Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles

by Richard Tongue

   Glancing up at her display, Scott said, “Not at the moment. They're all heading for Alamo.” Shaking her head, she added, “They're pretty well-informed. I'm picking up trajectories making for engineering, life support, elevator control, the main and auxiliary bridge.” Looking up at Harper, she said, “They'll have the ship overrun in a matter of minutes. And if they don't, the fighters are waiting to blow her to pieces at will.”

   “Closing on target,” Armstrong said. “I'm heading for the hangar deck. I think I might be able to mate with one of the elevator airlocks, locked onto our cargo bay.”

   Tapping a control, Harper said, with as much placidity as she could muster, “Medical team to cargo bay airlock.” Glancing at Scott, she added, “I wish we had some Espatiers on board.”

   “At a guess,” her friend replied, “Your wish will be granted any moment now. We'll have to make this quick. Those fighters will be here in a hundred and thirty seconds, and we've still got to get clear of the combat area.”

   “We're on terminal approach,” Armstrong added, intent on her controls. “Final burn.”

   “Terminal,” Harper said, shaking her head. “Hell of a way to put it.” Rising from her chair, she said, “Scott, take the conn. I'm going down there myself.”

  Chapter 24

   The hangar deck was more densely packed than Salazar had ever known it, crewmen rushing around in desperate flight, seeking the imagined safety of the shuttles. He struggled over to the deck officer's console, trying to get an external view, but the sensor resolution was too poor, the image too clouded with debris from a hundred impacts. On the far side of the room, the elevator opened, half of the bridge crew struggling out.

   “We're being boarded!” Spinelli yelled. “Eighty-plus Xandari will be here in minutes.”

   Without waiting for orders, the Espatiers turned from their shuttles, pushing their way through the crowd on their way to repel the attack, hefting their rifles as they left on their doomed mission. Salazar looked down at the ship status monitor, shaking his head. Alamo was dead in space, and what little idea he had of the situation outside the ship suggested that no help was coming any time soon.

   “Ensign,” he yelled, but Gurung had already left the deck, the troopers grimly following. “Rhodes!” Salazar called, “Stay here with your squad and guard the hangar deck. Alamo's lost anyway, but we've got to get the men out.”

   “No dice, sir,” a scowling Kowalski said. “Even with the shuttles, we'll never get more than thirty out, and I count sixty on this deck.” A series of loud reports echoed through the hull, silencing the crowd for a brief second, and Spinelli pushed through towards him, standing to at least a vague approximation of attention.

   “They had twenty-plus boarding shuttles, sir, heading to key areas of the ship. Captain Orlova ordered an evacuation...”

   “We never heard that message,” Kowalski protested.

   “Internal communications are scrambled,” Spinelli added. “I know some escape pods launched, though. We got that before the sensors finally gave out. The Captain stayed on the bridge with Nelyubov and Erickson to hold the enemy off as long as she could, to give the rest of the fleet a chance to get away.” Shaking his head, he said, “It didn't look promising when we lifted, sir.”

   “I've got to get up there,” Salazar said, Kowalski's vise-like grip holding him back.

   “She'd have called you if she wanted you, sir,” the veteran said. “You've got to get as many people as you can out of here. All three shuttles are ready for launch...”

   Shaking his head, Spinelli added, “There are at least a dozen fighters inbound, Chief. I don't think you'd get a hundred miles before being shot down.” Looking around, he asked, “What about the escape pods?”

   “Floating through space in an inflated bag?” Kowalski replied, pulling out a pistol. “No thanks. I'll take five of those bastards with me before they bring me down. The sixth bullet's reserved for something special.”

   “Belay that crap, Chief,” Salazar said. “Rhodes, set up a defensive perimeter at the elevator, and break out the firearms.” Reaching for a microphone, he slammed the volume as high as he could, and said, “Listen up! We're not done yet! We might not have any way off this ship, but we can damn well make sure that the Xandari pay a price for it they won't forget in a hurry. Get barricades set up at all entrances, and get whatever weapons you can.”

   “We're with you,” Deveraux said.

   “Sorry to drag you into this, Jules,” Salazar replied.

   “It seems only fair. The treachery of my government is responsible for this madness. I just wish I could take them down with me.” He turned to the rear, where Ryan and Itzel were locked in an embrace, and said, “Maybe we could try a couple of shuttles, set one of them as a decoy, and get the other down to the surface.”

   Nodding, Salazar said, “Maqua, go to Shuttle One...”

   “No, sir,” the Neander replied. “I already had to abandon my post once today, and I'm not doing it again! My place is here, until the end.”

   “Bryce,” Salazar said, shaking his head, hunting for the pilot in the crowd. “Get to Shuttle One, Marty, and warm her up.”

   “On it, sir!” the relieved crewmen said, racing back from the temporary barricade to the waiting shuttle, already half-prepared for launch. Salazar looked around, facing the hardest decision of his life. All eyes were on the hatch, knowing that at most, it could get a dozen people to safety. Which left fifty to die here on the ship. He saw Duquesne in a corner, watching over a group of wounded crewmen, and waved at her to get them on board the shuttle. She frowned at him, then curtly nodded, starting them on their way to survival. The Xandari would kill the wounded if they caught them, either through a bullet in the brain or simple lack of interest in their treatment.

   Across the deck, crewmen labored to buy themselves a few additional minutes of freedom, alarms and sirens echoing from the walls, periodic status updates warning of the advance of the Xandari boarding parties. Gunshots ranged all around, and Salazar shared a nervous glance with Rhodes as he assembled the remnants of his squad for the battle.

   They didn't have a chance, and they both knew it. Oh, they could perhaps dream for a second about beating back the Xandari, rallying the crew and fighting them off, but Alamo was a crippled wreck, would take weeks to repair, and by now the invading forces would not only outgun, but outnumber those left behind. This battle was over, and they had lost.

   “Going to be one hell of a last stand,” Kowalski said, clapping him on the arm. He knew it too, the look of despair in the back of his eyes silent testament to that realization, but that didn't make a difference. Salazar pulled out his pistol, making his way to the furthest of the barricades, a group of shuttle technicians nestled behind it. He squinted out into the corridor, and could already make out silent shapes heading towards them. One of the crewmen took a wild shot, and Salazar shot him a disapproving frown.

   “Fire discipline, people!” he yelled. “We have little enough ammunition as it is, without wasting it on blind shots. When you see a Xandari, shoot to kill, but wait until you can be certain of the shot.”

   Bryce ducked his head out of the shuttle, and said, “Sir, there's something heading for us. I think it's going to dock.”

   “What?”

   “It's Daedalus!” Kowalski yelled, his voice somehow surpassing the frantic babel of conversation on the deck. “Harper's come to get us!”

   “That's crazy,” Salazar said, a smile creeping across his face. It might be insane, but for Harper, it was completely in character. His moment of inattention almost cost him dearly, the crack of a Xandari round slamming past his head, crashing into the deck behind him. One of the technicians, the man who had fired blind earlier, crumpled back as another bullet caught him in the neck, sending a splatter of blood flying through the air. Maqua looked down at him, shaking his head, then turned back to the enemy, taki
ng a careful shot at the nearest Xandari.

   “Let them have it!” Salazar yelled. “Hold them as long as you can!”

   Leveling his pistol, he fired into the gloom, a shape that dodged just as he pulled the trigger, his first shot wasted. All along the firing line, crewmen launched their attack, some moving across from uncontested fronts to reinforce him. Ducking out of cover was death, as two of the technicians found to their cost, their bodies strewn on the ground.

   Kowalski, hunched behind the master control board, called, “Docking in thirty seconds, sir, but if I'm reading this right, we've got a lot of fighters inbound. We're going to have to make this quick!”

   “Hold position until ordered,” Salazar said, spotting a wavering crewman in his peripheral vision. “I want suppressing fire on those bastards. We've got to keep them pinned down. Rhodes, grenades?”

   In response, a small cylinder flew through the air, black, viscous smoke billowing from both ends, the fog shrouding the corridor, providing a barrier against line of sight. To the rear, he heard an increasingly loud grinding noise coming from the deck, Daedalus struggling to hook up to one of the elevator airlocks. Finally, with a loud series of clunks, the docking latches engaged, and the double doors beneath opened together for the first time, a tunnel that led to the safety of a friendly, unoccupied ship.

   The Xandari redoubled their efforts, waves of bullets rippling through the air over the hatch, a barrier that killed the first man to raise his head. They knew that if they held back the fleeing crewmen for long enough, either Daedalus would be forced to leave without them, or face destruction at the hands of the Xandari fighters when they attempted to flee. He glanced at his watch, shook his head, and looked around the hangar deck. A couple of bold technicians tumbled into the safety of the hatch, fire raining down beside them, two others dead on the deck, an arm limply dropped into the airlock.

   “On my mark,” he yelled, “Volley fire!”

   Rising from cover, praying that the men would follow his lead, he fired four quick rounds into the smoke-filled hall, hearing a gratifying scream from up ahead. Twenty other crewmen rose with him, bursts of fire racing towards their target, buying them the time they needed.

   “Those nearest, run for it!” Salazar called, a cluster of lucky crewmen hurling themselves to safety while he continued his rain of fire. This couldn't last forever, not even for long, their ammunition supplies already nearly exhausted, but every survivor was a little victory, one to cherish in this desperate moment.

   “Keep firing,” Rhodes said, moving forward to set up a killing zone.

   Kowalski dropped in beside him, almost knocking him flat, Deveraux on the far side. He took a series of careful shots down the corridor, then looked up, a loud whine drawing their attention. Salazar shook his head, cursing under his breath.

   “That didn't take them long. The overhead maintenance hatch. They'll be on us in minutes.”

   “Doesn't matter anyway, sir,” Kowalski replied. “We don't have them to spend. I reckon we've got twenty-one away.”

   The hail of bullets was never ending, another crewman collapsing as a wild ricochet caught him in the side. Garland surged out of the hatch, rushing towards the wounded man, dragging the nearest to the airlock. Maqua was next to him, lying on the deck with blood spilling from a wound on his side, and the paramedic pulled the Neander after him, sliding down the hatch to safety.

   With a loud cry, a pair of troopers raced out from one of the untouched corridors, firing bursts of automatic fire that served to attract the attention of the Xandari. Half a dozen men manning the leftward barricade were saved by their sacrifice, though the two twitching corpses likely never knew that they had been successful.

   “I don't think much of our career prospects if we stay here, sir,” Kowalski said, looking back at the hatch.

   “Hold fire! Every other man, move on my signal,” Salazar said, counting to three in his head. “Fire! And move!”

   Another wave of technicians dived for safety, Daedalus crewmen emerging to drag them in. Salazar's pistol clicked, out of ammunition without any reloads, and he threw the useless weapon away, waving his arms in the desperate hope that a Xandari would shoot at him, instead of one of the recruiting crewmen. After that surge, he could see only a dozen men manning the barricades, the enemy pressing down all around them.

   “I thought I ordered every other man to run,” Salazar said, looking at Kowalski and Deveraux flanking him.

   “To hell with that,” Kowalski said. “We've still got ammunition.”

   “Come on, Pavel!” Harper yelled, her voice cutting through the noise of battle. “We've got to go, now!”

   The Xandari were closing on them from all sides now, the safety of the barricades deteriorating by the second. A shower of sparks dropped from the ceiling as a stray bullet cut a junction cable, the overhead lights beginning to flicker. If anyone moved, they'd be dead in a second. He looked around, grim faces from the remaining defenders, and nodded. Four of them might get back. And the price would be the lives of those who stayed.

   “Jules,” he said, turning to his friend, “Tell Harper...”

   “Tell her yourself!” he replied. “Get out of here.”

   “We don't have time to argue,” Kowalski said.

   “No,” Salazar replied, hurling himself over the remnants of the barricade, screaming a battle-cry as he charged towards the enemy. His first step was his last, a bullet crashing into his shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. The world began to blur all around him, and he felt hands picking him up, roughly carrying, the sound of gunshots all around.

   An agony of pain burst through his eye, burning shrapnel crashing into him from an explosion to his side. Before he fell unconscious, the last thing he saw was Deveraux, leading three men towards the Xandari, cut down by a burst of automatic fire. He felt another sharp pain down his side, then another in his leg, and gasped for one final breath as the merciful darkness finally overwhelmed him.

  Chapter 25

   Salazar collapsed in Harper's arms as the hatch closed over him, sending the two of them dropping to the floor. Duquesne knelt down beside them, pulling out her medical kit, muttering under her breath as she fought to save his life. Kowalski looked at the two officers on the floor, then raced to a wall communicator, slamming his fist on the control.

   “Scott, get us moving,” he barked. “We've got everyone we're going to get.”

   “Beginning launch sequence,” Scott replied. “Send the Captain up here. We've got problems.”

   Nodding, Kowalski shook Harper on the shoulder, and said, “Ma'am?” She ignored him, looking down at Salazar as he struggled for breath, blood trickling from his wounds onto the floor. “Ma'am, you're needed on the bridge.”

   “Go away,” she said.

   Duquesne looked up at Kowalski, and the burly chief grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her away from Salazar, pulling her away. She struggled to free herself, kicking out at his legs.

   “Let me go, damn it! That's an order!”

   “If you're the Captain, I take orders from you. If you're Salazar's girlfriend, I don't. Which is it?” Looking up at her with a tenderness she'd never seen, Duquesne said, “I will do everything it is within my power to do to save his life, Kris, but none of that will matter if you don't save the rest of us. Get up on the bridge, where you belong, and fight your battle.” Kneeling back over Salazar, she added, “Leave me to mine.”

   “I'll see to the rest of the Alamo survivors,” Kowalski said, rubbing his shin where she'd kicked him. “Any who are fit for duty, I'll get assigned to combat stations.”

   “Right,” Harper said, taking a deep breath. “Right.”

   With an effort the likes of which she had never known before, she turned away from the group, jogging along the decks towards the bridge. Everywhere crewmen wearing the shoulder flash of Alamo looked at her, words of t
hanks and praise washing over her. Wounded men, both Triplanetary and Koltoc, lined the corridors, their few paramedics moving from patient to patient, treating them if they could, making them comfortable if they couldn't. The sight was almost more than she could bear, and it was a blessed relief when she reached the bridge, the door slamming shut behind her, shutting out the chorus of misery.

   “We're clear of the ship,” Armstrong said. “On course for the hendecaspace point at maximum acceleration. And a little bit more.”

   Turning from her station, Scott added, “Ten Xandari fighters are closing on us. They'll be in firing range in three hundred and ten seconds. Four minutes short of the egress point.” Shaking her head, she said, “We were just a little too slow.”

   “Preliminary count coming in,” Ingram said. “Looks like we rescued forty-nine from Alamo, more than half of them wounded. Triage facilities being set up, well, everywhere.”

   “That's going to play merry hell with the life support systems,” Fitzroy said, shaking his head.

   “We can worry about that after we've left the system,” Harper said. “What about trying for the other hendecaspace point, changing course?”

   “I thought about that,” Scott said. “We'd gain two minutes, but they'd have an extra four in weapons range. I don't think it's worth it.” Tapping a control, she added, “I've got a full salvo ready for launch, and one more on standby, but that's it once they're gone.”

   “Alamo is turning,” Arkhipov reported. “Listing to port on her thrusters. Another half dozen escape pods are heading down to the planet.” He smiled, and added, “I'd say we've bought them some time, anyway. All the fire's heading in our direction now.”

   Nodding, Harper turned to the viewscreen, scanning the sensor display for any shred of inspiration she could gather. The laws of celestial mechanics were at play now, and their judgment was always final. In less than five minutes, ten Xandari fighters would be in a perfect position to launch their attack, and there was nothing they could do to stop them.