There was a long awkward pause, long enough to make Charles wonder if the Russians really did have a plan — or if they were merely playing it by ear.
“That,” Ivan admitted finally, “is where we need your help.”
* * *
Ted had been right, he knew, when he'd told the reporters that military service was mostly boredom, broken by moments of screaming terror. Knowing was half the battle, as the saying went, yet it wasn't that much help. In a sense, he realised now, he'd been spoilt by spending most of his career as the commander of a starship held in the reserves. It had been simple enough to arrange for bottles of booze to be shipped to him from Earth or even made a brief visit to Sin City or another Luna settlement. The Admiralty had paid so little attention to Ark Royal that he could have turned her into a spacefaring gambling palace and they would never have noticed.
But now, alone and isolated, Ted couldn't help feeling the urge for a drink. It mocked him, reminding him that he hadn't been able to work up the determination to smash his remaining bottles of alcohol… or even to do more than insist that Anderson dismantled his still. He could pour himself a drink, the voice at the back of his head insisted; he could pour himself a drink and take a swig and no one would ever know.
But it wouldn't stop at one glass, he told himself, savagely. Would it?
It wouldn't, he knew. Once, he had finished one or two bottles of Anderson’s rotgut every day. In hindsight, it was a minor miracle he hadn't managed to invalidate himself out of the Royal Navy. It wasn't uncommon for ship-made alcohol to be effectively poison, if the brewer didn't know what he was doing. If the Admiralty had been paying enough attention to realise that he was drinking himself to death…
They knew, his thoughts reminded him. Someone had made note of his drunkenness and reported it to the Admiralty. It had even been in his personal file. They just didn't care.
Angrily, he paced over to the bunk and lay down, pulling the blankets over his head. He felt too keyed up to sleep, too tired to remain awake. There were pills he could take, he knew, but they tended to have unfortunate side-effects. Instead, he closed his eyes and forced himself to mentally recite the regulations governing waste disposal on starships. It was an old trick he’d learned at the Academy. The tutors had sworn blind that it beat counting sheep. Slowly, he fell asleep…
And then the alarms went off.
Ted jerked out of bed as red lights flashed. “Red Alert,” Fitzwilliam’s voice said. “I say again, Red Alert. This is not a drill. All hands to battlestations. Captain to the bridge.”
Cursing, his blood running cold, Ted keyed his bedside console. “Report,” he snapped. “What’s happening?”
“Incoming alien starfighters,” Fitzwilliam reported. There was a grim note to his voice that belayed any hope that it might be a sadistic drill. “We’re under attack!”
Chapter Eighteen
James had privately expected to run into trouble long before they reached New Russia. The aliens weren't fools, whatever else could be said about them, and they would have to suspect that some kind of counter-attack would be mounted as soon as possible. Indeed, given the care the aliens had taken in mounting their invasion, it was unlikely that they would fail to seal the backdoor. Or, at least, to hide picket ships in human systems.
“I’m picking up forty-seven alien starfighters, advancing towards us on attack vector,” Farley reported. “They’re not even trying to stealth themselves.”
“Maybe it’s a diversion,” James said. Where was the Captain? He’d said he was on his way. “Launch all starfighters, then order four squadrons to remain close to the flotilla and provide cover.”
He looked up as the Captain strode onto the bridge. The older man looked tired, but not drunk or zonked out of awareness. James let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realised he was holding, then rose to his feet and surrendered the command chair to his commander. The Captain took it, nodded to him and then checked the tactical display. A second flight of alien starfighters was just coming into sensor range.
“Alter course,” the Captain ordered. “Bring us about to face the threat, then launch a shell of recon drones. I want to know where those starfighters came from.”
“They must have a carrier somewhere within the system,” James muttered. “Unless they set up a hidden base.”
The Captain nodded. “Seems an odd place to hide a carrier,” he said. “Unless they saw us coming and deliberately set up an ambush. Why not? We did it to them earlier.”
James looked down at the display, silently weighing up the potential vectors. Just how much endurance did the alien starfighters have? There was no way to know, which meant any estimates of the location of their carrier were nothing more than guesses at best. For all they knew, the alien starfighters could travel for hours before needing to replenish their supplies.
“If they found us here, they have to know where we’re going,” James mused. “They could have ambushed us at New Russia instead.”
“True,” the Captain agreed. On the display, the first squadron of alien starfighters was breaking up, skimming along the edge of the flotilla. “Go to the CIC and take command there. If we lose the bridge…”
James nodded and left the compartment. Outside, much to his astonishment, he ran into a pair of reporters. Were they actually trying to sneak onto the bridge during a battle?
“Get back to your quarters,” he snapped. There was no point in trying to show them to the secondary bridge, not now. “Get back there or the Marines will escort you to the brig.”
The reporters hesitated, then fled.
* * *
Kurt gritted his teeth as the starfighter was blasted out of the launch tube and into interplanetary space. He checked the display briefly to make sure that the entire wing had launched from the carrier, then refocused his systems on the alien starfighters. They seemed to be dodging and dancing at the edge of weapons range, rather than pressing the offensive against the human ships. It made no sense to him until he realised that they were trying to get hard sensor locks of their own, pinning down the human ships.
“Alpha squadron, with me,” he ordered, visions of an alien mass driver running through his head. Ark Royal was tough, but not that tough. “We need to drive those bastards away from the carrier.”
He heard the acknowledgements as he led the flight towards the alien starfighters. As before, they didn't seem as capable as his own starfighters, although that might not make a difference if there was enough of them. The aliens hesitated, then ducked back towards the second flight of their starfighters, concentrating their forces. Moments later, they turned and raced towards the outer edge of the flotilla. Kurt switched his targeting systems to full power, then gunned his engine and roared towards them. At such speeds, they entered firing range within seconds.
“Two targets down,” Alpha Three reported. The computers had to handle the firing. No human mind could handle an engagement at such speeds. “One more broke off. I might have winged him.”
Kurt doubted it. Unless the alien starfighters were much tougher than they seemed, the merest kiss from a starfighter-mounted railgun would be enough to shatter them beyond repair. Maybe the alien pilot had had a technical fault that had forced him to pull out and return to his carrier. Kurt quickly checked the scanner, hoping to track the alien craft, but found nothing. The alien had managed to evade before any of the humans could get a lock on him.
He yanked the fighter around and followed the aliens as they fell on the older starships like wolves on sheep, although these sheep were hardly defenceless. A number of alien starfighters were picked off before they opened fire, but their weapons proved devastatingly effective. They’d learned, Kurt noted absently, as he closed the range and opened fire; they were going after weapons and sensor blisters, rather than trying to simply punch through the hull.
“Clever bastards,” Rose observed. She’d clearly made the same observation. “Two more wings of alien starfighters have just come in
to view.”
Kurt swore. Were there two enemy carriers out there? Or had the aliens hidden a base somewhere within the system? He took a moment to link into the live feed from the drones, but saw nothing. Logically, if the aliens could stealth their starfighters, why not a carrier?
“Keep the bastards away from the ships,” he ordered. Two ancient frigates were already effectively useless, their lost weapons making them easy prey for successive wings of alien starfighters. “Alpha and Beta, fall in with me; Delta and Gamma, cover the ships.”
And hope it isn't a trap, he thought, as he turned and accelerated back towards the incoming alien starfighters. They’d have a few moments to tear a hole in their formation before the aliens blew past them… unless, of course, they decided to stop and dogfight instead. They might well realise that wearing down Ark Royal’s fighters would be a highly effective tactic…
“They should have sent another carrier with us,” one of the pilots commented.
“As you were,” Kurt said, sharply. He agreed, but there was no time for a discussion. “Take them at a run.”
* * *
Ted watched, grimly, as the alien starfighters blew through the defending starfighters and lanced towards their targets. They didn't seem to be going after Ark Royal in particular, which was odd… and a reversal of military doctrine, at least as the aliens seemed to understand it. He considered the problem as the flotilla closed up, the smaller ships linking their point defence systems together to give the aliens a nasty surprise, then decided that the aliens probably wanted to weaken his defences before going after the carrier. It was the only answer that seemed to make sense.
“Launch a second shell of recon drones,” he ordered. He'd wondered if he was looking at a diversion, but the aliens definitely seemed to be coming from the same direction. “Send them out along the path taken by the alien starfighters.”
He looked back down at the display, silently calculating vectors. But there were just too many unknown variables for the analysts to say anything for sure. No matter how he looked at it, it was clear that the aliens had put some effort into their ambush. But did they know that the flotilla was heading for New Russia? They had to know… unless they assumed that Ted intended to attack the alien homeworlds…
A thought struck him and he pulled up the tramline chart, thinking hard. The aliens had been careful — targeting a world that could pose a danger while ignoring ones that didn't — but Vera Cruz hadn't posed a danger. It had been nothing more than an isolated stage-one colony world… and its founders didn't have the resources to turn it into a centre of industrial production. Had the aliens merely wanted to test their weapons against a defenceless target or had they something else in mind? All they’d done, as far as Ted could tell, was give the human race a month’s warning, time to gather the defensive force that had been destroyed at New Russia. Had that been the objective?
He shook his head. Any plan with too many moving pieces was a plan that was likely to go spectacularly wrong. That had been hammered into his head at the Academy. Logically, the aliens would have learnt the same lesson during their expansion into space. And that meant…
…What if Vera Cruz was right next to an alien system?
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside as a new set of icons appeared on the display.
“One alien carrier, previously unknown design,” Fitzwilliam’s voice said. “Judging by her size, she can deploy more starfighters than any of our carriers.”
“Take us towards her,” Ted ordered. He switched back to the system display and smiled to himself. Unless the aliens retreated at once, they wouldn't be able to find a tramline to escape before the humans overran their position. “And ready the mass drivers.”
He studied the live feed from the drones, silently considering what he was seeing. The alien carrier looked fragile, somehow, compared to Ark Royal. But then, so did a modern human carrier. Once they got a solid lock on her hull, she was dead. He watched the mass drivers powering up, ready to unleash a shotgun blast of ballistic projectiles that would be enough to damage the alien ship, even destroy her if they scored a direct hit. On the display, the alien ship launched another wing of starfighters, then started to pull back. Ted wasn't too surprised.
Quickly, he considered his options. He could launch bombers after her, knowing that the tiny ships could definitely catch up with the alien ship. But the alien ship bristled with point defence and he didn't dare lose too many bombers, not unless he intended to return to Earth with his tail between his legs. He could cut loose a handful of frigates and send them after the carrier, escorted by a couple of starfighter squadrons… it seemed the best option.
Reaching for his console, he began to issue orders.
* * *
“You heard the Captain,” Kurt said, as five of the frigates moved out of formation and started to advance on the alien carrier. “Alpha and Beta will cover the frigates.”
The alien starfighters seemed to recognise the threat at the same moment. They broke away from their previous engagements and streaked towards the frigates, aiming blasts of plasma fire at their weapons and drives. One of the frigates staggered out of formation as a lucky hit totalled its drive systems, the others continued towards the alien carrier, which seemed to be picking up speed alarmingly fast. No match for a frigate, Kurt noted absently, but faster than any human carrier. All their calculations had been based on flawed data.
He shot a brief burst of fire at one of the alien starfighters, then threw his starfighter into an evasive pattern as two alien craft swooped down on him. His first target evaded his fire and continued attacking the frigates, only to be picked off by a burst of railgun fire from the lead starship. Kurt allowed himself a smile, then yanked his craft around and blew one of his pursuers into flaming vapour. The other broke off and headed back towards his carrier.
“They’re pulling back,” Rose said, in surprise. “Where do they think they’re going?”
“One of their tramlines,” Kurt said, as the frigates picked up speed desperately. Warning lights flashed on his display as Ark Royal unleashed a blast of shotgun pellets from her mass drivers, but somehow he doubted they would score a hit. The aliens, aware of the danger, were randomly altering course as they struggled towards the tramline. “I think we’re going to lose her.”
Four minutes later, he swore out loud as the alien craft crossed the edge of the tramline, recovered her remaining fighters and vanished. There was a brief gravimetric pulse, indicating a successful transit, then nothing. The aliens had taken advantage of their technology to escape. He looked down at his display, wondering if there were any alien starfighters that hadn't been recovered in time to allow them to escape, but saw nothing. The battlefield was empty of hostile ships.
“Return to the barn,” he ordered. “Beta will remain on CSP. Everyone else, land and snatch a mug of tea. The bastards will be back.”
* * *
“Their drive gives them an advantage,” James nodded, looking up at the display. It was easy to tell where the aliens had gone, but impossible to stop them. There was a tramline that ran from the alien destination to New Russia, which meant that the aliens in New Russia would have at least a day’s warning that Ark Royal was on her way. “Tell the boffins we need a comparable system ourselves.”
The Captain snorted. “I don’t think it's that easy to duplicate an alien system,” he said, over the intercom. “We still don't even have a theory for how they do it.”
James nodded ruefully, running his hand through his hair. By any reasonable standard, they'd won another victory… but it could lead to their defeat. The aliens had lost more starfighters, yet they’d managed to damage a handful of frigates and alert their superiors that a human formation was approaching New Russia. He found himself seriously considering advising the Captain to abort the mission. No one would object if the Captain chose to safeguard his ship — the one victorious ship in the Royal Navy –rather than launching a direct assault on a
world that would be ready for them, by the time they finally arrived.
“We need to build those battleships,” the Captain added. “If we had more mobile firepower, we might be able to give the aliens a nasty surprise.”
“True,” James agreed. “A battleship would be very useful.”
He smiled. To give the Royal Navy’s designers their due credit, they had started updating Ark Royal’s schematics… and then outlining a battleship concept that would be crammed with mass drivers, rail guns and armoured so heavily that the alien weapons wouldn't have a hope of breaking through into the vulnerable innards. But it would take at least a year, once the designs were finalised, to put them into production… assuming that nothing went wrong.
And the war doesn't come to a screeching halt before we complete them, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. The aliens aren't going to stop innovating either.
“Captain,” he said slowly, “should we consider withdrawing?”
The Captain hesitated. “I think we should do what repairs we can, then I will make the final decision,” he said. “Two of the frigates may have to be sent back to Earth.”
Which would be very unlucky for them, James knew, if the aliens had started trying to block their escape route. Given their FTL drives, they could put a small squadron of lighter starships within all of the potential human systems… and then intercept the human ships before they even realised they were under attack. But the alternative was abandoning them in the penal system or simply scuttling them now, before the aliens could recover the ships.
“I’ll see to it,” James said. “Should we spare any other ships to act as escorts?”
The Captain shook his head. “We can't spare anything, not now,” he said. He grinned, suddenly. “And you can brief the reporters yourself.”
Ark Royal Page 17