“Salazar, Deveraux and Ryan are on board,” Nelyubov reported. “I've ordered Chief Kowalski to see if we can re-service the fighters for a second sortie. Ten minutes, if all hands work on it.” He turned to Orlova, and said, “We could go for a long pass, loop around and return. Without the refinery...”
“They've still got the station, Frank, and there's damn all we can do about that. We're not going to hold this planet.” Forcing a smile, she added, “Though we did knock out two enemy battlecruisers and a key strategic asset. This mission hasn't been a failure.”
“Ninety seconds to fighter intercept,” Spinelli said. “This is interesting, ma'am. I'm reading two different types of fighter, moving into separate formations. I don't think the second wave is armed. I'm not picking up any missiles, anyway.”
Frowning, Nelyubov called up a view of the second wave, and said, “Enlarged life-system. My guess is we've found a new brand of boarding shuttles. They look a little like the ones they threw at us before.” Shaking his head, he said, “Spaceman, can they catch up with any ships in the fleet?”
“I don't think so, sir,” he replied. “If all of them carry four Xandari, we're looking at ninety-two enemy soldiers.”
“Bound for the base,” Maqua guessed. “To take back control from the Copernican forces. Why would they turn on us like that?”
“I don't think they were ever on our side, Midshipman,” Orlova replied. “Not the government, at any rate. Maybe the people.” Shaking her head, she added, “This won't be the only time we come out this way. Perhaps we'll find the answer, someday.”
“The shuttle's still rising,” Spinelli said, shaking his head. “Now leaving atmosphere, and still on a direct course for Alamo. They're falling behind by the minute, Captain. I don't understand it.” Looking up at another monitor, he added, “All fleet ships are entering formation, and we're firm on course for the hendecaspace point. Enemy fighters will be in combat range in fifty seconds.”
“Stand by, Frank,” Orlova said, still looking at the shuttle. Whoever was on board must know that their plan had failed, that they had no intention of being fooled by the ruse. As the seconds counted down, she waited for it to return to the planet, or turn for the station, until a sudden realization hit her.
“Midshipman, swing around for a shot at the shuttle. Frank, when you...”
“Power buildup!” Spinelli yelled, too late. All of it was too late.
A wild, angry yowl echoed around the ship, sirens blaring as damage report telltales flashed into terrible life. She looked at the holoimage of Alamo, bathed in red, as the ship lurched from side to side, hull breaches spilling precious atmosphere out into space, casualty reports streaming in.
“What happened?” Maqua asked.
“They hid a laser-missile's warhead on the shuttle,” Orlova said. “They'd assume that we'd ignore it, that we wouldn't turn around to retrieve our crew, but also that we wouldn't shoot it down.” Shaking her head, she said, “They found their ace in the hole.”
“Laser off-line, and the combat fabricators,” Nelyubov said. “What I have in the launch tubes is all we've got.” The lights flickered, then returned, and he added, “Looks like the power distribution network.”
“Main engines are out,” Maqua said.
“Gone,” Erickson said, dazed. “That laser pulse caught our side, and took out most of the engine complex. We're drifting, Captain.” Looking up at her board, the engineer added, “We're not going to have power for much longer. Both the primary and auxiliary reactors are out, and we're on battery back-up only. At full combat mode...”
“Signal from Colonel Skeuros,” Weitzman said. “Requests...”
“Tell the fleet to get out of here as fast as they can,” Orlova ordered. “There's no sense them dying with us.” Shaking her head, she said, “We're going to see if we can buy some time for the rest of our comrades to get away.”
“The first wave of fighters are turning to make attack runs on the rest of the fleet,” Spinelli said. “Looks like the second wave is bearing right down on us.”
“What did you say?” Nelyubov asked. “Ninety-two Xandari soldiers?”
“Something like that, sir,” the sensor technician replied with a wry smile.
“I have some attitude control, Captain,” Maqua said. “I'm pulsing the thrusters. At least we can make it difficult for them to dock.”
“Launching missiles,” Nelyubov added. “We can knock out six of them, at any rate.”
Nodding, Orlova looked around the bridge, and said, “It's time for you to go. There's not much more you can do here. I'm going to fight the ship for as long as I possibly can, but I'm not going to drag you all down with me. Frank, pass the word for all hands to abandon ship. I doubt they can reach the fleet, but they'll be safer on the planet than they are here.”
“Our missiles are running true,” Spinelli said. “Boarding shuttles will be on us in six minutes.”
“Aye, ma'am,” he said, leaning over his panel.
“That goes for you, as well,” Orlova said.
“Not for me, Captain,” Maqua said.
Shaking her head, she added, “Get down to the hangar deck, Midshipman. They're going to need every pilot they've got.”
“Captain...”
“That's an order, Midshipman,” she said, kindly. “Spinelli, Weitzman, Hooke, Erickson, get going.”
Hooke rose from his station, heading to the elevator, pausing only to glance at Orlova for a second before leaving the bridge. Weitzman and Spinelli, aghast, followed him reluctantly, but Erickson remained at her post, issuing a stream of orders into her station.
“I can't go, Captain, I'm too busy. Don't hold the others up for me.”
Nodding, Orlova turned to the bridge crew. “Good luck, gentlemen. Safe voyage.”
“And to you, Captain,” Maqua said, as the doors slid shut.
Orlova moved to the vacated helm, sliding into position, quickly trying to work out what systems still worked. She looked up at the sensor display, the six missiles curving onto their intercept courses, ready to play hell with the invaders before they could reach Alamo. As she watched, three of the fighters from the first wave turned, unleashing a new salvo of fury towards the crippled vessel.
“They'll try to shoot our birds down, Frank,” she said.
“Don't worry,” he replied. “I won't let them.”
Chapter 23
“Missile launch!” Scott reported, a cry of desperation in her voice. “Twenty-nine missiles heading for the fleet. Twelve to each Koltoc monitor, the balance for Alamo.”
Shaking her head, Harper looked at the tactical display, trying to absorb what had happened. In the last minute, she'd seen Alamo hit by a laser blast powerful enough that its engine complex no longer existed, tattered debris scattered in a lazy trail behind her. The Neander ships had turned and run for the hendecaspace point, all except the crippled Random Walk, still loyally sticking with them, a skeleton Triplanetary crew running the ship with the help of some of the Free Peoples. An orderly retreat had collapsed into chaos, and indecision held a vice-like grip upon her soul.
“Orders, Captain?” Armstrong asked, looking at her with terrified eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Take us back into the fire, Midshipman. I want a direct course for Alamo. We might still be able to recover this if we can wipe out those assault missiles. They've only got one shot left, and powerful as it is, we can survive it.”
“Now reading a second missile launch,” Arkhipov reported from the sensor station. “That's fifteen for each of the Koltoc ships. They don't stand a chance.”
“Long Shot is abandoning ship, Captain,” Ingram said. “Profitable Venture is trying for the hendecaspace point.”
“Damn it, this battle isn't over!” Harper said. “Scott, I want a full-spread missile launch, targeted at those Xand
ari bastards, right now! Ignore the fighters, they're useless once they've taken their shots. We've got to stop those assault craft.”
“We'll be in range in three minutes,” Scott said, shaking her head. “They've still got forty-one missiles left by my count. More than enough to wipe us out.”
“I might be able to do something about that,” Harper said, moving to the electronic warfare console. While Scott looked at her skeptically, she fired up her intrusion software, slamming probes into the approaching missiles, trying to work her way into their firewall. She cursed, realizing they'd been programmed to work independently, not as one distributed collective of artificial intelligences. It meant that they'd be a lot less efficient when pressing their attack, but reduced her chances of bringing down the entire missile wave enormously.
“Try and get Colonel Skeuros,” she said, hands furiously typing commands into her console. “Tell him to swing around and prepare for another pass, this time on the station.”
“I can't raise anyone,” Ingram said, his voice on the brink of hysteria. “No one's answering.”
“Hold on, Spaceman,” Scott said. “Keep it together.”
“Closing on Alamo,” Armstrong said. “Good God, she's maneuvering. Thrusters in the forward complexes are firing.”
Harper grimly smiled, and said, “Don't write the old girl off yet, Midshipman. She's tough.”
Turning to her, Fitzroy replied, “I'm getting patchy telemetry from her now. All primary systems have failed, life support is on emergency power, all reactors out, all engines out, all combat fabricators out, hull breaches in nineteen compartments.” He shook his head, and said, “Casualty estimates well into double figures.”
“She's a wreck, Kris,” Scott urged.
“Got one!” the hacker replied, sending one of the Xandari missiles crashing into one of its fellows, the resultant explosion wiping them both from the display. She glanced at the tactical display, watching as the Long Shot fell back, a suicide crew remaining to give its comrades on Profitable Venture a chance to get away, however remote.
Dozens of new trajectory tracks formed as escape pods appeared on the display, raining down towards the planet. With cold calculation, the Xandari fighters launched a third wave of missiles, targeting the Koltoc survivors. Those escaping Alamo they left alone, for the present.
“I think I can knock out some of that third wave,” Scott said.
“No,” Harper replied. “Concentrate on Alamo. There's a spaceport in this system, and if we can capture it, we might...”
“We can't, Kris,” Scott said. “Even if we were still operating as a unified formation, it would be next to impossible, but with the situation as it is, we don't have a chance.” Turning to her console, she said, “Both of those Koltoc ships are dead in two minutes.”
Harper turned back to her console, looking at the sensor tracks, the Koltoc vessels skimming around Copernicus in a vague hope to distract their opponents. Most of the fighters were now heading after them, the Neander too distant to attack. Only Daedalus and Random Walk were actually heading back into the battle.
“Save the pods,” she said. “I've got an idea.”
“Salvo one away,” Scott replied, and the first wave of missiles rushed from Daedalus' launch tubes, racing to their carefully selected targets in the Xandari swarm. Harper looked up at the satellite tracks and nodded, swinging her comm laser to the nearest missile platform. As soon as she started her hack, she could see signs that someone had been attempting to suborn it, an attempt that failed as soon as Alamo shut down the systems, but while all of the programming had been removed, the platform itself was functional. And had six missiles ready for launch.
Loading and testing the software was a long and complicated process at the best of times, and missile guidance systems were notoriously intricate, understandably loaded with safeguards and counter-measures to protect from enemy intrusion. It wouldn't be possible to make the missiles functional, not in the seconds she had, but theoretically, she didn't have to.
Bringing the basic power relays online was no problem, and the intricate laser web formed, linking all six of the satellites together. She could safely ignore almost all of the systems, focusing only on one specific area. The launch sequence.
“What the hell?” Arkhipov reported. “We've got thirty-six missiles in the air! All satellites just fired.” Shaking his head, he added, “No sign of guidance. They're just heading out into deep space at maximum acceleration.”
Scott turned to her, as the first wave of missiles from Daedalus ran into their counterparts from the Xandari fighters, slamming together in mutual annihilation that saved the lives of more than a dozen Koltoc crew.
“A distraction? A decoy?”
“It only has to work for a few minutes,” Harper said with a smile, as she turned back to her sensor display. As she'd hoped, the Xandari had panicked at the unexpected launch of the missiles, assuming that Alamo had been saving one last shot. That the missiles were heading for nowhere in particular would not be apparent for a few, crucial seconds, not until they could establish a course track, and if the missiles were being directed at the fighters, they had to use those seconds to react.
Two dozen Xandari missiles changed course, swinging away from Profitable Venture in order to counter the threat of the Triplanetary barrage. The Xandari had to protect their fighters, their only remaining force in the system, and couldn't place them at risk to attack a craft that was fleeing the system in any case.
With a satisfied gaze, she watched as the force bearing down on the escape pods and rescue shuttles veered off, thirty missiles now wasted on a worthless errand, thrown away to defeat an enemy that didn't exist. Harper returned to her command chair, sitting down at the heart of the bridge, while Scott looked at her in baffled admiration.
“Signal from Colonel Kilquan,” Ingram said.
The image of the Koltoc flashed onto the screen, and he asked, “Have you brought the satellite network back under control?”
“I'm afraid not,” Harper replied. “That was a one-off.”
Nodding, Kilquan said, “I was afraid of that. We're going to struggle to get back to join you, Lieutenant, and right now I'm loaded with additional crew.”
“Captain,” Arkhipov reported, “Long Shot has been destroyed. Four missiles amidships.”
With sad eyes, Kilquan said, “Five crewmen died to save sixty. They'll not be forgotten. Lieutenant, what are your intentions?”
“I'll tell you when I know myself,” she replied. “Proceed to,” she turned to an astrographic display, and said, “Proceed to Trappist Nine. You'll find it in our databanks. We'll try and rendezvous with you there.”
“Understood,” he replied. “Good luck.”
“Alamo's taken down four of the assault shuttles,” Scott reported, turning back from her station. “That just leaves twenty running. The fighters are curving around, heading to swarm it. They mean to capture her.” Cursing, she said, “Skeuros and his merry men have jumped out of the system.”
“How long before the Xandari reach Alamo?”
“I'd say the first troops will be on board in less than two minutes. If they could only get a couple of salvos into the air, all of this could be over very quickly.” Looking at her panel, Scott added, “We're not going to be in range until they've docked. There's nothing we can do.”
Reaching up for a headset, Harper said, “Daedalus to Alamo, any station, do you read me? Daedalus to Alamo, any station, do you read me?”
Shaking his head, Ingram said, “I've been trying constantly, ma'am. They've sustained so much damage to their communications network that I don't think they could respond even if they heard us.”
“Daedalus to Alamo,” Harper continued, ignoring him. “Come in, come in.” Turning to Ingram, she said, “Try the shuttles. They haven't launched any yet, and maybe we can give them som
ewhere to go.”
“It won't work,” Scott replied. “The enemy fighters will be back in four, maybe five minutes, and they've still got dozens of missiles left to fire. And the station will be getting into the act soon, at a guess. They'd never make it through.”
A smile spreading across her face, Harper said, “Armstrong, how good a pilot are you?”
“The best, ma'am.”
“Want to prove it?”
“Give the word, Captain, and I'll make it happen.”
“Fine. I want you to dock with Alamo. As close to the hangar deck as possible.”
“What?” Scott asked. “That's crazy!”
Shaking her head, Harper replied, “There are hundred of our people on that ship, and we owe them a chance to get out of there alive. We both know what the Xandari will do to anyone they capture. Midshipman, execute the maneuver as instructed.” Tapping a control, she said, “Now hear this, now hear this. All personnel, stand by for abrupt course change and potential collision. Prepare to repel boarders.”
“That was going to be my next point,” Scott said, turning back to her station.
“Signal Random Walk,” Harper ordered. “Can they jump?”
“Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo believes they can, Captain, but requests permission...”
“Tell him to proceed to Trappist Nine, and that if we don't make it through, that he should place himself under the command of Colonel Kilquan.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Ingram said, and the crippled ship slowly turned, limping out of the combat zone. The Xandari fighters were ignoring it, focusing all of their attention on Alamo and Daedalus, the only combat-capable ships left in the system. The engines rumbled as Armstrong ran them to full power, bringing them towards their dangerous goal.
“This is going to be a first, Kris,” Scott said, shaking her head. “I've never heard of someone trying a stunt like this in any circumstances, and especially not in battle.”
“One for the history books,” Harper replied. “Are any of the boarding shuttles heading for us?”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 19