“Good, how long until he arrives?”
“Ma’am, he was along way out.” Willis registered the Lieutenant’s grim expression and realised she’d been wrong to hope.
“Admiral Melchiori has detached his cruisers. Resplendent and the destroyers are following as fast as they can.”
“Lieutenant, how long?” Willis asked in a hollow voice.
“The cruisers are thirty… two hours behind us. Resplendent at least forty five.”
Willis sat down heavily as the strength went out of her legs. She hadn’t hoped for Melchiori, hadn’t even allowed herself to think about hope. In fact when the Rizr arrived, she’d accepted that she would probably die here, but the universe seemed to be determined to twist the knife. On the holo she could see the Rizr reduce acceleration, probably trying to decide who the newcomer was. A few more minutes and they’d come to the correct conclusion that the courier changed nothing. The Lieutenant’s face was still on the screen, she hadn’t dismissed him but instead she gazed at her holo. There was nothing new there, nothing that would change the balance. The Rizr would advance back into contact and in twenty minutes, thirty at the outside, it would be all over. Onslaught would survive, the Rizr didn’t have anything that could catch her, but she’d be unable to prevent them from taking or destroying Hawkings and landing on the planet. In forty-five hours’ time Melchiori would find himself facing a fait accompli.
The Rizr were still hesitating. Whatever it was that pumped blood around its body, the Rizr admiral must have it in its mouth. If Melchiori was arriving now, with them so deep inside the moon’s Mass Shadow, they wouldn’t be able to get out in time. Resplendent alone would butcher them. But soon he or she would realise that the courier wasn’t the harbinger of doom, just a witness to the last stand of the Geriatrics.
Then Willis paused. The Rizr could see the courier and would know that it had communicated with her, but not what it had said. He would also remember that the Geriatrics had met them head on, that their arrival hadn’t been a surprise, so logically the frontier squadron had already been summoned.
“Lieutenant, are you still there?” she said toward her communication screen.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Start transmitting a war warning beacon,” Willis ordered. “Communications, make signal to the squadron, America move to here,” her finger stabbed out into the holo, “we go here, Typhoon here and Onslaught… here, cutting off their last line of escape.”
“Escape, what do you mean escape?” Driant said in confusion
“We are going to try the one thing we have left, Lieutenant. We’re going to bluff. We’re going to make those bastards over there think Resplendent is about to arrive, and that their only chance is to break past us and run for their lives.”
“But Ma’am, that deployment will leave our ships too far apart to properly support one another,” Driant objected.
Willis sat down and buckled herself back in. She tried to close her visor but it was jammed half open, she wrestled with it for a moment then shrugged. With the radio still smashed she couldn’t close it anyway.
“That can’t be helped Lieutenant. Send my orders.”
The battered ships of the Geriatrics started to move again, spreading out and cutting down the angles away from the moon. Behind them the courier sent a steady stream of transmissions, which would warn any ship arriving that they were jumping into a combat zone.
Willis watched the holo intently, were the Rzir breaking, accelerating or changing course? What was going through the mind of her opposite number? There could be one hell of a discussion going on. With laser communication there was no way to know.
“There! The transports, they’re moving away from the moon, they’ve gone full burn! So have the warships!”
They’d gone for it. They’d actually fallen for it. For a brief moment Willis felt a spark of elation.
“Skipper, they’re turning towards us.”
And there was the weakness in the plan. To escape the Rizr need to break the human perimeter and Hood was the most obvious weak point. So through Hood they would go.
As she watched the Rizr started to stream forward, their formation loosening. Willis pondered. If Hood tried to run then that might expose their bluff. She could go all-astern on the engines and keep the range open for as long as possible. But that wouldn’t achieve much. Hood jolted as a laser beam hit her.
“Helm, alter course two points to port, then roll to present our port side armour. Coms, order America and Typhoon to close on their flanks, Onslaught get in astern.”
“Understood Skipper.”
“Bridge, Fire Control,” she said. “We have two missiles left, prepare to use them as I direct.”
“Aye Skipper.”
The Rizr were stringing out as each ship made its own best acceleration. As they came into range, laser beams played across Hood’s battered hull, but by now there was so little left of the ship, most merely stirred the wreckage.
The hull keened and groaned as one section of the ship after another decompressed. With white knuckles, Willis gripped the armrests of her chair watching the holo. America was pressing in hard on one side, Typhoon on the other. As she watched a protected cruiser fell out of line while the rest of the Rizr streamed past. A pair of armoured cruisers were sticking close to the surviving transports, keeping Onslaught at arm’s length. But the rest of the Rizr were losing cohesion. The retreat was becoming a rout.
The lead ships started to pass Hood, each in turn pouring fire into her. Her engines were smashed into silence, the remaining radar tower torn away. The range was now so short Hood’s point defence guns were able to rattle back, only able to pock mark their hulls but riddling the radar domes. As the leading protected cruiser passed Willis let fly Hood’s last two missiles, smashing open its hull.
With engines gone, weapons spent and sensors mangled, Willis could no longer affect the battle, only watch on what little Hood’s few surviving passive sensors could provide. She saw another Rizr armoured cruiser blow, then a transport lose engine power and start to transmit a surrender signal. Astern of Hood the leading Rizr ships were crossing the Red Line and disappearing into jump space. Typhoon crawled past, still in pursuit but with engines damaged to the point where she could barely crawl out of the moon’s gravity well. Even at this stage had the Rizr turned on their pursuers, they could have won. Instead as each ship exited the Mass Shadow, it jumped away.
___________________
30th May 2067
Those old novels she’d read growing up, when describing the victorious ship at the end of the book used words like ‘defiant,’ ‘undaunted’ and ‘bloodied but unbowed’. Hood, Willis thought to herself as she looked out a view port at her command, didn’t look like any of these things. She looked pitiful. What was left of the conning tower was bent off to port, the upper radar array was shattered and the lower was simply gone. Both turrets were burnt-out and what was left of the armour scorched and pitted. Of the crew, less than one in three were still standing. Dockyard workers were still cutting their way into the hull to recover the bodies. Guinness had done a detailed analysis, but even he had been forced to admit she was beyond any repair. If a mechanical thing could possess a life or spirit, Hood’s was gone.
Beside her there was a pair of clicks, as Admiral Melchiori’s boot magnets engaged with the deck plating.
“Sir,” she started to salute.
“No, no,” he said. “I don’t believe you have any requirement to salute me.” Melchiori stared out the port at Hood and for a time there was silence between them.
“I will admit Faith, I don’t know how you did it,” he said eventually with a shake of his head. “But you did. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to contribute materially.”
There had been loose ends for the frontier squadron to tidy up. As soon as they arrived the cruisers went to look for Deceiver. They found a distinct debris field and a badly damaged protected cruiser being escorted by another. Befor
e they took him down, Vincent had knocked a lump out of one. When Melchiori’s cruisers swept down on them, the fight was short and one-sided. With no bodies to bury there had been a small memorial service for the crew of Deceiver. Willis kept her grief to herself and didn’t attend.
“It isn’t over out here, sir,” she said quietly.
“I know Commander,” Melchiori replied with a sigh, “But we’ll have to see what the politicians make of it all first. I’m incorporating the Eighteenth Cruiser Squadron into my command.” It was a rather grandiose reference to the Onslaught. With Typhoon almost as badly smashed as Hood, she was the last serviceable member of the Geriatrics. “You do have the right to object Commander,” he added.
Willis gave him a wane smile, “To what end, sir? One ship doesn’t make a squadron.” She turned back to the shattered wreck beyond the view port. “The Geriatrics is a spent force.” She raised her hand to the glass, “I always hated that name, but it was what we were.”
“Then in that case Commander Willis, it’s time for you to go home,” Melchiori replied quietly. “Commander Faith Willis, Acting Commanding Officer of Dryad Station, you are relieved.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cry for Help
1st June 2067
HMSS Endurance’s point defence guns blazed frantically astern as she ran for the Red Line. With the missiles arriving on multiple curving trajectories, Endurance’s handful of guns couldn’t lay down an unbroken barrage. Instead they had to flick from one target to another, working through them in order of threat priority. Three missiles breached the one hundred-kilometre perimeter, triggering a launch of chaff and flares, and finally a series of desperate evasive manoeuvres.
On the main holo in Four C the blip for Endurance disappeared. Eulenburg turned towards the analysis section. The detection grid available to Douglas Base was now nothing more than a single radio telescope on the surface.
“They made it out, sir,” came the report after a few minutes, in response to which the Admiral sighed with relief. In the early days of the siege, small fast transports like Endurance had been able to run the blockade and get into position to make a drop relatively unhindered. Most of the Nameless ships in orbit were either bombards or transports. Their few remaining space fighters had managed to cause enough distraction to keep the escorts busy while the blockade-runners made their drop.
The Nameless inevitably countered, with more escorts at first, then with minefields and kill-sats. The USS Eddings was the first victim, taking a direct hit just after making her drop. Escape pods were seen ejecting, so possibly the crew were now out there somewhere beyond the combat zones around the shelters, trying to survive. Most of the runners still made it but the casualty rate was beginning to become unsustainable.
Governor Reynolds was waiting for him when he got to his office.
“The transport managed to make jump out,” he said as Reynolds seated herself, “but only by the thinnest of margins.”
“It received your message though?” she asked.
“Yes, we received confirmation that the upload was successful.” Eulenburg sat down heavily. “We won’t get an answer by the time the next runner arrives, maybe in a month’s time.”
Before he could say any more his intercom buzzed. If Reynolds noticed the way he startled at the sudden noise, she gave no indication.
“Admiral sir. The other Governors have arrived. They’re waiting in the Number One Meeting Room,” said his secretary across the link.
“We’ll be there in a moment.”
“Have you any idea what was dropped?” Reynolds asked as she stood up.
“Not yet. The pods are still being collected, so I don’t know whether Earth took your suggestion.”
“I understand military necessity, but it would help morale.”
“Down here maybe, Madam Governor. But we ask a lot of blockade-runners already. Asking them to take the risks they do, for the sake of chocolate bars…” Eulenburg trailed with a shrug.
___________________
“If there is a God,” Alice Peats muttered as she looked up, “he, she or it has a vindictive sense of humour.”
Months of on-off artillery strikes had reduced most of the trees in and around Douglas to little more than splintered stumps. The majority of those that had survived were situated around priority sites like the artillery bunkers. The rest of the surface of Douglas was a muddy, cratered moonscape. One tree though had survived and one cargo pod had managed to find it and get stuck in it.
“We could cut down, I suppose,” Damien said in a dubious voice.
“Bugger that! There’s little enough colour round here as it is. I’m not going to be the one to destroy this bit.”
“Very environmental of you.”
“No need to be offensive, Lance Corporal,” she replied.
“Sorry, Corporal,” he replied with a smile.
Both of them turned sharply as in the distance they heard a whistling noise followed by the boom of an explosion. Twenty metres away her squad was busy opening other pods and breaking the cargo inside down into man portable packages. At the sound of the explosion half of them hit the deck, while the other half stood up and tried to figure out where the noise had come from.
As members of the auxiliaries since the early days, both of them had learned the difference between an incoming missile that was going to be your problem, and one that was going to land far enough away to be someone else’s. As the siege deepened and volunteers were sent from the shelters far below, it was clear that people were needed to lead them. The trained soldiers were now far too precious to be wasted on non-combat roles, so the surviving members of the original auxiliaries like Alice and Damien found themselves being promoted into squad leaders and sub-leaders.
Alice hadn’t been at all certain about the stripe the military had stuck on her sleeve. In her heart she still thought of herself as an academic, someone who belonged in a comfortable research or teaching institute somewhere. Not here amidst muddy shell craters. Then they showed her those she was to command and her first thought had been how desperately young they all looked, with their faces pale from months underground and eyes unused the natural light. Even those older than her still looked young and vulnerable.
In the distance there was another series of booms, all from the direction of the northern frontline. The squad was now all largely ignoring the sounds. Old hands like Alice and Damien had learned to always keep half an ear open for dangers.
“Babes in the woods,” Damien murmured. “I’d better go keep an eye on them in case the bastards get tricky and lob out a few random shots again.”
“Yeah, better get an axe I guess. I don’t want us standing out here for too long. If we chop away a few branches we can probably get it down.”
___________________
The rest of the colony governors were waiting patiently when Eulenburg and Reynolds came in. They all looked up expectantly and the Admiral didn’t waste his breath.
“As you will all be aware the British blockade runner Endurance made a successful drop earlier today. A short time ago we were able to observe her make a safe jump out.” He started to walk slowly around the room. “I can report that while she was in orbit we successfully uploaded all the messages that were waiting to be sent. This includes the messages to your individual governments.”
“Are we certain, that the whole upload was received?” the Argentinian Governor asked.
“Yes sir. We received a confirmation on the file size received. It matched what we sent up to the megabyte. So provided Endurance doesn’t meet with disaster on route to the Junction Line, Earth should receive our messages in about fifteen days time.
“You did impress upon your superiors the seriousness of our situation,” the governor persisted. “Battle Fleet will send help won’t it?”
“The Admiral made his dispatch available to us all,” Reynolds cut in. “As to how Earth will respond, he can’t answer that.”
“
All we can do is wait for Headquarters’ reply,” Eulenburg added. “In the meantime I wish to reopen certain matters. I need more troops.”
“You want to organise a draft. This suggestion has been raised before,” said Reynolds in a chilly tone.
“And I’m going to have to keep raising it,” Eulenburg replied bluntly as he came to a halt at the head of the room. “To date there has been no repeat of the major ground assaults the Nameless mounted in May, for which we should give thanks. If they had maintained anything like that level of pressure, we would have been swept away by now. But even the low levels of actual combat and shelling since then have been inflicting steady casualties.”
“We could ask for volunteers again,” Governor Woods of New Zealand said.
“The last time we did we got barely a hundred and nearly half were individuals with law enforcement backgrounds that I have to keep down here. The marines have lost nearly a third of their numbers and some of the national contingents are now reduced to half strength,” Eulenburg replied bluntly. “I am sorry to say this, but a few dozen volunteers isn’t adequate. Now that the frontlines are relatively quiet, this is the time to introduce green troops.”
“Conscription isn’t going to be popular,” someone said.
“It never is,” Eulenburg replied. “I don’t ask because it is an easy choice. I ask because we don’t have enough professional soldiers and if the Nameless do get in, there will be no non combatants here.”
There was an uncomfortable silence around the conference table. It was wearing, it was farcical and under different circumstances it might have even been funny, Eulenburg thought to himself, but after months of siege national interest was still of vital importance. None of the national colonies wanted to be the first to reinforce their troops with civilians from the shelters in case others used that as an excuse to keep their own people in safety.
“Regardless of any reinforcements I won’t change the amount of frontage each national contingent has to man,” Eulenburg said eventually, “so units that receive more reinforcements should have better troop density. The Nameless have tended to hit weaker parts of the line, so units that don’t receive more troops are more likely to suffer further casualties.”
The Landfall Campaign (The Nameless War) Page 33