Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit

by Richard Tongue

   “Sure.”

   “And the best way to do that will be to convince them that we're going somewhere else, trying to flee the system. The enemy command will have no choice but to send the cruisers to stop us. If we're really lucky, they might load up a couple of fighter squadrons as well.”

   “Right now, we aren't having that sort of luck, but I follow. To a point. Except that with the speed we've got, we can't turn around, not that quickly. It would take hours to kill our velocity, and it's getting harder with every second we continue to accelerate.”

   “Not if we can manage a hard turn.”

   “How the hell do we do that?”

   “It'll work!” Salazar yelled.

   “I'll be damned,” Orlova added, clapping him on the shoulder. “That's one hell of a tight window, though.”

   “The ship can do it. Maqua can handle a maneuver like that with his eyes closed.”

   “If you don't mind…,” Nelyubov said.

   “The comet,” Orlova replied. “It's pretty close to our flight path to the nearest planet, close enough that we can alter course to intercept until the last moment. The comet's head is huge, maybe fifty miles wide, and there are a couple of smaller rocks we can use as well. We're going to do a close-approach gravity swing.”

   “And an aerobrake, as well,” Salazar added. “The comet must be pretty new. She's outgassing like mad. It won't be anything like the effect we'd get from an actual atmosphere, but it's still going to help. All we have to do is get our timing right, and we'll swing right around, thrown back towards the planet. With a little work, we can trim our course to exactly what we need.”

   “About fifteen degrees out,” Harper said. “No problem. And we'll have a little under two hours to make final course corrections.” Nelyubov shook his head, and the hacker continued, “What's wrong?”

   “That rock isn't that big. What sort of approach distance are we talking about?”

   Salazar looked back at the readings, and said, “Forty-nine meters.”

   “Forty-nine meters!” he yelled. “Not miles, but meters? That's insane!”

   “There isn't that much mass. If we're going to pull this off, we're going to have to really get close, and the outgassing is only really dense under the mile. We've got the fine control to do it, sir.”

   “And if we're out by less than the width of the ship, we go crashing into the comet at forty thousand miles an hour. Not to mention that all three of the escorts have to pull off the same course change.”

   “It isn't quite so bad for the Koltoc ships,” Orlova said. “If they're swinging for the moon to pick up our assault force, they only need to get to sixty-two. The angle's a little more favorable.”

   “No capital ship has ever done a maneuver like this,” Nelyubov said. “Never mind regulations, I'm not sure that the ship could take the sheer stress of this at the best of times, and we are far from the best of times.”

   “She's pulled off harder stunts,” Harper said. “You weren't here when we were at Jefferson. This isn't that different from the maneuver we had to pull off them. And we won't miss. I guarantee it. We can set up the course well in advance, and take our time to get the angle just right.”

   “Maqua can do this,” Salazar replied, nodding. “And Alamo can make the turn.” With a shrug, he added, “What's the alternative, anyway? Head off into the deep system and wait to die? This might be a risk, but right now it looks to me that we're weighing a risk against a certainty. At least this way we have a chance of pulling a victory out of this.”

   Nelyubov looked at Orlova, and said, “If I could think of any other option...”

   “Now would be a good time, if you can,” she replied. “Otherwise, we're going to go ahead with the plan. Pavel, get up to the bridge and make the turn. Frank, I want all the sensors we've got focused on that comet. We need every scrap of information we can get. If we're going to do this crazy thing, at least let's do it right.”

  Chapter 14

   The buggy bounced over the rugged terrain, Cooper struggling with the unfamiliar controls. He glanced up at the sky, spotting the drones circling overhead, knowing that they were relaying every move they made to the enemy, and knowing that there was nothing they could do about it. Even if they shot them out of the air, they'd only be wasting precious ammunition. More drones would appear moments later, and the orbital satellite network was doubtless tracking them anyway.

   Safety lay in speed, and he gunned the engine as fast as he dared, the engine rumbling as he dodged around a boulder, following the trail of a gully to reduce the line of sight as much as possible. Behind him, Rhodes was still frowning at the controls of the plasma cannon, holding up his datapad in an attempt to translate the limited text. Thus far, he'd been able to rotate and raise it without much trouble, but the firing system's complexities had escaped him.

   “Think they're after us, sir?” Hunt asked.

   “Damn sure of it, Sergeant,” Cooper replied. “On foot, and in the air. They won't want to risk an aerial assault without some ground support, but that just means they'll end up walking the last few miles. We don't have the manpower to guard a large perimeter. I just hope they've picked a decent spot for our last stand.”

   “General Kelot knows his stuff, sir. I'm sure he'll have found somewhere defensible.”

   “Assuming he's still alive. Those mortar shells were dropping all over the place before we got away. I'm surprised all of the shuttles made it up.” His communicator crackled, and he reached into his pocket, passing it to Hunt. “Give it a try, Sergeant. You never know.”

   “I have a feeling I probably do,” he replied. “Hunt to any friendly station, any friendly station, come in, please.” He paused for the roar of static, and said, “I think there's something there, a voice. Too faint to hear, though. We're getting close enough that they might be able to override the jamming.” Shaking his head, he added, “Not that it's going to matter much anyway. In about ten minutes, you'll be able to talk to them, face-to-face.”

   “How are the wounded doing?” Cooper asked.

   The medic looked up from her charges, and replied, “Stable for the moment. Your wife should be fine, but she's not going to be doing much walking for a while. Doherty's a little worse, though. I'd be happier if we were on our way to a real medical facility.”

   “Let's hope we get the chance at some point in the near future,” Cooper replied.

   “Hunt to any station, any station, come in,” the veteran repeated. “Nothing, sir. That first contact might have been a fluke.” He looked up, and said, “Those drones are moving around a bit, aren't they? You think they might try and use those to launch an attack?”

   “Too high up for that,” Cooper replied. “What's the hurry, anyway? They don't need to take us on until they're ready for it. With Alamo heading in the wrong direction, we're not going to get off this rock, and they know it. I wouldn't be surprised if they waited for hours to get everything right.”

   “Maybe we could move again,” Hunt suggested. “Load up the shuttles and go further, find somewhere else. Leave them behind.”

   Shaking his head, Rhodes said, “We barely had enough fuel for the first jump, Sergeant. If we tried that, we might not have a chance of getting into orbit when the ship comes back.”

   “I admire your confidence, Corporal,” Hunt replied.

   “Come on, Sergeant, do you actually think they'll leave us behind? They might be heading away now, but they'll be back soon enough, and we need to be ready to support them when they do.” Grimacing, he said, “Damn machine can't translate half the words. I'm going to have to do a little bit of trial-and-error, sir.”

   “Not while we're sitting on board. It can wait until we reach the camp.” The sun hung red on the horizon, wispy clouds high in the air. “How long till dark, Sergeant?”

   Glancing at his watch, Hunt said, “About an hour, sir. You think t
hey might attack then?”

   “Textbook says dusk and dawn are the best times. Either they've got their own versions, or they've read ours.” Shaking his head, he replied, “My guess is that they'll use the night as cover to set up their attack, time it for dawn. Nine hours, right? That gives them enough time to get this right. We can still do them a lot of damage.”

   “That's never stopped them before,” one of the technicians said.

   “They aren't berserkers, Spaceman,” Cooper replied. “They'll do anything it takes to win a battle, make any necessary sacrifices, but they don't throw lives away for nothing. Not when they're strategic or tactical advantage to gain. We can trust them that far, at least.”

   He turned to avoid another cluster of rocks, and guided the buggy out of the gully and back onto the open terrain, bouncing on the ground as he pushed the engine as hard as he dared. Hunt looked at him, and shook his head with a smile.

   “Don't take this the wrong way, Major, but your driving is terrible.”

   “If you want to try it, Sergeant, you're more than welcome.”

   “Oh, I'm sure mine would be a hell of a lot worse, sir, but I'm glad you aren't planning to set yourself up as a chauffeur when you get back to Copernicus.” He turned, pointed to the horizon, and said, “Up there, sir. I see metal.”

   “We're less than a mile away, Major,” Rhodes added.

   Nodding, Cooper slowed the buggy to a juddering halt, and jumped out of the vehicle to the desert below. He pulled out his plasma pistol, placing it on the driver's seat, then unslung his rifle, passing it to Rhodes.

   “Wait for a signal, Sergeant, or for someone to come and get you. If we just drive up in this thing, they'll probably assume we're launching an attack. There's a good chance that we're under observation already.” Turning to what he hoped was the camp, he added, “At least, I damn well hope so, or the good General isn't doing his job. They've had more than enough time to get themselves nicely settled.”

   “Good thought, sir,” Rhodes said. “Want me to come with you?”

   “Let's keep this nice and easy,” he replied.

   “And if that's not our settlement, but a group of Xandari?” the medic asked.

   “Then you run like hell and try to find the rest of our people, or at the very least get back to the shuttle and disarm it. Though if things go that badly, I'm afraid you're definitely into blaze of glory territory. In which case, do as much damage as you can before they bring you down.”

   “Definitely thinking about another line of work,” Hunt said, shaking his head.

   Raising his hands, Cooper turned to the trail, walking slowly and cautiously towards the camp, careful not to make any sudden movements, doing everything possible to make his peaceful intentions clear. He glanced back at the buggy, watched Rhodes leaning on the cannon controls, then continued up the trail.

   He glanced up at the orbiting drones and smiled. If some Xandari operator was watching him right now, he must be confused as hell about what he was doing. Still, the last thing he needed was to fall victim to friendly fire from his own troops.

   If this was their position, they'd picked a good one. A long canyon, carved into a sheer slope, with only a single way in from the ground. Plenty of defensive cover, lots of broken terrain on the approach that would slow any assault. For a second, he thought he saw someone ducking behind a rock, and he nodded in approval. Scouts scattered to protect the approach, just as he would have done.

   As he grew closer, he could make out shapes in the dying light, figures moving down towards him, obviously carrying weapons, but he couldn't quite work out who they were in the gathering gloom. He calmly walked forward, keeping his hands raised in the air, allowing his theoretical captors to take their time to work out whether he was a threat.

   “Major?” a familiar voice said. “Is that you?”

   “Sergeant Wolmar?” he replied.

   “Good God, it is you!” the Neander replied, breaking ranks and racing forward. “We thought you'd been forced down, captured, and our high sentry saw a firefight out in the desert, close to the shuttle.” Shaking his head as he approached, he added, “We saw that buggy coming ten minutes ago. You mean we've wasted all this time setting up an ambush for nothing?”

   “I'm afraid so. Send someone down to get the buggy, will you? And a medic. We've got wounded on board.”

   “Diego!” Walpis yelled. “Go and bring them in.” Turning to Cooper as they walked up the slope, he asked, “How the hell did you get a buggy?”

   “The Xandari were kind enough to give me the keys. I promised to fill up the gas tank before I took it home, though. That, and recharge the plasma cannon.”

   “Plasma cannon?” the Neander asked, shaking his head. “We're going to have some fun with that when they get here.” Gesturing up at the sky, he said, “They've been watching us for a couple of hours now, close in. We took out the first few, but they've obviously got them to spare. Hell, they could ship a couple of thousand from the homeworld in an hour if they wanted.”

   “And that applies to troops, as well,” Cooper replied. “No sign of any other activity?”

   “Not yet, but I have a feeling they're building for something.”

   General Kelot walked towards them, snapping a salute, and said, “Thank God. Someone who can take over this madhouse. I was beginning to think you'd decided not to offer us the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight.”

   Cooper's stomach rumbled, and he replied, “I hadn't even thought about that, actually. What's the situation here? Numbers?”

   “I've got forty-one effectives and another twelve wounded, as well as six shuttles. I'm afraid one of them crashed on impact. Damaged during the launch. It as a miracle it made it here at all.”

   “The others?”

   “I've got the pilots working on them now, but they're confident they can reach orbit and beyond without difficulty. Assuming, of course, that we've got somewhere to land. We've been tracking Alamo with our sensors as best we can, and it looks to me as though they're trying for the exit point at the inner planet. The emergency option.”

   Cooper frowned, and replied, “That doesn't sound like Maggie Orlova to me.”

   “Nor I, but I can't think of another explanation. We've got enough supplies to last us for two days, three if we push it, and water for a couple of weeks. Power isn't a problem, but we've been unable to make contact with anyone. That jamming field is just too strong.” He frowned, then added, “Does that buggy of yours have a communicator?”

   “Probably, but I haven't got the first idea how it works. We haven't even got the plasma cannon operating yet, though I think Rhodes has some ideas he wants to try out.”

   “Plasma cannon?” Kelot asked. “That sounds promising.”

   “If we can get it to work, we might be able to link it up to one of the shuttles and get some serious firepower going. Any of the engineers make it through?”

   “All but one. I'll get them to work right away.” In the distance, an engine roared, and the buggy began to climb up the hill. “I've got snipers in the rocks as far forward as I dare, and another one halfway up the mountain in a position to see all the way to the enemy base, or at least to the ridge line. And to answer your next question, they're coming in force, but slowly. At least fifty vehicles, maybe a thousand-plus troops.”

   “How long?”

   “Four, five hours. Think they'll chance a night attack?”

   “Not if they have a choice,” he replied. “They'll wait for dawn if they can. Set it up properly. Likely with some aerial support. Which is where that plasma cannon is going to come in useful. Anything else?”

   “I'm throwing trenches out all around, and everyone has a foxhole except your party. All of the wounded are in the shuttles, and I've designated Two and Five as medical transports, concentrated all of the equipment there.”

   Nodding, Coop
er said, “Looks like you don't need me here at all, General.”

   “Don't get that impression, Major. There are probably a thousand details I've missed.” Shaking his head, he asked, “What's the plan, sir? Last stand?”

   “Everyone seems in love with the idea of dying gloriously,” Cooper replied. “I'm not. As far as I'm concerned, our primary objective remains working out a way of getting back to Alamo.”

   “Sir,” someone said, calling from the nearest shuttle. “Major?”

   “What is it, soldier?”

   “You need to see this, sir, right away.”

   Glancing at Kelot, Cooper ran into the shuttle, one wall covered by a projection of local space gleaned from the ship's sensors. He looked at the tangle of trajectory tracks, dozens of ships traveling through the sub-system, and rapidly saw something strange by the far hendecaspace point.

   “Are those what I think they are, Private?”

   The soldier, in civilian life a shuttle mechanic, replied, “Yes, sir. About three minutes ago, all of the cruisers adopted a battle formation and made for the hendecaspace point. They should be jumping out of the system in the next sixty seconds.”

   “They aren't leaving the system,” Kelot said, shaking his head. “If Alamo is trying for one of the other egress points, they're just making sure they get there first. We were expecting this. Damn it, for a moment I thought we had something. Though we'd never get through the missiles without support, to say nothing of the fighters.”

   “Wait a minute,” Cooper said. “All the cruisers, Private?”

   “And at least one squadron of fighters,” the technician replied. “They've been docking for the last twenty minutes. I thought they were refueling, or loading more ordnance. All of them were from the squadron that took part in the orbital battle.”

   “Can you see Alamo and the fleet?” Cooper asked.

   “In just a moment, sir. They're below the horizon right now.”

   Hunt walked into the cabin, frowning over the display, and said, “Something interesting?”