Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold

by Richard Tongue

   “Damn it, Logan…”

   “Look,” he said, “If you don’t want to do this, if you don’t think it’s worth it, then I’ll turn over command to someone else. Quinn maybe. I need you to get this ship ready for action, get a picked crew on board, and prepare her for launch.” Gesturing at the viewport, he said, “My job’s down on Callisto. I need to speak to the President in any case, and there’s scant hope of doing that through normal channels right now. I’ve got an old friend who might be able to help.”

   “I hope so,” Ryder said. “I’ll mind the store for you. Just get back as fast as you can. And what about Maggie?”

   “I’ve got an idea on that. Don’t worry about it.”

   “I’ve heard that before,” she replied, shaking her head.

   “Relax,” Logan replied. “I know what I’m doing.”

   “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter 14

   They hadn’t even bothered to move her out of her quarters after they worked out that she had sent the message. Ten minutes after transmission, a guard had appeared outside her door and very politely informed her that in the morning she would be taken to a secure facility, charged with espionage. She didn’t have any expectation that she would ever see a courtroom; at some point in the near future, once everything was cast in stone, she would be released back into civilian life, or exiled to some remote outpost to spend the rest of her career filing paperwork into dustbins. Once it was too late.

   She had the solace of knowing the message had been released, at least, though no doubt fifteen minutes later another would have followed it explaining that she was wrong. If it had been Marshall sitting there on Alamo, she’d have confidence in what would happen next, but so many of her old comrades were light-years away, or scattered across the Solar System by now. All she could do was trust that she had done her part.

   Rising to her feet, she started to pace around the room, looking for some means of escape. She couldn’t just sit back and wait, not if there was the slightest chance that she might be able to take an active role in the fight. There was nothing in her quarters that could help her; all network access had been cut off, and there wasn’t anything obvious she could use as a weapon, certainly nothing that would trump the pistol in the holster of the guard standing outside.

   In her head, she mapped out her route out of the base. It was a good five kilometers to the nearest city, but if she could get there, she’d have at least a fighting chance of getting off-world and back to Alamo, if nothing else. Or failing that, dive back into the underworld for a while and see if there was anything she could do from that angle. Transport was going to be essential, one of the base cars – if she tried to walk out, they’d catch her easily unless she could manage to evade detection. Too risky. Better to take the risk right at the start of the escape.

   Of course, this was all academic if she couldn’t get out of the room. Walking over to her bed, she pulled off the top sheet and gathered it in her hands, holding it high as she moved over to the door. Likely she was under surveillance, so this had to be quick, before anyone could respond. Someone was moving around outside, the guard perhaps getting restless – and careless, and she tapped for exit.

   The door slid open, and she started to throw the blanket high, when she realized that the guard was on the floor, and Nelyubov was standing in front of her, a taser in his hand, looking down the corridor.

   “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to get moving.”

   “Frank…”

   “Details later, once we’ve got the hell out of here. Now.”

   The two of them sprinted down the corridor, knowing that silent alarms must already have sounded, bringing the base personnel onto alert. Speed was their only hope of success; they turned down a corridor to see Olsen standing in it, arms crossed, obviously recently roused from his sleep to arrest her.

   “Get out of the way,” Nelyubov said, brandishing his weapon.

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Takes me a while to get up. Maybe as much as a minute. Get moving.” He closed his eyes, and said, “One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi.”

   “Bless you, Olsen,” Orlova said as they ran past him, heading towards one of the maintenance shafts. Ripping the cover off, she slid down the ladder to the lower level, landing with a thud at the bottom. Rubbing her hands together, she raced through a door into a near-empty storage section, Nelyubov just after her. At the end was a cargo loader, positioned just in front of a vehicular airlock; she headed for the controls while Nelyubov made for the vehicle.

   “Damn,” she said. “Jammed. I need a minute to release it.”

   “Hurry, Maggie,” he replied, stepping into the vehicle. “I don’t think we’ve got much time.”

   Her fingers worked the controls as she slid her spare intrusion key into the slot, urging it to break the access quickly. Security cameras were covering their every move, guards heading for them from every direction. Still the progress bar stubbornly held its position, only grudgingly yielding at all.

   “Why, Frank, by the way?”

   “I told you we could discuss it later.”

   “We’ve got a moment.”

   He looked back at her, and said, “You’re no traitor. If something’s going on, I want to help, and I trust you more than I trust that bastard Tarrant. Tried to bribe me off when I complained.”

   “Let me guess, you graduated.”

   “You too? Congratulations. Now pass lockpicking school.”

   “Almost there,” she said, as a green light winked on. Snatching out the rod, she said, “Punch it!”

   She raced for the cab, scrambling in as Nelyubov gunned the motor, sending the truck whirring into the airlock. The inner door closed, and it seemed to take an eternity for the other to open, finally revealing a crack of faint daylight as the surface appeared. Not waiting for the doors to completely cycle, he threw the engine into full speed and they started to bounce over the landscape, heading for the triple-domed city on the horizon.

   “Pick the downtown airlock,” she said. “We’ll dump the van outside, go in, and get lost. I know a few people who might be able to help us get off-world.”

   “Then what?” he asked.

   “Don’t you have a plan?”

   “Only up to getting the two of us out of the dome.”

   “We get back to Alamo. Right now that’s as far as my thinking takes me. At least then we have a battlecruiser to look out for us.”

   “Callisto,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a long trip.”

   “Journey of a million miles begins with a single truck ride.”

   “I don’t think that’s what Mao said.”

   “Gets the spirit right, though.” She turned around, and said, “Damn. I should have figured they’d be quick on the move.”

   Two cars were following them, one on each side, moving up to block their passage. She could just make out four figures in each, no doubt armed, though the vehicles themselves were just normal transports – no armaments.

   “What do you want to do?”

   “How much range has this thing got?”

   “About a hundred miles on the battery,” he said, looking up at the gauges. “Just enough to get us to Zubrin City, if that helps.”

   “No bigger than here,” she replied, pointing ahead. “Someone’s coming out to meet us, as well. Take us as close to the airlock as you can, then we run for it. I don’t think they’ll shoot on sight.”

   “Maggie, they’ll have people waiting on the other side of the airlock by now.”

   “You have any better suggestions? I’m not giving up without a fight. We get into that dome, we might be able to make enough of a fuss to attract some attention, and that’s the last thing they want right now.”

   “That’s not much of a chance.”

   “It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

&n
bsp;  The two of them pushed on across the landscape as the pursuing cars closed on them, moving to the right to avoid the approaching vehicle. Orlova had picked the lumbering van as being the easiest to steal, hoping to get across the open space before anyone could pursue, but as one of the cars moved to her right, Tarrant looking at her out of the viewport, she realized that Nelyubov was right; the odds of them getting out of this were remote.

   “Frank?” she said.

   “What is it?”

   “Sorry.”

   “I knew what I was doing,” he replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

   He pulled the van to a stop, and they quickly struggled into their light ground-suits, sliding the hands down into the tough, rubberized gloves, and hastily checking the support monitors to make sure all was well. Doubtless the men in the cars would have that advantage, as well – they were already out on the surface, heading in their direction.

   The airlock cracked open, and Orlova leapt out, racing across the ground towards the dome in the half-run, half-lope of movement in the Martian gravity, Nelyubov just behind her. On either side, they were surrounded; she saw a brief explosion of dust in front of her, and looked back to see one of them with a pistol.

   “They won’t do it,” she said, as much to reassure herself as Nelyubov, who did not seem convinced.

   “We will if we must,” Tarrant’s voice said, crackling through her helmet. “It was a nice try, but it ends here. Two spies trying to escape will be a big story for the evening news, but it isn’t going to save you today.”

   The two of them stood in the dust, looking at the approaching men, as the other car skidded to a halt in front of them, a strange insignia on its side, the markings of the Southern Cross. As Tarrant gestured them to head into the car, the doors on the newcomer popped open, and three more men stepped out, all of them armed and wearing body armor.

   “What are you doing with our citizens?” the leader asked with a strong accent; Orlova instantly recognized it as that of Ragnarok.

   “These people are wanted for charges of espionage,” Tarrant replied. “Kindly go about your business.”

   “Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, is that Frank Nelyubov with you?”

   “It is,” she replied with a growing smile.

   “These people are citizens of the Commonwealth of Ragnarok, and members of the embassy staff. As such they have diplomatic immunity.”

   Tarrant turned to Orlova, and said, “If you think this crap is going to work.”

   The man stepped forward, gently raising his weapon, and said, “Look, mate, we’re going to take our people back to the embassy right now, or the sand around here’s going to get a lot redder. We’ve got better guns than you and are armored enough that you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

   One of Tarrant’s men raised his pistol to cover Nelyubov and Orlova, and said, “Eight against three isn’t good odds.”

   “You want to add to your troubles with an extremely public diplomatic incident?”

   Tarrant turned to Orlova, and said, “Do this, and I hope Ragnarok has a good space fleet, because you’ll never get back into the Triplanetary Fleet.”

   She turned to him, and said, “If you are the sort of person in the Fleet these days, I’m better off out of it. Come on, Frank.”

   The guards covered them as they stepped into the car, the hatch slamming shut and locking, leaving Tarrant and the others watching them as they sped away. Before they dropped out of sight, she saw them heading back into the car, and it became obvious that they were following, albeit at a discreet distance.

   “Where are we going? The Embassy?”

   “That’s right,” he replied. “Lieutenant Geoffrey Talbot, by the way. Military attache, which up till now has meant lots of tours of small arms manufacturers and gawking at spaceships. Glad to be having a bit of fun at last.”

   “Is all of this genuine?” Nelyubov asked.

   “On the nose, cobber. We did a rush job on the paperwork, but we couldn’t leave the lady in the lurch after what she did for us a few years back. The guy who contacted us said that you’d probably be with her, so we filled out papers for you both. Ambassador’s got the authority to sign you up.”

   She looked at Nelyubov, and said, “You realize that they’ll try everything other than armed assault to get us back.”

   “It’d take one hell of an assault to do it. We’ve got a light infantry company at our disposal.”

   “What? Where the hell did you get that from?” she asked.

   He grinned, and replied, “Volunteers, training for Espatier duty once the militaries merge next year. One hundred and ten men in total; we wanted to form an outfit for training and defense back home. Just happens that none of them reported for training this morning, and they’ve got every right to visit the Embassy if they want.”

   “They could deport them,” Nelyubov said.

   “Sure, but that would mean access to a ship and some shuttles, and it’d cause a hell of a diplomatic stink. Things are getting bad enough already. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about except a few journalists hanging around outside.”

   “What are they saying?”

   He passed her a datapad, and said. “Our Press Officer put a summary together for you. Boils down that you tried to sell information about the battleship project to an unspecified foreign power.”

   “That’s a load of crap.”

   “They aren’t offering any evidence, just one leak after another. Worst case we’ll give you a job in the RRAF. We can always use some more pilots.”

   Nelyubov frowned as the car lurched across the desert, and said, “I’m guessing Logan Winter tipped you off about us. What did he say?”

   “Not much. Just that you were being framed and needed some help. You want to keep your secrets, you go right ahead, but I’m damn sure the Ambassador’s going to what to know why he’s threatening the Vice-President with secession.”

   “The Vice-President?” Orlova asked. “Not the President?”

   “You hadn’t heard? The first impeachment vote passed the Senate this morning; the full investigation has begun. Which means that Ackerman’s running the show until the President clears himself, or quits.”

  Chapter 15

   Marshall stood on the bridge, looking over Cunningham’s shoulder at the viewscreen, waiting for the flash that would announce their return to normal space and their arrival at Hades Station. The now-dead Espatier who had christened it had known better than he realized; the place felt cursed, and Marshall could not help but feel that they were stepping into a trap.

   “Emergence, sir,” the officer at the helm, a Sub-Lieutenant named Kelso, replied. Caine had commandeered the tactical station, running through a sequence of checks; the ship had been at battle stations for the last seven minutes, making the last-minute adjustments that could make the difference between life or death.

   “Full sensor sweep, Ronay,” Cunningham said to the duty sensor technician. “Tell us the news.”

   “Threat warning,” he replied within seconds, though with a surprisingly calm voice. “Picking up two ships, unknown classification, on intercept course with the flagship. Some shuttle traffic moving between the station and the planet.”

   “We never did get to the planet,” Marshall said, frowning. “No sign of any change from the Alamo records, Spaceman?”

   “No, sir,” he said. “Aside from ship traffic, everything is just as you left it. I’m even picking up some debris fields close to the hendecaspace point.”

   “The aftermath of our last battle in this system.”

   Cunningham looked back to the communications station, and asked, “Anything from the flagship?”

   “Nothing, sir,” she replied.

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Have the auxiliary squadron proceed according to Plan Alpha, at least for the moment. Keep the formation as
tight as possible and hang back from the action. No point throwing ourselves into the middle of a war, not today, anyway.”

   “Sending now, Captain.”

   “Anything on those unidentified ships?” Cunningham asked.

   “I’ve gone through the warbook, sir, and I have a partial match with some civilian transports. These definitely have modifications, though, sir.”

   “Fleet auxiliaries,” Marshall replied. “We must have hurt them harder than I thought. They’re having to convert civilian ships to combat roles.”

   “Then we’re winning,” Kelso said.

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Don’t assume anything, Sub. This could easily just be a local commander displaying greater-than-usual initiative and making use of what he has.”

   “Trident is moving towards the incoming craft, Captain,” Ronay said. “So are the battlecruisers, at full tactical acceleration.”

   “What’s the damn hurry?” Caine asked. “They’re doing all the work, and we’ll still have a nice speed reserve. All he’s doing is reducing the combat window.”

   “Enemy vessels are still closing on the Trident, sir. Direct course, as if they are trying to ram her.”

   “Not at that range,” Marshall said. “Too obvious. They wouldn’t have bothered modifying their ships if that was all they were planning to do with them. Any sign of signal traffic?”

   “Everything cut off within thirty seconds of us entering the system,” the communications technician replied. “Just like someone threw a switch.”

   Her eyes widening, Caine said, “They’re expecting us, aren’t they.”

   “Walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Marshall replied.

   “Didn’t you say that the last time we came out here?”

   “I have a horrible feeling that it will prove to be just as true this time.”

   “Trident has launched fighters, sir,” Ronay reported, looking up at his monitor. “My God, they’ve launched the whole wing. Gilgamesh and Thermopylae are also launching.”