"Working on it, working on it," Ryder said, engrossed in her station.
Dixon's fighter began to curve onto a long arc; despite the frustration the pilot was no doubt experiencing, she'd played her part on the battle. All she had to do was keep that laser fixed. For a fleeting second, Caine thought she might be trying to ram the enemy, but she just didn't have the delta-V to pull it off, not that quickly. The Mullane bore down on the enemy, preceded by its missiles; it might only be a fleet tender, but it still had a bit of a punch.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Yorkina said, "One hundred eighty impacts, thirty-one seconds." Ignatov was sitting with his hands folded at the flight engineering station. After that many impacts, there would be no repairs for him to coordinate.
"What about the shuttle?"
"Closing on the enemy vessel. They're accelerating at quite a rate, Lieutenant. Rendezvous in nine and a half minutes."
"Third salvo, away!" Alamo rocked again, but there was no way that these missiles could do anything other than provide a measure of revenge. By the time they hit the enemy, Alamo would quite simply have ceased to exist. All their hopes lay in the five missiles converging on the enemy sphere from two sides, merged together into a single formation.
Two more crimson flashes burst out, and two missiles – one from Alamo, one from Mullane, vanished from the sensor tracks, wiped out with a single shot. At least the enemy had weaknesses, even if they did have a superior technology. The seconds to impact trickled down, one after another.
"It's been an honor," Caine said.
"Salvo impact!" Ryder said.
"Missiles going dormant! Incoming missiles falling off the track!" Yorkina shouted.
"Quinn...," Caine said, as the engineer began to frantically tap at the helm controls. The red indicators warning of a projected missile strike began to wink to green in huge swathes as Alamo darted away from the heart of the sphere. It seemed the missiles still had some ability to maneuver, but not enough to make the difference. The last indicator winked green with less than a second to go, and a huge explosion ripped through space as the enemy missiles self-destructed.
Smiling, Ryder said, "Laser charged for another shot. Third salvo impact in thirty seconds. Mullane reports they have a salvo ready to go."
"Keep our missiles on the way, but hold off on any more firing. Ortega, hail them again. Maybe they'll be in a better mood to surrender now."
Another explosion tore on the screen, this time from the spherical spacecraft. Warning lights flicked onto the sensor station warning of a radiological event in close proximity, but not close enough to do any damage to Alamo even in its current condition. The image resolved into a tumbling pile of twisted wreckage, too small to be of any possible benefit.
"The shuttle's gone too," Yorkina reported, dazed.
Shaking her head, Caine said, "Destroyed rather than surrender. What the hell do they have to hide." She sighed. "Mr. Quinn, shape a course back to the spaceport. I suppose we can continue our repairs in peace now. Ortega, give Mullane a course to follow us in. They can start repairing the damage we did. Then – contact the surface, and tell them that the victory party can begin."
With a brief smile, Quinn turned to his station and began to input the course, and slowly Alamo curved away from the site of the battle. Caine sat back in her chair, resting her hands on its armrests, looking forward. The rest of the crew were still taking stock of their survival, everyone too shocked to celebrate. That would come later. For now, it was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The provisional company of Alamo's espatiers was having a glorious final day as it marched down the main street of Yreka, plasma rifles gleaming in the sun. Marshall had managed to 'arrange' a nice day with a spot of cloud seeding from a pair of shuttle passes the night before, and he was making the most of it, standing with his officers on an improvised platform on the opposite side from the town hall. The citizens had made a major effort to clear up for the occasion; you could hardly tell that there had been a battle here only four weeks ago. Standing to his left, Rogers looked uncomfortable in his dress uniform – some things never changed.
Though he was enjoying the display, Marshall was a tad weary; this was his third ceremony in as many days as he handed over control of the other fortifications to the Provisional War Council, flags that were still the prospect of angry debate being raised over the ruined ramparts as his troopers withdrew.
He looked again at his men marching proudly; he knew that most of them were anxious to get back to their usual duties on Alamo, but at least they seemed to be enjoying this part of their job. Acting Sergeant Forrest turned and saluted him, the men following copying his example; standing to attention, Marshall returned the salute.
Another ceremony had been unpleasant the day before, laying half a dozen of his men to rest. All but two of the casualties had left requests to be buried in space; Marshall had opted to interpret that as the establishment of a memorial graveyard on Jefferson. The War Council hadn't liked the idea, but he felt that it might be good for them to remember occasionally who had paid some of the price for their freedom. For as long as it lasted.
The troopers paused, turned to face Marshall, and stood to attention. He looked over at Esposito, still wearing her Lieutenant's stripes, and nodded; she stepped forward with three precise strides.
"Alamo Provisional Company, dismissed!"
As one, they saluted, and fell out, heading in different directions, mostly back to the spaceport. Alamo was scheduled to break orbit in a few hours, finally patched together sufficiently to make the journey back to Ragnarok for better repairs – with the Mullane alongside to provide any patchwork as necessary. Both engineering complements had been working around the clock to get Alamo back into shape; foremost on Marshall's mind was the possibility of another attack.
Sanderson walked across the street, looking at the dispersing espatiers, comparing them with the militiamen that had managed to attend the ceremony, and climbed up to the Triplanetary platform, easing his way past the senior officers.
"Captain, the War Council is ready to see you now."
"Thank you, Mr. Sanderson. I'll be along in a minute."
With a nod, the politician turned and made his way back towards the Town Hall. Marshall turned to see the three midshipmen, now returned to their previous insignia, clustered at the back of the podium. Zabek was excitedly recounting her role in the battle for the compound for about the hundredth time; at least it was nice to see that she had broken out of her shell. Marshall waved at her, gesturing her over. She looked, smiled, and made her way to him.
"Sir?"
Frowning, Marshall replied, "Sub-Lieutenant Orlova has informed me of your request to remain on Alamo."
"Yes, sir."
"You really have that little faith that you will pass the Commissioning Board?"
Sighing, she replied, "I'm sorry, sir."
He nodded, "I've looked over your work records and logs, and I'm afraid to say you are probably right. Based on that, well, frankly I can't see the point of you having a second tour as a midshipman on Alamo."
Her mouth opened, and she looked down at the ground, "I'm sorry to have let you down, sir."
Marshall placed his hand on her shoulder, and with his other hand pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket, pressing it into her hand. She frowned as she opened it; inside was a freshly-fabricated set of Ensign's insignia. She looked up at him, eyes opening.
"I'm giving you a battlefield commission as an Ensign in the Espatier Corps. From everything I've heard and seen, you're probably right in that you don't have what it takes to be a fleet officer – but you seem to be more than up to the task of being an espatier officer. It's a different skill set, and you seem to have what it takes." He smiled again. "With seniority backdated to your original assignment to the Provisional Company."
"Sir, I don't know what to say."
"Thank you is traditional."
She nodded, rubbing
the pin with her hand, "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
"I know that much." He smiled again, "You realize that this will almost certainly mean that you are the first member of your graduating class to be commissioned."
Zabek's mouth opened again, "I hadn't thought of that."
"Don't rub it in too many faces. I suspect you'll have to take a couple of courses when we get back, then you'll be assigned to a new posting. Probably not Alamo – I don't think Esposito will be moving on soon." He smiled again, "But if she does choose to move on, you'll always be welcome on any ship under my command."
"Thank you, sir. That means a lot." She turned, then faced him again, gave one of the sharpest salutes she had ever seen, and walked over to Steele and Varlamov, a grin on her face a mile wide. Orlova shook her head as she walked over to Marshall.
"Was I ever that bad?"
The smile still on his face, Marshall replied, "It's the Academy training. I think they take courses in 'eager'. Well, I've had my little fun, now I need to go over and have my last words with the War Council. You can run along and help your father pack."
"Thanks for taking my mother-in-law back with us as well, sir."
"Think nothing of it; we've got the room, and I don't know how long it will be before he can come back." He paused, "And you can consider yourself on leave for the rest of the trip home. Now that we're finishing up here you can finally have a chance to spend some time with him."
"I'll take you up on that, Captain."
Nodding, Marshall replied, "Dismissed." He watched her run down the podium, then took a deep breath and walked across the street towards the Town Hall, shaking his head. Waiting until the last moment to promote Zabek had been deliberate, he admitted; this was a meeting he wasn't looking forward to.
A pair of militiaman saluted him as he walked through the hole where the doors had been before Orlova blew them up – repairing them had been a fairly low priority. With long strides, he walked down the hall to the far end, where a collection of dignitaries from all over Jefferson were busily arguing. Sanderson banged a gavel on the table, bringing them to order on the fifth try. A lot of the faces were new; Howe had quietly resigned a few days before, and most of the original council were in the cells. Pemberton had managed to find his way into the crowd, though, and most of the Council of Captains were there – Miller sporting a series of scars on his head that managed to make him look even more piratical.
"Thank you, Mr. Sanderson. Do I have the floor?"
About half the delegates looked as if they were about to object, but he managed to win the battle of stares. "You do, Captain, by all means."
He looked around the room, "I envy you. All of you. You have inherited a jewel of a world, a shining paradise that most humans can only dream of. You have been constituted as a War Council; while you cannot forget that the threat of the Legion still remains, you have a greater job than that – you are the guardians and protectors of this planet, the most precious yet found, and I beg you to protect it well. Don't let petty arguments hold you back; you owe your people far more than that."
Pausing, he took a breath before continuing, "Alamo and Mullane are leaving now, but other Triplanetary ships will be here soon. Military advisers to help you win your war, experts to help you bootstrap your technologies, and diplomats that will urge you to consider joining the Confederation."
He raised his hand, "I can't lie; I hope you seriously consider that option. We need each other. I simply ask that you do what you think is in the best interests of the planet and its people, whatever it may be. Twelve of my people have made the ultimate sacrifice for your world; don't let that be in vain."
Sanderson rose to his feet, looking around at the delegates, "I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are grateful for the efforts of you and your crew. The name of Alamo will always be remembered here, for as long as humans continue to walk on this planet."
There was a round of applause, some of it enthusiastic, some of it perfunctory; that was about what Marshall had expected. He'd been impressed at the way Sanderson had maneuvered himself into the Provisional Presidency – he wouldn't bet against him winning an election for the job when the time came. As Marshall turned to leave, Sanderson walked over to him, a document in hand.
"I thank you, Captain, for what you did here. You didn't make many friends when you rejected the Tatar calls for Triplanetary citizenship."
"If you join, you all need to join."
"Quite so." He passed over the document, "That was signed this morning, a presidential order. It grants Jeffersonian citizenship to you and any member of your crew on request, at any time in the future." He smiled. "It's really the least we can do." Sanderson extended his hand towards Marshall.
He grabbed it, shaking it firmly, "Thank you, Mr. President. I wish you the best of luck; I think you're going to need it."
"And to you."
The document still in hand, Marshall walked out of the Town Hall, planning to make a bee-line for the shuttle so that he could change out of his dress uniform. Caine was waiting at the entrance, talking to Rogers; he waved at him and walked away as soon as he approached, leaving him alone with Caine.
"I found your resignation on my terminal when I went back to Alamo yesterday," he said. "It was in my deleted folder."
"You check that?"
"Whenever someone else has been using my office." He smiled, "Are you sure about this? I'll sign it if you want."
She shook her head, "I learned something during that battle, Danny. That what I want doesn't have much to do with anything right now." His eyes narrowed, and she continued, "All we know is that there is some hostile force out there with a technology capable of besting ours. We don't even know what class of ship we defeated. It was a lot smaller than Alamo. That suggests to me that there is something worse out there, and if they've got bigger ships...”
"You don't need to stay, Deadeye."
"Yes I do. You need me out here, especially now. I think I can live with the rest of it, at least for the moment." She smiled. "It beats being drafted."
"That it does." He sighed, "We're really bringing back some fun news when we head home. Contact with a hostile human power, and all we know is that it has technology superior to our own and a propensity for warlike behavior."
"We've beaten them. We can beat them again. Quinn thinks he might have an idea to deal with that missile sphere."
"I would expect nothing less," Marshall replied, smiling. He looked up at the sky, Jefferson's sun beginning to descend towards the horizon, "It's worth it, though. Just for moments like this, it's all worth it. New worlds to explore. That's all I ever wanted."
"Let's go find some more," Caine said, and the two of them walked towards the shuttle.
Thank you for reading 'Tip of the Spear'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.
The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
<<<<>>>>
Table of Contents
The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
CHAPTER ONE
&nb
sp; CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thank you for reading '
Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear Page 21
