09- We Lead

by Christopher Nuttall

  John glanced at her. “How?”

  “She took a mass driver projectile dead on, Admiral,” Janette reported. “There are no lifepods.”

  “Continue to target the PDCs,” John ordered, after a moment. The aliens would probably have rigged up point defence to protect their installations, but he had a virtually unlimited supply of KEWs. “And order the remaining ships to pull back.”

  He watched, grimly, as a flight of alien starfighters swept towards King Edward, followed by a flight of craft that could have been gunboats. But they weren't, he noted, as his starfighters wiped them out. They were shuttles, practically helpless save for short-range lasers. The Foxes must have hoped - prayed, if they had a god - that one or two of them would survive the holocaust long enough to ram their targets. It was futile, John knew. After their engagement with the gunboats, his point defence crews had become very motivated.

  “The last of the battlestations is gone,” Janette reported. “I ...”

  She broke off. “Incoming starfighters!”

  John blinked in surprise. “Where did they come from?”

  “Unknown,” Janette confessed. “They may have been launched by a cloaked carrier ...”

  “Send a spread of probes,” John ordered. “Find that ship!”

  “Aye, sir,” Janette said.

  John watched the display. A cloaked carrier, one they’d missed. And one with a captain cunning enough to wait until most of his starfighters were otherwise occupied. It must have taken nerve to send the starfighters in without power ... He cursed under his breath as he tossed options around and around in his head. Had the enemy merely been lucky enough to escape detection or had he just stumbled into a trap? But it had already turned into a very expensive trap, unless the aliens had underestimated him. They’d given up a large percentage of their industrial base ...

  Maybe two cloaked carriers, he thought, as his sensors returned a more accurate count of the alien craft. Their fleet carriers don’t carry that many more starfighters than our own.

  “I’m picking up lifepods from the Black Hunter,” Jeanette added. “Captain Fellowman is requesting permission to dispatch SAR shuttles.”

  “Granted,” John said. Normally, he would have waited until the fighting was over, but the aliens were likely to want revenge. Besides, they might not recognise the lifepods for what they were. “And adjust our position to counter those carriers.”

  He studied the display for a long cold moment. If everything had gone according to plan, Commodore Solange Leclère and her task force should have hit the cloudscoops at the same time. There was no way to be sure, of course. The timing might have been flubbed ... although, given that Black Hunter had caught the aliens by surprise, it was clear it hadn't been flubbed that badly. There was no way to be sure they’d taken down the FTL communications network completely.

  “Aye, Admiral,” Janette said. “The probes have yet to locate the enemy carriers.”

  John scowled. What did that mean? Had the carriers launched their fighters and then retreated? The alien starfighters didn't have any longer endurance than humanity’s ... the alien CO was taking one hell of a risk. Or had he decided to sacrifice his starfighters while preserving his carriers? Cold logic suggested it might be a good idea, but John wouldn't have cared to serve under any commander who considered it. Throwing one’s men away would be disastrous for morale.

  “Keep looking,” he ordered. “And send a surrender demand to the planet.”

  “Aye, sir,” Janette said.

  It didn't matter, John thought coldly. The planet had lost its shipyards, its defences and its industrial nodes. It could surrender or not, as it saw fit. He didn't need to land ground troops to render the system utterly irrelevant. Assuming the war stopped, the aliens would still need ten years to rebuild what he’d destroyed.

  And recover from the damage inflicted on their planet, he thought, grimly.

  The thought caused him a pang. He’d never felt any particular concern over the standard policy for dealing with rogue or terrorist states - dropping KEWs until they thought better of it - but striking an alien world and threatening alien civilians hurt. There was no way to know just how guilty each of the dead were - and the laws of war cared little for civilians who lived near military installations - yet that wasn't the point. Retaliation was the only way to deter war crimes and - now - the aliens had more than enough excuse to strike back at a human world. It didn't matter, in the end, that he hadn't set out to cause a catastrophe. All that mattered was that the aliens wouldn't believe it.

  And they’ll want to deter us from doing the same thing again, he reminded himself.

  He pushed the thought out of his head. If the operation succeeded, there would be time to sort the whole matter out during the peace talks. And if it failed ...

  If that happens, he thought, I won’t be alive to worry about it.

  ***

  Susan couldn't help feeling annoyed, at some level, that Admiral Naiser had dispatched Vanguard to the rear of the formation, covering the fleet carriers. It wasn't an unwise decision, she had to admit, but she’d already overheard some of the crew grumbling about their new position. She'd told them off, then pointed out that Vanguard could hardly resume her old position until the repairs were completed. The battleship’s crew still had a lot of work to do.

  “The enemy starfighters are approaching, Captain,” Jean said. “They’re coming in hot.”

  “And our starfighters are out of position,” Susan agreed. The Foxes had timed it well, she had to admit. Either by good judgement or luck, they’d caught the carriers with only minimal CSP. “Swing us around to block their way.”

  It wasn't something she would have tried normally. A starfighter could easily evade a battleship, particularly if the battleship wasn’t its target. But now ... the longer they took to reach the carriers, the greater the chance the human starfighters would return to defend their motherships. No, they needed to push right through Vanguard’s killing zone ...

  “They’re entering range, Captain,” Jean said.

  “Open fire,” Susan ordered.

  She smiled, coldly, as the alien starfighters scattered under her fire. A dozen exploded and vanished from the display, several more swooped around as if they couldn't decide where they should be going. The remainder kept moving, zigzagging from side to side to make themselves harder to hit, clearly unaware that two-thirds of Susan’s weapons were firing at random. A single starfighter wasn't a threat, not if it was knocked out of formation. And she’d already succeeded in killing the enemy formation.

  “One rammed us,” Jean reported. “The remainder are heading straight for Eisenhower.”

  “Bring us around to support her,” Susan ordered. The two fleet carriers had plenty of point defence, but they were also far more vulnerable. Their crews had bare seconds before the enemy starfighters started launching torpedoes. “And continue firing.”

  She gritted her teeth as the aliens swarmed Eisenhower, four torpedoes slamming into her hull. Two more struck her landing bays, causing a chain of explosions that could have done real damage. The remainder of the alien starfighters lanced around, only to run into a hail of fire from the returning human starfighters. Susan felt her eyes narrow as she realised the aliens had no intention of running. They were fighting to the death.

  “A starfighter just rammed Vikramaditya,” Jean reported.

  “No major damage,” Parkinson added. Susan allowed herself a moment of relief. “But there’s a second flight heading for her landing bays.”

  Susan watched, grimly, as the alien starfighters pressed their offensive. One made a dive for the landing bay, clearly intent on ramming the carrier, only to be picked off bare seconds from its target by a human starfighter. Susan wondered, absently, just who’d been flying the craft, then decided it didn't matter. Right now, all that mattered was staying together and killing as many aliens as possible ...

  ... And then, suddenly, the last of the alien sta
rfighters were gone.

  “Local space is clear, Captain,” Charlotte reported. She sounded rather annoyed. “Long-range probes have not found any trace of the alien carriers.”

  “They must have withdrawn,” Susan mused. Under the circumstances, she found it hard to blame the aliens. They must have known there was no hope of preserving the system. Their carriers could fall back and pick up another load of starfighters. “Keep watching for surprises.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Charlotte said.

  “Signal from the flag,” Parkinson added. “The task force is to complete recovery operations, then set a direct course for Tramline Two.”

  Susan nodded. Tramline Two was a dead end, although she didn’t know if the aliens knew she knew that. She wouldn't, if the xenospecialists hadn't deciphered the alien files. If the aliens assumed that the task force was going to waste a few days bumbling around a thoroughly useless star system, it might just slow their response. The fleet would cloak, once it was out of sensor range, then head directly to Tramline Three. A lone ship could take out the FTL communicator before the remainder of the fleet crossed the tramline.

  “Set course as ordered,” she said. They’d remain with the carriers until relieved. Thankfully, no one could say they’d failed in their duty - or missed out on the fun. “And then stand down from red alert.”

  ***

  Years ago, back when she’d been younger, George had watched an episode of Stellar Star where the heroine had found herself trapped in a lifepod with three of her bridge crew. It had served as an excuse for an orgy - nearly everything seemed to serve as an excuse for an orgy, in that universe - and the actress had looked rather disappointed to be rescued. But, in real life, the lifepod was tiny, smelly and dangerously claustrophobic. She was aware, all too aware, that a passing starfighter might mistake them for an enemy weapon and blow them out of space. Or, for that matter, that they might run into a piece of debris big or sharp enough to tear the hull and send them falling into vacuum. She’d donned her shipsuit and emergency mask, of course, but she knew they wouldn't provide much protection.

  Perhaps I’m in hell, she thought, as she drifted against the bulkhead. She liked Sammy and the Major, but they weren't her first choice for companionship. I’m in hell and I don’t even know it.

  She felt trapped - and queasy - despite her training. There was no gravity in the pod, no way to tell up from down. The damned designers hadn't even bothered to include chairs, let alone something to distract them from their plight. All of a sudden, Stellar Star’s orgy made a great deal of sense. If her boyfriend - it struck her, suddenly, that she hadn't thought of Peter Barton for a while now - had been with her, she would have suggested it. But she knew better than to suggest anything like that to either Major Andres or Sammy. Marine regulations against fraternisation were far stronger than anything on the navy’s books.

  “Forty minutes,” Sammy said. He glanced up from his wristcom. “That’s how long we’ve been out here.”

  “Shut up,” George snarled. It felt longer, much longer. There was no way to look outside, no way to tell what was going on. Had the fleet won the day? Or were the Foxes carefully taking aim before using her pod for target practice? Would it have been that hard to include a gaming terminal? “I ...”

  “Take a deep breath,” Major Andres advised. “There's nothing you can do any longer, so relax. Take a deep breath and try to meditate. Or sleep, if you can.”

  George wondered, tiredly, how he could be so calm. She’d had twenty-seven people on Black Hunter, despite the best efforts of the engineers to make the ship as automated as possible. Had they all made it off the ship in time? She had no doubt that Black Hunter was now nothing more than clouds of debris. If they were dead ... she shook her head, numbly. She had no idea what she’d do if twenty-four people had died under her command. All of a sudden, her uncle’s odder moments made a great deal of sense.

  No one dies in Stellar Star, she thought, morbidly. It was astonishing just what difference friendly - and somewhat perverted - scriptwriters made. They just get fucked. A lot.

  She started to drift downwards, her feet touching the deck. The deck ...? She was so tired that it took her a moment to realise that they’d entered a gravity field. A dull thud echoed through the lifepod as something banged up against it, followed by a low hiss. She reached for her pistol as the hatch started to open, silently preparing to sell her life dearly. There was no way she was going to be an alien POW. Behind her, the two marines also drew their weapons. They clearly felt the same way too.

  The hatch opened. A dark face peered in. “I surrender,” he - no, she - said, as she saw the three pistols pointed at her. Her accent was unmistakably American. “You’re safe - really.”

  Major Andres leaned forward. “And you are?”

  “Ensign Tanya Stedman, United States Navy,” the woman said. She didn't look that much older than George, although her spacesuit hid everything below the neck. “Pilot officer, United States Shuttlecraft Baseball Bat, mothership USS Montana. You all want to come through?”

  George exchanged a glance with Major Andres, then holstered her pistol and stepped through the hatch. The American shuttle was larger than Vanguard’s, she noted, but empty. A chill ran through her as she realised that they might be the sole survivors. Or perhaps, she told herself in a desperate attempt to remain calm, there were other SAR shuttles out there. The planet, clearly visible through the cockpit, had probably been secured.

  She glanced back at Tanya. “Did we win?”

  “We won, honey,” Tanya said. She looked from face to face. “I can't tow the lifepod, so I’m leaving it here. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

  Major Andres snorted. “We can recover it later, if necessary,” he said. “What happened?”

  “We kicked the shit out of the orbital defences, thanks to you guys,” Tanya said. She nodded to a younger man in the cockpit. “Close the hatch, then take us back to Montana.”

  “On the way,” the man called back.

  “We have to get to Vanguard,” George said. She had no idea what would happen, when she returned. Technically, a ship had been lost under her command. She wondered, suddenly, what that meant for the prize money. It had already been paid out, hadn't it? “Is there a flight back?”

  “My CO will see to it,” Tanya assured her. “Until then” - she waved a hand at the chairs - “take a seat and enjoy the ride.”

  “Good idea,” Major Andres said. He grinned, humourlessly. “When we get back to the ship, we’ll have to work out what to tell them.”

  George groaned.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “It was my fault,” Midshipwoman George Fitzwilliam said. “Black Hunter was lost under my command.”

  Susan carefully kept her face impassive. It would never do to give in to the urge to laugh. Poor George Fitzwilliam sounded as if she expected to be thrown in the brig, then marched in front of a kangaroo court and shot. Losing Black Hunter wasn’t that much of a black mark on her record, but it still stung. And the starship had been practically irreplaceable.

  “I believe the Admiral expected the ship to be lost,” Susan said. She had no doubt that hundreds of people would condemn George for losing the ship, but Admiral Naiser wasn't one of them. Black Hunter had been interesting - Susan had no doubt that a more prolonged study of the ship would have revealed all sorts of useful details - yet punching their way into ES-11 had been rather more important. “He doesn't seem interested in punishing you.”

  George looked up. It struck Susan, again, just how young she was. Her family had done her no favours, Susan suspected, when they’d allowed her to go to the academy early. What she’d gained in early admittance had been more than outweighed by limited maturity and lack of experience. George had been knocked back down the promotions ladder, despite her family’s best efforts. It was unlikely she’d ever climb back up again.

  “I lost the ship,” George said, her voice a mixture of hope and fear. “Captai
n ...”

  “The Admiral believes you did all you could,” Susan said, “and his after-action report makes that clear. Black Hunter was not a Royal Navy starship, you were not a formal commanding officer, and you were given a mission that was almost certain to result in the loss of your ship as well as your life. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and buck up.”

  George swallowed, hard. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Very good,” Susan said.

  She allowed herself to show a little approval. Truthfully, George had done better than Susan had dared hope. The Foxes should have been much more suspicious when Black Hunter returned from the dead. Hell, they should have known their captured personnel would switch sides. It was in their nature! Susan had no idea how they managed to run a society where POWs effectively joined their captors, but she had to admit it did have its advantages. And yet, they should have known ...