Bradley rose to her feet, rubbing her wrists, and said, “Thanks.”
“Nice shooting,” Kelot said, walking slowly down the corridor, his pistol in his hand.
“You didn't do so badly yourself,” Cooper replied.
Walpis knelt down beside the badly beaten Segna, and said, “He's in a bad way. Broken ribs, broken arms, and he's getting awfully pale.”
“They took turns kicking him, after Morigna had knocked him out,” Bradley replied. “He took a blow that was meant for me, and I think they wanted to take it out on him.”
“We can't move him,” Walpis said.
“No need. I already have a medical team on the way. Turns out a lot of the population are switching sides now that they know they have a choice.” Waving his communicator, Kelot said, “We now control more than a third of the ship, and we've drawn away most of the guards from the bridge.” He looked at Bradley, and said, “If you can move, we've got a chance to get this over with quickly.”
“Where?”
“Two decks down, right below us. There's an accessway that should drop us right onto the bridge, and one of my parties is launching a distraction attack on the door right now.”
“I can move,” Bradley said. “You'll need me to operate the systems, anyway.”
Walpis nodded, and added, “There's nothing much we can do for the wounded up here.”
“Come on,” Cooper said, moving over to the hatch, Kelot stepping in front of him.
“My privilege, sir.”
“The first one down that hatch is the one that will face the greatest risk.”
“I know,” the Neander replied. “That's why I said it was my privilege to face the risk.”
“If you get killed…”
“To hell with the pair of you,” Bradley said, snatching Morigna's discarded pistol from the floor, before stepping through the shaft. “Follow me.”
Cooper quickly swung after her, while Kelot paused for a second, chuckling as he said, “I think I see why you married her, Gabe.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Walpis was the last one onto the shaft, closing the hatch as he climbed through, in case the others on the scene meant them harm. Cooper followed Bradley down the tunnel as close as he dared, keeping his hand on his pistol, the gun rattling against the rails as he descended. A foul stink filled the air, and he climbed past the relic of a long-dead rodent leering at him, a skeletal smile briefly illuminated by their flashlights. No surprise that this tunnel was unused.
Bradley reached the bottom hatch, standing next to it, and waited for a brief second while the others moved into position, pointing their guns at the floor. At the count of three, she kicked open the hatch, swinging her foot into the control, and it dropped away to reveal a startled Neander sitting in the command chair, who barely had a chance to look up before Kelot shot her in the shoulder, sending her toppling forward.
The action moved in a blur as the four of them dropped down to the deck below, rolling behind cover as they hastily moved to disable the guards on the bridge. Bullets rattled around, smashing into vital equipment, sending sparks flying everywhere, the traitor crew making what they knew was a last, desperate stand.
With a loud grinding sound, the main hatch opened, Bradley managing to sprint across to the release mechanism, knocking aside the guard with a swing of her elbow, reinforced by a bullet from Walpis. The rest of Kelot's guards stormed in, and the remaining traitors raised their hands, staring at each other, expecting to be shot out of hand.
“Take them to detention,” Kelot ordered, as Bradley moved over to the master control panel, quickly scanning the unfamiliar equipment, Cooper walking to her side.
“I'm trying to get a status report,” she said, gingerly tapping controls.
“Life support nominal,” one of the Neander reported from the rear.
“No surprise,” Kelot said. “That's the first section we secured.”
“Communications are out,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “We don't have helm control, astrogation, or power systems management. All critical systems have been re-routed to somewhere else.”
Shaking his head, Cooper said, “A decoy. They've set up shop somewhere else.” He looked around at the dead and the captured, and added, “None of these are bridge technicians, just guards.”
“I've got sensors!” another of the Neander said. “Tactical display coming up on the main viewscreen.”
The image flashed into life, and Cooper got his first view of the battle beyond, a series of flashing readings that filled him with dread. Alamo and another, larger vessel were closing on each other, with a host of smaller craft dashing around, moving in all directions. As he watched, three new dots appeared on the screen, tracking away from Ausori, heading right for Alamo. Missile tracks.
Kelot shook his head, and said, “We can't get down there. Not in the time. There are six decks of enemy-controlled territory in the way.”
“We'll have to think of something,” Cooper said. “Alamo can't send in reinforcements until that missile bank is knocked out.” He gestured at the status panel, and added, “By the looks of that, the Proctors are beginning to rally, and if the Xandari get close, they'll have all the help they need to retake the ship.”
“I've found auxiliary control!” Bradley said, a smile on her face that quickly broke into a frown. “There's a level underneath the ship's reservoir.”
“That's only storage,” Kelot protested.
“All the power and control relays lead down there.” Shaking her head, she continued, “If we want to end this, that's where we have to go.”
“No point wasting time here, then,” Cooper said. “Let's move.”
Chapter 21
Orlova wiped the sweat from her forehead, looking at the tactical display, flicking controls in a desperate bid to concoct some sort of order from the strategic chaos of the battlespace. None of them had proper transponders, and the designs were so different that even the computer was having difficulty of deciding which side the various vessels were on.
The Neander, at least, weren't a problem. Daedalus had swung into the lead, driving them into a long, low arc that took them into position to protect the huge, helpless transport. She turned to the communications station, Nelyubov yelling into a microphone in a desperate attempt to get some sort of status report from the refugee ship, and by the sounds of it, failing.
By the hendecaspace point, the other two waves of ships were canceling each other out, the squadron identified by Harper as the Syndicate battling with the Koltoc ships, the latter just about winning but at a grave cost. Dozens of missiles filled the air, swinging around the warring vessels, a tangle of trajectory tracks so confusing that she had all but given up on working out which ships were under threat.
This wasn't a fleet, and even if it was, she didn't have the time or the staff to handle one. The conflict had broken down into a series of individual battles, and Alamo had a fight of its own to worry about, the two largest vessels about to enter firing range.
“I can't get anyone over there,” Nelyubov said, tearing his headset free in frustration. “Someone just told me to hold the line, that he'd try to find someone.”
“Any information at all?” Orlova asked.
“Nothing that makes any sense. Cooper managed to rescue Bradley, I did get that much, but I've got no idea whether or not they've managed to take control, or what the situation is across the rest of the ship.” He paused, then added, “There was gunfire in the background, though. A lot of gunfire.”
“They're still launching missiles at the Neander squadron,” Spinelli added. “One wave every thirty seconds. We're getting some energy spikes from one deck below, as well. I think they're about to bring a second bank of missiles into play.”
“None of them are any threat to us,” Nelyubov added, “but
we don't dare launch any shuttles in their direction until they've been dealt with. Not that the Xandari will face that restriction.”
“Firing range in thirty seconds,” Cantrell said. “All weapons systems ready to go. I have a data-link established with Daedalus, and Harper's taking over our electronic warfare suite.” Shaking her head, she added, “Not that it's going to make a damn bit of difference.”
Orlova tapped a control, the display focusing on Alamo and its opponent, slowly gliding towards each other. Armstrong had done an excellent job at the helm, giving them a nice eighty-second window of opportunity for the two ships to tear themselves to pieces, but despite the damage it had already suffered, the Xandari battlecruiser was going to have more endurance on the firing line than Alamo. A few hits in the right place, and they'd lose the ship.
“It's a mess,” Nelyubov said, returning to his position at the holodesk, standing opposite Orlova. “A huge, scrambled mess.” He looked up at the display, and said, “Orders, Captain?”
“Missiles on counter-measure alert, laser for offensive action. Let's play this one safe. Try and focus on their shuttle bays and weapon systems, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, ma'am. Midshipman, stand by to give me a line-of-sight pass in twenty seconds.”
“Stopping a boarding action?” Nelyubov said.
“If they get their shuttles into the air, we'll have a pretty nightmarish decision waiting for us. Right now any outside intervention could decide the fighting on Ausori, and I want it to be our side that wins.”
“They'll go anyway, you know. Sergeant Gurung's called up to the bridge five times since Daedalus jumped into the system, demanding permission to launch.” He paused, smiled, and added, “Don't worry. I've made sure that they can only take off if one of us authorizes it.”
“We don't dare. One close range salvo and we'd lose every shuttle, without a chance to do anything about it.” She looked up at the clock, shook her head, and said, “Five seconds to contact.”
This time, Alamo had the advantage, and Armstrong swung the ship around, the laser unleashing its powerful pulse of energy at the enemy vessel, burning a black swathe down the side of the hull, atmosphere spilling out into space. At the same instant, Alamo rocked back as a salvo of missiles spilled out into space, but rather than racing towards their ever-nearer target, they moved into a loose formation moving ahead, ready to react to any enemy launches.
“Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Eight contacts inbound, multiple vectors, estimated thirty-five seconds to contact.”
“Ranging missiles to intercept,” Cantrell added. “Second salvo coming into the tubes.”
Orlova watched as Alamo's missiles suddenly burned their engines at full, hurtling forward into the void, the trajectory plots interlocking with the incoming Xandari warheads. Eight against six were sad odds, but Cantrell was racing to get a second defensive spread up into the air, battling for time. Up ahead, one by one, the enemy missiles winked out, leaving only two heading for them. At the last second, Cantrell tapped a control, and the remaining missiles faded from the screen, far too close to Alamo for comfort.
“Not so good,” Nelyubov said, as the enemy vessel launched another salvo. “They're going to wear us down at this rate.”
“Third salvo coming,” Cantrell reported, frantically working her controls. “Harper's having no luck with the countermeasures.”
“We didn't expect anything else,” Orlova said. She watched as the enemy battlecruiser swung towards them, aiming for a near miss, the trajectory ultimately passing far over the Neander transport. Reaching down to her console, while the bridge crew worked all around her, she hastily set up a tactical projection, assuming that the enemy vessel would start to decelerate as soon as it flew past Alamo.
“Right to Ausori,” she said, looking up at Nelyubov. “We aren't the target today.”
“There goes another Koltoc ship!” Spinelli said, as one of their allies exploded at the fringes of the battlespace.
“They'll have to deal with us sooner or later,” Nelyubov replied, shaking his head.
“And if they have the missile banks on Ausori, they'll overwhelm us quickly enough.” Turning to Cantrell, she said. “Will you get the third salvo up in time, Lieutenant?”
“Just about, ma'am, but the fourth...”
“Switch the remaining missiles of the second salvo to attack the enemy. Hurt them, Lieutenant, and badly.”
“Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “Midshipman, I want another line-of-sight on the enemy ship in three seconds. Try for the aft section this time. Maybe we can smash up their primary engines.”
“Coming around,” Armstrong said, playing with her thrusters, her fingers dancing over the controls to silent music as the lumbering battlecruiser sang to her tune, lining up with the enemy vessel for the millisecond needed to take this shot. This time, a vast cloud of air raced from the gash the laser tore into her hull, sending her briefly spiraling out of control, the course projection quickly updating. A second later, four missiles rained into the enemy hull, ripping new breaches through the armor, exposing the compartments beneath.
Still the enemy vessel came on, and now it was Alamo's turn. The new salvo dived towards them, and while Cantrell frantically labored at her controls, it was soon obvious that it wasn't going to be enough. The third salvo rocketed from the launch tubes, arcing up towards the incoming missiles, six canceling out six. Leaving two remaining.
A low, dull whine rippled through the ship as the enemy warheads smashed home, the status boards drowned in red as warning alarms sounded. Nelyubov raced over to the rear section, running his eyes across the panel as he absorbed the information, Cantrell cursing at her unresponsive tactical controls.
“I'm having trouble building power in the laser capacitors,” she said, shaking her head. “More damage to the power distribution nodes.”
“They played it perfectly,” Erickson reported, shaking her head. “Damage to the laser transfer coils, as well as the forward dimensional sensor array. We can't leave the system now, even if we wanted to.”
“We've still got plenty of business here,” Orlova said.
“Some damage to sensor arrays on the under-hull,” Nelyubov added. “Nothing to worry about. I think we dodged the worst of the hits.”
Smashing her hands on the controls, Cantrell said, “Laser's useless. It'll take five minutes to get it to anything like the required charge.” Glancing across at another control, she added, “Fourth salvo in the tubes, ready to fire in ten seconds.”
“Get it moving,” Orlova said, looking at the enemy vessel. By now it should have launched its next wave of missiles, unless the damage had been more extensive that she had thought. Shaking her head, she glanced at the readouts, closest approach coming up in five seconds. After that, it would get harder and harder to put shots into the enemy, and they'd have accomplished their goal of taking the Neander vessel.
“Course change,” she said, turning to Armstrong. With a deep breath, she ordered, “Give me ramming speed.”
“Maggie?” Nelyubov said, his face pale.
“We're playing chicken,” she replied. “Let's see who blinks first.”
“Collision course implemented,” Armstrong said, her fingers shaking. Warning alerts streamed down the side of the viewscreen as the two vessels hurtled towards each other, neither commander willing to take the risk first. Nelyubov looked at Orlova as she took a step forward towards the helm, waiting to give the order to change course.
The ship rocked, both tactical officers having the same idea, Alamo's warheads smashing into the Xandari missiles as they attempted to take advantage of the minimal range. At the final second, just as Orlova thought it would be too late, the enemy vessel fired a long pulse with its thrusters, sending them on a wildly divergent course, out of the battlespace.
“You took a hell of a ri
sk,” Nelyubov said with a sigh. “If they'd stuck to their usual battle tactics, sacrificing one ship to take out another would have seemed like a good trade for them.”
“Not today,” she replied. “They still have a lot of work to do, and for that matter, so do we. Helm, bring us about. I want another interception course on that vessel as fast as we can. Can we get another salvo into the air?”
“Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell replied, a smile on her face. “Sixth salvo will be ready in thirty seconds. Just within firing range if I optimize them for maximum boost.”
“See to it,” Orlova ordered. Nelyubov was looking down at the status monitor, frowning at the reports flooding onto the screen.
“Lots of secondary damage from those two hits, and we've got several hundred outer hull breaches from debris,” he reported. “Only two internal hull breaches, though. No deaths, but half a dozen casualties, all from the ship's outer areas. Could have been a lot worse, Captain.”
“For them it was,” she replied, flicking a switch to take a look at the wider picture. The battle around the hendecaspace point was opening up as the combatants had a chance to build up speed, and the Neander were forming a loose clump, biased in the direction of the enemy battlecruiser, ready to take another salvo in the defense of their people. As she watched, Ausori put up another three missiles, the defenders knocking them down quickly, before they could pose a threat.
“Energy spike!” Spinelli said, looking up at his console. “Six warheads, bearing directly.”
“Only six,” Nelyubov replied. “We must have done some damage.”
“Salvo launching now, ma'am,” Cantrell said. “Coming onto an intercept course.”
“Course change completed,” Armstrong reported, turning from the helm. “Second combat window in nine minutes, ten seconds.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament Page 19
