Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Incoming missiles,” the sensor officer said. “They’ve opened fire!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “They’ve opened fire?”

  Susan barely had time for the captain’s stunned question. The unknowns - and she doubted they’d run into a second unknown race - had carried out a near-perfect ambush. They had to have detected the survey ships, part of her mind noted, and lurked in UXS-469 until more starships arrived. And then they’d attacked. Unprovoked, they’d attacked.

  “Stand by point defence,” she snapped. Launching missiles from long range was an exercise in futility, which suggested the aliens had something nasty up their sleeves. “Alert the screen; order them to adjust formation and prepare to repel attack!”

  “They can't,” Captain Blake stammered. He sounded as if he were on the verge of panicking again. “They shouldn't even be here! Run the first contact protocols - we have to talk to them!”

  Susan gritted her teeth, pulled the stunner from her belt and stunned the captain before he could hope to react. He collapsed on the deck, unconscious. It was unfortunate, part of her mind noted, that he’d seen fit to invite Prince Henry to the bridge. The bridge crew might keep quiet about a pre-planned mutiny, but the prince might be experienced enough to recognise what she’d done. And yet, he might also understand why she’d done it.

  “I am formally relieving the captain of command,” she stated, for the record. “If any of you wish to object, you may insert a note into the ship’s log.”

  She sat down in the command chair, resting the stunner in her lap. None of the senior officers would object, she was sure, but the juniors might do something stupid. And then there was the prince, a wild card. She was tempted to order him off the bridge, yet she knew she didn’t dare take the risk of him going straight to the marines. The last thing they needed was a shootout on the bridge.

  “Admiral Boskone has ordered all starfighters launched,” Parkinson reported. “He’s also attempting to use the first contact protocols, but the unknowns are not responding.”

  “Shooting at someone is also a form of communication,” Mason noted. “It says they don’t want us around.”

  “Launch sensor probes,” Susan ordered. It was hard, very hard, for the tactical sensors to get a lock on their foes. Their sensor stealth system wasn't a perfect cloaking device, but it seemed capable of keeping active sensors from gaining a hard lock on enemy hulls. “And ...”

  “Incoming starfighters,” Charlotte snapped. “They’re launching starfighters of their own.”

  “Order the point defence to concentrate on the missiles,” Susan ordered. The enemy missiles had to carry something nasty, something far nastier than a standard nuke. They had to know the defenders would swat most of the missiles out of space before they could enter attack range. “Can you get me a target breakdown?”

  “They’re concentrating on the bigger ships,” Charlotte said. “Courageous, Enterprise, the Tadpole carriers ... and us.”

  Susan braced herself as the missiles roared into attack range. The fleet’s point defence opened fire, picking off dozens of missiles before they could pose a danger ...

  ... And then the missiles began to detonate. Laser heads, part of her mind noted, but far more powerful than any humanity had managed to design. Shafts of deadly force lanced out towards their targets, slicing through their hulls and inflicting heavy damage on their interiors. A destroyer blew apart in a flash of light - the first ship to die - followed rapidly by an American cruiser and a French frigate.

  “Got a solid lock,” Charlotte snapped. The display cleared, revealing twelve heavy starships - battleships or superdreadnaughts - and nine carriers, surrounded by over seventy smaller ships. “They’re firing a second spread of missiles!”

  And most of our heavy ships are designed to fire energy weapons, Susan thought. Admiral Boskone was reorganising his formation, but the enemy were already pounding the crap out of the screen. They have an undeniable edge at long-range.

  “Launch our own missiles,” she ordered. She doubted they’d score any hits, unless the alien point defence was puny, but it would give them something else to worry about. “And prepare to reverse course.”

  Mason sucked in his breath. “Courageous and Enterprise have been targeted,” he snapped, loudly. “Their screens are moving to provide cover ...”

  “Alter course,” Susan ordered. If the aliens had been watching the fleet from a distance, they might have successfully identified the command ships. Or they might just have been shooting at the carriers. “Bring us about. Prepare to close the range.”

  She clenched her fists as missiles roared down on the two fleet carriers. Hundreds died, but dozens survived long enough to detonate, blasting laser beams directly into the massive starships. Courageous staggered out of formation, plasma venting from her hull; Susan found herself praying that the crew had had enough time to run for the lifepods before the massive ship exploded into a ball of expanding plasma. Seconds later, Enterprise followed, the American carrier struggling valiantly until the end.

  “Admiral Boskone is dead,” Mason reported.

  “Enemy ships targeting the Tadpole carriers,” Charlotte added. “Our starfighters ...”

  New icons flared to life on the display. “Commander,” Charlotte snapped, interrupting herself, “there are new enemy starships emerging from Tramline Two!”

  Well, the morbid side of Susan’s mind noted, that settles the question of whether or not the aliens can use the tramlines.

  “Get on to the fleet command network,” she ordered. Losing both of the fleet’s commanding officers meant ... what? Who was in command? “Find out who’s in command!”

  “Aye, Commander,” Parkinson said.

  Susan nodded, then watched grimly as the three starfighter groups collided. The unknowns seemed to be at a slight disadvantage, although they possessed plasma weapons; the missiles she’d launched into the teeth of the enemy formation had all been picked off effortlessly. But the loss of the fleet carriers - the unknowns had blown a Tadpole carrier apart and were now concentrating their efforts on the remaining carriers - meant that recovering the fighter pilots would be far harder ... and rearming them would be impossible. The entire formation was coming apart.

  It could be a Tadpole in command, she thought, as the sensor display updated again. The unknowns had definitely planned the ambush, blocking both the fleet’s retreat and any prospect of it charging through the tramline to fight to the death. Or ...

  She shuddered. Was Captain Blake supposed to be in command?

  “Belfast has been destroyed,” Mason reported quietly. “Dallas has taken heavy damage and her commander has ordered an evacuation ...”

  Let’s hope the aliens are in the mood to take prisoners, Susan thought. But even if they want to take prisoners, can they keep them alive?

  “Commander,” Parkinson said, quietly. “Captain Blake is meant to be in command.”

  Susan swore. She should have had a contingency plan for that, but ... but she’d never anticipated every officer above him being either killed or knocked out of contact. Surely there was someone else who could take command? And yet, with the fleet carriers taking a pounding, Vanguard was probably the only ship in the fleet that had a reasonable chance of remaining intact. Or, at least, the only human ship.

  “They’re requesting orders,” Parkinson added. “I can inform them that Captain Blake has been ... disabled ...?”

  “No,” Susan said. She wasn't sure what to do - no regulations covered this situation - but the fleet couldn't afford an argument over who was in command, not now. “Reroute the fleet command network through the CIC, then update me on the fleet’s status ...”

  She thought, rapidly. The fleet couldn't stay where it was or it would be smashed to rubble, piece by piece. Charging forward into the teeth of enemy fire wasn't an option, not when there was only one battleship and four superdreadnaughts. Vanguard and the superdreadnaughts might survive, but th
e remaining ships would be lost. And yet, there was something odd about the alien formation, something she was missing ...

  It struck her in a moment of brilliant insight. The unknowns didn't need to worry about trapping the fleet in an inescapable trap; they’d brought more than enough firepower to complete the fleet’s destruction. And yet, they’d left the fleet a way out ... why? The way to Tramline Three was clear! No matter how she looked at it, the only answer was that the unknowns hadn't figured out how to use the alien-grade tramlines!

  “Signal all ships,” she ordered. “They are to change course and head directly to Tramline Three.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Parkinson said.

  Susan ran her hand through her sweaty hair. She’d either be promoted, if she got the fleet back home, or shot. Or both. The Admiralty would have problems deciding just which charge to put on the execution warrant. She fought down a very childish giggle at the thought, then studied the display. The human starfighters were doing well, very well, but the aliens had the numbers. And it was clear that the only thing holding them back was their technology, not any lack of skill. Given updated starfighters, Susan noted, they’d have a definite edge.

  “Order the fleet carriers to take point, escorted by half of the destroyers,” she continued, as the display updated. Vanguard and the superdreadnaughts would have to take the brunt of enemy fire. Luckily, their armour should be able to resist the enemy weapons. But if there was a third enemy fleet, she'd just sent her remaining fleet carriers to their doom. She pushed the thought aside as she considered her options. “And then order the starfighters to engage the enemy formation ...”

  She swore, inwardly, as the second wave of enemy ships launched a new force of starfighters towards the human ships. “Belay that order,” she added. Vanguard could shrug off starfighters, unless they were armed with something completely new, but the fleet carriers and the smaller ships were dangerously vulnerable. “Recall the starfighters. They are to provide cover.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Parkinson said.

  “The enemy ships are targeting us,” Charlotte said. “They’re launching another spread of missiles.”

  And at closer range too, Susan noted. It probably wouldn't make any difference, but it showed just how forcefully the aliens were pressing the advantage. We may be about to give Vanguard her first real test.

  “The point defence cannons are to fire at will,” she ordered. If only they’d been able to link the human and Tadpole ships together! The formation was really composed of two separate formations, barely able to talk to one another! Did the aliens realise it? All they’d have to do was run a tactical analysis and the patterns would be unmistakable. “And try and link our communications overlay with the Tadpole systems!”

  “That may cause problems, Commander,” Parkinson said. “I ...”

  “So will a flight of missiles,” Susan snapped. And the aliens were launching yet another salvo, targeting the remaining carriers! “We have to stop as many of those missiles as possible!”

  “Recommend a hammerhead firing pattern,” Mason said. “It might work.”

  “Do it,” Susan ordered.

  The captain moaned from the deck. Susan hesitated, unsure what to do. There was a risk of brain damage if someone was repeatedly stunned, but if the captain recovered he could try to retake command. If only he’d had the sense to stay in his cabin, chatting up the prince ...

  “I’ll take him out of here,” Prince Henry said. “You concentrate on keeping us alive.”

  Susan nodded, gratefully.

  “Enemy missiles approaching engagement range,” Mason said. “Point defence armed and ready ... firing missiles.”

  And see if we can punch holes in their formation, Susan thought. The enemy starfighters were ripping through the formation, despite losing hundreds of pilots to the fleet’s point defence. They seemed to have targeted the American carrier Eisenhower specifically, although Susan wasn't sure what the Americans had done to piss them off. But then, she had no idea what the contact fleet had done to piss the aliens off either ...

  “Eisenhower has been destroyed,” Charlotte noted. “Tadpole-Three is under heavy attack.”

  “Missiles entering engagement range,” Mason snapped.

  Susan nodded. Standard laser heads needed to be closer if they wanted to inflict real damage, but the aliens had managed to evade that problem. She wondered idly how they did it, then dismissed the thought. The boffins could figure it out, just as they’d worked out how the Tadpole technology worked during the last war. All that mattered, right now, was saving as much of the fleet as she could ...

  She keyed her console. “All hands, brace for impact,” she snapped. “I say again, all hands brace for impact!”

  “Tadpole-Three has been destroyed,” Charlotte reported. “Commander ...”

  ***

  Henry felt sweat pouring down his face as he dragged the groggy Captain Blake into his Ready Room, then closed the hatch firmly behind him. He knew he was in good shape, despite spending most of the last decade behind a desk on Tadpole Prime, but Captain Blake felt like so much deadweight. Henry dumped the former commanding officer on the deck, then looked around for something he could use to tie the man’s hands. It was just possible that the stunner had caused a heart attack, but it didn't look likely. Captain Blake wasn't that overweight.

  Just stupid and foolish, Henry thought, as he hunted through the Ready Room. It was crammed with junk, but there was no rope, duct tape or anything else he needed. He wound up having to convert a dinner tie into a makeshift rope and using it to bind the captain’s hands. Why couldn't he have stuffed something useful into his Ready Room?

  Captain Blake groaned. Henry contemplated stuffing something into the man’s mouth, just to keep him quiet, but it wasn't so easy to gag someone in real life. Stellar Star might be bound and gagged, stark naked, every second episode; real people needed tougher measures to keep them quiet. Besides, stunners posed health risks; it was just possible the captain would throw up, or worse, and he’d choke to death on his own vomit if he was gagged.

  I could kill you, he thought, darkly. He’d reviewed the captain’s record three times since boarding the battleship, using his access codes to read the classified sections, but there had been nothing to suggest that Captain Blake was a crawling sycophant. Hell, Henry would have tolerated the sycophancy if Captain Blake had been competent. I might even be able to get away with snapping your neck right now.

  He scowled. It wasn't likely, not really. But leaving Captain Blake alive created no shortage of problems. His goddamned contacts were likely to demand the XO be hanged for daring to relieve their precious captain of duty. And wouldn't that cause problems, when the rest of the navy learned what had happened. The Old Boys Network couldn't be allowed to push a known incompetent into command or all hell would break loose.

  The captain stared up at him, his eyes flickering from side to side. Henry had never been stunned in his life, but from what he’d heard it was rather like recovering from a three-day bender. It would be quite some time before the captain was ready to cause trouble ... he shook his head, tiredly. Admiral Smith would never have reacted so poorly, nor would Admiral Fitzwilliam. If nothing else, Henry was sure he could talk to the latter and work to avert a court martial for the XO. She’d handled the situation poorly, but he had no idea how it could have been handled better.

  Accidentally poison the idiot, he thought, or let him walk out an airlock?

  The entire ship shook, violently. He caught hold of a chair and held on for dear life.

  ***

  Susan gripped hold of her console as Vanguard shuddered. She’d seen the specifications, she knew just how much firepower was needed to punch through Vanguard’s hull and inflict real damage ... she held herself upright, somehow, as red icons flared over the status display.

  “Report,” she snapped. “How badly were we hit?”

  “We took three direct hits,” Mason reported. “Tu
rret Six has been disabled and is venting plasma, Drive Two is offline. Engineering and damage control teams are on their way.”

  “Understood,” Susan said. “Helm, how long until we reach the tramline?”

  “Ten minutes at current speed,” Reed snapped. He sounded badly stressed. “They’re gaining on us.”

  And if we ramp up the drives we leave the remaining carriers behind, Susan thought. The ambush had been perfect. Maybe they haven't picked off the last two carriers because they know we’ll be able to move faster without them.

  She scowled. If only she knew what the enemy could do ...

  “Engineering reports that Drive Two is beyond repair,” Parkinson said. “The Chief has rerouted power around the fusion core and thinks we shouldn't suffer any major problems as long as we don’t lose more reactor cores.”