Here, as near as she could get to cold vacuum, she could see the damage her ship had suffered on its long cruise. All along the corridors, replacement panels were fitted to cover hull breaches, scrawled text scribbled on the walls, notes for later maintenance routines. Bandages to cover Alamo's wounds, scars that were silent testament to the battles she had fought.
A brown mark covered the floor outside Astrogation, a stain on the deck that was almost certainly blood. Under normal circumstances, it would have been cleaned up long ago, but the damage suffered as a result of the fights with the Xandari had left no opportunity for simple cosmetics. They'd have to wait until they turned for home, another long flight back to the Confederation.
Orlova sighed, and shook her head. Even after this battle was over, they'd be lucky to get back home in four months. Most of them through barely explored space, though at least they had more friends to call on for their return than they had on the trip out here. By now, Alamo would almost certainly have been listed as missing, long overdue from the original mission, families notified of the peril their loved ones were facing. Worrying about the unknown, not knowing whether to pray or to mourn.
She walked past a countdown clock, attached to the wall, just as the '6' became a '5'. Soon enough the crew would be returning to their posts, completing the thousands of critical tasks required to make the ship ready for battle. They were as prepared as they possibly could be, but she still had a feeling of dread about what was to come.
In all likelihood, by this time tomorrow, she would be dead. And that thought bothered her a lot less than she had expected. In the years she had worn the uniform, she'd faced death a dozen times over, had expected to die more than once on some forgotten wasteland, or in some lonely star system light-years beyond explored space. It was something she'd mentally prepared herself for long ago, but now that the reality of the situation was sinking in, she felt disconnected, as though already the crew was leaving her behind. All being well, they'd be going home. She wouldn't.
After she'd told Pavel about her decision, she'd spent hours flying the simulator herself, trying to find something he'd missed. From the beginning, she'd known it was a fool's errand. Her training in the cockpit had been brief, and she hadn't logged a tenth of the flying time he had. That he might have missed something was possible, but for her to find it if he had was improbable.
Which meant that in about eight hours, she'd be climbing into the fighter, waving off at Chief Kowalski, and flying into oblivion. Already she could run through the mission plan in her mind, every step of the way. Getting into position with the bomb was comparatively easy, assuming Alamo and Cooper's team did their jobs. Getting back would be impossible. All she had was the slender hope that the simulation wouldn't match the reality, that she might find some way to survive that had escaped everyone else. It didn't seem likely. The cold equations were easy enough to define.
In a strange way, she didn't mind. This battle was going to be analyzed and studied for decades, a lesson in tactical and strategic insanity, as well as the morality of warfare. No matter how she might attempt to justify it, no matter how right a decision she believed it was, she was going to be directly responsible for the death of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people. Perhaps the Xandari could adapt to the loss of their orbital installations more easily than Earth, or Mars. Another hope to cling to.
The Professor's words were still haunting her, the damning text of the written statement running through her mind. Did they have the right to do this terrible thing? She'd often wondered what it must have been like to live through the Nuclear Century, on Earth, when the major powers had weapons of annihilation aimed at each other, until finally they were deployed in one terrible spasm of destruction.
And now she was bringing those nightmares to life once again. They'd kept the K-Bomb a secret, but once it had been deployed, it would be duplicated. In a matter of years, perhaps months, the United Nations, Lunar Republic, the Cabal would have their own versions. Maybe the Koltoc, as well. An arsenal of bombs too deadly to use. Whether that would prevent their deployment was another matter entirely.
Colonel Paul Tibbets and Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova. Two names that would be linked in history from this moment on, whether she survived deployment or not. He'd flown a mission to end a terrible war with a terrible weapon, but at least he hadn't been the one to make the decision. That had been higher up, at the very top of the chain of command.
So this was, at least in theory. The orders Lieutenant Cantrell had carried bore the signature of Counter-Admiral Remek, and behind her those of the Combined Chiefs. Which meant that at some point, the President had authorized this attack. Cold comfort. The orders had given the use of this weapon to her as an option, but she was still the one required to make the final decision.
She envied the certainly of Nelyubov, whilst doubting his sincerity in stating it. There were billions of people counting on what this ship did next, on the success of their mission. No one could doubt what the Xandari would do if they rebuilt their fleet, and they were poised to do that all too quickly. Long before reinforcements could arrive from the Confederation, Copernicus would have fallen again, every world back to Testament Station and beyond. Peoples that she had sworn to protect. Alamo was one ship. She couldn't wipe out the enemy fleet by herself. Not without a special advantage, a bomb designed for another terrible war.
Would they have used it, back then, if things had worsened? By the time Triplanetary scientists had developed the K-Bomb, the war had turned again, raiding ships like her own Alamo bringing Earth's economy to the brink of ruin and dragging the politicians back to the negotiating table. Had that not been the case, could some cold, calculating Admiral have ordered Earth's civilization wiped out? And could anyone back on Mars have lived with themselves while the cradle of humanity was ruined, billions of innocent lives destroyed?
Maybe she was taking the coward's way out. The one to make the decision would die in the process of enacting it, and never have to face the consequences of her actions. No Board of Inquiry, no attacks by the press, no second thoughts. And yet, she couldn't allow someone else to take responsibility for her decision. Couldn't allow Salazar, Bradley or anyone else to face that sort of a legacy. Better that it all rested on her.
She walked past a theoretically empty compartment, one of the storage bays that had long-since been stripped bare during their long voyage, and saw a cluster of crewmen sitting in a corner of the room, a risque holomovie playing on the wall. She shook her head, making sure they didn't spot her, not wanting to spoil their evening, and quietly continued along the corridor.
They'd gone through hell with her, over the last year and a half. The longest combat cruise in the history of the Confederation. And hopefully, all of that would soon be coming to an end, with a triumphant march home to look forward to.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor towards her, and she saw Nelyubov walking in her direction, a benign smile on his face. She nodded at him, pausing to allow him to catch up, before the two of them resumed their aimless wandering.
“Couldn't sleep,” she said. “Always the same before a battle. The waiting's the hardest thing.”
“I think everyone feels the same way,” he replied. “Doc Duquesne was handing out sleeping pills like confetti earlier. Whether anyone actually took them I don't know. There's a pretty good party that I've made sure not to know about going on in the Chem Lab right now.”
“No,” she said. “We'd just make everyone uncomfortable. God knows this crew have earned a chance to loosen up a little.” She looked around, shook her head, and said, “By this time tomorrow, if we're successful, the war will be over.”
“That's the plan,” he replied. “Seems strange, doesn't it. A year and a half since we found that first assassin at Ragnarok, and now we're out here to bring it all to an end with a weapon we didn't even know we had.” He paused, then added
, “Can I talk you out of getting into that cockpit?”
“No.”
“It isn't your place, Maggie, and you know it.”
“You've talked to Pavel, haven't you.”
“I didn't need to,” he said, a smile crossing his face. “I think I know you well enough to know what you are planning before you do. You never had any intention of allowing anyone else to fly that mission, even if you didn't have an excuse to hold Pavel back.”
Turning to him, she said, “This is my decision, Frank, and I'm not going to ask any member of the crew to take a risk that I'm not willing to take myself.”
“You know it doesn't work that way,” he replied. “This is about responsibility, not risk. We're about to do something terrible. Justified by the circumstances, but still terrible, and you want to take all the responsibility on yourself.”
“The prerogative of a commanding officer,” she said. “Did I ever tell you anything about the Desdemona mission? About four, maybe nearly five years ago.” She smiled, then added, “My first as a commissioned officer.”
“I thought all the details of that operation were top secret. Besides, I was still in that Cabal prison at the time, remember.” Frowning, he said, “I heard rumors of some sort of scandal regarding the Belt Republic.”
“I guess the details don't matter too much, except that a very good man, and a friend, gave his life for the sake of peace. Sacrificed himself to start a war before it could begin, and to keep a secret that kicked the Triplanetary economy back into high gear.” Shaking her head, she continued, “It seems so long ago.”
“What's the connection?”
“I said then that the reason I was staying in the fleet was because sometime, someplace, I was going to be in a position to make a difference. To make a sacrifice of that magnitude that would save a lot of lives.” She shook her head, and said, “I know what we're doing has to be done. I also know that there is no way the pilot can come back from the mission.” Looking across at him, he continued, “And that's why I have to be the one to go.”
“Maggie...”
“My mind is made up, Frank,” she said. “Come on. I suppose we should at least try and get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow.”
Chapter 6
Orlova walked onto the bridge, the countdown clock running down the final moments before Alamo emerged from hendecaspace in the enemy home system. Nelyubov stood waiting for her at the central holotable, Sub-Lieutenant Scott taking his place at the tactical station. Next to Maqua at the helm, Sub-Lieutenant Foster stood, ready to replace anyone who fell at their posts.
She looked at the slowly rotating image of the enemy homeworld, defensive emplacements in position based on the data they'd accumulated. Reality would wash over the display soon enough, giving her the first true idea of what they were up against. For a brief second, doubt flooded her mind, a fear that Salazar had been right, that perhaps this time they'd taken too great a gamble. She looked at Nelyubov, cold reassurance in his eyes, and smiled, reaching for a microphone.
“Bridge to Fighter Leader. Report status.”
“Salazar here. All fighters are ready to launch on thirty-second alert.”
“Strike team?”
Cooper's voice replied, “Locked and loaded, assault shuttles ready to launch on your order.”
“Flight deck, bomber status?”
“Pre-flight checks completed,” Chief Kowalski replied. “All systems go.”
Nodding, Orlova turned to Weitzman, and said, “Spaceman, connect me to the ship.”
Throwing a switch, the communications technician replied, “You're on, ma'am.”
“This is the Captain,” she began. “In a little over four minutes, Alamo will be arriving in the Xandari home system, the heart of their empire. This is what we've been working towards for eighteen months. Our opportunity to bring this threat to an end, to ensure that billions of people on dozens of worlds no longer have to live in fear of annihilation.”
She looked around the bridge, all eyes on her, and continued, “Today we participate in the most important battle this ship has ever fought, one that will determine the destiny of our worlds for decades to come. I can think of no other crew, no other ship I would rather serve on for such a battle. Remember this day, remember every detail, because you're going to be telling the story of this fight for the rest of your lives. All hands, battle stations.”
“All decks to the alert!” Nelyubov said, moving to the secondary position at the holotable. “All areas responding, Captain.”
“Missile salvo ready,” Scott said, working her controls. “Laser cannon is charging. We'll be ready by the time we emerge. Rules of engagement?”
“Follow the battle plan where possible, but you my engage targets at your discretion,” Orlova replied. “We've got to clear a path into the system, Sub-Lieutenant. Sweep the road.”
“Yes, ma'am,” she said, turning back to her console.
“Emergence in three minutes, Captain,” Maqua said.
“Very good, Sub-Lieutenant. You have the call.”
“Aye, Captain. I have the call.”
She looked at the Neander for a second, the eager officer hunched over his controls, positioning the ship for dimensional transition. As much as anything else, Sub-Lieutenant Maqua illustrated the journey Alamo had taken over the last year and a half. Back then, he was a slave held captive on a Xandari resource world, his very survival in doubt. Today he was a trusted junior officer, the first Neander to hold a commission in the Triplanetary Fleet. Somehow, Orlova had the idea that he wouldn't be the last.
Stepping through the doors, Colonel Kilquan moved to a position opposite Nelyubov, offering Orlova a nod. The Koltoc commander had opted not to travel on one of his own ships for this mission, leading his squadron from Alamo. Tactically, it was logical enough, as the primary duty of his four ships would be to escort the battlecruiser, but she couldn't help but suspect that he was more interested in keeping an eye on her.
“Two minutes, Captain,” Maqua said.
“All decks are ready for action, ma'am,” Nelyubov said. “We're clear to execute the battle plan as soon as we emerge from hendecaspace. Senior Lieutenant Powell is ready to calculate the firing position of the bomb, and I've got Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo on standby to double-check his work.” Left unspoken was their shared suspicion that Powell might opt for sabotage, to prevent the mission's success. If the bomb was even a quarter of a mile out of position, the cascade effect would fail.
“Ninety seconds,” Scott said. “I'm ready here, Captain. Six missiles' worth of hell to throw at anything standing in our way.”
“We've got to assume they'll have a garrison force standing by at the hendecaspace point,” Kilquan said. “I doubt they'll think we're coming, but if I was commanding the defenses, I've have at least one squadron of fighters on standby. We should consider scrambling ours as soon as we emerge. There will be time for the attack pass after they rearm.”
“We aren't changing the battle plan with seventy seconds to go,” Orlova replied. “The faster we move, the less reaction time we allow the enemy. Unless we're facing more opposition than we expect, Alamo and the escorts should be able to do the job.”
“Escape vector calculated,” Maqua said with forced optimism. Theoretically, Alamo and the rest of the fleet could run to the innermost planet in the system, an uninhabited rock with an egress point, but no one believed that the Xandari would allow them to reach it. They had no realistic abort option, and everyone knew it. Part of the risk they were taking.
“Thirty seconds,” Maqua said. “Ready for transition.”
“Scanners prepared for full analysis as soon as we enter the enemy system,” Spinelli said, turning from the sensor controls. “We should have a good map of the local sub-system in less than a minute, and threat potential in ten seconds.”
�
�Fifteen seconds,” Scott said, her hands resting on the controls.
“Preparing full acceleration as soon as we clear the egress point,” Maqua said. “I have prepared a random walk trajectory, just in case.” Glancing to the side, he said, “Ten seconds.”
Orlova nodded, turning to the viewscreen. By any realistic measure, the holotable would provide a more accurate representation of the battlespace they were entering, but somehow, nothing quite compared with viewing the new system for herself. As far as they knew, the only humans to ever arrive at the Xandari homeworld had done so in chains. They were moving in as liberators.
With a blinding flash, Alamo emerged into normal space, and sirens sounded all around as data cascaded onto the screen. The main engines roared, kicking the ship clear of the transition point, and all around them, more ships appeared, the six escorts flying through in formation, ready for battle.
“All ships in position,” Spinelli said. “Threat warning! Two enemy warships, heading our way! Estimated intercept in two minutes minus, Captain!”
“Scott, I want a firing solution on those ships immediately.” A magnified image of the enemy ships appeared on the display, the lines undoubtedly those of a Xandari vessel, but different from anything they had encountered so far. They were moving at speed, though, sliding into an attack run on the invading force.
“Assessment?” Orlova asked.
“Smaller than the usual battlecruiser design,” Nelyubov said, “but I'd say they were derivative. Maybe an earlier model. Look at that communications array, aft. Downright primitive.”
Nodding, Kilquan added, “And the sensor pickups, as well. I make four missile tubes, but too small for their heavier ordnance. If I was to guess, I'd say we're looking at their reserve formation, ships not deemed fit for front-line duty.”
The image over the holotable jumped as the first batch of sensor data came in, and Spinelli reported, “Two more cruisers at the other hendecaspace point, Captain. They're holding position for the moment. I'm picking up eighty-two fighters in orbital track, as well as a couple of dozen shuttles. Twenty-four missile satellites, just as we expected.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 5
