“Not this time. I’m going alone; if anyone asks, then tell them to mind their own business. If they keep pushing, then I’m trying to expedite the refit.” He reached into a pocket, and pulled out two small boxes. “I’ve got some presents for you before I go. Jack,” he said, tossing the first box to him, “This is from Captain Marshall, with complements. Ryder, yours is from me.”
They opened their boxes and looked up, Ryder saying, “What the hell is this for?”
“You were a pretty old Sub-Lieutenant, about normal for a Lieutenant, and now pretty young for a Senior Lieutenant. Your title justifies the rank. As for you, Jack, I understand something about going above and beyond the call of duty in keeping this ship in one piece.”
“I don’t want promotion, sir,” Quinn replied. “They might start wanting me to command something. That’s the last thing I need.”
Logan looked at Ryder and said, “Going to say that being promoted twice by the same person isn’t going to help your career?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “You might find this hard to believe, but I was paying attention during that last speech of yours. I’ve got this because you need me to have this, though I won’t pretend to know why. Jack and I will get to work.”
“Good,” he replied. His datapad started to bleep urgently, and he snatched it out of his pocket, scrolling through the text, his face dropping as he read. After a moment, he looked up at the two of them, a scowl on his face, “Looks like I’ll be here to help you after all.”
“What happened?”
“There was some sort of accident at Miguel’s. Early this morning, before they were opening. Pressure systems failure. Everyone was died before the rescue teams could get in.”
“Miguel’s?”
“It’s a long story.” He pulled out his communicator, and said, “This is the Captain. All decks to standby alert. I repeat, standby alert. That is all.”
“In dry dock?” Ryder asked.
Quinn looked at her, and said, “I’m beginning to think we were safer out with the Cabal.”
Chapter 6
It was depressingly obvious that the fleet command room on Gilgamesh had been something of an afterthought; the veteran old battlecruiser was the only ship of its class to have one installed at all, but it had the feel of a museum, and one where quite a lot of the key exhibits had been borrowed by others, while the remains were left to decay; Marshall had been forced to beg, steal and borrow the equipment he needed to make the room operational, in a few paces from people who didn't know he'd done it yet.
At least it was all working now, after a fashion. A couple of bored-looking technicians manned the control consoles while he and Caine looked at the strategic holodisplay, showing the fleet in the order it was in when it entered hendecaspace five days ago. In a matter of moments, they would be returning to normal space orbiting the planet they had christened Discovery, the place he had found his father on his first visit here.
He tried to push the bitter memories to the back of his mind, concentrating on his work, such as it was. Caine looked across at him, a smile on her face.
“We could go up to the bridge, you know.”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t be fair on Gorski. I know how I would have felt with a senior officer standing behind my chair, watching everything I was doing.”
“This isn’t about what Gorski likes, Danny. You’re in charge of the battlecruiser contingent of this task force, and what you say goes.”
“In theory. A theory that the people involved don’t really subscribe to, and frankly I can’t blame them. Battlecruisers aren’t designed to hunt in packs like this, they’re meant to be lone wolves, scouring the cosmos.”
“Very poetic,” she replied. “What does that mean?”
“It means that aside from special occasions, we shouldn’t be operating like this. Gilgamesh ought to have jumped first, ahead of the rest of the fleet, give the scouting enough teeth to do some real good if they find something.”
“Gilgamesh, not Thermopylae? Would that have anything to do with the ship you’re flying your flag on?” She chuckled, and said, “Do you actually have a flag? I forgot to ask.”
“A broad pennant, you mean? I’m not sure how effective it would be fluttering behind the ship. Perhaps I could get Frank Rogers to paint his laser reflectors. That might work.” He looked up at the status board again, and said, “At least we’ve got the scouts with us this time.”
“Not next time. Next time they jump a day early, heading out into god only knows what.”
Looking up, he said, quietly, “It’s a stupid idea. We could easily lose everyone on board all three ships and never even know what happened to them.”
“Then you’ve got to make sure it doesn’t happen that way.”
He looked across at her, and said, “Deadeye, I’m the deputy fleet commander, with special responsibility for ships that don’t really need supervising. I don’t have to tell Rogers and Gorski to work together; their tactical officers can handle that properly.” Gesturing at the strategic display, he replied, “I’m playing Fantasy Fleet Commander here, and that about all.”
“I guess we’d better hope that we don’t run into any opposition, then,” she replied. “There’s a chance of that, I think. We did a hell of a lot of damage on our way out of their territory.”
“That’s what worries me. Two reasons. First, everyone in this fleet is assuming that any battle we fight will be a walkover. Second, if I was commanding Cabal forces, I’d have rushed any available reserves into this region in the event of an attack. We couldn’t have picked a more obvious path in.”
“You’re beginning to sound like a fleet commander, Danny.”
Marshall walked over to the technicians, Thompson and Hitchcock, working their respective stations, the former running sensors, the latter communications. Both of them were moonlighting from bridge duty, working a somewhat resentful double shift; Gorski had only reluctantly released them at all, and he couldn’t blame him for that. Under other circumstances, he’d have been just as hesitant about making his people do extra duty.
“Two minutes to emergence, sir,” Thompson said. “We are at alert stations.”
Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Captain Gorski, I recommend battle stations be called.”
“Recommend, or order, Captain Marshall?”
Looking across at Caine, he said, “Let’s go ahead and make it an order.”
“Very well.” A series of warning lights flashed on as the ship prepared for battle, Marshall shaking his head as he watched the status monitors switch over.
“Too slow. Tactical’s taking too long to get ready, and there’s no movement at all from the hangar deck.” Glancing at Caine, he said, “I’ll have to speak to Gorski about this. They’ve got to get to battle stations in ninety seconds.”
“Sir,” Hitchcock said, “We’ve been told that three minutes is a good target.”
“Whoever told you that hasn’t fought in a battle lately. You don’t always have the luxury of time to prepare. Sometimes you have to be ready in an instant.”
“The Admiral didn’t give any orders about battle stations, Danny,” Caine noted.
“I wouldn’t have needed one.”
“Thirty seconds to emergence, Captain,” Thompson said, looking up at his monitor. “Sensor systems are on battle alert.”
Glancing up at a panel, Caine said, “Missile systems all show ready as well. At least we can put up some sort of a fight if we must.” Shaking her head, she said, “I damn well hope you’re being paranoid.”
“Me too.”
It felt so strange to not be on the bridge during emergence, not to see the characteristic flash and watch the stars appear. About from a brief sensation, the only difference was the strategic display updating with a view of the planet Discovery,
and other ships beginning to appear all around them. Two of them looked worryingly familiar.
“Threat warning!” Thompson said. “Cabal battlecruisers, two of them, in system.”
“Damn,” Marshall replied. Gorski was already piling on the acceleration, heading in towards the target, but Thermopylae was slower, and he stabbed at a button, “Frank, get that ship of yours moving right now.”
“We’re not at battle stations, Danny.”
“Why the…,” Marshall snapped, then turned to Thompson, “Time to intercept?”
“Less than six minutes to firing range, sir. One of the enemy ships is turning away.”
“Tripwire,” Caine said. “They’re not here to fight us, they’re here to wait for us. That one’s going to be able to get to the far hendecaspace point and jump clear of the system before we can get to it.”
“Gorski, Rogers, concentrate on the far battlecruiser. We’ve got to catch it at all costs.” He looked across at Caine, and asked, “We still don’t have that damn CAG, do we?”
“She’s coming on board here. They held her on the carrier for the first jump, something to do with training.” The ship rocked, and she asked, “What the hell was that?”
“Fighter flight launching, sir,” Hitchcock said. “I just picked up the orders.”
“Picked them up? Why the hell wasn’t I informed.”
“Captain Gorski, sir,” the technician said. “Wanting to know who gave the order to launch fighters.”
“Tell him that I don’t bloody well know, then get me Admiral Pierce. Where are those fighters going, Thompson?”
“The nearest battlecruiser, sir. Trident has launched the rest of its fighters towards the same target, moving into a concentrated formation for attack.”
“That’s the wrong one,” he said. “Those fighters should be going for the one we can’t pick off at our leisure. He’s playing into the hands of the enemy commander. Auxiliaries, scouts?”
Answering his question, Hitchcock said, “I have Captain Cunningham for you, sir.”
“John,” Marshall said, snatching a handset, “What are you up to?”
“Not a thing,” he replied. “I think we’re the unwanted guests at the banquet. Got any orders for me? I’m inclined to have a go at the far battlecruiser.”
“Danny,” Caine said, urgently, “both enemy ships are launching fighters, and I think they’re heading for the auxiliaries. Our fighters aren’t changing course to match them.”
“That’s your job, John. Hold back and protect those auxiliaries. If we lose the tanker, the game is over.” Turning to the communications technician, he said, “I need Admiral Pierce, now.”
“I can’t get him, sir,” he said, red-faced with frustration. “No-one on the carrier will put me through. Or to the Fleet CAG, or to Fleet Captain Haynes. I can’t even get the fighters.”
Marshall turned to look at the battle, quickly collapsing into chaos. The nearest enemy ship was launching a salvo targeted at the Trident, obviously trying for the high-value target, and the projected intercept time for the other enemy ship was moving further and further into the future, despite the efforts of Gorski and Rogers.
“I don’t like the odds of three scoutships against twelve fighters, Danny,” Caine said. “Those ships don’t have the armament or the countermeasures for the job. If we could get them some fighter support, it might be a different story.”
“Hitchcock, our fighters will have a dedicated frequency, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get me the flight leader.”
The technician paled, and replied, “Breaking into a command frequency…”
“I’ll accept the responsibility. Just get me the damn channel, Spaceman!”
Caine moved over to his side, and said, “You realize that you are almost begging to be relieved of your position for this, don’t you?”
“I didn’t want this damn job in the first place,” he snapped, briefly turning to her before looking back at Hitchcock. “How about it, Spaceman?”
“I’ve got him, sir.”
“Captain,” Thompson said, “If our flight vectors around within sixty seconds, they’ll be able to intercept the incoming fighters in time to coordinate a strike with the scout ships.”
“Good,” he said, taking up the headset again. “Lieutenant Dragomirov, this is Captain Marshall. On my authority, I order you and your flight to change course to intercept incoming fighter attack.”
“I’m operating under orders from the carrier, sir.”
“Lieutenant, your four birds won’t make a damn bit of difference in the overkill that’s about to hit the battlecruiser, but you might stop those auxiliaries from being shot down. This is my order; all you are doing is complying with it.” He paused, and added, “In order to prevent interference by enemy communications, switch your frequency discriminators to zero-one-nine.”
There was the ghost of a chuckle over the channel, and the pilot replied, “Enemy action, sir? We’re changing course now, and discriminators are locked in.”
Hitchcock looked up, still pale, and said, “I don’t think the Fleet CAG’s going to approve of this, Captain.” Looking at his board, he said, “I have Captain Gorski for you, sir.”
“Put him on.”
The rich voice burred over the speakers, “May I ask what is happening to my fighters, Captain Marshall? Is this some sort of game I am unfamiliar with?”
“We need to protect the auxiliaries, Captain.”
“I do not recall an order putting you in command of the fleet.”
“I don’t recall us getting any orders about anything,” Marshall replied. “What are you going to do about it?”
The voice softened a little, and said, “Stand next to you during the inevitable angry summons to the Admiral’s office, I suppose. You are the officer in command of the battlecruisers, and I will defer to your judgment in this matter. Bridge out.”
“I’m confused,” Marshall said. “Was he backing me or not?”
“I think he was trying to do both at the same time,” Caine replied. “We’re committed now, though. John’s matched his intercept course to hit within two seconds of the fighters getting into firing range.”
“The big question being whether the Cabal fighters will break off the attack or not.”
“Sir,” Hitchcock said, “I have Admiral Pierce for you.”
“That didn’t take long,” Caine said.
“Put him on the monitor,” Marshall said, turning to face the screen as the image of the admiral flashed on it. He was obviously on the bridge of the Trident, officers shouting orders behind him; he was looking off-screen as the channel flashed open.
“I hear you’ve been playing games with the fighter attack,” Pierce said. “Get those fighters back on their original course. All fighter direction is staying with the Fleet CAG.”
Looking back at the monitor, he realized that there were only a very few seconds left to give such an order, before the fighters would be unable to obey given fuel limitations. Doubtless someone on the bridge of the Trident was already attempting and failing to turn them around.
“Sir, I ordered the change on my authority as commander of the battlecruiser squadron, in order to protect the auxiliaries from an attack.”
“The scoutships can handle that, damn it.”
“Not without casualties, sir,” he replied. Five seconds left to stall.
“This is war, in all but name. People die in war. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“We’re right at the start of the mission, Admiral. Can we afford such losses now? The fighters that are left can easily deal with their target.”
Glancing across, Pierce nodded and said, “It’s all rather academic now in any case, isn’t it. I want to see you, Caine, Cunningham and Gorski in my office as soon as this i
s over, Captain. We are going to need to have words about this. For the moment, I need you to pull back. You’re running ahead of the squadron.”
“Sir, we’re going to have problems dealing with the far battlecruiser now.”
“We’re at the start of the mission, Captain,” he repeated in a condescending tone. “The last thing I need is to waste all my battlecruisers. We’ll get that other ship later. Trident out.”
“Damn it!” Marshall said to the empty screen. “He’s handling this fleet like he would a fighter wing. We need to deal with more than one target at a time.”
“Danny,” Caine said, quietly, “We’ve received a direct order on this one.”
With one last look at the strategic display, he nodded, and said, “Hitchcock, pass the word. Gilgamesh and Thermopylae are to concentrate their attack on the closest battlecruiser. We’re going to pound the poor bastard to pieces.”
“Yes, sir,” the technician replied. Marshall walked over to the strategic display, looking at the enemy that was now impossible to catch before it reached a hendecaspace point and left the system.
“It’s going to have all the time it needs to take a look at us, a look at what passes for our tactics, and our destination,” he said. “We need to nail that ship before it gets away.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Not that it matters now, of course. We’re shedding speed to turn back to that other ship, the one that has now successfully decoyed this fleet.”
“Contact with the fighter wave in sixty seconds, sir,” Thompson said.
“One ray of sunshine in all of this. Let’s take a look. Deadeye, see about getting a search and rescue shuttle into the air, in case we get any prisoners. It’ll be a big reach from this heading, but I don’t think the scouts are equipped to handle it.”
“I’ll have a word with the Operations Officer.”
Marshall smiled, and said, “I’m still forgetting, aren’t I.” Turning to the display, he watched as the four fighters swooped in, releasing their first missiles and pulling away in a beautifully executed evasive pattern while the larger scoutships swept in from the far side, catching the enemy forces in a pincer movement.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold Page 6