Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory

by Tongue,Richard

 “Beginning data run,” Spinelli said. “Hooke, you'll have a window...”

   “I know, I know, I'm doing my best,” the hacker said. “At least I should be able to see if they've made any serious modifications.”

   “Watch your heading, Midshipman,” Salazar warned. “If that laser lights in our direction, we don't have a chance in hell. Evasive course as soon as we're in range, and keep it unpredictable.”

   “Aye, sir,” he replied, working his controls like a master, light taps on the thrusters to send them from side to side, keeping their trajectory locked onto their target while dancing through the stars to ruin any potential shot. Salazar watched as the tip of Alamo's nose darted around, trying to lock onto them, and shook his head. In the past, he'd been the one trying to line up a shot, not the one attempting to evade. It still felt wrong, and he half-expected Weitzman to turn with a report at any second, Captain Orlova on the channel, ready to bring all of this to an end.

   “Firing range in ten seconds,” Foster said. “We'll be in the hot zone for sixty-five.”

   Salazar nodded, watching the viewscreen with morbid fascination as they swept closer to his ship. The two Xandari scoutships, at least realizing that they had guessed wrong, swung around in an attempt to catch them, but they couldn't make it in time. Only Alamo herself stood between them and the hendecaspace point.

   “Here we go,” Maqua said, redoubling his efforts at the helm, while the battlecruiser swung around, trying to draw a bead on them for the millisecond required to fire the laser, to unleash multi-megawatts of death into their side. Random Walk rocked as the missile salvo raced clear, moving between them and Alamo, and within a few seconds, the enemy launched in response, three for three, lined up for mutual destruction.

   “That's strange,” Spinelli said. “I'm not picking up any problems with the other launch tubes.”

   “Maybe the combat fabricator?” Hooke asked. “No sign of changes to the outer firewall, but they've scrambled it enough that I can't get in from here.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Ten seconds with a terminal...”

   “Coming up to closest approach,” Maqua said.

   “Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled, as a beam flashed past them, missing Random Walk by a matter of meters, a wasted shot blazing into infinity. A second later, Alamo flashed past, almost close enough to touch, before receding into the distance behind them. “Clean miss, sir.” A trio of explosions flashed across the screen, the missiles canceling each other out. With every second, the odds of their survival increased, the difficulty of launching an attack growing ever greater.

   “Second salvo away,” Foster said, three new tracks flashing onto the screen, dropping away as Alamo began to fall back, Random Walk diving for the safety of the hendecaspace point. “I think we've made it.”

   Salazar waited for a few seconds, then nodded, replying, “Secure from battle stations, but maintain standby alert. Midshipman, you have the call.” Turning to the rear, he asked, “Spinelli, I want a full report on everything you've collected before we leave hendecaspace.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   As the ship sped out of the system, Salazar knew he should have felt jubilant, that once more they had managed to escape death. Instead, he felt nothing but despair as the realization hit home. The only way they could win, could beat the Xandari and liberate Copernicus, would be to destroy Alamo. A ship that had become his home.

   And unless he could think of another way, he'd have to pull the trigger.

  Chapter 2

   Even at night, the forest never slept. Ten thousand creatures scurrying around, hunting for food, water or shelter, struggling to survive until the dawn. Lieutenant Gabriel Cooper was no different, just another animal fighting for life in a hostile environment. The cry of an owl screeching in the darkness, caught his attention, and a smile crossed his face.

   Thousands of years ago, all of Earth was like this, empty wilderness where scattered humans roamed. Out here, dozens of light-years away, some unknown race had created a copy of that world, seeding it with life harvested in that forgotten epoch. Now he was following the tracks of a city those aliens had built, long ago destroyed in some apocalyptic war.

   He glanced down at his watch, then reached for his canteen, taking a deep swig and looking around for the rest of his strike group. Half a dozen of them had ventured into the night on this mission, all taking different paths to their target. If they were doing their job right, he shouldn't be able to see them, and he had no means of contacting them that wouldn't expose him to hazard. It was all too easy to imagine that he was the only one out here, alone in a hostile wilderness.

   There were few landmarks to follow, just the occasional chunk of rubble from the ancient city, a few paths used by the larger predators. Not many people had ever ventured into this forest, even though it was only a hundred miles from the city, and after spending months living here, he could understand why. To a people accustomed to life in an artificial environment, the idea of walking outside without even a respirator was strange enough, but the sounds and the smells of this wilderness were almost overwhelming. And that was without the signs of unimaginable alien life, twisted pylons rising to the sky, overgrown for centuries.

   A branch cracked, and he froze in position, reaching on instinct for his pistol. A pair of eyes gleamed at him from the darkness, before scurrying away on some errand. Just another creature, wandering through the night. Shaking his head, he took another drink from his canteen before replacing it at his belt, and continued down the narrow trail, careful to make no noise, leave no trace of his presence.

   Somewhere overhead, drones were watching, waiting for them to break cover. Here, in the forest, the canopy was too thick for them to be easily detected, and even if they had been spotted, there was little the Xandari could do about it. Sending a force into the forest would have been a gift to the Resistance, weapons, supplies, possibly recruits if he was sufficiently persuasive. Short of an orbital bombardment, they were safe here.

   Unfortunately, that worked both ways. Unless something could be done about the drones, there was no way they could leave the forest, not without being picked up. That just left the few settlements on the fringes of the forest, logging and hunting communities, all fiercely independent and all under the watchful thumb of the Xandari.

   He pulled out his datapad, one of the few technological relics he had salvaged in their flight to safety, and skimmed through the signal they had received again, the transcript flashing up onto the screen. A simple call for help, from one of the villages that had provided them with supplies in the early days.

   Another noise filled the air, this time artificial, the roar of engines overhead. He crouched down, peering up in a vain attempt to see what was causing it. A helicopter, almost certainly, and Xandari operated. At least he knew that they were getting close to their target, though that also meant they were entering an area of greater danger.

   Something within him urged him back, to the safety of the denser forest. As strange as it seemed, this place was beginning to feel familiar, the swarming life around him a comfort. The canopy was thinning out overhead, the distance between the trees increasing. He glanced to the left and saw markings on a tree stump, recently cut. Civilization beckoned, with all the dangers that represented.

   Sliding his pistol into his pocket, he reached for his rifle, hefting the familiar weight in his arms, and quickly checked the communication, making sure he had a fresh clip loaded and ready. Not that they had many of those to spare, the Xandari being rather less than helpful in providing them with resupply. In the early days, they had sent in a few patrols, hoping perhaps to defy the odds and stumble across the escaped rebels, but those had long since ceased as the reality of the strategic situation hit home.

   The village lay ahead, and he crept through the trees at the perimeter, looking into the nearby houses for any sign of life. All of them seemed empty, and a sick feeling began
to creep into his stomach, but he pushed on, keeping low to avoid detection. He could hear voices from up ahead, orders being issued, and as he crept forward, he found the missing villagers.

   Posts had been raised in front of the church, and men were being led to them by uniformed soldiers, all of them under the supervision of the Xandari. Children cried in the crowd, held by their mothers as they watched the nightmare that was about to unfold. Taking a deep breath, Cooper raised his rifle to position, carefully lining up a shot at the nearest Xandari, knowing that he would have only one chance to cause the chaos that would save their lives. All he could do was hope that the rest of his team was out there, ready to move.

   The crack of his bullet echoed through the night, catching the Xandari in the neck, sending him collapsing to the ground. His second bullet felled the nearest Copernican officer, blood bursting from his chest as his dying body twitched. Then the troops reacted, a hail of bullets flying towards him, wild shots that smashed windows and ripped into wood, Cooper hurling himself to the ground in a bid to escape the fire.

   Another shooter opened up from the right, one of Cooper's squad, and while most of the civilians ran for cover, one of them charged towards the posts, a knife in his hand, risking his life to free his friends. Shaking his head, Cooper looked around, picking off a guard before he could kill the would-be hero, a stream of bullets ripping through the ground to his right, mud flying into the air all around him.

   Cursing under his breath, Cooper crawled to his feet, charging forward into the mob, firing not to kill but to panic, the discipline of the soldiers collapsing to blind panic as they tried to find cover, tried to rally. Anyone attempting to give orders made themselves a target, two other shooters firing from the night, and the lesson was quickly understood as the enemy forces scattered, a group of them racing down the road, out into open country.

   Overhead, the noise of the engine returned, and he looked up to see a helicopter heading their way, searchlights flashing through the darkness, trying to pick him out. If this was a trap, then it had been well and truly sprung, but Corporal Walpis stepped calmly into the open, the Neander somehow escaping instant death, with a missile nestled in his arms. He lined up the shot as machine guns erupted all around him, and a flare of light flashed across the settlement as the missile raced to the helicopter, engulfing it in a ball of flame that rippled to the ground, burning debris raining into the forest.

   As if as one, the Copernican soldiers raised their hands, the loss of their aerial cover ruining any chance they had of winning the battle. Cooper stepped forward, glancing up at the ubiquitous drones that were recording everything, transmitting the news of the failed attack back to Kepler City, where doubtlessly the traitor government and their alien overlords would prepare some sort of counterattack. For the present, they had carried the day, but they would only have a few moments to savor their victory.

   The rest of his squad emerged from cover, weapons raised and ready, in case some of the captured soldiers decided to commit suicide. Cooper looked around the village, shaking his head. One of a dozens scattered between here and Kepler City, a mixture of prefabricated buildings dating from the original settlement of this planet and those made of local materials, painstakingly pieced together over the decades.

   “Keep them covered, Corporal,” Cooper said, gesturing at the soldiers. “Strip them of anything we can use. Weapons, rations, medical supplies, anything.” Turning to Specialist Donegan, he added, “See to the wounded. Of both sides.”

   One of the freed villagers walked towards him, rubbing his hands, his face vaguely familiar. He looked at the captured soldiers, then at Cooper, a smile on his face.

   “Frank Moretti,” the man said, holding out his hand. “I run the General Store.”

   “Lieutenant Gabriel Cooper. You're the one who sent the message,” he replied, shaking the preferred hand. “I'm glad we got here in time.”

   “So am I,” he said with a smile. “What happens now?”

   Shaking his head, Cooper said, “I think we both know the answer to that question. They'll be back, and with reinforcements, and soon.” Turning to Walpis, he said, “Find the senior survivor.”

   “I guess that's me,” a gruff man said, looking around at the angry crowd. “Corporal Harris. You killed our officers.”

   “Murderers,” a woman holding a baby said, spitting at the ground. “They deserved everything they got, and more besides!”

   “We were following orders,” Harris began.

   “And what where those orders?” Cooper asked.

   “Our information was that this village was providing supplies to rebel forces hiding in the forest. We were to set an example...”

   “By killing the population?” Walpis said, shaking his head.

   “Only the leaders,” Harris replied. “Treason is punishable by death, and all of those captured have been lawfully tried and found guilty.”

   “At a trial we were not permitted to attend,” Moretti said. “One we only learned about when you arrived.”

   “Shoot the bastards!” the woman yelled.

   “No!” Cooper said. “If you want to kill these people, then you'll have to get through me.”

   “They were going to kill...”

   “And if we do the same, if we kill without provocation, then we're no better than they are, and we might as well switch sides and join them. If we're aren't better than those bastards in Kepler City, then this war is pointless!”

   “You killed my men,” Harris said.

   “In battle,” Cooper replied. “To save the lives of innocent civilians. Don't make any mistake, Corporal, I intend to see that you pay for what you were going to do, but you'll be tried properly by a war crimes tribunal once the war is won, not by a drum-head court martial today. You'll have your day in court.”

   Private McBride, scanning the horizon, said, “Something just launched, I think from the city. Helicopter, correction, three helicopters. We're going to have company in twenty minutes minus.”

   “And this time they won't be content with killing a few people. They'll burn the village to the ground,” Walpis said. “Any survivors will be shot out of hand.”

   Turning to the crowd, Cooper said, “You heard that, I take it. Everyone is to gather together anything they can carry, food, clothes, tools, medicines, weapons, and prepare to move out. I can guarantee the safety of anyone who comes with us, but anyone who stays behind will almost certainly be dead within the hour.

   The woman stepped forward, her baby wailing, and said, “And you're defending the men who did this?”

   “Vengeance won't save your life, ma'am, nor that of your children. We've got a settlement in the deep woods, and you won't be the first group we've rescued.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We've got to move, and quickly, or the decision will be taken out of your hands. You'll be walking for a few hours, so don't take anything too heavy, and don't take anything you can live without. McBride?”

   “Sir?”

   “Help them out.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Don't worry, Lieutenant,” Moretti said. “I'll get them moving. And don't worry about us. We've been living from the forest all our lives. We'll find our way.” Glancing at the soldiers, a mixture of fear and hatred on their faces, he asked, “What about them?”

   Walpis gestured at a heaped pile of weapons and equipment, and said, “I think I've just about got them cleared out, sir. I left a couple of medical kits for the walking wounded. All communicators confiscated and deactivated.”

   “Good. Donegan, what's the story?”

   With a sigh, the medic replied, “Not too bad for the civilians. One dead, and I think that was a heart attack, and a few minor injuries. They should be able to walk out of here.” Looking at Harris, he added, “Nine dead soldiers, six injured seriously enough that they'll need better medical attention than I can give them.”
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   Nodding, Cooper pulled out his pistol, aimed it at Harris, and said, “I'm not going to bother asking for your parole, and I'm not going to waste any words on you. Get your men out of here. When that airstrike arrives, I don't think they'll care whether you're down here or not. If you want my advice, you'll head down the road as fast as you can.”

   “If you'd give me a communicator...”

   “Then that airstrike will be far too accurate for my liking, I suspect. No communicator, no signaling. As for your wounded, you're in command. They're your responsibility.”

   One of the troopers shook his head, and said, “We can't do anything for them, Hal. Let's just get out of here, while we still can.”

   “No, Private,” Harris said, fixing his subordinate with a glare. “Get three doors. We'll carry them out on those. I'm not leaving anyone behind for the firestorm.” Turning to Cooper, he said, “There will be another time, Lieutenant, and the next time you won't be so lucky. I can promise you that.”

   “Words are cheap,” Walpis said, the Neander flashing a beaming smile.

   “We'll see,” Harris replied. “We'll see.”

   As his men wrenched the doors from the nearest home, sliding them under the wounded as the first group made their way down the road, a runner sprinted down the road in the hopes of contacting friendly forces before they could open fire. Moretti walked over to Cooper, a rucksack over his back, shaking his head.

   “Was that wise?” he asked.

   Gesturing at the column as it moved out, Cooper replied, “All of those men will go back to the barracks and talk about what happened here today, that they were taken by surprise, then freed without reprisal. That'll make the next group to head out this way a little more reluctant, and a lot more likely to surrender.”

   The two of them watched as the villagers loaded their lives onto their backs, scrambling to rescue treasured possessions and essential equipment, the wail of children mingled with the cursing of their parents. A family trooped across the field, each of them carrying a pair of chickens, the youngest clutching a squabbling cockerel, and Cooper shook his head with a smile. Someone was thinking ahead.