“No, not really,” Wingate said shaking his head. “A classic insurgency has fighters operating within and concealed by a civilian population. As we know from the Centaur planet, any civilian population controlled by the Nameless would be liquidated. Military forces that could survive would have to remain hidden within wilderness regions.”
“So in other words, most of the population of Earth would be slaughtered, with a few survivors running for the rest of their lives,” Clifton said sombrely.
“Yes, ma’am. If the Nameless achieve Earth orbit, then we have already lost. But direct assault is probably not the way they will choose to go. I and my staff believe that for the Nameless, unless they are subject to time constraints we are not aware of, siege is the most likely strategy.”
“Saturn. Cut us off from Saturn, you mean?” Clifton asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Wingate replied. “Over three quarters of Earth’s power is now generated by hydrogen harvested from Saturn. Currently jump-capable tug ships are moving slow-boat tankers to Earth. How much information the Nameless have on the infrastructure of this solar system, is currently unknowable. But once they have units in the system, it will be impossible to conceal.”
“If the starforts around Earth and Saturn could hold off a direct assault, could we run convoys in and out?” the Indian Prime Minister asked.
“Sir, while we believe that the planetary defence units around Saturn could stand off all but the heaviest assault, we also believe that the Nameless will be reluctant to put such a force into a mass shadow as deep as Saturn’s, since to do so, would run the risk of being caught by our mobile units where they couldn’t jump away. Unfortunately, they don’t need to take out the harvesting facilities. Earth – with its much shallower Mass Shadow, they could assault. Therefore the majority of our mobile units will have to remain around Earth to provide close defence. That would leave only a small number of ships free for convoys and the Nameless would see any convoy climbing out of the Mass Shadow. They would have all the time needed to intercept it. To guarantee their safety, we would have to send the whole fleet – the same ships also needed to defend Earth. Just cutting us off from Saturn will be enough.”
Wingate shifted uncomfortably, then continued.
“Battle Fleet’s strategic fuel reserves will last no more than thirty days under normal usage. But that figure will drop sharply when those ships are engaged in combat. If we have access to the various national reserves, that figure can be extended, but once we are cut off from Saturn, Earth and the fleet are living on borrowed time.”
“So they can wait until Earth is protected only by a fleet of powerless hulks,” the Chinese representative said. “Therefore, we must ask – how does the fleet propose to avoid this?”
“Yes, we clearly have a window after the Nameless arrive during which we can meet their fleet with our own,” Clifton said. “How does the fleet plan to use that window?”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, that is where the situation becomes nightmarish,” Wingate said in an uncompromising tone. “We know that heavy casualties hold no fear for the Nameless. We also know that their economic strength is such that they can replace a lost fleet. We can’t. This means that simply charging out to meet them in a mutual massacre of our fleets, would make our destruction inevitable a year or two later. If we are to win, then it has to be a crushing victory. Something we have so far been unable to deliver.”
“What does Battle Fleet propose to do then?” Clifton asked.
There was silence on the military side of the table.
“We won’t lie to the Council,” Wingate said heavily, “we are still actively considering all possible options. We are currently massing the bulk of the fleet around Earth. A few elements are being retained at Rosa and Hydra Stations to harass the flanks of the Nameless breakthrough. Several others are being withdrawn from Dryad.”
It was a non-answer that the career politicians of the Council recognised, but they also realised there was nothing to be gained by pointing it out. The militaries of individual nations were being mobilised, states of emergency had been declared and martial law was already in place in a dozen cities. If changes to the leadership of Battle Fleet could have achieved anything, that time had come and gone.
“I appreciate your candour, Admiral,” Clifton said. “So I need you to answer this question: what are our odds?”
Wingate didn’t reply for moment.
“The truth is... the truth is that we will need to beat the odds to be still here in six months.”
There was a kind of collective sigh in the chamber.
“Is there anything we can do to improve those odds?”
“Anything that can be done is being done. The only thing I can add is that I have faith in the officers who will lead this fight. They are the best that are available to us.”
“I see,” Clifton said before looking up and down the Council side of the table.
“I assume you remember the discussion of three months ago?”
Wingate took a long, slow breath.
“The Lazarus Protocol, ma’am?”
“Yes. I believe the time has come to activate it.” Clifton again looked up and down the table. “Does anyone here object?”
“Is there sufficient time?” the President of France asked quietly.
“Yes, sir, there is,” Wingate replied. “The preparations have been made. The ships needed have been moved to their start positions. Detailed orders are ready to be issued to the necessary officers.”
“Is there any knowledge of this outside your office?”
“No, Madam President, but they will need to be told.”
“No earlier than they absolutely have to,” Clifton snapped before sitting back. “I’m sorry, Admiral, we know your concerns. We know that they are valid ones, but this… this will be a very difficult thing for the public to swallow, so it will be announced at a moment of the Council’s choosing.”
“Very well, ma’am,” Wingate said. “I have made my objections, ones I continue to stand by, but I will not waste the Council’s time repeating them.”
“There is one final matter,” Prime Minister Layland said.
“I’m not sure that…” Clifton began.
“With respect, I am,” Layland said, before turning back to Wingate. “Admiral, it has been agreed among the industrialised nations that whatever else happens, we will not suffer the same fate as the Centaurs. The human race will not be marched into extermination camps. If the Nameless make planetary landings, those landing zones will be hit with all means still at our disposal – up to and including nuclear weapons. If the Nameless take this planet, then all they will gain is a radioactive wasteland.”
Chapter Three
Ghost Ship
20th November 2067
Crowe glanced up briefly in response to the tap on the hatch.
“Come in.”
Alanna entered and came to attention. “You asked to see me, sir.”
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Crowe said looking up from his work. As usual her face was completely blank. The last time she had been in this cabin was when he’d chewed her out for leaving the civvies on Mars. He’d expected to receive orders to go back and drag them out, but it appeared that higher authority had decided they’d made their bed. Instead Deimos had received something completely unexpected and, in its own way, just as unwelcome.
“Lieutenant, we’ve received orders from Headquarters that relate to you,” he started. “With immediate effect you are being transferred off Deimos. This was not a transfer I requested.”
“I see, sir,” she replied. “Where am I going?”
“You’ve probably heard about the new light carriers being rushed into service.”
“Yes sir,” Alanna replied.
There was a slight tension in her stance now as she guessed at what might be coming. Crowe plunged on.
“Now they’ve been commissioned, fleet is trying to put together fighter groups for them. We
are considered a lower priority for fighters, so we’ve been ordered to hand over our most experienced crew, which obviously includes you. You’ll be replaced by a rookie crew just out of training.”
Alanna looked puzzled for a moment, then surprised.
“Lieutenant?”
“I’m sorry sir. I’m used to thinking of myself as a newbie,” she said.
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but you are a long way from that now.”
“Where am I to report to, sir?”
“You’re to report to the Aldrin Lunar facility at oh ten hundred hours tomorrow,” Crowe replied. “You’re also taking your fighter and weapons controller with you.”
“I see, sir, thank you for telling me. I’ll start to make preparations.”
“There is one last thing, Lieutenant.”
Crowe paused. He wished he’d been enough of a coward to leave out this part and let her find out for herself.
“One of the new carriers – the one you’re assigned to – was christened Norge. Headquarters has decided to change her name. From tomorrow, she will be the new Dauntless.”
Alanna made no reply, but he saw the muscles in her arms tighten and guessed that behind her back, she had clenched her fists.
“Is the transfer permanent, sir?” she asked after several moments, in a tightly controlled voice.
“As permanent as anything is,” he replied, observing her closely. “I will be requesting your return but realistically, you’re now too experienced for this post.”
Crowe stopped there, genuinely unsure of what more to say.
“Thank you, sir, for telling me. I appreciate it. Lieutenant Malm... he... he can be counted on to look after the new pilot,” she stopped and then abruptly put out her hand. “It has been a pleasure to serve with you and I wish you good luck, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Crowe replied as he stood to shake the proffered hand. “You’ve done well here, Lieutenant, and I’m sorry to say someone down in Headquarters appears to have been reading my reports. This is a step up for you and I wish you good luck on your new ship. You are dismissed.”
She should have saluted before leaving and clipped the edge of the hatch as she went out. Neither was lost on Crowe.
The concern he had been trying to keep from his face was now plainly apparent. He’d felt the tremble in her grip. Fifteen months ago, during the first Nameless offensive against Earth, a green as grass Lieutenant Alanna Shermer had been finishing her final assessments aboard the fleet’s elderly training carrier Dauntless. After the battle of Alpha Centauri, when the dust settled, Dauntless’s fighter group, the carrier herself and even her escort, were all destroyed. Of the hundreds of men and women that made up the crews, the Lieutenant was the sole survivor, pulled out of the wreck of a shattered fighter.
God knew, there had been days where Crowe felt he was only just holding it together. But in the year plus that the Lieutenant had been under his command, Crowe had always sensed that for her, that was what every day felt like. Now some arsehole in Headquarters had decided to put her onto a ship named after the very one on which she had probably experienced the worst days of her life. He’d put in a complaint, but it hadn’t fitted into any neat box, so by the time someone with a brain looked at it, she would be on Dauntless. He could contact her new captain, but Crowe shook his head as he rejected the thought. He couldn’t do that, not when all he had were his reservations. Reservations weren’t enough to call into question the courage of a fellow officer who had already served with such distinction. No, all he could hope for was that she could keep holding it together.
Alanna slammed her fist into the cabin wall just hard enough to hurt. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against the wall, feeling the cool of the metalwork.
“It’s just a ship, just another fucking ship,” she whispered to herself.
Through the metal she could feel the distant throb of the generators and the hum of the atmospheric recyclers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but it did nothing to block out the memories. The fighter squadron on Dauntless hadn’t just been colleagues – they’d been comrades and friends, the centre around which her world orbited. They’d been the people she’d watched die, unable to do anything to save them and in the end, she’d failed even to join them.
Alanna straightened sharply as she heard the hatch start to open and turned towards her packing, which also put her back to the hatch.
“Oh hello, Alanna,” said the gunner as he side slipped into the tiny cabin. “Thought you were second watch today?”
“No, I’ve been taken off the rotation.”
“Oh?”
“I’m being transferred out.”
“That so? Well good luck with that,” he grunted as he pulled off his jacket. “A lot of last minute transfers going through, before the shit hits the fan.”
Of all the officers on Deimos she found the gunner the easiest to deal with. He’d always seemed to accept she didn’t want to get to know people. Either that or he was just terminally uncurious.
“Do you know where you’re heading yet?” he asked, as he flopped onto his bunk.
“Yes. One of the new carriers.”
“Nice. Back among your own kind.”
Alanna made no reply.
“I’ll miss old Deimos,” Petty Officer Kristen Schurenhofer said conversationally as their Raven class fighter, D for Dubious, climbed out of the Moon’s gravity well. “Still, Skipper, a change is as good as a rest.”
“If you say so,” Alanna replied morosely.
Buzz Aldrin base had been a hive of activity, with transfers to and from various fleet ships, national military personnel transiting to planetary defence installations around Saturn and evacuated civilians en route back to Earth. Alanna and Schurenhofer had spent an uncomfortable night in a converted exercise hall with three score others. The time had both dragged and seemed to fly past far too fast. Now they were on their way, orbiting around the Moon on a course that would bring them onto an intercept.
“Well, on a carrier we’re likely to be flying more than escort missions,” Schurenhofer said. “Not to mention I won’t have to listen to jokers in the petty officers’ mess claiming I’m not doing anything because I spend half my time in a fighter.”
“You never said anything about that before.”
“Not the business of an officer. Besides, it sort of stopped after Kite String. The shit I was getting the most attitude from was in the hangar when they pulled what was left of poor old Racklow out of his fighter.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a beep from Schurenhofer’s control panel.
“Entering Dauntless’s approach lane,” she reported.
Alanna responded automatically. “Dauntless flight control, this is fighter D for Dubious, transfer in. Request approach authorisation and docking instruction.”
“D for Dubious, this is Dauntless flight control. Approach authorised. Dock at Hangar Four. Over.”
Alanna made no reply.
“Dubious, are you receiving? Over,” the radio repeated.
Schurenhofer glanced over at her and then activated the radio.
“Dauntless control, this is Dubious, Hanger Four we are on approach. Dubious over and out,” she responded. “You know, Skipper, if a cigar is sometimes just a cigar, then a name is sometimes just a name,” she added, before glancing again at Alanna.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Petty Officer,” Alanna responded coldly.
“And I didn’t ask for a pilot with survivor guilt issues coming out her ears, but hey, here we are,” Schurenhofer replied. “Believe me I would happily kick the ass of whoever assigned us to this ship, but if you decide to zone out because of a name, you’ll get yourself killed and more importantly, me to. You’ve done a decent job of keeping us alive so far and I’d rather you keep it that way.”
“You don’t know what it was like out there,” Alanna snapped at her. “You weren’t there!”
“Nope, I sure wasn�
��t,” Schurenhofer agreed. “The fact that I’m still alive is proof of that. But I know what it’s like out here now. I know I’ve got a whole bunch of plans that sort of hinge on me staying alive.”
“You done?”
“Possibly.”
“Will you turn the cockpit voice recorder back on then?” Alanna asked.
“Only if I’m sure I don’t have to say anything else that could get me court martialed.”
“Well, that would be one way out of this fighter.”
“True,” Schurenhofer agreed, “and probably into one flown by some rookie with both a brain and penis, but only enough blood to run one at a time.”
The navigation panel gave a beep as they started their final approach.
“A cigar is just a cigar? Where the hell do you get this stuff?” Alanna muttered as she switched Dubious to manual. “But if you do find out who assigned us here,” she added, “you hold him, I’ll hit him.”
As the hangar door closed, Schurenhofer busied herself putting Dubious through the shut down sequence. Outside a couple of deck hands were getting magnetic couplings into place. Alanna hadn’t wanted to look much at Dauntless, but it was hard not to look at a ship you were actively attempting to dock with. From what she could see, the new Dauntless bore only the most passing resemblance to her lost predecessor. Her basic hull had been taken from pre-war stock, which was also being used for the new Austerity class cruisers. Human fighter carriers had always gone for individual box hangars attached externally to the main hull. Unlike a launch bay built into the main body, it meant in theory no single hit could cripple the carrier’s entire launch and recovery capability. Dauntless was no exception in that regard, but she did show her cruiser roots. Just forward of the main radar towers, there was a second pair, each mounting a flak battery. The old Dauntless had carried only a limited point defence grid, relying instead on either her escort or distance to keep her safe. But this ship was meant to survive getting into harm’s way.
As Alanna and Schurenhofer climbed out of Dubious, the ship’s bosun met them.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 4
