Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty

by Tongue, Richard

  He looked around, "A couple of guys are probably already dug in down there. The rest will wait until the shuttle's down and move in – probably half a dozen trucks, I reckon. They'll want to get everything out before the Governor's forces arrive."

  "And if they do?" Orlova asked.

  The prospector chuckled, "Then our little war will probably be decided right here in one big battle. Both sides will be committing most of their effective forces to this one."

  The espatiers took up their positions around the rim of the deep crater, being careful to mask their tracks as they walked, each fire team covering a different approach angle. None of their weapons were likely to be able to put much of a dent on the transport itself, except the grenades – and without a launcher, they were rather too hazardous to risk except as a last resort. Hunter looked around at the crater, shaking his head.

  "This might all have been for nothing if Alamo managed to intercept it," he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. At Esposito's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Not that I don't want the boys upstairs to have captured it, ma'am. It's just that since we came down here we've been taking shit from everyone, and I want to be the one dealing it out for a change."

  His sentence was punctuated by a loud sonic boom, drawing all of their eyes to the sky. A thin contrail was spiraling down from the upper atmosphere, a small black dot at the far end of it. Esposito pulled out her binoculars, considered for a moment, then passed them over to Orlova. She carefully adjusted the magnification, and a wide grin began to creep across her face.

  "Jackpot. One transport coming down, and it looks Republic to me," she said. "They're really tearing down. I'd say we've got company in about ten minutes."

  Hunter and Forbes slapped each other on the back and readied their plasma rifles, siting in on the only way into the crater on the ground. As defensible a spot as it was, as good a landing site, it was also an excellent place to spring a trap. A faint rumbling started to sound, and five trucks came rumbling over the horizon at full speed.

  A pair of figures emerged from the rocks, breaking cover, and ran out toward the trucks; Esposito was tempted to take a shot, but the transport could yet abort its landing if it saw that anything suspicious was taking place on the ground. Until it had landed, its engines turned off, there wasn't much they could do.

  A series of bright flares flashed across the ground from the transport's engine as it pulsed towards a landing; at this point there was nothing the pilot could do to make the landing particularly stealthy, the only sensible goal being to make the touchdown as short as possible. The trucks waited outside the crater, not wanting to get caught in any exhaust from the final descent. A cluster of landing legs extended down, and landing jets began to fire, a gentle touch of thruster one way or another guiding it down to the flattest part of the landing site. Orlova caught herself nodding at the pilot's skill, and carefully looked over the lines of the ship.

  A blockade runner, though technically called a 'Fast Transport' for military parlance, not a million miles away from the models the Martians used in the war to get needed elements in from the interstellar mining outposts. Where the flag of the Lunar Republic would normally be proudly displayed there was instead a black and red flag separated by a yellow stripe, a pair of stars on either side. She looked across at Forbes, puzzled.

  "Our flag," Forbes said over the roar of the engine. Nodding, she turned back to watch the last stages of the landing, smoke and steam rising from the ground from the heat of the jets. Immediately after touchdown, with speed obviously gained from long experience, the trucks rolled forward and a series of hatches on the side opened up. Men began to spill out of the trucks and race towards the transport, crude breathing apparatus clamped to their faces to protect themselves from the shuttle's hot exhaust.

  Esposito hefted her weapon once more, sighted one of the trucks, and yelled, "Let 'em have it!" She managed to get in the first shot, a green ball dancing across the sky, slamming into the rock near a cluster of men. Immediately the air was full of the crackle of plasma fire and the occasional rat-tat-tat of bullets from Coop's old machine gun. Bodies lay strewn on the ground, but the rebels quickly recovered from the surprise attack and threw themselves into cover, reaching for their own weapons to return fire. A fusillade of shots rang out from the ground, and from the yells it was obvious that some of the bullets had found their mark.

  "We've got to finish this quickly, or the transport will just lift off," Esposito said, firing a burst to keep a particularly accurate rebel's head down.

  "Not to mention that we're exposed like hell to a rear attack," the sergeant replied.

  Order was rapidly disappearing from the battlefield; Esposito could see that one of the fire teams had been badly mauled, only firing the occasional plasma burst. She spotted a rocky outcrop a couple of dozen paces down the side of the crater wall; not enough cover to keep anyone hidden, but enough to give them some protection. More importantly, an excellent place to start a crossfire from.

  Without any warning, she leapt out of her hiding place and started to sprint towards the outcrop, weaving from left to right. A torrent of shots rained down around her, blasting chunks out of the rocks. As she drew close to her target she slipped when a rock gave way underneath her, sending her falling to her side and the rocks tumbling down the war. By a miracle she was able to roll into position, grimacing slightly at a pain to her ankle. Another pair of shots sent a shower of pebbles dropping on her head; her return shot sent the shooter falling to the ground.

  "No retreat now," Hunter muttered, looking across at Forbes. There was no trace of reluctance on the prospector's face as he fired shot after shot into the ground, though he had more of a tendency to pin them down than hit them. The sergeant looked over at Coop; the old woman was glancing down at her watch, then turned to him, smiling.

  "Any second now."

  "What?" Orlova replied.

  The answer came when a trio of low-level fliers burst over the hill, roaring their engines and letting off a series of shots onto the rebels on the ground. One of them exploded a few seconds later, a smoke trail suggesting that someone had been quick off the mark with an anti-air missile. As the fire from the Triplanetary squad became erratic, limited to the occasional target of opportunity, Orlova ran over and grabbed Coop by the collar.

  "What have you done?" she yelled.

  "What Forbes suggested. I contacted the Governor and told him about the transport. Rather hoped he'd send in the cavalry."

  Orlova staggered back; the lack of cover didn't seem to matter, with no-one on the ground paying any attention to the rim now. Hunter looked around, confused, moving his gun from target to target, as the pilot lifted her borrowed binoculars to her eyes, trying to work out what was going on.

  "The transport's getting ready to move out," she said.

  Clarke looked up at her from his vantage point, asking, "How the hell do you know that?"

  "Common sense, Corporal." A pair of loud roars echoed across the crater, followed by a pair of explosions on the far wall. "I would in her place."

  "Great."

  "We came here to get that transport. The rest is just incidental." Orlova stood up, daring the fire, pointing at the transport. "Troopers, get that damn transport! That's an order!"

  She fell down on the ground, Hunter's hand pulling her down by the belt. He looked into her face, his teeth bared, then over at the second fire team. Two of them were lining up shots on the transport's landing legs, and a pair of bolts raced down to the ground. The other troopers rapidly got the idea, pinning the vessel down, and one of the government fliers swooped around to take a pass at it, soaring dangerously close.

  "Who the hell are you to be giving orders!" Hunter yelled.

  "Relax, Sergeant, she's right. Someone had to do it," Coop said. "Let's get on with this."

  Reluctantly, Hunter turned and fired a shot of his own; a direct hit, but the transport was too heavily armored for it to have any effect. Esposito
had the idea, and tried to get a burst inside the ship as the hatches slid shut, but her timing was a few seconds too late, and the bolt was harmlessly absorbed. A bright flash heralded the end of a second flyer, debris scattering to the ground; the rebels appeared to be gaining the upper hand, and a cheer went up.

  "It doesn't matter who wins at this point. If either side gets the weapons it'll be a bad day for us," Clarke said.

  Orlova fired another shot, knocking out a machine gun a pair of rebels were attempting to set up, then turned to face the angry sergeant, "Got any other ideas, Sergeant? I'm about out."

  "That's the problem with rookies. They always have the great ideas but don't have a clue about what it actually takes to carry them out." He looked across and grinned, continuing, "That's what sergeants are for. Watch."

  A loud battle cry escaped from the sergeant's mouth as he leapt out of cover, half-running, half-falling down the hill. His gun was still sitting beside Orlova, and for a second she thought that he'd managed to forget it, before spotting that each hand held one of the grenades they'd obtained from the stores at Mariner Station – grenades that were probably meant to be part of the cargo on the transport. In a flash, she realized what he was about to do. Corporal Clarke silently watched at his old friend racing down the hill, firing a couple of shots over his head to give some covering fire.

  "Everyone get down! Shield your eyes!" she yelled, hugging herself into a ball in the snow. Hunter made it half-way down the slope before a pair of bullets got him, one from each side. He just continued to grin, tossing the grenades underarm in the direction of the transport before collapsing on the ground, the gleam in his eyes slowly beginning to fade. The round bombs rolled quickly, bumping and leaping along, but his last throw had been a good one, and they rolled underneath the transport.

  She felt the explosion rather than heard it; even through her clenched eyes she could see the flash, and the roar dulled out her hearing. Rubble fell across the ground, creating another series of craters around the original one. As soon as she dared, Orlova looked up; the sounds of gunfire were replaced by moaning and groaning from the bottom of the crater. The transport and its cargo was a burning wreck, a pillar of smoke rising up into the atmosphere. Up in the sky, a parachute had opened under a capsule. Evidently the transport's crew had decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

  The last flyer had been right over the explosion; it took her a few minutes to see where it had crashed. Esposito waved a slightly scorched hand in the thumbs-up sign, and as far as she could see, none of the other espatiers had been killed or wounded. Emerging from cover, their weapons readied but not pointing at anything, the remains of the squad began to make their way into the crater floor.

  Chapter 24

  Ryder logged onto the guidance console as Marshall stood up, making his way over to the captain's chair. The troopers had taken out most of the bodies, loading them into the elevator to be taken down to the ship's morgue. Doctor Duquesne ran her hand over Stiles' face, shaking her head, and called for one of his men to take his body away. Blake looked almost in tears as he threw his medikit to the deck, picking up the late corporal's body. The elevator opened again, Weitzman, Spinelli and Caine moving to take stations around the bridge. Weitzman hesitated slightly before taking the communications station.

  "Sir, if I had known for a second that they were planning anything like this...", the young crewman began.

  Marshall raised his hand to stop him, replying, "I know, spaceman, I know. Thank you."

  Nodding, Weitzman settled into the communications station. The bridge was a mess, half a dozen consoles ruined by bullet fire, blood splattered liberally across the deck plating and on the seats, a trickle of smoke from the electrical fire started during the original escape from the bridge. The course projection of the landing site of the freighter seemed to taunt him; he began work on possible courses to intercept the ship when it began its inevitable ascent. Caine looked over from the tactical station.

  "Getting reports from all over the ship now, sir. All critical stations have been secured; Corporal Forrest is rounding up the last groups in the life support systems now. Once they found out the bridge had been recaptured, they gave up, though some of them are negotiating for terms of surrender."

  "No terms. Just that they will get a fair trial when we get home," Marshall replied.

  Caine nodded, "That's what I thought you'd say. Next piece of news is that we've got two frigates coming towards us from different sides of Gatewood, both on direct intercept courses, but with ranges that mean that either of them could neatly intercept us if we attempted to leave the system. They've got us nicely boxed, I've got to hand it to them."

  "As soon as we've got the last of the mutineers secured and Quinn's had a chance to look at the damage they inflicted, I intend to break orbit. Any idea how long?"

  "Interception in three and a half hours. Before I left engineering Quinn told me that he expects to declare us fit for space in ten minutes. I'll get Mulenga working on some course plots once he gets out of the sickbay." At Marshall's frown, she continued, "Nothing serious, just a bit of shrapnel."

  Looking out at the moon slowly moving beneath them, he shook his head, "Anything else I need to know about?"

  "I've got sensor tracks of the transport going right down to the ground. It landed about three minutes ago."

  He stood up, making his way forward to guidance. "Ryder, I want you to adjust our orbit again. Keep us in a position where we can grab them, assuming they shape directly for the nearest system egress point. We might not be able to confiscate their cargo, but by damn we can question their crew."

  "Holy hell!" Spinelli yelled from his console. "You've got to take a look at this, sir!" He punched a few buttons, and a zoomed-in picture of the moon appeared on the screen, a tall column of smoke rising from the inside of a crater.

  Marshall's eyes widened, "What am I looking at, spaceman?"

  "I was monitoring the transport when it blew up! There was some activity around it, but I couldn't make out anything much."

  "Sir," Weitzman broke in, "I have a signal from the surface now. Ensign Esposito calling for you."

  A chorus of cheers went up around the bridge, primarily from the espatiers; all of them seemed to have worked out what must have happened, and it was a welcome tonic after the events of the last hour. Shaking his head, Marshall grabbed a headset from the communications station and clamped it on.

  "Ensign, I'm assuming the huge ball of fire was your doing?"

  The voice crackled up from the surface, "Yes, sir. We found out than an arms shipment was on its way to the rebels, and decided that we should intercept it. I must report that Sergeant Hunter and Private McBride died during the battle."

  Softly, Marshall replied, "I'm afraid we've had some action up here as well, Ensign. Your people fought bravely and were instrumental in our regaining control of the ship, but there have been casualties."

  "Regaining control of the ship?"

  "Never mind that now. What is your situation down there?"

  "We appear to have captured the head of the resistance, General Haynes, wounded but alive, and a lot of the Governor's men. Most of the Governor's mobile forces were taken out in the assault."

  Shaking his head, the captain responded, "Are you telling me that you managed to knock out both sides in the conflict on the planet's surface?"

  "Something like that, skipper. We should have no problem getting the crewmen back now, but have you got any further orders?"

  He looked over at Caine, who frowned before replying, "Regime change. Instead of the Lunar Republic propping up a government down there, we've managed to do the job for them."

  "Your thoughts?"

  "We broke it, we've got to fix it."

  "Hmm." He pondered for a second before replying, "How bad is it there?"

  "We've got a lot of wounded, and need medical assistance. Any chance you could get a shuttle down?"

  He paused a
gain, "Ensign, I'm afraid we'll be breaking orbit in about ten minutes to engage the enemy frigates in battle. Whatever orders I give you will likely be subject to change following the results of that encounter."

  "Sir, you need to know that the frigates are not the property of the planetary government, but are being operated by the rebels. The government getting the crewmen was simply an accident. The Lunar Republic provided the ships, but the rebels own them."

  Marshall smiled for the first time that day. If the frigates were flew the flag of a rebel group, then the Republic could have no justification for complaint if Alamo was to take them down. The political problems were at last beginning to melt away; he felt a lot more comfortable dealing with the tactical issues. Not that they were minor, but at least he had the training to cope with them.

  "Take care of the wounded as best you can. Inform the Governor that on our return to orbit I will be meeting with him on the planet's surface – find a suitable point that you can secure, just in case he has any further tricks up his sleeve. Make sure that the General doesn't have any nasty accidents either. If we're going to make any sort of a ceasefire hold, then both sides are going to have to participate, one way or another."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I presume there's nothing left of the transport?"

  "Just an escape capsule, sir. I have it under guard, but no-one has left it yet."

  "Fine. Make sure the site is secured. How many troopers have you got left?"

  "Four, as well as a few people helping us from non-aligned forces."

  He frowned before replying, "Sorry I can't get you any reinforcements. Do the best you can with what you have. With any luck Alamo will be returning to orbit in about five hours or so, with the rebels dealt with once and for all. Just make sure the Governor is at the meeting, and we might be able to finish this little war for good."

  "Aye, sir."

  "One more thing, Ensign. You and your people performed splendidly today. That will be prominently noted in my log entries. I want to make that clear."