“They’re cutting interception a little fine,” Bishop said, shaking her head. “I don’t like the margins on this maneuver. Too little room for any error.” She looked across at Sokolov, and asked, “What do you think?”
“I think Squadron Leader Baxter knows what he’s doing.”
“That would be germane if he was running the show. Looks like Squadron Leader Winter has the command.”
“What?” Bradley said, turning to the screen. “Dad’s leading the fighters?”
Bishop turned to her, nodded, and said, “He’s got an outstanding service record and is one of the best combat commanders in uniform today. Those fighters out there that he’s facing are borderline-obsolete. We’ve got the numbers, we’ve got the weapons, we’ve even got the element of surprise on our side. I’m not going to tell you that you don’t have anything to worry about, because I know that would be a stupid thing to say, but the odds are well in our favor today.”
“I hope so, ma’am,” Bradley replied, watching as the two groups of fighters swung into position, moving to a close intercept on the targets ahead. The freighter, Wolfhound, burned its engines recklessly, changing its course to swing back towards the station, its pursuers now committed to engaging a more deadly foe. She looked at the targets, frowning at their path, then turned to Sokolov and Vasquez.
“Yeah, I see it too,” Sokolov said. “They’ve got a chance to turn back for the moon, and they’re not doing it. Nobody ever has to fight a space battle if they don’t want to. There’s more than enough room for them to avoid battle, and that means either that they’re confident that they can win it themselves, or they’ve got friends on the way.”
“I’m calling up the sensor data on those fighters,” Vasquez replied. “Cadet, take a look at the long-range sensors. See if you can spot anything out of the ordinary. Anything that looks suspicious.” She turned to see Gordon racing through the doors towards them, and said, “About time you got here, Cadet. Don’t you know enough to respond to an alert?”
“I was in engineering,” the young man protested. “It took me five minutes to get out of the maintenance ducts.”
“What the hell were you doing crawling around down there?” Bishop asked. Before he could reply, she raised a hand, and said, “Let me guess. Haynes.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
With a sigh, she said, “Never mind the apologies. We’ve got work to do. Call up the flight records for today, see what’s meant to be flying out there, and correlate that with all the traffic you can see. If anything looks suspicious within, say, a million miles or so, flag it at once.” Gesturing at a console, she added, “You should be able to handshake with Orbital Traffic Control from there. See if they’ve noticed anything, either. They should inform us at once if they do, but that’s more honored in the breach than the observance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, hastening to his work. Bradley glanced at him for a second, then looked at the data streaming onto the screen, magnifying a section behind the moon. The Hawks had a remarkably long range, one of the reasons they had stayed in service as long as they had, but even so, they must have a base somewhere close by. No ship that small could possibly have superluminal capabilities, and they’d never be able to operate alone.
“No significant modifications on the Hawks,” Vasquez said, “at least, not externally, but there’s something damn strange about them. They’re new. Brand new. Built within the last year, at a guess. They closed the production lines down on those beasts more than a decade ago. There’s enough of them around on the used market that nobody should ever have even thought about building new ones, but someone obviously had other ideas.
“Or they wanted to get hold of them without anyone knowing about it,” Bradley suggested. “The Technocratic League’s red-hot on demilitarizing any old hardware they sell, and they operate most of the Hawks.” Bishop turned to her with a frown, and she said, “The company I used to work for flew old Technocratic hardware. They were usually zealous about pulling out anything that might be useful. Half the time it would have been cheaper for us to buy new, given all the stuff we had to replace.”
“That’s a pretty good point,” Vasquez replied. “Cadet, can you see any sign of any enemy ships?”
“I can’t, but we’re not getting feeds from the local lunar satellites. Either someone is jamming them, or they’ve been shot out of the sky.” Bradley threw controls, and said, “I can’t even call up the telemetry. It’s as though someone went through the database and deleted everything.”
“That’s impossible,” Sokolov said, shaking his head. “There’s no way to do it. Not without bypassing half a dozen secured firewalls, and there’s nobody on the ship that has that kind of access!” He reached for the controls, half-pushing Bradley out of the way, and said, “Christ, she’s right. I don’t understand how anyone could have pulled this off, but…”
“All that matters is that someone did,” Bishop said. She reached for a microphone, and said, “Flight Ops to Baxter or Winter. Flight Ops to Baxter or Winter. Reply at once. Reply at once.”
“Gold Flight Leader here,” Baxter replied. “Pass your message.”
“Suspect enemy ships, potentially capital ship-scale, in hiding behind the moon. Our assessment suggests that the enemy fighters cannot, repeat, cannot intercept Wolfhound at this range. Recommend you abort and return to base immediately. Repeat, recommend you abort and return to base immediately.”
“Sub-Lieutenant, that’s a negative. We’ve got our targets in sight, we’re in range, and we’re not detecting any sign of any other spacecraft from here. There are a lot of abandoned bases on Taranis, no permanent settlements on the far side, and my guess is that these raiders managed to sneak in one of them. If a capital ship had entered the system, we’d know about it.”
“Red Leader breaking in,” Haynes said. “I concur. If we let these bastards get away now, we might not be able to catch them again, and we don’t want any raider gangs thinking that we can’t defend the outer limits of our own homeworld. We’ve got to set an example, for the whole galaxy to see.”
Shaking her head, Vasquez muttered, “Meaning that she wants some nice publicity to help her get promoted.”
“Flight Ops to Gold Leader,” Bishop replied, “If there is something else out there, then on your current vector you wouldn’t have a chance. You’re set up perfectly for an ambush.” She paused, turned to Gordon, and said, “Can you get Squadron Leader Winter?”
“I’m trying, but I’m not getting through,” the cadet replied. “Another malfunction, maybe? Should I start running a diagnostic subroutine?”
“Not in the middle of a firefight, Cadet,” Sokolov said. “The whole network might drop out. The last thing we needs if for you to throw us at the mercy of the computers right now.” Moving over to Gordon, the pilot said, “Let me have it. There’s a chance you might be missing something.”
“It’s not going to make a difference in a minute,” Bradley warned. “All six fighters are getting close to the point of no return. They won’t be able to decline combat if the enemy decide to push it, not on that vector.” She reached for the navigation controls, and said, “I could try and plot a course for them…”
“Hey, looks like the Double-Deuce have worked it out for themselves,” Vasquez said, a smile on her face. “Course change, moving off. They’re covering their bets. If something goes wrong, they’ll be able to either cut and run or move in to support, but if the enemy fighters hold their course, they should still be able to intercept. Smart pilots.” She glanced at Bradley, then added, “Think he’d take a transfer?”
“I’ve got Squadron Leader Winter,” Sokolov said, glaring at Gordon. “Cadet, you’re going to have a pretty sad report for technical aptitude once I’ve finished with you.”
“Winter here,” the pilot called over the speaker. “I’ve heard some of your signals, Ops, but not all of them. Suggest you liaise with Flight Officer Garc
ia on Mitchell Station. Let me know immediately if you see any sign of trouble on this vector. On balance, I think Gold Leader is probably right, but there’s no point taking unnecessary chances. Can you get a long-range scan of the dark side of Taranis from one of the deep-range survey satellites? Even if the synchronous network is out, I can’t imagine all of the satellites in the system can have been affected.”
“Working on it,” Vasquez replied. “The only one in a good position is out at Hibernia. Resolution will be lousy at best, and all the information will be four minutes out of date.” She frowned, then added, “I’ve sent the commands to reorient it. Expect Brendan Station to send a complaint through along with the data stream. I’m probably interrupting someone’s critical research project.”
“To hell with that,” Bishop said, shaking her head. “If there’s something waiting behind that moon, I want to know about it, and now.” She paused, turned to Gordon, and asked, “How are you doing with that list of ships, Cadet?”
“I’ve been through the last twenty-four hours, ma’am, and only four ships other than ourselves and Wolfhound have entered the designated area. Two shuttles, both registered to the Department of Science, a fast transport heading in from Hibernia, and a prospecting ship operating man-tended systems on the surface of Taranis.” He paused, then said, “I’ve taken the liberty of notifying Hercules Station. The ship’s docked there at the moment, and I thought it might be a good idea for them to conduct a search.”
“It might indeed, Cadet,” Bishop nodded, approvingly. “Good call. Send another message to the Transit Authority, and stress not only that the investigation is a matter of urgency, but that they should take all possible precautions before entering the craft. If this is some ambitious raiders, then I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some other tricks up their sleeve.” She looked up at the sensor display, and added, “Six minutes to contact.”
Frowning, Gordon said, “I can’t get through to Hercules Station.”
“What is it this time, Cadet?” a frustrated Sokolov said, pushing him out of the way. “I’m going to have serious words with whatever Winter cleared you through induction. If you can’t operate a simple…” He paused, eyes widening, and said, “Good God! Look at the sensors. Back towards Caledonia. Look at them!”
Bradley threw the image onto the monitor, and her mouth opened in horror as she saw the slowly expanding cloud of debris that had been Caledonia’s largest spaceport, the home to thousands of people and the base of the bulk of their fleet. She felt her legs shaking underneath her, and was forced to grip a handrail to remain upright. Gordon looked across at the communications readout, looking nervously at the others.
“Lots of distress calls. There was enough warning for the escape pods to be launched, but most of them weren’t anything like full when they did. I’m getting hails from dozens of them, hundreds of emergency beacons.”
“What about the fleet?” Bishop asked, struggling to keep herself calm.
“First indications are that they managed to clear the station in time, but all of them are damaged to some degree. Reports are confused as hell at the moment.”
“Pryce…,” Bradley muttered. Bishop looked at her, and she added, “A friend of mine.”
“We’ve all lost friends today, I suspect,” Bishop replied. “We’ll mourn them later, but we’ve still got a job to do, and horrific as this is, it doesn’t do anything to alter the tactical situation out here.” She reached for a communicator, and said, “Astrogation to Bridge. I need to speak to the Captain.”
“I’m on the line, Sub-Lieutenant. I’m bringing the ship to Condition Red, and implementing full-scale security alert. It’s a terrorist attack, right enough. The CFA’s claimed responsibility. We’re going to be putting together the task force from hell to pound those bastards to pieces once this is over. We’ll almost certainly be heading back home as soon as our fighters complete their sweep, and…”
“Ma’am,” Bradley said, looking across another monitor, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got the first feed from the Hibernian satellite. We’re now picking up an additional twelve fighters on the far side of the moon, as well as a Conqueror-class cruiser in position close to the surface. Best tactical projections suggest that they’re on an intercept course for…,” she paused, gulped, and added, “for us. Fifteen minutes minus.”
“Our fighters couldn’t possibly make it back in time,” Sokolov said, his voice close to a whisper.
“This ship can take care of itself,” Bishop replied, confidence in every word.
“Against the Hawks, maybe,” Vasquez said. “What about that cruiser?”
Silence reigned in the room, before Bishop said, “Well, I guess we’re about to find out.”
Chapter 7
Winter heard weeping over the intercom, and flicked through the circuit to work out who it was before saying, “Black Leader to all pilots. Black Leader to all pilots. I know all sorts of hell is taking place back home, and I know that a lot of our friends have probably just died, but we’ve still got a job to do, and the new sensor readings suggest that it’s going to be a hell of a lot tougher than we’d hoped.”
“I’ve been crunching the numbers, Jack,” Dubois replied, “and it doesn’t look good, to say the least. I don’t see how we can possibly reach Ariadne in time to be of any help in her defense, even if we ran our engines beyond overload.”
“We’d burn them all out trying,” Winter said, shaking his head. “We just can’t run that hot. Which is why we’re going to try something else. We’re not going for the fighters, and we’re not going for Ariadne. We’re going to launch a fighting pass on that cruiser out there. Our Foxfire missiles ought to be able to do something to them, and we can use our pulsar cannons to cause damage to the hull.”
“Are you crazy, Jack?” Baxter replied. “We can’t leave our home ship undefended. If the cruiser doesn’t attack, those fighters could still make a hell of a mess of Ariadne. We’ve got to…”
“We don’t have a choice,” Winter pressed. “Right now, we’ve got three objectives. Stop the fighters, stop the cruiser, protect Ariadne. We don’t have enough strength to do one of those, still less all three, so we’re going to have to change the game. If we can buy some time, Ariadne can fall back to Caledonian orbit. We’ll have more than enough fuel left for a landing on Mitchell Station at the end of the pass.”
“Red Leader to Black Leader. I don’t like this, sir, and I think…”
“You aren’t paid to like my orders, Flight Officer, just to carry them out! And if you want to remain a Flight Officer, that is what you are damn well going to do!” His hands rattled across the controls, and he continued, “I’ve sent the new trajectory plot to your navigation computers. Lock it in, and stand by for full acceleration on my mark.” He reached for the throttle, a smile on his face, and counted, “Five, four, three, two, one, Mark!” His engine roared, and he glanced across at the short-range sensors, nodding in approval as the rest of the fighters moved into position behind him, taking their place in the dispersed formation.
Looking ahead at what they were facing, he was forced to quietly admit that Haynes might have a point. The Conqueror-class had been the heart of the old Terran battle fleet, the pinnacle of Terran technology that the colonies had yet to truly reach, still yet surmount. If the ship was as old as its design suggested, then there might be weaknesses to exploit. If it was new, built to Terran specifications, then it could shoot all the fighters out of the sky without ever coming under fire itself, before moving on to wipe Ariadne from the map.
He tried to contact Caledonia again, struggling to break through the chatter, and finally gave up. They had problems of their own back there, the orbital chain of command in chaos as it struggled to recover from the loss of their key base. If the terrorists from Tartarus had somehow managed to get hold of an old capital ship, they were in trouble, but somehow, that didn’t seem likely. There was more going on here, something buried deep and dark,
and one way or another, they were going to have to find it, and kill it.
“Ariadne Actual to Black Leader. Do you read?”
“Roger,” Winter said. “I read you, Commander.”
“I guess I owe you an apology, Squadron Leader. Our readings confirm those you recorded at Golgotha.”
“Never mind that now. Are you tracking my course?”
“I am, and I agree. I’ve brought my ship to battle stations. I can probably outrun the cruiser if you can buy me some time, but I’m not so sure about the fighters. If they match normal specifications, then the point-defense cannons should be able to deal with them, but our combat computers suggest we’ll suffer some damage as a result. Have you got any reserves on Mitchell Station?”
“Not for at least an hour, and even if I did, I don’t have any pilots around to make use of them. I’m afraid everything is already on the map. Have you had any luck contacting anyone back home?”
“That’s a negative, Leader. Things are beginning to settle a little, but I still can’t break through the bureaucracy. Home Fleet is getting itself together, though, and moving to Gagarin Station for repairs. I’m not sure they’re going to have time to complete them, and I can’t even find out how bad it is back there. All we’re picking up is from intercepts and civilian broadcasting. I guess nobody has time for those of us out here on the firing line at the moment. I did get word that there are full-scale riots breaking out across Tartarus, and that the local administration has called for Caledonian aid.”
“That might be a while coming. All of this looks suspiciously like a coordinated strike, Commander.”
“That’s my thought as well. If we can get our forces assembled, then we should be able to stop them. If.”
“Then we’ve just got to buy our people as much time as we can to get their act together.” He glanced down at a display, and added, “Contact in ten minutes. I guess we’ll find out if the enemy takes the bait well before then. If this works, then they’ll pull back their forces to defend their home ship. As far as we know, it’s their only base in this system.”
Conqueror Page 7
