“Wait a minute,” Marshall said. “What's the maximum range on the mass drivers?”
“A hair over a thousand miles,” Caine replied. “I don't think there's any way to extend it. It's a question of guidance, really. Too much lead time and it's easy for a missile to dodge.”
Marshall turned to her, and said, “And a bigger target?”
Francis nodded, adding, “A battleship, for example.”
“We might manage five thousand miles.” Looking at the two of them, Caine replied, “Most battles are fought at ten times that range, Danny! You can't be seriously suggesting...”
“A broadside,” he said. “Fire all ten turrets at once. What sort of damage would that do?”
“Hard to tell,” Caine said. “They'd still have a chance to dodge out of the way, and we'd have a hell of a time trying for any specific systems. It'd make a mess of their hull, though, I can tell you that.” Looking at the course projection, she added, “We'd have to get in, though. That wouldn't be easy.” Tapping the display, she highlighted the final stages of their intercept, and replied, “We couldn't telegraph what we were doing too soon. Remember that they'd have plenty of time to dodge us, if they could work out our plan.”
“Then we need to decoy them, draw them in,” Marshall said. “Give them a chance to think that they've trapped us, and slew into position at the last moment.” Turning to the helm, he said, “Midshipman, alter course now, and put us on trajectory for the recovery. Let's assume twenty-three minutes at the planet, buy ourselves something of a safety margin.”
“Aye, sir,” Imoto replied. “Our best heading takes us around the sixth moon, close to Pioneer.” He turned to Marshall, and added, “The closest approach will take place in orbital space, sir.” He paused, then said, “We won't be close enough to the eighth moon for a pickup on this heading, Captain.”
“Which rules out a rescue mission,” McCormack said. “I can launch at long-range, Captain, provide cover for our attack. We'd have to fly defensive to get in, then switch to offensive at the last moment. Without our point-defense systems, we'll have to use our fighters to provide cover.” She paused, then added, “You realize, sir, that if this goes wrong, Alamo will be totally defenseless. They'll have ample opportunity to smash us to pieces.”
“I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. Start mission simulations for maximum cover.” He paused, then added, “It'll mean that our shuttles have to make the approach without an escort. There won't be any opportunity to refuel and rearm in the time.”
“It's going to be close, Danny,” Caine said. “Close as hell. And if one thing goes wrong...”
“Then we'll just have to make sure that nothing does,” Marshall said. Turning to Bowman, he continued, “Any luck breaking through the jamming field, Spaceman?”
“I'm afraid not, sir. Those orbital satellites have the whole area smothered.”
Shaking his head, Francis said, “Then we've got another problem. Unless we can warn Lieutenant Salazar of our plans, we're liable to miss the window. We're asking him to load everyone onto the shuttles in five minutes, with no warning.” Looking at Marshall, he added, “Never mind simulations, sir, I don't see us pulling it off.”
“And if we slip, then we're in trouble,” Caine said. “Getting the shuttles aboard before we leave the system is going to be difficult enough as it is. We'll have one chance to make this work.” Gesturing at the display, she added, “And evading the fighters without escort only makes it worse.”
“We can fly escort,” McCormack said.
“I thought we'd covered that,” Marshall replied. “We'll need all of your fighters to fly cover for Alamo on the approach, and there won't be a chance for you to resupply.”
Studying the tactical display, the squadron leader said, “Fuel shouldn't be a problem. We can swing around the sixth moon at the same time as Alamo, get a nice gravity boost right there.”
“Never mind the fuel. You'll have no ordnance.”
With a smile, she added, “Two things we can do about that. The deck gang can fit dummy missiles to our undersides. Decoys. They won't know that we haven't launched all of our missiles, and it'll just look as though we've been making some special modifications. And we'll still have our electronic warfare suites to play with. Don't worry, sir. We'll find a way to make it work.” Looking at the other officers, she added, “Look, just because I don't think we should hold this party doesn't mean I don't want an invitation.”
“We still have to find a way to signal the surface,” Francis said.
“They're still shooting down all of our probes?” Marshall asked.
“Before they can even get close, sir,” Ballard replied. “I'm still trying, sir, but I'm afraid it's a waste of time. We're not going to be able to patch up the sensor blind spots.”
“I wasn't thinking of that,” he replied. “At top speed, how long would it take a probe to reach Dante from our current location.?Absolute maximum acceleration.”
Raising an eyebrow, Ballard said, “Eight minutes, sir, but it would burn up in the atmosphere long before it got to the surface.”
“How long before?” he asked. “Long enough for us to rig a laser relay? Could it get deep enough for that?”
Ballard's eyes widened, and she turned to her console, her fingers rattling across the controls as she called up schematics, going through the specifications of Alamo's arsenal of probes. After a moment, she turned back with a triumphant smile.
“We can do it, sir. We'll only have about thirty seconds of audio-only communication before we lose the probe, but I think we can pull it off.” She paused, then added, “They'll know what we're doing, sir. No way to camouflage it.”
“Doesn't matter,” Francis said. “As long as they don't know what we've got in mind, they'd be expecting us to try to establish contact with our people on the surface.” He looked up at the display, and said, “Though I suspect we're only going to get a single try at this, Captain. It wouldn't be difficult for them to set up an orbital fighter patrol to shoot down any more probes, and they'll have plenty of warning.”
“Recommend we fire a full swarm of probes, sir,” Ballard added. “If we put eight onto trajectory, we've got the best possible chance of getting one of them to the target.”
“Make it happen, Spaceman,” he said. “Deadeye, I want you to guide them into position yourself. Bowman, we'll need maximum possible power on the comm laser if we're going to make this work. As well as absolute targeting precision.”
“Can do, sir,” the communications technician replied. “It'll be good to actually get a chance to talk to someone in this system. I've had a rather frustrating couple of days, sir.”
“Probes ready, sir,” Ballard said.
“Fire at will,” Marshall replied, sitting back in his command chair, watching as the eight targets appeared on the screen, their courses sweeping them towards the planet. Waldheim reacted instantly, altering course to get into position to launch an intercept, and Caine quickly moved to scatter the formation, spreading them out in a wide fan, the distance between them growing rapidly.
All conversation was silenced, all eyes on the trajectory plot as they watched the probes fly. After a moment, eight more tracks appeared, long-range missiles sweeping out from Waldheim towards their targets, ready to wipe their last hope of communication out of space. The enemy battleship was moving into a new orbit, confirming Francis' prediction that they'd only have a single chance to make this plan work.
The seconds raced by as the probes and missiles raced towards each other, Caine sacrificing as much fuel as she dared to evade, wary of sacrificing the raw acceleration that was their only hope. The targets converged far too close to the planet for Marshall's liking, and he took a grim satisfaction that General Estrada would be sitting on his bridge, feeling the same tension. Space battles could never be a war of statistics. The only way to win was to tu
rn them into a war of wits.
“There goes one!” Caine said, the first of the probes disappearing from the screen with a brief flash, followed seconds later by two more. Five probes now, and five missiles chasing after them, diving towards their goal. A fourth found its prey, then a fifth, and a sixth, and the trajectory plot was growing frustratingly clear as Waldheim completed its sweep.
“Nearly there,” Caine said, anxious eyes watching the display. “Damn.”
Only one probe was left now, but it was curving around the crest of the planet, already beginning to bite atmosphere. At the communications station, Bowman was frowning as he adjusted the controls, keeping the comm laser locked on its target. Marshall slid on his headset, his eyes still locked on the screen.
“Alamo Actual to Dante Base. Come in.” He took a deep breath, then repeated, “Alamo Actual to Dante Base. Come in.”
“Alamo Actual,” Salazar said, “This is Dante Base! Pass your message.”
“We're coming back to get you, Pavel. In about ten hours, we're scheduled for a close fly-by that should give us just enough time for a fast pick-up. You're going to have to get on board quickly, and you can expect the enemy to have enough warning to launch an attack.”
“How quickly, sir?”
“Seven minutes minus, Pavel.”
“Understood, sir. We'll be ready, and we'll get...” The transmission faded, and Caine looked up, shaking her head.
“That's it, Danny. Signal lost. Not sure whether it burned up or whether the missile caught up with it at the last minute, but I suppose it amounts to the same thing.”
“Doesn't matter,” Marshall replied, a beaming smile on his face. “Our signal got through. That's all that counts. Now we've just got to make the mission work.”
Chapter 18
Salazar looked across the table at Lombardo and Rhodes, flicking off the communicator and sitting back in his seat. He glanced out at the settlement outside, watching as their troops continued their constant patrol, the flicker of flashlights sweeping around as they scanned the horizon.
“Well, that's that. We're moving out,” he said. “In a little under ten hours. Just after dawn, which should help a little.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “And just about when Harper and her team are scheduled to return to the surface. Good news.” Frowning, he continued, “So why do I feel as though we've just been handed a death sentence.”
“I don't know how we're going to pull this off, sir. Not with a window for rescue that tight,” Rhodes said. “I can call in our deep patrols in time, but they're going to know that we're trying something, and they've got plenty of time to work out what we're doing and position their forces to attack.” Frowning, he added, “I suppose we've got one advantage. At least we can say with some assurance that they'll wait until the shuttles come down to make their move.”
“Why?” Lombardo asked. “Why not move as soon as they can?”
“Because this way they have a chance to take out our shuttles as well,” Salazar replied. “Which will neatly remove any further opportunity for Alamo to send teams down to the surface. If I'm getting this right, they'll have to use every bird they've got to make this work.” Shaking his head, he said, “We'll have a hundred troopers coming at us. Probably with support teams. Frank, we're going to need the best defensive formation you can put together.”
Nodding, he replied, “I'm sure I can come up with a few nice surprises for them, but ultimately it's going to boil down to a fighting withdrawal to the shuttles. We don't even have time to launch a preemptive strike.” Rubbing his chin, the Espatier said, “Orderly retreats are difficult enough at the best of times, but given the circumstances, we're going to take heavy casualties with this one, Pavel. I don't see any way out. Just getting the wounded on board is going to be tough.”
“What about our prisoners?” Lombardo asked.
“We leave them behind, in the dome, under confinement,” Salazar replied. “There's no way we can take any of them with us, and we don't have time to nursemaid prisoners in any case.” His communicator chirped, and he tapped a control, saying, “Go ahead.”
“Lance-Corporal Webster, sir, down in the vault. We're picking up movement down here, sir. I think there's someone in the deep caverns. It's faint enough that we're only registering it on sensors, sir, and we can't get a fix, but I think we've got company heading our way.”
Cursing, Salazar pulled out a topographical map, stabbing his finger down on the base they'd spotted out in the deep desert, and said, “We've just solved one mystery, anyway. No wonder they were pulling troops into that facility. They've managed to find a route to that shaft, running all the way to the city.”
“It's a hundred miles, even assuming it runs in a straight line,” Lombardo protested.
“Two days to march,” Rhodes replied. “Less with some sort of transport, of course. The shaft's big enough that they could have come up with something to speed them. Hell, they could have just marched through.” He nodded, then said, “We knew that there was a possibility they'd sneaked a team into the caverns...”
“A recon team, not a full-scale assault,” Salazar said. “Damn it all, I should have thought of this. They're going to hit us from two sides at once. One group down in the catacombs, heading up through the Vault, and a second team striking overland, probably to pin us down while their main force attacks.”
“We're seeing plenty of buggies moving around on the surface,” Rhodes said, before sighing, and adding, “though we don't have any way of knowing if there is anyone inside them. They're playing a deception game, and it's worked, damn it.”
“Not yet, it hasn't,” Salazar said. “We've worked it out in enough time to deal with it.”
“What about Harper and her team?” Lombardo said. “We sent them right into the middle of that assault force.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “If they were just heading down to that source of organic residue, then they should have been back hours ago.”
“The trail might have led them somewhere else,” Rhodes said. “We can't write them off yet.”
“Do we have a choice?” Lombardo replied. “Pavel, I know you don't want to hear this...”
“No.”
“If we blow the shaft now, then we don't have a problem. With a reduced force attacking us up on the surface, we'll have a much better chance for the shuttles to pick us up. I hate the idea of leaving her behind as much as you do, but there's a very real possibility that she's already been captured.”
“She went down there to find a way for us to get home, Art, and if we don't leave this planet without it, then all of this was for nothing. We've got to give her as long as we can. Besides, I'd like to turn this around a little.” Looking at his two friends, he continued, “I think we've got a chance to do a little more damage to Waldheim.”
“At this stage, I'd say that survival would be victory enough,” Lombardo replied.
“You aren't thinking long-term. We're going to be facing them again. Even after we've got clear of this system, they're going to be following the same trail as we are, and we've got to expect a second encounter. Destroying them here is probably out of the question, but we can certainly take some steps to reducing their combat potential a bit. And I think a good start would be smashing their ground forces contingent.”
“We've already done quite a bit of damage,” Rhodes said. “Good God, Pavel, are you saying what I think you are?”
“I don't think I'm on the same page as you two,” Lombardo replied. “Anyone want to help out a poor mechanic who didn't take ground forces training?”
“If we can hold them off down there for as long as possible, and if our timing is just about perfect, then we can lure the troops working their way towards us onto the ramp when we detonate the bomb.” Gesturing at the chart, he continued, “You've seen the projections. Multiple cave-ins, all along the site. They'd be buried f
or days, and we might...”
“Get ourselves killed in the process, Pavel,” Rhodes said. “The timing would have to be precise to pull this off, and if they managed to get past you, we'd have to throw the switch while you were still down in the catacombs.”
“Wait a minute,” Lombardo said. “You're going down there in force?”
“At least a full squad,” Salazar replied. “And to answer the next question, I'll be taking it down myself. This is my idea, and...”
“I was under the impression that I was commanding the platoon,” Rhodes said.
“Sorry, Frank, but I've got to do this. You're going to be needed to command the defenses on the surface. This won't be the first time I've fought my way through an alien city. At the very least, we'll need to hold the bastards back for long enough to give Harper a chance of getting home, and at best, we could wipe out more than half of their ground forces company in one shot. And tie up Waldheim on rescue operations for days.”
“Assuming they bother,” Rhodes said, scowling. “Cruz seems like the sort of person who'd be perfectly happy to just leave them behind, waving goodbye as she fled the system.”
“She might,” Salazar replied, “but Estrada wouldn't, and I can't imagine that the crew would go along with leaving forty or fifty of their people to die a slow and painful death on the surface.” Rising to his feet, he said, “We've got four people down in the Vault already. I'll need another fire team. Any suggestions?”
“Lance-Corporal Quiller,” Rhodes said. “They were just about to head out on a deep patrol, so they're ready to move right now.” He smiled, then added, “I'll let you break it to him about just how deep.” Gesturing at Salazar's head, he continued, “Just for the record...”
“I'm fine,” he replied.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Vault of Eternity Page 17
