Nodding, he picked up a headset; even he knew how to operate the shuttle communicator. “Shuttle to Alamo, requesting clearance to land.”
“Clearance on request, shuttle. Try for docking port two.”
“Right.” He turned to Barbara, “Docking port…”
“Two. I have ears. Hang on.”
With a careful tweak of her thrusters, the shuttle eased into position, and Cooper’s heart skipped a beat as the docking clamps locked on, and the stars began to slide out of view as they were pulled into Alamo. The whole flight had taken just a few minutes. A familiar hissing sounded outside, and the shuttle emerged in the hangar deck, technicians and medics waiting to receive the cargo of wounded.
Unstrapping, Cooper slid out of his couch, pushing over Barbara while she completed her checklist; diving through the pilot’s airlock, he reached down for the deck, pulling himself in and planting a kiss on the hull. He looked up to see an amused Quinn looking down at him.
“I guess it’s good to be back, Corporal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I could interrupt your reunion, and you feel up to it, we’re still at battle stations.”
Glancing down at his bandages, he replied, “I’ll head for my damage control station, sir.”
Doctor Duquesne turned at that, looking at him up and down, “The only station you’re going to is sickbay. Right now.”
“Don’t worry, Corporal. I think you’ve done enough,” Quinn said.
With a nod, and a salute, the trooper turned back to the wounded; if he was heading for sickbay anyway, he might as well help someone else on the way. Pausing, he turned to Quinn, reaching deep into a pocket, tossing him the data keys he’d been holding since he’d left the asteroid.
“Get those to the Captain,” he said. “And be careful with them. They were pretty damned expensive.”
Chapter 25
Sirens sounded across the hangar deck as Orlova leaned over her improvised Tactical station, waiting impatiently for the next salvo of missiles to drop into the launch tubes. Only ten left to fire, now, and it seemed to be taking forever. Nelyubov was peering over her shoulder, shaking his head as she worked.
“Do you have any input, Lieutenant?” she snapped, and he backed away, scowling.
“Still two missiles on track, ma’am,” Mathis said. “Bearing directly. The fighters have now veered away, I think.”
“They’re out of shots anyway,” she replied. “Forget them. Ballard, where’s the e-screen?”
The engineer poked her head up from underneath a panel, saying, “I can’t find the damn relay connections, Sub-Lieutenant.”
With a sigh, Nelyubov pushed over, easing her out of the way and snatching a toolkit with practiced skill. At the moment, all Orlova could do was sit and wait for the missiles to get closer; all the defenses were still out.
“Curry, keep random walk,” she said.
“Trying, but I’ve only got half my thrusters.”
“It ought to be really random, then,” she replied. “Any trick you’ve got. If they’re going to hit, let ‘em hit areas that have already been knocked out.”
“Will do, but that’ll give the bridge quite a hammering!”
“Who cares when we have such a wonderful replacement. Nelyubov, give me an estimate.”
“Almost there, two relay connections left.”
“Hurry up, hurry up!” She tapped into the flow feed of the missile arming system, and her eyes widened; someone had gone out of their way to make it as difficult as possible. Every possible safety interlock had been engaged, and the missiles were having to make their way through a dozen hatches before making it to the tubes. It would almost have been quicker for her to drag them the length of the ship; she quickly disabled the safety systems, and the status indicators began to race forward.
“One more connection, nearly there,” Nelyubov said.
“Fifteen seconds to impact,” Mathis said, trying to keep a calm voice.
Finally, a pair of lights winked green, “Stand by for missile firing, hang on!”
“Wait a minute,” Nelyubov said. “We’ve only got ten left!”
Orlova slammed down the buttons, watching twin trails arc away from the ship, and replied, “Unfortunately, Lieutenant, we didn’t have a minute.” She urged the missiles forward as they closed on their counterparts from the fighters, musing for a second that they had probably been programmed by the same person, and raised a fist as the trails connected, fading from the screen.
“That did it, ma’am,” Mathis said. “Good shooting!”
“Thanks, Sergeant. What about the enemy battlecruisers?”
“We’ve got at least seven minutes before we have to worry about them.”
“And twelve to the jump.” She turned to Curry, “Is the course loaded yet?”
“Sub-Lieutenant Race reports all systems go from Astrogation.”
“Good,” she said. “Contact Alamo, tell them that we are go for the jump.”
“Now that we have a moment,” Nelyubov said, pulling himself up from his station, “I’d like to ask a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why the hell are you in command? We’re all the same rank, and you’ve got the lowest seniority by far.”
“You’d prefer to have it yourself, Lieutenant,” Orlova replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Actually, I believe Lieutenant Curry beats us both with seniority.”
“Leave me out of this, Frank,” Curry said. “I’ve got a ship to fly.”
“Then it falls to me, yes.”
Sighing, Orlova said, “Can we have this argument later? We’re a little busy right now.”
“Certainly. Cede command and we can talk in hendecaspace.”
“Skipping over the fact that Captain Marshall – and Major Marshall, for that matter – gave me the ship, the factor isn’t the length of service, but that you are in the wrong fleet.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nelyubov said, hackles rising. She was getting looks from some of the other bustling technicians, dagger-like stares from some of them.
“I’m an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet, Lieutenant. While we’re beyond Sol System, that gives me seniority.” She pushed over to him, raising her voice, “You can either except that, or go and join one of the damage-control teams. Do I make myself clear on this?”
“Hell,” Ballard said, “She’s doing a good enough job so far.”
Sullenly, Nelyubov nodded, replying, “Yes, ma’am.”
With a smile, Orlova continued, “I haven’t thanked you yet, by the way.”
Confusion reigned on his face, “What for?”
“Saving my life, back on the bridge. I won’t forget it.”
He shrugged, replying, “You’d have got yourself out in time.”
“Maybe.” She kicked back from her station, “Since I’m in command, take tactical. I can’t do both jobs at once.”
Nelyubov looked across at Curry, who smiled and turned back to her station, “You want me to take tactical?”
“Can you do the job?”
“Yes.”
“Then do the job.”
With a loud crunch, the elevator at the rear of the hangar bay stuttered open, and a pair of figures in battered uniforms – one of them unmistakably Triplanetary – drifted out. Carpenter was in the lead, followed by Wilson, and she looked around the deck, shaking her head.
“You’ve been redecorating.”
Orlova nodded, saying, “Well, I was bored. Where have you been?”
“Aft engineering section. Took a damage control team a quarter-hour to clear open a corridor so we could get out. Has Captain Marshall got through to you? Where are the shuttles?”
“Gone with the wounded.” Orlova paused. “There’s another damage control team back
there? Anyone know anything about it?”
Ballard looked around, then replied, “I only heard from two. Guess we’re a bit better staffed than I thought.” She looked down at the monitors, then stabbed a button. “I’ll get them to the hendecaspace drive. No point us racing for the egress point if nothing happens when we get there.”
“Good idea. Sergeant?”
“Ma’am?” Wilson replied, saluting.
“How are things back in engineering?”
“A lot better than they look, ma’am. Superficial stuff mostly. My crews shouldn’t take long to repair it.”
“Interesting. As though someone’s trying to pull their punches a bit.”
Curry nodded, saying, “They want their ship back. It make sense that they wouldn’t do any more damage than they needed.”
Looking around the deck, Orlova said, “We’ve got three damage control teams, but it would be nice to have a fourth. Now our shuttles are out, see what you can scavenge from around here, Sergeant.”
“Will do, ma’am,” Wilson said, turning to a surprised technician and barking orders.
“Maggie,” Curry said. “If they want their ship back, maybe we should let them have it.”
“Hell no,” Nelyubov said. “We went through hell to get this ship back, and I’m only giving it back over my dead body.”
“For once we agree, Lieutenant,” Orlova said. “This ship can still fly, we still have eight missiles in the racks – which now work, at least – and we can jump out of the system.”
“We could call back the shuttles,” Carpenter said. “There would be just time to evacuate.”
“We’ve got people scattered all over the ship,” Mathis replied. “What they hell do they do? Get into spacesuits and jump?”
“I’ve done worse,” Orlova said.
Curry turned from her station, saying, “If we contacted them, we might arrange a ceasefire. The commander of that fleet did offer one.”
“You honestly believe he would keep his word? I’ve fought these people before, and I wouldn’t. Nor do I intend to risk the crew of this ship on that basis. We’re safer inside this hull than we are floating about in shuttles.”
“Besides,” Ballard said, “With two ships on the move, the fire is split between the two of us. If it was just Alamo trying to escape, she’d never live through a combined assault from three ships. Four if the carrier has any anti-ship weapons mounted.”
Silence filled the room; Orlova broke it, saying, “The decision is made. That’s all there is to say. If you have any protests, note them in the log – but do it later, because we’re rather busy at the moment.”
Curry shook her head, “You’re in charge, we’ll do as you say.” With a thin smile, she continued, “In truth, I’d hate to have to leave this ship anyway.”
“Let’s get on with the battle, then, shall we.”
“Signal from Alamo, ma’am. Captain Marshall,” Mathis said. “Top priority.”
“Better put him on, then, Sergeant.”
The crackling of the communicator indicated the poor state of repair of the exterior arrays; Orlova struggled to make out what Marshall was saying through all the disruption.
“Alamo Actual to Hercules Actual. Report status, we’re not getting telemetry.”
Ballard shrugged, “I had to find spare network capacity from somewhere.”
“Sorry about that,” Orlova said. “Problems over here. We got through the attack without sustaining any further damage. What about the shuttles?”
“All down, and the wounded are receiving treatment. Can you accelerate?”
“Negative, we’re going as fast as we can now.”
There was a pause, “We’re going to get to the egress point first.”
“Understood, Alamo. We’ll be sure to make the mandatory rude gesture at the bad guys as we leave.”
Marshall forced a chuckle. “I’ll hold you to that. We’ll co-ordinate tactical for the final pass. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“Negative, sir, I think we’re in about as good a condition as we can manage.”
“Then all that remains is for me to wish you luck. Have a good fight.”
“You too, Alamo. Hercules out.” She closed the channel, looking around the bridge. The crewmen were looking at her, waiting for her to give orders, make decisions. With three words, she could give command to someone else, and she glanced at Nelyubov as he worked the tactical station. Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Curry.
“Let’s see if there is anything we can do to reduce our time in the firing line. Start playing with our course a bit, keep them guessing, try to stop their approach. Nelyubov, pull the countermeasure records from the shuttles – that trick with the missiles was a good one, maybe we can duplicate it. Wilson…”
The sergeant was floating past, a trio of slightly perplexed crewmen in tow, “We’re on the case, ma’am. Heading down to see if we can do anything with the maneuvering jets.”
“Good. Mathis, I want to know everything about those battlecruisers, up to and including what their crews had for breakfast this morning. If there is any sort of a weakness, we need to know about it.”
“I have a green board for missiles, countermeasures working now,” Nelyubov said.
“What do I do?” asked Carpenter. It seemed a fair enough question.
“You had basic medical training, didn’t you?”
“First Aid level only, Maggie.”
“See if there are any stragglers from Wilson’s work team, put together a medical detail. Then start calling round. We already missed one damage control team, maybe there are a few more crewmen isolated in other areas of the ship.” Frowning, she turned to Ballard, “I thought the internal communications system was working?”
“So did I, ma’am, I’ve got a green board here. Is it a priority?”
Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “No, not at the moment. We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, and I think all critical stations have hand communications. Mark it for a check when we reach hendecaspace though.”
“If…”, Carpenter said.
“When, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova snapped. “We’re going to make it,” she paused, and smiled, before finishing, “and that’s an order.”
“Want me to tell the incoming fleet, ma’am?” Mathis said with a chuckle.
“Good idea,” she replied. The technician smiled as he turned back to his station, and she watched the crew – her crew – bustle to carry out her orders, preparing the battlecruiser for combat. Aside from the bridge crew, and Carpenter loitering around with a communicator, the cavernous hangar deck was now empty. A single, half-dismantled shuttle loitered at the rear of the room, pieces strapped to the wall. Something else to worry about when they jumped.
Looking down at the display again, she saw one of the battlecruisers turning towards them, slowing to maximize its firing time. Eight missiles left; that battlecruiser could likely manage that in a single salvo, and still have more to follow. Tapping a button to look at Hercules’ status, she shook her head. If they had a day, an hour to make repairs, they wouldn’t be far from full combat efficiency, but as it stood, all they were doing was diverting a little fire from Alamo.
“Ma’am,” Ballard said. “I’ve got Sergeant Wilson. Urgent.”
“More trouble?” Orlova picked up the head set, “Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“How would you like functioning combat fabricators?”
“How would you like a promotion?”
“I thought you’d say that. I’ve got them working.”
“You have? That seems…”
“Wasn’t much wrong with them. Only took a minute.”
Suspicion briefly grabbed her, but she had other things on her mind. “Great, Sergeant, great work.”
“Our pleasure, ma
’am.”
Orlova looked back down at the sensor station, rubbing her hands together. Now they might have a chance.
Chapter 26
Leaning back on his command chair, Marshall watched the remaining fighters slowly withdraw back to their carriers, clearing the battlespace for what was to come. In less than two minutes it was going to be a very dangerous place to be. He glanced around the bridge; Caine was furiously working at her station to make a host of final preparations, with Zebrova hanging close to her – not watching what she was doing, but ready to take over at a second’s notice should it be necessary.
“Steele, all decks ready?”
“All systems show ready, sir,” the young officer said without looking up from her work. “All blast doors secure, damage control teams at prepared locations, everything is ready to go.”
“Incoming signal from the carrier, sir,” Weitzman said.
“I can guess who it is.” He looked up at the clock, and said, “I suppose I can spare sixty seconds or so. Put him on.”
The face of the Commandant appeared on the screen. “Captain Marshall, is there any chance that I can talk you out of this?”
“Is there any chance you will simply allow us to leave the system?”
Shaking his head, the other man replied, “This is foolishness, Captain. You are out-manned and out-gunned. I do not question your courage, but already too many lives have been lost.”
“On both sides.”
“True.” He looked off-screen, and reached across for a datapad, “And now I see that you have wounded, as well. Our medical facilities…”
“We can handle it,” Marshall said, curtly.
“I am sure you can.” Leaning forward, he continued, “I will assure you that anyone we capture will be treated with the same care as the prisoners we have taken from the asteroid.” As Marshall’s eyes widened, he said, “Yes, we have prisoners. They will be treated well, I can assure you of that. Were you to agree to my terms, I would even be willing to repatriate them.”
Fury burned in Marshall’s chest as he replied, “Repatriate them to hell, Commandant. Because that’s where the two of us are going. Alamo out.”
Battle of Hercules Page 21
