Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold

by Richard Tongue

   “I think you’re worrying too much. You get to have a night off, spend some time with your father, get out of all of this for a spell. Captain Tarrant seemed fine with it, didn’t he?”

   “He seemed happy enough.”

   “Then what’s the problem? Tell him hello from me, will you? I wouldn’t mind seeing the old dog again myself some time soon.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “Of course, I’m sure you could skip it if it really is bothering you.”

   “It’s probably nothing.”

   “You’ve been on alert for a long time. It’s got to have an impact. Try and relax.” He glanced down at his datapad, and said, “Not that I think we’re going to find History of Interplanetary Logistics particularly relaxing. Come on, let’s go and get something to eat before the others finish it all.”

   “Yeah, coming,” she replied, pausing for a moment, before following him down the corridor.

  Chapter 8

   It had been a long, silent shuttle ride as Marshall, Gorski and Caine flew across to the flagship. He’d spent the trip looking out of the viewport, trying with limited success to collect his thoughts; much of what he wanted to say to the Admiral would likely get him court-martialed. As they moved into final approach, he looked down at his datapad, hoping that he would have received an updated report.

   Twelve dead on the Hadfield. Her commander had managed to avoid her being totally crippled, but she had no countermeasure capability at the moment, and her engineering crews were busily attempting to put the ship back into some sort of order. Maneuvering was compromised, acceleration cut in half. He looked up to see another point of light, just ahead; Cunningham on his way over, to take his part in the briefing.

   Trident’s main hangar deck seemed to go on forever compared to Alamo’s cramped space; an eighth of a mile long with twenty-four elevator airlocks, technicians racing in to begin servicing the shuttle as it locked into position. Taking the privilege – or the curse – of rank, Marshall stepped out first. Waiting for him was a nervous sub-lieutenant, the braid of an admiral’s aide at her shoulder.

   “Sir? Admiral Pierce is expecting you in his wardroom.”

   “All of us?”

   “Just you first, sir, I understand.”

   Glancing back at his party, he said, “I thought we were all summoned here. Should I send the rest back, or ought they to waste time hanging around here instead.”

   “Come on, Danny, it’s not the kid’s fault,” Caine said.

   “I believe the rest are to be included in a general planning meeting scheduled for half an hour from now, sir.”

   “Very well, show the way, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “Yes, sir,” he replied, gesturing towards the elevator. As they stepped inside, it immediately began to take them to their destination, obviously pre-programmed.

   “Captain Marshall?” the sub-lieutenant asked. “Do you think there is any chance of getting a transfer over to one of the battlecruisers?”

   “I think I’m already in hot water enough with the Admiral without stealing his assistant.”

   “Second assistant, sir. Senior Lieutenant Page handles most of the Admiral’s affairs.”

   “They sent you down instead, then.”

   “I got the impression that a hostile response was expected.”

   “I see. Put your name down, Sub-Lieutenant…”

   “Clara Smith, sir.”

   “Put in an application, and if you can talk the Admiral into signing it, I’ll see what I can do. There are usually sub-lieutenant berths going begging. Why don’t you want to stay with the Admiral, though? I’d have thought that was a great start for a career.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I went into the fleet to fight, sir, to protect my country. If I wanted to make coffee and type memos for a living, I’d have taken my mother’s offer of a job in her office instead.”

   “They also serve, Sub-Lieutenant,” he said as the doors opened.

   “I’ll try to remember that, Captain. First door on your right as you go in.”

   “Thank you,” he said, walking out of the elevator. He paused in front of the door for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, and then sounded for entry. Stepping in, he saw the Admiral sitting behind his desk, looking up at him; he gestured him down to take a seat.

   “Captain, I don’t appreciate my orders being countermanded by junior officers.”

   “Twelve.”

   “What are you talking about?”

   “Twelve dead men don’t care what you appreciate, Admiral. They died because no-one on this ship seemed to give a damn about the auxiliary forces. We’re very fortunate they didn’t go for the tanker, or this whole expedition would have been over right from the start.”

   “Who do you think you are talking to?”

   “Someone in obvious need of tactical and strategic advice.”

   His face growing redder, Pierce replied, “And you think you are the man to give it to me, is that it? There are channels for this sort of thing!”

   “Not when you refused to accept any communications from the Gilgamesh during the battle. Not when your Deputy Commander is ignored, and has to break regulations to get a fighter screen established.”

   His frown deepened, and he said, “You never tried to contact me.”

   “Check the logs. My commtech spent three minutes trying to reach you.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “There may have been communications errors on our end; I’ll have the systems checked. None of that is relevant, though. There can only be one fleet commander, not two.”

   “May I speak freely, sir?”

   “I think you have already established that you don’t care how thin the ice is before you go for a walk.”

   “I agree. There can only be one fleet commander. Who the hell is it? Trident went flying off by itself, launched its fighters – and those of the battlecruisers, without telling anyone what they were doing – and left everyone else standing. Talk to Captain Cunningham; he didn’t get any orders until I gave them to him.”

   “I don’t know what we can do with those things anyway. I was thinking about sending them back.”

   “Right now, sir, we need them to provide a screen for the auxiliaries. Have you seen the damage control reports from the Hadfield? She’s a sitting duck for attacks.”

   “At least our fighters did their job,” he replied. “That battlecruiser…”

   “Was sent in to distract us, and it looks very much as if it worked.”

   “That wasn’t the plan,” he said. “I wanted the other ship to get away; we can catch them at the next system, almost certainly, at the bottleneck. This way we were fighting one ship instead of two.”

   “Then, sir, why the hell didn’t you brief me in advance?”

   Standing up, he said, “All you need to do is obey orders, Captain.” Tapping his head, he said, “Everything we need for the battle is right here, and if you do as I order when I order, we’ll come out ahead. I agree that we need to take special care of the auxiliaries, and I’ll assign you to that duty.”

   “What about the battlecruisers?”

   “They can operate forward, with the carrier. You can transfer your flag over to the Wyvern, if you wish, or perhaps to the Hadfield itself.”

   “Without fighter protection, sir, they’ll be vulnerable to another, similar attack.”

   “I’ll have to rely on your tactical instincts to defend them.” Shaking his head, he continued, “It was Tramiel who talked me into separating the battlecruisers out from the rest of the fleet. A mistake. I ought to keep the striking power close, under my direct command, and split the auxiliaries into their own force. That’s your new assignment, Captain. Keep them protected, and then you can help mop up afterward.”

   Marshall fought to hold his temper, and said, “Might I suggest, then that we move the Espatier platoons fr
om the battlecruiser and disperse them among the scouts and the auxiliaries?”

   “What the hell for?”

   “To give us a force that we can deploy if we need to on separate operations. I can then handle boarding actions on surrendered enemy vessels, leaving your staff to concentrate on the main objective.”

   “I’d need them ready for reinforcement if needed,” Pierce said, “but that isn’t a bad idea. You wanted Lieutenant Esposito, didn’t you? I’ll attach her to your staff, effective immediately. I’ll leave you to organize moving the personnel around.”

   “Thank you, sir. I’ll get to work as soon as the staff meeting is concluded.”

   “Actually, Captain, I’m not sure there’s any need for you to attend. I’ll be discussing the tactics to be used by the fighting portion of the formation; I’ll make sure that my aide sends along a transcript of the discussion.”

   For a second, Marshall considered resisting, but decided there was no point. Based on this meeting, none of his input would be accepted in any case; this Admiral had decided that there was only one way of proceeding, and that aside from minor details, no deviation from his plan was permitted. Whatever that plan turned out to be.

   “In that case, sir, I’ll get together with Captain Cunningham, my aide, and the commanders of the auxiliaries immediately. Can I borrow a conference room?”

   “Three doors down.” He looked up at the clock, and said, “I’m running behind schedule. Dismissed, Captain.”

   “Sir.” He saluted, turned, and left the room, walking down the corridor past a pair of curious Senior Lieutenants, no doubt wondering if the meeting he’d just had provided opportunities for promotion. On the corridor speakers, he heard some anonymous officer calling Cunningham and Caine to the conference room; he stepped inside and immediately walked to the head of the table before pausing, shaking his head, and perching on the desk.

   A few seconds later, the door opened, and Lieutenant Esposito, his former Espatier officer on Alamo, walked in. Her face beamed into a smile and she saluted.

   “It’s good to see you again, sir,” she replied.

   “Likewise, Lieutenant. Welcome to the leper colony.”

   Cunningham walked in, and asked, “Leper colony?”

   “I hope you’ve got plenty of room on that ship of yours, John, because I’m moving in. The Admiral, in his wisdom, has decided that the auxiliaries – and that includes the scoutships for some reason only known to himself – should be a separate command, and that I am the obvious choice for the job.” Looking at Esposito, he said, “We’re getting two platoons of Espatiers for any mopping up operations, and you’re going to be in charge.”

   “Two platoons?” Cunningham asked. “Where the hell are we going to put them?”

   Caine walked in, clasped Esposito on the shoulder, and asked, “What did I miss?”

   “We’ve been benched,” Cunningham replied.

   “Get me the commanders of Hadfield and Popovich, Deadeye. Scrambler. We might as well use all the security we can.”

   “Which two platoons?” Esposito asked. Shaking her head, she said, “Let me guess. The two worst.”

   “You’d better liaise with the Major,” Marshall replied. “Try and raid anyone good if you can grab them. Any chance we could get Cooper’s platoon?”

   “None at all”, she replied. “Right now he’s getting some good news.”

   “I’m not going to ask,” he replied. On the wall behind him, two faces appeared, a gray-haired, stocky man with a non-regulation beard and a thin, aristocratic woman who seemed to be looking down her nose at everyone in the room. Lieutenant-Captains Pilsudski and Franklin, commanders of the auxiliaries.

   “I think this is everyone,” Marshall said.”

   “Captain,” Pilsudski replied. “I’d like to thank you for preventing the destruction of my ship. If that old bastard had been paying attention to the fleet formation, none of my men needed to have died.”

   “That’s...actually it wasn’t my job at the time, which was just made painfully clear to me, but it’s quite alright, Captain.”

   Almost shouting, he replied, “That moron called you on the carpet for saving my ship! I’ve got half a mind to come over there myself.” He stopped, then chuckled, and said, “I think his precious Trident just collapsed to the bottom of the priorities list.”

  “What’s this about?” Franklin asked. “I’ve got a lot to do getting the fleet refueled.”

   “Really?” Cunningham said. “Our illustrious Admiral doesn’t seem to think that’s important enough to bother protecting you. His fleet evidently runs on optimism instead of Helium-3.”

   “John, he’s still our commanding officer,” Marshall said. “And we’re on his ship.” Turning to the displays, he replied, “Here’s how it works. I’ve been moved from commanding the battlecruisers to commanding the auxiliaries section and the scouts…”

   “Brilliant,” Pilsudski interrupted. “He’s put the one officer in this fleet with recent experience of deep-space warfare in charge of some mechanics and fuel attendants. Inspired.”

   Pressing on, Marshall said, “Which means that we’re going to have to work out some sort of strategy. That means exercises and battle drills, starting this afternoon, ship time. I want a formation that uses the scouts to protect the auxiliaries from any conceivable attack. We need to be able to operate as an independent unit…”

   “Because we won’t be able to count on support from the rest of the fleet,” Pilsudski said. “I feel an inexplicable urge to conduct evacuation drills.”

   “Might not be a bad idea at that,” Cunningham said. “What’s the plan?”

   “Dragon and Griffon will each take a ship, and Wyvern will be in a position to reinforce whichever of them needs it most. I want all five tactical officers to get together to work out how best to mesh their countermeasure screens; that’s going to be critical. If we can get our timing right, we can manage salvo fire from all the scouts, as well. A battlecruiser-level broadside.”

   “That’s going to be tough in combat,” Cunningham said. “I think we can manage it, though. I’ve got some good people.”

   “Now for the next good news,” Marshall continued. “We have an Espatier force, commanded by Lieutenant Esposito, here. Captain Pilsudski, can you take a platoon?”

   “We’ll have to cram them in like sardines, but I think so.”

   “And one squad each for the scouts. I don’t think you’ll have room on the Popovich, Captain Franklin?”

   “Any time they make bigger tankers, they just stuff in more fuel, Captain.”

   “That’s the first job, then. Get those troopers stowed and dispersed.”

   “What are they for, sir?”

   “Officially, their job is to conduct boarding actions on incidental targets. That’s what it says on the revised mission plan. Frankly, I just think that we shouldn’t be putting all our eggs in a basket with a big bulls’ eye on it.” He looked around, and said, “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Over the next couple of days I’ll be visiting each ship in the fleet.”

   “I’ll have the boys fabricate a red carpet,” Pilsudski said. “I need to get back to damage control.”

   “I won’t keep any of you from your work any longer. Trident out.” Sitting down in a chair, he said to Esposito, “Don’t think I don’t like your company…”

   “But I have some troops to steal. I’ll put my company headquarters on the Dragon, I think. Spread the happiness around.”

   “Good idea,” Cunningham said. “This is going to get cramped.” She saluted, and left the room, and once she was gone, he continued, “This is wrong, Danny. Someone’s old friend who has been on the beach for years is commanding an attack fleet, and the most experienced combat commander against the Cabal is stuck at the back?”

   With a smile, Marshall said, “Pierce thinks that he’s punishing me.
In fact, I think he’s doing me a favor. Think about it; commanding the battlecruisers, I didn’t get to do a thing. Out at the back, he’s not going to be paying any attention, so there is a fighting chance that I might actually get to command something.”

   “There’s something to that, as well,” Caine said. “I agree, though. It’s unfair.”

   “As long as we complete the mission. I just hope the Espatier force knows what it’s doing.” Looking around, he said, “Let’s go and get our stuff moved, Deadeye. I don’t want to linger where I’m not wanted.”

  Chapter 9

   Cooper looked around the room, trying to gauge the other officers at the briefing. The Ensigns were all his age, though none of them wore any decorations on their uniform; each fresh out of training, without any battle experience. Both of the company commanders were veterans, and it had showed in the practice drills; Brownworth, his superior, seeming to have a slight edge over the commander of Ninth Company, but not by much.

   Then there was Major Burke, a figure who had made himself somewhat enigmatic. He’d spent most of his time thus far with the Admiral, barely appearing at any of the practice sessions; he seemed perfectly willing to delegate the dull work to his subordinates, rather than wading in himself.

   “Well, I think we’re all here now,” he began. “Ensign Cooper, you’ve been where we’re going, so why don’t you tell us about it?”

   He paused for a moment, and replied, “Yes, sir,” standing up and moving to the front of the room, using the time to try and assemble his thoughts. Some warning that he was going to be talking to the others would have been useful, but he’d been giving similar lectures to the platoons.

   “First of all, don’t imagine that we have anything useful like a map or layout to give you. The nature of this asteroid precludes that. There’s some sort of paint they use that blocks radar signals; which means that mapping this place is going to have to be a top priority.”

   “Stick to the layout, Ensign,” Burke said. “I’ll decide the priorities.”

   One of the other platoon commanders sniggered as Cooper continued, “Yes, sir. What you have are twenty-nine estimated miles of twisted tunnels, shafts and chambers, on at least fourteen levels. To make it worse, these tunnels were carved out by an alien race…”