Alarm of War v-1

by Kennedy Hudner

  “Where is Admiral Kaeser?” he raged at Captain Pattin. “I need him here to make an all-out assault on that bloody space station.” He looked up at the holo display — the space station Atlas was so close, so very close. He was being forced into a mistake. He could sense it, but he couldn’t avoid it, only try to cope with it. First he had to save his supply train, then find the damnable plodding Admiral Kaeser and get him into the battle. Then, but only then, could he regain the momentum.

  But it grated on him, by God. He turned sourly to Captain Pattin. “Very well. Send forty ships back at emergency speed. Secure the supply ships.” This would leave him with less than forty ships to pursue the Atlas. Not enough. “We will drop back from the Atlas and resume the attack when our task force has returned and when Admiral Kaeser joins us.” The plodding old fool. Hadn’t he warned Hudis that appointing Kaeser was a mistake!

  Captain Pattin turned and snapped out orders.

  Chief Gibson approached them, a worried look on his face. “Call coming in, Lieutenant Tuttle; it’s Captain Wicklow of the Gloucester. He’s in a bit of a fluster and demands to speak to Captain Grey.”

  Emily closed her eyes. Not now.

  But Alex Rudd held up a hand. “Communications, open it to me at my station. He stepped over to the Tactical Station, where the camera would not show Captain Grey slumped in her chair. “Yes, Captain Wicklow, may I help you?”

  Captain Wicklow’s face was beet red. “Where is Captain Grey? I need to speak to her at once.”

  Emily leaned over to Naama Denker. “Can you wake her up, give her a shot or something?” Denker glared at her, but readied a stim shot and administered it to the captain. Grey twitched and groaned.

  “The Captain is supervising some emergency repairs, sir,” Rudd told Captain Wicklow.

  “Get her. I need to speak to her now.”

  Rudd shook his head. “My apologies, Captain Wicklow, she gave orders that she was not to be interrupted unless it was an emergency. May I pass along a message?”

  Captain Grey’s eyes opened, but she looked about in confusion. Emily leaned close to her and quickly explained. “We are getting ready to attack a second group of supply ships, but Captain Wicklow has called demanding to speak to you. If he thinks you have been seriously injured, he may take command.”

  Captain Grey shook her head as if to clear it. It must have hurt her because she cried out and bit her lip, taking sharp, deep breaths. Her complexion, if possible, became even whiter. Denker hastened forward, but Captain Grey held up her hand. “I’m okay,” she said. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

  On the comm screen, Wicklow’s face grew redder. “I am giving you an order, Lieutenant. Get Captain Grey. Now.”

  Captain Grey nodded to Betty McCann, who activated the camera on Grey’s chair. “Captain Wicklow,” she greeted him. “I am surprised to see you on the Gloucester’s bridge since I expressly relieved you of command.” She was struggling not to slur her words and Captain Wicklow looked at her strangely.

  “I am calling to protest your order, Captain,” he said. “There were no grounds for relieving me of command. Now that we are going into battle again, I…request that you allow me to resume command.”

  “No,” Grey said flatly. “You have been relieved. Lieutenant Commander Greer is now in command. We can discuss this when we return to Atlas, but I have no time for it now.”

  “But-”

  “My order stands, Captain. You are to confine yourself to quarters.”

  Captain Wicklow stared at her with a look of undiluted hatred. “You have not heard the last of this, Captain. Gloucester out.” The screen went blank.

  With the call over, Captain Grey deflated like a toy balloon. She breathed deep ragged breaths while Denker fused over her.

  “Recon drones have found them!” called out Chief Gibson.

  Rudd mentally counted to five, then had Communications call back the Gloucester and asked for Lieutenant Commander Greer. When she appeared, Rudd changed the com setting so that only she would hear him.

  “Kamela,” Rudd greeted her. They had been in the same class at the Academy. “We may be going into action in a few minutes. We need to know that you are in control of your command.”

  Greer flushed, but nodded. “I’m in a difficult situation here, Alex.”

  “I understand,” Rudd replied. “But you are the captain of the Gloucester now, Kamela. Captain Grey expects you to act like it.”

  She blew air out her mouth. “I hear you, Alex.”

  Rudd nodded. “And Kamela, a word to the wise: Don’t let Wicklow bother Captain Grey again in the middle of an operation. New Zealand out.”

  Emily avidly watched the holo display. There were six supply ships accelerating toward Bogey One. Okay, but where were the armed escorts? She studied the display as the recon drones slowly spiraled out from them, using minimal power to try to stay undetected. Then a red triangle appeared, then a second, then several more, formed in a tight, arrow shaped wedge less than two hundred miles from the supply ships. They were flying parallel to the colliers in the same plane of advance. There they were, but what were they? Frigates? Cruisers?

  “Talk to me, Chief,” she said to Chief Gibson.

  “No active sensors from either the supply ships or the escorts, so it looks like they are trying to sneak away. They know we’re looking for them. The colliers are accelerating hard. They must be red-lining their inertia compensators.”

  “What are they?”

  “Merlin says three frigates and three destroyers. Can’t tell if they’re missile heavy or laser heavy.”

  Emily nodded. “Tactical!” she could see Rudd still at the Tactical Station, thank God. Chief Freidman stood beside him, looking uncertain and fretful. Have to replace him when this is over. It was a shame. Freidman was a twenty year veteran, he deserved better, but he was unraveling before her eyes. “Send the drones around the enemy ships to a point a thousand miles to the front of them. Profile the drones as frigates and destroyers, with a couple of cruisers thrown in. I want the drones to go to active sensors as soon as they are in position, then bring them straight in towards the supply ships. As soon as the escort ships react, have the wasps — ” every other drone carried a small missile instead of a sensor pack — “flush their missiles at the escort.”

  “Emily,” Captain Grey whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes, Captain?” Emily knelt down beside her.

  “Whatever happens, get those supply ships, do you understand?” Grey gasped. “If we take out the supply ships, the Ducks won’t be able to mount a strong attack, Atlas will escape.” She weakly clutched Emily’s arm. “Atlas must escape.” Then her body contorted in a spasm, her eyes rolled up and blood gushed from her mouth; she would have fallen over except for the harness.

  “Damn you!” Denker spat at Emily as she frantically inspected the captain. “She’s going to sickbay now whether you like it or not.”

  Emily nodded numbly as Captain Grey’s unconscious form was placed on a gurney and hastily wheeled to the lift. For a long time she just sat there, oblivious to the crew and the shifting holo displays, then Chief Gibson was next to her, handing her a cup of coffee. “Lieutenant? Lieutenant, we’ve got to get ready, got to position the drones for the attack.”

  Emily nodded, clutching the coffee mug for warmth. She was very cold.

  It took three hours to send the drones in a long curving path outside of sensor range of the Dominion ships. Control of the drones at that range was tricky at best, but Rudd compensated by placing relays in a ‘string-of-pearls’ arc behind the drones, and they conveyed his instructions forward to the drones and their reconnaissance reports back to him. It wasn’t perfect, and Emily could hear him cursing as he lost control over first one, then three of the precious drones. One of them actually started to cross in a long diagonal line behind the Dominion ships and they were forced to kill its propulsion for fear of it being seen by enemy sensors.

  Still, at that e
nd of the three hours, the thirty seven remaining drones were finally on an intercept course with the Dominion supply ships. “Set the drones to active sensors,” Emily ordered quietly. “Let’s see if we can goose them.” She signaled Betty to open up a channel to the rest of the Coldstream Guards. “In a moment,” she broadcast to the other ships, “the escort for the Dominion supply ships should see our drones coming in from their front. With luck, they’ll think they are Victorian frigates and destroyers and will move forward to protect the colliers. When they do, we will accelerate and take the colliers from behind before they can escape. The colliers are the primary target. Don’t let yourselves get distracted by the escort until the colliers are dead.”

  Chief Gibson interrupted. “Skipper! The Dominion escort has picked up the sensor sweep by the drones. They’re accelerating to put themselves between the drones and the supply ships.”

  “Status of the supply ships?” Emily asked.

  “Beginning to turn, skipper,” Gibson replied. Emily’s eyebrow arched up. That was twice in a row he had called her ‘skipper,’ a name usually reserved for the ship’s captain. “Yes, definitely turning and looks like they will reverse course to come right back at us.”

  All of the other Coldstream Guard ships seemed to be obeying her orders without further protest. Good, she thought. Focus on the fight, not on who is giving your orders.

  “Have the wasps fire their missiles at the escorts,” she ordered. “I want the escorts focused on their front.” She turned back to the Coldstream Guards channel. “All ships, accelerate to military speed and prepare to fire on the supply ships.” To Rudd at the Tactical Desk: “When will they be in missile range?”

  “Six minutes,” he answered, not looking up.

  “All ships, the supply ships should be in missile range within six minutes. In six minutes activate targeting sensors,” she said. “New Zealand out.”

  “Targeting sensors!” Gibson suddenly shouted. “We’re being hit with S-band targeting sensors!”

  Emily was confused. Had the Dominion escorts turned and come back?

  “Multiple ships approaching from the northwest. Merlin estimates thirty five to forty war ships. Classified as Dominion. ETA outer missile range in four minutes.”

  So, the Dominion had sent reinforcements to protect the supply ships. A few more minutes would have been nice, Emily thought.

  On the holo display, the four colliers continued their hard turns, trying to head back to the protection of their escort ships and shield themselves using the escorts’ anti-missile screen. Emily leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. What to do? If she took the time to kill the supply ships, the newly arrived Dominion ships would be on her. But if they didn’t kill the supply ships, none of what they had done would matter and Atlas and the rest of the Home Fleet would perish.

  She smiled grimly. Now we’re having fun.

  “All ships, surrender tactical command to Merlin and prepare for hard maneuvering!” The holo display had finally displayed up the new threat, a distressingly large cluster of red triangles in the upper left corner, closing on them fast.

  On board the Gloucester, Captain Wicklow saw his chance. There was no way the Coldstream Guard could survive an attack by forty Dominion ships. Either Captain Grey was leading them into disaster or — his brow wrinkled in suspicion — or something had happened to Grey. Either way, this was his chance.

  Emily was startled to hear a voice over the command net. “Stop!” It was Captain Wicklow on the Gloucester. “All ships, this is Captain Wicklow. I am ordering you to fall back. We are outnumbered and cannot risk any further engagement. Follow me and we’ll make our way back to the Atlas. All ships, acknowledge this order!”

  There was a long moment of confused silence, then a confusion of voices as the other captains tried to make sense out of what was going on. She looked at the holo display again.

  The new Dominion reinforcements were sweeping in from the northwest, not yet in missile range. The supply ships were turning frantically to the right and the original Dominion escort was now accelerating briskly toward the drones.

  In just a few minutes, the supply ships would be totally exposed. Not for long, but long enough. And if they could kill the supply ships, Atlas might stand a chance, and with Atlas, all of Victoria.

  “Joe, what the hell are you doing?” It was Captain Rowe of the Bristol.

  “I am next in line of command behind Captain Grey,” Wicklow answered calmly. “It is clear that Captain Grey is no longer in command of her ship. She would never have ordered this attack.”

  “Gods of our Mothers! Joe, this is no time for-”

  “This is precisely the time, Captain Rowe, and I will remind you that I am the senior officer now that Captain Grey is no longer able to command.”

  “What do you mean? Captain Grey is-”

  “If Captain Grey is still in command, I want her to get on the conference net and confirm her suicidal order. Captain Grey? Captain Grey, if you are able, please confirm your orders at once!”

  With a desperate glance at Alex Rudd, Emily thumbed the com button. “This is Lieutenant Tuttle of the New Zealand, Captain Grey is unable to come to the bridge at this time, but I have orders to execute this attack.”

  Wicklow smiled to himself, now it would be easy. “I don’t know what you’ve done to Captain Grey, Lieutenant, but in her absence I hereby take command of the Coldstream Guards. To all ships: Fall back now and follow me to Atlas. Confirm your orders or face disciplinary charges!”

  Later, Emily was surprised that she hadn’t needed more time to make the decision, but as she listened to Wicklow and mentally compared him to Captain Grey, broken, bleeding and resolute in her duty, there really was no choice.

  “Sir, I respectfully must decline your order to retreat as I am already under orders from Captain Grey, who is both superior to you and is my commanding officer.” Even as she said it, Emily felt like she was outside her body, watching herself say someone else’s lines. She was dimly aware that Rudd was staring at her, open-mouthed. From the com screen, twelve faces suddenly stared at her.

  “This is insubordination!” Wicklow gritted. Who was this foolish woman?

  “Not at all, Sir,” Emily said calmly. “I am obeying my orders. Admiral Douthat ordered us to destroy the enemy supply ships, and Captain Grey ordered me to attack them.”

  “Don’t play lawyer with me, Tuttle,” he snapped. He leaned into the camera and pounded his fist against the console. “That was before the Dominion reinforcements arrived. We have to fall back and I will not have my orders questioned by a junior officer.”

  “Be that as it may, Captain Wicklow, I will obey my standing orders. The supply ships are our absolute priority, even if it means endangering this attack force. Admiral Douthat was clear on that. In just a few minutes, we will have a window in which to fire on the supply ships. With luck, we will be able to escape from the reinforcements before they get too close.”

  Wicklow smiled slightly, and Emily knew then that she had somehow fallen into his trap. “Lieutenant Tuttle, I charge you with insubordination, desertion and cowardness. You are under arrest.”

  Emily stared at him incredulously, but her shock gave way to anger. She snapped her fingers at Chief Gibson and pointed at her eyes. Gibson looked startled and glanced at Alex Rudd for confirmation.

  Rudd nodded, looking unhappy. “Do it, Chief.” A moment later the New Zealand’s targeting sensors lashed out and enveloped the Gloucester. Lt. Commander Rudd barked: “Weapons Officer, prepare to fire missiles and lasers on my command!”

  Captain Wicklow looked down at his instruments, then up to Emily, his expression furious. “Are you mad? You dare to put targeting sensors on the Gloucester, one of Her Majesty’s ships?”

  There was no turning back, Emily knew. “If you try to interfere with my lawful orders, I will take any steps necessary to stop you. I ask you to stand down, sir. Will you comply?” On screen, she raised her hand to
give the signal to fire.

  Wicklow glowered at her. “Very well, Tuttle, enjoy your little game, but at the end of the day, I will see you hang for this.” Then, addressing the other captains, Wicklow said: “As senior officer of the Coldstream Guards, I am ordering all of you to join me as I return to the space station Atlas, so that we may rejoin the Home Fleet. Anyone who refuses will face charges. Gloucester out.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Then,

  “Gloucester, this is Bristol. Unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”

  “Gloucester, this is Australia. We are also unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”

  “Gloucester, this is Perth. Unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”

  And on they went, all except the destroyer Canberra, until the last ship, the tiny frigate Everest, issued its reply as well. “Gloucester, this is Her Majesty’s Ship Everest, Captain Johanna Fuller speaking. I’m sticking with the New Zealand. We’ve come too far to shirk our duty now.”

  Captain Wicklow’s face grew dark as he stared at each of them in turn. “You shame the uniform you wear,” he said at last. “And I will see to it that none of you wear it much longer.”

  A minute later, the Gloucester curved away from the small clutch of Coldstream Guards, dutifully followed by the destroyer Canberra. In a few moments they were gone. The remaining eight ships stayed in formation around the New Zealand.

  Emily slumped back against her chair, then blew out a breath. “Just one big, happy family,” she said.

  “This is not exactly how I pictured the end of my career,” Alex Rudd said mournfully.

  “Private call from the Bristol,” Betty McCann announced. “It’s Captain Rowe for you, Lieutenant Tuttle.” Emily shot a glance at Rudd, who shrugged.

  Captain Rowe’s face appeared on the screen. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “You’re playing a very dangerous game here, young lady.”