“No, no I’m not. Just...” Alanna trailed off, her fingers rubbing her dog tags. “Once this is all over,” she said after a moment, “there’ll be stories to tell. In the case of the old Dauntless, I’m the only one left to tell theirs.”
She looked sadly at her weapons controller and added: “I don’t have a duty to join them; I have a duty to stay alive.”
___________________________
At oh six hundred hours the next morning, the Home Fleet would make the jump across the few light days that separated their staging area from the Spur system. Unlike their first battle of the war, there was no need for a mad dash to the Spur. On board Warspite, Lewis sat in his cabin, lost in thought, although for the first time in weeks they weren’t about military matters. Instead his mind went back to goodbyes.
The small coffee shop located in the city’s outer suburbs was experiencing the usual post-lunchtime lull. A single patron was sitting in a corner, his feet up on a chair, reading a book. As the bell over the door jingled, the young woman behind the counter glanced up from where she was slowly cleaning a glass – and then did a double take as two fleet Admirals walked in.
“Two teas,” Lewis said curtly as his wife selected a table.
“And four portions of cake,” Laura Lewis called around him before addressing her husband. “And don’t snap at the girl, Paul!”
Lewis smiled slightly and nodded to the young woman.
They talked about minor matters, both of them studiously avoiding work. All the while, Laura kept an eye on the door.
“There’s Brian now,” she said as a man entered with a small child hanging off each hand.
Their son walked in and looked around for a moment before spotting Laura’s wave.
“There’s granny and granddad,” he said, letting go of the children.
A while later Laura was still playing with the children. Their young faces were smeared with chocolate cake and crumbs were spread across the table. Both of them were telling her a story with the desperate earnestness of small children.
“Dad, when do you leave?” Brian asked quietly.
“Within the next two days. Your Mother is to be the divisional commander of the Eighth Cruiser Squadron. She doesn’t ship out for another fortnight. But she’ll be heading for orbit within the week and won’t be coming back…”
Lewis stopped.
“She won’t be coming back until this is done,” he corrected himself.
His son’s grim expression made clear the slip hadn’t been missed.
“Dad, what are the chances? I’m not asking for details but don’t give me the party line.”
Lewis made no immediate reply. He half turned to look at his grandchildren. He’d known early that his son wasn’t cut out for a military career. Frankly, he had been relieved when, as a boy, Brian had shown no interest in one. Too much of a dreamer for military life, he was doing well in his chosen career in architecture though. But Brian had grown up in a military household, so he knew the language and understood far better than most what they faced.
“Attack,” Lewis said quietly, “everywhere we are in contact with the enemy we will attack and keep attacking until we’ve won or been destroyed.”
“Can that work?”
“Distance means the intelligence details are incomplete. A lot of the planning will be done on the fly. If some of the assumptions we have made are wrong, then we could be heading into a battle of attrition, with no prospect of a big payoff. If we’re right, then the Nameless will come at us with all the strength of desperation. This will be a slogging match, a battle of attrition where the winner will be the one who can bleed hardest and longest.”
Brian didn’t ask for more and the two men returned to the children. An hour later, Brian called time on the visit.
“Come on. Your Mum will be wondering where we’ve got to,” he said into the face of combined complaints. “Not to mention,” he added to the two Admirals, “they’ll be bouncing off the walls after so much sugar.” Nodding to fragments of cake and discarded biscuit wrappers, he added: “Dinner is certainly a write-off anyway.”
With coats gathered and chocolaty faces wiped, Brian paused to look at his parent awkwardly.
“Bit of a déjà vu thing,” he said. “Spent most of my childhood watching one or other of you head off. This is the first time it’s been both of you.”
“Brian...”
“I know. It’s necessary. God knows, that’s been proven. Look... just come back with your shields, not on them – both of you.”
He left without waiting for a reply.
“Hmm?” Lewis asked as he emerged from his thoughts.
“I just asked, sir, whether you want anything?” Sheehan asked from the cabin hatch.
“A great many things, Captain, none of which are within your power to supply,” he replied. “Thank you, but that will be all for this evening.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Lewis returned to his thoughts before the hatch closed behind his chief of staff. The cabin’s holo projector was showing the feed from one of the ship’s external cameras. Battleships, carriers, cruisers, destroyers, missile boats, bulk transports, forward repair ships, fuel carriers and several thousand men and women – The Home Fleet, the most powerful armada of starships that had ever set forth from Earth. Would they be enough? There was simply no way to know. Now all he could do was hope.
___________________________
Over a light day from the edge of the Spur system, the Home Fleet separated into its component parts. The support ships spread into a loose arc, while the fighting ships formed up by division. Mississippi, the small, militarised transports San Demetrio and Nolan, plus six small gunboats, had moved to one side, accentuating their place as members of neither group. On every ship, final preparations were being made, including many that weren’t strictly necessary but provided a welcome alternative to having to sit and think.
Crowe listened as the other two ships of his squadron checked in. They wouldn’t be jumping with the rest of the fleet. Their time would come when every Nameless ship and installation was too pre-occupied to wonder about a cluster of contacts jumping in, a few light minutes away from the Nameless gate station.
“Do we have word on the fighters?” Crowe asked.
“We have confirmation from Akagi. Once they’ve neutralised ground targets, any fighters with remaining ordnance will move to cover us.”
Turning, Crowe looked towards the three officers who were not in Battle Fleet uniforms sitting at the back of the bridge. One was American, one Chinese and one Russian, each one a key-holder for the three thermonuclear devices now on board Mississippi. Simply aiming to ram into the gate station had been computer-modelled back on Earth. Against the lightweight gate structure, there was too much of a chance that if they merely clipped it, they would only sweep away a small portion, leaving the rest fundamentally intact. The three bombs, which the crew had predictably named Hope, Faith and Charity, would ensure it didn’t survive. But only if Mississippi could hand deliver them, so to speak. The other two ships, San Demetrio and Nolan, would provide cover for as long as they could or ram with their own bombs. Only one of them had to make it.
“All set gentlemen?” Crowe asked.
The American gave a thumbs-up while the other two nodded.
“Bridge, Coms. Signal from flagship, they’ve ordered us to put this to ship wide.”
“Looks like the Admiral wants to give us all a last pep talk,” Crowe grunted as he nodded his assent.
There was silence for a moment. When Lewis’s voice came through, it was hesitant at first, but became firmer.
“Officers and crews of the Home Fleet, this is Admiral Lewis. In a few moments I will give the order to jump to the Spur system. In doing so, today we will begin the final step in a journey that we all embarked upon almost four years ago.
“The attack upon the Mississippi was both a foretaste and warning of what was to c
ome, one that we could not understand. Since we first reached for the stars, both as a fleet and as a species, we have made our share of mistakes but not this time. Because what we could not understand was that, from the first moment they became aware of us, the Nameless have desired only one thing – our destruction as a species.
“We now know that there was no mean by which we might have avoided this ordeal. Had we gone down upon bended knee and begged them to allow us to live in peace, they would have showed us not one shred of mercy.
“We did not beg. We fought, we bled and we sacrificed. In our journey to this time and place, we have known victories and many defeats. We have left behind both friends and comrades. However, their sacrifice was not in vain. They have bought us this last great chance to uphold our oaths – to stand between Earth and all that would threaten it, and to say to them: not while we draw breath.
“In a few minutes we will begin our last great charge and I wish you all to understand one final thing. Once this begins, there will be no retreat and no surrender. We will not take one step back. If we are to return to our families and loved ones, it can only be as victors. This is Admiral Lewis. Good luck to you all.”
The connection clicked off.
The sensor operator tried to report but his voice was choked, Crowe waited for him.
“The Home Fleet is jumping, sir.”
“I see it,” Crowe acknowledged as he saw the icon for Deimos disappear.
___________________________
Ten light seconds from the planet’s Red Line and behind the orbital track of the small moon, the Home Fleet dropped back into real space. Lines of battleships, carriers, cruisers, barrage ships and other smaller vessels filed out of the jump portal and re-established their formations. Torpedoes were launched and moved onto their programmed positions on the flanks and rear.
Strapped into his command chair, Lewis waited while his fleet assumed formation. The sluggish barrage ships were still lumbering out onto the flanks, while fighters accelerated out in front, ready to thin the waves of the missiles that would soon be coming their way. On the holo he could see the Nameless fleet beginning to move. They’d already been active before the Home Fleet had arrived and, clearly, news of Operation Retribution had reached them.
As he watched, they began to split their formation into sub-groups and advanced to envelop the approaching human ships. They wouldn’t attempt to go head to head – their fixed defences would do that, while their warships bled the Home Fleet from the flanks. They probably expected to lose the gate station, and, just as probably, they most likely had replacements ready to activate once the system was clear. Most of the orbital defences were autonomous missile packs. Worthless once expended, they needed the Nameless to expend as many as possible.
“Admiral, our defensive fighters are now on station.”
“Good,” Lewis replied, “any sign of enemy fighters?”
“Yes, sir. They appear to be sticking close to the starships for the moment. Tactical’s current count indicates they have a numerical advantage of two to one.”
Lewis nodded without replying. That wasn’t enough to offset his fighters’ qualitative advantage. Those from Illustrious and his cruisers would be enough to hold off their Nameless counterparts, should his opposite number choose to commit them at this stage.
Lewis attempted to get into his opposite number’s mind. What could the Nameless commander see? Hopefully, he would be fooled by the illusion of an apparently cautious advance by a fleet that needed to get deep into the planetary mass shadow. Nothing appeared out of place for that. The gate station was still hidden behind the moon but as Lewis watched, it appeared on the holo as one of their reconnaissance ships jumped to a position to achieve line of sight. The Worms’ transports and other non-combat types were all turning for the gate station, using it to jump away. Jump-capable transports would likely reach the edge of the system, out of harm’s way, while gateships would move to the next gate in the system. There was no hint of panic. The Nameless ships were withdrawing in good order. The Home Fleet continued to move in.
___________________________
With the figurative starter’s pistol fired, launch was a relief. The Admiral’s words had brought back too many memories for Alanna. It had returned her to the speech given by the late Admiral Brian on board the Old Dauntless, just before that last fateful attack. For an hour after jump in, she waited impatiently in the pilots’ ready room. Some of her comrades tried to sleep. A few had even succeeded but she was too keyed up. Finally, they were sent to their fighters.
First off the rail, Dubious coasted down the line of warships. Astern, her section formed up and, with a touch on the controls, Alanna turned them towards the fighter rally point. The rest of the strike was also gathering, as were, more ominously, the search and rescue shuttles.
They mustered five full fighter squadrons, sixty fighters gathered along with the reconnaissance ship serving as strike leader, who finally ordered them to move off. Around Dubious, space lit up with engine flares as the fighters accelerated away from the Home Fleet. Alanna looked back over her shoulder at the fast shrinking fleet and could just make out the first bursts of gunfire as Nameless missiles probed the fleet’s defences.
“Mind on the job, Skipper,” Schurenhofer muttered as she hunched over her instrumentation.
At eighty percent thrust it took nearly an hour to cover the distance between the fleet and the moon. While the Nameless would have seen them approaching, any fighters on the aliens’ mobile units had been pulled away from the moon when the enemy fleet deployed. That left whatever was based on the moon itself as their only direct opposition.
“Strike leader to all units,” the radio crackled. “We are detecting enemy fighters launching from the lunar surface. Launch positions have been marked and added to target list. Dauntless Wings One and Three break formation and engage.”
“Roger that, Strike Leader,” Alanna heard Deighton reply before they opened their throttles and began to accelerate away.
She watched them go, wishing their strike leader had ordered her section in as well. Ahead, the moon was beginning to loom large and she could begin to make out details. On her display she saw a mass of enemy fighters rise up and out of the moon’s radar clutter. Wings One and Three vectored towards them, eight blips against upwards of fifty.
“Squadron leader to Wing Three,” Alanna heard across the radio, “you take the thirty on the right and we’ll take the thirty on the left. Go get ‘em!”
Blips showing the Nameless fighters began to disappear as the fighter’s missiles clawed them out of space. Then the two groups met and became an overlapping mass of signals as the rest of the strike doglegged around the melee.
The moon had no atmosphere so there was nothing to obscure the view. Dubious’s computer started to highlight targets.
“All wings, this is Strike Leader. Dauntless Section Two, form top cover – all other units, move to engage primary targets.”
“Roger that,” Alanna replied as she flipped Dubious over and went full burn on the engines for orbital insertion.
Schurenhofer’s console beeped.
“Fresh contacts,” she said, “missiles!”
A dozen installations across the moon commenced missile fire at the approaching fighters. The strike was opening up as individual wings headed for their targets. The strike groups went low but Alanna’s wing had to stay seventy kilometres above the surface where they could respond quickly, albeit at the cost of making them targets for several separate installations. Alanna gently jinked Dubious left and right, just to keep things moving. She switched her radio to sweep across the channels and listened as the other squadrons went in.
“I can’t identify the target. Wait, I’ve got it.”
“I have the target locked…”
“Just lost my port engine!”
“Watch the right. Watch the right!”
“Target destroyed.”
“Ejecting!”<
br />
“Strike Leader to all wings, enemy is fielding new missiles and fighters, both improvements on previous versions. Dauntless number Two Wing, we have identified a secondary fighter launch facility. Move and engage.”
“Understood, Strike Leader Wing, follow me, Second Section hold up here,” Alanna replied as she pointed the nose down.
Dubious’s radar was designed for open space, not to deal with the clutter of ground returns. Beside her, Schurenhofer swore softly as she tried to sort through the conflicting signals.
“Fresh contacts, dead ahead!”
“Engaging with missiles!”
Half a dozen contacts appeared and Alanna rolled Dubious as missiles accelerated off their rails. The threat detection system whooped loudly as enemy missiles burned towards them and their turret guns stabbed to the left and right. Explosions erupted ahead of them as Dubious’s missiles went in.
“Have you got a fix on the launch point?” Alanna demanded as she dropped Dubious below the hill line to avoid incoming ground fire.
“No, Strike Leader didn’t get a good fix – must be buried,” Schurenhofer replied. “We’ll need them to launch more.”
It wasn’t just missiles. Plasma bolts were burning past them now.
“Well it’s around here somewhere,” Alanna said as she released chaff rockets.
“Hang on, fighters... Christ, they’re coming out underneath us!”
There was a bang and a jolt as a plasma bolt punched up through the starboard wing. Alanna swore savagely as she threw Dubious into a spiral that put her nose straight down. In front, half a dozen Nameless fighters accelerated in. Behind them a camouflaged hangar door was closing.
“Wing,” she shouted into the radio, “target the launcher! I’ve got the fighters!”
As they spiralled through a hail of fire, Dubious shuddered as she was hit again. The status board was still green and Nameless fighters flashed past to their left and right as Alanna yanked the nose back around and rammed the throttle to plus ten override. The spaceframe let out a groan of complaint at the abuse and Alanna gasped as the G-forces pressed her back into her seat. Dubious came to a virtual halt in the sky, nose pointed up at the tails of the Nameless fighters. Alanna put a long burst into one, while Schurenhofer picked off two more with the turret guns. They clipped a fourth and watched as its engines cut out and it started to tumble as gravity claimed it.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 37
