“Let’s do it,” Cookie said.
The lasers and missiles from the New Zealand, Yorkshire and Kent smashed into the first Dominion cruiser. For a long moment nothing happened, then it seemed to physically swell, its hull plates bubbling like the skin of a frying sausage. Then rents tore through its hull in a dozen places, venting air and flame into space. The ship leaned slowly to one side, as if it were slowly losing its balance, and began a slow head-over-tail tumble.
Moments later, the second Dominion cruiser emerged, lasers and missiles firing as it came.
Emily’s battered little task force sat naked and helpless. It would take a few minutes to reload their missile tubes — the ones that still worked — and their lasers had empty capacitors. “Chaff and decoys!” she ordered, then hit the comm button to connect her to Skiffington and Stein.
“Get back into the minefield!” she said crisply, tucking her trembling hand back under her thigh and sitting on it. She paused, closing her eyes. Run or fight? If I run, the Ducks will be all over Atlas in minutes. But fight with what? Nothing left but three battered hulls. She wanted to weep, but forced herself to speak calmly.
“The big Dominion battleship is going to come through any minute. I want you to evacuate all nonessential personnel. If a weapon is not functional, send that crew off as well. Put them in shuttles and send them to Atlas.”
Grant Skiffington and Lissa Stein exchanged a look. She knew what they were thinking: first she fired her Omega drones, now she was evacuating crew.
“Emily, listen-” Grant Skiffington began.
“When the big battleship starts to come through, we are going to ram it,” Emily said matter-of-factly, both of her shaking hands now tucked under her armpits. “All three of us. I’m pretty sure that the battleship is the one carrying the anti-matter missiles. If we can take that out, Atlas should be able to hold its own until Admiral Douthat arrives. Save as many of your crew as you can, but be ready in ten minutes. New Zealand out.” She punched the comm button.
Her bridge crew stared at her, open mouthed.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But I need all of you to command the ship. Alex, designate the nonessential crew. If in doubt, send them to the shuttle bay. We can control most of the weapons from here.” The weapons didn’t really matter, she knew. They weren’t going to kill that big bastard ship with less than a dozen missiles; they were going to kill it by ramming it with three Victorian cruisers accelerating to full military speed.
The crew continued to stare at her, and her eyes fell on Tobias Partridge. He is so young, she thought. And what’s more, Partridge was assisting Chief Friedman, not in charge of the sensors himself. Alex Rudd was watching her from behind Partridge. He sensed what she was thinking and nodded, pointing at the young man.
Chief Gibson nodded as well. “He’s just a lad,” he said softly.
“Mr. Partridge,” she said, “Go to the shuttle bay and evacuate to Atlas. Quickly, if you please.” Partridge looked stricken, glancing at the two Chiefs and back to Emily. She said nothing. He stood abruptly, jaw clenched, then left without a word. As he left, Emily felt herself loosen a little. At least I could save him.
On the Atlas, Queen Anne and Sir Henry sat in a small room, watching a duplicate battle hologram that showed the second Dominion cruiser emerging from the minefield.
“Why don’t they fire?” the Queen asked in frustration, referring to the three Victorian ships led by Emily Tuttle.
“I rather suspect that they are out of missiles,” Sir Henry said harshly. They had been arguing on and off for hours, with Sir Henry urging her to take a fast ship and leave for Refuge, and the Queen stubbornly refusing.
On the holo display, several small dots of light suddenly appeared, leaving the three Victorian cruisers and heading slowly towards Atlas. The Queen frowned, leaning forward to see more clearly.
“Are those courier drones?” she asked.
“No, Your Majesty,” said Hiram Brill from the doorway. “They’re shuttles. Captain Tuttle has ordered all nonessential crew to try to make it to the Atlas.”
Queen Anne looked at him in confusion. Sir Henry blanched, then cursed under his breath. Hiram nodded grimly. Anne glanced at Sir Henry, then back to Hiram. “What?” she asked, half perturbed, half alarmed.
“Emily has sent off the nonessential crew because she is preparing to ram the Dominion battleship, Majesty.”
“Oh,” said Anne Radcliff Mendoza Churchill, queen of all Victoria, in a very small voice.
Cookie peeked around the corner. There it was, the entrance to the Combat Control Center. With ten guards milling about in front of it. The actual entrance was probably thirty yards down the corridor. There were no side doors, no joining corridors. Once they rounded the corner and attacked, they would be exposed for the full thirty yards.
Nothing for it. Do, or die trying. She smiled, despite herself. We’re havin’ fun now.
Behind them, the sounds of fighting grew louder. The Duck armored troops were getting closer. Runners had told her that three of the five armored troops had been killed, but the butcher’s bill among the Victorian Marines had been gruesomely high.
“Wisnioswski!” she whispered. In a moment, the big Marine was crouched beside her, pistol in one hand, spear in the other.
Cookie looked him full in the face. “Havin’ a good time, Wisnioswski?”
He smiled broadly and held up his spear. The shaft was red with blood almost its entire length. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Sarge!”
Cookie leaned closer to him. “We’ve picked up about ten grenades from the dead Duck soldiers. Gather them up from our guys and bring them to me. Be quick about it!”
Wisnioswski grinned and nodded, then slid away, still brandishing his spear. It’s like having my own Polish Viking, she thought, bemused. And thank God for him.
On the H.M.S. Lionheart, Admiral Douthat sat and fumed. “Can’t you go any faster?” she asked harshly. They were still an hour away from Atlas and even further from the minefield where the fighting was taking place.
Captain Eder shook his head. “We are now at three gravities above full military acceleration. We have exceeded all of the safety limits. If we accelerate any harder the probability of failure goes to one hundred percent.”
Douthat muttered a curse.
A bridge officer handed Captain Eder a tablet. He glanced at it, then turned to Douthat. “The Ducks have broken through the minefield. Several cruisers and a very large battleship. The last three ships of the Coldstream Guard are preparing to attack.”
The last three? Douthat winced. “And the Queen?” she asked.
“She refuses to leave the Atlas,” Eder replied.
“God dammit!” Douthat snarled. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
Emily commed the Kent and Yorkshire. “Merlin estimates the Duck battleship will come through in about ten minutes, maybe fifteen. From the time we see it to the time we hit it, we’ll have about one minute to pile on as much speed as we can. Full military acceleration all the way.”
Stein looked at her sourly. “Who goes first?” she asked.
Emily smiled thinly. “This is the Navy, remember? We all go together.”
Grant Skiffington shook his head. “Emily, there has to be another way, something better than-”
“What?” Emily demanded. “Tell me another way to stop that damn battleship from getting through! Give me a bloody alternative and I’ll take it!”
Grant stared at her. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. Emily turned to Stein. “Do you have a better option?”
Stein glowered, but said nothing.
Emily nodded. “Be ready in ten minutes. Switch your AI to ‘Max.’ And when I give the order, don’t do anything fancy. Straight in and ram the bastard. New Zealand out.”
Cookie wiped the sweat from her hands and primed the first grenade, then the second. She stepped out from the corner and threw them. Beside her
Wisnioswski threw four more that he had taped together. They had four left, but she was saving them in case the armored Dominion soldiers caught up to them.
They jumped back.
BaaWHAM!!! The explosion jolted Cookie to her knees. Metal fragments pinged and ricocheted off the bulkhead. Screams and shrieks sounded from the corridor. “Get ‘em!” Cookie screamed and all thirty four of her soldiers dashed down the corridor, screaming and shooting as they ran.
But at least four of the Ducks were alive. Stunned and wounded, but still fighting. They sprayed the corridor with flechettes that cut a swath through the attackers. Two of the Royal Marines simply blew apart, chucks of flesh splattering wetly into the faces of the Marines behind them. Eight more screamed and fell, punctured by dozens of steel darts. Cookie’s troops opened fire in a raging fusillade, but their fire sputtered and died as one by one their air rifles ran out of ammunition or air.
There was nowhere to hide.
More Marines fell. Cookie brought up her captured pistol, fired five quick shots into one of the Ducks, stitching him across the chest and neck, but then her weapon clicked empty and she threw it at the last gunman in sheer frustration. The last Dominion killed two more of her Marines before his eyes bulged in horrified disbelief as a six foot spear shaft suddenly grew out of his chest. He fell to his knees, struggling once more to bring up his assault rifle.
Wisnioswski shot him in the head, then kicked the corpse and spat. He grabbed his spear with one hand and yanked it out, then kicked the corpse a second time.
Cookie snatched up one of the assault rifles, checked the load and did a fast scan of the corridor. Bodies lay everywhere. Pieces of flesh stuck to the walls and ceiling. A severed arm lay alone, its fingers still twitching. Blood puddled beneath bodies and ran in streams down the corridor. Of the thirty four men and women who charged the entrance, at least fifteen were dead. And just out of sight, she could hear increased firing as the Duck armored troops steadily worked closer.
“Grab as much ammo as you can,” she told her soldiers. “Follow me.” Then they simply walked into the Command Control Center of the largest battleship in the Dominion Space Fleet.
On her battle display, Emily could see all four of the Duck cruisers slowly circling the area near the breach in the minefield.
“Active sensors, Captain,” Chief Friedman reported. “They know we’re here and they’re trying to find us.” But finding them would be hard. The New Zealand, Kent and Yorkshire were all powered down, hiding behind the innermost layer of the minefield. There was so much clutter that Emily was confident they were invisible… until they started up their drives. Then they would look like candles in a dark room.
“Merlin! Time to arrival of the Dominion battleship?” she asked.
“Approximately seven minutes,” the computer replied.
Emily nodded. “Merlin, please switch to Max.”
There was a pause, then: “Who shall I attack?” Max growled.
“Chief Gibson, send a fast courier drone to Atlas telling them what we’re doing. Also, leave a reconnaissance drone behind so that it can report how things come out.” One corner of Emily’s mind marveled at the practical simplicity of that order. They’d all be dead, of course, but at least the recon drone could report.
Chief Gibson took a deep breath. “Yes, Captain.”
Emily fretted, unconsciously stroking the bump on her nose. Was there anything she was forgetting? She sighed inwardly. It wouldn’t matter soon.
On the Vengeance, Admiral Mello watched the battle display coming in from the cruisers. The enemy ships were out there, but they couldn’t find them. No matter, there were only three of them and they had to be low on missiles, had to be beat up from the previous fighting. He would push through them and head for Atlas, no more than sixty minutes away.
And the great Victorian empire would die by his hand.
He looked up in consternation at the noise just outside the CCC, then the grenade concussion slapped him off his chair onto the floor. Smoke and debris filled the air for a long moment, but he was conscious of screaming and shouts, followed by the sewing machine sibilance of flechette guns on full automatic. With an effort, he struggled to his feet. Captain Pattin was sitting on the floor, feebly pressing her hand to a gash across her forehead and scalp, red blood spilling through her fingers to stain her tunic. Then he heard a voice in a language he recognized as English, but he didn’t know what it meant.
“I want one alive to show us the controls! Keep one alive!”
Admiral Mello frowned in anger. Where were the Dominion Security Directorate guards? They should have been here!
On board the Dominion Ship Fortitude, Admiral Kaeser had been trying to hail the Vengeance, but no one replied. He turned to the Sensors Officer.
“On my authority, override the Vengeance’s control room camera and set it to ‘Admiral’s Discretionary Monitor.’” The Sensors Officer nodded and rapidly typed in commands. The main communications screen went blank, flickered, then the CCC of the Vengeance was on the screen. Smoke filled the room and figures darted through the picture. A harsh voice rang out and Admiral Kaeser, a student of English since grammar school, felt a chill run through his spine.
“I want one alive to show us the controls! Keep one alive!”
Then the firing began, and the crew on the Fortitude watched in raw disbelief as the bridge crew of the Vengeance was massacred before their eyes.
“Full military speed!” Admiral Kaeser ordered. “Tell the DSD to gear up and report to the shuttle bay. The Vengeance has been seized by enemy troops and we are going to take it back!”
And then he watched in revulsion as a giant, blood-splattered Vicky Royal Marine walked up to Admiral Mello, the Grand Admiral of the Dominion Fleet, and thrust a spear all the way through his chest.
Cookie stepped into the Command Control Center, her fellow Marines crowding beside her. A dozen astonished faces looked back her. She held up a hand.
“I want one alive to show us the controls!” she ordered. “Keep one alive!” Then she lowered the assault rifle, picked her target — a woman with captain’s braids on her shoulders — and opened fire.
When the firing stopped a few seconds later, only two Dominions were still alive: one was a trembling young man standing next to the sensors console, and the other was a hard-looking older man who had been shielded by a large console. He stood up, glaring, and Cookie saw for the first time that he was a very senior officer, probably the admiral. Good. She raised her rifle to shoot, but stopped at movement from the corner of her eye.
Private Otto Wisnioswski swiftly stepped forward, snarled something under his breath and violently thrust his spear into the chest of the Dominion officer. The Admiral screamed, head thrown back, and Wisnioswski thrust harder, the point of the spear emerging bloodily from the man’s back. Then Wisnioswski kicked the body off the shaft of his spear and turned to Cookie.
“Now what?” he rumbled.
Cookie took a deep, exuberant breath. Gods of Our Mothers! She could hardly believe it; they had taken the bridge of an enemy battleship!
Now they had to stop the ship.
“Meyer! Albert Meyer!” she called out.
“Right here, Sergeant,” Meyer said from just behind her.
“Good.” She pointed to the young Dominion soldier standing near a console. “Who is this guy?”
Meyer asked him, speaking with surprising gentleness. The young man hesitated, then blurted out two sentences. “His name is Karl Kappel. He is the junior officer in the sensors section.” Kappel muttered something, pointing to one of the bodies lying on the deck. “The First Sensors Officer is dead,” Meyer said blandly.
“Ask him where the dark matter brake control is. Tell him that if he doesn’t tell us, I am going to give him to Wisnioswski.” Beside her, Wisnioswski grinned and hefted his spear. Blood dripped from the point. The young Dominion swallowed hard and went pale.
Meyer asked him. Kappel pointe
d to one of the other consoles.
“Show us,” Cookie ordered.
Evidently no translation was needed, for Kappel walked over to a console near the Admiral’s chair and pointed to a large red button. He talked briefly, then cast his eyes down and fell silent.
“That button will activate an emergency stop,” Meyer explained. He listened as Kappel said something else. “He says there is a control for slowing the ship more slowly, but he doesn’t know where it is. Apparently you hit the button and it brings the ship to an emergency stop.”
Cookie nodded. “Everybody hang onto something!” she shouted. “Full DMB stop in ten seconds!”
Men and women scurried to find something to hold. A few just sank to the deck and curled up, protecting their heads. Karl Kappel looked at them in alarm, then dropped to the deck and held onto a console.
One of the Marines guarding the entrance to the bridge called: “Hey, Sarge! Better hurry it up, the armored Ducks are almost here!”
Cookie punched the button.
On the command deck of the H.M.S. New Zealand, Emily Tuttle closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Soon now, soon it would be over. There would be no more time for doubt, for fretting, for self-recrimination. She would be shed of the responsibility that hunched her shoulders and plagued her dreams.
She felt…not happy, but relieved. Free.
What was that old phrase? “Iacta alea est.” The die is cast. She chuckled ruefully; those old Romans certainly understood war…and the people who fight them. Well, she had one more order to give, then it would be done.
“Estimate one minute to emergence of Dominion battleship,” Max rasped.
The bridge crew waited, casting strained, exhausted glances at the battle display. The four enemy cruisers were clearly visible, but there was no sign of the battleship. Chief Gibson solemnly leaned over and shook Chief Friedman’s hand. Betty McCann murmured a prayer under her breath. Alex Rudd wiped shaking hands across his sweating face. “Let this be over,” he muttered. “Let this be over.”
Alarm of War v-1 Page 41