Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch

by Christopher Nuttal

  Given time, we’ll have everything standardised, he thought. He'd seen some of the five year plans for humanity’s next few generations of combat starships. And something interesting and unique will go out of the universe forever.

  “I suppose not,” the XO said. She said nothing else until they entered Officer Country. “And our ... guest?”

  “Our pilot,” James said, flatly. “He appears to be doing fine. Other than that, I’m not paying close attention. He doesn't need the scrutiny.”

  She looked surprised. James understood; if something happened to Prince Henry, the fact he was serving under a false name wouldn't be taken into account by the inevitable enquiry. The senior crew of Ark Royal could expect to spend years answering questions on Earth, no matter what had happened. He couldn't blame the XO for being worried about her career, all the more so as she hadn't known what was going on until Admiral Smith had briefed her personally. She’d been walking on a political minefield without ever knowing it.

  Which was the point, James thought, morbidly. Who would treat him normally if they knew the truth?

  “Take the bridge,” he said, before she could ask any more questions. “I have to tour the ship.”

  “Aye, sir,” Amelia said. She still didn't sound happy. “And make sure you get some rest too.”

  James snorted. “We're in a system with dozens of alien freighters moving from tramline to tramline,” he said. “The next one, unless intelligence has really dropped the ball, will lead us right into a major alien system. I doubt there will be any rest for me.”

  ***

  Ted sat in his command chair, watching the display as the probes slowly signalled their findings back to the fleet. The aliens didn't seem to have anything in the system, certainly nothing large enough to show up on the sensors, apart from a steady stream of freighters. It was humbling – and worrying – to realise that few human systems had quite the same level of activity. He couldn't help wondering if the aliens truly did have a far larger industrial base than humanity,

  And what does that mean for us, he asked himself, if they do?

  Human history repeated the same lesson, over and over again. Victory went to the side that combined the will to win with staggering levels of firepower. When one side had the will and the other had the firepower, it tended to end badly. The aliens presumably had the will to win, so why hadn't they produced a far larger war fleet? Or were they fighting multiple wars of conquest simultaneously? It seemed absurd, yet there were just too many things about the aliens that didn't quite add up.

  “You should sleep, Admiral,” Lieutenant Lopez said. “We won’t cross the tramline for another seven hours.”

  Ted looked towards the decoy fleet, heading towards Tramline Two and making its presence very noticeable. A number of alien ships had gone dark when they’d picked it up, which Ted found oddly reassuring. At least it was a predicable reaction. But who knew what the aliens in the next system would do, when they saw the decoys coming their way? Or the aliens orbiting Target One?

  Maybe we should have attacked New Russia instead, he thought. But we would still have been fighting on our territory.

  “I suppose I should,” he said. “But I wouldn't be able to sleep.”

  He felt tired, he knew, almost too tired to sleep. And yet he knew she was right; he should sleep, if only to ensure that he was refreshed for the battle to come. If there were seven hours before they reached the tramline, he could sleep for six of them, shower, then return to the CIC in time to take in the data from the frigates he’d sent ahead of the fleet. He'd certainly feel a great deal better for it, he knew. It wasn't as if he had years of experience at playing Admiral.

  Maybe the Admiralty was right to have their doubts, he thought. They weren't giving me command of a single ship, or even a squadron, but ships that belonged to several nations. A disaster would make Britain look very bad, even assuming it didn't cost us the war.

  Bracing himself, suddenly feeling very old, he rose to his feet. “Inform me the moment something changes,” he said. “No; wake me in five hours, when the first of the frigates should make its return. I’ll need to see the results as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lopez said, quietly.

  Ted nodded to her, then stepped through the hatch and walked down to his cabin. It was odd, given how large and comfortable it was, but he’d barely spent any time inside the compartment since he'd returned to his ship. No, he reminded himself sharply; James Fitzwilliam’s ship. Whatever else he was, Admiral of the Fleet, Hero of Earth, he was no longer the commanding officer of Ark Royal.

  He’d never been much of a packrat – naval training discouraged any form of hording early on, before a prospective officer could claim a large cabin – but the compartment was almost completely bare. A large picture of Ark Royal, painted before she was placed into the naval reserve, hung on one bulkhead, a painting of a brown-haired girl hung on another. Ted had never bothered to figure out who the girl was – the painting had been left there by the last Admiral to fly his flag on Ark Royal, nearly sixty years ago – but he hadn't been able to bear to take it down. Now, though, it was a reminder that his life was almost as empty as the cabin.

  He settled down on the chair and looked around. There were no traces of family life, nothing to imply that he had anything apart from the carrier herself. He’d never married, of course; he’d never even had a long-term relationship. There had been a handful of books in his old cabin, but he’d taken them down to Earth when he'd been recalled and never looked at them again. And even the ship’s logbook was now placed in Fitzwilliam’s cabin. It wasn't his any longer either.

  You wanted a naval career, he told himself, firmly. And you got it too.

  He knew he should get up, undress and go to bed, but he was too tired to care. Instead, he just closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him away from the war.

  ***

  It felt odd, Kurt knew, to sleep on his own. Certainly, he hadn't been able to share a compartment with Rose at the Academy, any more than he could do it on Ark Royal, but it still felt strange to have a bed to himself onboard ship. The soundproofed compartment was utterly quiet, save for the faint hum of the starship’s drives. There were no snoring from other pilots, no grunts and gasps as his comrades fought for sleep ... nothing at all. It was somehow very hard to sleep.

  Gritting his teeth, he sat upright and swung his legs out of bed. There was no point in trying to sleep, not when he wasn't sure of why he couldn't sleep. The mischievous part of his mind hinted he could call Rose for some activities that were not technically permitted by regulations, but he knew it would be foolish and insanely stupid. Instead, he walked over to his terminal and sat down. Moments later, he had the last set of messages from the kids up in front of him. Watching them made him feel strangely guilty, as if he had abandoned them in his heart as well as physically.

  There was no choice, he told himself. I had to go to the war.

  It had seemed so simple, once upon a time. There was no real threat of war, certainly nothing that would force the Royal Navy to recall all of its reservists. They’d always assumed that any conflict would be restricted to a few exchanges of fire before the diplomats hammered out peace terms. He’d assumed that he could take the small salary for being in the reserve without ever having to go back to the Royal Navy.

  But he’d been wrong. He had been recalled. And his relationship with his wife, already rocky, had suffered for it. How could he blame her, really, for seeking comfort elsewhere when he’d certainly done the same? But he hadn't thought he’d ever make it home ...

  Shaking his head, he opened the reply function and started to record yet another message for the kids. It would go home with one of the fast frigates, after Target One was attacked and – hopefully – captured. They’d see him ... and, if he was unlucky, they’d see his final message too. He'd always thought the damn things were morbid as hell, but he could see the wisdom in recording one. The kids needed him to tell
them he loved them, even after he died.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, finally. They were too young, really, to know their parents were separating. Even if they never formally separated, Kurt knew they’d parted too far to be reconciled. Maybe it would be better if he died at Target One. “I'm truly sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “We were right,” Ted said.

  He smiled – the nap had definitely done him good – as Target One appeared on the display in front of him. Even restricted to passive sensors, the frigates had picked up a considerable amount of data and visual images, revealing that Target One was definitely a heavily-developed star system. There were cloudscoops orbiting one of the two gas giants, hundreds of spacecraft making their way through the star system and endless streams of radio transmissions from a planet in the centre of the life-bearing zone. In some ways, it was just as impressive as Earth’s industrial development.

  “It could be the alien homeworld,” Lopez mused. “We might be targeting the source of the war.”

  Ted doubted it. If the captured data could be believed, the aliens – like humanity – had spread out in a rough sphere, which suggested the location of their homeworld. Target One was closer to Earth than it should have been, if it were the alien homeworld. But there was no way to know for sure until they checked the planet’s biochemistry against the captured samples of alien DNA. They might be wrong ...

  He turned to look at the images of the other commanders, floating in the CIC. “We will proceed into the system under the tightest stealth we can manage,” he said. Coming out of the tramline so far from the target planet the odds of detection were minimal. But he still had no inclination to take chances. “We will advance towards the planet, unless the drones reveal a much more interesting target of opportunity, and attack when we enter range.”

  Shallcross looked surprised. “We could wreck their cloudscoops and industrial mining facilities in passing,” he said. “Or simply target them with mass driver shots.”

  “We can do that once the planet is secure,” Ted said. He recalled the outline plans they’d drawn up while plotting the operation. “The planet comes first. If they have sufficient force to beat us off, we’ll launch a hit and run operation instead, blasting their facilities as we withdraw.”

  He shook his head. If Earth was any guide, there would be thousands of facilities that wouldn't be detected unless they searched the system thoroughly. The cloudscoops, at least, were big obvious targets. Taking them out would cripple the system economy, although there was no way to know just how badly the system would be crippled. For all they knew, the aliens had vast hidden stockpiles of fuel or could simply ship it in from another system. If they’d known more about just how the alien society worked ...

  “We will proceed,” he concluded. “Does anyone have any issues they want to raise?”

  Wang Lei leaned forward. “This system has five tramlines,” he said. “Do we have time to survey them, even a very brief general survey?”

  “We will dispatch frigates once the planet is secure,” Ted said. The Chinese officer was right, he knew. They needed to know what was on the other side of the system’s tramlines. “And if there's something there that might be a target of opportunity, we will take action.”

  He looked from face to face, then back at the display. “We will pass through the tramline in ten minutes. Good luck to us all.”

  The images vanished, one by one. Ted smiled to himself as the last one popped like a soap bubble, then settled down in his chair. The entire fleet was ready; he could feel it, an eagerness running through the entire formation. They wanted to get stuck into an enemy who had attacked humanity without provocation, then steadfastly refused all attempts at negotiation. And, in the end, they wanted to hurt the aliens as humanity had been hurt.

  “Open a channel to the entire fleet,” he ordered, quietly.

  Lopez worked her console for a long moment, then looked up at him. “Channel open, sir.”

  “All hands, this is the Admiral,” Ted said. “In eight minutes, we will proceed through the tramline into the system we have designated Target One. We now know that the system is a formidable industrial base, one responsible for supporting the attack on human space. For once, we will carry the war into the very heart of alien territory.”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The aliens attacked us without provocation, as far as we can tell,” he said. “However, they have refrained from slaughtering civilians or depopulating entire planets. We will operate on the same principles. Alien cities will not be destroyed from orbit, alien civilians will be allowed to live; we will not commit any atrocities against their populations that could turn the whole war into an exercise in mutual slaughter. We will, in short, treat the aliens as we wish to be treated ourselves.

  “There are countless military targets in the system,” he added. “We will destroy them, if we are unable to take them intact or hold the system permanently. There will be no shortage of industries vital to the alien war effort that we will tear out and destroy. But we will refrain from atrocities, from anything that could be construed as slaughter. We will follow the Rules of Engagement, we will give the aliens a chance to evacuate their facilities and save their lives. Anyone who uses excessive force or kills aliens without due cause will answer to me.

  “I understand the urge to just hit back, to hurt the aliens as indiscriminately as they hurt us, but we will rise above it. We will hold out the prospect of ending the war on good terms, with respect to both sides, rather than endless slaughter. This will not feel as satisfactory as wanton destruction, but it will be far more effective in the long run.”

  He smiled, knowing they couldn't see him. “Today, we fight as a combined force,” he concluded. “Humanity’s hopes rest upon us. We will make them proud.”

  ***

  James sucked in a breath as Ark Royal made transit, half-expecting to run straight into an ambush. Instead, nothing greeted them on the far side of the tramline, apart from a torrent of data from the frigates that was promptly fed into the display. The aliens, it seemed, had definitely been warned of the intruding fleet. Several starships had lit up their drives and were advancing towards the planet, while a number of civilian freighters – at least, the analysts assumed they were civilians – had gone dark. Clearly, they expected trouble.

  “Impressive,” he muttered, as the feed from the drones appeared in front of him. Several of them were already plunging towards Target One, relying on the vast emptiness of space to conceal them from detection. “And alarming.”

  The human race had feared an asteroid impact ever since discovering that one had played a significant role in exterminating the dinosaurs. It had made humanity very nervous about moving asteroids into orbit around Earth, even though it made economic sense to bring the raw materials as close to the industrial nodes as possible. The aliens, it seemed, didn't share those concerns or maybe they’d just been in space for longer. There were at least a dozen large asteroids orbiting Target One, four of them definitely spinning habitats.

  “Curious,” Farley said, out loud. “We know they have artificial gravity, so why do they bother spinning the asteroids?”

  James shrugged. “Maybe they prefer to save on the gravity bill,” he said. Some of humanity’s independent asteroids charged tourists for everything from air and water to gravity. It probably explained, part of his mind noted, why Sin City was still the premier tourist trap in the Sol System. “Or maybe they predate artificial gravity and they can't be bothered shutting down the spin.”

  He put the thought out of his mind as more and more data flowed into the display. The alien world was heavily defended, assuming that some of the stations they were looking at were alien counterparts to humanity’s orbital platforms. Dozens of starfighters moved through space, patrolling the outer edges of the planet’s atmosphere, while four carriers and a dozen smaller ships gathered in high orbit. They knew about mass drivers now, he reminded himself col
dly. The alien ships were moving in evasive patterns that would make it very difficult to hit them, at least at long range.

  “Captain,” Admiral Smith said, as his image appeared in the display. “The planet remains our primary target, but we will attempt to take out or cripple the mobile forces first.”

  “Understood,” James said. The planet was the ultimate target, but the mobile forces were a serious threat – and they couldn't be replaced quickly, unless the aliens were vastly more capable than anyone suspected. Taking them out first would hamper the alien ability to respond to the arrival of the fleet. “Do we divide the fleet as planned?”

  “Yes,” Admiral Smith said, shortly. “The Marines can wait here. If we succeed in taking the planet’s orbitals, they can move in and secure the surface.”

  And if we die, they can beat a retreat, James thought. Would the aliens realise the Marine transports were missing? They’d almost certainly picked up the ships in the previous system, even if it had cost them a small fleet. The Marines will hate having to run.