Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory

by Tongue,Richard

   “Then we've got seconds to respond, if we're lucky.”

   Bodies littered the corridors, Xandari in the majority, some Copernican technicians lying on the deck, gunshots to the chest, killed by their slavers to deny them any chance of living through the battle. Finally, Salazar reached the bridge, and looked at the door for a moment before tapping the release, stepping into the room.

   Everything was just as he'd remembered it. A pair of Xandari were slumped by the flight engineering console, and Rhodes dragged the bodies out of the way as Foster raced for tactical, dropping down into the chair. Maqua, at a nod from Salazar, took the helm, the console controls sliding into his preferred positions.

   The command chair sat empty at the heart of the room, waiting. Salazar looked down at it, took a deep breath, and sat at the heart of the bridge, his crew racing for their stations, moving to take control of their ship. Leaning forward, he turned to Weitzman, the technician eagerly assuming his old position.

   “Put me through to all ships.”

   “You're on, sir,” Weitzman replied. “The jamming is down.”

   “This is Acting Captain Pavel Salazar of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. All allied ships form on us. We're going in.”

  Chapter 22

   Cooper woke to a chorus of cheers, Salazar's voice in the background calling the ships in orbit to war. He looked at his side, his vision swimming, and saw Donegan leaning over him, working on his arm, and his wife standing next to him, a concerned frown on her face. Cantrell turned from the controls, raising an eyebrow as he forced his eyes open, reaching out with his good arm.

   “Morning, Gabe,” Cantrell said. “You just woke up in time to hear Pavel Salazar recapturing Alamo.” Shaking her head, she said, “God only knows how he pulled that trick off, but it isn't going to hold for long unless we can do something about supporting him from down here.”

   Struggling to talk, Cooper asked, “Satellites?”

   “Coming on-line now. They've tried to transfer control three times, but now that Alamo's back under our flag, they don't have anywhere left to move it too.” With a smile, she added, “Smart of us not to give them too many command options when we built the damn thing, wasn't it.”

   “Help me up,” Cooper said, struggling to rise.

   Frowning, Donegan replied, “I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir. You caught a lot of shrapnel in that arm, after the bullet went through, and lost a lot of blood. You're better off where you are.”

   Looking up at the medic, he said, “You can give me something to get back on my feet.”

   With a reluctant nod, Donegan said, “I could.”

   “Gabe, you're wounded,” Bradley said. “Act like it.”

   “In about ten minutes, the battle for this planet will be over, one way or another,” Cooper said, grinding his teeth from the pain shooting down his side. “After that I can take as much time off as I want, but I've got to be operational until then.” Turning to Donegan, he added, “Specialist, I'm giving you a direct order to get me on my God-damned feet on the double.”

   With a sigh, the medic pulled a hypodermic out of his medical kit, injecting it into his arm, and said, “Don't even think about using that arm, or you'll fall unconscious. You can get up, but you aren't going to be doing any more fighting for a while.”

   “What about the Xandari surface force?”

   Cantrell glanced at a monitor, and replied, “Four minutes, give or take. I've got Moretti and Walpis working on the defenses.” A light flashed on, and she added, “Got it. We've got full control of the missile satellites. Standing by to fire first salvo.”

   “No,” Cooper grunted, his wife helping him stagger to his feet. He lurched towards the panel, and said, “Not yet.”

   “What are you waiting for?”

   “Don't you understand,” he said, gasping through the pain. “We might only get one shot at this. The battlecruisers aren't in position.” Waving his good arm at the sensor display, he said, “Three minutes, and all three of them will be in range for two full salvos, close enough together that they won't get any defensive fire.”

   “Gabe, the Xandari could be here by then.” Holding her hand over the controls, she added, “If we mess this up, Alamo will be wiped out, and the rest of our forces with them. They're depending on us to save them.”

   “No,” he said. “If they just wanted safety, they wouldn't have come back in the first place. They came back because they wanted victory, and we're going to deliver it to them on a platter, but that means waiting for the optimum firing window.”

   “He's right,” Bradley said.

   Looking at the medic, Cantrell asked, “Cooper's still wounded, right? That means I'm in command here.” Turning to Saltzman, she added, “Prepare firing start-up sequence.”

   “Belay that order, Private,” Cooper said, his vision starting to blur again. “We wait.”

   “I gave you an order,” Cantrell replied.

   Shaking his head, Saltzman said, “I take my orders from Lieutenant Cooper, just as long as he can stand.”

   “From the look of him, that's about sixty seconds,” Cantrell said. Overhead, the whirr of a helicopter raced through the air, and she added, “Assuming we have that long.”

   “We wait,” Cooper said, looking at the screen. The trajectory tracks of the battlecruisers were moving towards Alamo, engines burning wildly at full thrust to bring them to the target. Firing projects flashed onto the display, and Cantrell shook her head. Eighteen missile impacts on Alamo would effectively reduce the ship to floating debris, and the best chance they had to win the battle would be over, then and there.

   “Gabe,” Bradley said, shaking him. “Hold it together, Gabe.”

   “I'm fine,” he replied.

   “Don't be a fool,” she said.

   Turning to the compound, he watched as the troopers worked, struggling to plug the gap he'd torn in the wall with the kamikaze truck, the rattle of cannon fire as a pair of Neander worked the damaged anti-aircraft gun, trying to bring down the orbiting helicopter. And bodies, scattered everywhere, dozens of them, some of them wearing Copernican uniform, others in the tunics of the farmers he'd recruited his army from.

   A tear trickled down his face, and he tried to wipe it clear before anyone could see, turning with a sad smile to Bradley, her mouth sagging as she looked into his eyes. He shook his head, then looked back at the screen, watching the ships move in their celestial dance. Overhead, there was an explosion, followed by a cheer from the troops, the enemy helicopter spiraling to the ground beyond the perimeter wall, the two Neander gunners clapping each other on the back as though their team had won the championship.

   Cantrell sat down at the console, setting up for the attack, nervously glancing at the door. With his wife by his side, Cooper sat next to her, resting his good arm on the controls, hand holding the launch key. Saltzman was frantically working his panel, disabling the safety systems, ensuring that the control computers knew who the bad guys were, had the correct transponder frequencies to target the right ships.

   “God, Harper's coming around again,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “They can't have a missile left in their arsenal, but she's coming in for another pass!”

   “Any word from Kepler City?” Cooper asked.

   “Chaos and confusion. One report had Captain Orlova leading a thousand troops down Main Street with Wulf's head on a pike, another said she'd been killed, and the government was shelling the commercial district to put down the revolt. Fifty people with communicators, all of them telling a different story, and the news network has gone dark.” With a nervous glance at the door, she added, “I guess we'll find out soon enough, one way or another.”

   “Sir,” Walpis said, ducking his head inside. “Enemy forces within sight. Two hundred plus, regular soldiers with Xandari support.” Cooper made to rise, but Bradley pushed him down into the chai
r, applying just enough pressure on his wounded arm to convince him of the wisdom of her argument.

   “Take it, Corporal,” he said. “Hold them as long as you can. Mortars, machine guns, hell, use harsh language if that's all you've got, but keep them off us for a few minutes.”

   “Yes, sir,” Walpis said, turning back to the compound. “Mortars at the ready, volley fire on my command. Machine gun crews to open up when you have a clear shot. Don't wait, nail the bastards!”

   “He's a good man,” Bradley said, leaning next to Cooper. “He knows what to do.”

   “I should be out there with them,” he replied, wincing.

   “The art of leadership is delegation,” she said, shaking her head.

   “One minute to firing window,” Cantrell added. Outside, an explosion rattled the ground, dust showering down from the roof, a thin beam of sunlight leaking through a crack in the wall that hadn't been there a moment ago. Cooper glanced up at the ceiling with a concerned frown. This bunker had taken a lot of damage already, and it hadn't really been built with such a major assault in mind. A stray hit might make holding this fort a waste of time.

   From outside, the rattle of machine gun fire started to rumble, Walpis directing the troops. A series of explosions roared, out beyond the remnants of the wall. His garrison was putting together a better defense than the original owners had, but the odds against them were far greater. Fumbling with his good hand, Cooper slid on a headset, flicking a switch.

   “Lieutenant Cooper to Acting Captain Salazar. Come in, please.”

   “Gabe?” Salazar replied, a brief second later. “Damn it, we'd just about given up on you. What's the situation on the surface? Have you got satellite control?”

   With a deep, hacking breath, Cooper said, “We're ready to launch a pair of salvos in thirty and fifty seconds. As soon as the enemy ships get into position.” Rubbing the sweat from his forehead, he added, “We're only going to get one good shot at this, Pavel. We've got to make it count.”

   “It's your play, Gabe. You set them up, we'll knock them down.” He paused, then asked, “You didn't answer my question.”

   “Situation desperate, but that doesn't matter,” Cooper pressed. “We'll give you that shot, but at a guess it'll be the last one you get. I intend to set the network to self-destruct so that it can't be used against you.” He gestured at Cantrell, who nodded, throwing switches to enable to detonators. “Just make this count, Pavel. That's all I ask.”

   “I can get a shuttle down to you,” Salazar began.

   “Damn it, Pavel, there's no time for that. Forget about us. We're dead. Just win the war.”

   With a soft sigh, Salazar replied, “Understood. Hold on as long as you can. Alamo out.”

   Cooper looked around the room, and said, “Anyone disagree with my assessment?” His words were punctuated by explosions outside, smashing into the plasticrete of the landing pad, ripping huge chunks into the material. A long, wailing scream followed, dying along with the man behind it, and he added, “We knew the risk. We've got to hold.” Gesturing at the screen, he said, “Ready for firing?”

   “All ready at my end,” Cantrell said. “I make it ten seconds to firing.”

   Grim satisfaction began to rise within Cooper as he looked at the display, trying to ignore the carnage taking place outside, the screams of his men as they held onto the fort with their fingernails, the sounds of battle growing ever louder as the Xandari brought more of their firepower to bear. Another explosion smashed down right beside them, more debris tumbling from the ceiling, panels crashing to the floor behind Saltzman, who moved just in time to avoid a steel beam slamming down into the place he had been sitting an instant before.

   “Two seconds. One. Mark. First salvo away,” Cantrell said. “Preparing second salvo. Fifteen seconds to firing.”

   “Confirmed,” Cooper said, watching as the missile tracks appeared on the screen, eighteen targets bearing down on the Xandari battlecruisers, the tactic they had used to win the First Battle of Copernicus now turned against them for the Second. Instantly, all three ships launched their defensive screen, the tracks locking onto each other, but as the countdown to the second salvo trickled down, Cooper knew that it wasn't going to be enough.

   “Five seconds,” Cantrell said. “Four. Three. Two. One. Mark. Second salvo fired.” Turning to Cooper, she continued, “This is going to take us both. Rotate destruct key to set on my mark. Mark.”

   The two keys turned at the same time, a wave of red lights running up the console as the satellites responded to the signal. Cooper looked across at Cantrell, who nodded in response.

   “Rotate destruct key to detonate on my mark. Two. One. Mark.”

   Both keys turned again, and the red lights turn to black. Up in space, the missile satellites they had come so far to capture, had risked so much to secure, exploded one after another in a series of anti-climactic detonations, tumbling debris sliding through orbit, no longer capable of having any impact on the battle up in space.

   “All missiles running steady,” Saltzman said, but before he could add any detail, all the systems died, the lights fading out. “Power failure.”

   “I figured they'd try for the generator,” Cantrell said, rising from her console. “They probably cut us off from the main grid seconds after they found out we'd taken control. Since there's nothing further we can do here, my friends, I suggest we go outside and see if we can help out there.”

   “No you don't, Gabe,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “We're staying right here. Your battle is over.”

   Nodding, Cooper slumped in his seat, looking up at Cantrell. “Take it, Lisa. Do what's necessary.”

   “Don't I always?” she asked, flashing a smile. “We'll be back on Alamo in an hour.”

   “Sure,” he said. “Assuming there's anything up there left to go back to.” He looked at the dark panels, a smile creeping onto his face. It might have cost them dozens of lives, might have ended his own, but they'd completed the mission. Even if they all died now, it wouldn't be for nothing. With an effort, he reached across with his good hand to take that of his wife, looking into her eyes. She pulled out a pistol, placing it between them on the console.

   “Two shots,” she said. “Just in case.”

   Nodding, he replied, “My birthday isn't for another week.”

   “I thought I'd better give it to you early. In the circumstances.”

   “I love you,” he said.

   “Me too,” she replied. “Me too.”

  Chapter 23

   Orlova ran down the street, cheering crowds all around urging her on, a column of troops trailing behind her. It felt as though the whole planet had risen as one when the sirens sounded, and she saw Nelyubov and Flannery at her side, both of them waving to the people. She turned a corner, and her face fell, the mob in the process of hanging a trio of Xandari who had been unfortunate enough to be caught.

   “They aren't saints,” Nelyubov said. “We don't have time to waste on them, anyway.” Council House was just ahead, the seat of government, one of the few parts of the city still occupied by the enemy. Her communicator chirped, and a message flashed across the display, a notification that the harbor had surrendered.

   A significant minority of her hastily assembled force were government troops who had switched sides, either because they had been biding their time to revolt or because they'd decided to join the winners to escape being lynched. For today, that didn't matter, though a glance back at the eager crowd executing their enemies warned her that the recovery was going to be a long process.

   Jogging ahead of the crowd, she saw a group of guards manning a defensive line, looking from side to side. None of them had any command insignia, and as soon as they saw her, they raised their hands, eager to surrender.

   “Kill them!” a voice cried from the crowd. “Kill the traitors!”

   “They've surren
dered,” Flannery replied. “Let the bastards be.”

   Orlova moved up to the nearest, and asked, “What's the story in there?”

   “The President's taken command of an elite squad,” the man replied, keeping his hands raised high over his head. “The Xandari left an hour ago, heading out-country.” Looking from side to side, he said, “I'm a janitor, for God's sake, not a soldier. They put me in a uniform, gave me a gun, and put me out here this morning. I don't want to die.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova said, “You've got two choices. Come with us and lead the way, or I doubt you'll live through the hour.”

   Grim resolution filled the young man's face, and he replied, “I'll join you.”

   Turning to the crowd, Orlova yelled, “They're with us! I sent them ahead to watch the building. Form a defensive perimeter and make sure no one can escape. All soldiers, with me! We're going to take the bastards down!”

   The mob murmured, and Flannery said, “You heard the Captain! The President's the real traitor, and she's sitting up in her penthouse laughing at us. I think it's time she answered to the voice of the people, don't you?” Under his breath, he said, “God, forgive me, but I've got to save as many of them as I can.”

   Clapping him on the shoulder, Orlova said, “Amen to that, Father. Amen to that.” Turning back to the janitor, she said, “What's your name, son?”

   “Ricardo, ma'am. Giuseppe. I guess I'm a Ca, I mean, Corporal.”

   “Then lead the way, Corporal. We're all with you.” She reached down, picked up the man's discarded rifle, and handed it back to him. “Take it.”

   “I don't even know how to fire it,” he replied, shaking his head with a nervous smile. “This way.”

   The group surged up the stairs, forcing open the double doors to the lobby. She looked around, waiting for the trap, her force quickly sweeping through the floor, tearing offices and rooms to pieces, but each of the section leaders turned back with a shake of the head.