“Our own damn fault for having a war with people who seem to have a nineteen hour cycle,” he said.
Fighter strikes were the latest move by the Nameless. One of their carriers would drop in as close to Earth as they could manage, launch thirty to forty fighters and jump away. The fighters would then make a fast run through before being recovered on the other side of the planet. The raids had achieved very little in terms of damage, but they were occurring two or three times a day, putting the entire fleet on alert each time, costing precious fuel and disrupting everyone’s sleep patterns.
“Any idea what we’ve been called for?” Ozo asked.
“My guess is we’ll be redeployed and split up for close defence of the main orbital platforms,” said Dandolo. “Well, commanding a squadron was nice while it lasted.”
“They’ve already got the starforts for that,” Willis said. “In fact, that’s what they’re there for.”
“What else could it be?” Dandolo asked as he looked towards the coffee and then at Willis, probably wondering whether he could get away with ordering her to pour.
“Hello? Are we in the right place?” said somebody in the hatchway.
Looking around Willis saw a commander standing in the hatch, with at least two more officers behind him. The rings on his sleeve were shiny and new, so a recent promotion.
“Where are you trying to be?” Dandolo asked.
“The briefing at eleven hundred.”
“I think you’ve found the right place. Since you’re on your feet Commander, could you pour the coffee?”
He took the order with good grace.
“Thank you, Commander…?” Willis asked, as he handed her a cup.
“Valance, of the Minstrel,” he said, glancing down at her jacket and the medals hanging there. “I recognise you, Captain. I’d like to thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but what for?” she asked.
“I have relatives out in Dryad, working in the water industry. If you hadn’t kept the Tample out, it would have gone badly for them.”
The other officers who’d come behind looked at her curiously. All junior commanders and, like Valance, recent promotions.
“We’re from the Twenty-Second Destroyer Squadron,” one of them said .
“Emergency constructions?” asked Ozo.
“That’s us, first of the new Town Class – Olstyn, Obernai and Humaita,” the speaker nodded to the female officer. “Jessica’s Humaita is the flak gun armed version.”
Willis grimaced. The Towns were the destroyer equivalent of the Warriors – emergency construction on stock hulls. A few of them had sacrificed their plasma cannons and missile launchers for just two flak guns and magazine space for ammunition. No wonder they were being called the Toothless Terrors. Willis, Ozo and Dandolo exchanged a look.
“Uh-oh,” Willis said.
“I don’t think we’re here to protect orbital platforms,” Ozo commented. Behind, another three captains were walking in.
Guinness and Chuichi were waiting at the airlock. The faces of both men fell when they saw Willis’s expression. She nodded for them to follow.
As her cabin hatch clunked closed behind them, Willis settled into her seat with a sigh.
“Well the good news is that we’re effectively off strength for the next two days,” she said.
“And the bad news?” Chuichi asked.
“That we’ve been handed a task, which comes with a guarantee that valour medals will be handed out with a shovel, but odds are most of them will be awarded posthumously,” she replied grimly. “The fleet has decided to run a convoy to Saturn and we’re to be part of the escort.”
“Supplies?” asked Guinness
“Mostly empty tankers. We’ll be bringing back fuel for the fleet.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Guinness exclaimed.
“With respect, Captain, but who did you annoy?” Chuichi asked tersely.
“The joys of being in a cheap ship,” Willis replied with an exasperated wave of her hand. “We are more expendable. There will be heavy cover in the shape of the battleship Fortitude and a couple more cruisers, but they won’t be going into Saturn’s mass shadow. Based on what I’ve seen so far, we can get to Saturn. The difficult part will be to get back out of her mass shadow with loaded tankers before we get taken apart.”
Both men looked grim. They could appreciate the difficulties she was referring to. Saturn’s mass shadow was nearly five times ‘deeper’ than Earth’s. The Nameless would have hours in which to see and react to the convoy’s move towards the edge.
“However, that isn’t the important bit,” Willis added. “This is the part that will not be spoken of outside this cabin until we are on our way back from Saturn.”
That got their attention.
“The fuel is basically a red herring. Assuming we manage to get all six tankers back in one piece, they would provide enough fuel to run the fleet for three weeks or perhaps half that if we fuel the starforts as well. Our real objective is to provide a target the Nameless can’t ignore at a known time and place, so that the Fast Division can spring its ambush. Obviously we need the element of surprise. There aren’t many civilian radio transmitters left on air, but Headquarters doesn’t want some bloody journalist blabbing. God knows what, if anything, the Nameless understand of human communication, but why take risks?”
“Why indeed, but does Fleet think we’ll make it far enough for a return journey?” Chuichi asked.
“Yes. More by accident than design the Nameless haven’t seen Minstrel in action yet. They will most likely first attempt to stop us with light units supported by a few mediums. We should be able to stand that off. So the next time the Nameless will either have to let us through or pile in en masse.”
“I would have thought this was a job for more sophisticated ships, like a trio of Myths...” Chuichi trailed off.
Willis drummed her fingers on the desk while staring into space.
“Captain, did you…”
“Object?” Willis cut him off. “No. This is not a volunteer operation. The fine detail of this plan is still being put together, but if the price of making it work is the loss of our entire squadron, then Headquarters will pay it.”
She looked up at them, her face twisted into a bitter smile.
“It’s not as if they’re wrong.”
Chuichi and Guinness parted ways at the hatch, both seeking time to process what they had just been told. Guinness made his way out of the centrifuge and aft to his own ‘kingdom’ in the engine rooms. Only the duty shift was around and various inspection work was underway. Guinness pulled himself into the small space he called his office.
“I am getting too old for this,” he said to himself.
He caught sight of his reflection in a metal storage hatch – white hair, not too many wrinkles, but then spacers didn’t get to absorb that much UV light.
“You stupid old fart, you are too old for this.”
He’d been here before. More than thirty years ago in the last war, as part of a fleet with its back to the wall, staring defeat in the face. Had he been frightened back then? He didn’t think so. Too young and too stupid – well maybe not young but certainly stupid. He’d never had much taste for gambling and to his mind that was what a tactical officer had to be – pushing chips onto the table, hoping to get them back, but willing to accept some might be sacrificed for greater advantage. As an engineer he understood that things could happen in an engine room, bad things. But since then he’d witnessed events such as the Mississippi, Alpha Centauri and Dryad, watching good lads and girls die at their posts. Maybe it would be better to go back to the Skipper’s cabin and tell her he couldn’t do it, not again. Tell her while there was still time to replace a frightened old man.
Looking around his eyes fell on a photograph – him, her, the two boys, each with a huge ice cream in their hand, all of them beaming into the camera. For the life of him he couldn’t remember where it had been taken. It had been a
family day trip somewhere, back when the lads were both wee. Wherever it was, it had been a great day, one of the best. He hadn’t been around as much as he’d wanted when they were small. But he’d been out here, protecting them all and that was what he was still doing. If he were able to leave, where would he go? Go home to an empty house? Kissing his finger he put it on her face.
“Might be seeing you soon girl,” he whispered.
___________________________
8th February 2068
The next few days were a whirl of activity on board Black Prince and the rest of the squadron. As ammunition ships and tankers queued to offload, the cruiser’s tanks and magazines were filled to the brim. Several times work was interrupted by Nameless raids, but the aliens never got close to low orbit and work quickly resumed. Willis handed responsibility for loading to Chuichi, while she spent most of her time at Starforge Three, helping to thrash out the fine detail of the forthcoming op.
“So we can’t actually be sure Admiral Lewis and the Fast Division will turn up?” asked Commander Valance.
“Well not a hundred percent,” said one of the Headquarters staff officers. “He’s on radio silence, but we have been sending him radio updates. We’ve been careful to keep the amount of radio traffic at a constant level so if the Nameless can hear it, then it looks like the same level of updates we’ve been sending the carriers since December.”
“Lewis is days away from breaking for Earth or Saturn,” Dandolo commented. “In his shoes, I’d rather make my move when all hell is breaking loose than when things are nice and calm.”
“Still seems a bit of a weak point to me,” said the captain of the Humaita.
“Not one we can fix, Jessica,” Willis replied as she flicked at the pages on her data pad. “We have to roll with what we can alter and work around what we can’t.”
With her own history of having to plan a defence largely based on guesstimates, no one would argue too hard.
“Y’know, there are already odds being given on whether we’ll make it back in one piece,” Ozo said.
“So what are the odds on us?” Dandolo asked, as he studied a chart of the solar system.
“Pretty long.”
“Put me down for fifty,” said Jessica.
“They might want cash up front,” Ozo pointed out.
“If I don’t make it sir, I won’t have much need for money,” she replied with a smile. “If I do, well then that’s the celebratory booze up paid for.”
“Mines, torpedoes and random zigzags,” said Willis.
The conversation stopped as everyone looked at her.
“Want to expand on that one, Faith?” Dandolo asked.
“When we jump in at Saturn, drop mines astern. With them falling into Saturn’s gravity well, they can’t follow from directly astern. If we put the torpedoes above and below us that will leave just the flanks open, from where Minstrel can bring her main battery to bear.”
“Sound fairs,” said Ozo. “Where do zigzags come in?”
“Random zigzags will stop them from getting into an optimum firing position.”
“With the amount of warning they’ll get, they can spread out and fire from all angles,” said Commander Valance. “Minstrel can put down one hell of a wall of fire, but only across a very limited arc.”
“If they try spreading out that much, they’ll have no mutual support,” said Dandolo. “The Dauntless and Huáscar will operate in support. If they spread out then our fighters will chop them up.”
“Especially if we make a couple of dummy runs out,” Ozo added.
“Okay,” Dandolo said, turning to one of the staff officers, “let’s try running this through Sims and see what happens.”
___________________________
13th February 2068
The Nameless escort had been holding position inside Earth’s mass shadow, providing its fleet with a forward picket. Although they were within the Red line, they had to remain far enough out so that their jump drives could still function – watching the orbiting ships and the planet below as the lights went out. When there was a flicker of light from astern as four human fighters jumped in right on the Red Line and powered down towards it, the Nameless reacted instantly. It was a race between the alien ship jumping clear and the accelerating fighters trying to get to within effective missile range. The Nameless ship won the race, disappearing to safety. As the four fighters peeled off, on the opposite side of the planet, another four were jumping in close to the picket’s second ship. Like the first, it retreated to safety, but the Nameless forward screen had suddenly evaporated.
On board Black Prince Willis tightened the straps of her seat restraints as the cruiser accelerated up and out of Earth’s orbit.
“Coms, Bridge. Signal from the Dauntless’s fighters: the door is open. Also general signal from Fleet Command: God Speed.”
Willis nodded tensely. On the main holo the blips for the convoy were separating from those of the rest of the fleet. The ten warships were formed up around the six tankers, two ammunition ships, a pair of general transports and one of the fleet’s FTL communications ships, all accelerating up and out of the gravity well, at the pace of the slowest ship. Two squadrons of American fighters formed an outer perimeter.
“This is too slow,” Chuichi muttered across the command channel
The Commander was standing on the bridge, ready to head aft to damage control once the action started, but until then maintaining his present position so that he would be aware of the tactical situation. Willis made no reply. It was slow, but equally it was exactly what they expected. This was as good as loaded transports could manage. If only there had been time to do as someone had suggested and strap on a set of old fashioned chemical rockets. The Nameless picket ships would return to station within minutes, sight the convoy and call for back up. How far could they get before that happened? Minutes crept past as the convoy continued to accelerate. On the main holo their ships crossed a dotted green line. Willis flicked her intercom to ship wide.
“All hands, this is the Captain. We have just crossed the abort line. We are now committed. That’s all.”
In the port side engine room, Guinness did as he always did when the Captain’s voice came across the intercom and glanced towards the bows. Stupid really, as there was never anything to be learned from the engine room bulkhead, but it was something he still did. The wait was agonising, would they get clear or not get out at all?
“Committed?” asked one of the engineering ratings.
“Weren’t you listening at the briefing?” Guinness reprimanded him, glancing at the forward bulkhead again. “Even if the transports go all astern, they’re carrying too much velocity to stop before they go over the Red Line. Now shut your yap.”
Damn, this was cruel! The reactors were ready to go to one hundred percent. The engines were barely going at fifty percent and only the flak guns were drawing power. She might be a jigsaw of a ship but Black Prince desperately wanted to stretch her legs. He could practically feel it. Guinness took a sip from his water reservoir and immediately regretted it as he suddenly wanted to urinate. He couldn’t. There wasn’t anything in his bladder to be pissed out. To distract himself he cycled through the system displays on his screen. Reactor One: okay, Reactor Two: okay, Engines One through Four: yes, yes, yes and yes, Jump Drive: okay, Computer: okay, Power Display…”
Across the main channel the action alarm went off. His display beeped as the cruiser’s six plasma cannons started to draw power.
Guinness looked down the engine bay.
“Okay, lads! This is it!”
“Bridge, Sensors. Contact! Contact jumping in, bearing zero seven three dash three zero five. Contact is... scout.”
“Understood, Sensors,” Willis replied as she checked her straps again. On the holo the American fighters wavered, their course diverging from the convoy for a moment before someone decided they couldn’t get to the scout fast enough to matter. The Americans settled back i
nto their screening formation.
“Navigator?” Willis murmured.
“We are seventeen minutes from the Red Line. Jump calculations have been made.”
“Confirm the jump drive is ready?”
“Confirmed Captain.”
In the lead it would be Fortitude to open the jump portal. But if she was taken out or damaged, each ship had to be ready. Overhead she heard the whine of A Turret training out to starboard and the distant alien ship. The scout began to move, as always the newly arrived ship was nearly stationary, but started to accelerate, running parallel to the convoy. Those damn FTL sensors of theirs were undoubtedly probing to find the composition of the convoy.
“Bridge, Coms. Enemy FTL jammers are powering down. C band is opening up. The enemy scout is transmitting.”
“How the hell do they do that?” Chuichi growled, shaking his head. The jammers were dotted about the solar system. The Nameless used the same six transmission bands humanity had access to, but they also seemed to have access to another, which judging by effect seemed to allow them to shut down the jammers without the lag of radio transmitters.
“Not important, as long as they stay predictable,” Willis replied before turning towards the communications lieutenant to give him a questioning look.
“Groundside and orbital FTL transmitters are going active,” he confirmed.
The fleet had learned that from the lost colony of Landfall. There were three FTL transmitters on Earth and the fleet had another pair in orbiting communication ships. All of them had been waiting for this. The scout’s transmission was distorted and swamped as all five commenced the electronic equivalent of screaming across the same band. One band at a time, the distant jammers shut down as the scout tried to find a clear connection. Seconds then minutes were wasted as the scout tried to get the word out. All the while the convoy closed on the Red Line. Finally all six bands were open. The five human transmitters tried to follow and swamp the scout’s transmitter, but it could change band far quicker than its human counter parts.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 13
