“Agreed,” he replied. “We should be able to mop up the rest without too much trouble.”
“Captain?” Morgan said, turning from her station. “Admiral Knight wants to speak to you.”
“Tie me in,” Jack replied. “I'd like to hear what she has to say this time.”
“Switching over,” Morgan said. “You're on, Captain.”
“This is Lieutenant-Captain Kathryn Mallory of the Covert Carrier Churchill. If you've got anything to say to me, Admiral, I suggest you make it quick. My intention is to take down your ship in the next ten minutes.”
With a faint chuckle, Knight replied, “I suppose a direct order for you to stand down would be meaningless at this point. As I told your ex-husband, my mission...”
“I know all about your mission,” Mallory replied. “A bomb powerful enough to wipe out all life on a planet, even detonated light-years away. A device that would start the final arms race which would end with the extinction of most of humanity.”
“Or its unification under a peaceful, democratic government, and the preservation of our way of life for the next millennium. Think of it, Captain. This is a weapon that the Confederation is next-to-immune to. Almost all of our citizens live in shielded installations.”
“Until someone decides to toss one of your bombs into Sol. Our figures suggest that the wonder weapon you're desperate to find could wipe out ten billion people in a matter of hours. Probably bring our civilization to an end.” Leaning forward on her chair, she continued, “As far as we know, this bomb has been built twice, and on both occasions it led to wars that saw whole species wiped from the face of the galaxy. By some miracle, humanity survived both times. I'm not sure we'd be so lucky a third time. Especially if we started the war.”
“Sooner or later, this bomb will be developed, Captain, and if anyone is going to have it, I insist that it is us. Imagine if the United Nations or the Cabal had such a weapon in its arsenal? What would we do to oppose it? My way isn't ideal, but it is the only way.”
“Admiral,” Mallory said, taking a deep breath, “I formally charge you with both treason against the Triplanetary Confederation, and with mutiny against the Triplanetary Fleet. I call upon you to stand down Theseus and cease acceleration, and allow my boarding party to assume control of your command.”
“You know I won't do that.”
“Then I'm going to have to bring you down, Admiral, and if you thought that wasn't a risk, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You've got a hundred and twenty people on that ship. Don't throw their lives away for this. It isn't worth it.”
“They all knew what they were doing when they put on the uniform. As did you. I respect you, Captain, and I would have hoped we could be on the same side. I am truly sorry that it was not to be.” She paused, then said, “Theseus out.”
“She's insane,” Finch said, shaking his head. “Even if she wins, does she actually think that she will get away with this? The Combined Chiefs...”
“Presented with a fait accompli, who knows what they might do. If the weapon was developed, they'd have no choice but to proceed to operational deployment,” Mallory replied. “Especially as I suspect Knight would make sure that the other major powers know all about it. Which means war, probably within a matter of months, and she knows it.”
“And if she's right?” Clayton asked.
“We can't take the risk,” Mallory replied. “Jack, did you hear that?”
“I did, and I agree with you. We can't let that weapon fall into anyone's hands. I wouldn't trust Saint Theresa with it. Put me on the record as agreeing all the way.”
“Thanks, Jack,” she replied. “Watch yourself out there.”
“Will do. Red Leader out.”
She looked up at the sensor display, watching as Churchill's track slowly converged with Theseus, gliding smoothly to its imminent encounter. In a straight firefight, the book said that the battlecruiser would win, but with the fighters providing cover, the story might be very different. And in a missile duel, one lucky hit could make all the difference, throw the whole outcome of the fight into doubt. Even with her ship as badly damaged as it was, it still had a good chance to win.
Her ship. That was a strange thought. When had that happened? She'd been assigned to this position under protest, had recoiled from the idea of serving with Jack, but somehow over the last few months she'd started to feel at home here, more than at any other posting she'd ever had. She looked back at the status display, Morgan working her controls, and something inside her sighed as she saw the battering the ship had already taken.
At heart, she was a realist. She knew that Churchill's odds of surviving even the first combat run were poor at best, and that the second run stood an excellent chance of finishing her. Right now, Jack might have a better chance of surviving than she did. She tapped a sequence of commands on her armrest, ordering Shuttle One prepared for immediate launch, giving priority to Sickbay. Technically, she couldn't discriminate between any crew-member, but she couldn't help giving her daughter the best chance of survival. And Clarke, for that matter, assuming he survived the surgery.
“Cruz to Mallory,” the communicator barked. “I'm pulling the damage control teams into the inner hull. Request permission to evacuate all non-essential areas of the ship and vent atmosphere into space. I'd rather get it done now than in the middle of a firefight.”
“Good idea, Chief,” she replied. “Get it done as fast as you can.”
“Five minutes to combat,” Finch said. “No sign of change to target attitude.” He frowned, then added, “They could be doing more than they are, Captain. I'm not seeing any signs of attempts to alter course, throw us off track. If anything, I'd say they're leading us on.”
“That might be the idea,” Clayton replied. “Draw us into the battle. Wiping us out before they leave the system would close up the last remaining lose ends.”
Morgan turned with a half-smile, and said, “Signal from Thomas O'Dell, on tight-beam. They've indicated that they will take no further part in this battle, and that in the event we win, they'll surrender at once.”
“Someone's not as optimistic as Knight, then,” Finch said. “Unless it's some sort of a trick.”
“Reply to O'Dell, and notify her commander that I will accept their surrender.”
“Change in target attitude!” Finch said, looking up at his display. “Hangar doors opening.”
“Fighter launch?” Clayton asked. “Why now? They're out of position.”
“Shuttles,” Finch replied. “Five of them, heading...heading our way.”
Shaking her head, Mallory tapped a control, and said, “Churchill to Red Flight. Are you seeing what I am?”
“Boarding shuttles,” Jack replied. “Request permission to engage targets.”
“Negative,” she replied.
“Kathy, if they get on board...”
“We've evacuated all outer areas, sealed off all bulkheads, and there's only so much damage they can do. It's a distraction, but not a game-changer. You've got more important work to do. Make your strike on Theseus and ignore the boarding shuttles. There's a good chance this might be a decoy, anyway.”
With a sigh, Jack replied, “Confirmed. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“You've got ten missiles, Jack, and all of them have their targets already. We'll back you on the strike, somehow. Let me worry about the shuttles.” Tapping a control, she said, “Captain to all hands. Prepare to repel boarders. All hands arm yourselves. Secure all outer locks, and prepare to vent atmosphere from critical areas of the ship.” She looked around the bridge, then said, “That includes everyone here, just in case we get some uninvited guests.”
Chapter 20
“Repel boarders?” Susan said, looking across at Doctor Strickland, still leaning over the unconscious figure of Clarke.
Without looki
ng up, Strickland said, “Blake, Doyle, stand by to accept combat casualties, and head for your battle stations. I'll handle the boy myself.”
“Doctor…,” Blake protested.
“I've got this,” he replied. “You're going to be needed elsewhere.”
“Come on,” Doyle said, pulling a panel from the wall to reveal a hidden compartment, a dozen pistols secreted within. “Grab a gun and a medical kit. We don't have enough warm bodies to block a determined assault.” Blake looked at Clarke, and Doyle said, “If Knight's marines take the ship, what sort of medical care do you think they'll give him?”
“Good argument,” she replied, pulling out a pair of pistols, passing one to Susan. “Tell me you did better in marksmanship than in shuttle piloting.”
Taking the gun, Susan said, “One of the best in my class.”
“Then at last we've found something you're good at.”
“Main corridor,” Doyle said. “Angel will be organizing the outer perimeter there. No way we'll hold the hangar bay, and there isn't much there we can secure anyway.”
Pausing, Susan replied, “If they get a foothold….”
“With the force they've got, they stand an excellent chance of taking the ship.” Reaching over to a wall console, he tapped the screen to bring up a sensor display, and added, “But if I'm following the Captain's thinking, that won't matter as long as we can hold for a few minutes. One way or another, this battle will be over soon.”
As they jogged down the corridor, she could see a group of technicians hastily throwing together a pair of blockades, moving empty crates into position to block the corridor. One of the engineers was hacking away with a power saw, carving out firing positions one at a time, sparks and plastic shards flying through the air all around him.
A tall woman raced forward, rifle in hand, and said, “Medics at the rear. We'll send any casualties your way. Cadet, you can come up with me at the front. Make some use out of your combat training.”
Nodding, Susan stepped over the first barricade, settling in behind the second, ducking below the crates. Belatedly, she slammed a clip into her pistol, checking that it had locked into position, then tried to relax, taking deep breaths as her instructors had urged, calming herself down to improve her aim on the firing line.
She looked at the others, a collection of technicians and engineers wearing a mix of uniforms, feeling out of place. They were a crew, had been together for months, and she was the newcomer, unsure of what to do. None of her training had pointed her towards this. Close-quarters combat was meant to be a last resort, something the Espatiers would handle as a rule. Not her.
Her mind wandered out, to her father in his fighter, flying off to his battle. Strangely, she felt closer to her parents than she ever had before. A shared experience, even this. She'd listened to her mother's stories about the War, tales of battles, campaigns, heroes. Now she was living them.
“Attention!” a voice announced. “Enemy shuttles docking in thirty seconds. We're going to try and shake them. Stand by for variable acceleration. Firing range with Theseus in four minutes minus. All damage control teams, stand by.”
“Shake them?” Susan asked.
The woman turned, and said, “Clayton will alter course at the last second, maybe roll the ship, try and wreck their approach. She gets it right, they might bounce clear, maybe even damage them. She gets it wrong, and they'll crash into the side of the hull, which is bad news for both of us given the state of the ship.” Looking her over, she said, “You Jack's daughter?”
“Susan,” she replied.
“Angelina Webster. Call me Angel. You stick with me, and I'll keep you safe. I hope. Or your parents will probably never let me hear the end of it.” There was a loud clang from the hull, and Angel pulled out a datapad, laying it on the ground. “Tactical layout. They're doing basically what we expected. Three shuttles to the hangar deck, two in the central corridor down by engineering. I've got another team waiting for them there.”
“Couldn't we stop them boarding? Our lecturer...”
“I don't care what some guy with a textbook says, have you ever seen a hangar deck? Big and empty, with nowhere to hide. Let them take it. We've only got a single shuttle there anyway, and we've arranged for it to give them a nice surprise. We get them into a killing zone, and they'll die fast enough. Besides, the only Espatier we've got is up on the bridge.”
“What? Shouldn't she...”
“Can't walk right. Our last mission.” There was a loud roar, and Angel smiled, saying, “That would be the surprise. Engines at one-hundredth power. Enough to give the bastards a nice roasting.” Raising her voice, she said, “They'll be pissed, people. They'll make mistakes. Take advantage, and wipe them out!”
The first figure emerged from the hangar deck, gun in hand, and a dozen shots echoed down the corridor towards him. Most of them bounced off his body armor, the force of the impact knocking him off his feet, but one bullet found its target, cutting into his neck, ripping through a vulnerable spot and sending him crashing to the floor.
For a second, Susan smiled, but the next group made it clear the fight wouldn't be that easy, advancing through the hatch with riot shields at the ready, forming a solid mass that stretched from wall to wall, bullets smashing into the hard plastoform to no effect, barely even slowing them down. A cylinder flew over head, dropping in behind the rear barricade, and a cloud of noxious smoke filled the air, the circulators switching to full power in an attempt to disperse it.
Tears formed in her eyes from the gas, and she looked around in vain for a respirator before returning fire, leveling her pistol at the target in textbook fashion, trying to find a gap in their defenses. Slowly the boarding party advanced, taking its time to press their assault, and she saw a second grenade fly into the air. Raising her pistol, she fired, catching it with a bullet before it could pass over the shieldwall.
Robbed of its momentum, the grenade dropped back into the mass of troopers, a loud report echoing from the corridor walls as it detonated, raining metal slag in all directions. The shields toppled forward to reveal a dozen tattered corpses behind them, the bodies ripped apart by the force of the explosion, angry gouges and black marks burned into the wall.
“Good shooting!” Angel said, clapping Susan on the shoulder. “Damn, that Academy must be better than I thought.”
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Susan replied, and Angel quickly forced a tablet into her mouth, clamping it shut with her hand to force her to swallow it.
“Tranquilizer. It'll help. For a while.” Raising her hand, she said, “Come on! We can take them! Charge!”
As one, the defenders surged forward, Susan carried with them as they advanced down the corridor, the bodies seeming to reach for them from the deck, arms tangling with their legs as they charged towards the hangar deck. As they cleared the wreckage of the first enemy assault, a second shieldwall emerged, grim faced, helmeted figures hunched behind their protective screen, but this time the defenders were close enough to charge into them, racing down the corridor towards them, screaming war cries in a dozen languages as they advanced.
Gunfire cut into them as they charged, crewmen dropping down all around them, but they reached the shieldwall with enough force to send them toppling into a confused melee on the floor, Angel leaping into the fray with a combat knife in her hand, slashing into her targets. Susan found herself facing a trooper lying on his back, reaching up with his hands at her throat, until for a brief second, their eyes locked. He was her age, and the terror in his face demonstrated that he was no more prepared for this fight than she was.
Reaching across with her hands, she forced him clear, trying to push him away, but he reached down for the knife at his belt, trying to pull it out, and she struggled to stop him, slamming her hand into his, throwing herself off-balance just enough to allow him to roll her onto her back, crawling on top of he
r. He hefted his knife, then slumped to the side, looking up at the tall figure above him, Angel holding her blade high, drops of blood raining down.
“I thought I told you to stick with me,” Angel said, kicking the trooper's body away. She reached down, pulling Susan to her feet, then said, “Let's move. I think we can retake the hangar deck, but it's going to be tough. They're setting up for a fighting withdrawal.”
“Can't we wait them out?” Blake asked, running to one of the wounded crewmen with her medical kit.
“Too much damage they might do if we let them,” Angel replied. “Come on, Cadet. Let's get rid of the rats.”
Racing forward, not waiting for a reply, Angel stormed down the corridor, turning into the hangar deck, firing a series of wild bursts ahead of her. Susan followed at the head of a ragged band of technicians, all of them blooded by the recent combat, sporting angry bruises and savage cuts that would hurt like hell when the adrenaline wore off.
The gunfire opened up as soon as they entered the hangar. Angel sprinted for one of the elevator airlocks, lobbing a grenade ahead of her, smoke billowing forth as it flew through the air. Lacking any better ideas, Susan followed, firing a pair of shots at a careless trooper making for the shuttle. Behind her, two of their group fell for the last time, bullets to their chests, but the next wave made it through the storm.
Dropping into the elevator airlock beside Angel, Susan felt a figure underneath her, a dead trooper staring up with glassy eyes, his mouth frozen wide. She looked down at the man for a second, before she felt someone shaking her shoulders, jerking her back to reality.
“Stay focused, kid. You're not a bad shot when you apply yourself. And this is a hell of a target-rich environment.” Raising her voice, Angel yelled, “Fire in the hole!” and stabbed a control on her datapad.
A loud roar filled the room, fire and smoke billowing from the engine of the shuttle, burning angry marks on the deck, and catching half a dozen enemy troopers in its wake, leaving burned and blackened corpses behind. A second series of shots rang out, but before Susan could find a target, a woman climbed out of one of the other airlocks, hands raised high.
Aggressor (Strike Commander Book 3) Page 17
