“Sir, I would like to suggest we transfer some flight crews to Mantis before she leaves,” said Chothia. “We now have more crews than we have fighters to put them in.”
“Make it happen,” Paahlisson said.
A day later Mantis, her damaged hull freshly patched, led the two ammunition ships away from the mauled carrier.
22nd January 2068
Staff Captain Sheehan tapped on the hatch before stepping through. A quick sweep of the cabin’s work and sleeping areas was enough to establish the Admiral wasn’t there. Sheehan sighed to himself – that left only one other place he would be.
Not many of the crew were around. With the battleship landed and shut down, there wasn’t anything like enough real work to occupy the entire crew. The ship’s internals were now gleaming from stem to stern, so even the make work exercises were exhausted. Passing through the crew areas, Sheehan could hear an argument going on. Looking into the ratings’ mess, he could see a pair of then swearing at each other in at least two different languages. In the corner of the mess, half a dozen other ratings were playing cards, totally ignoring the noise behind them. A petty officer was standing just inside the hatch and gave Sheehan a sheepish look before stepping forward to separate the two. Arguments had become common and unless they became physical, the ships NCOs were inclined to let people blow off steam.
There was the old cliché that the wait before battle was the worst bit. Having seen actual combat, a month ago Sheehan would have called that bullshit. But now, after landing on Phobos and weeks of listening to the radio signals of those doing the actual fighting, he was starting to reconsider. Several times they’d observed the Nameless fleet approach Earth and the Fast Division had stood ready to take off. But each time, the Admiral decided the position wasn’t good enough. Either there weren’t enough Nameless ships, or they weren’t deep enough into Earth’s mass shadow. Each time the crew had to stand down, it got harder.
Stepping onto the bridge, he immediately sensed the tension. The officer in charge sat rigidly in the command chair, while around him and seated at their posts, the duty watch were all as still as statues. Off to one side, at the communications section, Sheehan found Lewis. He had an earpiece on and was sitting, one elbow rested on the console, his chin on his hand, staring into the middle distance.
“Sir, the supply report for the Fast Division,” Sheehan said, handing over the computer pad. The information could have been sent directly to the Admiral’s terminal, but there were some things that required the personal touch.
Lewis took off his earpiece and cast his eyes over the report. There was nothing especially new or interesting, just a list of fuel reserves, maintenance levels and crew conditions. The daily report had barely altered in weeks, aside from the inevitable downward creep of their fuel supplies. As Lewis read, Sheehan could hear whispering voices from the earpiece.
“Illustrious was intercepted,” Lewis said without looking up.
“Sir?”
“The Illustrious – she got jumped by an enemy cruiser squadron within the orbit of Saturn. The transmissions reached us about an hour ago.”
His tone was so even he could have been commenting on the weather, but Sheehan felt his blood freeze. His niece was stationed on the carrier.
“Survivors, sir?” he asked after swallowing hard.
“Illustrious wasn’t destroyed, Captain,” Lewis said glancing up. “But she was badly hit. Half of her hangars and most of her fighters were knocked out. Thanks to the efforts of her escort the Nameless didn’t manage to finish her off, but Puma was lost and Wasp badly damaged. So the Illustrious task group is off the board.”
Lewis returned to his reading.
And that was it. One ship and probably its entire crew gone and another two damaged to an extent that guaranteed heavy casualties, all condensed and diminished into a single sentence. Sheehan knew Lewis well, but had never known anyone else who could compartmentalise so ruthlessly. In the three and half years he’d served as the Admiral’s Chief of Staff, he’d rarely known him to speak on any personal matter. Now more than ever, he had apparently focused himself entirely on the job. Sheehan wondered if Lewis allowed himself to think about his family, even in the privacy of his own mind.
“We have fifteen days,” Lewis said quietly, so quietly Sheehan doubted he had intended to speak at all. He turned toward the main holo at the centre of the bridge. “We daren’t push any further – we wouldn’t have the fuel to either fight or run. The question will be whether to break for Earth, for Saturn or beyond the heliopause and meet with the carriers. A powerful and mobile gun squadron might make life difficult for the Nameless but unless they are having logistical issues we are not aware of, they can simply play safe.”
The Admiral lapsed back into silence, still staring at the holo. Sheehan waited patiently for the next order. As he did, a thought occurred to him that he had never expected to have. Could the Admiral make the decision? Two years ago he would have laughed at the suggestion that a man like Lewis could be frozen into indecision. But now – now he genuinely wondered. The Admiral was an old man and maybe a tired one. He’d given the fleet most of his life, had sent not just people, but friends to their deaths. Had he reached his limit and if so, what could be done? Finally Lewis moved, but only to put his earpiece back in place.
“Sir, perhaps some time away from the bridge would be useful,” he ventured.
The Admiral’s cold eyes turned on Sheehan.
“And go where, Captain?” he asked calmly.
“Perhaps some sleep sir, a walk around the ship or just a few hours off. There is nothing that comes in here that can’t be got to you in seconds.”
Lewis made no immediate reply.
“My cabin, Captain, is not a place I wish to spend much time,” he replied eventually. “It has four walls and a lot of old ghosts.”
Sheehan wondered how to reply to such an uncharacteristic statement. But Lewis carried on speaking.
“I will take a tour of the ship in a while. There is no need to inform the officers or crew. Having an Admiral suddenly appear among them will give them something to focus on. You are dismissed, Captain.”
Sheehan nodded and left. Although he tried to conceal it, Lewis could see his chief of staff was troubled. He wasn’t the only one. The Fast Division simply wasn’t getting the opening it needed and Lewis was starting to doubt it ever would. The lag resulting from the distance between Mars and Earth was simply too great. By the time the light speed transmissions and emissions reached Warspite, the Nameless were already leaving. For weeks his mind had churned, searching for an answer, but one didn’t seem to present itself. For the past few days, he’d found that all he could do was scan the civilian radio bands, listening to Earth slowly shut down.
Reaching out he touched a control and reactivated the communications console. Randomly he chose a radio channel.
Loyal Listeners, the Federal authorities have just informed us that this station will no longer be supplied with power. In a couple of hours’ time, we will be cut off and this I can tell you blows. But despair not listeners. Our management has managed to secure a backup generator. We will be on air at Six PM Eastern Central Time for as long as we can. Now that this serious business is dealt with, we have a couple of hours until shutdown. So we are going to give you the best of Alternative Rock from the past three decades! And all totally ad free – because if this is the end of the world, then we ain’t going quietly!
31st January 2068
Admiral Wingate wrapped his hands around the mug and waited for the heat to thaw out his fingers. Although Fleet Headquarters had its own power supply, independent of the local grid, the output had been dropped to the barest minimum to conserve fuel for as long as possible. The heating had been shut off the same day the Nameless arrived, as were the lifts and everything else now viewed as a luxury. Wingate had abandoned his office located at the top of the building and moved down to the ground floor, which was also more conveni
ent for the main control room and the Council chamber. But as the heat leeched out of the building and Europe plunged into the worst winter in decades, even in the centre of the building it became bitingly cold. Finishing his drink, Wingate headed for the control room. The picture was the same as it had been for over a month now. A cluster of red blips hovered between Mars and Saturn like a sore. Speckled across the entire solar system were other red dots; the Nameless Fleet and its outlying scouts. With the information based on light speed sensors it was all out of date. The only green blips were around Earth and Saturn. Occasionally they caught sight of the three carriers operating from the edge of the system, but currently none were visible. With Nameless jammers online their Faster Than Light transmitters had been rendered useless most of the time and radio transmissions far too slow, so there was no way to exercise tactical control from Earth. As he always did when he came into the control room, Wingate darted his eyes to Mars and silent Phobos. Their supposed ace remained up their sleeve, yet to be played and perhaps unplayable.
“Carol,” he said as he walked back into his office. “Is everything organised for the briefing?”
“No, sir,” his chief of staff replied.
Bundled up in a heavy jacket, with a red nose, she looked miserable.
“We’ve been informed sir, that we will have a lot of non-sitting governments listening in as observers. Some governments though are having problems making the connection. The Council have agreed to delay the start by three quarters of an hour.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Probably not sir,” she replied with a shake of her head. “The governments of Singapore, New Zealand, Finland, South Africa and Argentina currently can’t find sufficiently secure internet connections.”
The Internet, possibly one of greatest structures of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century, was already starting to crumble as one server after another lost its power supply. As soon as the lifeblood of hydrogen had been cut, the governments of the world had begun to cut power to the least important parts of their electrical grids. As hydrogen supplies failed and strategic reserves ran dry, one country after another started to shut down everything judged non-critical. Even for a man like Wingate, who understood on an intellectual level how little really counted as ‘critical’, it was still shocking to see entire cities go cold and dark. Aside from a few official vehicles, little was moving on the streets outside. All economic activity had ceased as the population of planet Earth battened down the hatches.
Everyone in the room stood as the holograms of the Council chamber shimmered into life. The Presidents of the United States and Brazil, and the Prime Ministers of China, Israel, France, Germany, India and Australia all appeared. On the military side of the Council table, General Westenlake of Planetary Defence and Admiral Fengzi were also represented in hologramatic form. On the other side of Wingate stood Secretary Daniel Callahan, the fleet’s political head, who since the start of the war had worked hard to protect the fleet from internal threats. Now he looked worn and tired.
“Please, gentlemen,” President Clifton said, waving them to be seated. “Admirals, I know you have prepared us a briefing, but I have no interest in hearing it because I can predict what you will say. The Nameless remain out there, the fleet remains here. The brave fighter pilots of the Fleet and Planetary Defence continue to beat themselves against the enemy and all the while out fuel stocks diminish.”
Clifton paused and looked around the chamber.
“Admiral, we are at crisis point. A few minutes ago I signed an executive order that will allow for the shut down of power supplies to all users, including hospitals. In essence, I have just signed the death warrants for hundreds of Americans currently lying in hospital beds across the nation. But worst of all, that’s not enough! In less than two weeks, America will be down to the trickle of power that comes from wind and wave energy. The USA has handed over fuel to the fleet and Planetary Defence, but we are now only days away from having no fuel to give.”
“The same is true of us all,” said the Prime Minister of India. “You speak of crisis, but we are now beyond that. I am informed that my country is now only seventy-two hours from final shut down. If the fleet is to successfully defend this planet, then the window of opportunity in which to achieve this is closing.”
“Admiral Wingate, your strategy of waiting for the Nameless to make a direct assault has failed,” Clifton finished flatly.
Wingate pushed his briefing notes to one side.
“Yes Madam President, you’re correct. It has.”
The admission visibly shook some of the Council members. Wingate ploughed on before anyone could speak.
“We had estimated that to sustain a fleet of their size across such a distance would place such a logistical burden on the Nameless that they would be forced to attempt to bring the siege to a premature end. Whether because their supply system is stronger than we expected or our elements at Rosa and Hydra have been unable to inflict sufficient losses on them, this has not occurred. We have equally come to the conclusion that a more high risk approach must be considered.”
“You have a proposal, Admiral?” Clifton asked.
“Simply charging the fleet out there is no more practical than it was a month ago. Our objective must be to lure the Nameless deep enough into a mass shadow so that they cannot jump away. The Fast Division remains our trump card.”
“How can you be sure of that, Admiral?” the German Chancellor asked. “The Nameless have entered Earth’s mass shadow several times and still Admiral Lewis has not moved!”
“And he has been right not to,” said Fengzi before Wingate could reply.
This coming from a man who had frequently and openly clashed with Lewis in the past that cut the Council off.
“Mars is currently about as far from Earth as it gets. Speed of light transmission means Admiral Lewis only sees the Nameless near Earth, nearly twenty minutes after they arrive. He requires a minimum of twenty minutes to heat engines, start reactors and get his ships off the surface. To get outside the Mars mass shadow and make the jump takes another twenty.”
“So, an hour’s delay between their arrival and his response,” Clifton said heavily. “Can we improve on that?”
“No,” Wingate replied. “We can send radio transmissions, but those have no speed advantage over the readings Lewis can get from his own passive sensors. The Nameless have too many FTL transmitters that are better than ours. We can’t punch through. If we used message drones or a courier ship, it would compromise the Fast Division. No, what we believe we must do is keep the Nameless close to Earth for longer, at a time when Lewis can be alerted beforehand and be ready.”
“How?” asked the Indian Premier.
“Live bait,” said Fengzi.
“In essence that is correct,” Wingate said. “What we propose is to send a convoy to Saturn. Using six of the fastest tankers we have available, we intend to run in with a light escort. Six tankers worth of fuel will extend the endurance of the fleet by another three weeks. We are offering the Nameless a target they cannot refuse. We can make Lewis and the carriers aware of where the convoy will be, which will avoid some of the inherent delays.”
“Why haven’t we tried this before?” Clifton asked.
“It’s a high risk. By sending out a small force, we will give the Nameless an opportunity to cut out a section of our fleet. Previously such a course would have been suspicious. Previously we wouldn’t have been in an obviously desperate enough position to risk it. The Nameless can see that Earth is shutting down. If we don’t get that fuel through we won’t have a fleet. This is our last chance to pull the Nameless in while the fleet is still operational. We are calling it Operation Gauntlet.”
Chapter Eight
Running the Gauntlet
5th February 2068
Shattered metal work, white like bone, severed cables that bled and in her ears, the screams, the screams of the dead.
Willis
woke with a start and for a moment thought she was back on the Hood. But the cabin was too big and the last time she’d seen hers on Hood, it was after a Tample laser had sliced straight through.
The intercom above her bunk buzzed again and recollection finally kicked in. She was on board Black Prince and it was the intercom rather than the main alarm that had woken her.
“Willis here, what is it?” she asked.
“Officer of the Watch; I’m sorry to wake…”
“What is it?” Willis repeated, struggling to keep the snap out of her voice.
“Captain, we’ve been ordered to break formation and drop down into low orbit. You are ordered to attend a briefing at Starforge Three.”
“When?”
“Ninety minutes, Captain.”
Willis pushed herself upright as she rubbed her eyes and tried to think what this could mean. Her tired brain refused to cooperate.
“Manoeuvre us as ordered and prep the shuttle. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Christ, Faith, you look rough,” said Commodore Dandolo as Willis came into the briefing room. A yawn had chosen the precise moment she walked through the hatch to force its way out.
“With all due respect, sir,” Willis replied as she slumped into a seat, “you’re no oil painting yourself at the moment.”
“You asked for that,” Captain Ozo of the Cetshwayo said from his seat, arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed as Dandolo grinned at Willis. The briefing room was one of the smaller ones. Someone had put a plate of sandwiches and a large thermos container of what was presumably coffee on a small table to one side of the room. Willis really, really wanted coffee, but she also really wanted to stay in her chair and go to sleep. Dandolo dropped himself into a seat before she could work out whether asking a superior officer to pour the drinks was pushing it.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 12
