Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Enemy craft are launching missiles,” Janelle reported.

  Ted nodded, unsurprised. Plasma weapons were largely useless against the Old Lady and the War Faction knew it. Using missiles – probably with bomb-pumped laser warheads – was their only hope of inflicting serious damage on the carrier. And they’d managed to launch the missiles from a dangerously close range. He cursed diplomacy under his breath, then keyed a switch.

  “Commander Williams, you are authorised to open fire,” he said. “Take out as many of those missiles as possible.”

  He forced himself to watch calmly as Ark Royal’s point defence weapons opened fire. Humanity had improved the system enormously since the start of the war, adding plasma weapons and rail guns to the ancient systems that had once been designed to counter older threats, but he knew the targeting was far from precise. Several of the alien missiles vanished as the point defence picked them off, others fell to the starfighters as they opened fire on the alien ships, yet a handful made it into engagement range and detonated. The ancient carrier rocked violently as bomb-pumped lasers stabbed into her guts.

  “Four direct hits,” Janelle reported, as red icons flashed up on the main display. “No serious damage, as far as I can tell, but our armour took a beating.”

  Ted winced, feeling his ship’s pain. “Keep engaging the alien ships,” he ordered. Damage control teams were already on their way to the damaged compartments, while the datanet had already adapted to the loss of various communications nodes and other systems destroyed by the blasts, but he knew damage would likely mount up rapidly. “And try to drive the alien ships away from us.”

  New red icons flashed into view on the display as the alien ships launched a second salvo of missiles. Ted frowned – the aliens had to know ship-launched missiles were hellishly inefficient – then realised the aliens were playing it carefully, rather than coming close enough to allow Ted to pick them off with his mass drivers. It would be a long drawn-out engagement, but the aliens would hold the upper hand. He turned his attention to the targeting systems as the mass drivers continued firing, sending blasts of scattershot towards the alien ships. One of them was hit and blown apart by the impact, the remainder kept evading the incoming projectiles.

  He frowned as the missiles closed in on his ship, then redirected part of the CSP to form the first line of defence. The remainder kept dogfighting with the alien fighters, trying to keep them from returning to their mothership or interfering with the point defence systems. Alien missile after alien missile vanished – there was plenty of time to plot targeting solutions as the missiles had been launched from well outside sprint mode range – but there were too many of them to ensure they were all destroyed. Ted braced himself for a second attack on his ship, then let out a sigh of relief as three of the four missiles that detonated managed to miss their target. Only one beam stabbed into his ship.

  “They’ve damaged the starboard flight deck,” Janelle said. “I’m redirecting damage control teams to that sector.”

  Ted cursed. The aliens, deliberately or otherwise, had crippled Ark Royal’s ability to recover her fighters. Cycling the starfighters that required replenishment through the ship was going to take time, placing a colossal strain on his operations. And even though the alien starfighters were being beaten back, counterattacking was going to be a major problem.

  “Redirect the bombers and two squadrons of escorting fighters,” he ordered. “They are to target and destroy the alien ships.”

  He gritted his teeth in frustration. Kurt Schneider should never have died. He would have handled the matter without Ted’s personal intervention. But Commander Labara had to be out there with her ships ... Ted cursed under his breath, angrily. If he took up a post at the Admiralty after returning home, if the war came to an end, he was going to make damn sure there would never be another shortage of starfighter pilots.

  “Aye, sir,” Janelle said. The carrier shuddered again as one of the alien starfighters accidentally crashed into her hull. “Starfighters are being redirected now.”

  Ted let out a long breath. “Target the alien carrier with scattershot,” he ordered. The timing was just about right, assuming the intelligence geeks were correct about just how long the alien fighters could remain active without replenishment. “Then throw two massive barrages at her. Make her run for her life.”

  Janelle smiled, darkly. “Aye, sir,” she said. There was a long pause. “Projectiles away.”

  The alien formation scattered, their carrier falling back rapidly as she tried to evade. Ted felt a moment of envy – the lighter carrier was far more manoeuvrable than Ark Royal – before dismissing it as stupid. The price paid for the ability to alter course sharply was a near-complete lack of armour. One hit from a mass driver and the alien carrier would be blown into dust. It was why modern carriers had thinned out their armour until it was almost non-existent.

  But it made sense until we encountered the aliens, Ted thought, morbidly. Our own attempts to produce plasma weapons failed miserably.

  The alien starfighters – those that had survived – darted back, clearly intent on protecting their carrier. Ted didn't blame them, even though there was a planet and its orbital facilities within easy range. In their shoes, he would have wondered what sort of welcome he’d get from the other factions too. Besides, the carrier was the only ship that could replenish them in time to return to the fight. But it was already too late. The human starfighters were closing in on their targets at terrifying speed.

  “The bombers are preparing to engage their targets,” Janelle said. She sounded tense, unsurprisingly. Prince Henry was leading the strike. “The aliens are trying to engage them with plasma weapons.”

  The regulations governing relationships will have to be revised, Ted thought, in a moment of irrelevance. What did it say about the ancient carrier’s crew that there had been at least two mission-threatening romances? He wondered, absently, if there had been others, then pushed the thought aside. If any of us get home we can worry about it then.

  Two starfighters vanished in puffs of smoke as they fell prey to alien weapons, but the remainder closed in and opened fire, launching their missiles towards the alien ships, then breaking off as the aliens redirected their attention towards the missiles. Nine of twelve missiles were vaporised before they had a chance to detonate, the remainder entered attack range and detonated, savaging the alien ship. It disintegrated, moments later, in a colossal explosion.

  “Target destroyed,” Janelle said, calmly. “Secondary strike engaging ... now.”

  Ted smirked, ruthlessly. The aliens hadn't brought along anything like enough starfighters to win the engagement, now their first attack on the carrier had been defeated. But the aliens themselves didn't seem to agree. Even as his starfighters were retreating, the aliens were reconcentrating their forces and preparing to continue the fight. Ted eyed the display, concerned. So far, the aliens seemed to have screwed up. And yet he had too much experience to rely on that hopelessly optimistic assumption.

  Unless they assumed the other factions would join in, Ted thought. Intelligence’s estimates of just how many starfighters could be crammed into the alien fortresses made frightening reading. Target One had been nowhere near so heavily defended. That would make sense – and explain why they brought only a small amount of firepower to the fight.

  “Continue firing,” he ordered, as the aliens started their second offensive. This time, their starfighters were noticeably depleted. Behind them, missiles were launched as the alien ships opened fire. “And try to drive them away from our hull.”

  “Aye, sir,” Janelle said. “I ...”

  She broke off as the display suddenly flared with ugly red light.

  ***

  These bastards just don’t know when to give up, Henry thought, as he dodged a plasma bolt from one of the alien fighters. The aliens had skill, he had to admit, but they didn't have the numbers to win. They should be running now ...

  He brok
e off as an alert sounded over the emergency channel, then glanced at his display. The other alien factions had finally taken a hand, launching so many starfighters that the human sensors couldn't even begin to count them all. Henry felt absolute despair as a wall of starfighters threw themselves towards the human ships, so many that he knew there was no way they could stop them all, or escape. The ancient carrier and her flotilla were doomed.

  “We’re picking up a signal,” Rose said. She sounded utterly despondent, very different from her normal self. But then, the odds facing them had become utterly impossible. They could trade ten alien starfighters for every human craft and the aliens would still come out ahead. “They’re broadcasting to us all ...”

  Henry keyed a switch. “Stop. Firing,” an atonal voice said. “Both. Stop. Firing.”

  “What?” Henry said. On the display, the original group of alien starfighters were breaking off and putting some distance between themselves and the human ships. “What are they doing?”

  “Intervening, it would seem,” Rose said. She took a breath. “Did they tell you anything about this on the planet?”

  “No,” Henry said, flatly. The aliens had been debating the issue, the last he’d heard, although as a starfighter pilot he no longer had access to the diplomats. He’d worried the aliens would see the Russian actions as proof humans were irrationally evil. “But I would suggest doing what they say.”

  Rose laughed, a little hysterically. “I suppose several thousand starfighters are a strong case for obedience,” she said. She cleared her throat. “All ships, fall back to CSP position; I say again, all ships fall back to CSP position.”

  Henry frowned – Rose hardly sounded commanding – but obeyed, making a mental note to have a private chat with her later. It was probably against regulations to do so ... he shook his head. Given that he planned to leave the Royal Navy at the end of the war, it wouldn't matter if she wrote angry remarks in his file – and besides, it was unlikely anyone would take them seriously.

  He sighed, inwardly. Had he finally fallen into the trap of using his rank as a weapon?

  The wave of alien starfighters kept their distance from Ark Royal, but positioned themselves to stand between the human ships and the War Faction’s flotilla. Henry watched grimly, wondering if the War Faction’s monomania would lead it to open fire on the other aliens, even though they were grossly outgunned. But it seemed not. Instead, the aliens recovered their starfighters and set out for the tramline, exchanging angry messages with their fellows the whole time. Henry would have liked to be able to understand what they were saying. He had a feeling that it would have shown him more of just how the alien society actually worked.

  But it wasn't possible. One day, he knew, there would be an automatic translator that would allow translations to be carried out in real time. Until then, all they could do was wait ... and pray it wasn't an elaborate trick.

  ***

  “Hold fire,” Ted ordered, as the alien starfighters slipped into position. He had to admire their nerve, although the certainty of possessing superior firepower had probably helped the alien decision to cover Ark Royal. “Recall one half of the starfighters and get them replenished, then replace the CSP and send them through replenishment.”

  “Aye, sir,” Janelle said.

  Ted nodded to himself, then looked back at the display. He'd known absolute despair as the wall of starfighters rushed towards his ships, then a burst of pure relief as the aliens ordered their fellows to stop firing. He couldn't help reflecting on how the aliens had clearly drawn inspiration from humanity’s actions. Kurt Schneider’s death had definitely not been in vain, not when he'd given his life to save the aliens from the Russians. The aliens had mirrored that action when they’d put themselves between the humans and the War Faction.

  But the War Faction’s ships were still retreating, broadcasting angry messages towards the alien world. Their homeworld, perhaps? Ted knew there was no way they could be translated properly, leaving him with a disturbing mystery. What, if anything, was the War Faction actually saying? His imagination provided everything from lists of Captain Haddock’s favourite insults to promises of revenge at a much later date. But the aliens seemed inclined to just let the War Faction go without taking further action. It couldn't be that serious, could it?

  His console buzzed. “Admiral,” Commander Williams said, “is it wise to draw down the CSP?”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Ted said. “The starfighters do need replenishment – and besides, they have enough firepower to make the issue immaterial. If half of those ships are armed with missiles, they’ll take us apart within seconds, no matter how many starfighters we have on CSP.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Commander Williams said. She sounded annoyed and worried; Ted didn't blame her. With her commanding officer in sickbay and unlikely to return to duty anytime soon, the responsibility for commanding the ship had fallen on her shoulders. At least she’d had more experience of being the XO than Captain Fitzwilliam, when he’d assumed command. “However, we still don’t understand their intentions ...”

  “I suspect we will find out,” Ted said. He smiled. “Personally, I’m inclined to view this as a hopeful gesture. If the other factions are prepared to intervene to help us, we may well have grounds for peace after all.”

  He sighed inwardly as the connection broke. Despite his optimism, and he was optimistic, he knew it wouldn't be that easy. The human race had an agreement that there would be no serious fighting within the Sol System itself. It was quite possible that the aliens had something comparable, something that had forced them to intervene despite preferring not to take a side. But they’d already taken a side, simply by intervening. Somehow, Ted was sure the War Faction wouldn't change its ways because the other factions had disagreed with it.

  “Admiral,” Janelle said, “I have the basic damage report.”

  “Show me,” Ted ordered.

  He studied the display for a long moment, silently blessing the starship’s long-dead designers. They’d worked enough redundancy into the carrier that the damaged compartments could simply be sealed off, rather than repaired before they returned to Earth and entered a shipyard. And the launching tubes could be patched up, given enough time. The whole system was designed for quick repair. It was, after all, the most vulnerable place on the ship.

  But the real problem lay in the damaged armour. There was enough damage to ensure that the aliens would have several places to shoot at, when they returned to the offensive. They couldn't be patched up in time, not without a shipyard ...

  “Tell the engineers to do what they can,” he said. “Then order the compartments evacuated and sealed. I don’t want anyone in them if we have to engage the enemy once again.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said.

  Ted took a breath as he mentally worked through the list of repairs. They’d loaded additional sheets of more modern armour when they’d crammed the ship before departure, but he knew it wouldn't have the resiliency of the old-style protection. The aliens might realise that the hull wasn't properly patched and target it specifically. It was what Ted would have done in their place. And it would prove hellishly effective.

  Bastards, he thought.

  “We also fired off half of our mass driver projectiles,” Janelle added. “The tactical section is requesting permission to mine a nearby asteroid.”

  Ted shook his head. He could see their point – mass drivers tended to run through ammunition at terrifying speed – but the aliens might well object to humanity taking some of their patrimony. They could ask, of course, yet he had the feeling the aliens would say no. It would probably be better, from their point of view, to have the Old Lady effectively disarmed.

  We wouldn't be too happy about an armed alien ship orbiting Earth, he thought, ruefully. Why would they be any different?

  “Admiral, Ambassador Melbourne is requesting an immediate meeting,” Janelle said, suddenly. “There doesn’t seem to be tim
e to bring him back to the ship, so he wants to open a secure channel.”

  “I’ll take it in my office,” Ted said, rising to his feet. A request for a secure channel ... it had to be bad news. “Inform Commander Williams that she has tactical command; continue to monitor the repairs and inform me if anything requires my attention.”

  “Aye, sir,” Janelle said.

  Ted stepped through the hatch into his office, sat down at his desk and pressed his hand against the sensor, allowing the terminal to identify him. The touch reminded him of Captain Fitzwilliam’s implant, missing – presumed destroyed – since the destruction of the stolen starfighter. They’d have to produce another implant, Ted knew, for Captain Fitzwilliam or Commander Williams if she assumed permanent command. The medical reports had suggested that would be the case, sooner rather than later. Captain Fitzwilliam was in no state to resume command.

  “Ambassador,” he said, when Melbourne’s face appeared in the small display. “I understand you wished to speak to me?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Ambassador Melbourne said. He looked deeply worried. “The aliens just informed me that the War Faction has fragmented. One faction has decided to accept peace, Admiral, but the other faction has no intention of ending the war.”