Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   “Damn it, Deadeye, I said shoot to wound,” he said.

   She looked up, stricken, and replied, “According to the data I got, that was their medical bay and life support systems. All they had to do was get into their suits and they’d have had a chance.”

   “Evidently these people don’t want to be taken alive,” Cunningham said. “Danny, it doesn’t matter where we hit them. Any disabling shot…”

   “Might as well hit them in the reactor. Keep firing, Deadeye,” he said, sick to his stomach. “Let’s get this damn bloodbath over with. Bryant, I want to know the instant those ships start to break away. As soon as they cease being a threat, I’m going to stop firing. Ivanov, relay that to those ships.”

   “They still haven’t answered, sir, though I know they are receiving.”

   “How?”

   “Bandwidth between the vessels is going through the roof whenever I send a signal. I guess they must be passing it around.”

   Alamo rocked as six missiles raced forwards into the fray, each of them fanning out towards an individual target up ahead. At last, the enemy formation broke, splintering into fragments as they attempted to reach safety. Marshall looked at the tactical plot, but all of them were still heading towards the Haven formation, each still attempting a firing run. He frowned, looking at the mutual destination of four of them.

   “Confirm that, Bryant.”

   “Targets Two, Three, Five and Nine are heading for the captured spacecraft, sir.”

   “Is that so surprising?” Cunningham asked. “We already know what they don’t like being captured, and if they know that there is an alien on board, they’d want to, well, kill her.”

   “I’d buy that if they hadn’t held her prisoner for more than a year. Why now? Why wait until they are facing overwhelming odds to launch this attack?”

   “Energy spikes, sir,” Bryant said. “We’ve got seventeen missiles in the air, all of them heading for Haven vessels. They aren’t even trying to target us.”

   “Can we help?” Marshall asked, looking at Caine.

   “I don’t see how, sir,” she replied, “unless you want me to pull back my missiles.” There was an expression of hope on her face. “I could take out some of them with this salvo and the next.”

   Marshall shared her relief, and said, “Better do that, then, Lieutenant. We’ve got to help protect our allies as best we can.”

   “We’ve have launches from our side now, sir. Another ten missiles in the air, all of them on the targets heading for the captured spacecraft,” Bryant reported.

   “That’s odd,” Cunningham said. “Why are they so desperate to hold onto it? Those missiles would be a lot better used in point-defense, knock out the enemy salvo. Ultimately, they’ve got numbers on their side.”

   “Our second salvo is away now,” Caine said, her report punctuated by the rocking of the ship in response. “Loading third salvo. Laser is charged if you want me to take another shot.”

   With difficulty, Marshall nodded, and said, “Go for Target Three. That’s the one our allies are going to have the hardest time stopping.”

   “I can take down a missile…”

   “We have a real reason to hold onto that ship, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied, “and they are the ones launching the attack.”

   “I know,” she sighed. Turning to the helm, she said, “Firing solution on three, in four seconds, McGuire.”

   “Three in four. Yes, ma’am,” she replied, sending the ship swinging once again towards the enemy. Caine depressed the control again, and a second laser pulse raced forth, knocking a second ship out of the fight; this time the damage from the laser impact seemed to have been sufficient to destroy the vessel.

   Glancing across at Cunningham, Marshall said, “Take us in closer to the captured spacecraft. Deadeye, when your third salvo is ready, I want two each on the ships that are targeting it. Let’s be sure.”

   He looked across at the holo-display, a tangle of missile and small ship tracks punctuated with brief flashes as Alamo’s salvo successfully sought mutually assured destruction with the incoming warheads. As he watched, the enemy ships began to twist away, the course projections sliding around, curving back as they tried to accelerate.

   “They’re running, sir!” Bryant said. “They’ve had enough!”

   “Hold the third salvo,” Marshall replied. “Dedicate all remaining missiles to point-defense. No others to target the enemy ships.”

   Zebrova moved forward, then said, “Taking those ships out would give Haven a significant advantage, Captain. They appear to be cutting-edge designs, more advanced than the usual vessels, and…”

   “And we have them at our mercy, Lieutenant? Let’s exercise it, shall we. We won this battle, and I don’t want to jeopardize the war by making our victory too complete. As soon as they are out of firing range, resume stand-by alert, and you can go and see to the education of the people who delayed our response time.”

   “Yes, Captain.”

   “I still want to know why the hell they would choose to attack now, rather than earlier. Or later, for that matter,” Marshall said, looking across at Caine. “They must have known that the shuttle would get here before they had a chance of bringing it down. That can’t have been the reason.”

   “I’ve got it,” Logan said, a datapad in his hand and a frown on his face. “It’s worse than I’d feared, though. According to the sensor logs, one minute – one local minute – before those ships went on the move, a signal was sent out from the planet below. I can’t translate it yet, but…”

   “But someone called those ships in for some reason.”

   “A traitor?” Reid suggested. “Pretty damn distasteful to think along those lines, but we had a few of them during the War. It seems reasonable that…”

   “It does, Sub-Lieutenant. It seems pretty damn reasonable. So much so that when we go down to the surface I’m certain that we’re going to get fed that explanation,” Marshall replied. “All of this is too convenient.”

   Forcing a smile, Logan said, “I’m glad to see that you are maintaining a healthy level of paranoia, Captain. I have a horrible feeling that this time they really are all out to get us.”

   “A setup?” Zebrova said. “They wanted us…”

   “They wanted us to join into the battle, decisively win and guarantee that we would choose their side in this little war of theirs, giving us no chance to choose the other side. And, damn it, they were pretty bloody successful.”

   “We could always leave the system, sir,” Zebrova said. “Leave and don’t come back.”

   Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “This place is far too useful as a fleet anchorage for us to let it slide, Lieutenant. Besides, if Haven wins its war, it’ll be a significant power in ten years. We’d need to tie them into the Confederation, or risk them choosing someone else to ally with.”

   Standing up, Marshall said, “Ivanov, I want you to contact the surface and inform them that I am moving the time of their meeting up to right now, or at least as soon as we can get a shuttle down on the deck. I’m going down to see if I can find out what the hell is going on down there. Logan, John, you’re with me. Have Maggie stand by in the shuttle, she can fly us down.”

   “Anyone else?” Caine said. “After all, you are committing the three highest-ranking Triplanetary personnel in the system to this.”

   “Damn right. I want that shuttle to be stuffed with as many Espatiers as we can fit on board, led by Cooper, full armor and weapons load out. We’ve given the aliens a show of force, so let’s give one to the humans as well.”

   “I could get used to this approach to diplomacy, Danny,” Cunningham said, moving over to the elevator. As they stepped from the bridge, Zebrova cautiously moved into the command chair, calling out orders as she went.

   “Diplomacy, John?” Marshall said. “I’m not in a very diplomatic mood.
We’ve got far too many questions, and it’s about time that we got some answers. They can choose whether it is the easy way or the hard way.”

   “For whom?” Logan asked as the doors closed.

  Chapter 12

   Cooper looked around at the men in the shuttle, still slightly astounded that he was commanding them. Forrest was sitting opposite him, flashing a cheeky grin, and the rest of the squad chattered quietly among themselves, checking their equipment and their straps as the shuttle slewed into the atmosphere, Orlova at the helm. The Captain was sitting next to her in the cockpit, but Captain Cunningham and Captain Winter were sitting together at the rear of the shuttle, respirators loose at their belt, pistols in their holster.

   “Listen up,” he said, trying to put a bark in his voice. “This is a diplomatic escort mission. We’ve got guns and armor for effect, for show, not to use unless someone shoots at you first. If we end up fighting today then we have failed.”

   “What are we here for then, sir?” Private Lomax said, grinning.

   “Like he said,” Forrest replied, “We’re here to look good and scare the crap out of the people down there. If they think we mean business, they’ll be a lot less likely to cause any trouble.”

   “No-one fires their weapon unless they get a direct order. Is that clearly understood?”

   “What if there is a surprise attack, sir?” Lomax asked.

   “Then you’d better hope I’m not the first one they hit, Private. Sergeant, go through the respirator and weapons checks again.”

   “Yes, sir,” Forrest said. Cooper was having trouble getting used to giving any orders to the gruff old sergeant, but he seemed happy enough with the arrangement; Forrest had been one of the ones who recommended his commission in the first place. He glanced across at the new insignia decorating his battered uniform; everyone else was wearing brand-new kit, but his had been with him since Hades Station.

   Technically, he should have fabricated himself a new battledress, and he certainly had plenty of opportunity to get a new weapon, but he was beginning to get a little sentimental about it. When he first boarded Alamo back at Mariner Station, he’d been anxious for action, hoping that they wouldn’t miss out on anything on what had looked like just another boring patrol.

   Just a boring patrol. He shook his head, longing for the ability to reach back in time and slap his younger self across the face a couple of times, try to educate him. If he could do it all over again, there were so many things that he would have done differently, so many changes he would make. Most of which would have meant that someone else – Zabek, Forrest, anyone – would be sitting here right now.

   He caught Cunningham looking at him, sizing him up, and then nodding. Cooper looked back around at his men, running through their equipment checks under the watchful eye of the Sergeant, and belatedly started running through his own series of tests. Respirator green, and set for the local planetary environment, and weapons loaded and ready, sights activated and in position, communicator locked onto the right tactical frequencies.

   At least they weren’t having to use spacesuits this time, though that meant once again going into battle without the armor he had trained with, all but the makeshift combat plate that the technicians had come up with before Alamo left. Hopefully, by now someone would have come up with some better designs than these bulky 21st Century pieces, leftovers from the last big war. He clasped his fist against the chest piece, checking the locks were in position, and grunted.

   “You’re missing the view, Ensign,” Lance-Corporal Fontana, the last remaining junior NCO, said. “We’re biting the clouds.”

   “Thanks, Corporal,” he said, turning to look out of the viewscreen. The shuttle was racing down into a swirling purple fog, cutting its way through a thick cloud layer to dive towards the landing site. As he watched, it swept down underneath the cloud bank, leveling off to provide an astonishing view of the landscape below.

   The trees were a series of blacks, a thick jungle with thin green lines scattering through the landscape, rivers that connected up open clearings. He could just make out a few gray dots, cities spread across the surface, and then the shuttle raced out over a green sea, lapping white floating at the tops.

   “Weird,” Fontana said. “Never seen anything like it.”

   “Algae,” Cunningham said. “The water here is thick with it. Odd stuff, but it’s apparently drinkable with a bit of processing. As for the trees, well, the place is thick with infra-red from the star. Try using your night filters.”

   Cooper slid his goggles down from his helmet, and the riot of color that leapt out at him gave him a near-instant headache. Swirls of rainbow patterns dotted across the trees, the filters doing their best to interpret the stream of dazzling data that came in. Hardly able to bear it any more, he pushed his goggles off.

   “No-one use their night vision,” he said. “Damn goggles will be useless until we get them adjusted. I couldn’t make out a thing in that mess.”

   “Let’s hope no-one attacks until dawn,” Lomax said, sotto voce. “What time are we landing, sir?”

   “Midnight local time,” he replied with a grin. “Fit your torches.”

   The squad reached into their pockets, clipping their helmet lamps into position, one innovation that they had managed to develop. A succession of bright flashes confirmed that they were all working, and the squad looked at him as the shuttle soared over the coast.

   “I’m the first one out. Rest of you follow me and form an honor guard outside the shuttle. Remember – no-one does anything without my say so. Is that clear?” A chorus of reluctant assent echoed around the cabin. “Eyes out for cover and anything suspicious. You see something you don’t like, you tell me at once. We’re paying you to keep the senior officers alive, not to be diplomatic.”

   Peering out of the window again, Cooper could see the shuttle slowing down, a long run of lights up ahead in the middle of the jungle next to a massive trio of step-pyramids, hardened, blackened stone edifices reaching up. Dozens of clearings were scattered around, and a road trailed off to the sea in the distance.

   “Here we go,” he said. “Get ready.”

   He could hear a whistling from the windows, the roar of the engine slowly fading as Orlova cut the thrust. The wings dipped from side to side as she dealt with the cross-winds, then lining up with the runway for the final approach. Up ahead, he could see a group of vehicles gathered around, low, six-wheeled trucks, and a few figures standing close to them.

   “Welcoming party up ahead,” he said to Forrest, who nodded in response.

   There was a loud squeal as the wheels touched the ground, bouncing twice before settling on the tarmac and skidding to a halt, Orlova turning it to face the forest to prepare for a quick departure if necessary. The engines died to nothing, fading away, and a series of lights began to flash on over the airlock.

   “Stand by, everyone,” Orlova’s voice echoed over the ceiling speakers. “I’m clearing the airlock now.”

   The door opened, and Marshall walked out of the cockpit, heading for the airlock; with a smile on his face, Cooper beat him to the door, clipping his airlock into position, gesturing Fontana to stand next to him. For a second, he thought the Captain was going to order him back, but the systems switched over before he had a chance, and Cooper stepped in, sealing the door behind him.

   He quickly ran his eye over Fontana’s respirator while she checked his, making sure that all the systems were working, nothing out of place. With a nod to affirm all was well, he tapped another button and the outer hatch opened, a ladder dropping down to the ground. He took it in a single jump, Fontana right behind him, and stood at parade rest on either side of the airlock while a man walked up to him, wearing the armband of a translator.

   “Welcome to Haven, Captain…”

   Raising a hand, Cooper said, “I’m Ensign Cooper, guard detachment.” Up above, the airlock open
ed once again. “Captain Marshall is coming down now.”

   Marshall slid down, shot a look at Cooper, then stepped away from the airlock to allow the rest of the men to get out. Cooper glanced around at the rest of the assembled men; he could make out a few clumsily concealed weapons on two of them, and assumed that the rest were simply better at hiding their sidearms. No serious weaponry, though, nothing that they couldn’t handle.

   Forrest jumped down, another trooper behind him, and lined up next to Cooper, fixing his eyes on the trucks. Marshall took a step forward, and took the proffered hand of the translator.

   “I am Lieutenant-Captain Marshall,” he said. “This is one of our Espatier squads, here to provide escort.”

   “I see,” the translator replied. “My name is Corxin, and I am protocol officer of this facility. I’m here to escort you to meet our leaders; I understood that it was to be you and two other officers.”

   “And eight of my guard. Triplanetary regulations, I’m afraid.”

   Corxin looked at Cooper, and replied, “I’m not sure about that. Maybe if they leave their weapons in the shuttle, something might be arranged.”

   Marshall turned to Cooper, and he nodded in reply, passing his rifle over to Fontana. This had been arranged in advance; all of the men had been warned to secure plasma pistols in their concealed holsters, and short of a full search, they should get through any reasonable security.

   “Corporal, you stay with Lieutenant Orlova on the shuttle.”

   “Yes, sir,” she replied.

   “If you don’t hear from us at hourly intervals…”

   “We’ll come in shooting, sir,” she replied. “None of us have any intention of leaving you behind here.”

   Corxin was growing pale behind his mask, and Cooper said, “Report to Lieutenant Zebrova, and follow her instructions, whatever they might be. Remember, this is a diplomatic mission.”

   “Yes, sir,” she said, glancing at the guard with a menacing glare.