Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor

by Richard Tongue

   “Sure you want to stay?” Orlova said.

   With a faint chuckle, she replied, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

   Nodding, Orlova turned and said, “Sergeant, could you raise the station, please?”

   “On it,” he replied, throwing a switch on his panel. “I think he was already standing by.”

   Price’s face, a few more worry lines added, appeared, “I guess you’re about to go, then.”

   “In about a minute. How are things going over there?”

   Sighing, he said, “Everything’s about ready for the evacuation. Most of our supplies are down on the surface, and Kormax is dispersing my people into safe areas. A few of my boys will be heading over to help crew the Dumont, but I’ll be staying on board with a skeleton staff until the last minute. If I see a dimensional instability and it looks bad, I run for it.”

   “You realize they’ll be able to track you down to the surface.”

   “Let me worry about that. We’ll keep the flag flying here as long as we can.” He paused, then said, “Do you think we’ll get a relief column?”

   “I hope so. I can say nothing more than that.”

   “Honest guesswork I can live with. Well, Hercules’ visit has certainly been a memorable one. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Good luck, and give ‘em hell.”

   “Will do. Hercules out.”

   Nelyubov pushed over to take guidance control, working the controls and looking over his shoulder at Orlova, reporting, “Everything’s ready here for the jump. Course computed, and we’re in position at the hendecaspace point holding station keeping. Good to go on your command.”

   “Mathis, give me the ship again.”

   “It’s yours.”

   Resting back on her chair, she said, “Just to make sure everyone has this straight. Hercules is about to make her last jump, and is heading into her final firefight. Let’s make sure that the old lady dies with as much glory as she has lived, and that we don’t fail her this time. Mr. Nelyubov, you have the call.”

   “I have the call. Initiating hendecaspace jump.”

   Orlova took one last look at the planet rotating beneath them, the pin-point lights of station and scoutship that she was about to leave far behind. A voice in her head said that it was not too late for her to change her mind, for them to all head home, but then a blinding blue flash rendered all her hesitations and second thoughts moot. The viewscreen flickered out, and Hercules vanished into hendecaspace.

   “Transition successful, ma’am, and for the record, that was jump nine hundred and eighty-seven.”

   “Just short of the thousand, then,” she replied. “Damn shame.”

   “Well, we’re committed now,” Carpenter said, sighing.

   “Any regrets?” Orlova said.

   “Quite literally thousands, but not about this.”

   Nodding, she said, “Five days from now the fun begins. We’ve got to make sure we’re as ready as we can possibly be for the fight.”

   “Five days’ work for about three minutes of battle, most likely,” Nelyubov said. “I suppose nothing ever changes.”

   “Not a thing, Lieutenant. Let’s get to work. We’ve got an awful lot to do if we’re going to get this girl ready for the dance, and I think I hear the fat lady doing her warm-ups.”

  Chapter 22

   Caine’s voice echoed around the airlock, waking Cooper up. He struggled to open his eyes, groggy from the drugs, his arm sore from the rough injections he’d been given. Blinking in a desperate attempt to focus, he tried to stand, reaching for the panel to pull himself to his feet.

   “Emergence from hendecaspace in thirty minutes,” the voice shouted. “All hands to standby stations. Report status to the Operations Officer.”

   His hand slipped down the panel, catching switches and buttons, and he heard a loud rushing noise; he’d accidentally increased the mix of oxygen in the air, and his swimming vision began to settle down as he took deep breaths. Standing with an effort, he looked around for the first aid kit, tugging it open and snatching at a vial of stimulants. Ignoring the recommended dosage, he tipped the tube into his mouth, swallowing the tablets dry, and felt a rush of energy surge through his system. Doubtless he was going to pay for his chemical holiday later, but he’d have time to handle that when he had completed his task.

   Switching the oxygen back to safe levels, he opened the door – now so easy, when just a few minutes ago it had seemed the hardest task he could conceive, and stepped out onto the deck. He was somewhere in the lower levels, and as he made for the nearest elevator, he had but one thought on his mind – Diego. With a battle coming, the traitor should be in the barracks, preparing to repel boarders; he stabbed the control to send the elevator speeding through the decks.

   It jerked to a stop, revealing the raised sidearms of Duggan and Zapolski pointed at his chest. Both of them fixed stern glances on him as they gestured for him to step out into the corridor.

   “Nice and easy, no moves,” Duggan said.

   Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “We don’t have any time for this. Diego is the traitor.”

   They glanced at each other again, then back at him; Orlowski said, “You have proof?”

   “I’ve been locked in an airlock under sedation for four days. Of course I don’t have proof, but do you really think I am the saboteur?”

   “Then why did you send a message to the enemy, secret information,” Duggan said. “We trusted you.”

   “I was following the Captain’s orders!” He glanced around the corridor, not seeing anyone else, and continued, “Look, this whole business was a set-up to feed false intelligence to the Cabal through the saboteur. I wasn’t planning to do the job myself, but he blackmailed me into it – and given that it was my mission anyway, I went along with it.”

   “You can prove this?” Duggan pressed.

   “Contact the Captain and ask,” he replied.

   “We can’t,” Zapolski said. “There’s a problem with the communications on the lower deck. Diego…,” he looked across at Duggan, then said, “he went up to find out what was going on, and that was quite a while ago.”

   “There’s a battle coming, and he means to have you all locked in your barracks while the fighting goes on,” Cooper said. “Look, who do you want to trust? Me or the Major?”

   “What are you going to do?”

   “That man caused our comrades to be captured, threatened us all, almost killed me, and is passing on secret information to the enemy. What am I going to do?” His face wore the smile of the hunter, “I’m going to put a bullet into the bastard and start breaking bones until he tells me where our people are being held.”

   “The rest of the platoon is alive?” Duggan said.

   “Twelve of them, and he knows where. I’m going to beat that information out of him, then find a way to get them out. Are you with me or not?”

   Zapolski looked down at the deck for a second, then reached down to his ankle holster, pulling a pistol from it. After a second’s hesitation, he turned it around and held it out to Cooper, grip first.

   “You’re going to need this, and we don’t have time to get to the armory.”

   “Where are we going to look for him?” Duggan said. “He could be anywhere by now.”

   “As soon as we jump, we’re going to be surrounded by ships. He’ll be anywhere he can do the most damage.”

   Duggan grimaced, “Quinn’s been stockpiling missiles in the hangar bay. No idea why, but there are dozens of them stored there at the moment.”

   “An explosion that large would tear the ship in half,” Cooper said. “That’s where he’ll be. What security?”

   “No idea,” Zapolski said, ruefully. “Diego said that it would be handled.”

   “Which means he’s probably been ignoring orders for you to guard it. What are we waiting for?” He stepped into the eleva
tor, Duggan and Zapolski following, and tapped for the hangar bay, tapping his foot on the deck as it opened. The three of them pointed their weapons at the door, ready for whatever would happen at the other end. Cooper tapped the communications control, and was not at all surprised when it worked.

   “Cooper to bridge. I need to speak to the Captain, right now.”

   Kibaki’s voice replied, “Cooper? What the hell?”

   Before he could reply, Marshall’s voice came over the line, “I’m here, Corporal. What’s the story.”

   “It’s Diego. I think he’s in the hangar bay. I’m on my way now.”

   After a few seconds, he replied, “He is indeed, as well as a lot of people and enough explosives to rip the ship into small pieces.”

   “I intend to take the bastard down, sir.”

   “Very well, Corporal, proceed as you think best. Good luck.”

   Duggan looked at Cooper, then said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

   “Yes you should,” he replied. “If you’d acted differently I would want to know why.”

   “Thanks.”

   The door opened one level short, and Cooper shook his head, “He’s rigged the elevators as well.”

   “Not a problem. How do you want to handle it?” Zapolski said.

   “We catch him in a crossfire, three sides of the deck. Spread out along the maintenance crawlspace and drop down. Nothing clever, nothing that will allow him any time to do a damn thing – take him down as soon as you can. Go for the hands.”

   “The hands?”

   “If his hands are gone he can’t push a button or fire a gun. Shoot to kill if you have to, but remember that I want to talk to him first.”

   The three of them raced off down the corridor, splitting off into different directions. Cooper shook his head, still trying to clear it from the chemical hangover he was going through, then pulled at the side hatch and clambered in. His eyes widened when he saw the mess inside; Diego had done a good job at preventing anyone from getting through.

   Taking a deep breath, he started to scramble down the shaft, twisting and bending around corners and underneath piles of machinery, tangles of cable and sharp objects that ripped at his uniform, shredding his sleeves and his trousers, trickles of blood running down his calves that he ignored. All that mattered was getting to the hangar bay as fast as he could. Any thought of a co-ordinated attack was now gone – there would be no trace of tactical finesse today. As long as he did what he had to do.

   Finally, he reached the hatch. Resisting the temptation to dive right in, he paused to take a series of deep breaths, trying to calm himself as much as possible, getting ready for what might be his one shot at Diego. Counting to ten, he gently pulled open the hatch, looking down at the deck fifteen feet below, and with a smile, jumped down.

   Remembering his training, he rolled as he landed, twisting down and falling behind a series of boxes that he belatedly realized contained warheads, not the best cover he could have selected. Diego was standing in the middle of a cluster of technicians, reaching for his holster, but before he could do anything Cooper’s pistol barked twice, bullets slamming into his shoulder and leg.

   The traitor collapsed to the deck, but he had his gun in his hand, and was pointing it at a terrified deckhand who was frozen in place while everyone raced to find some cover. Cooper glanced around, trying to spot Duggan or Zapolski, but they must be having troubles getting through the maze above.

   “It’s over, Diego,” Cooper said. “I’ve got you covered, and reinforcements on the way.”

   “You want this kid to die, Cooper?”

   “I don’t want anyone to die except you, Diego.”

   “We can be reasonable, can't we? I want a shuttle.”

   “I want a beer. Neither of us is happy. If you tell me where the rest of my platoon is, I’ll think about it.”

   With a toothy smile, Diego said, “Now why would I give up my only bargaining chip?”

   “That chip is getting less valuable by the second.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “I can detonate every missile in this bay. Don’t make my life too worthless, Cooper, or the temptation to set all of these warheads off will get too great to ignore.”

   “You aren’t going to do it.”

   “Why not?”

   “Because you value your pathetic existence far too much,” Cooper said. “And if you have such a bargaining chip, you might as well put me in a better mood and tell me what I want to know.”

   Chuckling, Diego replied, “Smart boy.” He glanced up at the deckhand, then said, “I’ve got all the cards I need. It won’t change a damn thing if I tell you, I suppose. They’re at Al-Sarfah.”

   “What the hell does that mean?”

   “I’ve told you where they are. Now your turn to give me something.”

   A hatch dropped behind him, and Cooper’s attention was elsewhere for a fraction of a second – long enough for the crack of a bullet to send his hand stinging; Diego had shot the end of his pistol, sending it flying across the deck.

   “The party’s over, Cooper,” Diego said, limping to his feet and staggering across the deck. His erstwhile hostage raced away, no longer needed and desperately attempting to seek cover; Diego turned, fired again, and sent the crewman tumbling to the deck, blood seeping from a wound in his back.

   “Might as well help my friends out some more,” he said. “You’re a better hostage anyway.”

   Duggan dropped to the deck behind Diego, weapon out, “Game’s over, Diego.”

   “You want Cooper to live through this, Private?”

   “Duggan, take the damn shot! That’s an order,” Cooper grunted through his pain, reaching for his pistol.

   “He dies if you do, Duggan,” Diego said, groaning as he clapped one hand down on his knee. “Get Duquesne down here. I need treatment.”

   Nodding, Duggan reached for his communicator while Cooper shook his head. He looked across at his pistol, just out of reach, but there was no way of knowing if it would even work, no way to tell whether a heroic leap across the deck would do any good.

   “Duquesne’s on the way,” Duggan said. “Spaceman Collins gets treated first, and that is non-negotiable.”

   “Only if you toss your weapon away, Private.” With a sneer, he continued, “I mean, if you aren’t planning on using it anyway, you might as well drop it and save us all the trouble.”

   “Where is Al-Sarfah, Diego? What planet?” Cooper said, trying to distract him.

   “It isn’t a planet, Cooper,” he said. “You know, I might have to set the bomb on that shuttle off after all.”

   Another hatch cracked, and Diego turned and fired; he had to be on some serious combat drugs to keep him moving with the wounds he had suffered. Taking the split second, Cooper danced across the deck, snatched up his pistol and fired, wildly. Diego turned to him, his gun drooping from his hand, and as blood ran down the traitor’s neck, slumped down to the deck, a control rolling out of his pocket. Duggan got there first, snatching it up.

   “It isn’t even connected to anything. He was bluffing.”

   “Collins didn’t think so.”

   Over in the corner, there was a loud thud; Diego’s last shot had been exactly on target, and Zapolski’s body fell to the deck. Cooper raced towards it, looking down at his friend, a puzzled expression on his face, his eyes locked into a glassy stare, a hole in his chest. With a sweep of his hand, Cooper closed Zapolski’s eyes for the last time, looking up at Duggan.

   “Next time I tell you to take the damn shot, you take it!”

   “Then it would be you dead, instead,” Duggan said.

   “My choice to make, Private,” he snapped in reply.

   The elevator opened, and Duquesne stepped out onto the deck, medical kit in hand and nurse by her side. She took one look at the scene and raced towards Collin
s, flinging herself to the ground next to him. Looking up at Cooper, she said.

   “Business is starting early today. I think he’ll make it.”

   “Good,” he said. “I’m glad someone will.” Looking over at Duggan, he said, “Come on. We’d better get to our battle stations, and we might as well swing by the armory. I think we’re going to need a lot more ammunition today.”

   As they left the deck and the technicians resumed their interrupted work, Collins groaned as Duquesne began her battle to save his life. The elevator doors closed, and Cooper’s eyes lingered on his dead friend for a moment, then mused over the last words of Diego. Where the hell was Al-Sarfah?

  Chapter 23

   “I suppose we’d better get this done,” Marshall said, leaning back in his command chair, looking out across the bridge. His crew were all ready at their posts, poised for battle; while he had not told the crew that he was anticipating a major fight at their destination, somehow he hadn’t had to. They knew without being told, and it raced through the whole ship like an electric pulse.

   Caine, nodding, tapped a control on her console, “Tactical to Crew. All hands to battle stations. I say again, all hands to your battle stations. This is no drill. Repeat, this is no drill. Report status to the Captain.” She turned to him, “Half the ship was already at alert status, I think.”

   “Auxiliary Control to Bridge,” his father’s voice called. “We’re ready.”

   “Engineering to Bridge, Zebrova here,” another voice said. “All systems go.” Marshall smiled, recalling the argument he’d had with his executive officer about banishing her from the bridge. There was no choice, though. One thing he was certain about was that Alamo was about to sustain serious damage, and dispersing the senior staff was the only way to protect the chain of command.

   “Shuttle Squadron to Bridge,” Bradley said over a crackling communicator. “We’re ready.”

   The rest of the stations went through the list, one after another, and Caine checked them all off before saying, “That’s it, all systems go.” With a smile, she continued, “What about the Captain?”