Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Aye, sir,” Susan said. She would have preferred to go to the secondary bridge - it was her duty station, if the shit hit the fan - but there was no point in arguing. The post-battle assessment would make the captain look very bad, if they lost, yet it probably couldn't be blamed on her. “The war game will start in” - she glanced at the timer - “ten minutes.”

  “Excellent,” the captain said. If Susan hadn't been able to see the undertone of concern, even fear, she might have relaxed. As it was, all she could really do was worry. “Inform me when the games begin in earnest.”

  Susan sighed inwardly and took her seat, keeping one eye on the long-range sensor display as two new starships blinked into existence. The Russians had kept a low profile for the past ten years, but now there were no less than three Russian ships watching the war games. Susan had heard rumours that the Russians had been building up their military, despite the staggering losses they’d taken in the First Interstellar War, yet there had been very little hard data. Now, it was clear the Russians were very interested in watching the games.

  The timer reached zero. A low buzzing sound ran through the compartment.

  “The exercise has now begun,” Susan said. She keyed her console. “Exercise protocols; I say again, exercise protocols. All duty stations confirm.”

  The captain gave her an odd look, which she ignored. Regulations didn't stipulate that all duty stations had to sound off, but Susan knew it was better not to take chances. Lighting up an American starship that was trying to creep up on Vanguard was one thing; accidentally blowing her out of space was quite another. Even if it didn't start another human-on-human war, it would be the end of the entire crew’s career. She didn't dare risk a blue-on-blue.

  “Signal from the flag, sir,” Parkinson said. “We are to proceed as directed.”

  Susan glanced at the captain, who nodded. “Set course for the gas giant,” she ordered. The Americans had promised not to track the ships as they made their way away from Marina, but in their place she would have been able to make a very good guess at their location. “Best possible speed.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Reed said. “We will enter firing range in five hours.”

  “Good,” Susan said.

  She glanced down at her console. All duty stations had confirmed that the exercise protocols were up and running, ensuring there was no risk of a friendly fire incident. There would be no shortage of arguments after the engagement, she was sure, which the umpires would have to sort out, but at least there would be no real danger. Vanguard’s crew might cover themselves with glory, or wind up with egg on their faces ... she pushed the thought aside, annoyed. Right now, a friendly fire incident was the least of her worries.

  “Maintain course and speed,” she ordered, turning her attention to the display. “Inform me the moment any American ships are detected.”

  She sighed inwardly. Sneaking up on the gas giant would be easy, but Admiral Boskone had specifically ordered the fleet not to use any cloaking devices or stealth systems. She wasn't sure if he wanted to keep the latest cloaking devices secret from the Americans, or if he intended to use them later, yet it hardly mattered. The Americans would have no trouble detecting the task force as it approached its target.

  Unless he’s hoping the Americans will attempt to defend the gas giant and discover, too late, that their homeworld is under attack, she thought. It made a certain kind of sense, although it had a whiff of the trying-to-be-clever stench she recalled from the academy. Grand plans that depended on the enemy reacting in a certain way, she’d been taught, were doomed to spectacular failure. But then, if they get caught between two fires, they might not be able to react in time to deal with even one of them.

  She tossed the possibilities around in her head, while keeping an eye on the captain. She’d half-expected him to slip back into his Ready Room, but instead he stayed on the bridge, just like a real captain. Susan felt a bitter stab of pain, mixed with an emotion she didn't care to identify. There was something to be said for being the de facto commanding officer, but, at the same time, it wasn't her responsibility. She was just meant to take as much as possible of the burden of running the ship off his shoulders.

  “I’m picking up two cruisers orbiting the gas giant,” Charlotte said, suddenly. “Both of them just lit up their drives.”

  Susan glanced at the display. Unless the Americans had developed something completely new, the cruisers had shown themselves almost as soon as they should have seen Vanguard and her escorts. It made little sense, which worried her. She’d have been happier if she’d come up with an explanation for their behaviour, even if it were wrong. As it was, they’d given up the advantage of stealth for nothing. Neither ship would last long enough to get into firing range.

  “Launch a spread of probes beyond the screen,” she ordered. The beancounters would howl - again - but she was damned if she was allowing the Americans to distract her from another threat. “And monitor sensors for any signs of turbulence.”

  “They may be defending the planet,” the captain said. He sounded hesitant. “Admiral Boskone predicted as much.”

  Susan frowned. It was still too early to get any solid lock on the remainder of the American fleet - or, for that matter, Admiral Boskone. Theoretically, Churchill-Two was blazing towards Marina at unimaginable speeds, but there was no way to know for sure, now the formation was out of sensor range. The icons on the display were really nothing more than guesses.

  But reasonable ones, she told herself. The Yanks wouldn't have sought a deep-space engagement unless it couldn't be avoided.

  “We have to be careful,” she said. “Who knows what’s lying in wait for us?”

  She leaned back in her chair and forced herself to relax. The gas giant was growing larger on the display, but it would still be nearly an hour before they could engage their targets. Maybe the American ships intended to bug out, leaving the facilities to be destroyed. No one would ever accuse the Americans of not being brave - there was no shortage of glorious last stands in American history - yet standing and fighting would only add two destroyed cruisers to the list of smashed facilities. She couldn't have blamed the American commanders for bugging out in search of reinforcements.

  “I’m not picking up any additional ships near the gas giant,” Charlotte reported. “But all of the facilities are altering position.”

  The captain looked up. “Running?”

  “No, sir,” Susan said. Vanguard could give a cloudscoop a twenty-four hour head start and still catch it within an hour. “They’re trying to evade any KEWs we might be launching.”

  Which isn't something I’d care to try in those facilities, she added, silently. Their drives are little more than glorified station-keeping reaction thrusters.

  She glanced at the tactical console. “Commander Mason, do you have a firing pattern locked into the computers?”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said. He sounded confident, although if the facilities continued a random evasion pattern they were likely to be hard to hit at such a distance. “We can smash most of the facilities with buckshot unless they have some pretty good point defence ...”

  “Captain,” Charlotte interrupted. “Both American cruisers just blasted out of orbit. They’re heading straight for Marina.”

  Susan blinked. It looked almost as though the Americans couldn’t make up their minds. And yet, they’d had ample time to run the calculations and come up with a plan. Hell, they could have traded long-range fire with the squadron before turning and running for their lives. A shot or two fired for the honour of the flag would look better on the after-action reports.

  We’re being screwed, she thought. Something isn’t right.

  “Launch a second set of probes,” she ordered. “And then order the screen to spread out and deploy active sensor nodes. There’s no point in trying to hide. They already know where we are.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Charlotte said. Parkinson echoed her a second later. “I ...”
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  She broke off. “New contacts,” she said, as red icons blinked on the display. “Starfighters, right behind us!”

  Susan stared. Starfighters couldn't cloak. They were simply too small to carry any form of stealth gear; hell, their drives were easy to detect even at long range. And yet, the Americans had somehow slipped over a hundred starfighters into range without being detected. How the hell had they done that?

  She glanced at the captain. He was frozen, staring at the display as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Susan swallowed ... she’d been issuing orders, on the assumption he would just watch, and yet ... he jerked free, staring up at her with wild eyes. He looked as if he were having a panic attack.

  “Evasive action,” he ordered, his voice quavering. “Get us out of here!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Reed said. “Taking evasive action.”

  Susan opened her mouth, but she honestly wasn't sure what to say or do. There was no point in trying to evade, not when the starfighters were easily twice as fast as the destroyers on their best day. Vanguard was solidly armoured, too; she should have no difficulty surviving the first pass and taking a colossal bite out of the American ships. Unless ... new red icons popped onto the display, as if some malevolent entity had held them in reserve until it was too late. The Americans had arrived in force ...

  “Captain,” Charlotte said. “The entire American task force is bearing down on us.”

  That’s how they did it, Susan thought, numbly. They decided to abandon the planet entirely, trusting that we wouldn't bombard it. Instead, they focused on the gas giant and now they’ve caught us with our pants down.

  “Alter course,” the captain ordered. “Thrust us away from them ...”

  “Enemy ships are opening fire,” Mason reported. “Missile ETA roughly two minutes after the starfighters ...”

  Susan swore inwardly. This was no skirmish, this was an outright attempt to defeat Churchill-One in detail.

  “Stand by point defence,” she snapped. “Launch buckshot at the facilities; cover as many possible locations as you can.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said.

  “Incoming message from Captain Nottingham,” Parkinson said. “He’s requesting permission to deploy starfighters.”

  “Do it,” Susan snapped.

  “Belay that order,” Captain Blake said. She could hear panic in his tone. “They’ll just be destroyed ...”

  Susan cursed as the American starfighters lanced into the formation. Dozens died, picked off by point defence, but the remainder survived to press the attack against the escort carriers. It only took a handful of missiles to take them both out, leaving Churchill-One without any starfighter cover of its own. The remaining destroyers lasted only minutes after the escort carriers, leaving Vanguard alone. And she didn't have a hope of outrunning her tormentors ...

  “Reverse course,” Susan ordered. Should she relieve the captain? Admiral Boskone was likely to explode with rage when he reviewed the engagement report, if only because the best opportunity for relieving the captain had long since vanished. “Take us right into the teeth of their fire.”

  The captain emitted a little moan, but said nothing as the battleship slowly turned and advanced towards the American ships. Clearly, the dispassionate part of Susan’s mind noted, the Americans had underestimated the battleship. The damage was mounting up, but it wasn't serious, while their fleet carriers and escorts were slowly entering Vanguard’s range.

  “Fire as soon as we bear,” she ordered, quietly. The Americans had realised the danger, but they’d have real problems getting out of range before it was too late. “And don’t let up.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said.

  “Two of our drive rooms have been disabled,” Reed warned. “Our speed is dropping.”

  “Keep us going as long as you can,” Susan ordered. The Americans had a chance to scatter, and they might well save some of their fleet, but they were going to know they’d been in a fight. “Open fire.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said. “Firing ... now.”

  Susan sucked in a breath as the main guns opened fire, sweeping two American destroyers out of space before concentrating on one of the fleet carriers. The American carriers had their own protective armour, but it wasn't enough to stand up to Vanguard. Susan allowed herself a moment of vindictive glee as the carrier’s icon dimmed on the display, then watched coldly as the other fleet carrier came under heavy fire. Her crew were either more experienced or better led, she noted; they managed to keep the carrier going until she was out of Vanguard’s effective range. She was badly damaged, but two of her launch tubes were still intact. She’d be able to recover the starfighters from the other carrier, although keeping them might be tricky. The Americans might need to land their starfighters on the hull and hope they could be recovered before their life support packs ran out.

  And their packs may be lower than normal, she thought. If they launched the starfighters on unpowered ballistic trajectories ...

  She had to hand it to Admiral Pournelle. The tactic had been innovative and, against a fleet carrier, it might well have proved decisive. Pournelle couldn't have known Captain Blake would freeze, when put to the test, so he’d thrown a sucker punch at the entire squadron. The only thing that had saved Churchill-One from a curbstomp battle had been Vanguard’s armour.

  And we lost all of the squadron, she reminded herself. Fleet carriers took five years to build, but still ... it had been a costly victory. Admiral Boskone may not consider the trade-off worthwhile.

  “Captain,” Parkinson said, formally. “I’m picking up a surrender signal from Admiral Pournelle. He’s striking the flag.”

  “I think we won,” Mason added. He sounded pleased. “They really shouldn't have let themselves get so close.”

  Susan gritted her teeth. After killing one fleet carrier, two cruisers and seven destroyers - and crippling another fleet carrier - it was quite possible that Admiral Boskone wouldn't look too closely at the combat records. Part of her was almost relieved; she wouldn't have to explain why she hadn't either relieved the captain of command or reported his ... problems ... to superior authority. And yet, at least it would have ensured she didn’t have to hide anything any longer.

  “Signal to all decks,” she ordered, tightly. “Well done.”

  The display flickered as the ‘destroyed’ ships came back to life. Her crew would probably be swimming in beer, once they returned to Marina. She had no idea if American crewmen were paid more than British crewmen, but there was nothing else to spend money on while cruising between the stars. And besides, by any reasonable standard, they’d won.

  And the captain froze up, she thought, grimly. Maybe they had won, but Captain Nottingham was likely to have a few harsh things to say about the whole affair and so were the other commanding officers. How could she blame them? Now what the hell do I do?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “If this is punishment,” George murmured to herself, “I need to be naughtier.”

  The Boatswain looked up from his console. “Pardon, Midshipwoman?”

  George felt her cheeks heat. It was against regulations to fly a shuttlecraft with less than two crewmen, unless it was a major emergency, but she’d been so enraptured by the vision of interplanetary space that she’d forgotten the Boatswain was there. Being out in space, away from the cramped interior of Vanguard, was fantastic. She was honestly tempted to request a permanent transfer to flying shuttles and to hell with trying to reach command rank.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” she said. “My mind was wandering.”

  “As long as it doesn't wander us straight into another ship,” the Boatswain said, dryly. “And as long as you don’t lose touch with the fleet.”

  George nodded, embarrassed. The first war game had been followed by a dozen others, ranging from deep-space ambushes to defending the planet against an invading fleet. She’d been torn between enjoying her birds-eye view of the engagements and envying
Nathan and the other midshipmen for serving in the engineering, tactical and helm departments when there were so many interesting things going on. The experience they were gaining, just from unpredictable fleet games, would be invaluable later in their careers.

  But at least I’ve been getting better at issuing commands, she thought. Even if I still make mistakes from time to time.

  She glanced at the Boatswain, who seemed to be paying attention to his console. He’d saved her from making a number of mistakes, although he’d often let her make the first mistake and only then explain why it was a mistake. The shuttle crews knew what they were doing, after all; George could issue generalised orders, but never specific ones. She hadn't realised just how little she’d known of shuttle operational procedures - everything from flying to maintenance - until she’d gone to work in the shuttlebay.

  “You’re an officer,” the Boatswain had said. “You find an enlisted crewman who knows how to do any specific task and order him to do it.”