Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold

by Richard Tongue

   “There’s got to be some reason I keep you around. Right now, I admit, I can’t think what it is. Certainly you aren’t very good at raising my morale.”

   “Hell, I’ve got to plan out Operation Kamikaze. You think you’ve got problems.”

   “We’ll work something out between us,” Marshall said with a sigh.

   Caine drifted over, a tray of drinks clutched in her hands, and looked between the two of them, saying, “Come on, come on, this is supposed to be a party. You two look as if you’re planning your funeral.”

   “It’s funny you should say that,” Marshall replied, “Because I rather have the impression that we are. One last drink, then we’d better make our way over to the Gilgamesh, damn it.”

   “That bad?” Caine said.

   “No, Deadeye, it isn’t that bad at all,” Cunningham replied. “I think it’s probably a damn sight worse.”

   A cheer went up from the far side of the room, and a voice yelled, “They’re cutting the cake! Better hurry up if you want to get some!”

   “You two go,” Marshall said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

   He watched them drift over, pushing their way through the happy crowd, and looked around once again at the assembled officers. This party wasn’t just for a wedding; it was more a simple celebration that they had survived the worst that the universe could throw at them and triumphed. He smiled, and unnoticed by anyone else in the room raised his glass.

   “Until we serve together again,” he quietly said, taking a deep sip of the exotic concoction, draining the glass down to the bottom. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

  Chapter 3

   The junior officers’ quarters on Trident were a lot more comfortable than the facilities on Alamo; even on his last stint as an Ensign, Cooper had opted to remain in the barracks with his men, but it had become apparent right at the start that this wasn’t going to be an option here. So far, the only glimpse he’d managed to get of the men he would be leading into battle had been a quick flash through their personnel records.

   Unpacking could wait until later; he slid his holdall under the bed and walked out of his room, heading down the officer’s berths to the elevator at the end. As he stepped into the elevator, he was aware of eyes watching him, and turned to see a woman with Ensign’s insignia staring at him, as if trying to measure him up; she shook her head as the doors closed, and he made his way down to the barracks deck.

   The Trident was actually a little shorter than Alamo, but a lot bulkier. Five hangar bays that could house enough shuttles to send a company off into battle, and pack in a pair of fighter squadrons to boot. So far he hadn’t seen even a hundredth of the ship, but that was going to have to change in the near future.

   He stepped out as the doors opened, and saw a young trooper jogging down the corridors, who stopped and snapped a salute as he approached.

   “You Second Platoon?” Cooper asked.

   “No, sir. Third. Second’s down at the far end, sir.”

   “Thanks, Private. Carry on.”

   The trooper paused, and said, “Sir, are you the one who’s been out here already?”

   “I am indeed, Private.”

   “Was it as bad as they said? All those people lost?”

   “We went in with thirty and came out with eleven. I’d damn well hope to do better next time. Now we have a lot better idea of what we are facing.”

   Shaking his head, the trooper said, “I don’t, sir. We haven’t been briefed yet.” With a smile, he continued, “We’ll give them hell, sir. That I do know.”

   “That’s the spirit,” Cooper replied. “Carry on.”

   He frowned as he walked the length of the barracks deck, looking around and failing to see any sign of activity. Trident had jumped an hour ago; by now someone should be organizing drills, marches, exercises. Even lectures on what they would be facing, on the new weapons and tactics of their enemies; he’d certainly provided enough notes, though a part of him wondered what a real officer would have written.

   Pausing in front of the door, he collected himself for a moment. Behind was his platoon, and a new one. Still Second Platoon, but Seventh Company – a unit that didn’t exist when he left Mariner more than a year ago. One thing he did know. These would not be the battle-hardened veterans he was used to serving among. They couldn’t be.

   Opening the door, he stepped inside, and looked around, shaking his head. Most of the platoon was stretched out on their bunks, and a card game was in progress in the far corner of the room. Their equipment had been unceremoniously dumped in a corner and abandoned, the weapon racks empty. More, no-one seemed to have noticed his presence; he looked around for any rank insignia, but couldn’t find the platoon sergeant.

   “Where’s Sergeant Beresford?” he asked, quietly. Getting no response, he summoned the loudest voice he’d ever heard Sergeant Forrest use, and at the top of his lungs, yelled, “Sergeant Beresford, front and center!”

   One of the card players looked up, and panic spread across his face. He pushed one of the other players so hard that he fell on the floor, and the platoon hurriedly scrambled to fall in, racing to their ranks and coming to attention. Most of them were only in a state of semi-dress, and he could easily have failed all of them on uniform infringements.

   “Second Platoon, sir,” Beresford said. “Ready for inspection.”

   “You have got to be joking, Sergeant,” Cooper replied. “If I seriously inspected this outfit, you’d all be going right to the brig. What the hell is going on here?” He gestured at the kit on the floor, and said, “Why has your equipment not been stowed?”

   “We’ve only been on board for a few hours, sir,” one of the troopers said.

   “Name!”

   “Fuller, sir. Laura H. Corporal.”

   She looked young for her rank; Cooper frowned, and asked, “Time in service, Corporal?”

   “Nine months, sir.”

   Cooper stood stunned for a moment. His promotion to Lance-Corporal, back at the start of Alamo’s cruise, had been an unexpected shock, something he wouldn’t have expected for a couple of years. This woman had jumped to the next rank, and by the looks of it, done it in basic training.

   “Beresford, how about you? Time in service?”

   “Eighteen months, sir.”

   “I’m guessing everyone else here will sing the same song if I asked.”

   “Yes, sir,” Beresford said. “I passed out top of my course, so they sent me back to help train the next intake. I volunteered for combat duty, sir. We all did.”

   “I suppose that’s something,” Cooper said, “But by God, it is not enough. It is not anything like enough. You don’t get to go to war simply because you want to, not in this outfit. It’s a dark and scary universe out there, and the Cabal will eat you all for breakfast.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Look at yourselves. This isn’t a luxury cruise.”

   “Hell no. The food’s lousy.”

   Cooper pivoted on his heels and snapped, “Name!”

   “Mason, Private Sandra D.”

   “Well, Mason, what makes you think you can just lounge around like this?”

   “No-one gave us any orders, sir,” she said, staring him in the eyes. This was one trooper that wasn’t going to be intimidated.

   Glaring at Beresford, Cooper said, “Well, that’s going to change, and it is going to change right this minute!” He looked down at his watch, and said, “You have five minutes to get that equipment stowed and put this room back into some sort of order.” The platoon looked at him, and he continued, “Four minutes, fifty-seven seconds. You don’t want to find out what happens if you screw this up. Move!”

   Cooper carefully watched the ensuing pandemonium, not taking any part in it as he watched the NCOs work. Beresford seemed very good at ordering others to do work, but didn’t seem to want to get his hands d
irty; Fuller was better, wading right into the task at hand, slamming plasma rifles into their positions. A squad ran from bed to bed, hastily making them, but with a look at his watch, Cooper saw that they were never going to make it in time.

   Racing forward, he picked up a crate of plasma pistols and started to lock them into position, using all of the short-cuts he’d learned, watching the charging lights flash up one after another. Fuller paused for a second and looked at him, obviously trying to pick up the technique. The five minutes were long over by the time they had finished; eight minutes and ten seconds.

   Wiping his greasy hand across his forehead, Cooper moved back to the front of the platoon as they fell in again, moving rather more fluidly this time. They seemed good at their drill, which began to worry Cooper; he was beginning to fear that it was all they knew.

   “Not bad, troopers, but not good either. No leave at the next two stops for any member of the platoon.” He looked at Mason, and added, “That, naturally, includes myself. At least this place looks presentable now.” Running his eyes down the ranks, he said, “We have a little under thirty days before this platoon hits the decks at Hades. In that time, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to get this outfit ready to go to war.”

   “We’ve been trained, sir,” Beresford said. “We’re ready.”

   “How many combat stars?”

   “Sir?”

   “How many battles have you fought, Sergeant?”

   His face locking into a grimace, he replied, “None, sir.”

   “Then how the hell would you know what to expect? Last time a platoon I was in fought on Hades, only four of us got out. We had to get the rest back later. Thirty men in my old platoon. Eleven of which came back, most of whom are on board.”

   Fuller looked at him more closely, and asked, “You’re the one who went into Cabal space?”

   With a sigh, he nodded, and said, “Yes I did. Because we look after our own. You can be sure that no-one else will. I know exactly what it is like to be where you are standing, and from what I can tell, our outfit had a damn sight more training than you have. And only one in three made it home.”

   The platoon looked at each other, as if trying to work out which of them would die, and he continued, “I hope that’s sinking in good and hard. If you think you are ready for this, you aren’t. I’m going to do everything I can do to get you ready over the course of the next month. You will pay attention, you will work harder than you ever have in your life, or I guarantee that you will be floating home. Do I make myself clear?”

   “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

   “I damn well hope so. We can start with four miles around the ship.”

   “Four miles?” Mason said. “We’ve never…”

   “We’re doing a lot of things we never had to do before, like operate for long periods in gravity. Some of you might end up serving on planets where there are wars going on. Endurance is key. Four miles around the decks, and anyone who fails to complete the run in less than forty-four minutes will damn well do six! Get into your tracksuits. You have ten minutes.”

   The door opened, and another figure walked in, a woman with close-cropped dark hair, Lieutenant-Major’s insignia on her shoulders, and a row of combat decorations across the swell of her breast. The platoon snapped to attention and saluted, and Cooper followed suit.

   “Second platoon, ready for inspection, ma’am,” he said, hoping this time that they might withstand such an examination.

   “At ease, second platoon.” She looked at Cooper, and said, “They’ve got fifteen minutes. I need to have a word with you, Ensign. Unless you want to send them off now.”

   “I go where they go, ma’am,” he replied, turning back to the platoon. “Fifteen minutes, gang. Get yourselves ready. You might want to get yourselves warmed up.”

   The two of them stepped out into the corridor, and the woman said as the doors closed, “Lieutenant-Major Brownworth. When it’s just the two of us, you can call me Val.” She smiled, and said, “We’re the only officers with any combat experience, so you are the only one who gets that privilege.”

   “Ensign Cooper, ma’am. Gabe to my friends.”

   Gesturing at the door, she said, “I figured if any of the junior officers passed the test, it would be you. There’s a reason I made myself available and didn’t give any orders. I wanted to see who would have any initiative.”

   “I’m not good at sitting around and waiting, ma’am. A failing.”

   “The other officers are either in their quarters or in the lounge.” She shook her head, and said, “In a few moments, I’m going to be having some serious words with them, but you are excused. Do I need to give you any orders about what to do next?”

   “No, ma’am. Today I work out where they are right now, and then I spend the next four weeks getting them where they need to be if any of them are going to live through this.”

   “I’ve read your personnel records,” she said. “It’s like an adventure novel. I understand that you were scheduled for OCS, but your commanding officer jumped the gun.”

   “Yes, ma’am. I saw action as an officer at Haven, but nothing serious. Most of my experience has been as an NCO.”

   She frowned for a second, and said, “Are you confident handling the platoon in combat?”

   “I am, ma’am. Or I would have told you already.”

   “Good.” She shook her head, and said, “We won’t have the services of the Company XO much longer, I think; Captain Marshall is trying to grab her for Gilgamesh, something about wanting someone to help coordinate the two platoons on the battlecruisers. That means I’ll be leaning on you rather heavily. Good experience for you.”

   “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Can I ask a question?”

   “Go ahead.”

   “Who the hell decided that Second Platoon was ready for combat duty, and who thought that twenty-two-year-old Sergeants were a good idea?”

   “How old are you again?”

   “About forty. Every battle aged me five years or so.”

   She laughed, and said, “You’ll do, Cooper. I think you get the idea. To answer your question, we are looking at the effects of a rapid mobilization. We’ve got fighting in Jefferson, a garrison at Ragnarok, and forces spread all across local space now. Seventh’s been put up in the line ten months early, and we couldn’t get any experienced NCOs. They’ll have to learn on the job.”

   “Sergeant Forrest…”

   “I grabbed him as Company Sergeant with a promotion. I’ll arrange for him to have a talk with the rest of the NCOs, probably tonight. Try and teach them a few of the facts of life. What we have is an outfit right out of basic training – and one which would not have passed basic training a few months ago.”

   “That bad?”

   “All the requirements have been dropped, Gabe. The troopers you brought back all got promoted, and scattered all across the task force. Most of them ended up in Ninth Company, which incidentally makes our outfit look like paragons of virtue and experience.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “I thought we were meant to be an elite strike force.”

   “We are, at least we should be. I think that we will be again a few days after we hit Hades, but I don’t want to suffer casualties on the scale of your last visit.” She paused, then said, “How did it happen?”

   Cooper took a deep breath, and said, “We were outnumbered, maybe five to one, and the enemy knew every inch of their territory better than we did. More of us could have survived, but we had to hold the line, hang on as long as we could for the refueling shuttles to get back to Alamo.” His mind drifted back, and he continued, “I’d been on a recon mission. When I reached our lines, the attack had begun, and we were losing. Badly. The corridors were a killing zone, and we were stuck in it.”

   “I read your report.”

   “If we’d had more men, carried on push
ing, it might have been different, but we had no reinforcements. They overwhelmed us. It ended at the shuttle dock, just eight of us left, and four died just in that little dash. Only one of us got into the shuttle without being wounded, and that was a lucky escape.” He looked up, and said, “Major, we’d better be damn sure of what we are doing before we go in again.”

   “I’m not losing my company the way you lost your platoon.” Shaking her head, she said, “If I was in charge, you’d be working on the assault plan right now, but that’s up to the Admiral and the Major. A fighter pilot and a desk jockey. We’d better be damn good when we hit the rock, Gabe, because we’re going to be improvising all the way.”

   “Espatiers are good at that, ma’am.”

   “I damn well hope so.” She paused, then said, “Day after tomorrow, we’re going to be doing simulated exercises. I want your platoon to be the bad guys. That suit?”

   “One against two?”

   “You’re the experienced combat commander, and I’ll be letting the senior of the other two platoon leaders command the attack force. I’ll run it – the engineers are working on something fun for us down in the cargo deck right now.”

   “Looking forward to it, ma’am.”

   “Just make sure that your gang is ready. Is there anything you want from me at the moment?”

   He thought for a second, then said, “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to borrow Sergeant Forrest and a few other troopers for half an hour.”

   “What for?”

   “I want them to arm themselves with tranq darts and position themselves along our little training run. Somewhere in the middle of the final mile, it would be interesting to liven up proceedings with a little ambush drill.”

   Brownworth chuckled, and said, “Ensign, you have a wicked and evil mind, and I thoroughly approve. I’ll get it organized for you, and make sure the area is clear. Mind if a Major commands the attack force?”