Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch

by Christopher Nuttal

  But it had to be tried.

  “Send the package,” he ordered, reluctantly.

  He thought, suddenly, of Prince Henry. The Prince had wanted to be in danger, he'd wanted to be treated like a normal pilot ... and he’d gotten his wish. Ted had to smile at the thought, even though he knew it would open a huge can of worms back home. At least one of them was going to be happy when the aliens finally entered engagement range.

  “Nothing, sir,” Lopez said, after twenty minutes had ticked past. “They didn't respond at all.”

  Ted nodded. He wasn't surprised.

  ***

  “You’re suiting up?”

  Kurt nodded as he zipped up the flight suit, then motioned for Rose to check that he’d sealed it properly. “We have a spare starfighter without a pilot,” he said, “and the odds are pretty damn bad out there. I’m needed out there, not in here.”

  Rose eyed him for a long moment. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get out of the paperwork?”

  “Yes,” Kurt said. He laughed. She’d heard him complaining about the paperwork more than once over the last month, although half the time he’d used it as an excuse to be in his office, away from prying eyes. “If we get blown up today, there will be no paperwork ever again.”

  He reached for his helmet, checked it carefully, then inspected her suit. It was impossible to avoid noticing how it fitted against her body, revealing the curve of her breasts, but he forced down the reaction it aroused in him. It always happened when he was about to go to war, he knew; the sudden erection, the sudden desperate desire to sow his wild oats one final time, even though they both used contraception implants. Angrily, Kurt forced his eyes down to the deck, then away from her. They were alone, but not in a private compartment. He didn't dare get caught doing something that would get them both in very deep shit.

  Rose gave him an odd look. Perhaps she’d caught something of his emotions.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, finally. “We’ve been in bad situations before, sir.”

  Kurt nodded. Ark Royal seemed to have a habit of blundering into bad situations, from the raid on New Russia to the capture of the alien battlecruiser. He couldn't help noticing the similarities between their current situation and the latter, although he could also see the differences. This time, the carrier wasn't alone. There were four other modern carriers with her, each one crammed with the most modern human technology ...

  And thin-skinned enough that a single flame on a message forum will burn through their armour, he thought. If the aliens made one good strafing run, those carriers are dead.

  “Yes,” he said. “And we’ve managed to get out of them too.”

  He found himself flushing and looked away, swallowing hard. He’d known, after the raid on New Russia and their desperate attempt to escape enemy pursuit, that they were dead, that it was only a matter of time before the aliens killed them. It was why he’d started sleeping with Rose in the first place, knowing that he would never have to face the consequences. But now ... they’d survived, against all odds. And if they survived this battle too ...

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, although he wasn't sure what he was apologising for. Rose had been the one to start things, not him. Maybe he should have said no. But then, he’d been attracted to her and he'd known they were about to die. And now ... he thought suddenly of Molly and wondered, bitterly, just who she was fucking. If she was fucking anyone ...

  Rose glanced around the compartment, then kissed him hard on the lips. “Don't worry about it,” she said, when they broke contact. “We have to get out there and defend the ship. Our personal lives can come later.”

  Kurt nodded and watched her walk out of the compartment, twitching her hips in a ludicrously sassy manner. He snorted, checked his appearance in the mirror, then followed her through the airlocks and into the briefing room. All of the pilots were gathered there, save for the ones already in their starfighters, waiting for the command to launch. It was possible, they knew, that the aliens might have a third fleet sneaking round in front of them, ready to ambush the humans when they entered engagement range.

  He paused, long enough to try to capture the mood in the room. Some of the rooks – no, they were hardly rooks any longer – seemed nervous, as if they hadn't expected to be forced against the wall so soon. The older pilots looked resigned; they, at least, knew how quickly a situation could move from being firmly in control to absolute chaos. Kurt briefly glanced at Prince Henry, trying not to show any untoward interest, and was relieved to see that the Prince was holding up well. He'd met some aristocrats who were so used to the idea of the universe bending to their whims that they started to whimper or scream in protest when the universe refused to cooperate.

  Good, he thought, dryly. Maybe he would make a good King after all.

  Or maybe not, part of his mind suggested. The King wasn't meant to do anything, beyond looking good and signing laws put forward by the Prime Minister and his Government. Some people might enjoy a coddled existence, but Henry – from what he’d seen of the young man – would hate it so much he’d either lash out or try to escape. Perhaps his sister would be a better choice ... besides, Queens called Elizabeth had a good record. The same couldn't be said for Kings called Henry. He honestly had no idea why the Royal Family had chosen that name.

  And to think that Molly would want me to suck up to him, he added, silently. Henry would hate that too, he was sure. If he’d wanted to be sucked up to, he would have served under his real name. Brave boy ...

  Rose cleared her throat, meaningfully. Kurt snapped out of his thoughts and walked up to the stand, then glared at his pilots. There were too many empty chairs, he saw, wishing they could be removed as they were on the modern carriers. But Ark Royal’s were bolted to the deck. Not, in the end, that it was anything more than an illusion. There would be many more empty chairs at the end of the day.

  “The enemy thinks they have us bent over a barrel,” he said. The crude analogy would appeal to them, he knew. “They’re currently planning to ram something unpleasant right up our buttocks, probably a dildo coated in chilli.”

  There were some chuckles. The atmosphere of doom started to lift, slightly. Kurt smiled inwardly, then continued.

  “We have to stop them,” he said. “In particular, we will have to keep them off the modern carriers as well as launching antishipping strikes of our own, in unison with the ship-mounted weapons. Ideally, we want to wreck their carriers and force the rest of their ships to keep their distance. This will not be easy, but if it was easy, they wouldn't need us.”

  He paused. “This is what we’ve trained for, since the start of the operation,” he continued. “You will be flying in makeshift formations, operating beside pilots from several separate nations, defending all of us from the aliens. I expect each and every one of you to do your duty, knowing that everything rests on you.

  “Years ago, Britain’s fate rested in the hands of a handful of pilots. Now, the fate of all of humanity may rest on her starfighters and the brave men and women who fly them. It will not be easy, it will be costly, but there is no other choice. Watch your wingmen, fight with your comrades and kick alien butt.”

  He took another moment to survey the room. The next operation, if there was a next operation, would involve more prep time, if he had anything to say about it. They’d flown endless simulated missions, but not enough real flying beside their international allies. Most of their experience had come from learning on the job. In future, he promised himself, the Royal Navy would take the lessons from this deployment and apply them thoroughly.

  “Good luck,” he said. He lifted his helmet. “I’ll be flying out there beside you, so don’t let me down.”

  They looked surprised, even though he was wearing a flight suit and carrying a helmet. Kurt remembered his own days as a young pilot and understood their feelings; he’d never really believed, emotionally, that his CAG had also been a pilot. No, the pilots had assured themselves that
the CAG didn't really know what it was like to be a pilot. But they’d been wrong, as he’d discovered later. The CAG had been a flyer – it was a requirement for the post – but he’d never needed to fly into battle. Back then, the Royal Navy had never really believed that a war was likely.

  Which does raise the question of just how much the world governments knew, Kurt thought, coldly. It was a question that was still hotly debated. Did they start the military build-up because of a prospective alien threat?

  “Your flight schedules are posted on the datanet,” he concluded. “Half of you will escort the bombers; half of you will cover the carriers. If you have to switch roles in a hurry, I’ll let you know. Try not to fuck up under enemy fire. That’s always costly.”

  The pilots grimaced. One advantage of the simulators was that they could make mistakes without anything more than public humiliation. And, as always, they’d made every mistake in the book long before taking a single starfighter out of a launch tube. But, thankfully, most of them had learned from the experience.

  Kurt smiled at their expressions. “Report to your starfighters,” he ordered, finally. The pilots would do well, he knew, or die trying. But far too many of them would die anyway. “And prepare for launch.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Sir,” Lightbridge said, “the Admiral is providing a second set of course changes.”

  “Implement them,” James ordered, shortly. He tracked them on the display, then nodded to himself. Force One was overtaking them, slowly but surely, but Force Two was still holding position near the tramline. The Admiral had effectively ensured that they would only have to face Force One. “Time to interception?”

  “Ten minutes to effective starfighter range,” Farley said.

  James sucked in his breath. He hated the waiting, but there was nothing he could do, short of spinning the ship and engaging Force One directly. Ark Royal was heavily armoured, but she wasn't armoured enough to survive a short-range duel with the alien ships. He rather doubted that anything human could stand up to alien plasma cannons at short range. If nothing else, they’d boil the weapons off the Old Lady’s hull, then slowly burn through the solid-state armour and slaughter her crew.

  He looked down at the live feed from the launch bay. The CAG had taken a starfighter, much to James’s irritation, but he had to admit there were few other alternatives. They needed everyone who could fly a starfighter out there, covering the hull. Admiral Smith’s half-formed plan might work, James knew, but they would still take terrifying losses. It was quite possible that one of those losses might include a carrier called Ark Royal.

  Once, he'd wanted command so desperately that he’d been prepared to compromise himself to get it. Now, he felt the weight of command falling around his shoulders ... and found himself praying that he didn't let the Old Lady down. The ship seemed to hum around him as the enemy crawled closer, preparing themselves to engage the human ships. It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Captain,” Farley said, “the Admiral is ordering us to deploy mines on his mark.”

  “Then do so,” James ordered. It was possible, just possible, that the aliens would get a nasty shock. Anything that won the human race a few advantages couldn't be discarded lightly, even if some naval officers considered them dishonourable. But it was also possible that the aliens might see the mines and alter course to avoid them. “And keep me informed.”

  ***

  “Deploy mines,” Ted ordered. “And then start pulsing their sensors with target locks.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lopez said. “Mines are being deployed ... now.”

  Ted nodded, watching the display. The course changes had been risky – the aliens had been able to use them to shorten the distance between the two fleets – but they had achieved Ted’s overall objective. Force One could engage them, but – with a little bit of luck – they could evade Force Two ... if, of course, they managed to beat Force One.

  He watched as the alien fleet crawled closer, heading right towards the invisible minefield. There was nothing to the mines, save a bomb-pumped laser warhead wrapped in stealth coating, capable of doing serious damage to a starship if it scored a direct hit. The beautiful simplicity of the system, Ted hoped, would be enough to allow it to work. If nothing else, it should make the aliens more paranoid about closing in on human ships.

  “Mines entering attack range,” Lopez reported. Red lights flared up on the display. “I think they’ve been detected!”

  “Order them to attack,” Ted said, quietly.

  The mines detonated. Bomb-pumped laser beams lashed out towards the closest targets, the alien frigates and battlecruisers. Ted watched several of them ripped apart by the minefield, others damaged so badly they had to fall out of formation. One of the alien carriers was hit, blown into little pieces by several direct hits, but the remainder were completely untouched.

  “Sir,” Lopez reported. “We killed or disabled twelve smaller ships and one carrier.”

  She sounded disappointed. Ted didn't blame her, but the mines hadn't been entirely wasted, not really. The sheer walls of point defence the aliens could put out against human starfighters had been badly weakened, now their escort ships were gone. Besides, it had also taught the aliens a lesson. It was possible, he told himself, that Force One would hang back long enough to allow him to break contact.

  “They’re launching starfighters,” Lopez added. “I think we made them mad.”

  “Of course we did,” Ted said, with some amusement. He paused, silently calculating the time it would take for the alien starfighters to reach his ships, then tapped a switch on his console. “Launch fighters; I say again, launch fighters.”

  He settled back in his command chair and watched, grimly, as new red icons streaked away from the alien ships, heading towards his fleet. They’d be far too effective against his modern carriers, he knew, and if he were in command of the alien fleet they’d bear the brunt of the attack. Take out the carriers, take out the starfighter platforms, then wear down the Old Lady and the frigates one by one. It made an alarming amount of sense.

  “Order our CSP to cover the modern carriers too,” he added. The Old Lady could take a beating from the alien starfighters and keep going. None of the other carriers had such advantages. “We don’t want to lose any of them.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lopez said. “Guns are requesting permission to engage.”

  Ted hesitated, calculating vectors in his head. “Mass drivers may engage,” he said, although he was doubtful they’d score any hits. Mass driver projectiles worked best against unsuspecting targets. The aliens were clearly sweeping space aggressively, hoping to locate and destroy any remaining mines before they went active and attacked another alien starship or two. “Missile tubes are to remain locked, for the moment. We shall wait until the range shortens”

  “Picking up new small craft signatures,” Lopez said, suddenly. “The aliens are launching new craft of unknown configuration.”

  Ted gritted his teeth. New craft meant trouble, if only because he didn't know what to expect from them. “What does the computer make of them?”

  Lopez hesitated, consulting her system as well as relaying the request to the analysts. “The computer thinks they’re somewhere midway between a shuttle and a starfighter,” she said, puzzled. “They’re definitely three or four times the size of a standard starfighter.”

  “Odd,” Ted mused. The aliens hadn't built any specialised bomber designs, but then they’d hardly needed to bother. “Order the CSP to engage them as soon as they come into range.”

  ***

  Henry gritted his teeth as his starfighter exploded out into the inky darkness of space, then looked down at his display and smiled, grimly. The aliens had taken a beating, thanks to the mines, but now they were out for blood. A vast cloud of alien starfighters were bearing down on the fleet, followed by a number of craft the computers refused to identify properly. Orders came down the line a moment later; his squadron was to engage the alien sta
rfighters, while the CSP held the line in front of the carriers. Ahead of them, the frigates were already manoeuvring to add their firepower to the fleet’s point defence.

  He winced as he saw the frigates – it wasn't uncommon for point defence to engage friendly starfighters in the heat of battle – and then pushed the thought out of his mind as he accelerated towards the alien formation. His wingmen fell in beside him, their chatter stilled as they contemplated the odds facing them; Henry smiled to himself, then switched his weapons to automatic fire. There was little time for contemplation of his own mortality, not any longer. All he wanted to feel was happiness that he’d finally managed to get himself treated as just another pilot.

  “Prepare to engage,” Paton ordered. “Break up their formation, if possible, then scatter the bastards.”

  “Understood,” Henry said. “Here we go ...”