“Ten thousand feet and climbing,” Cooper said. “I'll try and get comm lasers on the rest of the formation as soon as we clear the atmosphere. Which should be somewhere in our immediate future.” Looking across at the sensor display, he continued, “We're still clear behind us, no sign of pursuit. I guess they're hoping to catch us when we reach orbit.”
“Not a bad idea,” she replied, pulling back on the throttle. “Fuel status isn't promising. This is going to be a little tricky, especially if we have to do any fancy flying. Get on the physical countermeasures, and you might as well try and contact the fleet again.”
“Cooper to any station, any station, come in.” A roar of static burst from the speaker, but he could just pick out a faint voice in the background, fighting to make itself heard. “Cooper to any station, any station, receiving you very faint. Boost signal strength if possible.” He played with the controls, trying to focus on the right frequency, struggling to clear the interference from the surface.
“Alamo to Cooper,” Weitzman said. “Reading you faint. Report status. We see you rising for orbit. Do you read?”
A triumphant smile on his face, Cooper replied, “Reading you faintly, repeat faintly. Forty-nine on five shuttles making for rendezvous with approaching Koltoc ships. Four-Nine on Five. Pass on my thanks for coming after us to Captain Orlova. Out.”
Salazar's voice broke in, saying, “Try for Profitable Venture. They're set to receive you, but you'll have to burn as hot as you can to link up. We've only got one pass, then all hell breaks loose out here. Alamo will try and provide a salvo to support as we fly past the moon, but you're going to have to do the hard work. Do you read?”
“Understand,” Cooper said. “Did the first shuttle get home?”
“It did, and all but one of the wounded made it through.” Salazar paused, and said, “Keep listening out, and try and patch your sensor data through to Alamo if you can. Good luck. Out.”
“Going for full burn,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “This is going to get wild.” Looking back at the cabin, she added, “Make sure the wounded are secured, and strap yourselves in.”
Tugging at his restraints, Cooper looked back at the sensor panel, and said, “Damn. Threat warning. Four missiles rising from the surface, heading our way.” Tapping controls, he added, “Nothing I've ever seen before. I think they're air-breathers. Suborbital at best.”
“We'll be leaving them in our wake in a minute.”
Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “I don't think they're targeting us at the moment. They're trying to force us into orbit.” Gesturing at the screen, he added, “That looks a lot like they're moving into a patrol pattern. If we don't make it on this pass, we're not going to have anywhere to land.”
“I'm not exactly unhappy at the idea of never going down to that hellhole again. Disabling safety override on the primary throttle. Here we go.”
The engine whined and complained as the shuttle surged forward, fuel furiously burning away, the tips of the wings glowing a dull red from the fight for speed, the fight for orbit, Bradley trying to gain as much acceleration as she could whilst still staying in the safe shroud of atmosphere. Beneath them, the missiles easily raced to catch up, staying low in the denser regions.
They were caught between Scylla and Charybdis. Up above, the missile satellites and the fighters squadrons. Below, the anti-aircraft ballistic batteries. Bradley was walking a fine line to stay out of range of both, but with the fuel reserve diminishing, she had to make her break for orbit, and soon. The rest of the formation was waiting, ready to follow her lead.
“Twenty seconds, Gabe, and I'll go for broke. Hold on to something. This could get rough.”
Bradley pointed the nose up, unleashing the full acceleration of the shuttle's engine as she broke through the final layers of the atmosphere, racing for orbit. The stars came into view as the pressure fell to nothing, the sensors picking up the waiting menace of the missile defense network ahead.
“Fighters incoming,” Cooper said. “Intercept in seventy seconds.” Glancing across at the readouts, he continued, “We should be within the defensive radius of the escorts by then. And they've got enough velocity that the fighters should only get a single salvo.” A series of trajectory tracks flashed onto the display, and he added, “That's Alamo's missile contribution. Six warheads, running true.”
“Take control of them, Gabe, and see if you can do something about those fighters. Alamo's going to have its hands full.” Gesturing at the screen, she added, “Five squadrons, heading to block them. I don't know what the Captain has in mind, but it's going to have to be pretty damned special if they're going to fight their way through a hundred-plus missiles.”
Cooper pulled out a control panel, fighting through the interference to establish a laser lock on the friendly missiles, making careful adjustments until he was rewarded with the green light that established confirmed contact. He pulled the missiles down, dragging them closer to the shuttles, trying to make it seem as though he was going for a defensive move.
At the last second, he swung them around, into the path of the approaching fighters, and the Xandari pilots immediately responded with a full salvo, eight missiles against six, overkill to ensure they'd have a chance to press the remainder of the attack. Cooper switched four of the warheads to automatic control, hoping that the guidance computers could at least provide a distraction, focusing on the remaining pair.
He had an advantage over the enemy pilots. They had a thousand different tasks to worry about, but he could simply focus on one, guiding those missiles into position. Immediately he switched the focus of the attack to fighters that hadn't launched in the initial attack, at the rear of the formation, knowing that they would pack a stronger punch with their full missile salvos.
Belatedly, two more missiles raced into the air from the approaching fighters, diving into position to try and block their attack. One of them was successful, an explosion flashing into space for a brief second, but he managed to gently guide the remainder into position, catching one of the enemy ships, leaving twisted debris in his wake.
“Twelve missiles down,” he said, triumphantly.
“With eight missiles from the escorts, that just means that one of the shuttles is guaranteed a free ride home, Gabe,” Bradley said, focusing on her work, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain raced from her leg. Sweat was building up on her forehead, and Cooper could see the effort the fight was taking out of her, knew that she was asking too much of herself.
He looked back at the rest of the shuttle formation, chasing them away from the planet, and grimaced as a trio of missiles flashed away from the nearest defense satellite. Their timing had been good enough to grant them a good chance to break through to safety, but they were still a potential threat should they fail to make their connection with the approaching escorts. And at the speed they were traveling, they'd only have one chance to dock with the Koltoc ships, before their courses diverged once again. It that happened, the Xandari wouldn't need to do anything. The shuttles would simply drift through space, fuel exhausted, until their life support ran out sometime in the next week. Assuming they didn't decide to bring the nightmare to an end more quickly.
“Thirty seconds to contact,” Bradley said. “See if you can get a link-up with Due Diligence, handshake with their docking systems. This is going to be tough enough as it is, without trying to handle this on manual control.”
“Shuttle Three to Due Diligence,” Cooper said, switching frequencies. “Do you read me?”
“Major Itzac to Major Cooper,” a soft-accented voice replied. “We read you loud and clear. Looks like the jamming is weakening at this range. Our figures have you docking in twenty-five seconds.”
“Missile launch!” Bradley said. “Twelve missiles from the fighters, heading right for us.”
“We're on it,” Itzac replied. “Switching over to docking co
ntrol now.”
The Koltoc ships launched a full salvo, eight missiles racing against twelve, moving far slower than their maximum speed as they slewed into the path of the incoming warheads, trying to block their attack. Due Diligence and Profitable Venture drifted into position, the shuttles closing on their targets, homing in on their one chance to escape the system.
Cooper watched as the missiles dived towards each other, the tracks converging at a point just ahead of the shuttle formation, knowing that one mistake would likely mean their end. The seconds dragged as they moved to their target, until finally there was a blinding flash on the sensor display, the debris field briefly blocking the readouts.
“Firing countermeasures,” he said, dumping chaff from the dispensers, hoping to add to the confusion. A single missile limped out of the fratricidal destruction, immediately caught in the artificial fog Cooper had created, leaving the shuttle unharmed.
“Docking in ten seconds,” Bradley said, her hands poised over the thruster controls, making delicate adjustments as they approached the Koltoc ship. Cooper glanced at the scanner, watching as the other shuttles moved into position, waiting for their turn to reach safety. Up ahead, he could see the docking port, the clamps extended to give them the best chance for a safe lock.
“Come on, old girl,” Bradley muttered. “You can do this. Nice and smooth.”
The hull of the Koltoc escort loomed overhead, and with a final tap of the thruster, the shuttle slammed into position, docking clamps engaging, the airlocks instantly cycling. Cooper shook her head, watching as the rest of the pilots made their approach, two to each ship. His heart skipped a beat as they found their targets, all five of the shuttles secured to the escorts.
“And that is how we do that,” Bradley said. “Let's hope the rest of this mission goes as well.”
Chapter 19
Salazar looked up at the tactical display, watching as the enemy fighters moved into position ahead of the ship. All around the bridge, the crew were racing to complete the final preparations for battle, ready to sweep through the fire that was about to descend upon them. He turned to the sensor station, looked over the readouts, then looked back to Nelyubov, a smile on his face.
“All shuttles have docked with the Koltoc escorts,” he reported. “The assault team is secure.”
“Excellent, Lieutenant,” Nelyubov replied, glancing at the elevator. “Scramble fighters in thirty seconds. Pavel, I want you to control the squadron from here. Have them tie in with Red Avenger for the advance sweep. We've got to break though the fighter formation. Spinelli, how long to contact?”
“Five minutes, sir. Thirty-two seconds in the firing window.”
“We're scheduled to launch the bombing mission as soon as we're clear,” Salazar added. “Chief Kowalski reports that the bomber is ready for launch, and Captain Orlova is suiting up in the ready room right now.”
“Very good,” Nelyubov said, standing a little straighter. “Lieutenant Salazar, you have the deck. I'm going below.”
“What?” Salazar replied, Scott and Maqua turning to look at Nelyubov. “Sir, didn't you hear Spinelli's report? We're five minutes from battle.”
“I'm aware of that, Lieutenant,” he replied, walking to the elevator. “Nevertheless, you have the deck. Unless you care to refuse to obey my order.” Pausing for a second, he continued, “You have the conn.”
“Aye, sir,” Salazar replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have the conn.” Nelyubov stepped through the door, whisked away from the bridge. “I have the conn,” Salazar repeated, looking up at the tactical display, while silence reigned on the deck.
“Orders, sir?” Scott asked.
“Prepare for offensive formation, and deploy radiators as fast as you can. We're going to have to throw everything we've got at the enemy if we're going to have a chance of breaking through.” Tapping a control, he said, “Squadron to scramble in thirty seconds. Sub-Lieutenant Foster, report to the bridge on the double.”
“I don't understand,” Maqua said, turning from his station.
“It's a question of irresponsibility, Sub-Lieutenant,” Salazar replied, moving around to the command position at the holodesk, able to survey the entire bridge.
“You mean responsibility, sir,” the helmsman said.
“I mean what I said. I know where he's going.” Shaking his head, he turned to Weitzman, and continued, “Contact Red Avenger, and have them move into position behind the fighters when they emerge. Instruct Lieutenant Ryan to proceed to arrowhead formation, and that he'll be the vanguard of the fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” Weitzman said, turning after a second's hesitation to his station.
The elevator doors opened, Foster walking out and looking around the bridge, a frown spreading across her face as she saw Salazar alone at the command holodesk.
“What's going on?” she asked.
“Don't ask me,” Salazar replied. “I'm just the Acting Captain. Why the hell would I know?”
“Acting...”
“Take the second position at the holotable, and start monitoring the enemy squadrons. We're going to be getting into some serious action in a few minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied, the frown fixed on her face as she took her position. “All decks show cleared for action, Lieutenant, all bulkheads secure. Damage control teams are in position.” She paused, then added, “Senior Lieutenant Quinn suggests that we do everything possible to avoid damaging the power grid.”
“Inform him I'll do my best.” He turned back to Weitzman, and asked, “Page Senior Lieutenant Powell. See if he can make it up here in time for the battle.”
“He's not a line officer,” Foster protested.
“Val, I'm a Lieutenant, and the last time I checked this ship was swarming with senior officers. Quite why they've all decided to go into hiding on the eve of the biggest battle this ship has ever fought is a mystery to me.” He sighed, and said, “No, that's not exactly true, but...”
“I can't reach Senior Lieutenant Powell, sir,” Weitzman said, shaking his head. “Astrogation reports that he left a few minutes ago, and he isn't responding to ship-wide transmissions. Should I keep trying?”
“No, let it go, Spaceman,” Salazar replied. “You've got more important things to do. But if he contacts the bridge, tell him his presence is urgently requested up here.” Looking at Foster, he added, “I know, I know, but I've got to go by the book on this one.”
Shaking her head, Foster said, “I don't think anyone else is today, Pavel.”
“Enemy fighters moving into spearhead formation,” Scott said. “Trying to maximize the firing time as much as possible. Clever. We'll be in firing range of the leading ships in three minutes, thirty seconds. For forty-one seconds now, so we might just manage a second salvo.”
“Take targets of opportunity, Kat, and for the record, fire at will,” Salazar replied. “We've got to break up that formation somehow. They're too dispersed for the laser, at least...” He paused, and a smile rippled across his face as he raced down to Maqua, looking down at the helm. “We're going to need some more precision flying from you, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“I'm still recovering from the last flyby, sir,” the Neander replied, flashing a beaming smile. “Give the order, skipper, and I'll make it happen.”
“What did you call me?”
“That's what you are, isn't it?”
Turning to Scott, he said, “Kat, the laser. What happens if you lengthen the firing time.”
“Inverse weakening of the strength of the beam,” she said. Her eyes widened, and she replied, “You weren't joking about the precision flying, were you.”
Foster frowned, and said, “I don't see it. You might be able to sweep across more of them, but it wouldn't be much more than a bright light by the time you fanned it out that much.”
“Will they know that?�
�� he replied.
A smile spread across her face, and she said, “No, sir, they won't.” Leaning down to her station, she added, “Maqua, I'll work out the arc, you start figuring the thruster strength. We're only going to get one shot at this, so we'd damned well better get it right.”
“Signal from Red Avenger, sir,” Weitzman said. “Major Ingros is fascinated to know whether anyone over here actually has any sort of a plan. His words, not mine.”
“Tell him to stay close to our front, and to prepare to take out any fighters within range. Fighters, not missiles. We're attacking, not defending. Make that perfectly clear to the entire fleet.” He looked up at the Koltoc ships, curving around the moon, and said, “Contact Colonel Kilquan, and ask if he thinks he can swing in for another pass. If he loops around the moon...”
“Then he runs a real risk of getting into the blast radius, Pavel,” Scott warned.
“Not with a high flyby, Kat, and realistically that's the best we're going to manage from this. I want the Xandari commander confused.”
“It's working with me,” Foster said, a smile on her face. “Maqua, do you have the computations yet? They're a little rough, but it's about as good as I can make it in the time.”
“I've got them,” he replied. “Maneuver execution in fifteen seconds, mark. As soon as we get within range.” Turning to Salazar, he asked, “What do we do if it doesn't work?”
“Start working out how to talk our way past Saint Peter. Relax. It'll work.”
Salazar turned back to the tactical display, watching the enemy forces spread out before him. The enemy commander had concentrated all his strength on stopping Alamo from reaching the planet, doubtless concluding that whatever plan they had in mind involved the immolation of the battlecruiser. Given the power of the bomb sitting in their hangar bay, that wasn't far from the truth.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 17