The Nameless War

by Edmond Barrett

  Sitting near the back of the briefing room, she glanced around at the other nine trainee pilot officers, plus the ten weapons operators. There had been three times as many when they started but at each stage a few failed to make the cut. The ones that had made it through, had been together for just over two years now. Soon however the training squadron would be breaking up; their graduation would be accompanied by posting orders. Each crew would go its own way. The luckiest ones would go to carriers, others to space bases; the majority would find themselves on bases dirtside somewhere. She would be sorry to see them all go; they’d been a good group to come through with.

  An elbow dug into her side, bringing her back to reality. The elbow belonged to Flying Officer Simon Scammell.

  "…in a change from the earlier plan, on day three…" Moscoe continued.

  Alanna gave Simon a quick smile of thanks, which he immediately returned. Like all good wingmen you had to look out for each other.

  A second whoop from the PA cut across the Squadron Commander, warned that the jump-in was imminent. Everyone braced themselves. Dauntless didn’t use her own jump drive, instead they relied on their escorts to generate the jump conduit, and the interface points. It mean't however that Dauntless’s transfer from jump space to real-space was rougher than most ships, which reinforced her nickname, The Dubious.

  There was thump accompanied by a few groans from the hull and they were down and Moscoe continued his briefing. Then suddenly, the main alarm screamed into life.

  "ALL FIGHTERS SCRAMBLE! ALL FIGHTERS SCRAMBLE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

  For a moment Alanna thought it must be a surprise, to test the trainee’s reactions. But she was looking directly at Moscoe when the alarm sounded; she saw the expression of surprise appear on his face, it was matched by one of shock on the face of Wing Commander Devane, his deputy.

  Moscoe recovered his composure fast.

  "MOVE! Move yourselves!" He bellowed. There was no time for thought as the entire squadron made a rush for the hatch.

  _______________________________

  "Captain, Piranha and Hammerhead report they are closed up and at action station." Commander Ferrara was reporting as Brian limped onto the bridge. "The duty fighters are launching now, the rest of the squadron is fuelling and arming; it’s going to be at least twenty minutes before they’re all ready, sir."

  "Order flight control to launch each one as it comes ready." Captain O’Malley replied. With his back to the hatch the Captain didn’t see Brian come in.

  "Captain, what in God’s name is this about?" She demanded irritably, as she rubbed her aching knee. O’Malley turned around, and Brian stopped dead in her tracks. The Captain was large ruddy faced man, but now he looked rattled.

  "Admiral, we received a transmission from the FTL relay satellite near the jump-in point. On the strength of that transmission I have ordered the entire squadron to battle stations." He sounded as shaken as he looked, he held out a signal pad to her. "It was G fifty-one encoded."

  Brian hesitated as she drew a sharp breath, her hand reaching for the pad paused. G fifty-one was a coding protocol, one that the fleet had developed and trained its communications personnel on, but never ever actually used. Its purpose was as a contingency measure; in the event of war the fleet would immediately switch over to G fifty-one, thereby hopefully rendering void an enemy’s pre-war code breaking efforts. To receive a message encoded thusly was a declaration of war in its own right.

  She took it out of O’Malley’s unresisting fingers and ran her eyes across the short message.

  Message start: ++Baden destroyed – Third Fleet scattered – at war with Nameless – authorisation to commence hostilities granted – proceed to Alpha Centauri Three – reactivate FTL transmitter – confirm receipt of message – await further instructions. ++ Message End. Coding: G FIFTY-ONE, CORRECT Frequency: CORRECT Authorisation code: CORRECT. Conclusion: MESSAGE CONFIRMED AUTHENTIC.

  She slipped the pad into her pocket, and walked slowly over the command chair at the centre of the bridge. The bridge was almost silent, only the hum of machines was audible, she could feel the eyes of the crew follow her. At the front of the bridge, the main holographic display was set for navigation mode. The four ships of her command were represented by a single green blip, tiny against the vastness of the solar system. She folded her stick up again and pocketed it, as much to give herself a moment to think.

  "Captain O’Malley, what is our jump status?" She asked quietly.

  "The destroyers are showing green across all systems, our heat sink however, is saturated, we need at least twenty minutes before we can make even an in-system jump."

  "That’s to be expected." She said quietly to herself. "Tell engineering to do whatever it takes to shave a few minutes off that."

  "Admiral, we could send Samuel Clemens on ahead now, and follow when we’re able." Commander Ferrara suggested.

  Brian considered it, and shook her head.

  "No. I’m not splitting ships up." She said firmly. "We’ll take the opportunity to refuel. In fact, we’ll make use of this time. First order flight control to form the fighters that are up into as good a perimeter as they can manage with the numbers. Captain O’Malley, I want this ship stripped for action, if it can burn and we don’t need it, lose it. Order Piranha to make calculations for a jump to Alpha Centauri Three, I want the jump-in as tight to the red line as their navigator can make it. While we’re docked with Samuel Clemens, I want our munitions magazines filled with all the fighter missiles they have, if you have to dump dummy missiles, so be it. Once we’ve made the jump I want all but the duty fighters kept on board, and complete systems check performed. Tell the flight deck engineers, that if I start losing sorties to breakdowns, the Nameless will be the least of their problems. Oh, and can someone go get my survival suit from my cabin."

  O’Malley nodded with agreement and waved his people into action, before approaching her chair.

  "I’m sorry ma’am, I should have thought of most of that myself." He said in a voice lowered, so only she could hear.

  "That’s all right Denis, you got the ships to battle stations. That was the most immediate thing." She patted him lightly on the arm. "Flag officers don’t like subordinates that do everything, leaves us feeling surplus to requirements."

  "Thank you Admiral. On that note, there is one thing which I think you missed." He replied. "The crews, they’ll need to be told."

  _______________________________

  The pilots mess was almost silent, a few people were having conversations, but in voices so quiet as to be barely audible. The ship wide announcement from the Admiral had finished ten minutes ago, but people were still trying to take in what they had heard. Alanna had visited Baden, during her year as a rating that the fleet required all personnel to complete. She could remember marvelling at the great station, built so quickly, so far from home. She could remember watching the massed ranks of the Third Fleet, from battleships to fighters; it had been a breath taking show of force. How could such a fleet have been defeated? The Admiral didn’t know, all she said was that they were awaiting orders from home. They’d been in jump space a mere two days, but instead of travelling between solar systems it felt like they’d travelled to a different reality entirely.

  Alanna suspected that a lot of people aboard the ship were considering their own immediate future, certainly she was. If, as the saying went, the truth is the first casualty of war, then training was generally the second. There was no doubt in her mind that her own was now over. The training period of next intake would be pared back to months, possibly even weeks once front line squadrons started crying out for fresh blood. She wished that her fighter had been on the duty roster, flying picket duties would have given her something beside the future to think about. But her plane, C for Caesar, was currently in its hangar, with its machinery opened up.

  "Attention on deck!" Moscoe barked as he stepped through the hatch, everyone scrambled to their feet as the Admi
ral came in.

  "At ease everyone." She said waving them back into their seats.

  A few people shifted their chairs to get a better view of her. Alanna had seen the Admiral when she’d first come aboard, and was now struck by the change. The Admiral, when she pulled herself through the airlock, on that first day, had looked tired and more than a little depressed.

  If her presence on Dauntless had been a surprise, and it had, then her behaviour was even more so. Rarely leaving her cabin, and showing no interest in the running of the ship, had left the ships regular officers baffled as to what she was even doing with them. The ship gossip mongers hinted that she had somehow fallen foul of Headquarters, and certainly her behaviour and demeanour had done nothing to disprove that theory. But now she looked, and sounded, like a completely different person. While the rest of the crew were shocked by what had happened to Baden, the Admiral, it seemed, saw the situation very differently. Certainly she seemed to be throwing herself into the crisis.

  "Now I know you’ve all heard my address," she began briskly, "but I want to speak to you separately. Firstly, by my own authority, I am promoting you all to full operational status; so, you can all lose your trainee stripes. I’m also changing the designation of your fighter squadron from training to a line unit. Now, at this very moment, the Samuel Clemens is launching an engineering party, they will shortly be making operational the FTL transmitter on Alpha Centauri Three. Once we have confirmed we are in position, I expect Command to tell us why they want us out here."

  "Admiral?"

  Brian’s head immediately snapped round towards the raised hand, and her eyes focused on Alanna.

  "Err… Trainee Fly… I mean Flying Officer Alanna Shermer ma’am." She stuttered.

  "Yes?" The Admiral’s tone was businesslike, but not unkind.

  "Ma’am, may I ask what kind of missions we’re expected to fly?"

  "As I said, we are waiting for Command to contact us." The Admiral replied. Alanna felt her face heat up. "However since you’re asking," Brian continued, "I believe that our most likely mission will be to support retreating elements of the Third Fleet. Strike missions, are however, a possibility."

  The gathered crews stirred uncomfortably. The Admiral sensed their unease, and its source.

  "I know what you’re all are thinking; the Vampire Three is old. In fact several of you are younger than your planes." Brian shrugged. "Not perfect I admit, but I remind you all that while you know it as a training fighter, I have flown them into action. The Vampire is combat proven design, it won’t let you down."

  A lieutenant appeared at the hatchway and tried to catch the Admirals eye. Brian glanced towards him, and then looked back at the assembled fighter crews.

  "Duty calls." She remarked. "I want you all to get some rest, one way or the other, we’re going to be earning our pay in the next few days."

  Once the Admiral left, the squadron flight crews broke up. Some gathered into small groups, others wandered off, a few did as the Admiral suggested and headed for their bunks.

  Rest was the one thing Alanna definitely didn’t feel in the mood for. Simon looked like he wanted to talk, but she didn’t feel in the mood for that either. Instead she slipped out of the pilots mess and down to the second hanger on the port side upper row.

  The engineering crew were just finishing up on C for Caesar when she entered the hanger. The flight chief nodded to her as he left, but didn’t stop to talk. Too many fighters to service, and not enough hours to do it in, she guessed. Within a minute of entering, she was a lone with her fighter.

  The Mark III Vampire Strike Fighter would never be considered a thing of beauty. With engine pods on each side and plasma guns in ventral and dorsal turrets, it made, unlike its successor the Raven, no concession to aerodynamics. With its blocky appearance, it well deserved its nickname, The Flying Brick.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when she heard the main hatch open behind her.

  "So, this is where you are, skipper." Said a familiar voice.

  "Were you looking for me?"

  "Not really. I think half the pilots are with their planes at the moment, but of course you pilots do so love your planes."

  "I think… I think, Wasim, most of us are wondering if we’re really as good as we thought we were yesterday." She replied as she turned around.

  Wasim Dhoni, her weapons and systems operator, regarded her seriously. A short but heavy set man of Indian origin. Among the often boisterous trainees, the serious and reserve Dhoni stood out. Unlike the rest of them, he had already served with the fleet for a decade before he decided to transfer to the Fleet Fighter Corp. They’d been crewing together for over year, but even now, Alanna didn’t feel she knew him well.

  "There is no good purpose served by worrying. We cannot effect events skipper. We just have to try to be ready."

  _______________________________

  "Admiral?"

  Brian looked up into the worried face of Staff Lieutenant Gore. Brian was sitting in her cabin studying charts of the solar system. She’d left her cabin hatch open, an old habit from her days as a Captain; she’d always felt that being able to see the crew passing helped her to sense the mood of the ship. The lieutenant’s mood was an easy one to judge. He was standing as far back from his Admiral as he could politely manage, as the only staff officer she’d brought to Dauntless, Gore had unfortunately received the brunt of her anger.

  "Yes William, what is it?" She asked in what she hoped was a friendly sounding voice.

  "Captain O’Malley reports that two military couriers have made real-space re-entry on opposite sides of the planet. They’ve both signalled that their orders are to only transmit our instructions once they are in laser transmission range." Gore reported nervously.

  "Hmm… That’s interesting." She commented to herself. "Does the Captain have an estimate on when they will be close enough for coms lasers?"

  "Approximately one hundred and thirty minutes Ma’am."

  "Good. What’s Captain DuBois’s latest estimate on the FTL being operational."

  "Erm…" Gore flicked through a notebook. "The last estimate was about an hour, that was twenty minutes ago, Ma’am."

  "Good."

  Brian nodded to herself with satisfaction. Once they had got over their initial shock the officers and crews of the four ships had snapped to it, Dauntless had rapidly turned into a hive of activity. She suspected that many were glad of the work since it didn’t leave time to brood and there was much to brood about.

  "Alright, thank you William. Can you instruct the bridge to send the transmission down to me as soon as we get it."

  "Yes, ma’am." Gore replied, gratefully retreating.

  Brian smiled with amusement and returned to her reading.

  _______________________________

  "The couriers should be reaching them about now." Admiral Lewis said quietly, his voice breaking the long silence.

  Admiral Wingate nodded. The room was silent except for the buzz of the hologram projector. With orders given, the two officers could now only await developments. This forced period of inactivity sat uncomfortably for both men.

  "What do you think is the chance of her pulling this off?" Wingate asked quietly.

  "With the element of surprise," Lewis paused, "she has perhaps a ten to fifteen percent chance of landing a strike. What chance there is of her pinning them in-system, I can’t even guess."

  Wingate leaned back a shook his head.

  "That assumes that Brian presses home that attack, for Christ’s sake, we’re sending her in with a training ship. I wouldn’t blame her for showing a degree of caution."

  Lewis gave an amused snort.

  "If there is one thing we can be sure of, it’s that Emily will press home the attack. If nothing else, so she can ram her after action report down Sudell’s throat. She doesn’t work in half measures, she never has."

  "Well I wish it was Rear Admiral Heyerdahl we had out there." Winga
te replied distantly.

  "With respect, sir, I’d only want him out there if I needed Dauntless kept in one piece." Lewis said his tone blunt.

  "What do you think the chances of Dauntless surviving are?"

  "If they make contact, ten percent." Lewis replied flatly. "At absolute best. I’d happily trade Dauntless for a chance to get the Home Fleet into weapons range; I just wish we weren’t going to lose Emily as well: she would have been very useful in the future."

  _______________________________

  The briefing download was the biggest Brian had seen in her entire career, literally hundreds of files, plus a video briefing from Admiral Lewis. That was unusual on its own; Paul Lewis had never liked the informality of video briefings, he was famous within the fleet for issuing almost every order in writing. As the video file was marked as the first item she was to look at, she clicked on the icon. The face of Lewis came up on her screen; she was immediately struck by how tired and harassed he looked. His expression was the same as it had been the last time they met she sensed that what she was about to hear wasn’t going to be good.

  "Emily, on the twenty third the Third Fleet and Baden Base were attacked by the Nameless." He started without preamble. "The Fleet was defeated and Baden has been destroyed, the full extent of our losses are currently unknown. Indications at this point are that they have been severe… possibly even total. Unfortunately this isn’t our biggest problem. We’ve had indications I regard as reliable, that Nameless ships can make real-space re-entry inside a mass shadow."

  "Oh crap!" Brian muttered.

  "In addition to this, they are now making passage from Baden to Earth faster than we thought possible. By our calculations they are going to reach Earth before any surviving elements of the Third fleet, and the forces coming from Dryad. It is the opinion here, that the Home Fleet cannot withstand an assault on their terms. If we are to stand any chance, we have to force an engagement with them. According to our estimations by the time you receive this message, the Nameless will be forty to fifty-five hours away from passing through Alpha Centauri. It is your mission to hold the Nameless inside the Alpha Centauri system, by whatever means are at your disposal. Transmission to Earth from the Alpha Centauri FTL will take thirty minutes, passage of the Home Fleet another two and half hours. I need you to hold them in the system long enough for me to arrive and engage. You should find in the download everything we know of the tactical situation at time of sending. The two couriers are now under your direct command; hopefully they will give you some limited stand-off strike capability. However you are ordered to take whatever measures are necessary to land a strike… I’m sorry Emily, but I have to consider both you and Dauntless expendable." Lewis gave a wan smile. "Good luck Admiral."