“Is not a ship’s captain,” finished the surgeon.
Alanna nodded, she’d suspected as much.
“Err... Captain... ma’am... someone,” the speaker was one of the damage control ratings.
“What is it?” Alanna replied.
“Ma’am, we just got the external cameras on line and we just saw the rest of the fleet jump out!”
Alanna turned back to the Chief.
“Can we save the ship?”
“Both the reactors scrammed,” he replied.
“Can they be got back online?”
“By the book start-up from a scram is at least three and a half hours.”
“Three and a half hours,” the surgeon exclaimed, “we’re sitting ducks. You’ve got to be able to do it faster…”
“Hey! This is not some science fiction bullshit where I can pull a number out of my arse!” the Chief responded heatedly. “If I try to restart a reactor that turns out to have a casing crack we could blow ourselves to kingdom come!”
“Chief, can you shave anything off that?” Alanna cut in.
He opened his mouth to object but paused.
“We were hit to port so the reactor on that side took a heavier G spike,” he said thoughtfully. “The starboard side is our better chance for a recovery. If I concentrate all the hands I have left on that, we might be able to take a bit off. But not much, Captain.”
Alanna made no comment on the honorific. They were alone, crippled and defenceless but someone was in command. Right now that was enough.
“Three hours is too long. I know you can only do what you can do. But right now we’re a written invitation for someone to come along and finish us off. We’ll retain a skeleton crew, mostly engineering, the rest will abandon ship. That might make us look like we’re not worth another missile or at the very least save most of what is left of the crew. Doctor, get the injured out first, then supervise the rest of the evacuation. Turning she spotted the young lieutenant she’d spoken to before.
“You, find the two most senior gunnery crewmembers you can. Get the rest off the ship.”
“I’ll ask for volunteers, ma’am.”
“No. Select two of them. The time for volunteers has gone,” Alanna said firmly. “Chief, get back to Engineering and get started on the reactor, but if we can’t save her...” She didn’t finish but the Chief understood.
“Skipper?”
“What is it Kristen?”
Alanna had buckled herself into Damage Control’s command chair after pushing aside the junction box that had brained Commander Bhudraja. For the moment there was little for her to do. The first escape pod was about to eject with a dozen of the most seriously injured who had been carefully loaded on board. Several of the unwounded had volunteered to stay. Whatever else, the crew of Deimos had retained their discipline.
“We’ve managed to crank the hangar doors open so we can go at any time. Lieutenant Stein is requesting instructions. We’ve got a full fuel tank so we can hold and offer some cover it they come back.”
“No, if they see a fighter hanging around,” Alanna replied, “they might jump to the right conclusion that we’re trying to save the ship. Tell the Lieutenant his orders are to return to the fleet, request search and rescue pick up survivors and to inform them we’ll rejoin them if we are able.”
“Alright, Skipper,” Schurenhofer replied reluctantly. She looked around the battered chamber. “Just promise me, Skip, you’ll run for a pod if it comes to it.”
“Off you go and don’t worry about that,” Alanna replied with a forced smile.
A short time later she watched on one of the few external cameras that still worked as Jolly undocked and left her behind.
___________________________
At the edge of the system, there was a brief ripple in the fabric of space before the messenger drone dropped into real space. Stencilled along its flank was MESSENGER.
“The drone arrived in system about an hour ago, sir,” Sheehan said offering the computer pad. The transmission reached us ten minutes ago.”
The staff officer sounded sick.
++To Commander Home Fleet from Commodore Brahimi, First Scouting Group: Advise that on 24th April enemy units in region of Landfall and Junction line commenced retreat towards the Spur. Enemy units have broken contact with advanced elements of the Second Fleet. Believed unlikely at this time that contact will be regained. Estimated one hundred plus enemy combat units are converging on your position. Estimated arrival time after the 15th May.++
Lewis put the pad down carefully. Another hundred fresh units, a hundred! Against his fleet... or rather what was left of it.
“What do we do, sir?”
“What we will do, Captain,” he said wearily, “is stand our ground.”
Chapter Twenty-One
To the Last
13th May 2069
Berg was in her cabin when the explosion rocked the ship. Black Prince swerved violently as she lunged for the hatch, throwing her against the bulkhead. Bouncing off, she grabbed the hatch handle as she staggered past. As she pulled herself through, the main alarm sounded. The ship was still swerving with enough violence to overcome the centrifuge’s effect and Berg was thrown up towards the ceiling, before being launched back towards the deck. She managed to grab a hand bar and get a firm enough hold to avoid being thrown again. Mere metres from her bridge, she was trapped in the small access way, unable to even reach for her intercom as the ship violently jolted in all three axis.
“Damage Control teams to the Starboard engine room!” sounded the main intercom. “Sickbay, stand by to accept casualties!”
She began to drag herself along the bar.
“Damage Control, all hands emergency venting, brace, brace, brace!”
There was a second bang and the cruiser swerved downwards but less violently this time. Damage Control’s brief warning had been enough and helm countered without over compensating. After a few more moments Berg was able to release her death grip on the handrail and get her feet under her again.
“Report,” Berg called out as made her way onto the bridge.
“Captain,” the duty officer replied, “we’ve had a failure on Engine One! The emergency pressure seals on the starboard side engine room have been blown and atmosphere has vented. We have reduced power on Engines Two and Four to compensate. Two casualties are on their way to sickbay with burns. I don’t know how bad they are and I don’t know whether we have secondary damage.”
“Bridge, Engineering. Chief talk to me!” Berg snapped as she got her intercom earpiece into place.
“Skipper, we just had a blow in on one of the ignition chambers,” Guinness replied after a moment. “Engine plasma came inboard. We’ve evacuated and vented the compartment. Sensors showing fires are out and we’ve cut plasma flow to the engine.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Jesus, Skipper, I don’t even know how badly it’s broken yet! We won’t be able to get in there for at least an hour until temperature and radiation have dropped. Skipper, we have to dial it back. Our engines are old and reconditioned. This is more than they can take!”
“Chief, we need to get to the Home Fleet as soon as we can.”
“Skipper, you’re asking for more than she has to give. If we don’t slow the pace, we might not make it at all!”
Even across the intercom, Berg could tell that he sincerely meant it.
On the bridge holo, she could see Black Prince’s track down the jump conduit. The yellow line was stabilising again but astern, she could see where they’d avoided going into the side of the conduit by a hair’s breath.
“Okay, Chief, give me your best offer.”
___________________________
13:40hrs 15th May 2069
“Well, this is new,” said Captain Sheehan nervously as the two of them stood on the outer hull of Warspite.
To their left and right was a grey wall of armour plate, pitted here and there by missile impacts. L
ewis grunted a reply as he observed the approaching cruiser. Two wars, a handful of skirmishes, a lifetime in uniform and as his staff captain said, this was new. Not just that the two of them were hanging from the side of his flagship, but the cold fear that gripped his heart had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with personal survival. This is not the time to freeze up, he admonished himself. Get on that ship and take back command!
Three hours earlier
“We’re now in a situation where, of our original combat strength, a third has been destroyed or rendered non-functional. Of the balance, less than a third remain fully combat worthy. The rest are at varying levels of damage with some held together with little more than duct-tape and the power of prayer! On top of that, it’s no surprise the crews are exhausted. Sir, we are not nearing breaking point, we have reached it!” Commodore Hooper said forcefully.
“Yet we have them on the ropes!” cut in Rear Admiral Paahlisson, “Dear God, they are trading ten ships for each one of ours that they knock out. Those are the tactics of desperation!”
“I’ll grant you those are bloody tactics,” Vice Admiral Sekhar replied. “But look at the ships they’ve taken out. In the last twenty-four hours we’ve lost the barrage ships Schumann and Piper, plus the flak cruiser Deimos. The Brahms is damaged to the point of borderline combat capability. Those vessels represent a disproportionate number of our best anti-missile ships. With those gone or damaged, we can expect them to achieve a better kill ratio with any further attacks they mount. Even if we assume the new arrivals have only missiles in their own magazine and – and that’s a fucking optimistic assumption – their ships from Landfall won’t have to trade ten to one.”
“It’s a desperation tactic,” Paahlisson insisted.
“That’s worked,” Sekhar replied. “Keeping the fleet in the system, is allowing the Nameless to direct their strikes accurately. We need to fall back beyond the heliopause where we…”
“No!”
The single word was enough to silence everyone in the videoconference.
“We stay in system,” Lewis continued. “We leave the Nameless with no choice but to come at us. If we fall back, they will begin to run supply shipments through again. If that happens, then the balance will shift against us.”
“With respect, sir,” Sekhar replied, “we are at breaking point. If we fall back, then we can attempt to enforce a distant blockade. We could also strike at the next system, where the Nameless marshal their units, rather than allow them to do so in peace.”
Lewis made no immediate reply and Sekhar shifted uncomfortably. Sekhar had started this battle on the Loki and was now on the Fortitude. Lewis could only wonder whether that influenced his opinions. Three weeks previously, Lewis would have scoffed at the idea of a man like Sekhar advocating giving up. But exhaustion did unpredictable things to a person. So did loss. There were gaps in the videoconference that should have been filled by men and women Lewis had known, in many cases for decades, for whom the war was already over. The lucky ones were now in the steadily filling hospital ships waiting beyond the heliopause. The rest were in body bags or part of the clouds of debris now scattered across the system.
“The strategic situation has not altered. The Spur remains the critical ground. I agree these tactics by the enemy do represent desperation. That means that, at the very least, we can now be certain that supplies are not reaching them from their home worlds.”
Lewis paused and looked at them all.
“If we withdraw, then our response to their moves will become too slow,” he resumed. “If we retreat from the system, then we’ll have lost the battle and if we’ve lost the battle, then we’ve lost the war. I believe the next few days will be the deciding moment. We know via the courier that came from Captain Willis of the Spectre, that the Nameless have a small fleet of gateships and jump-capable transports waiting for their path to be cleared. If even a few of them get through, that will extend the Nameless ability to fight by days.”
“But, sir…”
Lewis raised his hand and Sekhar stopped.
“Captain Willis has also made clear that her task group is close to the point where they have to retreat for supplies. Once she does, the Nameless squadrons that she has pinned down protecting their home worlds will be free to move forward to assist.”
“They know they must break us,” Paahlisson added, “and that they must do it soon.”
“Which would be great except they have the means to do just that,” Sekhar warned. “We’re throwing good after bad.”
___________________________
“Skipper?”
Alanna looked up from under the sensor panel she’d been working on. The long hours of inactivity had sat uncomfortably with her and finally, as much to pass the time as anything, she’d decided to try to repair a console that had had its power cable torn out by the concussion – difficult with only one hand but she had been making progress.
“Yes, what is it?”
The speaker was a grubby and tired looking engineering rating.
“Ma’am, the Chief reports he’ll be ready to make another attempt at starting the reactor within the hour.”
“Alright, tell him to give me a heads up when he’s about to try.”
“Yes, Skipper,” the rating replied before heading aft again.
She didn’t bother asking for details. The Chief’s original three-hour estimate had proved laughably optimistic. While the reactor itself was apparently sound, the control systems it relied on had been severely compromised by the whiplashing of the hull when they were hit. But the Chief hadn’t been willing to admit defeat and as their bit of the system seemed to have become an oasis of calm, there seemed little justification to abandon ship just yet. If they could get the vessel going at all, then they could fly her from Damage Control.
Still, as she looked around the deserted and darkened compartment, Alanna wondered for the umpteenth time whether this was a fool’s errand and for the umpteenth time she answered herself: no. It was strange. She hadn’t known Crowe especially well. He’d just been her senior and, strangely, had always seemed closer to his ship than his crew. But the Commodore’s death had affected her more than she’d expected. Others, hundreds and thousands of others, had died but Crowe had been there since the start. It seemed... wrong that he’d fallen only now. Maybe, in an odd way, if she could save his ship, it would mean something. She was about to return to her work when she noticed a light flashing on another console. Pulling herself over, she turned on the screen and, after a moment, cursed softly to herself.
“When will we be inside their range?” the Doctor asked.
“If we can see them with the external camera, then we’re already inside missile range and probably have been for a while,” Alanna replied as she viewed the screen.
The image on the screen kept blinking on and off as Deimos’s slow tumble forced the computer to switch from one camera to another. With only the small emergency computer online, it was some kind of miracle that it had managed to spot the small group of Nameless ships. Possibly though, ignorance would have been bliss.
“Any idea how close we’ll get?” the Chief asked.
“Probably inside a hundred kilometres but that’s just a guesstimate.”
“That sounds very close,” the Doctor ventured.
“It’s far too close. Since we’ve been powered down for hours our engines are cold so they mightn’t have seen us yet,” Alanna said, as she thought out loud. “Or we just look like an abandoned wreck.”
“Is it time to eject then?”
“I don’t think we want to climb into pods that will catch their attention as soon as we launch, especially as we won’t be able to run away,” the Chief warned. “There’s a lot of broken spaceships floating around this system by now. We could just drift right past them.”
“Only if our luck improves,” the Doctor replied.
“How close are you to restart?” Alanna asked.
“H
alf an hour,” the Chief said, then added a qualifier, “assuming it fires up. But if we do try…”
“They’ll detect it, regardless of whether the reactor starts up,” Alanna said wearily. “We’ll be so close they might even pick up the heat from the crew. Keep working on it, Chief. If we can, we’ll just keep drifting. If they make a move towards us... well, then we can try to start the reactor and make a run for it.”
“Is the jump drive working?” the Doctor asked.
Alanna and the Chief exchanged looks.
“Damage Control isn’t registering any damage to the unit itself but whether power supply from the reactors to it is okay – that’s a different question. We won’t know until we power up.”
Once the other two officers had left Alanna made what little preparations she could. This certainly bore no resemblance to any tactical situation she’d ever trained for. One flak cruiser with no functioning power systems and with a crew of less than two dozen, versus an enemy force of unknown composition and strength – if that came up in the academy then you’d know your training officer hated you. If they did have to power up, then their only hope would be to hose fire at the Worms as they ran for it.
On the screen the enemy ships kept rolling into view. The emergency computer wasn’t programmed for tactical purposes but Alanna had been close enough to Nameless ships to be familiar with their visual appearance. With no other preparations to make, she buckled herself in and waited.
Every time the Nameless ships came back into view after each slow tumble, they had edged a little closer. Alanna stared at the screen until her eyes hurt. Was that movement? The ships disappeared as Deimos’s latest roll took them out of the line of any of the surviving cameras. It would take twenty-one seconds for the ships to come back into view.
“One, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, one thousand...” she counted off slowly, “twenty-one, one thousand… Christ! Chief, fire it up! Oh no!”
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 46
