“Sir, I think our scout ships have made out one detail that is very telling,” he said.
Lewis’s cold eyes turned towards him.
“It’s the level of defence, sir. We knocked out a lot of gates when we fought on the Junction Line last year. Most were completely unprotected and the Nameless seemed to follow a policy of rapid replacement rather than attempting to defend them, which is in absolute contrast to what we see here.”
“That’s true sir,” Sekhar said. “We never saw anything even close to this kind of defence, even around their biggest supply dumps. If they are defending it, then it must be for a reason.”
“Not to mention that compared to the reading Spectre took when she first discovered the system, the defences have been substantially beefed up,” said Admiral Paahlisson.”
“Given that we hit an important position within a few systems of here, that was as sure as sunrise,” Admiral Conrad Kanter responded, “which reinforces the supposition that this is critical ground for them.”
“A reasonable line of thinking,” Lewis replied after a pause. “So if we assume that the gate, and more importantly the beacon, is the key to the system, how do we proceed?”
“Go in hard and fast,” Kanter said firmly. “That gate can’t get out of the way, so we roll in and take it out.”
“And that will take us straight into the teeth of their defence,” Sekhar objected. “With the gate positioned at the Lagrange point between the planet and its moon, the Home Fleet would also have to get between the two. Once there, we’d be fired upon by the orbital installations around the planet, the ground installations on the moon and the mobile units – in short, from every damn direction. I know the new barrage ships are impressive, but that kind of crossfire will overwhelm them.”
“But won’t overwhelm the fleet as a whole,” Kanter replied.
“We would take damage and therein lies the problem, Conrad,” Lewis said before Sekhar could reply. “If it was simply a question of destroying the gate, then a frontal assault would be the simplest and most reliable route. Unfortunately, destroying the gate is merely step one. After that, we will have to hold this ground for as long as it takes for the Nameless to be starved of supplies. That will be a question of endurance, so the more we lose in the first phase, the harder that will be to endure.”
“Long range fire perhaps?” Sekhar hazarded.
“By the time we’re close enough to use even heavy plasma cannons, we’ll be taking fire from the defences,” Kanter said shaking his head. “We don’t have enough ships with heavy calibre railguns anymore and just because that station is at the Lagrange point now, doesn’t mean it can’t be shifted to get out of the way of a long range shot.”
The discussion broke down into several overlapping conversations as various ideas were thrashed out. Lewis spoke only occasionally, mostly to point out why each suggestion would come up short.
“Sir,” Crowe said finally, “I think we have to go back to the plan proposed back on Earth and use the Mississippi.”
“That plan was proposed by someone who needed to get out more!” Sekhar said sharply. “You’re talking about charging three ships – only three ships – into the very teeth of those defences!”
“Yet, sir,” Crowe replied, “if it cost us only those three ships it would be a good exchange, they are…” the word caught in his throat, “…they are expendable.”
“Those ships would be better deployed as decoys,” Sekhar countered. “We should use fighters to attack the gate.”
“That would bleed the fighter squadrons white, even if it succeeded,” Kanter replied.
“Using Mississippi does have one other virtue, sir,” Crowe said as he turned back to Lewis. “If it fails, it doesn’t block an attempt by the rest of the fleet.”
Lewis made no reply and instead sat staring at the grainy image of their objective on the screen. Finally he stood up.
“Gentlemen, I need to consider the data further. You’re dismissed.”
Crowe was waiting for his shuttle back to Deimos when Lewis’s chief-of-staff appeared at his elbow.
“Commodore Crowe, the Admiral is asking to speak to you privately.”
“Of course. On what matter?”
“He didn’t say, sir,” the Sheehan replied.
Lewis was sitting down when Crowe stepped into the cabin, with his jacket cast carelessly onto the cabin’s bunk and his collar loosened. He looked far less forbidding than usual.
“Commodore, please take a seat,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Commodore, you appear to be the leading proponent of the Mississippi attack.”
“Yes, sir, I guess I am. I know the points raised against it are valid and that it must have looked like a good idea from a desk on Earth…”
“Actually, Commodore, the basic idea was mine,” Lewis interrupted.
“Err...”
“Others developed it further, but I still do not regard it with much favour. But this was always going to be an offensive based on intelligence information that was weeks out of date. We needed to bring with us the means to have as many options as possible.”
“Sir, as you said, we need to destroy the gate station without the fleet itself getting knocked about. If we can pull their defences out of position, then I believe at least one of the three will make it through,” Crowe replied.
“Hmm,” Lewis said. “Are you still set on commanding Mississippi again?”
“Yes sir,” Crowe replied.
There was a catch in his voice. Lewis misinterpreted it.
“Are you afraid of death, Commodore?”
The Admiral raised his hand before Crowe could reply.
“No slur is intended. The Mississippi Incident, the Junction Line, Kite String and the Siege of Earth, your record in combat is second to none, but no man is without limits. This plan, the principal reason I do not like it, is because it hinges on courage. It hinges on the courage and willingness of the officer in command to, if necessary, lay down his life to make it work.”
“Sir, I believe I am that officer.”
“Very well, Commodore. You may make preparations to transfer to Mississippi.”
___________________________
19th April 2069
Journalism was definitely not a profession for those with a thin skin, even more so when you were an embedded journalist in a military unit. Oh, when the camera or microphone was on, they were all polite professionalism but once off, then a journalist was regarded with, at best, a level of enthusiasm usually associated with an imminent dental examination. The most junior officers and ratings were usually less guarded, but the more senior an individual, the more they seemed to look upon journalists with pained resignation.
When Jeff first arrived on board the Myth class heavy cruiser Freyia, Captain Hicks seemed to be particularly despondent. Just before Jeff went into the Deep Sleep capsule for the long journey to The Spur, he found out from a friendly NCO why. When the captains of Sixth Cruiser Squadron discovered that they would be hosting an embedded journalist, they’d played poker to decide which ship would get Jeff. Apparently, Hicks was blown out of the water by a royal flush.
Still, there was no point crying. Jeff had signed on for this and at least the accommodation wasn’t bad. He’d expected to be bunked with the ship’s NCOs or officers. Instead he’d been assigned his own cabin. All right, cabin was probably overstating it – it was a partly cleared out storage locker in which he had to sleep slightly curled up since it wasn’t deep enough to straighten out in it without leaving the hatch open. But it was a nice private little spot, which on a warship counted as luxury.
When he heard he’d got one of the precious Home Fleet assignments, Jeff had performed a little dance of joy in the office. This could be the assignment that sealed his career and made him a household name across the States. Then one of the office girls, one he’d been sort of seeing, wished him luck with a sick look on her face. On a stars
hip, a journalist took damn near all the same chances the crew did. There was no way to do the job and not take them. Still, no guts no glory.
Once all the soon to be embedded journalists were in orbit they’d been given a detailed briefing on the coming operation. They’d then been allowed to each record a report to be released by the fleet once the operation was underway. With that done they were ferried up to their assigned ships. Any communication out was extremely limited and closely monitored. There was a lot of grumbling about that, but this was a case of either play ball or go home.
Once out of Deep Sleep he’d expected the attack to get underway pretty much straight away, but no, days passed quietly. On board, Freyia preparations were made with quiet earnestness.
“I know they say no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Lieutenant Grambel, the gunnery officer, commented when Jeff remarked on it, “but frankly we still prefer to have one. It beats frantically ‘winging it’.”
So Jeff spent the time doing interviews with the crew. He didn’t think their officers had briefed them but it was funny how people automatically reached for a lot of the same terms. Again and again, he heard men and women tell him with nervous earnestness how they didn’t want to let down their shipmates or their families. It was time to bring their A game, this was the big one, the one that would win the war. The network would likely only ever use short excerpts from interviews with the younger or more photogenic members of the crew, but some of film archives companies might be interested as well.
There was a ping outside and Jeff pulled himself up from his bunk and stepped out into the passageway so he could hear the address system properly.
“All hands, this is the Captain. A few minutes ago we received notification from the flagship that Operation Vindictive is now officially a go. We will move out at oh seven hundred hours tomorrow. Freyia will be on the left flank of the fleet.”
There was a pause that made Jeff think it was over, so turned to go back into his cabin. Then the Captain’s voice came through again.
“I won’t ask you to get ready because I know you are. You are the best crew on the best ship in the best fleet and we will do what needs to be done. For this evening’s meal, the galley has assured me that they will pull out all the stops. Until tomorrow morning I’m putting everyone on light duties. Finish what you are doing and then get as much rest as you can. This is the Captain, out.”
Jeff leaned against the bulkhead. This was it! He’d almost managed to convince himself that nothing would happen but it really was. Shit really was about to hit the fan, with malice aforethought. He noticed that he had the camera in his hand. He must have picked it up automatically. He switched it on and turned it to face him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your ace reporter Jeff Harlow, all set to have his ass shot off in the name of news and entertainment.”
Turning, he saw one of the crew watching him, an engineering rating going by her uniform. She smiled nervously and it struck him that she was kinda pretty.
“I’ve just gone off duty. Are you still doing interviews?” she asked.
“Sure, step into my office,” he said waving her in.
___________________________
“Well, Commander,” Crowe said as he put his signature to the document formally transferring command, “you are now formally the skipper of the good ship Deimos and all who sail upon her.”
“Temporarily, sir,” Commander, now brevet Captain, Bhudraja replied unruffled. “And I look forward to signing the document that returns her to your command.”
“Thank you, Captain. It’s good to know she’s in safe hands,” Crowe replied, as he offered his hand and Bhudraja shook it firmly.
All but the duty shift had lined up in the crew receiving area. Crowe moved slowly down the line, pausing to speak a few words to a man or woman here or there. When he had arrived on board Deimos, it had been as an officer no longer trusted by his superiors or subordinates. Now, as he paused to look back on so many familiar faces, he realised that this ship had become home.
“God willing, we will see each other in a day or two and have stories to share. All of you, do me proud.”
As the hatch closed behind him, he heard someone call three cheers for the Commodore.
Crowe took the co-pilot’s seat for the journey from Deimos. Their destination was in the middle of the Home Fleet’s formation. In amongst the support ships, the Mississippi awaited him, floating alongside two converted transports that would join her for this, her final mission. In his mind’s eye, Crowe could remember her, as she had once been, an elegant lady, aging gracefully. Now she showed too many signs of harsh surgery to ever again be called graceful. The point defence grid had been completely overhauled, two of the plasma cannon turrets replaced with flak guns and chemical booster rockets strapped to the sides of the hull. Overshadowing all of those however, were the scars, the ones from the first shots in this war. But better this than a lingering death in the breaker’s yard. When he pulled himself through the airlock, only one person waited to meet him, Lieutenant Craven, his new second-in-command.
“Welcome aboard sir,” Craven said saluting. There was no need here for the niceties of a formal command transfer. He’d never been taken off her books as captain.
“Thank you, Lieutenant, where are we up to?”
“The commander of the transfer crew is waiting on the bridge to complete handover. The munitions ship has signalled that the nukes are on their way over. I’ve got everyone doing final checks now.”
Crowe nodded. Almost everything was in place, not long now.
___________________________
“Cold start assembly.”
“Check,” Schurenhofer replied.
“Magnetic constrictors,” Alanna continued down the checklist.
“Check.”
During the journey to the Spur, D for Dubious had been comprehensively overhauled. The deck chief had actually been a bit sour on that point. Before leaving Earth, Alanna had been offered a factory fresh machine. While D for Dubious was probably no different from any other Raven class space fighter – in fact she now had a lot of miles on the clock – Alanna was used to her and her quirks. Better a reliable warhorse that maybe wasn’t quite as quick on her feet any more, than an unproven mount that might do something unexpected at an awkward moment.
It had been an unexpectedly difficult moment watching the class of trainees, whom she’d done her best to guide, disperse towards their war stations. She was well aware some of them just weren’t ready but there was nothing more she could do for them. For her part, it was a return to Dauntless. Apparently, once his ship re-emerged from the repair docks, Captain Philippe had pulled every available string to recover her as the carrier squadron’s second-in-command. There weren’t many familiar faces among the flight crews from their Siege of Earth days, but a few familiar faces remained.
“You know it’s not too late to swap this bird out for another unit,” Squadron Commander Len Deighton said as he pulled himself up to Dubious’s access hatch.
“Hello, sir,” Alanna looked up from her checklist. “Has the Chief got you doing his dirty work?”
“He did come to speak to me quite extensively on the dangers of aged spaceframes, that much is true.”
“I’d be touched if I wasn’t convinced he’s more concerned about his own workload than my personal safety. Dubious has had a complete strip down. All components are well inside their operating lifespan. I have the documents and signatures to prove it.”
Deighton let out a faint snort. No pilot ever quite entirely trusted the documentation from the deck crews. If something did go wrong, it wouldn’t be their immediate problem, which was why Alanna and Schurenhofer had spent an hour personally working through the checklist.
Deighton certainly had the authority to order Dubious put into stores, but like Alanna, he knew that a pilot needed to trust their machine.
“Well, you’ve got forty minutes to wrap it up in h
ere,” he said. “Pilots briefing – orders have finally arrived from Flag.”
“Do I get any spoilers?”
“Yeah, Akagi and Huáscar’s fighters will clear the way for the Mississippi group by striking at the lunar weapons batteries. We’ll provide their top cover and act as the flying reserve.”
“So ground fire and enemy fighters then?”
“That’s about the size of it. Going by the list of objectives Flag sent over, I’d say it is damn near certain we’ll have to attack ground targets.”
“Glad to hear it sir,” Alanna replied with a nod. “The old Dauntless stopped them from winning this war and the new Dauntless will help us win it. Just as it should be.”
“Alright, get this wrapped up,” Deighton replied. “And Lieutenant, if this bird doesn’t check out perfectly, I want it struck down and a replacement delivered from stores.”
“Of course sir, no room for sentimentality,” she said as Deighton pushed himself off from the hatch, back towards the hangar airlock.
“No room for sentimentality?” Schurenhofer said. “Skipper, I get nervous every time you mention the old Dauntless.”
“Just a turn of phrase. I’m just glad I’m here Kristen, here for the death.”
Schurenhofer gave her a cautious look.
“Just as long as it isn’t our death, Skip. The only way I really want to see the Spur is behind us as we leave.”
Alanna glanced over at her weapons controller, ready to offer some kind of joke, but Schurenhofer’s expression was deadly serious.
“I haven’t come here to die,” Alanna said, “and if I’ve got this far without cracking, then I think we’re safe from that at least.”
“And you just go ahead and keep saying that, Skipper. Just remember we’re not here as some bit of universal balance or some such new age happy horseshit.”
“You don’t believe things happen for a reason?”
“Nope, a lot of shit happens randomly. You aren’t getting God are you?”
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 36
