“Ninety seconds,” Merlin said.
Now or never, Emily thought. “All ships, fire off remaining decoys, then go stealthy. Good luck.”
Three hundred and fifty missiles bore down on them. Everyone watched the holo display, unable to turn away. Betty McCann quietly wept. Alex Rudd swallowed convulsively. Chief Gibson stared fixedly at the holo display, as if force of will could make the missiles go away. Seaman Partridge kept nodding, as if everything was going according to plan. Other crew members crossed themselves or fingered religious talismans.
Emily was suddenly seized by terrible doubt. It had seemed such a good idea when Partridge suggested it, but now she watched with growing horror as the missiles relentlessly homed in. She was putting them all, her crew, the entire Coldstream Guards, in terrible jeopardy. Her mistake would kill them.
Emily closed her eyes and said a prayer.
“Sixty seconds.”
Then Chief Freidman swore viciously. “Sweet Gods! The Ducks are running for it!”
The four Dominion supply ships had abruptly turned and accelerated, each of them heading in a different direction. For a moment, the twelve Coldstream Guards ships sat naked before the missile onslaught.
Emily frantically signaled Alyce to open a call to the Togo. “Togo, cut your engines now or we will fire on you!”
Captain Hantman’s face appeared on the com screen. “Fire on us and take a risk that you’ll knock out our friend-or-foe beacon?” she asked in mock astonishment. “I don’t think you’ll take that chance, New Zealand.”
Emily cut off the com, slapping her armrest in frustration. She’d been suckered and then caught flatfooted.
“Pilot, steer to the Togo! Quickly! Tuck in as close as you can,” Emily ordered. “All ships, hug any supply ship you can reach.” But the supply ships had gone to full military power and were pulling away.
“Thirty seconds,” Merlin said calmly. Further proof computers were stupid, Emily thought viciously.
“Full power, Pilot!” The New Zealand seemed to leap forward as Bahawalanzai kicked in all four of the anti-matter engines. The Togo fired its anti-missile weapons at them, but the New Zealand’s armor shook them off and they closed in rapidly. Bahawalanzai killed the engines and deftly nudged the DMB brake. The pitted hull of the Togo once again filled their view screen. The holo display showed ships scattered about, some close to one of the supply ships…some not.
“You are a genius at the helm, Mr. Bahawalanzai,” Emily said fervently.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Bahawalanzai replied matter of factly.
“Five seconds to impact,” Merlin intoned.
“Gods of our Mothers,” Betty McCann sobbed. “Protect your children now in their hour of need.”
The missiles reached them.
Emily had the fleeting impression of shadows flickering on the view screen, then more shadows, then…nothing. The bridge crew looked at each other in wary disbelief. On the holo display the tide of missiles surged past them…and kept going.
“They missed us,” Chief Freidman said, an astonished grin spreading across his face. “By Christ and all the Saints, they missed us!”
But they hadn’t missed everyone. Two flashing Code Omega symbols blinked on the holo display. The cruiser Southampton and the frigate Kilimanjaro were both gone. More than a thousand men and women. Emily glanced urgently at Chief Gibson, who shook his head. “No sign of life boats,” he told her.
A deep wave of coldness washed through her then. She was neither sad nor angry, but her heart ached and part of her wanted to weep with frustration. I brought these people into harm’s way, she thought. My people. And they died under my orders, because I wasn’t clever enough. Hundreds, thousands of men and women who depended on me to keep them alive. And I wasn’t clever enough.
And the cold seeped through her, through her limbs and into her stomach. And finally, blessedly, it reached her anguished heart and gave her respite.
“Lieutenant Tuttle?” Betty McCann said softly. “It’s-it’s the Togo. Captain Hantman wants to talk to you. She says she is prepared to surrender.”
Emily turned and stared at her. McCann fell silent. Emily turned to Alex Rudd and Chief Gibson. They both stared back, then nodded.
Emily opened a channel to the surviving Coldstream Guards. “All ships, fire at will until the supply ships have been destroyed.”
Chapter 58
On the Space Station Atlas,
En route to Refuge
“I’ve got thirty five war ships left,” Admiral Douthat reported. “And almost all of them have damage of some sort or another. The Brisbane is shot to pieces; in normal times she would be sent to the dock for scrap, but she can still fly and still has a couple of operating lasers and missile tubes, so she stays in the game. And we’ve still got the arks, Javelin, Battle Ax, and Kite Runner, with forty five heavy gunboats. I’m saving them for when I absolutely need them,” she said grimly. “The intensity of the fire means that the gunboats won’t last long once they’re committed. We’ll be lucky to get one good attack run out of them.”
“And the enemy?” asked Queen Anne. It was the end of the third day since they had fled from Cornwall. They sat in the Queen’s quarters in one of the hotels that had been taken over by the Queen and the Fleet. Admiral Douthat and Captain Eder were bleary with fatigue, their uniforms rumpled and dirty. Hiram Brill sat in one corner with his tablet, trying to both keep up with the flow of data and information from their patrol ships and reconnaissance drones and remain inconspicuous at the same time. Peter Murphy was there, dressed in a grease-stained jumpsuit that looked out of place among the Fleet uniforms. And sitting next to the Queen was Sir Henry, looking dour and preoccupied. Sir Henry, normally formal and dapper, had not shaved that morning, which Hiram found deeply unsettling.
Admiral Douthat gestured wearily for Hiram to answer. Douthat was running on nerves and coffee; her exhaustion hung on her like a ratty old coat.
“Of the ten Hedgehog anti-missile platforms that we know of, Admiral Douthat’s counter-attack killed seven and may have damaged some of the remaining three,” Hiram explained. “We also destroyed or badly damaged five other Dominion ships, three destroyers, a frigate and one of their cruisers. We don’t have an exact count, but we think that the particular task force that has been chasing us — Bogey One — may be down to as few as fifty war ships out of their original eighty five. Of course, they still outnumber us, and there is still the Bogey Two force that appears to be stopped near Cornwall. We think Bogey Two has some sixty five ships. Call it one hundred and twenty ships to our thirty five.”
Sir Henry flinched, but the Queen seemed unperturbed. “But there’s more, isn’t there? You’re looking very tired, Admiral, but not panicked.”
Douthat smiled wryly, or tried to. It came out more like a ghastly baring of teeth. “They have more ships, but they have to come to us. We have hundreds of missile pods, an enormous number of laser mines and many antimatter mines. We have laid out the minefield in a sphere around us and we are towing it with us as we move toward Refuge. Getting to us won’t be easy, Your Majesty. And now that they’ve lost most of their Hedgehogs, they’re more vulnerable to our missile fire, much more vulnerable.”
“I assume,” Anne said dryly, “that it will not be that easy.”
Douthat snorted. “That is an understatement, Your Majesty. They outnumber us, they are more maneuverable than we are, and they know where we are going. Taking out those Hedgehogs gives us a chance, but this is still going to be very ugly.”
“And the Coldstream Guard?”
Admiral Douthat sighed. “We’ve had no contact in ten hours. We’re pretty sure they killed Bogey One’s supply train, and that would explain in part why Bogey One has broken off action. There were two more Code Omega drones, from the Southampton and the Kilimanjaro, but nothing since then. Either the rest of the Coldstream Guards have been driven deeper into space, or they are swinging wide around the Dominion forces to
return to the Atlas and have gone stealthy to try to avoid contact.” She shrugged. She did not have to state the third alternative, that the rest of the Coldstream Guard had been destroyed to the last ship.
“And Second Fleet?”
Douthat shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all. Based on the report from the Bawdy Bertha, it looks like the entire Second Fleet, and all of the Third Fleet with it, has been lost. Until we reach Refuge, Your Majesty, we are on our own.”
“And when shall we arrive, Admiral?”
Douthat glanced at Peter Murphy and nodded. Murphy cleared his throat nervously. Like the others, he was going with too little sleep, too little food and too much anxiety. But with the possible exception of Sir Henry, Murphy was the oldest person in the room, and it showed. His skin was grey, his cheeks sunken and his eyes red. Hiram noticed a nervous tick by Murphy’s left eye that had not been there before.
“We should hit the worm hole in forty seven hours and — ” he checked his tablet — “ten minutes. We are making better speed than we had originally estimated. We’ve had about one hundred tug boat failures, with over-stressed tractor beam generators, but we’ve been able to swap them out from stores on Atlas. So we’re making good speed.”
“That’s wonderful, Captain!” the Queen said, but then faltered as she took in the somber faces around her. She looked from Murphy to Admiral Douthat, then back to Murphy. “Perhaps it would be best if you just tell me what the problem is, Mr. Murphy?”
“Well, Majesty,” Murphy began, then restarted. “The thing of it is, Majesty, we’re pulling the Atlas in a straight line. She’s big, really big, and it’s very hard for us to alter course…if we have to, I mean.” His voice trailed off.
“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Queen Anne snapped.
Hiram sighed and put his tablet down. “The worm hole into Refuge moves, Majesty. It changes location often, perhaps several times a month. Sometimes as much as a thousand miles per day, other days not at all. The orientation of the entrance is always the same, thank God, but from the perspective of our plane of advance, the worm hole can move left or right by a considerable distance with very little warning.”
Anne digested this for a moment. “And if moves?”
Murphy jumped back in. “We can make course corrections up to twenty four hours out, but once we’re inside of twenty four hours, if it moves very much left or right, we won’t be able to change course fast enough to hit it.”
“We could save the ships in this eventuality, but the Atlas would overshoot the worm hole,” Admiral Douthat said.
“And if Atlas overshoots the worm hole?” the Queen asked.
Murphy shrugged. “There’s no way to turn her around if we overshoot,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’s too big to turn around in less than a month.” He tried a tired grin. “We’re on course right now, Majesty. If the worm hole doesn’t jig on us, we’ll hit it dead center. But if it moves, well…”
Anne turned back to Admiral Douthat and Captain Eder. “And the Dominion? Can we withstand another attack with so few ships?”
The fatigue in the admiral’s face seemed to burn away for a moment and she grinned wolfishly. “They may have more ships, Majesty, but we may have more actual ‘throw weight.’ The Atlas has several hundred missile pods and mines, and it’s building more even as we speak. We’re slaving the missile pods to all of our capital ships and even to the tug boats. No matter which way the Dominion comes at us, we can make it very hot for them.”
“That’s the importance of killing the Dominion Hedgehogs, Majesty,” Sir Henry spoke for the first time. “Without the Hedgehogs, our missile penetration will be significantly more successful.”
This is hope of Victoria, Queen Anne thought: Thirty five ships, a space station and a handful of very determined people who won’t give in to despair.
“Thank you, Admiral, and you as well, Captain Eder. And you, Captain Murphy. If we must face desperate times, I am grateful that we face it together.” When Douthat, Eder and Murphy had gone, the Queen leaned back into her chair with a sigh. “And you, Mr. Brill? You seemed rather quiet through this. Do you disagree with this course of action?”
Hiram reluctantly put down his tablet. “I was the one who originally suggested it, Majesty. We don’t have any choice.”
Queen Anne considered it for a moment. “And the Dominion? What will they do now?”
Hiram shrugged. “We’re two days from reaching Refuge. They cannot let Atlas — and you, Majesty — escape. The Dominion will join Bogey One and Two into one large attack force and throw everything they have against us.”
“And if we reach Refuge, will be safe then?”
“There is a risk that the Dominion will follow us into Refuge, but if it does, then it will have to deal with the Refuge navy as well. Refuge honors its debts.”
Hiram’s tablet beeped then. He read it quickly, frowning. “Sensors have picked up Victorian ships approaching us from the left flank.” He took a breath. “Looks like it’s the Coldstream Guard, returning from the attack on the supply ships.” He looked away. “There’s only two of them.”
Chapter 59
On the H.M.S. Yorkshire
Entering Victorian Space
The H.M.S. Yorkshire gingerly led the Kent and the Galway into Victorian space. Each of them had their navigation lights blinking, each proceeded at a moderate pace, and each had a crew that was holding their collective breaths.
The first thing Grant Skiffington saw was a swarm of smaller construction vessels busily assembling an enormous structure that bristled with gun ports and missile launchers.
“What is that thing?” Grant exclaimed.
Livy Wexler, his Sensors Officer, studied her passive sensors data. “Unless I miss my guess, skipper, they are assembling a fort.”
Grant thought about that for a minute. The depth of the planning behind the attack was unnerving, to say the least. The Dominions knew that at least some ships from the Second Fleet would survive the ambush, and this fort was intended to block their return from Tilleke space.
Then the other shoe dropped and he swore viciously. The Dominion were in Victorian space, assembling a fort at a major worm hole entrance, and there were no ships from the Home Fleet trying to stop them.
“Livy, are sensors picking up any Victorian war ships?”
Livy shook her head. “Only the ones that we have tagged as being taken by the Tilleke commandos.”
“And where are they heading?”
“For Cornwall, but still just poking along, not in any hurry.” She smiled at him then, a warm, intimate smile that triggered vivid memories of the night before. After that first time, Cookie had not slept with Grant again, and seemed to be avoiding him. He half hoped she had found someone else. The unbearable tension they all lived under had resulted in quick, intense pairings throughout the ship, as everyone sought comfort and release as best they could. Livy had simply knocked softly on his cabin door three nights earlier and, when he opened it, had walked in without a word. He could have told her to leave…but he didn’t.
He rubbed his chin, considering what to do next. Strung out in a long line in front of them were fifteen Victorian war ships manned by Tilleke commandos. Apparently their instructions were to assemble at Cornwall, and if that was the case it meant Cornwall was already in enemy hands. Could that be true? It seemed outlandish. But then he remembered the relative ease with which the Dominion and Tilleke forces had annihilated the Second and Third Fleets, and thought again about the planning and confidence behind the decision to assemble a fort at the Victorian-Gilead worm hole.
How could he find out what had happened to Cornwall? For a self-indulgent moment he wished desperately that Captain Gur had survived or that Benny Peled was not in a coma. He needed somebody to talk to. And then he remembered that he did have someone.
He connected to Lisa Stein on the Kent and Andy Richter on the Galway, and quickly explained what he wanted to do.
Richter was reluctant to express an opinion. “Christ, sir, this is way above my pay grade. I mean, I’m not a captain, I’m just a Chief who-”
“You are the Captain of Her Majesty’s Ship Galway,” Grant interrupted, “whether you like it or not. I asked for your opinion because I need it.”
“If you want an opinion,” Stein said from the Kent, “mine is that you are out of your bloody mind. All the evidence points to the Dominion having already conquered Cornwall, and you want to go in for a closer look? You said it yourself, the entire area around the planet will be crawling with enemy ships. Dozens of them, hundreds of them. We’ve only got three! And we’re short on people to properly man them. So I ask you again: Have you lost your bloody mind?”
Grant bit back an angry retort. Ask for an opinion, get an opinion, he thought ruefully. “We can’t just go off without knowing if Cornwall has fallen,” he said at last.
“What not?” Stein demanded. “Our only job now is to survive. I say we loop around and go to Darwin. It’s neutral and we can-”
“No, dammit!” Grant said, surprising himself with how strongly he felt. “We are soldiers! Our nation has been attacked. We need to find out what has happened and to try to find the Home Fleet-”
“Don’t you understand? Home Fleet is gone!” Stein cried. “If the Home Fleet were still intact, it would be attacking that fort the bloody Ducks are building. The Dominion took out Home Fleet just like it took out Second Fleet.”
“We don’t know that,” Grant began.
“Uh, sirs, can I make a suggestion here?” Richter asked.
“What?” Grant snapped.
“Well, before I ended up as acting captain, my job was to run the reconnaissance drones.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, in that voice senior chiefs reserved for particularly dim officers. “I’m thinking that we could send a drone straight in towards Cornwall while we go off on a tangent away from the planet. The ship’s computer can stay in laser communication with it and with a little luck we’ll see everything its sensors sees.” He shrugged. “It would only be passive sensors, but they’re still pretty good. If Cornwall is crawling with Dominions, we’ll know it.”
Alarm of War v-1 Page 30
