Ark Royal

by Christopher Nuttall

  But this is my idea, he told himself. I will be blamed if it fails.

  He wanted a drink. God, how he wanted a drink. But he knew he didn't dare touch a drop, not now. Instead, he pulled himself to his feet, took a moment to compose himself and then strode through the hatch and onto the bridge. It was time to brief the bridge crew on the planned operation.

  “We’ve come a long way,” he concluded. “Everyone believed that Ark Royal would head to the scrapheap, one day. Instead, we have devastated the alien fleets and scored victories that have knocked them back on their heels. Whatever happens today, they will know that we will never surrender, never give in.”

  He looked down at the console. The Marines were reporting in, ready to go. They’d be on their way within minutes, then Ted would have to wait for them to reach the first waypoint before he could launch his starfighters. But then ...

  There was no longer any time to fret, he told himself, firmly.

  “Launch the Marines,” he ordered.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  There was no need for silence in the shuttlecraft. Sound didn't travel in space; there was no way the aliens could hear a spoken word. But the Marines said nothing as the pilot guided them though space towards the first waypoint, each one of them locked in his own thoughts and feelings. They'd all made wills before they’d departed Earth, Charles knew, but it was unlikely their final messages would ever get back to their families. Unless, of course, they did manage to escape the alien trap.

  He accessed the live feed from the shuttle’s passive sensors and nodded to himself. The aliens still weren't moving, but they were sweeping space with their active sensors. Marine shuttles were stealthy, yet Charles knew better than to assume they were stealthy enough to creep through an active sensor sweep. They needed one of the alien stealth systems, he told himself, and wondered if the boffins on Earth had unlocked their secrets since Ark Royal had set out on deployment. If not ... the answers to their questions about the system might be dead ahead of them, waiting to be taken.

  A faint quiver ran through the shuttle as it slowed to a halt, relative to the alien battlecruiser. Behind them, the other shuttles held their position and waited, linked to the command ship through pinpoint laser beams. Charles sucked in his breath and studied the alien craft through the passive sensors, recalling what little had been gleaned from sensor sweeps during the Battle of Alien-One. The ship was half the size of Ark Royal, its gleaming hull seemingly untouched by weapons and sensor blisters. But, given the alien capabilities, that meant nothing.

  She was more elegant than a human ship, he had to admit. Unlike the boxy Ark Royal or the newer carriers, the alien craft was a black triangle, hovering against the darkness of interplanetary space. Twin engine nodes glowed at the rear of the ship – their in-system drives were definitely a step or two above humanity’s technology – while the faint bulge of a Puller Drive was easily detectable. The aliens, it seemed, were ready to nip back through the tramline if the shit hit the fan.

  The only rupture in her otherwise seamless hull, he noted, came at the very prow of the ship. It looked like her hull should taper down to a fine point, but instead there was a large aperture big enough to take the shuttlecraft or a couple of starfighters. He wondered, vaguely, if the aliens had actually outfitted the battlecruiser with a starfighter launch tube – there had been early human designs that had been nothing more than engines wrapped around a starfighter launching system – but it was grossly inefficient. Besides, the passive sensors were picking up faint traces of radiation from the opening.

  That must be their plasma cannon, he thought, as he eyed the alien ship. It was a curious design, all the more so after witnessing what EMP pulses did to plasma containment systems. I wonder what they would do if the ship was attacked by a nuke ...

  He pushed the thought out of his mind as the shuttle sent back an automated acknowledgement to Ark Royal. The Marines were in position. All they could do now, he told himself, was wait.

  And hope that the aliens took the bait.

  ***

  “The Marines are in position, sir.”

  Ted nodded. The aliens hadn't reacted at all to the shuttles, which was a colossal relief. It was impossible to forget that their technology was often more advanced than humanity’s ... and equally impossible to gauge the ways it might be more advanced without actually seeing it in operation. He’d been dreading a sensor field or some other trick that would allow the aliens to track the shuttles, but nothing had shown itself. Or were the aliens merely holding their fire for their own inscrutable reasons?

  He pushed his doubts aside, then looked over at Farley. “Bring us to full alert,” he ordered, refusing to allow any of his trepidations to show on his face. “And then launch starfighters.”

  The aliens would notice, of course, the moment Ark Royal’s active sensors came online. There was no way they could hide, which should puzzle the aliens ... perhaps they’d jump back into the previous system, leaving him with a terrible dilemma. Or maybe they would see it as one last desperate attempt to escape the tightening noose.

  “Starfighters away,” Farley reported. “The aliens are powering up their drives.”

  “Lock full active sensors on them,” Ted ordered. At such a distance, targeting data would be imprecise, to say the least. But it would keep the aliens firmly aware of their location – and not, he devoutly hoped, looking anywhere else. “And prepare to engage with the mass driver.”

  ***

  Gladys and Tom were fucking, Kurt had noted, as soon as he’d returned to the pilot ready room. They were trying to hide it, but his experienced eyes had picked out the signs. Thankfully, they were in different squadrons or he would have been forced to say something to them at once, which could have turned unpleasant if they’d found out about Rose and himself. The resulting shouting match, he was sure, would have ended with them all standing in front of the Captain, trying to excuse the inexcusable.

  He braced himself as the starfighter rocketed out of the launch tube, followed by the remaining twenty-one pilots under his command. Barely two squadrons, he noted, composed of survivors from six separate units. His idea for expanding Starfighter Command, he decided, would have to be implemented as soon as they got home. The Royal Navy couldn't afford these loss rates – there was a shortage of trained personnel – and nor could any of the other human powers.

  We might have to do more than just train more starfighter pilots, he thought. No one had ever foreseen a joint campaign against an alien enemy ... at least as far as he knew. Soon, they might have to take Russian or Chinese pilots onboard Ark Royal or assign British pilots to fly off their carriers. We will have to unify everything.

  Ark Royal had plenty of non-British components packed into her hull, but Ark Royal was unique. It would be harder to add Russian components to a modern British carrier, even American or European components required careful modification before they could be used without causing problems down the line. That would have to change, he knew; the next generation of human warships would have to be completely compatible, even among human states that were historical enemies. He wondered, absently, if their mission – if it succeeded – would give Britain the diplomatic clout to insist on standardising everything ... or if the Admiralty would attempt to keep the alien starship to itself. There was precedent for both, he knew, and no way to know how the politicians would jump.

  He pushed his meditations aside as the alien battlecruiser started to turn, angling its prow towards the oncoming starfighters. Kurt puzzled over the movement for a long moment, then realised that the aliens were revealing as little of themselves as possible to Ark Royal’s mass drivers. They seemed less concerned about the starfighters, he decided, which wasn't too surprising. Unlike a human ship, their point defence could fire randomly, sweeping through space in the hopes of scoring a lucky hit. The closer the starfighters came, the greater the chance of the aliens hitting their target.

  “Ark Royal is engaging n
ow,” a voice said, though the datanet. “Missiles inbound; I say again, missiles inbound.”

  Kurt nodded. They were placing everything on one last throw of the dice. Every missile, every remaining projectile – although those could be replaced, given time – and every starfighter. He wondered, again, just how much the aliens actually knew. Did they realise that their target was about to expend the last of its weapons?

  They configured their weapons for our modern ships, he thought. It made sense, he decided; the aliens had taken the measure of their opponents, then attacked with savage force. Earth would have fallen as easily as New Russia, he suspected, if Ark Royal hadn't intercepted the alien task force. And now the aliens were taking stock, presumably building up their own weapons to confront a new and unexpected threat. He smirked at the thought. Didn't expect the Old Lady, did they?

  “Picking up power surges around the alien prow,” Rose reported. She paused, then spoke in a dramatic tone of voice. “If I don't come back, get in touch with my mother and tell her I was alive all this time, I just couldn't be bothered to call the old bat.”

  “It was a mistake to let you pick the entertainment for the ready room,” Kurt said. He grinned, imagining her outraged expression. “On my command, break and attack; I say again, break and attack!”

  ***

  “The alien energy signature is growing stronger,” Farley reported. “The analysts are unsure what we’re facing.”

  Ted nodded, studying the display as if the answers would magically appear. It didn't look like anything they recognised, not a point defence system or a FTL drive. Or a normal space drive, for that matter. There was a sudden energy spike ...

  Ark Royal rocked, violently. Ted was nearly pitched out of his chair as the compensators struggled to handle the unexpected assault. Alarms sounded; the display glowed red, sounding the alert. Ted gripped hold of his chair and held on for dear life as the network attempted to identify the damage.

  “Direct hit to our starboard launch tube,” Farley reported. He sounded badly shaken. “Our armour took most of the blow, but there's some internal damage.”

  He paused. “Something damaged our external sensors too,” he added. “We're down thirty percent of capacity.”

  Ted swore. He’d thought they were out of alien weapons range. Clearly, the aliens had had other ideas. But why hadn't they used the system earlier?

  “Rotate us,” he ordered, quickly. Damage control teams were already on their way, he was pleased to note, although they were somewhat undermanned with the absence of the Marines. If worst came to worst, they could withdraw the crew to the main hull and then separate the launch tube from the remainder of the starship. “Present our strongest armour to them, then launch decoy drones.”

  “Aye, sir,” Farley said.

  Ted looked back the alien ship, clearly preparing to take another shot. Ark Royal was tough, but tough enough to take several more blows like that? Somehow, he doubted it.

  “Launch sensor drones too,” he added. His display pinged as the analysts finally came up with a theory about the alien weapon. They’d supercharged a plasma cannon, then used it to take shots at Ark Royal. Their best guess, he saw at the bottom, was that the weapon couldn't be fired very rapidly or the aliens would burn out their own systems. “And hold us here.”

  He wanted to pull back, to escape the alien weapon. But he needed to keep their attention focused firmly on the carrier, not on anything else.

  “Continue firing,” he ordered. It would be the height of irony, he decided, if they actually scored a hit with the mass drivers. The alien battlecruiser didn't look tough enough to survive a direct hit. “Don't give them a moment to think.”

  ***

  “They're advancing towards us,” Rose reported. “Alien point defence is coming online.”

  Kurt nodded, then threw his craft into a series of evasive patterns that no computer could hope to match, let alone predict. It was just in time. Apparently heartened by scoring a hit on Ark Royal, the alien battlecruiser was gliding forward, intent on getting into range for another shot. According to a stream of data at the bottom of his screen, the alien weapon lost its effectiveness at long range. A shot at close range might blow the carrier apart like an eggshell.

  “Noted,” he said. The rate of alien fire was increasing, picking off missiles and inert projectiles with surprising accuracy. “We need to keep them busy.”

  Bracing himself, he altered course and zoomed towards the alien craft in a straight line for as long as he dared, around five seconds. His spine prickled as he altered course sharply, just as a spray of plasma fire lanced through where he’d been. Moments later, a warhead detonated close to the alien craft, blasting an EMP straight towards her hull. The rate of plasma fire slacked rapidly, but didn't come to an end. Their targeting, on the other hand, seemed to go entirely to hell.

  “They didn't lose the big gun,” Gladys exclaimed. “It's still charging up.”

  “Then we’ll deal with it,” Kurt said. He yanked his starfighter back, then powered down towards the alien hull. Most of the plasma cannon was embedded into the alien ship, but enough of the containment system was exposed to make it an easy target. “Fire at will.”

  The alien cannon buckled under the spray of pellets from his railgun. Kurt watched a sudden surge of energy spike, then fade back into nothingness. He thought, for a brief chilling moment, that they’d actually succeeded in starting a chain reaction that would take out the entire ship. Normally, that would have let them paint an alien silhouette on their starfighters, but now it would be a disaster. Thankfully, the aliens merely altered course as they powered down their weapons.

  “They’re rebuilding their sensors,” Tom reported. “I ...”

  His voice disappeared with a sudden, terrible finality. Kurt risked a glance at the datanet and saw that Tom had been hit, blotted out of existence in a split second. He heard Gladys gasp in shock, then bring herself back under control. She wanted revenge, but at least she could hold it back enough to keep flying in unison with the remaining pilots.

  This, a voice said at the back of his head, is why starfighter pilots should not develop relationships with one another.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. Out loud, he barked orders. “Regroup and attack; I say again, regroup and attack.”

  ***

  “The launch tube is going to need a complete refurbishment,” Anderson reported. “I’ve given orders to evacuate the section, sir; there’s no point in leaving anyone there.”

  “Understood,” Ted said, absently. On the display, the alien ship was slowly turning back towards the tramline. They couldn't be allowed to run, but he didn't have any way to stop them without destroying the systems he needed to capture. “Keep me informed.”

  He closed the channel, then looked over at the display. The Marines were drawing closer to their target. Close enough to board ... and to be detected.

  ***

  Charles braced himself as the alien craft came closer, its hull shining faintly with scars from the EMP strike. They must have suffered local power overloads and explosions, he guessed, which had damaged the superconductor hull. It was funny, he thought, just how a strength could so easily become a weakness, under the right circumstances. But there was no longer any time to think ...

  An alarm sounded. “They have us,” the pilot snapped. “Launching flares, now!”

  Charles braced himself as the shuttle jerked, then accelerated towards the alien hull. The aliens might have mistaken them for missiles, or they might have realised what the humans actually had in mind, but it was too late. Between the shuttle’s erratic courses and the disruptive flares – actually, tiny drones intended to create false sensor readings – the aliens would have real difficulty tracking them properly.

  A red icon flared on the display briefly, then faded. Charles felt a wrench as Shuttle Three vanished from the display, picked off by the alien blast. Fifteen Marines vaporised in a split second, he told himself, then push
ed the grief and rage out of his mind. There was no time to mourn the dead now. Afterwards, if they survived, they would hold a proper funeral for the lost men.

  The alien hull loomed up in front of them, then glowed white as the shuttle’s drives flared, burning through the alien metal. Charles allowed himself a tight smile, imagining the carnage inside the alien ship. Ark Royal’s armour would have melted under a fusion light, he knew; the alien hull, whatever it was, didn't seem to be anything like as resistant. The Marines braced themselves, ran one final check on their armour, and then scrambled to their feet as the shuttle came to rest. Outside, the alien ship was waiting ...

  And how much, he asked himself suddenly, will the ship be worth in prize money?

  “Deploy probes,” he ordered. It had been a long time since he’d plunged into the unknown – even terrorist or insurgent bases were scoped out carefully before the Marines moved in - but he was looking forward to the challenge. “And then follow me.”