Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Precisely my thinking,” Captain Harper said. “They would be turning to engage us if they knew we were here.”

  Unless their concept of tactical wisdom is very different to ours, Susan thought. She wouldn't let an alien fleet run around if it could be avoided, but the aliens might believe that the human ships were contained. Or if they feel they can afford to ignore whatever damage we do in their backyard.

  “I'm detaching a destroyer to race ahead and warn the Tadpoles,” Captain Harper added, firmly. “The remainder of the fleet will proceed along a least-time course to the Tadpole system. If the timing works out in our favour, we’ll add our weight to the defenders and hopefully give our new friends a bloody nose.”

  “Aye, sir,” Susan said. She couldn't fault his planning, although the enemy would almost certainly reach the Tadpole system first. Unless, she supposed, they took the time to survey the two systems between them and their target. “We may have been wrong, sir.”

  Captain Harper frowned. “What about?”

  “They either captured a working database or they knew about the Tadpoles for years,” Susan said. “Either way, we have problems.”

  She scowled at the thought. The Tadpoles had recovered an astrographic database from Heinlein, shortly after the disastrous first contact. It had lacked hard data on everything from defence bases to military technology, but it had been quite enough to point the Tadpoles in the right direction. They’d never had any problems finding targets during the war, while human ships had had to explore their space to locate their bases. Security procedures had been tightened up afterwards, she knew, but a single insecure database could be disastrous if it fell into enemy hands.

  “That’s not something we can worry about now,” Captain Harper said. He cleared his throat, loudly. “The fleet will proceed as I have outlined, ready to engage the enemy when we have a chance.”

  “And keep a careful eye on its rear,” Susan added. “Their blocking force could be sneaking up behind us.”

  “Indeed,” Captain Harper said. “Vanguard will continue to take the point. Good luck.”

  His image vanished. “Stay on course,” Susan ordered. “Keep the cloaking device engaged; I don’t want a single flicker that could betray our presence.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

  Susan forced herself to relax as the enemy fleet proceeded on its course, Vanguard and her screen shadowing them from a distance. There was little else she could do, but wait. The ship was already at full tactical alert, the crews prepped for anything from a direct encounter to another ambush. Further orders would just confuse the issue.

  “Assuming they maintain their current course and speed,” she said, “how long until they enter Tadpole space?”

  “Thirty-six hours,” Charlotte said. “Captain, I should note that we have no hard data on their realspace drives. They might be capable of moving at higher velocities than we’ve observed ...”

  “Let us hope not,” Susan said. Vanguard could move faster than the alien starships, assuming the highest speed they’d shown was the maximum, but there was no way to know for sure. It was quite likely that their smaller ships could outrace the giant battleship. If nothing else, they had a higher acceleration curve. “Continue to monitor them from a distance.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Charlotte said.

  “Order the beta crews to catch some sleep,” Susan added. “I want them ready to take over when the current shift ends.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

  Susan studied the display, cursing under her breath. She’d have to catch some sleep herself, hopefully before the enemy ships entered friendly space and opened fire. So would the rest of the alpha crew. But she didn't want to leave the bridge. There was nothing she could do, yet she couldn't help feeling that leaving the bridge would invite disaster. It was not a rational thought, but nothing she told herself made her feel any better about leaving matters in Mason’s hands.

  They must have taken the time to sift through the wreckage before dispatching the invasion fleet, she thought. The unknowns could have reached Tadpole space quicker, if they’d departed immediately after the first battle. Unless, of course, the fleet Vanguard was shadowing was actually the reinforcements. There’s no way to know just what we’re facing.

  She gritted her teeth, then rose. “Commander Mason, you have the bridge,” she said. “Keep the screen active and alert me the moment you have any reason to believe we may have been detected.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Mason said. “I have the con.”

  “I’ll be in my Ready Room,” Susan added. The sofa folded out into a sinfully comfortable cot. “Pass command to the beta crews when shift ends, but make sure they know to alert me.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Mason said.

  Susan took one last look at the display - the alien ships were crawling slowly towards the tramline, seemingly unaware of their shadows - and then turned and walked towards the hatch. It would take her seconds to grab her jacket and run back onto the bridge, if the shit hit the fan; there shouldn't be any time for things to go badly wrong. But if the alien fleet was merely the bait in a trap ...

  All you can do is watch for signs of trouble, she told herself, as she stepped through the hatch and into the Ready Room. She knew she wouldn't sleep easily, but there was no choice. And if everything goes according to plan, you can catch the enemy with their pants down.

  ***

  The ship felt ... quiet.

  George could feel it as she left Turret Five and made her slow way back to middy country, too tired to call in on Barton or even pick up something to eat from the wardroom. Crew were talking to one another in hushed voices, as if their words would somehow reach across the vacuum of space and alert the enemy. Something - anything - could be on the other side of the hull, just waiting for Vanguard to make a mistake. Cold logic told her that the entire crew could scream in unison and the aliens wouldn't hear a peep - sound couldn't pass through a vacuum - but spacers tended to be superstitious. Making a sound might just trigger a disaster.

  “Everyone’s on edge,” Fraser said, when she stepped through the hatch. “How are things in the turrets?”

  “The crews want some payback,” George said. Simpson had worked everyone hard, training for every contingency he could imagine. George had taken direct control of the main guns, then scrambled to patch up imaginary problems or don a spacesuit before the entire compartment vented. “They’re angry.”

  “I don’t blame them,” Fraser said, shortly. He glanced at his wristcom, then clambered into his rack. “The bastards gave us one hell of a pasting in the last ambush.”

  “And then we blew five of their ships out of space before they had a whiff of our presence,” George pointed out. “We did get some payback.”

  “There's no such thing as enough,” Fraser said, darkly. “When are you due back on duty?”

  “Just before the jump into Tadpole space,” George said. Simpson had told her to get some sleep, then report back in nine hours. It would give her enough time to settle in before the fleet crossed the tramline. “You?”

  “Ditto,” Fraser said. He met her eyes. “Make sure you get plenty of sleep. No sneaking out to visit anyone.”

  George felt her eyes narrow as he pulled his curtain down. What possible business of his was it if she went to visit anyone? Nine hours was long enough to have a proper rest, then go snatch something to eat before the ship went back into battle. But then, the alert could come at any moment. If the aliens detected Vanguard, they’d certainly come about to face her before proceeding with the invasion.

  She shrugged as she undressed, carefully placing her uniform in the locker where it could be grabbed at a moment’s notice. She’d had nightmares about reporting to her duty station in her underclothes - or stark naked - but she doubted any of her superiors would be amused if she did. Besides, spacewalking in a shipsuit was bad enough; spacewalking while naked meant certain death. Stellar Star might have done it,
but Stellar Star had the scriptwriter on her side. Real life was nowhere near so cut and dried.

  Pity, she thought, as she climbed into her rack and pulled the curtain down. It would have been so much easier.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Captain,” Charlotte said, formally. “The alien fleet is about to cross the tramline into Tadpole-453.”

  Susan sucked in her breath. The fleet had made the first jump while she was sleeping, entering a system the Tadpoles had claimed, yet considered largely worthless. There was no hint the unknowns disagreed. They hadn't bothered to survey the system, but merely headed straight towards the second tramline, the one leading directly into a populated system.

  “Inform the flag,” Susan ordered. So far, there was no hint the aliens had detected them, but they’d spread out their own screen as they traversed the system. There was no way to know if the aliens had caught a sniff of them or if they expected the Tadpoles to be setting an ambush of their own. “And keep us on our present course.”

  She cursed, again, the stifling lack of information. Did the Tadpoles know the enemy fleet was coming? They must have known something was wrong, when the contact fleet failed to report back, but did they suspect the worst? And the ship Captain Harper had dispatched to warn them? Had she made it through the tramlines before it was too late?

  “Aye, Captain,” Charlotte said. “They’ll be through the tramline in twenty minutes.”

  “We’ll be through in two hours, Captain,” Reed warned. “If they leave pickets on the near side of the tramline, watching for contacts ...”

  “We should see them before we enter range,” Susan said. She doubted the enemy would bother, not when battles had been won or lost based on the presence or absence of a single ship, but it was well to be careful. “Let us just hope we can get there before they do real damage.”

  The Tadpoles hadn't said much about their planned deployments, according to the files; they rarely discussed military movements unless they took place in jointly-controlled systems or along the border. Susan didn't blame them, not really; she’d have been reluctant to discuss her fleet movements with aliens, no matter how much she trusted them. But it made it impossible to predict what the unknowns would encounter, when they forced their way into Tadpole-453. Had the Tadpoles managed to reinforce the sector, in case of trouble? Or had they stripped the fleet base bare to support the contact fleet?

  If the latter, they may ravage all the way to Tadpole Prime before they get stopped, she thought, coldly. Getting ships from the near border to the other side of their space will be a nightmare.

  “Captain,” Charlotte said. “The enemy ships are transiting the tramline.”

  “Understood,” Susan ordered. “Communications, raise the flag. Inform them that we intend to cross the tramline on schedule.”

  She studied the display for a long moment, trying to consider the options. The aliens would have to engage the fleet base, unless they intended to risk leaving it in their rear. And it would take them at least two hours to reach the fleet base. Unless, of course, they had a faster drive than anyone had realised ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. If they had a way of moving faster in realspace than anyone else, they wouldn't have ambled their way to Tadpole-453 ...

  “The enemy fleet has completed its transit,” Charlotte reported. “This system appears to be deserted.”

  “Maintain full passive sensor watch,” Susan ordered. “We are not taking that for granted.”

  She felt sweat trickling down her back as the fleet crawled towards the tramline. Anything could be happening on the other side, anything at all ... and she wouldn't know about it until the fleet jumped into Tadpole-453. Were the Tadpoles ready and waiting ... or had they been caught by surprise? The enemy fleet hadn't cloaked, at least. Their approach should not have passed unnoticed.

  “Twenty minutes to jump,” Reed said. It felt like hours had passed on the bridge. “Captain?”

  Susan glanced at Mason. “Tactical?”

  “All weapons and defences are online, ready to engage,” Mason said. “All duty stations are fully manned.”

  “Take us through the tramline,” Susan ordered.

  She gritted her teeth. No military force could remain at battlestations forever, no matter what the media or politicians claimed. Being on full tactical alert for so long had drained her crew, even though they knew it was no drill. Vanguard’s crew needed a break, a chance to stand down and relax, yet they weren't going to get it. The only hope of a break lay on the other side of the tramline.

  “Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said. “Captain Harper requests that we dispatch a screening unit back to update him before the main body makes transit.”

  “See to it,” Susan ordered.

  “Transit in ten seconds,” Reed said. “Nine ... eight ...”

  The display blanked, for what seemed like an eternity. Susan had a moment - just a moment - to think that something had gone badly wrong, that they were trapped somewhere along the tramline, then it came back to life. Hundreds of icons flickered into existence, all red; one by one, a number started to turn blue ...

  “There's a battle going on,” Mason commented. “The Tadpoles made a stand near the tramline.”

  Give them time to fall back on the planet if necessary, Susan thought. Five superdreadnaughts, three fleet carriers and nearly a hundred smaller ships were fighting a desperate last stand against the new enemy. And they will have to fall back.

  “Take us on an intercept course, under cloak,” she ordered. The enemy was pushing the Tadpoles back, their starfighters roaming forwards and circumventing the superdreadnaughts as they pressed their advantage against the fleet carriers. “Record a message.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  “Captain Harper,” Susan said. “I intend to attack the rear of the alien formation, using the cloak to remain undetected. I strongly advise you to attach the heavy ships to my command, keeping the fleet carrier to the rear. Please advise me of your intentions.”

  She tapped her console, ending the recording. “Send the signal to the screen, then dispatch a ship back to alert the fleet,” she ordered. “Helm, time to intercept?”

  “Seventeen minutes at current speed,” Reed said.

  “Then hold us on our current course,” Susan ordered. The remainder of the fleet started to flicker into existence, one by one. “Do we have an update from the flag?”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said. “Captain Harper has agreed to your plan and has attached the heavy-hitters to the squadron.”

  Susan smiled, rather coldly. Vanguard might be the largest ship in the fleet, but she was easily the most junior commanding officer. She had no doubt that protests were already being filed, even though an open command dispute in the middle of a combat zone was a court martial offence. Sorting out the mess was going to keep a number of Admiralty Courts gainfully employed for years.

  “Order them to take up position on our flanks,” she said. “And make it clear that they are not to open fire without my direct order.”

  She leaned back in her command chair, feeling the tension fading away as she braced herself for battle. No more sneaking around, no more trying to hide from overwhelming force; this time, there would the beautiful simplicity of a battle, of an engagement that would end with either victory or death. Vanguard would finally get a chance to show what she could do.

  “The enemy fleet doesn't seem to be watching its back,” Mason noted. “They’re keeping all their attention on the Tadpoles.”

  “We could send a message,” Parkinson suggested. “Let the Tadpoles know we’re coming.”

  Susan considered it, briefly. There was a chance, a very real chance, that the Tadpoles would accidentally fire on her ships. A cloaked starship was a potential threat, particularly one in the middle of a combat zone or sneaking up to a secure base. But, at the same time, sending a message ran the risk of alerting the enemy ships to her presence. They might not be a
ble to decipher the message - she doubted it was possible, unless their computers were vastly superior to humanity’s - but its mere existence would tell them she was there. And then they would either break contact or turn and face her.

  “No,” she said, finally. “We don’t dare send a message.”

  She sensed Parkinson’s concern as she studied the display, but he said nothing. The decision was hers, after all. And if it exploded in her face, she’d be the one who had to deal with the consequences. She glanced at the timer, silently calculating the best moment to open fire, then at the enemy fleet. Charlotte’s department was steadily analysing the alien ships; the fleet carriers were instantly recognisable, but the heavy cruisers were rather harder to understand. Some of them seemed to be missile-heavy, others seemed to be crammed with nothing more than plasma cannons.