The protected cruiser had little real armour, but this was inconsequential as no practical thickness of plate could have stopped the rounds from going all the way through anyway. Instead the cruiser’s designers had given it heavy subdivision, to limit the effects of any single hit. But the railgun’s designers had their own counter to that. The two rounds were more than a single hit each. As they penetrated the protected cruiser’s outer hull the tiny amount of explosives inside fired, just enough to fragment the rounds. The effect wasn’t unlike a canister blast, reducing two cone shaped areas of the internal volume to little more than shredded metal work.
Much of the forward section of the protected cruiser lost power, including its bridge and most but not all of its armament. Vincent felt his seat jerk as a laser shot cut into Deceiver’s hull and a pair of missiles arced out from their launchers. On the damage control display two cargo bays went red as they decompressed.
“Point defence, Commence! Commence! Commence! Fire Control, put him down!” Vincent shouted.
“Targeting their power plant,” Fire Control shouted back.
Deceiver’s point defence was feeble by warship standards, but more than capable of coping with two chemical powered missiles. The cruiser wouldn’t get the chance to fire again. With the bridge out of action this time there was no evasive action and all six rounds went in.
There were no survivors.
___________________
“To Commander Espey and the crew of Deceiver, a toast to your success, to your skill and to your bravery,” Shibanova announced raising his glass. There was loud agreement from all those present. Standing beside the Admiral, Vincent looked appropriately modest. The gathering was being held in one of the smaller fleet meeting rooms on Hawkings Base and almost every officer from the Geriatrics was present. There was Willis noticed, an almost party atmosphere, with much back slapping for the officers of Deceiver. At the head of the room Shibanova tapped a spoon against his glass until the volume level dropped. At odds with the atmosphere in the room his expression was serious.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Before we carry on to enjoy the evening, I would like to say a few words. Out here we are fighting what is in essence a forgotten war, one that most of our fellow citizens on Earth don’t even realise is happening. This makes being on Dryad Station probably the most thankless task of any within the fleet today. We have been granted few opportunities for success and many for grinding failure.” The Admiral paused and looked out upon the assembled officers. “We cannot afford to blind ourselves. Yes, Deceiver has enjoyed greater success than I expected. Once again I salute Commander Espey, but the loss of a ship will not have diminished the Rizr’s desire to take this system from us. Indeed they now need to have something to show for their efforts here. We must be ready for whatever comes next.” The Admiral forced a smile before concluding: “tonight however we celebrate.” There was a cheer but even to Willis’s socially insensitive ear it was less enthusiastic than it had been. There was nothing in his statement that she would say was wrong as such, but maybe it hadn’t been the right time to say it.
“Always a cheerful folk are the Russians,” Vincent said from behind her.
“Ah, am I lucky enough to be in the presence of the hero?” she replied as she turned. “Done dealing with your fans?”
“One must always remember the little people,” Vincent replied with a smile. The two of them took up a position against a bulkhead. The celebration was getting back into gear as officers who spent weeks living in glorified tin cans looking at the same faces, renewed acquaintances. At least two officers from Deceiver were taking crowds of admirers through a blow-by-blow replay of the brief battle.
“I’m sorry you won’t get the official credit for this,” Willis said after a moment.
“Official credit is exactly what I will get. I just won’t get the public credit, at least not for a while,” Vincent shrugged before taking a sip from his drink. “If that means that the next Rizr ship doesn’t know what it’s dealing with until it’s inside weapons range, I can live with that. I’m glad my crew is acknowledged. I just wish the Admiral hadn’t… ah never mind.”
Willis glanced sidelong at her friend.
“I’m not the Admiral’s spy you know,” she said.
“I know Faithie,” he replied as he looked across the room. “It’s just… just…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just get a vibe Faithie. This squadron is just waiting for the day when the Rizr turn up in force.”
“That’s what we’re expecting,” Willis replied.
“Yeah, but I get the feeling that when that day comes, most of you expect to lose.”
“You make it sound like we’ve given up, Vince,” she replied, before sipping from her drink.
“I felt it the first day I arrived here. You probably haven’t noticed because it’s been gradual,” Vincent replied flatly. “Your Admiral doesn’t think he can win, and he’s trying to keep it to himself. He’s praying reinforcements turn up before the Rizr make their big move.”
Willis didn’t reply. As he had done so often in the past, Vincent had seen the truth. Looking across the room to where Shibanova was talking to the commander of the Onslaught, she could see the Admiral suddenly looked like a very tired old man.
“He’s not well,” Willis said quietly. “Six months ago there was an entire fleet here, now we’re trying to do the same job with four antiques and an armed merchantman. If they come at us in strength, I’m not sure we can win.”
“That’s not like you Faithie. Remember the Battle of Davisman at the academy?” Vincent replied. “That one which isn’t supposed to be winnable, more about degrees of losing.”
Willis smiled at the memory - an early glory in a simulation commanding a small squadron. Although more than three-quarters of her force was destroyed, she’d stopped cold a larger force commanded by a full fleet captain. It had marked her for the promotion fast track.
“Yeah. God, Captain Davisman was cheesed off!”
“Remember what you said. If the other side is probably going to win, then make it as painful as possible. The other side might not realise they’re winning.”
“Yeah I remember that.” Willis said but thought to herself, Christ I was arrogant.
“We can beat ‘em Faithie,” Vincent said. “It might sting a bit, but we can beat ‘em.”
___________________
2nd May 2067
The Hood and Onslaught coasted along, two hundred kilometres astern of a small slow boat halfway between Dryads Five and Four. They’d jumped in thirty minutes earlier and as usual scared the hell out of the intercepted transport. In another ninety minutes they’d be jumping away again. Half the crew were at action stations, ready for anything. Not that much was likely to happen. After Deceiver’s success Rizr activity in the system had nearly stopped. There had been two sightings at the edge of the system, but in neither case had the ship moved in any deeper.
It seemed Vincent’s success had scared them off. Either that or the sight of the frontier force periodically passing through had given them cause to rethink. Since her conversation with Vincent, Willis had been looking again at her own plans. If you were prepared to get hurt and badly, that opened a number of options. It wasn’t the only topic where options had been opened. Dryad was the first posting in years that she and Vincent had been assigned to the same solar system. Willis smiled to herself. There were definitely some pleasant options, especially since they were conveniently in the same rank grade.
There was a brief squeal of feedback from the intercom earpiece that made her wince, then Guinness’s voice came through.
“Skipper, I need you to come down to centrifuge deck three, section seven.”
“What is it, Chief?”
“It’s the Admiral Ma’am, he’s had an accident. You’d better get down here quick. It’s serious.”
Admiral Shibanova lay crumpled at the foot of the ladd
er, his blood staining the deck plating. The ship’s surgeon was already working on him when Willis arrived. Her first instinct was to rush over but she forced herself not to. What could be done, was being done. Instead she made her way over to Guinness. The engineer was standing against a bulkhead, his arms crossed.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Did he slip?”
“He collapsed Skipper,” Guinness replied. “He was going up the ladder and then he just seemed to… to lose it. He fell before I could get to him. Hit the deck hard. I’m sorry skipper, I couldn’t move fast enough.”
Willis didn’t reply and instead waited impatiently. A pair of ratings arrived with a stretcher and the Admiral was carefully moved. Willis couldn’t contain herself any further.
“Doctor?”
Hood’s surgeon glanced towards her.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to walk and talk,” he replied as he hurried after the stretcher. Willis followed. “If you’re about to ask what I think you are, the answer is I don’t know. He has definitely broken his shoulder but I don’t know why he collapsed.”
“What can we do?”
“What you can do Ma’am, is get us back to Hawkings Base. They have proper medical facilities there. Then maybe we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”
Willis, Admiral Kinnear and the rest of the senior officers of the Geriatrics waited in the lobby area of Hawkings Base’s medical block. There was a grim silence in the room, all conversation having petered out hours earlier. Finally the hatch opened and Chief Medical Officer came out.
“So Emily?” Kinnear asked.
“Well sir,” she replied as she pulled off her surgical gloves, “we’ve stabilised his condition.”
“What was it?” Willis asked.
“A stroke Commander, at least to begin with. It wasn’t potentially the most serious one he could have had, but then he fell and hit his head and that’s caused bleeding inside the skull. We’ve managed to stop this, but as to how much damage his brain took, I can’t say.”
“Is he awake?” Commander Daler of the Onslaught asked.
“No. We’re keeping him under for, well, for as long as we think we have to.” The surgeon paused and looked directly at Willis. “He isn’t going to be fit to resume his duties in anything even resembling the foreseeable future.”
Everyone in the room also looked at her.
“Looks like you’re in command now Faith,” said Daler grimly.
Chapter Twelve
Arrivals
17th March 2067, Douglas Base
“And then he started banging on about how just because they are on active service, standards were not going to slip. Not on his watch! Then he slipped!” Alice said
“He didn’t go in as well?” Leah asked.
“Not just into the mud, but into the mud on top of Private Coonan! Two seconds later the Captain came round the corner to find out what all the shouting was about. It was definitely the highlight of the week.”
Leah Moir giggled and Alice was glad to see a bit of colour come to her cheeks.
“Marine mud wrestling,” Leah said with a small smile. “Who says this place lacks entertainment?”
Alice nodded in agreement.
“Mind you, I got mired in a mud hole last week,” she added. “It took them twenty minutes to dig me out. Wasn’t so funny then!”
“I’m sure your marine boyfriend was there like a shot to help.” It was a gentle dig but Alice was glad to be on the receiving end of it. She dearly hoped that her friend was starting to return to her old self.
“There’s nothing between us. Rob is a friend,” Alice replied
“I think he wants to be a bit more than that.”
“Yeah well,” Alice started before she’d figured out how to answer the question. “It isn’t the right time for a relationship.”
“Yes, I know,” Leah replied. Her face had fallen and once again she seemed to be staring into space.
Alice mentally kicked herself for allowing the conversation to drift even within shouting distance of the war.
“Still, you never know. How are you doing with that doctor?” she asked, changing the subject.
“He got moved to one of the forward dressing stations,” Leah replied, her voice still sounding distracted.
Inside the privacy of her own skull Alice said something rude. She’d managed to get Leah a porter’s position in the field hospital in the hope of her coming to the attention of someone. A somewhat elderly Indian doctor had started to show an interest in her and for the last week, Alice had been hoping her friend was receiving the help she badly needed.
Alice’s doctorate was in languages rather than medicine or any kind of psychology, but she could see that her friend was suffering from some kind of mental illness, probably post-traumatic stress.
When the war finally reached Douglas Base, Alice hadn’t been on the ground. Her transport plane had however been close enough for her to see the twin pillars of fire as the two missiles raced skyward. The transport had been forced to orbit the base for an hour while they waited for the runway to be cleared.
Leah on the other hand, was part of a work party that was drafted in to help the victims of the launch. She’d never spoken about exactly what she’d seen but Alice had got the details from others: bodies incinerated to the point where species, let alone identity, was impossible to determine; people burnt horribly and screaming in pain; and the overwhelming smell of charred meat.
Alice didn’t think her friend had led a particularly sheltered life, but something like that, was too far removed from any previous frame of reference to process. Some of the marines in the company to which Alice was attached had also been involved in the clear-up and she was aware that several of them had since given up eating meat.
When it came to treating bullet holes, broken bones or, yes, even burnt flesh, the level of medical care at Douglas was second to none. But the afflictions of the mind were a different matter. While the civilians from the national colonies and the serving soldiers had large social groupings to offer support, Battle Fleet civilian contractors like Leah and Alice had no comparable group. Leah was now the last of the old Harbinger crowd that Alice saw, and even that took a bit of effort. With the final retreat to the shelters her posting had changed yet again. She was now a member of the medical corps, albeit with no medical training beyond basic first aid. Her exact role was as a stretcher-bearer.
It had come as a bit of a surprise to her that such a position even existed. It sounded so twentieth century. But it made sense when she thought about it. The rings of trenches around the perimeter of Douglas were now completed. The trees within the trench line had been allowed to remain, but downhill a three hundred metre wide band had been cleared of all cover. A killing zone the soldiers had called it. Between the trenches and the trees there was no way any vehicle could reach the forward positions. So using stretcher-bearers was the only way to get someone from the outer ring of trenches to the dressing station on the support line or beyond. While the current uneasy peace prevailed, there weren’t many customers for Alice. Captain Fuentes, the medical officer to whom Alice now answered, might have been a bit dour but he allowed her to take a lunch break long enough to travel into the centre of the base to meet Leah.
“Enough about me,” Alice said firmly. “How are things going in the field hospital?”
“It’s sprained ankles mostly, oh… and a few cases of trench foot. When they cut the boots off, it’s…”
“Something that I am not discussing before my lunch,” Alice cut her off as she picked up a plastic food tray and passed one over. They were finally into the mess tent and foodie smells beckoned to Alice. It was noisy as rows and rows of soldiers ate and talked. Leah shrank back toward Alice and away from the hubbub. Alice put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“It’s all right, nothing to worry about here,” she told her. “Nothing to worry about.”
If I crack, will there be someone l
ooking out for me? she thought to herself as she comforted Leah.
The wail of the siren that started just as she finished speaking made her a liar. Every single person in the mess tent froze. The only sound was the continuing wail. Then the people started moving. The line behind Leah and Alice disintegrated. Plastic trays were abandoned as people flowed out through the tent flap. As she turned to follow the crowd, Alice found her mind recording odd snapshots. The fear on some faces, resignation on many, excitement on a few and those men and woman in uniform who paused to take a very deliberate last mouthful of food before they to hurried away. Automatically Alice started to move as well but was brought up short. Leah clung to her like a lost child. Her friend’s face had gone chalky white.
“Leah, we’ve got to go!”
“No, no, no!” Leah sobbed as Alice physically dragged her out of the mess tent.
The muddy expanse outside was a hive of activity as humanity in all its forms hurried back and forth. That was of no interest to Alice. Instead her eyes searched for and found the four missile defence silos, all around which the ground was still scorched. They were three kilometres away, but she could still see clearly the concrete caps sliding open. Leah also looked towards the silos and when she saw them open, vomited helplessly over herself.
Alice desperately tried to calm her hysterical friend but time was against her. Fifty metres away she could see people piling into the truck that had brought her from the perimeter.
“Please Leah, I have to go, please don’t cry, it’ll be okay,” she pleaded with her. The truck’s engine started up and with a desperate heave Alice managed to extract her arm from Leah’s grip. Her friend didn’t chase after her but instead flopped down in the mud weeping. Her heart knotted with guilt, Alice nonetheless had no choice but to sprint away from her and after the truck. The vehicle started to move just as she reached it and Alice jumped desperately for the tailgate. Someone grabbed hold of her arm, while another impersonal hand closed around her leg and between them dragged her onto the truck. Looking back, she saw a small figure slumped in the mud, then the truck turned into a corridor of tents and Leah was lost from view.
The Landfall Campaign (The Nameless War) Page 22