Finally, Anderson called him. “Everything is in order, sir,” he said. “I recommend having the starfighters docked to our hull when we make the jump. And that we fire missiles and mass drivers at the aliens to keep them occupied.”
Ted nodded. “Do it,” he ordered Farley. Ahead of them, Tramline Five blinked on the display. “Launch the drones as soon as we reach the outer edge of the tramline.”
The alien starfighters pulled back as the missiles were launched, leaving the carrier alone as they engaged the missiles. Oddly, they didn't seem to care about the mass driver-launched projectiles, although they might simply have calculated that there was little chance of the projectiles hitting anything important. Ted gripped the side of his command chair as the drones went to work, skilfully creating a false image that should confuse the aliens long enough for them to jump ...
“Jumping ... now,” Lightbridge said.
Space seemed to twist around the massive carrier as she jumped through the tramline. Behind them, the drones created the illusion of the carrier’s sudden destruction, caught in a gravimetric fold that smashed her and her comrades into rubble. The aliens would want to believe it, Ted knew. But would they?
“Jump completed,” Lightbridge said. “No enemy contacts detected.”
“Activate full stealth protocol,” Ted ordered. The advantage of hitting the tramline at speed was that there was no way to predict their vector on the other side. Even their arrival point could be dangerously random. “I don't want a single hint of betraying emissions to reach their sensors.”
And then pray, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. If the aliens caught them with drives, weapons and sensors stepped down, they were dead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kurt guided his starfighter into the landing bay then sagged, barely able to move. He was utterly exhausted. Part of him just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, even though he knew he had to move. The aliens could be on them at any moment. Somehow, he managed to open the hatch and stumble out onto the deck. None of his fellow pilots, even the younger ones, looked much better.
“All hands,” the intercom blared, “rig for silent running. I say again, rig for silent running.”
“Crap,” Kurt muttered. They were all exhausted – and yet, at least one squadron would have to remain on alert. He looked up, then keyed his communicator. “Move the bomber pilots to the spare fighters and prime them for immediate launch.”
Shouldn't be trying to combine CAG duties with flying duties, he mocked himself, as he led the way through the airlock and into the ready room. He knew he was right; the CAG should remain separate from his squadrons, not leading them into battle. But there just weren’t enough pilots onboard for him to refuse to fly a starfighter. And he didn't want to stand on his rights and refuse to fly. There was a reason CAGs weren't always taken seriously unless they flew every so often.
His fingers refused to cooperate properly as he wrestled with his flight suit. It took several minutes to remove it and leave it on the deck as he stumbled into the shower and gasped as icy cold water washed over his body. Behind him, the other pilots stumbled in, too tired to indulge in the laughing and joking they would normally have used to break the tension. He caught a glimpse of a female pilot’s breasts, then forced himself to look away, damning himself for staring. It was a breakdown in discipline his squadron could ill afford.
Somehow, he managed to make it out of the shower and over to the sleep machines. Using them was never pleasant – they would need to catch up on natural sleep sooner rather than later – but there was no choice. A natural sleep couldn't be broken so easily, even if it did mean less wear and tear on their mood. Issuing a quick flurry of orders, he climbed into one of the machines and pulled the hatch down over his head. Moments later, he was asleep.
***
Someone – the file refused to say who – had named the red star Barong. Ted puzzled over it for a long moment, then decided it didn’t matter. Barong had nothing to interest anyone, apart from a pair of tramlines that led to New Russia and Vera Cruz. Even the handful of asteroids and comets weren't particularly interesting. There was barely enough of them to sustain a very tiny settlement.
“No sign of pursuit,” Farley reported. “I ...”
He broke off as red icons appeared on the display. “Contact,” he snapped. The mood on the bridge sank rapidly. “Four frigate-sized craft, Captain.”
Ted swore. He'd known better than to think they’d fool the aliens for long, but he had hoped ... and now those hopes had been shattered. But the aliens had come through the tramline at some distance from them, enough – he prayed desperately – for them to overlook the carrier when they started searching in earnest. If they did start searching in earnest ...
“Keep a sharp eye on them,” he ordered. It was possible that the aliens would merely maintain a watch for several hours, then pull back. Or that they would go doggo themselves and wait for the carrier to reveal herself. “Alert me if they start probing space near us.”
He silently ran through the vectors in his mind. Ark Royal might have been unpowered, but she was still moving away from the tramline at a considerable speed. Given enough time, they might make it far enough from the alien craft to be able to manoeuvre without being detected, although it would take days. He shook his head. Days of rest, recuperation and repair work sounded very good right now.
“Understood, sir,” Farley said. He sounded tired, utterly exhausted. “So far, they’re just holding position.”
Ted scowled, trying to put himself in his enemy’s shoes. What would he think, if he thought he’d seen the carrier he was chasing accidentally destroy herself? Would he suspect a trap or would he gloat over his victory and return to preparing the invasion of human space? Ted knew, naturally, that it was a trick. It was hard to imagine what the enemy would do when he knew that ... and that the enemy was thoroughly alien. Who knew what would seem to make sense to them?
“Then we will do nothing,” he said. He shrugged. There was no shortage of repair work that had to be done. The point defence network had to be repaired, the mass drivers had to be reloaded ... he smiled, thinking of the asteroids drifting in orbit around the dull red star. A few days of intensive mining and processing and they’d have more than enough projectiles to rebuild their stockpiles. “Contact the other ships. I want a complete breakdown of their status.”
He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “And then switch out the Alpha shift completely,” he added. “Tell everyone that I want them to get at least a few hours of rest.”
His earpiece buzzed, two minutes later. “Captain,” Fitzwilliam said. “Might I advise you to get some rest too?”
Ted shook his head, then remembered that his XO couldn't see him. “No,” he said. Rest sounded a very good idea right now, but he knew his duty. “I have to stay on the bridge.”
“Captain,” Fitzwilliam said, “you’ve been in command for the last twenty hours. You need some rest. As your XO, I must insist on it.”
“You must insist,” Ted repeated. It was true; one of the duties of the XO was to point out when the Captain was overworking himself. The duty was laid down in naval regulations, but it made for some awkward conversations. Ted had never heard of any other XO actually carrying out the duty. But then, it wasn't the sort of thing that would be recorded in starship logbooks. “And yourself?”
“I snatched a nap before we launched the attack,” Fitzwilliam reminded him. “I’ll take the next few hours on the bridge, then you can relieve me.”
Ted sighed and gave up. “Very well,” he said. “You take the bridge. I’ll be in my office.”
He looked back at the display as the channel closed. The alien ships were still holding position, watching and waiting. If they started to search ... but they weren’t moving. Every moment they delayed, he knew, Ark Royal’s chances of escape grew much stronger. But realistically ... all they would have to do was blockade the two tramlines and prevent the carri
er from leaving the system. If, of course, they thought the carrier was still intact.
The hatch opened, revealing Fitzwilliam. Ted took a moment of petty pleasure in noting that the XO looked tired and exhausted himself, then rose to his feet and surrendered the bridge to his subordinate. The XO eyed him for a long moment, clearly concerned, then nodded towards the office hatch. Tiredly, Ted left the bridge and stepped into his office, then noticed that his terminal was blinking. The list of dead officers and men – mainly starfighter pilots – was waiting for him.
Ted glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. He knew he should feel something – anything – for the dead, but he was too tired to let their loss affect him. Instead, he sat down on the sofa, then lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep overwhelmed him seconds later.
***
“It’ll take us at least four days to close all the blind spots,” Anderson said. “The bastards did a damn good job of peeling away our defences.”
James sighed, rubbing his forehead. His head hurt, but he didn't dare take anything for it, not even a simple painkiller. The last thing he needed was to have his judgement impaired any further. Even as it was, he was deeply worried about accidentally doing something that would alert the aliens to their position. The carrier was in no state to fight off a renewed offensive.
The Chief Engineer was right, he knew. Ark Royal had lost enough of her point defence to make her hellishly vulnerable, although none of the internal systems and power conduits had actually been destroyed. Given time, the damage could be repaired, while the destroyed weapons could be replaced from the stockpiles they’d taken onboard before they’d departed from Earth. But would they have the time?
“Start work as soon as possible, but remember we have to remain undetected,” he ordered. Ideally, he would have preferred to wait a week, long enough to place quite some distance between themselves and the alien craft even without the main drives. But if the aliens caught them now, they wouldn't have a hope of fighting back long enough to reach the other tramline. “I don't want a single betraying emission.”
Anderson gave him an offended look. “My crew are not amateurs,” he said, crossly. “They know what they’re doing.”
James opened his mouth to deliver a stinging rebuke, then realised that the engineer was as exhausted as everyone else. “Get some sleep first,” he said, instead. “Your second can handle the work.”
“I don’t trust anyone to work on the Old Lady without supervision,” Anderson said, flatly. “With your permission ...?”
“Keep me informed,” James said. Four days of work, all of which had to be undertaken without emitting a single betraying pulse of energy that would bring the aliens down on them like a hammer. It wasn’t going to be easy. “And don’t hesitate to conscript others if you need more hands.”
He sighed, remembering one of the stories passed down from his illustrious ancestors. One particular Fitzwilliam had shocked his aristocratic relatives by taking command of a submarine, rather than an aircraft carrier or a battleship, during the war against Adolf Hitler and the Nazis. That Fitzwilliam had once spent several days being hunted by German ships after a mission into the Baltic Sea had gone badly wrong. James hadn't understood how his ancestor had felt, not until now. Detection would mean almost certain death.
His console chimed. “Commander,” Midshipwomen Lopez said, “the reporters would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”
James bit down the response that came to mind. “Tell them that I will speak with them as soon as it is convenient,” he said. “And until then, they should go back to their cabins and get some sleep. It will not be convenient for at least a day.”
And longer, if I can swing it, he thought, inwardly. As XO, it was his duty to supervise the repair work, check the revised duty rosters and generally take as much of the burden of day-to-day administration as possible upon himself. If he was lucky, that should take more than just one day ... and it was all urgent. Some of it, he knew, could be reasonably put aside until they returned to friendly space, but the rest was quite important. The reporters might have to wait several days for an interview.
He wondered, absently, what they’d thought of the battle. Despite the battering the carrier’s weapons and sensors had taken, there hadn't been much actual evidence of combat apart from the view on the display. If even hardened naval officers could become detached from the realities of space combat, what might happen to reporters who didn't really comprehend what they were seeing. No doubt their reports, when they were finally filed, would consist of nothing more than poorly-written nonsense. They’d probably been disappointed when their consoles had failed to explode.
The hours ticked past, one by one. James watched the aliens warily, but they refused to move or do anything other than just wait by the tramline. Were they more patient than humans, as a general rule, or simply too unimaginative to do anything other than follow orders? But wouldn't that mean that their superiors had imaginations? The Royal Navy taught its officers to use their best judgement, taking the initiative wherever possible, yet other space navies had different ideas. James had watched a Russian exercise from a distance and he'd been struck by how little freedom the Russian junior officers had, compared to their British counterparts.
Puzzling over it, he brought up the recordings of the battle and went through them, piece by piece. The analysts were already working on the records, but he wanted to see the raw data. It was clear, he decided, that the aliens were preparing their next operation, although there was no way to deduce the target. But Ark Royal had shocked them badly. They’d be wiser to reconsider whatever attack plan they’d had in mind.
But what did they have in mind?
Human tactical doctrine called for pushing the attack as hard as possible, right into the teeth of enemy fortifications. If the human race lost its industrial base, defeat was certain, all the more so as no one had any idea where the aliens were located. A deep-strike mission couldn't be mounted without a target, unless they were prepared to spend months – if not years – exploring stars almost at random. But the aliens ... they’d hit a handful of small colonies, then New Russia, then they’d launched a probing attack that had been smacked back ...
He shook his head. Had Ark Royal shocked them so badly that they'd call a halt, long enough to reconsider their tactics?
Pushing the thought out of his mind, he called Midshipwomen Lopez. “Make sure the Captain gets something to eat,” he ordered. The entire crew needed food as well as rest; he’d already had food distributed to crews at their stations, even though it was technically against regulations. But then, the bureaucrats had never imagined having to fight for more than a few brief hours. Hell, they probably hadn't imagined ever having to fight at all. “And then get some sleep yourself.”
“Aye, sir,” the young woman said.
Two hours later, when the Captain returned to the bridge, he looked refreshed. James allowed himself a moment of relief, then gratefully headed back to his cabin. He needed sleep too – and some time to think. One conclusion was inescapable. They had exchanged one trap for another.
And, unless the aliens got very careless, there was little hope of escape.
***
Kurt felt thick-headed as he opened his eyes and glanced up at the timer. Six hours. Six hours of sleep in a sleep machine. He could have scored six hours of natural sleep and woken up feeling better, if still rather shattered by the experience. Annoyed, he opened the hatch and sat upright, silently grateful that he hadn't bothered to dress before climbing into the sleep machine. He’d have to put himself on report later, he knew, but it made it easier to climb back into the shower. A quick check revealed that the aliens hadn't come anywhere near them while he’d been resting in enforced sleep.
Shaking his head, he finished washing himself, pulled on a robe and made his way down to his office. The list of slain pilots was waiting for him, demanding immediate attention. As CAG, it was his duty to write a brief
note to their next-of-kin, telling them how and why their relatives had died. But it was a duty he couldn't bring himself to handle, not now. Instead, he called up the pilot rosters and rapidly reworked the squadrons. The bomber pilots would have to be permanently assigned to fighters, he decided. There was no reason to keep them in reserve if their normal craft couldn't be deployed against the aliens.
He looked up as the hatch opened, revealing Rose. She managed to look disgustingly alert, he noticed, as she stepped through the hatch and sat down on the spare chair. The dressing gown clung to her body in a number of enticing places ... embarrassed, he looked away. He was almost old enough to be her father.
“They’re still out there,” she said, quietly. “They could find us at any moment.”
Kurt nodded. He would have preferred to be flying against the enemy or even running away, not drifting through space praying that the aliens wouldn't notice them. But he knew there was no real alternative. If the aliens realised where they were, they would bring overwhelming force to bear against Ark Royal. The carrier would fight hard, but she would be eventually overwhelmed.
Ark Royal Page 24
