The Pride of the Damned (Cochrane's Company Book 3)

by Peter Grant

  HCS BELLADONNA

  The corvette was maintaining station beneath the mines deployed some weeks earlier by Rorqual, very close to Pagoménos. The tension in her OpCen was electric as they waited for the freighter’s next tight-beam signal. It came three hours after the first. The Navigator bent over his console, entering figures, then looked over at the Plot display. The three-dimensional image shimmered as a dotted yellow line extended out from the ice planet, on a bearing of two eight zero degrees, ending in an icon. “That’s them, sir,” he called, forgetting proper procedure in his excitement. “Range three hundred thousand kilometers. At their present rate of deceleration, they’re about eighteen hours from the planet. They should end up right where we want them.”

  Lieutenant-Commander Wallace grinned. “All right! Command to Weapons. Set up the mine pattern accordingly, range twenty thousand kilometers from the planet. Do not, I say again, do not arm the mines until I give the order. Break. Command to Communications. Send to all ships in company by tight-beam, ‘Enemy bears 280:005, range three hundred thousand. They will reach Pagoménos at approximately six hundred local time tomorrow. Setting mines around the line of bearing, twenty thousand kilometers out.’ Get that off right away, then stand by for orders from Captain Haldane.”

  “Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  “Communications to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  Very slowly, very quietly, a hundred small objects – powered mines and their control satellites – crept out from their position in Pagoménos’ radar shadow. They moved along the bearing of the approaching enemy with what seemed like almost glacial slowness to the tense, fretful watchers. By late afternoon, they were twenty thousand kilometers from the planet. They divided, arranging themselves into five columns stretching along and around the approximate line of bearing, each column about ten thousand kilometers from it. Control satellites spaced themselves evenly along each line.

  Belladonna moved directly beneath the mines, where she could reach their controllers by tight-beam without it being pointed at the enemy. The warship, with its active and passive stealth systems, and the small, stealthy satellites and mines, were effectively invisible, particularly because the approaching vessels were not using active sensors, radar or lidar, to avoid making emissions that might be detected. The ambushers could only be spotted visually at point-blank range; and anything getting that close to them was going to wish – briefly – that it hadn’t.

  The five frigates and the second corvette divided into two groups, each of three warships, to each side of and below the columns of mines. Porpoise, her replenishment and detection functions completed, slid behind Pagoménos, hiding in the ice planet’s shadow from the approaching enemy. Unarmed, defenseless, she could not help in the forthcoming fight.

  NEW SKYROS SPACE STATION

  The throng of spacers milled around at one side of the foyer to the space station’s docking bay. They called out greetings to about forty more spacers who disembarked from a personnel shuttle, hefting carryalls and other baggage as they joined their waiting comrades. A buzz of conversation rose.

  The ‘bosun’ waited, counting, until he was satisfied that the correct number of spacers had just joined them. Speaking loudly to be heard above the hubbub, he shouted, “Seniors to me!” and waved his hand. Fourteen of the spacers moved toward him as he stood against the rear bulkhead. All were Brotherhood officers, temporarily passing themselves off as merchant spacers. Their crews spread out around them, conducting animated conversations of their own, preventing anyone else getting close enough to overhear their leaders’ discussion.

  “All right,” he said in a low voice as they gathered round. “Our shuttles are down that arm of the docking bay. Airlock fourteen is for Gemini, fifteen for Leo, sixteen for Libra, seventeen for Scorpio, and eighteen for the depot ship, Qemel. Sort out your people and get them aboard. Be warned – the New Skyros people insist on their procedures being followed. Make sure everyone stows their baggage properly, then sits down and straps in securely. The shuttles won’t be leaving until they do.

  “Let’s run through this quickly one last time. Our mission channel is HF 928. Our anchor watch crews aboard the ships don’t know we’re coming. I’ve told local traffic control we’re swapping out the anchor watch. They won’t know how many people are aboard our shuttles. There should be no more than one or two guards on duty in the docking bays of our ships. Assemble inside peacefully, and remain there while your hit teams make for the OpCen. They’re to shoot any guards on the communications console, and shut it down. When you hear the disturbance, the rest of you can take down the guards in the docking bay, then spread out to secure the ship. There should be only a dozen guards on each one, so that won’t be too difficult.

  “We’re going to head out from the planet at twenty-two sharp, so make sure the ships’ drones, with their fake transponder beacons, are deployed by that time. As soon as we move, I’ll transmit the code words ‘Ismail Qemali’ to our comrades, to let them know we’re on our way. I’ll use tight-beam, of course, so that SysCon doesn’t hear me. Head out at minimum gravitic drive power, to control your emissions. If SysCon detects and challenge us, leave the talking to me. If I send the code word ‘Zodiac’, that means they’re after us. In that case, go to max speed and make your way independently to the rendezvous. Our comrades will be there from six tomorrow onwards. Any questions?”

  His audience shook their heads. Their expressions were tense, but eager.

  “All right, brothers. Remember, the Brotherhood needs these ships like we need air to breathe. Let us not fail our Patriarch or his vision! Board your shuttles and stand by for action.”

  They separated, looking for the spacers assigned to their vessels, forming them into groups in front of each of the five airlocks.

  In the Operations Center of New Skyros’ System Patrol Service, Commander Papadopoulos listened through a pair of headphones, and smiled. “Tell the directional microphone operator he did an excellent job.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Signal to Captain Kokinos aboard Velos. Mission channel is HF 928, departure at twenty-two, departure signal on tight-beam to Pagoménos are the code words ‘Ismail Qemali’. Speed-up signal is ‘Zodiac’. Rendezvous from six onwards.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  He turned to his aide. “What does that first code mean, anyway? It seems to be a name.”

  The lieutenant consulted the planetary web’s online encyclopedia. “Says here he was one of the leaders of Albanian independence before the Space Age began, sir.”

  “A logical choice for the Brotherhood, I suppose. Very well. Signal all shuttles to stand by.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  A signal was passed, a simple tone transmitted over a guard channel. On the control consoles of the five shuttles, rapidly filling up with spacers and their baggage, a light glowed. The five pilots took note, and prepared themselves.

  The mission commander settled into his seat aboard the shuttle, and tightened the four-point harness around his body. He looked around. All his people had taken their seats, and were securely strapped in.

  A space station crewman looked in through the airlock. “Pilot, there’s an official package to be delivered to Scorpio’s guard detachment. You have to sign for it.”

  “Oh, very well.” The pilot mock-sighed in pretended exasperation. “I’ll come.”

  He released his harness, rose from his seat at the console, and walked toward the airlock. “This won’t take long, Bosun,” he assured the senior passenger as he passed him. “It’s just routine.”

  “All right.”

  The commander forced himself to relax, sitting passively in his seat. They were so close now! He was sure his team were as tense as he was – in fact, he was amazed that local personnel hadn’t noticed.

  He looked up, startled, as the airlock door slid shut with a whoosh and a clunk! as its locking bolts engaged. “What the–?” he began to say.

&nbs
p; With a moaning, groaning rush, the atmosphere inside the shuttle suddenly vented to vacuum. He and his spacers tried to cry out in shock and fear, but there was no longer enough air to carry the sound. Their arms and legs thrashed aimlessly as they gasped in vain for oxygen to keep them alive. A few managed to release their harness in desperate attempts to reach the airlock, but none of them made it through the tangle of seats, bodies, and spasmodically flailing limbs.

  It took only a few minutes for stillness to descend on the ghastly scene. The bodies of the shuttle’s erstwhile passengers were slumped in their seats, or sprawled on the deck. They never knew that in the docking bays alongside theirs, their companions had all suffered the same fate.

  The intercom crackled. “Docking bay to Security. Operation Breathless executed, sir. There are no signs of life aboard any of the five shuttles.”

  Commander Papadopoulos smiled grimly. “Security to docking bay. Pass my congratulations to all concerned. Seal off that sub-corridor, restore atmosphere to the shuttles, then send in the cleaning crews.”

  “Docking bay to Security, aye aye, sir.”

  The Commander grimaced as he rose from his seat. The cleanup would take a long time. Removing the bodies and their baggage was only the first step. The interiors of the shuttles would have to be, not just cleaned, but sanitized, to remove all traces left behind by the mass executions. It would be a week or more before they could return to service, and the System Patrol Service would be on the hook for their hire for the whole of that time. Oh, well… with luck, they’d make so much in prize money out of this operation that such expenses would be a mere bagatelle by comparison. What’s more, they’d just saved a small fortune in unnecessary prison and trial costs.

  “Communications, signal Captain Kokinos aboard Velos. Operation Breathless successful.”

  “Communications to Security, aye aye, sir.”

  Papadopoulos left the OpCen with a jaunty step. His part of the evening’s proceedings was now complete, leaving him the pleasure of contemplating his share of the expected prize money… and, if the rest of the operation went as planned, his imminent promotion to Captain, and appointment to succeed Captain Kokinos as the next Commanding Officer of New Skyros’ System Patrol Service.

  NSS VELOS

  Aboard the patrol craft, Captain Kokinos considered. The first part of the operation was over. Now to set up the second, even more important part – the deception.

  He turned to the commanding officer of the patrol craft division. “Lieutenant-Commander Spiro, tight-beam signal to all five vessels in detention. Commence Operation Deception at twenty-two sharp. Patrol craft will stand fast until zero-two-hundred, when we’ll set out in mock pursuit. Radio silence for all concerned, except via tight-beam to us aboard Velos. We will send the signal informing the enemy that the first phase of their operation was a success.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Transmit code word ‘Sparta’ on the special tight-beam channel, and add the following: ‘Enemy mission channel HF 928. Departure signal is ‘Ismail Qemali’ at twenty-two local. We will send speed-up signal ‘Zodiac’ at two. Enemy rendezvous currently expected from six onwards.’ Encrypt the message, of course, using the special code I gave you.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  HCS JAGUARUNDI

  “Communications to Command, message from the planet, ma’am. Transferring to your console.”

  “Command to Communications, thank you.”

  Commander Stroud read the message as it appeared on her screen. By her side, Frank read it too. She glanced at him. “Looks like they’ve got everything in hand on their end, sir.”

  “Yes, it does. They must have taken prisoners, to get that information so quickly.”

  “Perhaps, sir, but from what the Commodore told us after his visit here, they probably won’t be prisoners for long. They’re due for something more permanent.”

  Frank grimaced. “Yes. So are the anchor watch crews. The SPS doesn’t want any inconvenient witnesses who might argue about its version of what happened. They’re pretty ruthless on New Skyros.”

  “So much for the rule of law, eh, sir?”

  “You know what they say, Sheena. He who writes the laws, makes the rules.”

  She laughed quietly. “I’ve heard a different version of that, sir, about the Golden Rule.”

  “Yes, so have I. It’s just about as true, too. All right.” He raised his voice. “Flotilla leader to Communications. Signal via Belladonna to all warships on tight-beam: ‘Planet has taken down Brotherhood personnel. Destroyers will start moving at twenty-two local. Enemy will be informed, and may speed up. Currently scheduled to reach rendezvous at six. Be on the alert. All ships go to General Quarters at midnight local until further notice.’ Confirm.”

  “Communications to flotilla leader, copied, sir.” The operator read back the signal word for word.

  “Good copy. Transmit.”

  24

  Takedown

  NEW SKYROS, BROTHERHOOD DESTROYER TAURUS

  “Communications to Command. Signal on mission channel: ‘Ismail Qemali’. Time of origin twenty-two local, sir.”

  A cheer ran around the OpCen as Commander Dauti replied, “Command to Communications, thank you.” He looked around at Captain Toci, his face exultant. “They did it, sir! Our forces have taken over the ships!”

  “Yes, and they’re on their way. Command to Navigator. Confirm our arrival time at the rendezvous.”

  “Navigator to Command, arrival time is still zero-six-hundred, sir.”

  “Hmmm… Commander, if they creep away from the planet at low power without being noticed, we’ll arrive several hours before they do. However, if they’re discovered and have to go to max power, they’ll reach the ice planet a couple of hours before we do. I think we should increase power slightly, to get there by zero-four-hundred. Your thoughts?”

  “I concur, sir. The increase in gravitic drive emissions will be so slight that it won’t be noticed at New Skyros.”

  “Very well. Make it so.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Navigator, recalculate our speed and power setting to reach rendezvous by zero-four-hundred.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Wait one, please… New power setting is six-point-two per cent, sir.”

  “Communications, transmit to ships in company on tight-beam: ‘Recalculate power settings to reach rendezvous at zero-four-hundred and implement. Maintain close formation.’ Helm, set power to six-point-two per cent, confirm when Engineering acknowledges.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the Communications operator acknowledged.

  The Helm operator added, “Setting power to six-point-two… Engineering has acknowledged, sir. Power setting adjusted.”

  The increase in power was very slight, but enough to begin accelerating the destroyer very gently toward her destination. It also slightly increased the emissions from her gravitic drive. At such low power, most sensors would only be able to detect them at ranges under a few hundred thousand kilometers. Since there were no ships’ emissions visible in the Plot for several hundred million kilometers in every direction, Captain Toci was supremely confident that his five vessels – Taurus, two heavily-armed fast freighters, and two smaller, unarmed freighters laden with supplies to replenish and refuel the destroyers and depot ship – remained undetected.

  HCS JAGUARUNDI

  “Plot to Command, contact, ma’am!” The operator’s voice was exultant. “Three – no, four… five gravitic drive emissions sources bearing 280:005. Waiting for cross-bearings to establish range.”

  “Command to Plot, well done!”

  “Communications to Command, signals from Caracal and Margay, ma’am. Both confirm detecting the same emissions.”

  “Command to Communications, thank you. Stand by for signals from Bobcat, Lynx and Mandrake with cross-bearings.”

  “Aye aye – here they are, ma’am! I’m plotting them… I make the enemy eight zero thousand kilometers from Pagoménos along the line of bearin
g, ma’am.”

  “They’re damn nearly on top of us!” Captain Haldane muttered beside her. “They must have been crawling along like snails, to get so close without us noticing their drive emissions. They’ve just speeded up slightly, if their emission strength has gone up like that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Commander Stroud agreed. “Command to Navigator. Keep an eye on the enemy’s speed as more cross-bearings come in. Advise if their arrival time at the rendezvous has moved up.”

  “Navigator to Command, aye aye, ma’am.”

  It took fifteen minutes to measure the enemy’s speed of advance. The Navigator reported, “Estimated time of arrival at rendezvous now zero-four-hundred, ma’am.”

  “Command to Navigator, thank you.”

  Frank sat forward in his chair. “All right, Sheena. Signal all ships to shut down their gravitic drives and particle shields immediately. Use reaction thrusters to maneuver if necessary. Work with your Navigator to pin down their exact line of advance. As soon as you’re sure of it, order Belladonna to adjust the mine columns to fit around that line as precisely as possible, and ten thousand clicks from it. She is to complete that by zero-two-hundred, then go weapons free on the mines. All ships are to go to complete radio silence, even on our tight-beam network, from zero-two-hundred.”

  HCS BELLADONNA

  “Weapons to Command. The mine formation is complete, sir.”

  “Command to Weapons, well done! We’re just inside Captain Haldane’s deadline.”

  Lieutenant-Commander Wallace stretched extravagantly in his command chair. With the enemy’s increased speed of advance, they could look forward to the fight starting in a little over two hours. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess. As he’d been reminded on numerous occasions during training, and had since learned the hard way through experience, old Helmuth von Moltke had been absolutely right when he opined, “No plan survives contact with the enemy”.