The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The alien carriers are altering course,” the dispatcher warned. “They’re coming about.”

  Right down our throats, Ginny thought. An alien pilot lunged at her, then flipped over and vanished into the distance. She had no idea what that was about. A coward? Or someone who’d just received new orders? They can hammer us with their ship-mounted weapons if they wish.

  She pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter, not now. All that mattered was killing the enemy.

  And if we don't kill them, she thought as she gunned her drives once again, they’ll sure as hell kill us.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Interplanetary Space, Near Jupiter

  Tricked.

  The Combat Faction cursed its own mistake as the human starfighters tore through its capital ships, trying to inflict as much damage as they could before the hastily-recalled starfighters could drive them away from the fleet. They’d been tricked. Force Two didn't exist, save for a handful of starfighters and escort carriers; Force One was the real threat. And it had done far too much damage, when given the opening. The fleet was in serious danger of losing the engagement.

  We should retreat, one sub-faction suggested. We have already inflicted significant damage on the human industrial base.

  But that would give the humans a victory, a second sub-faction insisted. We still have a significant edge.

  The Combat Faction ignored the bickering. One fleet carrier had been destroyed and two more had been significantly damaged, reducing the number of starfighters and ship-mounted weapons they could bring to bear. And yet, their carriers were superior to human designs ... they still had some advantages. But they had been tricked. They needed time to think and plan for the next encounter.

  Drive the enemy starfighters back to their carriers, the Combat Faction ordered. The Song grew louder as the various factions braced themselves for the fight. And then engage their carriers.

  The analyst factions assessed the situation quickly. There was no way to ignore the fact that the humans had inflicted significant damage, but the fleet still possessed considerable firepower. And the human fleet was still isolated from the planetary defences ... it would be ship on ship and starfighter on starfighter, rather than duelling with ground-based weapons. The prospect for a major victory could not be discounted.

  Bring the fleet about, the Combat Faction added. Prepare for a major engagement.

  ***

  “Here they come,” Admiral Robertson said, quietly.

  Jon nodded, forcing himself to watch as the alien starfighters fell on Home Fleet like ravenous wolves on sheep. They split into two formations: one set hunting the bombers, the other harrying the carriers themselves. Damage started to mount up, rapidly, as plasma bolts slammed into hulls, even though the new armour seemed to be holding.

  And we also added more damage control teams, he thought, as red lights flashed up on the display. They’re very motivated to patch up any damage as quickly as possible.

  “Washington has taken heavy damage,” Commodore Warner said, quietly. “Mao has been destroyed. Inflexible may go the same way if she doesn't receive any support.”

  “Order the CSP to detach reserve squadrons to cover her,” Admiral Robertson said. His voice was very calm, even when an alien squadron strafed Enterprise. “And warn her CO to be ready to pull back, if necessary.”

  Jon nodded, but said nothing as a stream of alien starfighters swept over Washington and blew her to hell. A fleet carrier, over five thousand officers and men ... just gone. He forced himself to push his regrets to the back of his mind, silently promising himself that their sacrifice would not be forgotten, after the war. The aliens were regrouping, reforming their squadrons just out of weapons range. It wouldn't be long before they resumed their attack.

  “The bombers have been rearmed, Admiral,” Warner said.

  “Get them out there,” Admiral Robertson snapped. “Give the bastards something else to think about!”

  “Aye, sir,” Warner said.

  “And bring up the frigates to cover our hull,” Admiral Robertson added, as Enterprise shuddered alarmingly. “We can't take many more hits like that!”

  ***

  Ginny gritted her teeth as she zoomed towards Enterprise, trying to blast the alien pilots who seemed intent on using the fleet carrier for target practice. The aliens were good, she acknowledged sourly; they twisted and turned, evading her fire even as they pumped plasma fire into Enterprise’s hull. And as the range closed, their fire would become more and more effective. Atmosphere was already streaming from a dozen places on the carrier.

  And that will be the least of her problems, if they take out the drives, Ginny thought. One alien pilot died, picked off by her guns, but the remainder ignored it. They weren't even turning to swat her before she could kill more of them. We can't afford to lose more fleet carriers.

  “Hit the bastards,” she snarled. She jammed her thumb down on the trigger as the aliens altered course, pouring fire into the carrier while skimming her hull. “Die ...!”

  “Got one,” Williams said. He sounded as pissed as she felt. “And you ...”

  Ginny swore as the alien pilot spun around, coming right at her. She hit the firing key an instant before it was too late, blowing the alien pilot into a fireball. His companions were already gone, either picked off or fleeing as fast as they could. No doubt they had orders to regroup before pressing the offensive again. She forced herself to give chase, barking orders to the rest of the squadron. If they could scatter the alien fighters, they could keep them from concentrating their forces and taking out another carrier.

  More alerts flashed up in front of her. The bombers were redeploying, heading out to hit the alien fleet again. New orders followed, instructing her to cover the bombers. She nodded, fighting down her frustration as a string of missiles flashed past her. Shipkillers wouldn't be that effective against starfighters, but if they were keyed for proximity detonation ...

  We might just take out a handful with a single missile, she thought. It wasn’t much, but ... but it would have to do. And even if we don’t, we’ll make them jumpy.

  The alien carriers were closing the range, she noted. She'd been taught that carriers shunned fleet engagements, but the aliens had clearly read a different tactical handbook. Pressing the offensive against Home Fleet made no sense, unless they were confident their speed and firepower advantage would give them the edge. She pushed the thought aside as she forced her starfighter to fly faster, ignoring the risk of overheating her drives or plasma guns. The bombers had to be covered.

  “The alien frigates are deploying to stop us,” Williams said. “This is not going to be pretty.”

  “Home Fleet is launching missiles to compensate,” Ginny told him, after a brief glance at her HUD. Hopefully, the aliens wouldn't realise the danger before it was too late. A handful of bomb-pumped lasers would really ruin their day. “Let them go through, then follow them.”

  “Understood.”

  She felt sweat trickling down her back as the massed squadrons approached the enemy formation. The Tadpoles really had done their homework, she noted coldly. Their frigates provided so much cover for their carriers that they could afford to detach almost all of their starfighters. But they clearly weren't completely sanguine about their chances. They were already recalling some of the squadrons bedevilling Home Fleet.

  At least we took some of the pressure off, she thought. We bought Home Fleet some time.

  “Missiles will enter attack range in twenty seconds,” the dispatcher said. “Be ready.”

  “Yeah,” Ginny said. She checked her squadron’s status, then nodded to herself. “I’ll be ready.”

  ***

  Enemy bombers are mounting a renewed offensive, a sub-faction noted. Their numbers have been significantly reduced.

  A flicker of satisfaction ran through the Song. The human bombers had proven themselves dangerous in large numbers, but they’d already lost dozens of craft in the en
gagement. They simply didn't have the numbers to break through the frigates and attack, not now. They’d be so brutally winnowed by the frigates that the survivors would be picked off effortlessly as they tried to get into attack range. And then the fleet would pound the human fleet to scrap ...

  ENEMY MISSILES, another faction screeched. WARNING!

  The Combat Faction recoiled. Hundreds - no, thousands - of enemy missiles had appeared, heading straight for the frigates. They couldn't be real. There was no doubt that most of them - perhaps all of them - were little more than sensor ghosts. And yet, just for a second, the point defence network was utterly overloaded. The Combat Faction worked desperately, hurling new orders through the datanet, as the human missiles drew closer. They couldn't afford to assume that all the missiles were fake ...

  Too late, a faction noted.

  The Combat Faction seethed in annoyance. Seven frigates had been blown out of space, with nine more heavily damaged. The human starfighters and bombers now had a clear path to the fleet carriers, even though the remaining frigates were hastily moving to close it again. Once again, the outcome of the battle was in doubt. There was still too great a chance of losing.

  We should withdraw, one faction insisted. Prolonging this engagement may cost us the entire fleet.

  The opportunity to cripple the human fleet should not be missed, another faction countered, clearly preparing to rehash the entire argument once again. We would still have the edge even if we lose the entire fleet.

  But it will take us time to reassess the situation, the first faction reminded the others. The Heart of the Song will not know what has happened to us.

  A picket will carry word to them, a third faction stated. The outcome will not remain a mystery for long.

  The Combat Faction brushed the matter aside as the human bombers slipped into attack range. A handful fell to point defence fire, but the remainder managed to salvo their missiles and then retreat as the point defence concentrated on the incoming threat. Deliberately or otherwise, the humans had managed to damage several point defence grids, weakening the carriers badly. The Combat Faction conceded, grimly, that the humans were still a very effective threat. A third fleet carrier had been badly damaged, along with the frigates.

  This battle will be won by whichever side suffers the least damage, the first faction said. It may not be us.

  The starfighters are to intercept the bombers on their way home, the Combat Faction ordered, ignoring the dispute. There was no time for an argument. The bombers are not to have a chance to return to their motherships.

  It focused its collective intellect on the problem. The humans had inflicted serious harm, but they’d taken damage themselves. Four of their fleet carriers were gone, along with a number of smaller ships. The odds were still in the Combat Faction’s favour, as long as the humans didn't produce more surprises. But it had to admit that the odds of that were incalculable.

  For the first time, it gave serious consideration to simply breaking off the engagement. The humans were in no state to give pursuit, even if they could cross the weaker tramlines. It was fairly certain that the humans would take the opportunity to lick their wounds, rather than harass the fleet as it tried to withdraw. But it couldn't surrender the chance to destroy such a large chunk of the human fleet. The numerical advantage was still on their side.

  Assuming the humans don’t manage to launch any new starships of their own, it told itself, grimly. If they do, all calculations may have to be reconsidered.

  It watched as the fleet steadily approached its target. One way or the other, it would all be over soon.

  ***

  “They’re passing right through our position,” the tactical officer said. “I don’t think they’ve seen us.”

  Svetlana nodded. Brezhnev was in an excellent position to engage the enemy, if they’d carried enough weapons to make a difference. She thought they could hit one of the alien carriers, at the cost of being detected and blown to atoms. Home Fleet would probably consider that a worthwhile trade, she thought, but her orders still held. Brezhnev had to watch the aliens until they were detected or the aliens broke off the engagement.

  “Hold us steady,” she said. There were enough starships, starfighters, missiles and drones flying through the combat zone to hide any betraying flicker from Brezhnev, as long as they were careful. “Don’t let them get too far away.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Putin has taken heavy damage,” the communications officer said. “She’s sending out a general distress call.”

  Svetlana winced, inwardly. She remembered, all too well, Putin’s XO. He’d had opinions on the proper place for women, all women. Svetlana pitied his wife and his endless string of mistresses. She even pitied Putin’s captain. His XO would stick a knife between his ribs sooner or later, perhaps not metaphorically. And yet, the fleet carrier didn't deserve to die because her XO was an asshole of the highest order. Mother Russia simply didn't have many fleet carriers left.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” she said, quietly. She ignored the sharp look her XO shot in her direction. “Just ... hold us here.”

  “Picking up orders from the flag,” the communications officer said. “We’re to prepare ourselves for Contingency Alpha.”

  Svetlana sucked in her breath. The odds of survival had just gone down, again.

  “Very well,” she said. “Tactical?”

  “The systems are online, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “We’re ready.”

  “Inform Home Fleet,” Svetlana ordered. “And now, we wait.”

  ***

  “They’re giving the bombers a pounding,” Admiral Robertson said.

  Jon nodded, curtly. Home Fleet’s bombers had trained - and trained hard - to face the aliens, but none of the simulations had really come close to the reality. The aliens had planned countermeasures of their own. They’d kicked hell out of the second flight of bombers, which meant the third would be considerably less effective. And then ...

  “Redeploy starfighters to chase the enemy craft away,” he suggested. It wasn't really his place to offer suggestions, but they didn't have time for a discussion. “And then recover the bombers as fast as possible.”

  We need to start adding torpedoes to starfighters, he thought. The Tadpoles’ armour gives them a slight edge. But we could get a torpedo or a missile through it if we could somehow slip past their point defence.

  He pushed the thought aside as he assessed the odds. Home Fleet had taken one hell of a beating - and it wasn't over yet. Four fleet carriers gone, three more heavily damaged ... he’d long since lost count of just how many starfighters had been blown to atoms. The only consolation was that the enemy had taken a pasting too, but even that was tempered with the grim awareness that there was no way to know just how many ships the enemy had in total.

  At least we're wearing down their starfighters, he told himself.

  It was a reassuring thought, reassuring enough that he knew to be wary. He’d seen a couple of enemy craft show signs of tiredness, although he was honest enough to admit that it could have been wishful thinking. One of them had crashed into a frigate, but that could easily have been deliberate. The Tadpoles hadn't had a habit of suicide attacks, yet they might have decided to change that policy if they thought they were losing.

  But they’re not losing, he thought. The outcome is still undecided.

  “Signal from Admiral Wright, sir,” the communications officer said. “The Io Detachment is ready to activate the second set of pods.”

  Admiral Robertson glanced at Jon. “Now?”

  “Yeah,” Jon said. The timing was already bad, but they were running out of options. A knife-range fight would be far better for the Tadpoles than Home Fleet. “Order him to activate the pods as planned.”

  And hope to hell the aliens don’t see the trap opening in front of them, he added, in the privacy of his own mind. They can’t be allowed the time to react.

  ***

&nb
sp; “Now what’s happening?”

  Lieutenant Geoff Willis resisted - somehow - the urge to look upwards and ask God precisely how he’d managed to piss off the XO. Whatever he’d done, he couldn't imagine it being so bad that he had to be assigned to babysit Tanya Crompton. And to think that the other lieutenants had been jealous. Tanya was beautiful, with long dark hair and a sultry face, but anyone who spent more than five minutes on the receiving end of one of her interrogations would forget her looks and start trying to find a way to get out. She was one of the lead reporters for FOX-CNN and she never let anyone forget it.

  “The bombers are returning to the carrier,” he said, carefully. Tanya was recording everything and, despite strict censorship, he wasn’t convinced that she didn't have a way of slipping recordings past the security teams. “They’ll be going out again as soon as possible.”