Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold

by Richard Tongue

   “Ninety seconds,” he whispered. “Remember the plan. Target officers, leaders, anyone who tries to rally them. There will be a lot of confusion, a lot of chaos, and you are to do anything you can to make it worse. I want this mob running for the hills.”

   “It would do better with a preparatory bombardment,” Max said. “A few blasts from that plasma rifle would wipe them all out.”

   “No lethal force. That weapon gets used only if I get a good shot at one of the not-men. If this all goes wrong, rappel to the surface and report to Lieutenant Blaine for further orders. All understood?”

   There was a chorus of nods, and he quietly spoke into his communicator, “Vaughan, you ready?”

   “All four mortars are ready to fire. There’s quite a crowd gathering around to watch. I’ve loaded with smoke and tranq, two of each. Firing solutions are plotted and ready, and Watkins is riding shotgun on the targeting computer.”

   “Seventy seconds, Corporal. Fire on the mark.”

   “Mark seventy. Got it. Good luck.”

   Cooper turned back to the Neander force, gathering now into groups, clustered together as the orders were dispersed. The commander of this force knew what they were doing, good sound doctrine despite the primitive weapons. Most of the Neander had clubs, stone axes, knives. There was something to Max’s point; a couple of plasma rifles could wipe out the entire army in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. Not something he’d ever want to do. Even if given the order, he didn’t think he’d obey it.

   He glanced across at Max. The Neander’s weapon was hefted, pointing towards the enemy, and he could almost see his eyes calculating trajectories and firing solutions, determined to do the maximum damage to the enemy with the weapons at his disposal. Not a bad trait in a soldier, but it seemed strange that he was willing to unleash such havoc on his own kind.

   Forty seconds to go. Still no sign that his strike force had been detected, that anyone had noticed their preparations. There had been an alarming lack of reconnaissance about the whole affair, and for a second he wondered whether they were being drawn into some sort of a trap.

   “Ensign?” his communicator hissed. “We’ve got a problem. Malfunction with the targeting computers.”

   “What?” Cooper asked. “How the hell?”

   “No idea. We’ve lost the link with Alamo’s orbital navigation. They’re working on the problem.”

   Taking a deep breath, Cooper said, “Then go to manual override and handle them yourselves.”

   The Corporal paused before replying, “We’ve never done that outside of a simulator.”

   “I’ll appreciate it very much if you get it right. Position to fire long, and I’ll walk you towards the target. Use the current elevation as a starting point.”

   “Will do, sir. Operating manual controls, increasing elevation by five degrees. If I’m getting my sums right, that will bring the shells down on the far side of the camp.”

   Looking over to his men, Cooper said, “Change of plan. You’ve got fifty rounds each. We’ll start with a semi-automatic burst, twenty rounds, indiscriminate fire. Then we’ll switch back to sniper mode. Just make sure you hit something with each shot.”

   “We could abort,” Martinez whispered. “Try again in an hour, give Alamo’s tech teams time to work the problem.”

   “I was surprised enough we managed to make this climb once, Private, and I’m not going to risk a mission abort if they spot us on the way down. Set your weapons, and fire when I give the mark.”

   “Don’t worry, sir,” Max said. “I never miss.”

   There was a coldness in the Neander’s voice that convinced Cooper that he meant it. Closing his eyes for a heartbeat, he started to take deep breaths, calming himself down, steadying into a firing position. He counted the last few seconds down in his head, then gave the order.

   “Fire!” he yelled, then started to take shots at figures from the crowd in front of them. The rounds they were using had been designed for crowd control, and cracked and whined as they flew through the air, tiny speakers to project the noise of a hail of bullets sweeping the field, and as the first wave of Neander fell, a wave of shouting raced across the plateau.

   Some of their commanders started to mobilize them, urging them towards the small thicket of assailants by the cliff-side, but before they could begin to move the whine of the mortar rounds sounded, billowing clouds of smoke rising in columns from the far side of the army.

   “Towards the cliff, south, fifty meters!” Cooper yelled to his communicator, all pretense at stealth gone. “Let them have it!”

   Six guns fired as one, and six from the first wave of charging Neander dropped in their tracks, their bodies trampled by their comrades as they attempted to reach them, stones and arrows flying through the air, shots taken more out of desperation than skill. Cooper flicked a switch to take his gun back to single shot, and started aiming at anyone who looked like he was trying to rally the troops.

   Another round of shells dropped, and this time the smoke was a mix of white and green, the latter added for effect as the tranquilizing gas began to spill out from the field. A warning light flashed on his respirator, alerting him of the danger, and he continued for fire. Half his clip expended.

   Max was carefully aiming his shots, going for those with the more ornate clothes, and a small mound of bodies was beginning to rise. What little order remained fell to nothing with the third round of mortar hits, figures dropping wherever they took a careless breath. Now the mob was racing away, heading for the horizon, trying to escape an enemy they couldn’t attack.

   “North, one hundred meters,” Cooper said, more calmly. A few pockets of resistance were putting up a fight, still futilely trying to get their charge home, to avenge what they believed to be their dead comrades, but the heart was gone from their attack, and another salvo of shots from the tranq guns sent the survivors racing from the field, right into the fourth round of mortar fire, all smoke this time.

   Stepping out of cover, Cooper led his squad forward, towards what remained of the army, walking through the enveloping smoke. Amazingly, a pack of Neander were still in formation, on the far side of the battlefield, and they turned to charge, raising their axes high and screaming fearsome chants.

   “South-East, fifty meters,” Cooper said, raising his gun. “Salvo fire!”

   Six more shots, and six more Neander fell, joining their comrades in slumber, but this time they just kept coming. Someone had worked out that the Triplanetary weapons did not kill, or had at least decided that their cause was worth dying for. After another round of shots, there were still dozens more charging forward, and some of the troopers turned nervously back to the cliff, pondering the potential wisdom of a retreat, but Cooper stood his ground.

   Cold fury drove their attack, but the fifth round of mortar shells dropped in amongst them, Corporal Vaughan getting the range exactly right, and the soldiers fell on all sides, their charge disrupted beyond redemption. Max continued to fire, back to semi-auto, emptying his clip into the Neander, while Cooper looked around. No sign of continued resistance, and the few enemy soldiers he could see were running for the horizon.

   “Cease fire!” he said, pulling up his communicator. “Good work, Corporal. That last one did the job. Get a clean-up crew up here, on the double.” Max took one last shot at a retreating figure, before turning to give Cooper a rueful scare.

   “Hold your fire, Corporal,” Cooper said. “That’s an order.”

   There was no sign of the not-men, nor had there been at any time over the battle. Regardless, Cooper swung out his plasma rifle and started the charge cycle, ignoring the puzzled frown from Martinez. If they were planning some sort of surprise attack, this would be the perfect time.

   Racing up the pass, his eyes wide and a smile on his face, Blaine looked around at the aftermath, at the dozens of slumbering figures on the gro
und. Cooper knelt by the nearest, taking a quick pulse, and nodding.

   “They’ll be fine. That’s a six-hour gas, though some of them will take longer to come round. Best guess is that they’ll get themselves together and go off to find the rest of their comrades. I don’t think that you need to worry about them for a while.”

   “This solves nothing,” Max said, shaking his head. “They will go back to their new overlords, and return with a plan that will render this defense impossible. Next time they will not give us an opportunity to attack.” He looked down at the bodies, and said, “We should consider sending a harsher lesson.”

   “All their weapons will be confiscated,” Cooper said. “Held at the Fort until further notice.”

   “They’ll only make more,” Max replied. “It won’t take long.”

   “Corporal, we can’t handle that many prisoners. We’re going to struggle to feed ourselves this winter,” Blaine said. “Let’s just take the win…”

   “And what? Be happy?” He shook his head, and said, “If they had attacked us, swarmed down that hill, everyone in our outpost would have been dead. We’d have taken a few hundred of them with us, but we would not have lived through it. Then they would have swarmed across the plain, looting and burning. We’re showing them a mercy that they would not show us under the same circumstances.”

   “They’re your people, damn it,” Cooper said.

   Turning sharply to face him, the uniformed Neander barked, “Officer or no, you have no right to accuse me of turning traitor. I’m loyal to Thule, and will gladly die to defend it, will do whatever it takes. If you don’t want to kill them, give me your weapon and I will do it for you. Because if you don’t, they’ll lick their wounds tonight, and tomorrow they will be back, here or at one of the other outposts.”

   “Then we will push them back again.”

   “And how long will you be here, Ensign? Are you planning to stay here for the rest of your life, holding our borders and telling us how to defend our homes and families? Is that your plan? No, you’ll be gone in a few weeks, but we will still be here, and they will still be here, and they will come again, and we will all die, as well as those we are responsible. Where is the greater mercy, sir?”

   “Corporal,” Blaine said icily. “Report to the stockade on the double. That is an order.”

   “The man is right,” Fowler said, walking slowly up the hill. “Max is an excellent soldier, and I accept his tactical judgment. Under ideal circumstances we would re-educate them, but these are far from ideal circumstances.”

   “I will not kill them,” Cooper said.

   “You are a soldier, and soldiers obey orders.”

    “I am, to the letter, obeying the orders given to me by my superiors. My commanding officer is determined to negotiate a diplomatic solution to this crisis, and that will not be assisted by perpetuating a massacre.”

   “Then I believe that we have nothing further to say,” Fowler said. “Return to the barracks, and I will summon transport to take you back to the Fort. Lieutenant Blaine, you will carry out my orders or face the consequences.”

   “No,” Cooper said, swinging around his plasma rifle. “Private Martinez. Head down to the stockade on the double, and return with Corporal Vaughan and the others. They are to report here at once, with their weapons hot and ready.” He turned to face Fowler. “If anyone touches a hair on their heads, they will answer for it with their lives.”

   “You are threatening an officer of the Territorial Guard, a direct representative of the government. I suggest you reconsider your actions.”

   “There will be no killing today. Not of Neander, at any rate.” He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and turned to level his gun at Max. “Corporal, I suggest you follow the orders given to you by Lieutenant Blaine.”

   “When they wake up, they are unlikely to thank you for this,” Fowler said. He sighed, then added, “I know that combat can have a strange effect on people, and that you might not be thinking clearly.”

   “I haven’t felt more clearly about anything in my life. Go down the hill, all of you, and I recommend that you do not to interfere with my men on their way up.”

   Vaughan raced up the hill, looked around, then asked, “Orders, sir?”

   “Defensive perimeter around the unconscious Neander.”

   “Against?”

   “The Territorial Guard. Are our stores secure?”

   “I wouldn’t recommend messing with them. Might be some spontaneous explosions.”

   “Good.” He looked at Fowler again, and said, “On your way, Guardsman.”

   “I shall be reporting this to the highest authority. I assure you that you have not heard the last of it.”

   “Lieutenant, you’d better go as well.”

   Blaine looked at Max, shook his head, and said, “No, I don’t think I had. Someone needs to stay.”

   “You don’t need to prove anything.”

   “Yes, I do.”

   Max shook his head, and replied, “You are both insane,” before taking up a position watching both the Espatiers and the unconscious Neander.

   “Corporal, what do you think you are doing?”

   “When you realize just how big a mistake you have made, you’re going to need all the help you can get. I’m not going anywhere.” Looking at Blaine, he added, “Don’t say anything stupid about disobeying orders. You ceded that right.”

   Fowler looked around, shook his head, and walked off down the hill with the rest of the soldiers, muttering dire threats of reprisal under his breath. Cooper watched him go, then turned to look at the slumbering Neander, more than a hundred of them, all of whom would doubtless be extremely angry about the situation they were in when they woke. He pulled out his communicator, and with a sigh, began to speak.

   “Cooper to Alamo, come in. I need a direct link to the Captain.” After waiting for a second, he repeated, “Cooper to Alamo, come in, please.”

   “Vaughan to Alamo,” the Corporal said. “Mine’s dead as well, sir. Must be that same malfunction.”

   “Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Martinez, start a fire. It’s going to be a long, cold night.”

  Chapter 9

   Orlova looked down the length of the conference table, and asked, “Jack, how long to get the external communications system back on-line?”

   Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “If I had any idea what was wrong, I’d be able to tell you.” Putting a datapad on the table in front of him, he continued, “We’re facing an escalating series of malfunctions. As yet, none of them have been critical to key ship operations…”

   “I’d say not being able to talk to any of our teams on the surface is pretty damn critical,” Grant said.

   “...but that might not last. I’ve distributed emergency oxygen and heating systems all across the ship, just in case.”

   Harper looked across at the engineer, and said, “This isn’t a systems failure. It’s got to be deliberate sabotage. They even knocked out the relays in the shuttle. Hooke and I have been going over this for the last six hours, and the answer is simple. We have a saboteur on board.”

   “We’re forgetting the planet,” Nelyubov noted.

   “Do they even have computers down there?” Grant replied. “Harper’s right. There has to be someone on board. An agent of either the United Nations, or the not-men.” He paused, then added, “Unless you are suggesting that the operative might be one of the personnel we sent down to the surface.”

   “I’ve cross-referenced duty logs with systems failures, and I can’t find any correlation at all. There aren’t that many people on board with the technical skill to pull this off..”

   “That we know of,” Grant said.

   “Granted, but even so, it doesn’t match.”

   “The logs could have been changed.”

   Shaking her head, Ha
rper replied, “The active files, but not the back-ups. There’s just no way to cross-link the two. It would have to be a minimum of three people to pull this off, not a single saboteur.”

   “We haven’t taken on any new crewmen in months,” Orlova said. “I have a hard time thinking of any of them as a traitor.”

   “With the exception of Sergeant Gurung,” Grant noted.

   “Who is down on the surface, in a location with no communications hook-up to Alamo,” Harper said. “This isn’t a timed-release program. Anything powerful enough to cause this much havoc wouldn’t be hard to find, even if I couldn’t do anything about it. You can rule out anyone who doesn’t have access to advanced equipment.”

   “So,” Orlova summarized, “What you are telling me is that it can’t be anyone on board, it can’t be anyone on the surface, and it can’t have been introduced some time ago and only now taking effect. Yet somehow, it is still happening.”

   “Why now?” Nelyubov asked.

   Grant shrugged, and replied, “This way Alamo goes off into the wilds of deep space, never to return, with months before any follow-up expedition. More than enough time for someone to come around and take us all off into detention.”

   Shaking his head, Nelyubov replied, “Tell me why they wouldn’t have sabotaged the ship during either of our last two battles, Lieutenant? They could have destroyed Alamo quite easily, without any suspicion of trickery or sabotage.”

   “The plan must have been introduced since then. Is there a chance that we have someone on board we don’t know about?”

   “We’d have spotted it in the life support consumption telltales. Unless our saboteur has given up breathing, we’d know.”

   “Nevertheless, I want a full search of the entire ship,” Orlova said. “I’m not sure I buy that theory myself, but it’s the only workable one on the table.”

   “We’ve got double-authorization redundancy on all critical systems, but it isn’t doing any good,” Harper said. “Maybe we ought to go to triple. I can bring more safeguards on-line, but we’re going to seriously hit reaction time if we go much further.”