With a smile, he replied, “Already done, ma’am. I’m getting used to this dance.”
Carefully placing the headset in position, she said, “This is Lieutenant Orlova. In about two minutes, we’re going to be taking on the enemy one more time. This is the last throw of the dice for the Cabal, the last chance they’ve got to stop us getting home. I’m not going to lie. Their ship is bigger than us, better armed, better armored, but I know that we’ve got a better crew, better trained, better prepared, ready for the fight. They might have a stronger hand than we do, but while we’ve got a card in our hand, we’re still in the game. All we have to do is win, and I know we will. Bridge out.”
The doors slid open, and Caine stepped out, saying, “Danny should hire you as his speech-writer.”
Turning, Orlova said, “Lieutenant…”
Raising a hand, Caine said, “I thought you might need an extra hand on the bridge.”
Nodding, she replied, “Frank, go over to the helm. Tactical is all yours, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, ma’am,” Nelyubov said, moving over next to Steele as she unslaved the helm systems from her console. Caine sat down in the vacated spot, running her fingers over the controls, and started to furiously enter commands, lights flashing from red to green as she readied systems. Orlova smiled, then turned back to the viewscreen.
“One minute to firing range,” Spinelli said. “I hate this part.”
“You that eager, Spaceman?” Orlova replied. “Damage control status?”
“All ready,” Prentis said. “Message from Lieutenant Quinn. He asks that you please try not to undo everything he’s done in the last two months, or he’ll send you the bill.”
A short burst of laughter echoed around the bridge, and Orlova replied, “My compliments to our Systems Officer, and tell him I’ll try not to get the paint scratched.”
“Forty seconds to firing range.”
“All missiles ready in the tube, salvo fire on your command.”
“Fire as soon as you get a target. Laser as well, one shot, then save the second for a combination shot with the satellites. Try and coordinate with Bailey.”
“On it,” Caine replied. “I should be able to knock down their first wave of incoming missiles, after that we’re in the lap of the gods.”
“Evasive maneuvers are ready,” Nelyubov said, looking up at the screen. “I can give you a shot as soon as they get into range, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll take it,” Caine said. “Set it for plus-one second. Let’s see if we can make a mess.”
“Ten seconds,” Spinelli said, audibly holding his breath. Most of the bridge crew were watching the clock countdown, waiting for the battle to begin. Orlova sat in the heart of it all, looking around, nervous as hell. This wasn’t her first fight, not even her first battle in command, though last time, she was going in expecting not to come out. This time was different. She wanted to win, and she wanted to be able to hand this ship back to Captain Marshall in one piece, mission accomplished.
“Now!” Spinelli said, and Nelyubov arced the ship around, playing the thrusters to point it at the incoming battlecruiser. Caine timed the laser pulse down to the microsecond, and a beam of light briefly connected the two ships, ripping a gash down the side of the enemy vessel, an angry red scar that leaked white gas into space, atmosphere spilling out of breached compartments.
“Energy spike,” Spinelli said.
“Now, Deadeye!” Orlova yelled, and with the tap of a control, the missiles died in their tubes, two of them exploding, tearing the launchers apart. The rest simply fell out into space, tumbling around, inert debris of the battle. Alamo rocked briefly, six trails moving out towards the Dauntless.
“Our salvo is out, Lieutenant,” Caine said.
“Going well so far,” Steele replied, but within a few seconds, Spinelli was shaking his head.
“Energy spikes, nine missiles on incoming trajectory,” he said. “That was damn fast work.”
“Knock them down,” Orlova said, but Caine frowned, furiously typing commands into her console with little result.
“Didn’t work. They must have an alternate command network, something like that. I’ve got to start from scratch. Second salvo coming into the tubes now.”
“Fire them when you can. Spinelli, time to satellite firing?”
“Estimate fifty-one seconds, ma’am.”
Time was crawling past as Orlova sat in the command chair, looking around at the frantically working technicians, all except Prentis, who briefly caught her eye and smiled. Until something happened to Alamo, he was going to have a very boring battle. Just sitting and watching, like Orlova. Caine, Steele and Nelyubov were working together like a well-oiled machine, operating Alamo’s systems and unleashing maximum damage to the enemy. The tactical decisions had been made, and all she could do now was let them play out.
“Three of the missiles knocked down, the rest still bearing directly. Projected impact in thirty-one seconds,” Spinelli said. “Satellites deploying, ma’am! “Change in target aspect from the Dauntless, turning away!”
Alamo rocked again, and Caine said, “Second salvo running. First salvo impact in nine seconds, two still on target.”
Orlova smiled as she saw the two tracks slam into the Dauntless, catching it amidships. Alamo had taken a lot more damage and carried on moving, but the course plot made it clear that the enemy vessel wasn’t going to be able to escape the trap she had set.
“Four more missiles knocked out,” Spinelli reported. “Just two to go, impact in four seconds!”
“Got another!” Caine yelled, before the ship was rocked by the last enemy warhead. Prentis began to furiously work his controls, trying to muster a damage report. He looked across at Orlova and nodded; she turned her attention back to the battle.
“I want all lasers to hit the same target on the Dauntless. Carve it up like a roast,” she said.
“Helm, I’m going to need a target lock in thirty-one seconds. No need to cover it, they’ll know its coming,” Caine said.”
“Energy spike, third salvo incoming! Twelve missiles inbound in total now!” Spinelli said.
“Damage report from the first strike,” Prentis said. “Minor damage to aft thruster control systems. No decrease of combat effectiveness.”
“Nineteen seconds to firing,” Caine said. “I can use our third salvo to knock out most of theirs. Nice tight approach pattern.”
“Do it,” Orlova replied, leaning forward in her chair to watch the view. She could almost picture herself on the bridge of the Dauntless, desperately trying to pull themselves away, to get out of the range of the laser cannons that inexorably turned onto their course track. Her engines were firing in a desperate move to change their orbit, all their attention focused on escape.
“Two seconds,” Caine said with finality. “One. Now.”
In two different control rooms, a hand pushed a button and lasers fired. Four beams of light collided with the Dauntless, hitting it amidships, close to the engine section, white-hot lines tearing down the sides of the hull, ripping apart the deck plating, smashing into the superstructure, clouds of escaping atmosphere briefly obscuring the view.
When it cleared, Orlova’s eyes widened; the stress of the engines at full thrust combined with the damage from the four cannons had torn the ship in half, both pieces tumbling end over end as escape pods poured out of the craft, heading down to the surface, a cloud of debris spilling out of a thousand fractures. Another eight explosions wracked the hull, Alamo’s second salvo gouging more craters out of what was left of the craft.
Caine looked up, pale, and said, “Incoming missiles are gone, Lieutenant. Laser recharging.”
“Take your time,” Orlova said.
Gulping, Spinelli reported, “That was at the worst possible moment for them. Both pieces will enter the atmosphere within the
hour. I can’t see any other outcome than total destruction.”
“Can we launch rescue parties?”
“I’m not getting anything from the hulk, not even automatic distress,” Weitzman said.
“There’s a hell of a lot of debris out there, shrapnel floating around,” Caine added. “I wouldn’t rate the longevity of a shuttle very highly out in all that.”
“We ought to alter our orbit,” Nelyubov said, working controls. “Driftwind’s going to have a very temporary ring system for a few hours.”
“I have a signal from Brunel, ma’am,” Weitzman said. “Captain Marshall, for you.”
“Put him on,” she said.
“Lieutenant, I saw most of that,” Marshall’s voice crackled. “Damn good work.”
“Lieutenant Bailey deserves more of the credit, sir. They were able to retake the station. Captain, I must…”
“I know,” he said, calmly. “She told me. Ouroboros managed to get a shuttle over to us; Senior Lieutenant Zebrova and I will be back on board Alamo in half an hour.”
“We’ll be waiting for you,” Orlova said. “I just wish I had some idea why all of this had happened.”
The elevator door slid open, Carpenter standing in the threshold. She stepped forward, looking at the remains of the Dauntless still on the screen, and then at Orlova.
“I think I can answer that question. Corporal Cooper sent me some interesting data from the Brunel’s passage here. If you have Captain Marshall head down to the dig site on the planet, I’ll tell you what I think happened.”
Orlova nodded, stepped down from the command chair, and said, “Steele, have a shuttle ready…”
“Better get Bailey to send down Price and Cooper as well, and some of the Neander. They need to know about this as well.”
“Very well,” she said. “Fr...I mean, Lieutenant Caine, you have the bridge.”
Caine stood up, nodding, “I have the bridge.”
As they walked to the elevator, Orlova asked, “What’s all this about, Susan?”
“You wanted an answer. I’ve got one. Now it’s up to the Captain to decide what to do with it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The shuttle coasted down over the desert, skimming over a low mountain range and long-drained river beds towards its destination. Marshall’s attention was anywhere other than the view; he was still reading the after-action report complied by Caine. Glancing up for a moment, he saw a spectacular display that made him pause for a moment, the ruins of the Dauntless burning up in the atmosphere, a hundred thousand shooting stars visible across an entire hemisphere.
Opposite him, Zebrova was reading the same report, occasionally making notations; luring the enemy ship into the range of the orbital defense cannons had been a brilliant move, albeit one that had largely been forced on Alamo. At least it proved that both Driftwind and Hydra Station were strongly held now, even if the price had been far higher than he would ever have willingly paid. His father’s death was still sinking in, but he could mourn later. For now, he had work to do.
Dropping the datapad to the seat, Marshall watched as the shuttle slowed for landing, two others already present on the dry lake bed. A few figures were running around, Espatiers setting up defensive perimeters. Dust flew up into the air as the landing thrusters tore into the ground, the shuttle finally settling down on the sand, the airlock popping open.
Orlova and Carpenter were waiting for him, the latter leaning on a crutch; they saluted as he walked out of the shuttle, Zebrova following him. He looked up at Orlova, but she wouldn’t return his look, instead dropping her eyes to the desert floor. Walking over to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It isn’t your fault, Maggie,” he said.
“I pulled the trigger. Or I might as well have done.”
Tapping a control on his datapad, he said, “He thought you did the right thing.”
Her eyes widened, and she said, “He did?”
“During that shuttle flight over to the station, he did two things. The first was to send me one last message, and the other was a rather more comprehensive report to Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, over on Ouroboros. I presume he thought she had the best chance of surviving the battle.”
Zebrova nodded, and said, “In it, he assumes all responsibility for what happened on Alamo, states that in his opinion your actions are justified, and exonerates you of all blame. Based on that, the Captain and I don’t think there is even cause for a board, never mind any thought of a court-martial.”
“You were in an impossible position, Maggie, and it’s my fault,” Marshall said. “I’m the one who left my father in command, and that makes what happened my responsibility.” Shaking his head, he said, “When he stole that shuttle to head over to Hydra, he had no intention of coming back. That’s clear enough.” Managing a smile, he looked over at Carpenter, and said, “We’d better not tax your leg any longer than we have to. What have you found for us?”
Carpenter waved at Cooper, who came running over, Ixia and Zardok by his side. Over by the third shuttle, a dejected looking Price sat, a pair of guards looking down at him, weapons at the ready in case he should try anything – though given his current demeanor, that looked the least likely thing in the world.
“Really, Corporal Cooper deserves a lot of the credit,” she said. “All we ended up getting out of this site was a sample of writing, and a few blurry images. Price’s team saw to that when they killed our people. I’m convinced they would have killed us if they had found us.”
Cooper nodded, and said, “It was that wrecked ship we found on the way out here.”
“The skeleton?”
“Yes,” he replied, “and more than that. There was a lot of writing, as well. I didn’t even attempt any analysis, we didn’t have the tools or the people to do it.”
“But he did send all the data to me while he was on his way to Hydra Station,” Carpenter interrupted. “That gave me a big enough sample that the computer was able to decode the text, and finding that skeleton just about clinched it.”
She started to walk over to the ruin, limping on her leg; Orlova walked beside her, arm extended to catch her if she should fall, and the rest of the party followed her.
“We already know that there was a war here, ten thousand years ago, and that it spread across a lot of local space. This was obviously a military installation of some sort, possibly a shelter. The base that was destroyed was rather bigger, based on the readings we received.”
Marshall frowned, and said, “What does this have to do with the attacks? Why would the Cabal be interested?”
“They weren’t.” She gestured at Price, and said, “He’s not working for the Cabal, he’s working for the Neander. At least, that’s what I’ve concluded.”
“I’m confused,” Orlova said, but Carpenter raised her hand.
“It’s all horribly simple, Maggie,” she said. “The war, the ten thousand year old struggle, the one this world has legends of...it was not fought between two Neander factions. It was fought between the Neander, and, well, us.”
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “There’s no evidence of a civilization that well-developed on Earth before ours, and the only sign of alien contact we’ve ever proven was at Desdemona.”
“Who said anything about Earth? It’s logical enough – if one branch of humanity was taken from Earth and seeded on other worlds, why not another? Our ancestors were having just as difficult a time, and there was no reason to suppose that one side or the other would win.” She paused, then said, “There were two wars at least. One that involved the aliens who took our ancestors away from Earth, maybe thirty thousand years ago, and another…”
Nodding, Orlova said, “That started when those two offshoots of humanity ran into each other, ten thousand years ago. As soon as they met, there was conflict.”
Ma
rshall walked over to Price, fury on his face, and said, “You knew. All the damn time. And you decided some of my crew had to die. Why?”
He stood up, looking straight at Marshall, and replied, “I did it to protect the Neander. All of them. They’ve been enslaved, damn it! The Cabal took their worlds from them, and is slowly wiping them off the map. It isn’t fair, and something needs to be done about it.”
“What does this…”
“If you found out that ten thousand years ago, the Neander did their damnedest to wipe us out, who the hell would support any effort for their liberation! You couldn’t know, and as soon as it became obvious you found out, you had to be stopped.”
“That’s why you took control of the station? Why you tried to let Dauntless wipe out Alamo?” Orlova asked.
“I did some tactical projections of my own. Without the satellites, it would have been a tough fight, but you would have lost. In the process, you’d have done enough damage to the Dauntless that I could have knocked it out. The Dumont is already on its way back to get Triplanetary reinforcements, and I’d have had enough time to cover up the evidence that no-one would ever have known.” He looked at Cooper, and said, “Including sending people to destroy that wreck you found.”
“What do you think, Carpenter?” Marshall asked.
“He’s right about the Neander winning, though evidently they took enough damage during the war that their spacefaring civilization ended soon after. Civil war, perhaps, or something like that. The message on the ship is quite clear on that part.” Pulling out a datapad, she said, “Do you want to hear it?”
Nodding, Marshall said, “Yes, very much.”
With a cough, she began, reading, “Hear now the last testament of the Wolf’s Doom. That we sailed the stars to smite our foes, our enemies of a hundred years, to guard the greatest secret of all, that of the mother which birthed us all.” She looked up, and said, “I presume that means Earth.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty Page 22