His eyes widening, he leapt up from his station, and said, “Get me the shuttle, right now.”
“Instability peaking!” Singh said. “The Dauntless is coming through!”
“Get back to your station, Danny! We’re out of time,” Newton said.
With a last, defiant look at the communications station, he complied, sliding back into his seat and tapping a sequence of controls to send the Brunel into a series of evasive maneuvers, a random walk pass with a bias to send them slewing towards the station. He looked up at the viewscreen, saw the Dauntless emerge with the usual blue flash, though this time almost close enough for him to touch.
“We’re ordered to surrender,” Cantrell said. “I took the liberty of replying with the usual harsh language.”
“Start your hack,” Newton said, but Cantrell’s hands were already racing across the keys, launching wave after wave of attacks on Dauntless’ systems, trying to find any possible loophole in their security, any way in.
“Energy spike,” Singh said. “Two missiles, bearing directly, estimated time to impact one hundred seconds. They have missile lock.”
“Cantrell,” Newton said, but she just waved a hand in the air for a second, continuing her work as if she hadn’t heard her. Marshall started manipulating the controls again, dragging the slow freighter into a series of tight turns that she wasn’t designed for, changing their trajectory in a desperate attempt to confuse the missiles. This ship didn’t even have the maneuverability of Alamo, still less the fighters he was used to.
“Tarrant,” he said, “How much extra thrust can you give me?”
“I can ramp up another ten percent for a couple of minutes, whenever you need.”
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Try a thousand percent.”
His eyes widening, the engineer said, “You’ll burn out the engines.”
Turning to face him, he said, “All I need is a half-second pulse, when I give the word.”
Tarrant nodded, turned to a control station, and said, “I suppose we’re just as dead if the missiles hit. I’ll set up the overloads, slave them to your station, but we could blow out half the relays on the ship.”
“Worth the risk,” he said, turning the Brunel to show the missiles its back, firing its engines as high as he dared, heading into infinity in a straight line. Newton’s eyes were boring into him, enough that he could feel it.
“Aren’t you even going to try and evade?”
“No,” he replied. “I need them to get a lot closer yet. Singh, give me a time on target.”
“Fifty-nine seconds from my mark, now.”
“Got it. Cantrell…”
“They’ve got a thousand times the processing power. I’m busy. Just give me a few more minutes and I might manage something.”
“Another spike!” Singh said. “Another missile, heading for Ouroboros. She is attempting to evade, turning in our direction.”
“Why only three missiles?” Marshall asked no-one in particular. “They could have fired a full salvo, made sure of us.”
“Maybe they want to disable us, rather than kill us?” Singh suggested. “Forty seconds.”
The doors opened, and the Commandant walked in, stumbling slightly in the acceleration and said, “They don’t have combat fabricators. A Cabal warship is limited by the size of its missile inventory, and while I assure you that their reserves are significant, the commander of the Dauntless has evidently opted not to waste his missiles on minor targets.”
“Twenty seconds,” Singh said.
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Newton said.
“Not yet,” Marshall replied. “Trust me, I know what I am doing.”
He rested his hands on the console, letting the missiles got closer, then as the override control appeared on his console, locked in the engine firing sequence. The seconds counted down, and the tension on the bridge grew; only Cantrell seemed to be immune, still frantically trying to hack into the Dauntless while keeping them out.
“Impact!” Singh said, but a brief burst of acceleration threw them forward, less than half second to go, and Marshall pumped his fist into the air in triumph as the missiles disappeared from the screen.
“No major problems, but give me a minute to run a few checks,” Tarrant said.
“What the hell did you do?”
“A trick an old friend of mine taught me,” Marshall said. “I pulsed the engines into overload, just as the missiles were about to hit. No way could they resist that.”
“Next time tell me what you are planning to do,” Newton replied. “Singh, any more missiles?”
“No, ma’am, and the Ouroboros seems to have knocked theirs down.”
“I doubt there will be any more,” the Commandant said. “You were just a target of opportunity. He will now wait until he has dealt with Alamo before worrying about you.”
“Why no fabricators?” Marshall asked. “You had Hercules for years…”
“Having possession of a technology does not mean we can duplicate it, Captain. That little technological gap might be one of the reasons why certain elements of the Cabal are interested in a non-aggression pact.”
Looking up from his console, Tarrant said, “This is all about getting a peace deal?”
“Sometimes politics is the extension of war by other means, to misquote the great Clausewitz,” the Commandant replied.
“Report, Cantrell,” Newton said. “Tell me good news.”
“I just don’t have the bandwidth.” She slammed a fist against the panel, and said, “I might as well be throwing electronic snowballs at them!”
A voice came over the speaker, Zebrova finally calling from Ouroboros. “Perhaps I can help. If we link our computers together…”
“Anything is better than nothing at the moment,” Cantrell said. “We’re going to have to get a lot closer, as well.”
“We’re already on course for Ouroboros,” Marshall began, but she shook her head.
“Closer to the Dauntless. I need to get the response time down as far as I can.”
Marshall looked up at Newton, who nodded, and then started to input his new course, the plotted trajectory curving back down towards the enemy ship. Ouroboros was already swinging around in a long, lazy arc, and Marshall just had to follow their lead. The new course was going to take him right down Dauntless’ throat, amber warnings indicating he was violating safety regulations on minimum ship distances. At that range, they’d almost be in range of the point-defense particle beams. A single slip, and they’d be in trouble.
Reading his mind, Newton moved over behind him, quietly asking, “Must it be that close?”
“Any less, and we might be risking all of this for nothing. You’re the Captain. Your call.”
Looking down at him, she asked, “Do you know what you are doing?”
“I’d like to think so,” he replied with a smile. “Ouroboros is closing. We’ve got to commit now if we’re going to.”
She nodded, saying, “Commit.”
Marshall tapped the control, and the ship slowly moved into its new trajectory, the acceleration building as it dived down towards the Dauntless, Ouroboros coming onto Brunel’s wing, two ungainly fighters making an electronic attack run on their target.
“I’ve opened up a data link to Alamo. Anything we can get, they will get,” Cantrell said, flexing her fingers for a moment. “Computer connection with Ouroboros established.”
“Two minutes, ten seconds to closest approach,” Singh said.
“Is it always like this?” Tarrant asked.
“Usually worse,” Marshall replied. “Hours of waiting punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Welcome to the wonderful world of deep space warfare.”
“You can keep it, thanks,” the engineer said. “I think I’ll stick to hauling cargo in future.”
“No sign of activity from the Dauntless,” Singh said.
“What do you think he will do?” Marshall asked the Commandant, still standing at the rear of the bridge, impassively looking at the viewscreen.
Shrugging, he said, “Far be it from me to speak for them, my guess is that he will assume you are trying to force him into a course change. You will be hard-pressed to hack into the Dauntless’ systems.”
Cantrell’s eyes widened, and she looked up at the Commandant, yelling, “What did you say?”
He recoiled for a moment, then said, “I commented that you will find it difficult to hack into their systems.”
“Not their systems,” she said. “Not those of the Dauntless. But those aren’t the only systems on board.” Her hands began to fly, and she said, “We don’t need to hack them at all!”
“Then why are we diving for them?” Newton asked. “Danny, start a course change.”
“No, wait,” Cantrell said. “I’m hunting for combat data, and I’ll get a lot of it from their missiles. Much smaller, much less processing power.” Her hands were flying across the controls so fast that Marshall could hardly see what she was doing, and he began to nod.
“You’ll have to isolate them from the rest of the ship.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “Just one. They might not notice that until it is too late. I need to keep the pressure on their sysop in their primary systems, keep him distracted.” She flashed a roguish smile, and said, “I think we’re going to get them yet!”
Marshall looked back at his console, watching the Dauntless for any course change, working out possible alternate flight paths, and trying to trim their heading after their maneuver. Cooper’s shuttle was well on its way to the station, he noted with a smile. He was probably more likely to live through this than any of them, though he was charging into combat, not away from it.
“We’re getting awfully close to those particle beams,” Singh said.
“Brace yourself, we’re going to get closer yet,” Marshall said. “Watch for missiles. Cantrell, remember that if they know we’ve done this, it isn’t going to work.”
“I know, I know. With luck they’ll just think they’ve got a dud.”
“Fifty seconds to closest approach,” Singh said.
“We’re in!” Cantrell yelled. “I’m getting the data now, streaming it all the way to Alamo.”
“What are you collecting?” Newton said.
“Combat tactics,” the Commandant replied. “All the information the missile has been programmed to use, right down to the preferences of the Weapons Officer. Alamo should be able to use that the even the odds a little, at least for a time.”
“They’ll be knocking down those missiles like dummy targets,” she said. “Closing down now. We’ve got everything we need. I’m still butting heads with their sysop, just to make it look good.”
Nodding, Newton said, “May we leave now?”
“Changing course,” Marshall said, pulling the trajectory up and away from the Dauntless. Right now they were on a course that would take them out of the system altogether, but they could fix that later, at their leisure.”
“Closest point now in five seconds,” Singh said, and then he turned to sharply look at Newton, “Energy spike. Missile launch. Impact thirty seconds.”
“Cantrell, get those countermeasures moving, stop that missile,” Newton said.
“Belay that,” Marshall replied. “If we use it now, we’ll be showing our hand, and all of this will be for nothing. We’ve got to give Alamo its shot!”
Tarrant raced forward, grabbing Marshall by the shoulders, and said, “You’d trade this ship for yours, wouldn’t you! We’re just expendable!”
Looking back at him, he replied, “Don’t be stupid. One missile will damage us, not destroy us. Alamo can use this data to knock down a couple of dozen and win the battle! Getting rid of that won’t save us if Alamo gets wiped out.”
Cantrell nodded, and said, “We need Alamo to win.”
Tarrant looked at Newton, who glanced at Marshall’s face, locking eyes, before nodding, and saying, “Danny, take all evasive action to get away from that missile. I assume the trick you tried before won’t work.”
“Impact ten seconds.”
“No time to set it up,” Tarrant said, dejectedly.
“Then we’ll just have to ride it out.” Stabbing a button, she said, “All hands, brace for impact! Aft decks!”
Marshall tried a few maneuvers, but everyone on the bridge knew that it wasn’t going to work, that it was impossible for them to prevent the impact. Tarrant was back at his station, ready to deploy damage control parties where he could, and everyone braced themselves for the shock.
The missile ripped into the rear part of the forward sphere, tearing into the hull before exploding, gouging a huge hole that immediately sent the ship tumbling. Lights and console displays briefly flickered as the power distribution network struggled to cope, the ship tumbling as Marshall lost attitude control; the course projection was now a flickering corkscrew, and he shut down the engine, trying to maintain some stability as the ship tumbled.
He could hear the stresses on the hull, the deck plating tearing away from the stresses of the impact, a sea of burning red leaping across the status boards as one system after another failed. Finally, the lights came back on, and some of the systems came back into life.
“Status, Tarrant,” Newton said.
Shaking his head, he replied, “Three decks are depressurized, we’ve on backup power, engine control systems are out, and our external communications are shot. Aside from that, we’re in great shape.”
“No casualties reported, though,” Singh said. “They hit unpopulated parts of the ship.”
“That was a warning shot?” Newton asked.
Nodding, the Commandant said, “He’s telling you and Ouroboros to stay out of the fight.”
Sitting back in her chair, Newton said to Marshall, “Well, my ship’s been torn to pieces, Danny. I hope it was worth it.”
Looking up at the display, watching the Dauntless turn for its confrontation with Alamo, he replied, “So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The shuttle raced towards the station, the autopilot frantically struggling to correct its course, Alamo feeding new navigation to it as rapidly as it could. Behind, Cooper could see Brunel tumbling end over end, telemetry reporting massive damage. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could have done, back on that ship, but up ahead there was a battle in progress, and there his skills would be needed.
He looked at his borrowed rifle, checking it over one last time, as the shuttle smoothly glided into position besides the one ahead of him, the one that had come directly from Alamo, docking just a couple of minutes before. Letting the computer do all of the work, he stepped over to the airlock, trusting that the automatic systems would do their job, and hoping that whoever was controlling the station couldn’t do anything to stop him.
The docking clamps locked into position with a series of rhythmic thumps, and with his rifle raised, he opened the hatch. It took all his training not to fire at the oddly familiar figure standing at the threshold, and shaking his head, he lowered his weapon.
“Damn it, Major, that is not a good idea.”
Raising his hand, Major Marshall replied, “Didn’t think it through. I’ve been having that trouble a lot lately. It’s Cooper, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, snapping a salute. “Do you know the situation?”
“Only that the station has been captured and that we need to retake control of it in a hurry.” He gestured up the corridor, and said, “Tell me, how’s my son?”
“Fine last I saw him, sir. I understand there weren’t any casualties from the missile hit.”
“Good, good,” he said, “Let’s get moving, then.�
�
The two of them walked cautiously down the corridor towards the elevator, Cooper looking around, checking for potential cover. Just as they approached the doors, they slid open and a pair of Neander stepped out, pistols in their hands; Cooper’s instincts were still sharp, and two rapid shots brought them down before they even knew what had hit them.
Kneeling on the ground, he quickly checked their vital signs; one of them was dead, the other wounded, faint cries resounding down the corridor. He looked up at the Major, who was standing in the corridor, gun still pointed, looking down at the two bodies.
“He’s in pain but will live if we get this mopped up quickly, sir. Could you pass me down the medikit from the wall?” The Major just stood there, watching. “Sir?”
Nodding, he reached over and tossed it down to Cooper, who ripped out a tranquilizer and quickly injected it into what he hoped was the right spot; the Neander relaxed, the painkillers moving through his system. Quickly slapping a bandage on the wound, he stood up.
“I guess we know who we’re fighting, sir,” Cooper said.
Looking at the body, the Major replied, “I could have done that.” He looked up at Cooper, and said, “I’m just a stupid, old fool who can’t stop fighting his war.”
Frowning, Cooper replied, “We need to keep moving, sir. Last report had our troops holed up by the central core. If we can hit the enemy from the other side, we might have a chance of breaking them out.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Let’s go, Corporal. You take the lead.”
Punching for the lower level, they waited for the elevator make its way to the loading decks. Helping the Neander had cost them time, but he couldn’t just leave a wounded man lying there. He glanced across at the Major, who was staring at the doors, waiting for them to open, and wondered what was passing through his mind. His communicator chirped, and he pulled it to his ear.
“Cooper here.”
“Orlova here, Corporal. Is the Major with you?”
“Give that to me, Corporal,” he said, taking it from him. “It’s me, Lieutenant. Don’t blame Nelyubov; I had an override to my quarters lock. I can’t do anything on Alamo now that you can’t, so I’m going to be useful. I will turn myself in when this situation is over, but right now I think they need another gunman over here.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty Page 20
