Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament

by Richard Tongue

   For a second, Harper thought the tactical display would crash, the new course projections stuttering into view on the screen as the new arrivals jostled for position. They'd had three days to get used to the idea that they would be fighting each other upon their exit from hendecaspace, but most of them wouldn't have been expecting to see a Xandari capital ship directly ahead. On cue, Daedalus' missile spread smashed into the enemy vessel, burning holes in their hull in seven places, the ship drifting slightly to the side from atmosphere leak before correcting its course.

   “Damage to their aft thrusters, long-range communicators, one launch tube, lots of minor systems,” Arkhipov read from his screen. “We've made a mess of them, ma'am, but I think we've just made them angry.”

   “Coming up on closest approach,” Salazar said, frantically making adjustments to throw them clear, a rattle on the hull as they slammed into the debris field their missile impacts had created. The enemy ship raced past in a second, all eyes focused on the viewscreen as the gray blur of the enemy vessel briefly came into view. All around them, chaos reigned, as the Syndicate ships, the only ones who knew what they were up against, moved into an attack formation on Daedalus, the trajectory lines crossing barely seconds into the future.

   The rest of the ships were spiraling away in all directions, the Koltoc vessels attempting to get into a formation while the rest of the Neander ships moved towards the Syndicate ships, heading to defend the lumbering Ausori. Alamo was still heading for them, and as she watched, another twelve missile tracks appeared on the screen, gliding towards the Xandari warship.

   “Energy spikes! Everywhere!” Arkhipov said, as Salazar struggled to navigate through the mess, missile tracks forming up all around them. The two laser-missiles were out on the perimeter, moving away, the enemy tactical officer obviously as confused by the situation as everyone else. Two of the Neander missiles were heading in their direction, too late as the Xandari warheads exploded, sending their laser pulses smashing through space, destroying two ships, one Koltoc, one Neander.

   “That was a mistake,” Salazar said, swerving to the side.

   “Incoming missiles!” Arkhipov added. “Three of them, bearing directly. Thirty-one seconds to impact.”

   “Evasive, Pavel,” Harper unnecessarily ordered, leaning forward in her chair, urging the ship onward. Salazar frantically worked the controls on his console, sending the ship lurching around in a desperate bid to confuse them, but there was nothing he could do as the missiles remorselessly swept towards their target.

   The heads-up display threw up an image of the projected yield, and it didn't take too much imagination to see the result of an impact. A tangled piece of metal drifting through the stars, that once was a Triplanetary warship. There wasn't even time to get to the escape pods.

   “Well, everyone,” Harper began, but Arkhipov turned from his station, a smile on his face.

   “The Neander are coming in!”

   Five missiles appeared on the screen, Skeuros' formation swinging around towards Daedalus like an avenging angel, the course tracks homing in on the Xandari warheads as they raced towards their destiny. Warning alarms flashed on and off as the projected impact times switched from seconds to infinity, and she held her breath as she watched all of the tracks converge.

   Alarms sounded on the bridge as the missiles exploded, the status board lighting up with a series of pulses, Lombardo throwing controls to bring up a damage report. Salazar shook his head in disbelief as he tapped a second selection of controls, swinging the ship in to join the Neander formation, recklessly burning fuel to match course and relative speed.

   “Minor outer hull breaches on every deck from close-range shrapnel,” Lombardo reported. “Nothing serious, no casualties reported. Damage control teams are on the way.”

   “Koltoc ships moving in!” Arkhipov said, gesturing at the display. The surviving ships had formed a delta formation, and launched eight missiles simultaneously, diving towards the scattered Xandari craft. Explosions rippled across the screen as warheads smashed into each other, the Syndicate vessels responding in kind.

   “We're being hailed,” Ingram said, “Skeuros for you, ma'am.”

   “Put him on. Pavel, keep us in their formation and follow their lead. I feel safer with some friends close by.”

   “Friends?” Scott asked, shaking her head. “Let's hope they've got short memories.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he said with a smile, as the Neander flashed onto the screen.

   “It's a bit busier here than you said,” he replied, shaking his head. “That's a Collective ship up there.”

   “With several thousand refugees on board,” Harper said in response.

   Turning to the side, he barked a series of orders in an unfamiliar language, before fixing his gaze back on Harper. “And the ship heading our way?”

   “The Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo, our mothership. She was waiting here to protect them while we went to get fuel for the transport. She was damaged in an earlier firefight with the enemy.”

   “Damn it all, why didn't you tell me! You'd have had all the fuel you needed, and reinforcements as well!”

   “Would you have trusted us, if the roles were reversed? I couldn't take the risk.”

   “No, I suppose not,” he said with a sigh. “Head to the rear of the formation. I'm going to go full-burn towards the Ausori, try and put together a screen.” A second wave of missiles flashed into view, the Neander launching a partial strike towards the enemy battlecruiser. More contacts lit up as the Xandari ship responded, and another Neander ship dived to the side, wracked by impacts along its starboard hull, tumbling away into space.

   Kilquan appeared on the screen, calm and implacable as figures moved behind him on the bridge. He shook his head, as though the whole situation was somehow beneath his dignity.

   “My complements, Lieutenant,” he said. “You have played this all very well. We have no choice but to assist you in this fight, but I warn you that there will be a reckoning later. I assure you of that. Skeuros, if my readings are correct, you are committing to a defensive role.”

   “I've got a few thousand people to save,” he replied, bluntly.

   Alamo's first missile salvo, the hidden warheads launched less than a minute ago, hove into view on the close-range sensor display, and two of the Syndicate ships swung forward, moving between them and the larger ship, taking the hits meant for the battlecruiser, their images replaced on the display with slowly expanding clouds of debris.

   “Then we will deal with the Syndicate vessels. By the looks of it, the odds are improving rather rapidly in any case. Kilquan out.”

   Shaking her head, Harper said, “How are we doing, Pavel?”

   “Coming out of the combat area now, heading for the Neander vessel.” He glanced across at the sensor display, shaking his head, “Everything seems to be forming up now, but I've seen better strategic planning from first-year cadets.”

   As Daedalus withdrew from the area, the enemy battlecruiser launched another pair of laser-missiles, but Kilquan's squadron was on alert, knocking them out of the sky long before they could find a target. Gradually, the battle was resolving into three fronts. The Koltoc forces were lingering at the hendecaspace point, dueling with the ever-dwindling Syndicate vessels, and Alamo was moving in to face off against the battlecruiser, two leviathans ready to fight it out. The remaining vessels, gathered into a loose clump, ranged towards Ausori, and Harper watched with satisfaction as they smoothed onto their course. At last things were swinging their way.

   “Hail Ausori,” she said, turning to Ingram. “Let's see if they have any sort of defensive capability yet. We might be able to integrate our missile screens.” Pausing, she added, “And I definitely want their electronic warfare suite up and running. That ship's got more processing power than the rest of this squadron put together.”

   After a moment, Ingram repl
ied, “I can't raise them, ma'am. I'm not getting any signal from the transport, not on any frequency.”

   “They're still moving away,” Arkhipov added. “Gaining speed, but not enough to give us any trouble.”

   “What's the idea?” Salazar asked. “We've got to try and establish some sort of tactical formation.”

   “Energy spike!” Arkhipov said. “Three missiles launched by Ausori.”

   “What the hell?” Scott said. “They won't be in range of the Xandari vessels for three, four minutes yet.”

   “They aren't aimed at the Xandari, ma'am,” the technician replied. “They're heading right for us! Impact in one minute, five seconds.”

   “Our new friends have launched missiles to counter their strike,” Scott said. “We're safe, at least from this salvo. Interception in twenty seconds, well short of us.”

   “That isn't what's worrying me,” Harper said, her eyes fixed on the approaching craft. “What the hell is going on over there?”

  Chapter 20

   “Come on, we've got to move!” Cooper said, racing down the corridor with Walpis in tow. Kelot froze in front of his status screen, the four officers with him glancing up at their commander with concern on their faces.

   “What's happened?” Kelot asked.

   “They're going to execute the prisoners in ten minutes, and an enemy fleet just jumped into the system.”

   “Then that's the last time...”

   “Damn it, Kelot, what do you think their next move is going to be? They aren't going to just sit up on the bridge and wait for it to be over, they're going to move against Alamo.” Alarms wailed down the corridor, the crew being summoned to their battle stations. “Besides, this is the perfect time. Everyone's distracted, everyone's panicking.”

   Kelot shook his head, turned to the nearest subordinate, and said, “Assemble the men, and inform them that we will be initiating Operation Plan Bravo in five minutes. Wish them all the best of luck for me.” Drawing a pistol from his belt, he glanced at Cooper, and gestured down the corridor, adding, “Come on. Let's go.”

   “Aren't you needed here?” Walpis asked.

   “Ensign, Plan Bravo calls for one hundred and nine separate engagements on eighty-four decks. I just ordered total chaos to envelop this ship, and right now, it doesn't really matter which battle I take part in. My staff can handle anything that needs to be done.”

   “Debate later,” Cooper said, moving into the lead. “Let's go.”

   The trio raced down the corridor, turning a corner and pushing past a quintet of startled technicians, one of whom pointed and yelled something at them as they moved along, heading to a wall communicator. Walpis glanced at Cooper, who shook his head. Stealth was out of the question now, substituted by speed. The enemy would know of their approach soon enough, regardless of whether they wasted time to silence over-inquisitive civilians.

   Skidding into an elevator, Walpis slammed onto the controls, sending it racing down through the decks, while Kelot entered a twenty-digit override sequence into the keypad, ensuring that they would not be diverted from their objective. The alarm abruptly changed in tenor, the whine growing more urgent, almost desperate, and Kelot shook his head.

   “Intruder alert,” he said, responding to Cooper's questioning look. “They're going to be ready for us.” He moved to the side of the door, pistol at the ready, and said, “We kill only if we must, not that I expect the Proctors to yield to such ethical considerations.”

   “Understood,” Cooper replied. “I just wish I knew what was going on outside. If Alamo losses the battle, so do we.”

   “And if we lose our battle, so do they,” Walpis noted.

   “True.”

   The doors slid open, a shot slamming into the wall behind them. Kelot calmly returned fire, dropping the single guard with a bullet to the leg, sending the Proctor tumbling to the floor with blood spilling onto the carpet, splatters of red on beige. The Neander looked up, eyes wide with terror, waiting for the bullet that would end his life, but Kelot simply shook his head and stepped over him, waving the others on.

   “We've got to keep moving. They'll be using Airlock One, and they'll have heavy guards. You two head down the main corridor. I'm taking a side route.” A grin on his face, he added, “It'll take longer, but they won't be expecting it.” He raced down a side passage, Cooper glancing after him for a moment before charging ahead, leaping over the wounded Neander, Walpis right behind him.

   “Do you think we can trust him, sir?” Walpis asked.

   “I don't think we have much of a choice,” he replied. Cooper felt a blow on his back, sending him crashing to the floor, and on instinct he rolled to the side, drawing his weapon and firing a snap shot at the figures moving into position ahead. He glanced back and saw Walpis, ducked into a compartment, an apologetic smile on his face.

   “Faster than telling you to duck, sir.”

   “But rather more painful,” he replied, scampering forward into another compartment, surprising a pair of half-dressed Neander lying together on a couch. He shrugged, shook his head, and peered back out into the corridors as the lovers took hasty cover, still wrapped in each other's arms. For a second, he felt a pang of jealously, knowing that his wife was somewhere down there, and that she would be dead in a matter of moments. Unless she already was, killed as soon as they began their assault. That had always been a risk, but one he had no choice but to take.

   The guards at the far end of the corridor were doing their job well. Two of them were providing covering fire while the others moved forward to set up a barricade. Doubtless reinforcements were already on the way, and in a matter of moments they would find themselves surrounded. Not that they had moments to spare.

   With a wild scream, Cooper rose to his feet and sprinted down the corridor, firing a snap shot that brought down one of the gunmen. Walpis followed, a look of grim despair on his face, the two of them weaving from side to side in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming fire. Reaching into his pocket, Cooper hurled a lump of metal forward, and the Neander scattered to avoid what they presumed was a grenade.

   That gave them the chance they were looking for, and three quick shots opened up the corridor once more, allowing them to proceed. He glanced forward, shaking his head. It was a long run to the airlock, down a good portion of the length of the ship, and he redoubled his pace, panting as Walpis drew level with him.

   They sprinted past doors and turnings, heedless of the usual combat procedure, not even glancing aside to make sure that no enemy forces were sneaking up around them. They were deep in hostile territory, their options for escape dwindling by the second. As they passed an open elevator shaft, Cooper heard the rattle of machine-gun fire from the lower deck, the scream of a wounded man crying for his mother. There was at least one more battle taking place out here, though he had no way of knowing who was winning.

   Another Neander strayed out into the corridor, then stared wide-eyed in panic at the advancing group. He wore a technician's jumpsuit, and froze in terror as they approached, Walpis unable to avoid colliding with him, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground. Unable to pause for even a minute, Cooper jumped over the tangle and continued his desperate race against time, while the Corporal attempted to disentangle himself and follow.

   Finally reaching the end of the corridor, he turned to the airlock, where he saw his wife kneeling on the floor, flanked by Neander on either side, with Morigna standing over her, a pistol pointed directly at her head. Cooper rose his pistol to cover the group, locking eyes with the leader of the Proctors.

   “One more step, and she dies,” Morigna said.

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Let her go.”

   “She has been found...”

   “You killed them,” Cooper said, coldly. “You might not have pulled the trigger, but you gave the order.”

   “Drop your weapon, or she dies.”
/>
   “If she dies, so do you, a heartbeat later. And a hundred, a thousand others will come forward to take my place. You've lost, Morigna. You can't win, and you know it.”

   “It isn't too late.” The Neander gestured at the airlock, and said, “There's an escape pod waiting on the other side of that door. Here's how this plays out. Call your friends, tell them to stand down and return to their quarters. Then you can leave, right now, and allow us to finish tidying up the mess you have made.”

   “And Segna?” Cooper asked. Morigna stepped aside to see an unconscious form on the floor, his face a mass of bruises and cuts.

   “He stays here. Put down your weapon, Ensign, and I will allow you both to live. For the present, anyway. The Xandari have arrived, and will destroy your ship in a matter of moments.”

   “Don't do it, Gabe!” Bradley said. “There's too much at stake.”

   “I'm sorry,” Cooper said with a sigh, keeping his pistol level. “Stand down, Morigna, and I will spare your life. Though I suspect the judge won't.”

   “Bad call, Ensign,” she retorted.

   Behind him, Cooper head a loud click, and turned to see another Neander moving behind him, weapon at the ready. For an instant, Morigna had a triumphant look on her face, certain that she had lured Cooper into a trap, but a single shot rang out and the infiltrator dropped to the ground, a red stain spreading across his face, as Walpis moved up to cover the group.

   “Sorry I got held up, sir,” he said.

   “Don't mention it, Corporal,” Cooper replied.

   Taking a deep breath, Morigna said, “Last chance, Ensign. I warn you now. There's nothing you can do to prevent me from pulling the trigger. One twitch, one move, and she's dead.”

   Before Cooper could reply, Morigna's hand exploded, the pistol flying away from the bloody mess at the end of her arm, the Neander wailing in agony. Behind her, Kelot stood in gunfighter's pose, his face a grim mask. Bradley swung around with her legs, sending her tumbling to the deck, and Walpis dropped the other Proctors in two quick shots as Cooper ran forward to his wife, slipping a knife out of his pocket and slashing free her bonds with three smooth moves. He turned to look at the leader of the Proctors, now lying still on the floor, and shook his head.