The alert sounded before he could say anything else. “To your fighters,” he snapped, thankful to be away from the embarrassing discussion. The enemy had to have finally returned to the system, loaded for bear. “Hurry!”
Rose grinned at him as she ran out of the room. Kurt flushed, then followed her until they reached the fork in the corridor that led to the launch tubes. Nodding at her retreating back, he ran down his own corridor and scrambled into his starfighter. Moments later, he was ready to launch.
***
“Twelve enemy capital ships just jumped into the system through Tramline Four,” Farley reported. “Janus sent us a full download before she was overwhelmed. Two carriers, one battlecruiser and nine frigates. Approaching on intercept vector.”
Ted hesitated, then made up his mind. “Set course for Tramline Two,” he ordered, coldly. “Maximum acceleration.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I think we waited too long, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.
Ted nodded, wordlessly. Both of the detached frigates had been destroyed, one of them at the other end of Tramline Four. But the drones were still intact and reporting back to Ark Royal. The alien ships were driving right towards them, not even bothering to leave a picket on the tramline. They were definitely out for blood.
“There must be something important on the other end of that tramline,” Farley suggested. “If they managed to scramble a defensive force so quickly ...”
“Immaterial at the moment,” Ted said. If – when – they made it home, they could muster a large force to attack the alien system. “Run me the attack vectors, please.”
He watched, grimly, as the display filled with projected courses and attack vectors. The alien craft definitely had a faster rate of acceleration than anything human, which meant they would overrun the flotilla halfway to Tramline Two. Ted briefly considered trying to slip back into silent running, but there were too many alien craft to make it a viable tactic. At best, they would remain undiscovered for a few hours ... and at worst, the aliens would manage to get close to their hull before being detected themselves.
“Recall all starfighters,” Ted ordered. It would be several hours before the alien craft entered engagement range. Until then, there was no point in running his pilots ragged. “And then concentrate on getting us towards Tramline Two.”
“Aye, sir,” Lightbridge said.
He didn't ask the question Ted saw on his face. What would they do if Tramline Two proved to have no link to human territory? The tramlines should lead back in the direction of human space, but what if their projections were wrong? Ted knew the answer, even if he was reluctant to say it out loud. They would have to keep going and hope they found a way to escape. If, of course, they even made it to Tramline Two.
The drones were sending back clear visuals of the alien starships now. Ted found himself grimacing as he mentally calculated the number of starfighters the alien carriers could launch, then studying the power curves of the alien battlecruiser. Despite its size, it was faster than any human frigate ... and presumably armed to the teeth. Humanity hadn’t bothered to build large military starships, apart from carriers, but the alien point defence gave them the ability to make the ships workable. He wondered, absently, just how badly the aliens had scaled up their plasma cannons before mounting them on the battlecruiser.
He smiled, remembering the handful of alien weapons that had been scooped up by the Marines as they retreated from Alien-One. Perhaps the engineering crew would be able to deduce their operating principles, which would allow the alien weapons to be duplicated. Or perhaps they would expose a weakness which made the aliens vulnerable ... if EMP could be used to disrupt ship-mounted weapons, what could it do to handheld pistols and rifles?
Humanity had experimented with EMP weapons – and EMP protections – for over two centuries. The weapons had been quite successful in tests, but so had the protections worked into military technology. Ark Royal’s sensor network wouldn't be badly dented if an EMP warhead went off too close to the hull, let alone her weapons and drives. But the aliens ...
They mount their plasma weapons on their hulls, he thought. They cannot protect them without rendering the weapons completely useless.
Shaking his head, he settled back to watch as the alien ships drew closer.
“I’m picking up a stream of signals from the planet,” Annie reported. The communications officer looked surprised. “They’re beamed towards the alien ships, but our drones are picking them up.”
“Probably reporting in,” Fitzwilliam said. “And telling them that we took prisoners.”
Ted tended to agree ... which raised the question of precisely what the alien ships would do, now they knew that Ark Royal carried nine aliens as well as the liberated POWs. Would they give chase anyway ... or would they pull back, refusing to kill their own kind? Ted had studied such moral dilemmas at the Academy and had been left with the feeling that they depended on circumstances. Would it be wise to fire on a starship carrying prisoners if that starship was also carrying information that could not be allowed to reach enemy territory?
He leaned forward. “Can you decipher it?”
“No, sir, not with the technology we have,” Annie said. “My computers are still analysing the signal, but we don't have an understanding of the alien language, let alone whatever encryption programs they might be using.”
Ted sighed. Once, years ago, he'd taken part in an exercise where one side had been forced to send messages in the clear. Most such exercises had the leaders devising codes to pass messages without being understood by anyone who might want to listen in, but this particular leader had taken advantage of having a handful of Gaelic speakers in his company by using them as code-talkers. His opponents had claimed he was cheating, afterwards, yet the umpires had ruled in his favour. If someone wasn't making the best use of his personnel, they’d pointed out, he was failing.
But it was unlikely that combat decryption would ever be a viable tactic in its own right, he knew, even without adding the complexities of an alien language and alien encryption programs. It just took too long to decrypt even a short message, by which time the window of opportunity for using the message might have already closed ...
“The alien ships sent a short reply,” Annie said. “Nothing else.”
Somehow, Ted wasn't surprised when the aliens just kept coming.
***
“Enemy carriers are launching starfighters,” Farley reported, four hours later. “Alien frigates are spreading out, but otherwise keeping their distance.”
At least we taught them respect, Ted thought. It was still another hour to Tramline Two, he calculated, by which time the aliens might well have overwhelmed them completely. If nothing else, he privately resolved, the aliens were going to know they’d been kissed. Hell, trading two of their modern carriers for Ark Royal would cost them dearly.
“Launch starfighters,” he ordered. “And then prepare to engage with mass drivers and unpowered missiles.”
The aliens would know their tricks by now, he knew. But they’d still have to be careful. One hit from a mass driver would shatter their carriers .., maybe even their battlecruiser. It might just allow him time to get his ship to the tramline ...
“First enemy attack force inbound,” Farley added. “Targets; our frigates.”
Ted nodded, unsurprised. Strip the carrier of her escorts first, then close in and wipe her weapons and sensors off her hull. It made sense, he knew, which didn't make it any less irritating. The alien weapons, combined with their speed and agility, would ensure that that the following hour was going to be very unpleasant. He wished, suddenly, that he’d spent more time talking with the other commanders, rather than just issuing orders through his subordinates. But he had never commanded a multinational force before ...
Hell, he thought. There has never been a multinational space force until the aliens arrived.
“Keep one squadron of starfighters to cover our hull, then direc
t the remaining craft to cover the frigates,” he ordered. “And then target the mass drivers on the alien carriers and open fire.”
On the display, the cloud of alien starfighters split up into several smaller formations as they entered engagement range, screeching down on the human frigates like a pack of wolves on helpless sheep. Ted noted, absently, that they were clearly taking precautions against nukes or EMP-weapons, although there were limits to how much space the alien pilots could put between themselves and their fellows. The frigates opened fire, picking off a handful of alien fighters as they closed in, then shuddered under the weight of alien plasma fire.
Ted silently thanked God for the armoured warships. Old they might be, primitive and slow they might be, but they were tough enough to stand up to the aliens. But damage was mounting rapidly on their hulls as their weapons and sensors were stripped away. One frigate stumbled out of formation as her drive failed, another vanished in a ball of fire when a lucky alien shot slipped through a gash in the hull and triggered an explosion. Ted noted lifepods launching from the stricken ship, knowing that they were futile. Unless the aliens saw fit to recover the human survivors, they were going to die in the vastness of interstellar space.
Poor bastards, he thought. He could launch shuttles to recover them – and there would definitely be volunteers to mount SAR missions – but the aliens would simply fire on the shuttles, assuming them to be warships. There were protocols among human powers for recovering stranded personnel, yet the aliens had probably never even heard of them. Besides, why would they allow humanity to recover personnel who could be turned around and sent right back to the war?
“Franco is taking heavy damage,” Farley reported. “Her drives are being targeted specifically.”
Ted winced as he peered down at the display. The alien starfighters had converged to the rear of the frigate and were pouring fire into her, shattering her armour piece by piece. There was no escape, he saw; even as his starfighters raced desperately towards the frigate the aliens finally succeeded. A series of explosions blew the frigate into a ball of radioactive plasma. Her tormentors slipped away and vanished into the distance, then turned and zoomed back towards another frigate. The human starfighters moved to block them.
“Beta Squadron needs to reload,” Fitzwilliam said. “Alpha Squadron is running dry too.”
“Call them back,” Ted ordered.
Gritting his teeth, he mentally cursed the aliens for having such effective weapons – and for not needing to reload in the middle of an engagement. If Ark Royal had been a modern carrier, recalling her fighters to reload would have been disastrous. Even with her heavy armour and heavier weapons, it still wasn't particularly safe for Ark Royal to have a quarter of her remaining starfighters out of the battle. But there was no alternative ...
“Hit,” Farley exulted, suddenly. “We got one of the bastards!”
Ted felt a desperate flash of hope as he saw one of the alien carriers staggering out of formation, having taken a bomb-pumped laser to her main hull. He found himself torn in two as the aliens struggled to save their ship, torn between praying for them to succeed and praying for them to fail. There was a brotherhood between human spacers, no matter what interstellar power they served, but did that brotherhood include the aliens? For all he knew, they didn't even have the concept of brotherhood. But he couldn't help feeling torn in two ...
The display blinked, then replaced the icon representing the alien carrier with an expanding sphere marking a cloud of debris. “Target destroyed,” Farley reported. “I say again, target destroyed.”
“Good,” Ted said. The aliens had to feel the loss of a carrier ... although God knew they’d killed almost ten alien carriers since they’d gone to war. But would it be enough to force them to take a step backwards and let Ark Royal escape? “Target the other carrier and continue firing.”
On the display, the alien craft converged, then flashed back towards Ark Royal with murderous intent.
***
Kurt was finding it hard to keep track of everything that was going on in the combat zone, despite his best efforts. His carefully-planned formations had fallen apart as soon as the battle had begun, forcing pilots to fly with whatever wingmen they could find. The aliens seemed to have definitely learnt from experience, filling space with thousands upon thousands of plasma bolts that threatened to wipe the human starfighters from existence. At least one of his pilots, he’d noted savagely, had died because he’d flown right into the path of one of the plasma bolts, his craft exploding before he'd even recognised his mistake.
He took a shot at an alien fighter, then gave chase ... but the alien pilot rapidly outpaced him, then flipped around and came darting back. Kurt braced himself, allowed the computers to take the shot as soon as it became possible, then yanked his starfighter to one side. Warning lights blinked up as plasma blasts flashed past his position, but none of them managed to score a hit. The alien pilot wasn't so lucky. A direct hit smashed his starfighter to atoms.
“Good shot, boss,” Gladys called. “A little help over here, perhaps?”
Kurt nodded, barking orders as he flipped his starfighter around and moved to her assistance. The aliens were taking ruthless advantage of their numerical superiority, ganging up on the human pilots and forcing them to scatter. Kurt drove at one alien craft and had the satisfaction of seeing its pilot jumping out of the way, then broke through to cover Gladys as she turned to make the run back to the carrier.
Clever bastards, he thought, sourly. The aliens knew the human pilots needed to reload, so they were trying to make it impossible for them to return to the carrier. He ordered Beta Squadron to cover the incoming fighters, but he was rapidly running out of pilots with loaded weapons. The entire wing was running low on ammunition.
“Alpha and Gamma, prepare to return,” he ordered. Both squadrons were low, but most of the pilots still had some ammunition left. “Let them come close before you open fire.”
He felt a moment of unwilling admiration for the alien pilots as they streaked to block their path back to the human carrier. They’d already picked off the point defence weapons covering the landing deck, allowing themselves to lurk there and pick off human starfighters trying to land. It was clever, he admitted, although they weren't trying to fire into the carrier. The armour would prevent a series of explosions that would destroy the ship, but they could easily render the landing bay effectively useless. Or were they more interested in picking off the starfighters?
Kindred, he thought. Successful starfighter pilots were neither the wild untamed dogs the movies made them out to be or slavishly obedient servants of the military. It was strange to realise that they might have something in common with the alien pilots ...
“Fire,” he ordered.
Caught by surprise, five alien starfighters were picked off before they even realised that their intended prey was far from toothless. The remainder scattered, just long enough to allow the human pilots to land and rush through the reloading cycle. Kurt slumped in his seat as the ground crew went to work, feeling utterly exhausted. They were in deep trouble and it was far from over. He’d have to go back out within moments ...
He looked over at Rose’s starfighter, then cursed himself angrily. Whatever else happened, he wanted her to survive ... and that was the kind of emotion he could not allow.
Moments later, the starfighter lurched as it was shoved back into the battle.
***
“The starfighters are down to three squadrons worth of starfighters,” Farley said, quietly.
Ted nodded. Only three frigates remained intact and largely undamaged, allowing the aliens to concentrate their efforts on Ark Royal herself. The repairs they’d carried out had made it harder for the alien pilots to get into range, but not impossible. Ted had deduced that the aliens had no tradition of actually repairing their ships outside a shipyard, as the alien pilots seemed to have assumed that weapons damaged or destroyed at New Russia hadn't been replaced. And
they were still thirty minutes from Tramline Two.
“Understood,” he said. They needed time to recuperate, then reorganise their squadrons. The CAG had done an excellent job, but the pilots needed more guidance than could be provided in the middle of a battle. “And our mass drivers?”
“Down to one-third projectiles,” Farley said. “We haven’t scored a single hit.”
“I know,” Ted said. “But keep firing.”
He scowled. The aliens were aware of the danger now and were taking precautions, even if it meant withholding some of their starfighters from the swarms tearing the human fleet apart. They'd come close to scoring a hit on the other carrier, but there was no such thing as proximity damage where mass drivers and inert projectiles were concerned. They either scored a hit or they didn't. There was no middle ground. But, he told himself, if they kept spitting projectiles towards the carrier, the aliens would be forced to keep some of their starfighters back to cover their ship ...
The only consolation, he told himself, is that we wiped out six of their frigates with nukes.
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