“Missile launch!” Ryan yelled.
“Relax,” Murphy said. “I've got it.”
Two more targets appeared on his screen, missiles racing for mutual destruction, and Salazar concentrated on his approach vector. His escort knew their jobs, giving him the window to press his attack home. Behind him, the bomb nestled in the modified cargo space, and he twisted the key on his control that enabled the launch mechanism.
“Break and return!” Salazar yelled, and the fighters peeled away, Ryan first, then Murphy, scant seconds later. He frowned, knowing that she was risking destruction, but there was nothing he could do for her now. The countdown clock flashed into view, and at last he realized that he was going to make it. All around, Xandari fighters screamed towards his position, but there was no way they could intercept him in time.
“Bomb release!” he yelled, hitting the control an instant after the computer, the shuttle instantly leaping forward from the release of its payload. The countdown clock reset, down to thirty seconds, and he slammed switches to disable the safety systems, pushing his shuttle to the limit in a bid to gain speed and distance.
There was no way he could execute a turn at this speed. The only safety was to go deeper, to swing around the planet and away, and he dived towards the surface as chaos erupted all around him, a trio of Xandari fighters attempting to destroy the bomb before it could detonate, others racing on their own desperate bids to escape the blast radius.
A white flash announced that the bomb had exploded behind him, the cascade effect under way as the debris field swept into position, fragments of molten metal racing towards him in all directions. Bare seconds later, his damage control computers started to record impacts on the outer hull, small fragments first, then larger, red warning lights sweeping across the readouts, bathing him in their light.
Behind him, Alamo was moving away, one of the fighters following, another already vanished from the screen. Murphy, a few seconds slow. It didn't seem to matter. He was about to share her fate. A siren blared, the decompression alarm, and before he could make a move, it was all over. The viewscreen briefly blanked out, flickered, and returned to the starfield, the controls reset to the beginning of the simulation run.
The hatch slid open, Harper and Ryan waiting for him outside, Murphy red-faced by the cockpit. Tugging free of his headset, Salazar slid out onto the deck, shaking his head.
“I'm getting tired of dying,” he said.
“I don't blame you,” Harper replied. “That's eleven times in a row, just today.”
“Murphy…,” Salazar began.
“I know, I know,” she said. “One of the satellites was swinging into position for a shot. If it had released, it could have taken out the bomb. I figured if you were going to commit suicide out there, you might as well have some company in your trip to the next world.”
“This isn't a suicide mission,” Salazar pressed.
With a sigh, Ryan replied, “I hate to disagree with you, Pavel, but from where I'm standing that's exactly what this is. That was one of the smoothest runs we've had, and you still weren't even close. Hell, Alamo took damage in that run, and she was at extreme range. We might as well face facts. Whoever sits in that shuttle isn't coming back from this mission. We'll be lucky to get the escort fighters clear. Isn't there some other way we could deliver the bomb?”
“We can't send the bomber in unmanned,” Harper said, shaking her head. “Too much risk of interference. Someone needs to be sitting in the pilot's seat in case something goes wrong at the last minute. And we can't use a projectile. The bomb's too large for any missile we have, and it would take too long to put something bigger together. There's only one delivery system that's going to work.”
“Then it's a suicide mission,” Ryan said. “And I volunteer.”
Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Sorry, Mike, but that's not your seat. You've never even flown one of our SAR shuttles. It needs to be someone who knows those controls blind and backwards, and that just isn't you.” Clapping him on the shoulder, he continued, “Though I certainly appreciate the gesture.”
“I don't,” Harper said. “This doesn't have to be you, Pavel.”
With a shrug, he replied, “I'm going up to brief the Captain right now, and I already know what my recommendation is going to be.” Shaking his head, he said, “Take half an hour and get something to eat. I think we all need a break. I'm not giving up on this. We've still got four days to find a way through the gap.” He turned for the elevator, and Harper walked after him, just ducking through the doors in time.
“We're going to have a conversation,” she said.
A thin smile spread across his face, and he replied, “No, you aren't coming with me. That's a one-man ride the way it's configured now, and we don't have time to fit another couch. I can handle whatever needs to be done, and your place is on the ground, with Cooper's strike team. You've got to disable those satellites so we can clear the path for the bombing run.”
“Damn it, Pavel, you don't even agree with this mission!”
“No, I don't,” he said. “I think we're taking far too big a risk, and I think the odds of us getting away with this are far shorter than anyone cares to admit.” Shaking his head, he added, “We're long overdue. Months overdue. By now, someone back home is wondering whether or not to officially classify us as missing in action. We were meant to be on a six-month patrol, Kris. As of yesterday, we've been out for eighteen, and even if everything goes well, we'll be lucky to get back to Mars in six more.”
“Everyone knew what they were signing up for.”
“Kris, for me it doesn't actually matter. Alamo is the closest thing I've ever known to a home, and her crew the closest thing I have to a real family.”
“Then….”
“Ben Bartlett has a daughter he's never seen. He was meant to be home in time for the birth. She's probably taken her first steps already, said her first word. Arkhipov was meant to be getting married more than a year ago. God knows whether his fiancee is still waiting for him. I can tell you a dozen stories like that.” Turning to her, he continued, “And don't tell me what they signed up for. No one signed up for an endless crusade across the stars.”
“Pavel, we're the only ones who can do this.”
Pointing a finger at her, he continued, “And it is that arrogance that is the worst part of this. And that's what it is. Imagine if we were contemplating launching a decapitation strike against Earth, say. We'd have the whole damned Fleet lined up for the battle, a dozen capital ships, hundreds of fighters, thousands of troopers. A full Admiral in command with a staff spending months working on the battle plan.”
Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Instead, we've got one capital ship, battle-scarred, with a rag-tag collection of escorts and a scratch company. A battle plan thrown together by three people over the course of a week, based on intelligence so limited that any staff officer would throw up his hands in despair. And we're betting the outcome of the whole war on this. If the mission fails, we lose.”
A scowl on her face, Harper replied, “Then in God's name why didn't you put in your own written objection? If you are so certain that this is the wrong thing to do…
“Because that would have changed nothing,” Salazar said. “Except that someone else would have ended up commanding the assault, and that person might not have been good enough. Fast enough. And I'm loyal enough to the Captain that I won't go against her publicly.” Shaking his head, he said, “I get Powell. He's half-civilian, and he has a point. I'd thought better of Jack Quinn.”
With a faint smile, Harper said, “You realize you're talking about two senior officers. Technically, comments like that are grounds for insubordination.”
“I won't tell them if you don't.” He paused, then said, “Under other circumstances, I might have pushed it further.” Looking at her, he continued, “Never mind what Lieut
enant-Captain Salazar might have done. What would Lieutenant-Captain Harper do?”
“Resign,” she replied.
A smile burst across his face, and he said, “Probably the best answer.” The doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the bridge, Harper lingering in the elevator. “I'll see you at the mess in a few minutes. If it isn't asking the impossible, see if you can find something edible for dinner.”
“You don't want much, do you?” she replied, as the doors slid shut. Salazar walked across the deck, nodding at the duty helmsman, Sub-Lieutenant Foster moonlighting from her post as Security Officer, his old assignment. He paused outside the Captain's office for a moment, then glanced around the bridge. Everywhere he could see signs of battle, too-hasty repairs, the cosmetic touches ignored due to lack of time. Alamo was scarred, and so was her crew.
“Come in, Pavel,” Orlova said, and the door slid open. He walked into the office, taking the proffered chair, and placed his datapad on the desk. “I take it you don't have good news for me.”
“I'm afraid not, Captain. We'll keep trying, and I certainly haven't given up yet, but the reality is that whoever climbs into that shuttle isn't going to come back.” With a forced smile, he added, “Don't write me off, though. The simulators are usually a bit conservative, and I might be able to squeeze some more acceleration after deployment.”
“What makes you think you're going?”
“To be blunt, I'm the best small-ship pilot on the ship, whether I have one eye or two. I might have a chance of pulling off some sort of miracle and getting home. No one else will.”
“Confident, aren't you?”
“Frank Nelyubov, Jack Quinn and Barbara Bradley all tried a run on the simulators yesterday. None of them even got close.”
“There are other pilots.”
“None of whom should be forced to take the risk. I know what I'm getting into, Captain, and I know what I need to do to pull this off. I'm confident that I can find a way to make this work.”
“I'm not,” she replied, shaking her head. “And neither are you. You're just trying to make the pitch to convince me to authorize you to fly the mission, and hoping to make me feel a little better about it.” Raising a hand, she continued, “None of which matters, because I've already chosen the pilot for this mission. I'll be taking the shuttle out myself.”
“Captain, with all due respect, your place is on the bridge. Alamo will be taking part in the biggest battle she's ever fought.” Tapping the wings on his chest, he said, “I'm a fighter pilot. This is my job. This is what I do.”
“You're that desperate to throw your life away on a mission you don't believe in?” Sitting back in her chair, she continued, “You made your feelings quite clear at the briefing.”
“I did not make any formal protest, Captain, and I have no intention of issuing one.”
“Powell, Quinn and Duquesne were less generous. And to an extent, I agree with them, and with you. I know the risk we're running, and I know the moral implications of what we're doing.” She paused, then said, “At the end of the Second World War, President Truman didn't need to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima to win the war. Japan could have been blockaded. Except that millions of people would have died in the consequent famine, the country ruined.”
Nodding, Salazar replied, “Instead of which, tens of thousands died, and the war ended.”
“Then you see why?”
“Frankly, I don't. War isn't a numbers game, and you can't reduce casualties to statistics. We don't know what the outcome of the attack is going to be. Can't know, until we've done it. And once this bomb is deployed, it will be a Sword of Damocles hanging over the head of every civilized world. How long before the United Nations has a weapon of the same type? The Lunar Republic, the Cabal, the Koltoc? Then the same arms race begins again, the one which led to the Third World War, a century after that bomb was dropped.”
“The parallels aren't perfect,” she replied. “But really, Pavel, what choice do we have?”
Taking a deep breath, Salazar said, “I respect the chain of command, Captain. I can't agree with you, but I will follow where you lead.” Leaning forward, he continued, “Which means I should be the one flying the shuttle. Even if it means my death.”
Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “No, Pavel. It has to be me. Whoever drops that bomb will go down into history as the person who destroyed a civilization, and there will be people cursing their name for centuries. It wouldn't be fair for it to be someone who didn't believe in the mission, especially when there is no chance they're coming back.”
“Captain...”
“Maybe, if we weren't so certain this is a one-way mission, I might think differently. I might allow you to take the risk.” Reaching for the datapad, she scanned the report, and said, “A hundred and nine simulation runs, and a hundred and nine times, you've died. Eleven today, so far. We're not talking about finding a few more seconds, Pavel. You need minutes, and you can't get them.”
“Sometimes that's the price. One life for billions doesn't sound like a bad trade.”
“I've made my decision, Lieutenant, and I'm afraid that it is final. I'll be flying the shuttle myself. You and Ryan can be my escort, and I hope you turn around faster than Murphy did on that last run.” She paused, then asked, “What's the status of the fighter squadron?”
“Inexperienced at best. Ryan, Murphy and I will try to keep the fire from them, but...”
“What about Murphy?”
Salazar shrugged, then said, “A natural. Given time and training, she'd be one of the best. Hopefully she'll live long enough to get both.”
“She's applied for a transfer to the Triplanetary Fleet.”
Raising an eyebrow, Salazar said, “I'll sign off on it, if she's serious. We can certainly use her. I feel a bit bad about robbing Copernicus of another officer, but given the circumstances...”
“I agree. We'll get that arranged before we leave hendecaspace. Then you can begin your new assignment.”
“New assignment? I figured I'd revert to Operations Officer after the mission was over. Assuming, of course, that we make it through in anything approaching one piece.”
“Close,” she replied. “I already talked to Frank Nelyubov about this, and we're both in agreement that you should serve as Executive Officer on the return journey.” Reading his expression, she continued, “I know everything you are about to say, but Frank's going to need someone good watching his back, and you've already proven yourself as a command officer.”
“I'm twenty-four. One of the youngest officers of my rank in the Fleet. Second-in-command of a ship like this is a job for a second-term Senior Lieutenant.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Jack Quinn, or Powell...”
“Neither has the temperament for command. The trip back to Triplanetary space might not be as smooth as we're all hoping. Both Frank and I are confident that if something goes wrong, you could get the ship home. I suspect the only person who doesn't have faith in you is yourself.”
“I just don't think I'm ready.”
“And we all hope you won't have to be. I don't think you realize just how much you have grown from that angry young man I meant back at Ragnarok, before the mission really started. You've earned the respect of everyone on board, and turned into a fine officer. A fine commander. We wouldn't be sitting here right now if that wasn't the case. That's one more reason I can't let you go. The Fleet's going to need you.”
“I could say the same about you, Captain.”
“Maybe, but this is something I have to do. Besides, I'm not exactly a bad pilot myself, and I know a few old smugglers' tricks that might surprise you. I don't do suicide missions either. With a little luck, we'll all be heading home together after all.” She looked into his eyes, the two of them both knowing that she was lying. After a second, Salazar broke the silence.
“I hope so, C
aptain. I hope you're right.”
“So do I,” she replied. “So do I.”
Chapter 5
The deck was silent, the bulk of the crew in their quarters, trying to get some sleep before the battle that was to come. As soon as Alamo arrived at the Xandari homeworld, all hands would need to be at their best, rested and refreshed for the fight. Orlova glanced at her watch, and shook her head. In a little over six hours, she'd be standing on the bridge, waiting for the ship to emerge from hendecaspace. And there was nothing she could do to change that, not now.
She turned a corner, walking through the empty hangar deck, the bomber that was destined to destroy a civilization still hanging from the ceiling, modifications all completed, the ship ready to launch. A lone technician wandered in through a side door, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, snapping a salute as his noticed his commanding officer.
“Sorry, ma'am,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, thank you, Spaceman,” she replied. “Carry on.”
The technician returned to his duties, walking over to a wall console and pulling up maintenance schedules. Technically, he should probably be in his quarters, trying to sleep, but she could say the same about herself. With a nod, she turned back to the corridor, walking towards the elevator, the doors sliding open as she approached.
Down to the sensor decks, the outer layer of the ship, sparsely inhabited even under normal circumstances. Cramped and confined corridors, twisting around the pickups that reached deep into the ship, maintenance hatches everywhere to allow easy access. One of them was burned and blackened, damage from one of the recent firefights that Quinn and his team hadn't had a chance to repair, warning tape wrapped around to prevent access.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 4
