Armada

by Paul Teague

  There was a small cheer from across the bridge, quickly silenced as Stansfield raised his hand.

  “You see that fleet of enemy battleships, Marine X? I’d very much like you to give them a sound thrashing while Vengeance completes her fault recovery.”

  “Understood, sir,” said Ten jauntily. “Let me see what we can do.”

  Stansfield wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the Battle Sphere could do. He turned his attention back to Vengeance.

  “Hunter, I want you and Kearney back in the field. I need you to find Commander Vernon.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Kearney. “We’re on it.”

  “Where’s Resolution?” demanded Stansfield. “Are we still exposed on the other side of the portal?”

  Before anyone could answer, a new group of people arrived on the bridge. All wore current-generation Royal Navy clones in modern uniforms; the relief bridge crew from Orion.

  “Lieutenant Curtis, sir,” said their leader, saluting smartly before Stansfield. “Captain Ryan’s compliments, and he offers all assistance.”

  Stansfield snapped a salute in response and nodded. “We have some vacancies, Lieutenant. If you’d like to take a seat?”

  “Thank you, sir, it’s an honour.” Curtis snapped a command and his team spread out across the bridge, filling the empty spots and quickly reviewing their new positions. Curtis found himself a spot beside Lieutenant Yau, who looked almost pleased to have some company. Stansfield watched for a few seconds, but he couldn’t fault their attitude or enthusiasm.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said as he looked around the bridge. “It’s good to have a full team again, and I hope you’re ready, because this is not a drill.” He was immediately reassured by the sure-handed way the newcomers set about tasks. It was obvious they’d been trained on Vengeance’s obsolete controls and technology, and Stansfield had to wonder exactly when that decision had been made. Was it a reaction to the current situation, or part of a larger plan?

  There was no time to worry about that now. The bridge might be quiet, but the six enemy ships were manoeuvring into position. They were unfamiliar in shape and construction. There was nothing about them to hint at their allegiance, and it was only their layout and design patterns that suggested they were crewed by humans.

  “Let’s get things going,” said Stansfield. “Open a hailing frequency, Midshipman, er…”

  “Campbell, sir,” said an unfamiliar face with a light Scottish accent. “From Orion. Hailing now, sir. No response.”

  “Keep trying,” said Stansfield. “We need to make contact.”

  Woodhall walked onto the bridge, bringing with him a faint whiff of furniture polish.

  “Good of you to join us, Lieutenant,” said Stansfield. “The enemy is before us. What do you recommend?”

  Woodhall stared at the ships on the screen, mouth open. He looked like a wraith had paid him a visit and signed him up to the pale, white and ghostly club.

  “Orders from the Admiralty are not to engage unless strictly necessary,” he blurted. “And to make contact if possible.”

  “All in hand, Lieutenant. What else?” said Stansfield. He knew it was petty, but the Lieutenant’s obvious discomfort was somehow refreshing.

  Woodhall boggled at the screen, more obviously out of his depth than any officer Stansfield could remember serving with. “Isn’t that ship about to fire?” he murmured.

  “The enemy battleship?” said Stansfield. “Probably. You wished to take command, Lieutenant, so what should we do?”

  Woodhall watched, frozen by indecision. The atmosphere on the bridge grew more tense as, one by one, every face turned to stare at him.

  “We’re waiting, Lieutenant,” said Stansfield coldly.

  “Er, action stations?” said Woodhall, wringing his hands.

  “We’re already at action stations,” said Stansfield calmly, pointing at the status indicators around the bridge. “What action would you and Captain Ryan like me to take next?”

  “Er,” said Woodhall, dragging his gaze from the screen to look at Curtis.

  “Don’t look at him” snapped Stansfield, “look at me. Your orders, Lieutenant?”

  “Evasive manoeuvres?” said Woodhall hopefully.

  “Wrong,” shouted Stansfield. “This isn’t a training mission, Lieutenant. Stop fucking around and give me an order!”

  “I, er, I don’t, er,” said Woodhall, panicking.

  “Incoming,” said Midshipman Pickering at the weapons console as the sirens sounded again. “The lead battleship has fired two torpedoes, sir, targeting the last of Orion’s shuttles.”

  “Hurry up, Lieutenant,” roared Stansfield. “People are about to die. What are you going to do?”

  Woodhall shook as if he’d been slapped, his face so white he might have been dead himself. Then he went slightly green around the eyes and turned quickly away, doubling over as he puked across the deck.

  “Escort Lieutenant Woodhall to the medical bay,” said Stansfield, waving at a security team. “And target those torpedoes with the forward railgun battery, Miss Pickering. Fire when ready.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Pickering, hands flying across her console as she activated the defensive railgun batteries and targeted the torpedoes. “Firing now.” There was a pause; then Pickering delivered her verdict. “Torpedoes neutralised, impact in two hundred and seventy seconds, threat nil.”

  “Thank you, Miss Pickering,” said Stansfield. “Defensive fire as appropriate from now on. What are our offensive options?”

  “Unclear, sir,” said Pickering with a confused frown. “Nothing seems to be working properly.”

  “Welcome to Vengeance,” said Lieutenant Yau. “Torpedo batteries are still offline, sir, and most of our railguns are inactive. Engines are also offline, as is the hyperspace drive.”

  “Of course they are,” said Stansfield, relaxing back into his command chair. Outnumbered, outgunned, and with a ship that was severely damaged and riven by internal dispute, not to mention infested with enemy combatants. At times like this, Stansfield believed it was important to maintain an air of invincible confidence. “Lieutenant Fernandez, how many of Orion’s shuttles are safely aboard?”

  “Twenty-three, sir, including the cargo haulers. The bays are practically full. The last two shuttles are troop carriers and Captain Ryan’s transport.”

  “Very good. Let me know when Captain Ryan has arrived. Mr Campbell,” said Stansfield, switching his attention back to the bridge, “keep hailing those battleships.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Campbell.

  “Lieutenant Curtis,” said Stansfield, barely pausing to draw breath, “coordinate with the Battle Sphere. I want you to keep on top of whatever it is that Marine X is planning.”

  “Sir,” said Curtis hesitantly. He was frowning, as if he’d heard of Marine X and didn’t approve.

  Stansfield ignored him and watched on the main screen as the Battle Sphere turned to face the enemy battleships. If there was any doubt that the Sphere was no longer under enemy control, its sudden movement would make things clear.

  “Still no acknowledgement from the enemy ships, sir,” said Campbell. “It looks like they’re not the chatting kind.”

  Clusters of ships had begun to spill from Orion’s bays. Bigger than the Raptors Vengeance carried, Orion’s ships looked far more formidable.

  “Now we’ll see,” whispered Stansfield.

  “Captain Ryan is safely aboard,” said Fernandez. “He’s on his way to the bridge, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Stansfield, not taking his eyes from the screen.

  “They’re moving, sir,” said Pickering. On the main screen, picked out in red and assigned identification numbers, the enemy battleships had begun to accelerate. Five bore down on the Battle Sphere, while the other two tracked Orion. The eighth ship was also heading towards Orion, but more slowly, as if the outcome of the battle was a foregone conclusion. “Nothing coming towards us, sir.”

&nb
sp; “Arrogant bastards,” murmured Stansfield, although he couldn’t fault the disposition of their forces. Any cool-headed assessment would rate Vengeance as the least threatening ship in the area, even if it included the shuttles. “How long, Miss Pickering?” he asked.

  “Sir?”

  Stansfield sighed. Midshipman Henry would have known what he meant. Adjusting to a new crew would take time. “How long till the enemy ships pass Orion’s position?”

  “At their current velocity,” said Pickering, drawing out the words to give herself time to complete the calculations, “Target One will pass Orion in a hundred and thirty seconds. Target Two will follow fifteen seconds later. Targets three to six will pass the Battle Sphere at approximately the same time.”

  Stansfield nodded as Orion’s fleet spread out and moved to intercept Target One and Target Two. It looked horribly mismatched, as if a gang of children had been dispatched to tackle a pair of armoured and mounted knights, and there was nothing Vengeance could do to help.

  “Target One is firing,” reported Pickering. “Some sort of railgun, as well as missiles.” On the main screen, the display shifted to show a tactical overview of the battle, with all ships identified, tagged and colour-coded. “Target Two is firing, similar ordnance. Orion is returning fire and deploying defensive measures.”

  “Steady,” said Stansfield, as if there was anything they could do but watch.

  Explosions appeared on the screen as first ordnance, then ships were struck. Orion’s autonomous weapons platforms and fleet pounded at Target One as it drew close, then switched to Target Two. The small volume of space was lit up by explosions as the vessels tore at each other, racing forward and past each other in a blur of light and violence.

  “Target One has gone dark,” said Lieutenant Yau. “Damaged, maybe, and drifting. Target Two appears unharmed.”

  “Orion is hit,” said Pickering into the silence of the bridge.

  “Who is Captain Ryan’s second in command?” asked Stansfield.

  “Commander Scott, sir,” said Pickering.

  “On your screen now, sir,” said Campbell.

  “This is Admiral Stansfield, Orion. Do you require assistance?”

  “Yes, sir,” snapped Scott, frowning back at Stansfield from a bridge where the fire suppression systems were clearly struggling. “Would you care to join the fight?”

  “We have our own battle, Commander,” said Stansfield.

  “We’ve sustained heavy damage to living quarters and hydroponics bays. Has Captain Ryan reached Vengeance?”

  “He’s on his way to the bridge, Commander. Maintain your barrage and continue to hail the enemy.”

  “Ay, sir,” she answered; then her image shook violently and disappeared.

  “Visuals, please, Mr Campbell,” said Stansfield.

  The image on the main screen shifted focus to show Orion. The battleship had taken three more direct hits, and debris and atmosphere could be seen spewing from a hole in her hull.

  “She hit a cluster of ordnance left behind by Target Two,” said Pickering, trying to work out what had happened by reviewing the video from Vengeance’s degraded sensor arrays.

  “This is taking too long,” said Stansfield. “Marine X, how long till you are able to fire?”

  “Sorry, sir, we’ve had a few technical issues,” said Conway. “It seems the Mechs are able to operate independently sometimes, and Ten’s assisting Captain Figgis. We believe we’re on top of the problems, sir, but the targeting systems on this vessel are unusual, and–”

  “Enough excuses, Marine,” snapped Stansfield.

  “Sorry, sir,” said Conway. “Firing now.”

  Stansfield watched as the Battle Sphere’s beam weapon fired, the blue light ripping across the void. Then Target Three exploded, and suddenly there was hope that this battle might still go their way. Stansfield snarled as he reached out to grasp victory, but maintained the stoic composure of command.

  “Good work, Corporal,” he said. “Do you have any other tricks?”

  “No, sir, but this one never gets old,” said Conway as the beam appeared again. It sliced into Target Four, splitting the ship along its length.

  Stanfield nodded and switched channels. “How are those mines progressing, Fernandez?”

  “Mason and his team have deployed in Raptors and will arrive at our perimeter shortly, sir. So far, they don’t appear to have been targeted by the enemy.”

  “Let me know if anything changes,” said Stansfield, closing the channel.

  “Hunter and Kearney checking in,” said a voice. “We’re going after Commander Vernon, sir. We’ll have him back as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, Kearney. Clear the last remaining OctoBots away from the core. And get Ed – get Commander Vernon – out of there.”

  “Roger,” said Kearney before she closed the channel.

  “I’ve drawn a blank on the system infiltration,” said Davies suddenly. “The Mechs definitely used our link to inject something into the system, but to what end beyond the obvious, I’m not sure. What symptoms are you seeing, Vengeance?”

  “Not sure,” said Pickering, frowning at her console and flicking through report screens as she tried to work out what was going on. “I can’t tell what’s been damaged by enemy action, what might have been caused by the intrusion, and what’s just old age.”

  “We’re seeing disruption to lighting and environmental controls,” said Fernandez, rescuing Pickering. “We’re adrift, but the malware has inflicted no damage yet.”

  “Roger,” said Davies. “We’ll keep at it from this end.”

  “Energy banks charged,” reported Conway, “firing on Target Five in three, two, one.”

  All eyes turned to Target Five, but the familiar blue light failed to appear. The battleship was manoeuvring again, turning away from the Battle Sphere to face towards Orion.

  “Conway?” said Stansfield. “What’s going on?”

  The four other remaining enemy battleships were also turning towards Orion, and Stansfield felt a terrible fear building in the pit of his stomach. “Conway,” he shouted as the enemy battleships fired their engines to close the distance to Orion. “Conway!”

  “Something’s wrong, sir,” said Conway, sounding very much as if she was on the edge of panic. “We’ve lost fire control, and the Mechs are on the move again.” The bridge crew could hear firing in the background and shouted commands, as if a full-scale battle were in progress on the Sphere.

  And now all the remaining enemy battleships were powering towards Orion, firing as they went. Again Vengeance could only watch as Orion’s fleet and hull were pounded by the enemy bombardment.

  The Royal Navy vessels returned fire, filling space with light as they desperately tried to fend off the enemy. The two fleets closed quickly, clawing at each other for sixty seconds or more before their relative velocities carried them apart and out of range.

  “Commander Scott, what’s your status?” Stansfield asked.

  Her face appeared on the display, and it was immediately obvious that Orion had taken significant damage to the bridge. Scott looked rattled, as well she might.

  “We have multiple hull breaches across a dozen decks or more, sir,” she said, rattling off a report, “at least three hundred dead and another five hundred wounded or missing. We’ve lost engine power and hyperspace capability. Fire suppression is out on several decks, and we’ve lost internal comms.”

  There was a sudden blinding flash as something devastatingly explosive struck Orion. Scott’s image disappeared as the comms channel closed.

  “Where are you when I need you, Ed?” Stansfield muttered to himself. The two men were accustomed to fighting side by side, and right now Stansfield felt like he was trying to defend his crew with one arm tied behind his back.

  There was momentary stillness as the exchanges ceased.

  “Hail the enemy again, Mr Campbell, let’s see if there’s any life out there.”

  “N
othing, sir,” said Campbell. “We’re calling, but nobody’s home.”

  “Put them on the main screen.” Stansfield watched as the debris from the destroyed enemy ships moved slowly through the darkness of space. He watched the flares of engines as the remnants of Orion’s battle fleet manoeuvred, searching for survivors. The enemy battleships were far away, carried clear of the battle by the speed of their attack.

  Captain Ryan stepped onto the bridge, resplendent in a suit of pale grey power armour. He stood with his team, and his mouth dropped open as he saw the images on the main screen. Orion hung in space, dark except for occasional gouts of flame.

  And now, finally, the sixth enemy ship moved. It crawled serenely towards the stricken Orion, not racing in like the other battleships but moving forward carefully, like a predator approaching its kill. The ship moved without haste, closing the distance and slowing to match Orion’s orientation.

  She swam through the last of Orion’s fleet with no apparent care, swatting them each in turn as if they were mere annoyances. Then she drew to a halt only a handful kilometres from Orion, her great engines flaring until the two ships were precisely in sync.

  “What the hell?” whispered Ryan, eyes wide.

  Then Target Six fired a brace of torpedoes. Then another, and another. Each pair struck home, tearing great holes in Orion and causing her to develop a slow tumble. A few pods and shuttles flew from the tortured vessel, escaping into space.

  “No,” hissed Ryan, face white with horror.

  Then Target Six fired again, and a dozen more torpedoes ripped Orion’s hull apart. There was a huge explosion, deep in the core of the ship, and the great vessel shuddered.

  And Orion sat out in the void, a massacred Goliath, her corpse tumbling slowly away as debris and wreckage spilled into space.

  There was silence on the bridge of Vengeance.

  Then Midshipman Pickering spoke. “Target Two has turned, sir. She’s heading for Vengeance.”

  Stansfield took a deep breath. “Get ready to throw everything we’ve got at them,” he ordered. “They’re not indestructible. We just need a little luck, and we’ll bag some scalps of our own.”

  But even before he’d finished issuing his orders, the infection loaded into Vengeance’s systems activated its payload. The screens went first, then the lights, plunging the ship into darkness. The emergency lighting system flickered on briefly, then failed. Then the whir of the circulation fans stopped, and the artificial gravity failed.