Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear

by Richard Tongue

  Seconds sped by as Harper clambered into the airlock, Caine having to carefully manipulate the thrusters again and again in a bid to keep the shuttle stable as the weight distribution changed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she was inside, and as the airlock cycle began, she tipped the nose up with a long pulse from the forward thruster and engaged the main engines, pressing her back into the seat. Less than twenty seconds left before the explosion – no time to have any consideration for the orbit she was going to end up in, she simply had to get away from the blast area as quickly as possible.

  With an almost anticlimactic flash, the bomb exploded, toppling the nearby equipment; she hoped that the sensors had done their work before detonation. This was far too risky to try again. Easing back on the throttle, she tapped out a sequence on the autonavigator to take them back to Alamo.

  "Harper, all secure back there?"

  There was a short delay before the hacker replied, "I think so. The suit's a bit bashed around, but the airlock's pressurized now. I'm making my way into the passenger cabin."

  "Good. Just sit tight, I want to get you checked over by Doc Duquesne as soon as we get back. No arguments."

  "You won't get one. And thanks for coming after me."

  "Any time." She flicked the communication channels back open with an outstretched finger.

  Dixon was still speaking, "...calling Caine, come in please!"

  "Caine to Alamo. All secure, shuttle undamaged. Have a medical team standing by to take a look at Harper when we come in, but it looks like everything's fine."

  "Thank God for that." There was a brief flick, the two of them going to a private channel. "If you ever do something that stupid again, I'll relieve you of command and to hell with the consequences."

  "You'd have done the same for one of your pilots, wouldn't you? Or if you had been flying the shuttle instead of me."

  "Damn right. But I'm not the commander of Alamo, and you are."

  "Yes, mother." She smiled, "Did we get the data we wanted?" She could hear shouting from the other side of the transmission, the sound of celebration on the bridge. "Dixon?"

  "Wait one."

  Caine waited as patiently as she could as the shuttle angled back onto the track that would take it back to Alamo, thrusters firing to get it back onto the right course. "Dixon, what's the story?"

  "We've found them. You can tell Harper that the signal pulse worked exactly as planned; I don't think there's a receiver for ten million miles that wouldn't have picked it up."

  The hacker's voice piped in, "I told you it would work!"

  "Well, where are they?"

  "That's the bad news. Three hundred miles up the coast, above a beach. That's well outside the radius of operation for Orlova's ground forces. That means they're going to have to go in by sea."

  "At least we know where to look now." She paused. "Let's raise the stakes a little, shall we. Harper, I presume that they'll know what just happened?"

  "No way they wouldn't."

  "Well, that's too bad, but we can probably use it. Get a recon satellite overhead, I want Orlova to know every detail of the installation right down to the inch. Every guard, every installation, anything. I want a complete map of that area as well."

  "They might move the hostages now."

  Shaking her head, Caine replied, "I'd send enough missiles down there to turn it into a small version of Hell if they did that. The hostages are the only reason I haven't done that already. I think they know that."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "It doesn't seem possible, does it," Orlova said, turning to Zabek. She gestured up at the billowing sails above her, then across the waves to the six other ships that were bearing their army, all hugging the coast. "Representatives of an interstellar space fleet, and we're traveling up the coast in ships that wouldn't have looked out of place five centuries ago."

  "I must admit, this isn't exactly what I expected when I signed up," the young midshipman replied, looking out at the other ships. "I've never seen this much water before in my life."

  "I have, once. My parents took me down to Earth when I was four, said that I should at least get a look at the place." She laughed, "Actually I think they were smuggling something or other off-world; we landed in the most inhospitable place you could think of, up in the North Indian Badlands. I swear you could see the glowing cities as we flew in." She shook her head, "But we landed by the sea, and were there for a week waiting for someone to turn up. I even got to swim."

  Zabek looked around her again, "I never even left Mars until the first Academy training flight."

  Frowning, Orlova turned to her, "What made you sign up, then?"

  "I wanted to see what was out there. The Fleet seemed the best way."

  "There are easier ways, you know. If you were good enough to pass the entrance exams, I'm sure you'd have been good enough to get a spaceman's license and work for one of the shipping companies."

  "I figured I'd try the hardest way first. See if I could."

  Orlova turned, looking at one of the seven provisional companies training on the deck behind, running in circles as an amused-looking Private Blake – temporarily wearing the stripes of a Sergeant – got to give out some of the punishment he'd been used to taking. There were an awful lot of privates bossing platoons right now, or serving as company NCOs; she'd kept the battle plan as simple as possible, hoping against hope that it would work out on the day.

  "Problem?" Zabek asked.

  She was getting quite perceptive. "This really isn't what I was expecting to do. No-one ever told me that I'd be leading troops into battle." Laughing again, she said, "I've spent more time at the sharp end on one planet or another than I have on shipboard. I should have joined the espatiers."

  "You do seem at home in the uniform. You could always transfer."

  "That's Esposito's job, and one she's good at. Alamo only needs one Espatier officer."

  There was a long pause, and Zabek said, "Do you think the Captain would keep me on after the cruise?"

  "I'm sure he'd consider it, but it isn't really down to him. Once you get your commission, you'll have to go where the service sends you, and Alamo doesn't have any gaps at the Sub-Lieutenant level at the moment."

  This time it was Zabek's turn to laugh, "You don't actually think that I'll pass my boards, do you? I'll be happy if I do well enough to take a second crack at it."

  "That bad?"

  Sighing, the young midshipman replied, "It just doesn't come naturally to me."

  "From what I've seen, you lead well. That's the biggest part of it."

  "But the academic side, Sub-Lieutenant, that I just don't seem to be able to master."

  Shaking her head, Orlova replied, "I think we've gone far enough down the road for you to call me Maggie, at least when we're alone."

  Shouting echoed down from the deck; the marching was over, and now Blake seemed to have decided to switch to marksman ship, ordering men forward to set up targets on the side of the ship. Orlova hoped that Captain Pryce wouldn't have any objection to the inevitable results of misses; she braced herself for an imminent claim for damages. The Tatars seemed to be the best shots among them – something which gave her a little satisfaction.

  Turning back to Zabek, she said, "You've piloted Alamo."

  "With a lot of help from the Watch Officer. I'm a pretty decent shuttle pilot, but it just doesn't translate. And when I try to tangle up three-dimensional combat – I just can't picture it." She sighed, "I wouldn't even have passed the exams if they hadn't needed someone to pass through to the Triplanetary Fleet. I know that much."

  "Is this so bad?"

  Her eyes opened wide as she looked up, "Oh, no, that's not what I meant at all. I've loved it here, well, aside from all the shooting and all. I really feel like I'm making a difference."

  "You are."

  "That's just it, though. I don't want that to end." She looked up at the cloudy sky, "I want to stay on Alamo, and I just hope
I can get the chance."

  Nodding, Orlova replied, "In about eighteen hours we're going to be getting into rowboats and heading towards a beach, probably under heavy machine gun fire, storming a well-fortified location. Worry about that for now."

  "I am, believe me, I am! Do me a favor, Maggie."

  "What?"

  "Don't die. Seriously." She gestured around, "I wouldn't know where to begin."

  Orlova tried to conjure up herself a year ago. "Tackle each problem as it comes up, and just keep shooting at the bad guys until they stop moving. That's about the extent of my battle plan anyway." She clapped the midshipman on the shoulder, "I'd better go down and have a word with Captain Pryce." A blast rang out from the deck as fifty rifles fired at once; any idea of equipping the locals with plasma weapons had promptly been dismissed by all concerned. "While there's still something left of his ship, that is. Go down and give Acting Sergeant Blake some supervision – I get the impression he's enjoying it a bit too much."

  Making sure to hold onto the rail, Orlova walked down the stairs to the lower deck, throwing a salute at Blake as she clambered down the hatch to the lower level. A group of annoyed looking sailors were trying futilely to sleep, rocking back and forth in hammocks slung in their barrack rooms. Trying to ignore their stares, she knocked twice on the Captain's door, pushing it open with the second knock. He was slumped over his desk, looking down at a map through an eyeglass, shaking his head. A communicator was lying next to him, the channel open.

  "Come in, Sub-Lieutenant," he said without looking up, and she took a seat.

  "Problems?"

  He looked up, shaking his head, "These maps are several orders of magnitude better than anything I've ever used before. The charts you've given us will pay for this expedition alone, but I'm having some trouble convincing the rest of the commanders that they can be trusted."

  "They're accurate, Captain. I'd bet my life in it."

  "Good. You are. If these charts are wrong and we run aground, we haven't got enough boats on board to get half the crews off; we're a bit overloaded right now." A series of bangs punctuated his words, more practice shooting from the deck above, "That's presuming I have a ship left by the time we get there. Is that really necessary?"

  "Most of these troops have somewhat...limited training. We're taking the opportunity to bring them up to speed."

  He smiled, replying, "When you came to me with this plan of yours I thought you were crazy. Now I know you are. If they weren't holding Captain Thomas as well, it would have been a harder sell." He laughed, "That offer he made us was insulting. I don't think he wanted us to take it."

  "The status quo has changed; they want it to end up in their favor."

  "Whereas we just want all of this over so we can get back to plying our wares again – and giving our children the opportunity to do so in a somewhat wider sphere." He pulled a bottle of some sort of deep purple concoction from a shelf, leaning back on his chair to reach, and placed it on his desk.

  "You'll join me?"

  "As long as I'll be conscious for the attack tomorrow."

  He poured two fingers of the liquid into a pair of glasses; Orlova watched the thick mixture swirl around as she reached for a glass, "To crazy plans."

  Smiling wider, he replied, "To the Triplanetary Confederation, though from what I've seen up to now, we're toasting the same thing."

  The two glasses clinked, and they both sipped their drinks; a sugary sweet concoction with a harsh bitter aftertaste, and Orlova coughed at the taste. Something about it was appealing enough to compel her to have a second taste, and she placed the half-empty glass down on the table again.

  Pryce smiled approvingly, "Not many people can stand one of my home brews." His smile then turned to a frown as he heard a buzzing sound from overhead. The two of them leapt out of their chairs over to the porthole, straining to look up at the sky. Orlova could just make out a small shape buzzing overhead, and with a look at Pryce she burst out of the cabin, taking the rungs of the ladder three at a time as she clambered onto the deck. She looked up again, and shook her head. Another biplane.

  "Blake!" she yelled, "Shoot that damn thing down!"

  Nodding, the acting sergeant turned to his men, "Aim in front of the target, remember to lead your shots, and in your own time, fire!"

  A series of shots began to ring out, hot cartridges springing out onto the deck; a plasma rifle would have made short work of the approaching aircraft, but it would be out of range by the time anyone could get one. While she watched, the plane executed a perfect loop-the-loop, turning back northward and towards the compound. A second series of shots rang around the deck, then a third, but at that range it could be nothing more than a distraction for the pilot; Orlova didn't really have any expectation of hitting it. She couldn't just sit there and let it get away without an attempt to bring it down, though.

  As it passed across the horizon, she saw a ball of green flame from the furthest ship in the formation; evidently Kozu had tried to get a plasma gun ready in time, and had come very close to making it. Close, but not close enough. She could swear that the pilot wiggled his wings as he flew out of sight, a gentle salute to the enemy; something in her hoped that she might get a chance to meet that pilot at some point.

  Zabek raced down the deck towards her, looking back at the disappearing plane as the whine of its engine began to fade into nothing. Fury was etched on her face as she slammed another clip into her pistol; if using the rifles had been a long shot, trying the shot with the pistol was simply a waste of ammunition, albeit an understandable one.

  "There goes the element of surprise," she said, shaking her head at the sky. "They know exactly where we are, and should be able to predict exactly when we're going to hit the beach. You can bet they'll have all manner of hell waiting for us when we land."

  Sighing, Orlova replied, "I'm not going to cancel the operation."

  "I didn't suggest that," the midshipman said, "but it's liable to make the cost a lot higher."

  "Not at all," she said. "We'll just have to think of something. We've got a starship up in orbit, haven't we? There must be something they could do to provide assistance."

  "They've got problems of their own at the moment, haven't they? Besides, we don't dare use an orbital strike without knowing exactly where the Captain is."

  "I'm not talking about launching an orbital bombardment. There must be something more they can do." She paused, and smiled, raising her communicator to her head, "Orlova to Alamo. I need to speak to Lieutenant Quinn, top priority, and scrambled, if you please. Tell him I have a little job for him."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Caine shook her head as she read the report of the probe of Harper's World. She'd expected something interesting, but not this. There was some abandoned equipment on the planet, most of it of United Nations vintage; all old, though, decades out of date. The probe had collected serial numbers and logos in a bid to identify it – already the computer had traced some of it as being manufactured on Mars before independence.

  That just about clinched it; the Cabal obviously had some sort of contact with someone back in the home system. When they got back, Fleet Intelligence would have something to work on. As she put the report back on her desk, the door buzzed; she clicked it open to admit Quinn, a huge smile on his face, a datapad thrust towards her. Scanning it, Caine looked across at the eager engineer as he gently rocked from side to side on his handhold. She dropped it down to the desk, then shook her head.

  "I don't know how the hell you did it."

  "All preliminary checks are completed, I'd like to go out and give the laser a few test shots to knock the kinks out of the recharging process."

  "Can't you do that inside?"

  Shaking his head, the engineer replied, "Not enough room to deploy the radiators."

  "Fine, we'll schedule a test for the start of the next watch." She looked across at a clock, "Alpha goes on shift in fifty minutes."

  The eng
ineer bobbed up and down as he nodded his head, "That'll give me time to double-check the systems. We're getting close, now, Lieutenant. Most of the actual engineering is done, it's just a question of getting everything calibrated again."

  "Five days to get Alamo back into fighting trim. You've worked a miracle, Quinn."

  He shrugged, "My guys and I just did engineering. We've still got a miracle yet to work, I think."

  "How about your project for the assault downstairs?"

  "Ready and waiting in synchronous orbit. It should give those Legionnaires a nice surprise in, what, half an hour."

  "Something like that." She sighed, "I'm not looking forward to listening to the play-by-play on that one."

  Frowning, Quinn replied, "Have you considered calling it off?"

  "I'm not convinced that Maggie would if I ordered her to. Hell, if I was in her place I'd probably be all fired up as well." Caine's desk began beeping urgently, and she slammed a finger down on the button, "Caine here, go ahead."

  "Lieutenant?" Kibaki's voice had a trace of panic in it. "You'd better get up here right now. We're picking up dimensional interference."

  "After seven days?" Quinn's eyes widened. "I'd love to get a look at the kit they're using."

  "I hope you get a chance," Caine said, as she replied, "I'm on my way." Closing the channel, she pushed off into the corridor, grabbing Quinn's sleeve as she drifted past. "Come on, Quinn."

  The elevator seemed to take its usual eternity to make its way up to the bridge; it almost seemed that the more urgent the need for speed, the longer it took to travel between levels. Two levels short, it paused, and a red-faced Dixon swung in from the corridor, almost crashing into Caine; if Quinn hadn't reached out a hand to snatch her, she'd have bounced back out into the corridor before the doors could close.

  "Sorry, mistimed my trajectory," the pilot said.

  "Don't do that in a fighter," Caine replied.

  "You think this is it?"

  The doors opened onto a nervous bridge; Kibaki gratefully yielded the command chair to Caine as soon as the doors opened. Yorkina looked at her, eyes widening as she drifted in to look at the sensor station. Quinn bounced over to Ignatov at flight engineering, throwing switches and tapping screens in frustration.