of their silos and began to angle away into flanking positions, to box in the Nameless.

  “Sir, enemy is signalling on the FTL A Band,” the communications officer reported.

  Pulling it up on his own screen, Crowe could see a spasm of signals coming from several of the enemy capital ships. The fire being directed at the remains of the convoy withered as the alien formation began to shift, and their ships reversed heading and began to brake hard. Even without being able to read their signals, there was no doubt that the Nameless had been thrown into confusion. But in a few minutes, perhaps even seconds, they would realise that there were a lot more ambushed ships than ambushers

  “Fire Control, Bridge. Prepare to engage missiles with flak guns, but reserve plasma cannons for anti-ship fire,” Crowe ordered. “Capital ships are first priority, then carriers, then cruisers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tactical,” Crowe continued, “I want any ship that slows enough to jump flagged to fire control, priority as before. We can kill escorts and scouts ‘til the cows come home, but the big boys are where it counts.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  On the display, the fighters that had been streaming up from Earth changed course. Instead of trying to fight their way through to the enemy starships, they were taking positions to block their possible escape routes.

  “Sir, just caught a signal from the Titan: all ships make best speed to the enemy.”

  On the holo, Crowe could see the formation of the Home Fleet starting to open up as the faster ships stretched their legs. Within minutes, the fleet had broken into layers with the destroyers out front, followed by the faster cruisers, then their heavier brethren and finally the battleships lumbering in the rear. The race was on. If enough Battle Fleet ships could reach gun range, then the Nameless could neither run in real space nor stop long enough to jump.

  Beside Deimos there was a rippling flash as Warspite’s heavy plasma cannons belched out her first salvo and seconds later a Nameless fighter carrier died.

  “Bridge, Sensors. We have incoming.”

  “Fire Control, engage as directed. Point defence, commence, commence, commence!”

  ___________________________

  On the bridge of Warspite, Lewis eyed the holo impassively as the blip for an enemy capital ship blinked out. They had already claimed a carrier and a cruiser, but they needed another three minutes to get the smaller guns of his cruisers into range. He would get there before the Nameless could slow enough to have the option to jump. The question was what to do when he did? Turn, hold range and present broadside? No, he decided after a moment. The order given before they had jumped in remained the best option – close in on the enemy fleet and get in amongst them. At such short range, Warspite would inflict considerable damage before she could be overwhelmed.

  Following the holo, Lewis could see whoever or whatever commanded the enemy fleet was starting to recover from their surprise. The alien fleet had commenced damage limitation and was resettling. Their escorts were braking harder than their bigger ships, causing them to move up through their fleet and into the line of fire. To come close enough to a dead stop in order to jump while the Fast Division was in gun range would result in the loss or crippling of most of their large ships. So while their engines were going full burn, Warspite’s computer reported that the most of enemy’s ships had stopped attempting to brake. Instead, they were now attempting to reverse course in a loop that would maintain as much speed as possible. This would allow them to build up a sufficient lead on the Home Fleet to give them enough time to then slow and jump before the humans got into range. But first they had to eliminate the Fast Division.

  Good decision, Lewis silently acknowledged his opposite number. Having established there was no painless way out, he, she or it had the courage or ruthlessness to follow that line of reasoning. Otherwise, they would get caught by the Home Fleet and lose everything. Coming up through Lewis’s command would still carry a price, but destroying the Fast Division in the process would go a long way towards offsetting any shift in the balance of power.

  “It appears they have decided their way out is through us,” Lewis said calmly. “Captain Holfe, beware of ships attempting to ram.”

  “Understood, Admiral,” Warspite’s captain replied across the com.

  “Cruisers are entering firing range now,” someone reported, as holo icons appeared showing the vessels commencing fire.

  The handful of missiles coming at them had stopped as the fleet gathered itself to put in a concerted effort. Then dozens of new contacts appeared as they began to fire en masse. The ships of the Fast Division had been chosen because Warspite and the six heavy cruisers had traded in their big railguns for flak batteries, which now joined with Deimos to lay down a wall of protective fire against the approaching missiles. Dozens of them burst as shrapnel ripped them apart. None of the lumbering cap ship missiles got past, but smaller projectiles threaded their way through and Warspite started to jerk as missile after missile hammered into her armour.

  “Admiral!”

  Lewis spun his head towards the shout.

  “New enemy contacts jumping in! Dead astern!”

  ___________________________

  The Fleet Command Room was near silent. Never intended to provide tactical control, it now served as an auditorium for those fleet personnel not serving on the defending ships above. Several hundred men and women lined the back wall, following the situation, knowing their presence was barely tolerated by those carrying the burden of command. When a cluster of alien blips appeared behind those representing the pitifully few ships of the Fast Division, just inside the Red Line, something like a sigh ran round the room.

  “Admiral?” Secretary Callahan asked.

  “It’s another forty ships,” Wingate confirmed. “That means that the enemy has now fed in all the ships they have in the system. As things stand the Fast Division is about to be sandwiched. Admiral Lewis will be enveloped and overwhelmed before the rest of the fleet can reach him, but they have no more ships to throw in.”

  “Oh my God! What can we do?”

  Wingate nodded to his staff captain, before turning back to the Secretary.

  “Nothing more. Our last reserves are now being committed.”

  ___________________________

  As D for Dubious jolted into real space, an alarm sounded in Alanna’s ear. She glanced down at her control panel and nearly threw up. They’d emerged a few kilometres into the Red Line. The drive had just about managed to open the conduit, but those few kilometres had been enough to total it. Schurenhofer let out a squeak of alarm as she realised what had nearly happened.

  “Forget it,” Alanna muttered, “we aren’t dead.”

  But on her screen, two fighters were missing. Squadron Commander Dati had been the one to choose and calculate the jump in point. Still filled with that burning anger of his, he’d pushed too close and he and another crew had paid the price when their fighters failed to make real space re-entry. But there was no time to reflect on how close they’d come to sharing the same fate. Ahead lay their target – the Nameless reserves.

  There was just one carrier and its fighters were mostly deployed, enough to hold off the twenty fighters accelerating towards them.

  Pity for you bastards we aren’t alone, Alanna thought as behind them Huáscar, Dubious and the escort destroyers of all three carriers jumped in and charged. They were the final elements of a line that stretched forwards through the fighters, the enemy relief force, then the Fast Division, the main Nameless fleet and finally the Home Fleet climbing up from Earth.

  “Talk about the conga line of death,” Schurenhofer observed.

  Alanna gave her a q
uick grin.

  “All wings, concentrate on the enemy fighters, then target the big boys!” she ordered as Dubious accelerated in and astern – like her lost namesake – Dauntless charged willingly into gun range.

  ___________________________

  Commander Berg was tossed back and forth in her chair as Mantis jinked left and right. The rest of the destroyers were also taking evasive action while the two carriers laid down fire from their flak guns – protecting their smaller brethren. Across the command channel, she could hear her gunnery officer swearing as he struggled to compensate. So far the fire from Mantis and the rest of the destroyers had been wild and ineffective. They needed to advance through this killing ground and get in among the enemy ships. The Nameless rearguard was turning to meet them and missiles were starting to fly.

  “Countermeasures, full spread!” she ordered.

  As she spoke, the destroyer Cheetah took a direct hit from a cap ship missile. The entire ship disappeared in a flash, not even leaving wreckage behind.

  “Helm, prepare for the turn over. We don’t want to go straight through!”

  Ahead, the fighters were fully engaged, tearing into and through their enemies. Another destroyer, Stingray, took a heavy hit and tumbled out of control.

  “Helm, now!” Berg snapped. Mantis flipped end over and braked hard as she matched velocity and heading with the Nameless inside their formation. Except there was now no formation – this was a melee of unimaginable scale, with each ship on its own. Mantis wove through, guns firing left and right, as Nameless ships attempted to escape their tormentors. The collision detector sounded urgently as an escort tried to swerve into them. Without waiting for an order, the helmsman lunged the destroyer downwards. As the escort skimmed past, Mantis’s point defence guns opened up, speckling the hull with punctures. Ahead there was a sudden opening and through the chaos, Mantis’s computer identified the largest ship of the Nameless rearguard – their carrier. Its close escort stripped away and visibly floundering, it was a target any captain would dream of finding in their sights. A quick glance to the weapons board showed all four missile tubes were still loaded.

  “Fire Control, target the carrier with missiles, all tubes!”

  “Roger!”

  The four missiles rippled from their launchers at a range of less than one hundred kilometres. As they struck the enemy carrier amidships, it burst like an overripe fruit.

  ___________________________

  Lewis smiled coldly as the two rearguard formations smashed into one another and ceased to be a factor in the main fight. The main enemy fleet had hesitated when the carriers jumped in on top of their back up. Had the alien commander reached the limit? Certainly the average human mind could only cope with so many shocks in quick succession before it became dysfunctional. The ground-based fighter squadrons of Planetary Defence that had been held back were now joining the fight. The Nameless fighters, inferior one on one, had their numerical advantage stripped away and were now being massacred. Squadrons of human fighters, unable to find their opposite numbers to attack, now threw themselves at the fleeing Nameless ships. Strafing runs couldn’t kill a starship but they could hamstring one, with the result that the Nameless fleet formation had started to break up as the lame were abandoned by the swifter. Whatever the Nameless were, they could feel panic and it was starting to show.

  “Signal the squadron to come to heading two seven zero dash zero, zero, zero,” Lewis calmly ordered. “We’ll hold at this distance and let them come to us. They may get us yet, but by the time they do, we’ll have bled them white first.”

  “Not just us, sir,” Sheehan said, as he nodded towards a new piece of information being flagged on the display.

  Bringing up the rear but armed with the biggest guns, the battleships of the Home Fleet had just reached firing range.

  ___________________________

  With its port side engine pod riddled by gunfire, the escort was locked in a slow turn as D for Dubious shot under it, her wingman hard on her heels. Alanna dragged her fighter’s nose around to reverse its heading. One the escort’s missile silos popped open as it sought swat its tormentor, just like she’d wanted it to. Alanna pressed down hard on the firing stud and three lines of gunfire stitched their way across the hull and into the silo. The missile inside blew, gouging a massive crater in the small ship. The remaining engine spluttered and failed as the escort tumbled away.

  “Another one bites the dust,” Schurenhofer crowed as Alanna flipped Dubious back over.

  “What have we got ammunition wise?” she asked.

  “Less than two hundred rounds on each gun,” Schurenhofer replied. “But we’re running out of targets just as fast.”

  She was right. Most of the Nameless rearguard was either destroyed, attempting to slow to jump or running in real space. Most but not all; looking as her display she could see three contacts closing on Dauntless.

  “All Dauntless fighters, close in and protect mother,” she ordered.

  Less than fifty kilometres ahead of Dubious, Dauntless lumbered around like an elderly maiden aunt persuaded to dance a jig, her flak guns and point defence blazing away in all directions. A Nameless escort swung in and put two dual-purpose missiles into the carrier, blowing apart the hangars on one side. Dauntless staggered, then her flak turrets came to bear and she took savage revenge on her opponent. Closing from half a dozen directions, the carrier’s children swarmed and pecked apart the other two escorts. The last of them detonated as Dubious’s magazines ran dry. Looking around Alanna realised her battle was over. There was no one left to fight.

  ___________________________

  Perhaps a hundred Nameless ships still remained combat worthy. Their formation was ragged but still there. Then suddenly they broke off in countless different directions as every ship went its’ own way, each desperately seeking salvation. Crowe felt his jaw drop.

  “My God,” said Colwell, “they’re routing.”

  It was every ship for itself.

  “Sir, signal from Warspite: break formation, engage at will.”

  The battle from there became nothing more than snap shots for Crowe, as the Fast Division raced in like foxes let loose in a hen house. He saw the cruisers Churchill and De Gaulle get in on either side of the last Nameless carrier and riddle it from stem to stern. Warspite plunged into the centre of the expanding cloud of ships and stabbed out with her guns, claiming victims with virtually every shot. With so many targets to pursue in so many directions, some Nameless ships finally managed to slow down enough to jump out and disappear. But only small ships and a few cruisers managed to escape in this way. No enemy cap ships or carriers got clear.

  They had won.

  Chapter Nine

  Breathing Space

  28th February 2068

  It was one in the morning and the White House state dinner was still going strong. In fact, one week after the last Nameless ship had fled its solar system; planet Earth was still one big party. It wasn’t quite the biggest Earth had ever seen – that had been at the end of the Contact War. Lewis hadn’t been on planet for the start of that, but it had still been going seven weeks later when he and Onslaught finally made it home.

  “This way sir,” said the White House aide who’d rescued Lewis from a dull conversation with two congressmen.

  With a battle that should have been lost instead won, this was now the time for the men and women of power to show that they had made the hard choices and backed the winning horse. State dinners and the like were being held in all the major capitals of the world for the heroes of the hour to be lauded and politicians to claim their share of the credit. Like a military operation, the fleet had deployed its senior officers to all possible points of contact – even the one officer with a notorious lack of tolerance for the political classes.

  The aide paused to tap on the door and then led the Admiral into the Oval Office.

  President Clifton was standing with her back to the famous desk star
ing out the window.

  “Admiral, I do apologise for dragging you away from the party,” Clifton said as she turned around. “Please sit.”

  “Thank you,” Lewis replied as he seated himself.

  “It’s unusual for the fleet to ask to speak outside of normal channels. With all respect, Admiral, it’s even stranger that you should be the one to be sent here.”

  “There’s barely a national capital that hasn’t already hosted at least one of the fleet’s senior officers for the celebrations, Madam President. Admiral Wingate believes it’s an opportunity that can’t be squandered.”

  “And he believes in going straight to the top in each case?”

  “Yes. Time is pressing and it avoids the political hangers-on who want to be seen, but get in the way and contribute nothing useful to the discussions,” Lewis replied bluntly.

  Clifton smiled slightly.

  “A cruel dismissal of Congress, Admiral” she said, “but please continue.”

  “We haven’t won, Madam President,” Lewis said flatly as he gestured upwards towards the stars. “This ‘victory’ was the best case scenario. We caused them major casualties with only light losses in return, yet it has bought us only a breathing space.”

  “That’s a very harsh assessment of events, particularly one in which you played such an important part bringing to a successful conclusion,” Clifton replied.