Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  And that will be the least of our problems, she thought, as the alien craft launched another spread of missiles. Her point defence fire was starting to slack, although the screen was doing what it could to thin the herd. At this rate, they're likely to batter us into a hulk ...

  “The enemy carriers are picking up speed, but they’re not going to escape,” Charlotte reported. “Their starfighters are returning, however ...”

  “Hold your course,” Susan ordered. She was surprised the aliens hadn't ordered the carriers to scatter, making it harder for Vanguard to chase them both down. But then, they probably couldn't have escaped in any case. “And ...”

  She broke off as the display updated. “Report!”

  “The first carrier is altering course and heading back towards us,” Charlotte reported, slowly. “I think the second carrier ... confirmed; the second carrier is altering course and trying to make its way back to the tramline.”

  They’re going to try to ram, Susan thought, grimly. The aliens might not know how Ark Royal had died, but they were certainly intent on repeating the feat. A carrier might just survive long enough to do it too.

  “Alter course,” she ordered. Vanguard was faster, but evading the carrier might prove tricky if her crew remained firmly in control. “All weapons are to engage the carrier.”

  “Aye, sir,” Reed said.

  “She’s the largest target,” Mason said. “The gunners are bound to go for her.”

  “Pass the word,” Susan ordered. “Send runners, if you have to. Get them shooting at that damned carrier!”

  She gritted her teeth as the carrier slowly turned to face Vanguard, spitting out a series of missiles. The aliens were determined, she gave them that much; she would have ordered a retreat by now, at least long enough to regroup and re-evaluate the situation. But they were still fighting, willing to sacrifice a carrier to destroy Vanguard ...

  They may not have a choice, she thought. They must have realised that they can’t hope to save both carriers.

  “The enemy carrier is entering weapons range,” Mason said.

  “Fire,” Susan snapped. “And alter course!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Reed said.

  She gritted her teeth. The aliens had trapped her into a death ride ... no, she’d trapped herself, even though she should have known better. Guiding the carrier into ramming Vanguard would be far easier than evading the carrier. Vanguard might be faster, but turning around would be harder ...

  ***

  “There's a runner at the hatch,” Simpson shouted. “Turn all of our firepower on that damned carrier!”

  “Yes, sir,” George snapped.

  She looked for targets, then opened fire, aiming at the carrier’s hull. There was no way to tell what would explode when hit and what wouldn't, but blasting the carrier’s point defence to hell would give the missile batteries a chance to score hits themselves. The aliens had done it to Vanguard; the least she could do was return the favour and do it to them. A chain of explosions flared up on the alien hull; she targeted their missile launchers and hammered them, but there was no major explosion. Nukes didn't detonate if they were hit with a hammer - or even with a plasma bolt.

  “They’re going to ram us,” Haverford breathed.

  “As you were,” Simpson snapped. “Route all power to the main guns; kill that bastard!”

  George nodded, barely able to breathe. The main guns were battering the enemy carrier, blowing chunks off its armour and digging deep into its hull, but it wasn't enough to stop the craft. She was still coming ... George jammed her fingers down on the console, despite knowing that there was a very valid risk of overheating the guns and causing an explosion, one she knew she wouldn't survive. The enemy carrier was still coming ...

  “They’re launching missiles,” Simpson said. “Let the nukes get inside the wanker.”

  “Aye, sir,” George said.

  She couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. The enemy carrier was dead, it had to be. No one could have survived the holocaust she’d unleashed. And yet, it was still coming, driven by a mindless indomitable will. A solid mass that threatened to take Vanguard with her to hell. And ...

  The first of the nukes detonated. For a horrified moment, she thought the carrier would survive several nukes detonating inside her hull before a chain of explosions ripped her apart, scattering a cloud of debris into space. A number of starfighters roared past, several fleeing to the final carrier while others hovered for a long moment before turning and hurling themselves on Vanguard. After what the carrier had taken, their attempts to ram were almost meaningless. The battleship barely noticed the impacts.

  “We got her,” Simpson said.

  George nodded, unable to speak. How much firepower had the enemy carrier soaked up before she’d finally been blown to hell?

  “Start emergency coolant procedures,” Simpson added. “We don’t want an explosion now.”

  “Aye, sir,” George said, shaking herself. Her body was drenched in sweat. The gunnery crew looked terrible and she was pretty sure she didn't look any better. She ran a hand through her short hair and recoiled at the oily feel. “What if we have to keep firing?”

  “Then we may be in some trouble,” Simpson admitted. He sounded as if he wanted to snap at her, but he was too tired to muster the energy. “But we will also be in some trouble if the guns explode, so start cooling them down.”

  “Aye, sir,” George said.

  ***

  “They were prepared to throw away a carrier to stop us,” Felicity said, shocked.

  “They didn't have a choice,” Henry said. The remainder of the alien fleet had broken off the engagement, retreating back towards the second carrier and the tramline. They’d done a great deal of damage, but there were evidently limits to the losses the unknowns were prepared to take. “We would have killed both carriers if they’d tried to run.”

  He scowled as he reran the sensor records. It was impossible to be sure, at least until the post-battle assessment teams started to work their way through the derelict alien carrier, but it looked as though the enemy carriers had heavier armour on their prow, rather than trying to protect their entire hulls. That explained why the first carriers had been killed so easily, he decided, while the final carrier had taken one hell of a pounding before it had been blown into debris. Indeed, given the hyper-aggression the aliens had shown, it suggested that defence was not a priority for them.

  “They may never see themselves as standing on the defensive,” he mused. “I wonder how their ECM compares to ours.”

  “Standing on the defensive almost certainly means accepting defeat,” Felicity said, primly.

  “I was taught that at the academy, but it isn't true,” Henry pointed out. “Taking the offensive only works if you have enough firepower to take the offensive. Pausing long enough to gather the firepower may make the difference between success and failure.”

  Felicity said nothing, but she certainly didn't look if she believed him.

  Henry shrugged. “Things seem to be winding down,” he added. “We’ll complete our report later, I think.”

  ***

  “Break off the pursuit,” Susan ordered. The final alien carrier - and its escorts - were well on their way to making their escape. “Warn Captain Harper to stay out of their way.”

  Mason blinked. “Captain, we could kill them ...”

  Susan had to fight down the urge to bite his head off. He was right, in a sense, provided she was willing to gamble that she could kill the remaining carrier before it rammed Vanguard, destroying both ships. But she wasn't. She’d come far too close to losing everything in the final moments before the carrier had been blown to dust. All of a sudden, she thought she understood just how Captain Blake had lost his nerve. Coming too close to utter disaster could break a man.

  Poor bastard, she thought, feeling a flicker of sympathy. She still disliked him for not having the courage to seek relief, but she understood him a little better
now. Maybe they’ll just let him retire into obscurity.

  “Let them go,” she ordered. Neither the remains of the contact fleet nor the Tadpoles were in any state for a prolonged fight. They’d just have to hope that their reinforcements were closer than the enemy reinforcements. Surely, the Tadpoles would have sent for aid as soon as they received the warning. “Transmit a full copy of our records to the Tadpoles and another to Captain Harper, then prep the marines to board the drifting carrier.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Susan nodded, grimly. The carrier might just have answers for them, starting with a look at the face of the enemy - both faces of the enemy. And who knew? They might recover an intact database or a piece of enemy technology. Even a damaged piece of scrap would be useful, if studied in the lab. Getting accurate data on enemy armour, if nothing else, would be very useful.

  “And get the damage control teams working on the hull,” she added. At least they had a hardwire connection back, although she wasn't sure how long it would last if the ship had to go straight back into battle. “We need some point defence emplacements repaired ...”

  “Captain,” Parkinson snapped, interrupting her. “I’m picking up an emergency message from Captain Harper! Hostiles - multiple hostiles - transiting the tramline!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Confirmed,” Charlotte said, grimly. “Fifty-seven starships have just entered the system, nine of them heavy cruisers.”

  “No carriers,” Susan mused. Her heart sank. No carriers meant no more starfighters, but neither of the defending fleets had many starfighters left either. “Were those the ships hunting us, do you think?”

  “Could be,” Mason said. “But the timing would seem to mitigate against it.”

  Susan nodded, slowly. The enemy had presumably dispatched a fleet up the chain to UXS-470, once they’d noticed their scouting squadron had gone missing. Getting that fleet back to Tadpole-453 in time to make a difference would be tricky, unless the fleet had been lurking in one of the connecting systems, planning to ambush the contact fleet when it passed. But no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't see how the enemy had managed the timing. It was far more likely that the newcomers had been intended as reinforcements for the first invasion fleet ...

  She shook her head, pushing the thought to one side. “Raise the flag,” she ordered. “Advise Captain Harper to join the other carriers, then ready ourselves for a last stand.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Captain Harper might have other ideas, Susan thought, but what?

  Gritting her teeth, she worked her way through the possible options. Retreating - abandoning Tadpole-453 - was possible, but the fleet was so badly battered that they’d be fighting a running battle all the way to the tramline. Even if the Tadpoles joined them, they’d be a battered shell by the time they reached safety ... and she couldn't blame the Tadpoles for being reluctant to concede the fleet base. Quite apart from losing their logistics base for the sector, they’d be exposing a large population to the horrors of occupation ...

  The unknowns didn’t look like water-dwellers, she thought. It was impossible to be sure, but the final reports had been fairly certain that the newcomers - both sets of newcomers - were land-dwellers. The Tadpoles might be able to remain undetected if they stay under the water.

  “Message from the Tadpole CO,” Parkinson reported, suddenly. “They’re requesting us to join their fleet and fall back on the fleet base.”

  “Forward the message to Captain Harper,” Susan ordered. It was his decision, although the honour of the Royal Navy - and the human race - called for standing shoulder to shoulder with their allies. “Tactical, time to intercept?”

  “Thirty-seven minutes, from the moment they leave the tramline,” Mason said. “They’re not moving.”

  “Must be plotting their next move,” Parkinson muttered. “They couldn't have been expecting to lose so many ships in the early stages of their invasion.”

  And rearming their starfighters, reloading their missile tubes and so on, Susan thought. They have all the time in the world to prep for the next battle.

  She glanced at the status report and gritted her teeth. The damage control teams were doing the best they could, but Vanguard really needed six months in a shipyard. Her point defence was almost gone, her main command links were badly battered and a second fusion core was on the verge of shutting down. She was proud of her crew, proud of their work, proud of their slow journey back to safety, but she knew it might all be for naught. The new enemies had caught them with their pants down.

  At least we bled them badly, she told herself. And we made them suffer for what they did to us.

  The first true battle of the war might be lost, she knew. Vanguard and her consorts - and the Tadpoles - would fight to the bitter end, but they’d lose. And yet, the enemy would be badly hurt and the Admiralty, alert to the scale of the threat, would have plenty of time to mobilise its forces. The boffins would go to work improving humanity’s weapons and defences, perhaps even duplicating the damned FTL communications system, and the newcomers, whoever they were, would be driven back to their homeworlds. Who knew? Maybe, after a few bloody noses, they’d sue for peace?

  They weren't interested in trying to talk to us, she thought, numbly. And yet there are two races, not one. How do they talk to each other?

  “Signal from the flag, Captain,” Parkinson said. “We are ordered to join with the Tadpoles in defence of the fleet base. Roosevelt is on her way to link up with the Tadpole carriers.”

  “Send him an acknowledgement,” Susan ordered. “Helm, take us to the fleet base.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Reed said.

  She watched, numbly, as the combined fleet slowly fell back on the planet. The Tadpoles weren't wasting their time, she noted; they were forwarding starfighters from the planetary defence stations to their carriers, prepping them for a potential offensive. They’d be out and ready to kill, having learned how best to use their advantages, when the newcomers launched their attack. And they were even running resupply convoys up to the fleet ...

  They won’t have anything we can use, Susan thought. The contact fleet’s handful of logistics ships had been blown away in the first few seconds of the ambush, while human and Tadpole missiles were incompatible. There’s no way to replace our losses.

  “The enemy fleet is moving, Captain,” Charlotte reported. “They’re heading directly towards the planet.”

  “Understood,” Susan said. She felt a surge of cool resolve. Everything had just become a great deal simpler. They would fight until they were overwhelmed, clawing the enemy as badly as they could before they died. “Time to intercept?”

  “Forty minutes,” Reed said. “We should have time to take up position before they reach us.”

  “Then keep us on our present course,” Susan ordered. “Copy our final records to the flag, then have them forwarded to a destroyer. At least the Admiralty will know what has happened here.”

  She wondered, briefly, if she should make an announcement to the crew. The history of the Royal Navy was crammed with dramatic sayings that had gone down in history. But she couldn't think of anything. There were a dozen commendations she wanted to make too, praising officers and crew who’d gone above and beyond the call of duty. And yet, it hardly mattered. They weren't going to survive long enough for the messages to be received and confirmed by the Admiralty.

  And the opportunity to recover that hulk is gone, she thought, morbidly. She thought about dispatching an assessment team anyway, but they wouldn't have time to make any discoveries before the aliens caught them. We’re back to square one.

  “Inform the crew of the situation,” she said, finally. “And tell them that we will engage the enemy in forty minutes.”

  ***

  George sat on her chair, hugging her legs. It didn't seem fair, somehow. Vanguard had been through hell - the ambush and the long crawl to Tadpole-453 - and she deserved
a break. Her crew deserved a chance to relax, a chance to actually recover from their endeavours ... but now they were all going to die. She knew they’d fight to the last, yet she couldn't convince herself that they had a hope in hell of survival. The enemy had them pushed against the wall.

  Uncle James was in bad places too, she reminded herself. And he managed to survive.

  She swallowed, even though her mouth was dry. Uncle James Fitzwilliam had had both luck and skill on his side. Vanguard’s position was nowhere near so encouraging. There wasn't a single ship bearing down on them, but a whole fleet. Vanguard had superior firepower, yet there were too many alien ships to destroy before they tore the battleship apart, or disabled and boarded her. She touched the pistol at her belt, knowing all too well what it meant when crews were issued firearms and ammunition. The command staff were expecting unwelcome visitors.