09- We Lead

by Christopher Nuttall

He picked up the datapad and surveyed it, thoughtfully. The analysts hadn't had that many problems working out the specs, once they’d had a chance to analyse the raw data thoroughly. Gunboats looked more like scaled-up starfighters than shuttles, they’d noted, although they were clearly designed for long-term operations. And they were built with off-the-shelf components, rather than anything new. It looked as through the Foxes had rushed a system into production, which might be their only saving grace. The gunboats his task force had faced might have been the only ones in existence.

  We kept looking for ways to make starfighters smaller targets, he thought. In hindsight, the blind spot was terrifyingly clear. They decided to go the other way and use larger hulls to carry all sorts of surprises.

  His door chimed. “Enter.”

  Captain Susan Onarina entered, looking tired. John didn't blame her. Vanguard had been badly damaged, almost crippled. Her captain was faced with the very real prospect of abandoning her ship to an uncertain fate or trying to nurse her home, if she couldn't be repaired. And John might have to order her to abandon her ship. No true captain would take such orders calmly.

  “Captain,” he said. He nodded to a chair. “How long?”

  “Five to ten days,” Susan told him. “If we’re lucky ...”

  John made a face. He knew, better than most, just how hard it would be to either remove or dismantle the power core. Even the improvements worked out after a year’s hard fighting didn't make it much easier. And yet, Vanguard was largely intact. If she could be repaired, if she could be brought back into the fight, he knew he’d be glad of her presence.

  If, he thought.

  “I see,” he said. He tapped a switch, bringing up an image of the fleet. King Edward and Alabama had survived intact, along with Vikramaditya and thirty-seven smaller ships. It was enough firepower to wreck a star system, if they had time. But the aliens had delayed them and now - he was sure - they would be concentrating enough force to complete his destruction. “We need to link up with Commodore Hoover.”

  Susan’s dark face was hard to read, but he saw her entire body tense. “Assuming everything has gone as planned, Kevin should be waiting for us in ES-12,” he added. “It wouldn't take us more than a couple of days to reach him ...”

  “Unless he’s run into problems too,” Susan said. He knew she knew that Vanguard wouldn't be able to accompany the rest of the task force. “We won’t know until we link up with him.”

  “No,” John said. He met her dark eyes. “Could you repair Vanguard without the logistics ships?”

  Susan looked back at him, evenly. “If necessary,” she said. “Do you plan to leave us here?”

  John felt a pang of guilt. Cold logic told him that he should abandon Vanguard, that he should take the rest of the task force to ES-12 and continue the mission. The entire operation could not be risked for a single ship, even Vanguard. And yet, he didn't want to abandon the battleship and her crew. The Royal Navy was meant to look after its personnel. Over a thousand years of tradition mitigated against it.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said, flatly. “The aliens cannot be allowed more time to organise a counterattack.”

  He saw a flash of betrayal in her eyes, mixed with grim understanding. She knew what he meant, even if she didn't want to face it. Vanguard was one ship. The entire operation couldn't be risked for her. And yet ... he knew precisely how she felt. He wouldn't have willingly abandoned Warspite either.

  “Transfer all non-essential personnel to King Edward,” he ordered. He’d have to transfer himself, even though it felt as though he was running away. “The xenospecialists, the researchers ... make sure all of your files are copied too. And then ...”

  He looked down at his hands. There was no way to know what might happen. Vanguard was a cripple, trapped in an alien system. There might be more gunboats out there, readying a final offensive. Or more mundane starships ... he had no way to know. And yet ...

  “Those are your orders, Captain,” he said. He felt almost as if a stranger was speaking with his voice. “You may have them in writing, if you wish.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Admiral,” Susan said. The understanding in her tone caused him another pang of guilt. “I will see to it personally.”

  “Thank you,” John said. “And good luck.”

  ***

  “But I don’t know why we have to leave,” Doctor Linda Foster complained. “We’re scientists!”

  “And you’re on a starship in the middle of a war zone,” Henry snapped. Civilians! How the hell had Doctor Foster missed the impact? “This ship is not in a good state.”

  “My equipment ...”

  “Your equipment will be transferred later,” Henry told her. He suspected it was a lie. The battleship’s crew didn't have time to worry about scientific instrumentation. “But if you don’t get on the shuttle, I don’t know what will happen to you.”

  He rolled his eyes as he passed Doctor Foster to the marines, then checked the remainder of the lab. The boffins were supposed to be smart, but sometimes they had problems understanding the real world. There were things out there that could kill them ... Henry had no idea what had hit Vanguard, yet it had clearly done significant damage. The battleship was in no state for a fight.

  At least all the sensor and research data was copied to the rest of the task force, he thought, suddenly feeling very tired. And Formidable ...

  It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. He'd hoped to serve on the first Formidable, over a decade ago. If he’d graduated six months sooner, he might well have been on the fleet carrier at New Russia, where she’d met her end. Now ... another Formidable, commanded by a man he’d known during his service, was gone. Captain Jones had invited him to dinner twice, during the long voyage from Earth. They’d drunk and yarned about old times and ... he’d never have that pleasure again. Jones was dead, along with his crew. And the name Formidable might be retired completely.

  His wristcom buzzed. “Your Highness, your presence is requested at Airlock Five.”

  “Understood,” Henry said. “I’m on my way.”

  He hurried through the hatch, closing it behind him. There was no way to escape the sense he was running away, even though cold logic told him there was no point in staying. Vanguard was doomed, if the Foxes rediscovered her before her power cores were replaced. He was no engineer. And his other military skills were years out of date. There was nothing he could do to make a difference ...

  Penny Schneider was waiting for him outside the airlock, held between two marines. “Your Highness,” she said. “I volunteer to stay.”

  “And get yourself killed,” Henry said, crossly. Vanguard’s crew didn't have time for a reporter poking around, not now. “No.”

  “I won’t cause any trouble,” Penny insisted. “Your Highness ...”

  Henry took a moment to gather himself. Penny ... was almost likeable, but she was still a damned reporter. She couldn't be trusted. And while he had no doubt that Captain Onarina would put Penny in irons if she caused trouble, it would just be a hassle the poor captain didn't need. Maybe Penny meant well. She was certainly on the list of reporters who’d been embedded with the military before, without blotting her copybook. But a crippled ship was no place for a civilian.

  “No,” he said, firmly. “You can catch up with the crew later.”

  If they survive, he thought, grimly. Vanguard’s odds of surviving the next few days were very low. Your chances of survival aren't much better.

  “Your Highness,” Penny protested. “I ...”

  Henry looked at the marines. “Take her into the shuttle, cuff her to her seat if she gives you any trouble,” he said. It would probably earn him some negative media coverage, but he found it hard to care. “And tell the pilot I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Penny didn't offer any resistance as the marines marched her into the shuttle, much to Henry’s quiet relief. He watched them go, then looked back down the corridor. Vanguard felt differ
ent, somehow ... he closed his eyes for a long moment, wondering if he would ever see the battleship again. He’d grown to love the giant ship, even though he knew he would never serve on her, let alone command her. There was no hope of a starship command even if he returned to the navy.

  I’m sorry, he thought. He wished he could stay, but he knew he couldn't. I’ll see you again.

  But, as he stepped through the hatch, he knew he couldn't convince himself that that was actually true.

  ***

  George had been given orders she hadn't expected before, ranging from orders that made no sense to orders that were outright suicidal. But she’d never been ordered to abandon her friends and leave them behind to, at best, an alien POW camp. The Royal Navy - and the Royal Marines - left no one behind. And yet ...

  She stared down at the makeshift terminal in disbelief. Black Hunter had escaped notice, as far as she knew. The alien gunboats shouldn't have been able to see the ship, let alone report home ... although she knew better than to take that for granted. And yet ... and yet ... she couldn't just abandon Vanguard. The battleship was her home. She had friends there ...

  “We have our orders, Captain,” Sammy said. He was the only one who addressed her as Captain. “What do we do?”

  George clenched her fists in frustration. There was nothing she could do. Major Andres or Sergeant Tosco would relieve her for disobeying orders, if she did. And it would be utterly pointless. Even if she did disobey orders, even if she did get away with it, she could do nothing to help Vanguard. The battleship had to be abandoned. If her crew managed to repair her ...

  If, she thought, sourly.

  “Set course,” she ordered, finally. She felt ... odd, as if a stranger was speaking through her lips. “We’ll leave when ordered.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Sammy said.

  George glared at his back. She knew better than to leave someone in distress. That had been hammered into her at the academy, even though she’d been taught to win at school. The Royal Navy didn't leave its people behind ...

  ... But today, that tradition was going to die.

  Hot tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. Her captain, her XO ... her tormenter turned friend ... were being left behind. And there was nothing she could do to save them.

  ***

  “The task force is leaving now,” Charlotte reported.

  Susan sucked in her breath. Vanguard was ... vulnerable. Admiral Naiser had done everything in his power to suggest that Vanguard was still with the task force, but there was no way to know if the Foxes were fooled. They might well have been able to sneak a cloaked ship up to the task force, close enough to tell that Vanguard had been left behind. And if that had happened, who knew what they’d do?

  “Thank you, Charlotte,” she said. “Continue to monitor the situation.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Charlotte said.

  Susan scowled down at her console. The irony, the bitter irony, was that her ship was largely undamaged. Her main guns still worked, her missile tubes were loaded, her point defence was ready to fire ... but without power, getting even the point defence to work would be a nightmare. She’d known the figures, yet she hadn't really comprehended them until she’d had to work with far more limited power reserves. In hindsight, maybe that should have been included when they’d carried out emergency drills.

  Too late now, she told herself.

  She turned her attention back to the live feed from the stealth drones. The alien system was starting to take on shape and form, with a handful of industrial nodes clearly identified. A couple of mass drivers throwing rocks could do real damage, she thought, if she’d had the power to run them. And yet ... she was fairly sure the aliens had some point defence mounted on their industrial base. They’d be insane to leave it unprotected when all hell could break loose at any second.

  Mason leaned over to whisper in her ear. “All of a sudden, Captain, the plot of Stellar Star and the Dark Star makes a great deal of sense.”

  Susan had to laugh. The science behind Stellar Star and the Dark Star was somewhat lacking - the producers had gleefully ignored everything humanity had learnt about the universe - but the plot did make sense, now. Stellar Star and her crew, convinced they were going to die, had indulged in a massive orgy before their producer-mandated rescue via deus ex machina. Coming to think of it, it was what had happened on USS Constitution. The crew had been convinced they too were going to die.

  “It isn't over yet,” she said, firmly. “We’ve been in worse scrapes.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Mason asked. “Name one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “As near as I can make out, Captain,” Lieutenant Christopher Brookes said, “they massively overpowered a bomb-pumped laser.”

  Susan scowled as she studied the readings. “It would have to be incredibly overpowered,” she said, thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be without actually examining their hardware,” Brookes told her. “The sensor records are somewhat lacking, but they did generate a lot of heat and focused it on our armour. Even so ... it was sheer bad luck that they managed to do as much damage as they did. My best guess is that the first warhead was actually intended to clear the way for the second.”

  “Which would have killed us,” Susan said. The drive section might have contained the blast, but it would have crippled the ship beyond any hope of recovery. “The second missile must have been lost.”

  “Or taken out in the first one’s blast,” Brookes said. “I have the impression, studying the records, that they hastily improvised an attack.”

  “They must have hoped to strike Vikramaditya,” Susan mused. She met his eyes. “Is there anything we can do about these weapons?”

  “Not without a shipyard,” Brookes said. “There may come a point, Captain, when our armour reaches the point of diminishing returns. And if that happens, we may be in trouble.”

  “Science marches on,” Susan said, briskly. She shook her head. “Let me know if you come up with anything new.”

  She acknowledged his salute, then headed for the hatch and stepped through. Mason met her outside, looking grim. And yet, for the first time in far too long, she saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  “Mr. Finch reports that the second replacement core has been assembled,” he said. “We should be able to power up both cores once the basic tests are completed.”

  Susan felt a surge of relief, mixed with fear. No one had ever dismantled and replaced a power core in space, let alone in enemy space. She’d spent the last six days silently praying that she hadn't made a terrible mistake in refusing to abandon her ship. Losing one power core was bad enough, but losing three ... one completely beyond removal or repair ... her ship and crew were still in terrible danger.

  “Good,” she said, finally. Mason knew her well enough to see her concern, but hopefully the rest of the crew couldn’t. “Is there a reason you brought this to me?”

  “I also caught Lieutenant-Commander Granger and Lieutenant Parkinson bonking like wild animals,” Mason added. “Should I have a word with them?”

  Susan sighed as they walked back towards the bridge. Technically, the lovers should both be in deep shit. Fucking someone in the chain of command, either above or below you, was flatly against regulations. But her crew had plenty of reasons, despite her reassurances, to believe that they would never see their homes again. There was little reason to worry about possible consequences if there was no hope of survival.

  “Tell them I expect them to comport themselves professionally,” she said, tiredly. At the very least, one of the two offenders should be transferred to a different ship. It was a problem she didn't need. “And if their ... relationship starts interfering with their professionalism, I’ll dust off some of the really old regulations and flog them.”

  “You would,” Mason said.

  Susan snorted. She understood the impulse, the desire to find comfort in another’s arms, the desire to feel ... alive. Bu
t it was a professional nightmare. If they had a falling out - or worse - there was nowhere for either of them to go.

  “Yes, I would,” she said, flatly. “It isn't hopeless yet.”

  She smiled, tiredly, as they walked onto the bridge. Both of the lovebirds were manning their stations, carefully keeping their eyes on their consoles. Susan made a mental note to read them both the Riot Act later, if they refused to listen to the XO, then sat down at her console and scanned the updates. Finch had just finished the latest set of diagnostic checks, confirming that the power cores were properly emplaced. They certainly looked ready to go.

  “Begin power-up sequence,” she ordered, flatly.

  “Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

  Susan forced herself to relax, even though she knew they were about to announce their presence to any prowling starships. Long-range sensors might pick up the surge of power, no matter what she did to dampen it. There was certainly no way she could power up the cloaking device! The wretched system would drain her batteries too quickly for her peace of mind.