He would have preferred to escort the bombers as they attacked the alien carriers, but orders were orders. Besides, if they didn't cover the carriers, they’d have no hope of getting home. Henry might have mixed feelings about that, yet he knew it wasn't fair to the other pilots. They didn't have to worry about being forced onto the throne when they reached Earth ...
The aliens were suddenly all around them, firing madly towards the human formation. Henry’s guns opened fire automatically, snapping off shot after shot towards the alien craft, while Henry himself concentrated on staying alive. An alert flashed up in front of him, noting that a human pilot had actually collided with an alien pilot, destroying both starfighters. The odds against an actual collision, he'd been told, were staggeringly high, even in the starfighter counterpart to Close-Quarter Battle. But it didn't really matter, he knew; the dead pilot had at least taken an alien with him ...
Space was suddenly clear as the aliens resumed their charge towards the carriers. Henry didn't wait for orders; he flipped his starfighter around and gunned the engine, giving chase as quickly as possible. The aliens ignored the human starfighters snapping at their heels as they closed in on Napoleon and Lincoln, ready to tear two fragile human carriers apart with their weapons. In response, the Americans and French opened fire with their point defence, trying to scatter the alien formation. But the aliens refused to be deterred.
Henry barely noticed the French CSP as he swooped down and picked off two alien fighters, just as their comrades opened fire. Bolts of superheated plasma stabbed deep into the French carrier, but – thankfully – they didn't hit anything that might have started a chain reaction and destroyed the ship. Instead, the French pilots drove them off, apart from one alien who crashed into the lower hull and exploded. Henry swallowed hard, then relaxed as it became clear the alien hadn't deliberately intended to commit suicide. He would have supercharged his plasma containment chambers if he’d meant to become a kamikaze.
He cursed the alien technology under his breath as the next flight of alien craft closed in on the carriers, snapping off shots at the starfighters whenever they had a window, but otherwise ignoring them completely. They didn't need to rely on bombers, he knew; their starfighters alone were a menace to the human fleet. He knew that his plasma weapons could do considerable damage, but they lacked the sheer power of the alien weapons ...
“All targets destroyed,” an American voice said. She sounded incredibly relieved. “Thank God!”
Henry nodded in agreement. The American point defence had waited until the aliens had entered their attack runs, then opened fire, pouring a withering hail of plasma fire into the teeth of their formation. There were no alien survivors, although Henry knew there were plenty more alien pilots attacking the fleet. Another alert flickered up in his display, warning him that the aliens were closing in on the Japanese carrier. Grimly, feeling tired already, he yanked on his stick and sent the starfighter racing towards the Japanese ship.
Dear God, he thought, as he realised that several entire squadrons of alien ships had decided to engage Yamato. Is this what it’s always going to be like?
***
“Yamato is under heavy attack,” Lopez reported. “Her commander is requesting assistance.”
“Cut loose three squadrons and dispatch them to assist the Japanese,” Ted ordered, curtly. The battle had turned into a melee with terrifying speed, no matter how desperately the various fighter controllers tried to handle it. Starfighter squadrons were breaking up, pilots flew with whatever wingmen they could find and the aliens were pressing the offensive with a grim determination that surprised no one. “And Napoleon?”
“Some minor damage, but her CO insists that she can still fight and service starfighters,” Lopez said. “She got lucky, sir.”
“Good for her,” Ted grunted. Another alien strafing run could smash the entire ship, if the aliens managed to keep their formation together. “And the mystery craft?”
“Still a mystery,” Lopez said. “Nine of them have been destroyed, with no apparent ill-effects.”
Ted frowned. The aliens might be alien, but they weren't stupid. Nothing they’d done was stupid, even though it didn't always seem to make sense at first. And that suggested that the aliens had had something in mind for the odd craft. But what?
He turned towards the overall display. “And the bombers?”
“Making their attack runs now,” Lopez said. “But the alien CSP isn't trying to engage them.”
Ted wasn't too surprised. Alien point defence was alarmingly good, after all. They might well calculate that they could get away with throwing all of their starfighters at Ted’s fleet, even though it meant giving the human bombers a safe run to engagement range. He wouldn't have taken the chance, but the aliens – it seemed – thought otherwise. And it might well pay off for them.
“Keep monitoring the situation,” he ordered.
He felt helpless. He was the commander of the fleet, with legions of subordinates to follow his orders, yet he felt helpless. No order he issued could alter the outcome, not now; instead, it would confuse his subordinates at the worst possible time. All he could do was watch, wait and pray that the human forces emerged victorious once again.
“The bombers have engaged the alien carriers,” Lopez said. There was a note of heavy satisfaction in her voice. “Torpedoes inbound ... now.”
Ted switched his display to track the torpedoes. As always, the moment torpedoes were launched, the aliens switched their point defence to engage them, ignoring the remainder of the starfighters and bombers. But there were just too many torpedoes for them to take them all down before they entered engagement range and detonated, sending deadly beams of energy towards the alien hulls. One carrier exploded instantly – Ted guessed the beam must have hit a munitions depot – while four more were badly damaged. Two more exploded within five minutes while the other two staggered out of formation, spewing plasma and debris into space.
“They’re launching lifepods, I believe,” Lopez said.
“Order the pilots to leave them alone,” Ted said. They’d never seen the aliens launching lifepods before, but it was fairly clear that the humans wouldn't be remaining in the system long enough to pick up the alien lifepods. Hell, there might well be no time to pick up human lifepods. Perhaps the aliens were willing to allow their people the chance to survive if there was a good chance they wouldn't fall into human hands. “They’re to go after the remaining carriers.”
The alien starfighters seemed to hesitate, then fell on Ark Royal with stunning fury. Ted wasn't sure if they'd noted that the Old Lady’s CSP had been weakened or if they had identified her as the flagship, but in some ways it was a relief. They could damage the Old Lady’s weapons or sensors, yet they couldn't get through her armour. Unless, of course, they were prepared to ram her hull ....
“They've taken out a handful of weapons,” Lopez reported, as the aliens retreated again, back out of point defence range. At least they’d been taught a healthy respect for humanity’s ingenuity. “But they didn't even try to break the hull.”
Ted frowned, feeling cold ice crawling down his spine. What was happening? What was he missing? The alien tactics seemed to make no sense – and that meant that there was something he was missing. But what was it?
“Swing the CSP around to cover our hull,” he ordered, as the aliens reassembled their formation, then started to head back towards the Old Lady. Whatever they thought they were doing, they seemed to think it was working. “And ...”
“Torpedoes,” Lopez snapped, interrupting him. “They’re launching torpedoes!”
Ted stared in surprise. The aliens had never used anything, but plasma weapons. It was easy to see why, too. They burned through most human armour as if it were paper, shattering carriers, armoured combat suits and tanks with easy abandon. It was bitterly ironic that the only ship humanity had that could stand up to the aliens was ancient, a relic of a bygone age, one that might have been scrappe
d long ago if there hadn't been a strong political reason to keep her intact. But now they were launching torpedoes ...
“The point defence is to target those weapons exclusively,” he snarled. He was treading on Captain Fitzwilliam’s toes, but there was no time. Humanity had spent months working out how best to duplicate alien weapons systems. Why wouldn’t the aliens have done the same? If they knew Ark Royal’s armour was a problem, why not look for a weapon capable of breaking the armour? “I think those are bomb-pumped lasers.”
Lopez looked at him in surprise. “Sir?”
Ted glared down at the display. “We stole their weapon ideas,” he snapped. In hindsight, it was terrifyingly obvious. “Why can't they steal ours?”
The aliens were innovative, he knew that for sure. And they were paranoid over what humanity might have pulled from intact technology ... not entirely without reason. And there was nothing particularly innovative about bomb-pumped lasers. The aliens might have captured a working model at New Russia or simply designed the concept themselves, back before they’d developed plasma weapons. Maybe the delay in reacting to the attack on Target One had been to ensure that squadrons outfitted with the latest weapons were in place to attack Ted’s fleet.
Another thought struck him and he swore. “The mystery craft are boarding pods,” he added, bitterly. He’d used Royal Marines to board an alien craft. Why couldn't the aliens try the same themselves? “They’re planning to board us!”
He braced himself as the point defence went to work. Five alien missiles were picked off, nine alien missiles ... but three remained. Only three ... yet if they were bomb-pumped lasers, one of them would be enough to do serious damage. It was impossible to tell which sections they were targeting, but it might not matter. Ted cursed inwardly as the missiles entered engagement range and ...
... Ark Royal shook violently as the laser beams stabbed into her hull.
Chapter Thirty-One
James had barely a second to brace himself before his ship shook violently. Red icons flared up on the display, then the entire display blanked out as power failed throughout entire sections of the starship. Panic gibbered at the corner of his mind for a long terrifying second, before the system rebooted itself as the computer network rerouted around the damaged sections. But the updates from the damaged parts of his ship brought him no relief.
“Major damage,” Anderson’s voice snapped in his head. “They’ve blown right through our armour in sections ...”
James barely heard him. “Order the CSP to cover the damaged section,” he ordered, sharply. Did they even have communications with the starfighters any longer? “I want the aliens kept away from the gash in our hull.”
He gritted his teeth as more reports flowed into the bridge. It was sheer luck, he realised, that the aliens hadn't managed to hit something vital, something that would explode under the impact and set off a chain reaction that would have destroyed the carrier. As it was, she would still have to spend months in the shipyard having her armour replaced and a great many other systems repaired. Or simply modernised, now they no longer had to worry about removing the armoured hull. If, of course, they made it home.
“Captain,” the Admiral said, “this may be just the beginning.”
James almost snarled at him. The aliens had tested a new/old concept and discovered it worked. They’d be back, all right, with the same weapons humanity believed had rendered carriers like the Old Lady obsolete. And the Old Lady would die countless light years from home.
“They may be trying to board us,” the Admiral continued. “They’re going to want to take us by force, if they can.”
“We did it to them,” James said. Turnabout is fair play, part of his mind whispered. But Admiral Smith’s demented plan had been the result of sheer desperation. Were the aliens just as desperate as humanity to put an end to the war? “I understand, sir.”
“I’m warning Shallcross that he might have to assume tactical command,” the Admiral said. “But if we can hold out for a while longer, we might win the first part of the engagement.”
James scowled. They’d given Force One a beating it would never forget, but Force Two was still out there – and completely undamaged. Maybe the aliens would forget their careful plan and just aim Force Two at the remains of Task Force Nelson. Combined, the two alien fleets would soon make mincemeat of the human ships.
He pushed the thought aside. There was no time to worry about it.
“Security alert, all decks,” he ordered. A check of the display revealed that half of the internal security monitors were gone. “And get the starfighters to make a visual check of our hull.”
***
Senior Crewwoman Nancy Cortland picked herself up from the deck and stared around her, convinced – for a long chilling moment – that she was in hell. A minute ago, or perhaps longer if she’d blacked out, she'd been working in her compartment, helping to maintain the starship’s colossal missile tubes. Now, the main lights were out, the only source of illumination was the dim emergency lights – half of which seemed to have failed – and, in the distance, she could hear the faint hiss of escaping air. Somehow, she managed to stagger over to the emergency supplies and retrieve a mask, which she held in one hand as she walked towards the hatch. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to discover that it was half open.
Outside, the corridors were still dim. A body lay on the deck, staring up at nothing. Nancy checked it quickly and identified the corpse as Derek MacDonald, a loud and somewhat overbearing crewman who seemed to challenge every newcomer until they proved themselves worthy of a place on the Old Lady’s crew. He’d been just as challenging to Nancy until the first battle; in hindsight, she’d learned that he’d been part of the crew when only the dregs of the service were assigned to the ship.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, as she closed his eyes. The sound of escaping air was growing louder, although she still seemed to be able to breathe without problems. “I'm sorry.”
She reached for her communicator as it dawned on her that someone should have tried to contact her and everyone else in the damaged compartment. But there was no one ... and no missed messages. Was the entire network down? Or was she just locked out of the system for some reason? There was no way to know. Bracing herself, she rose back to her feet and started to move towards the sound of escaping air. It was her duty to try to seal the leak, then report in to higher authority.
Ahead of her, the corridors suddenly became mangled and melted, as if someone had blasted a pulse of intense heat through the compartment. A dozen bodies lay on the deck, some so badly damaged that she couldn't identify them; she shuddered as she realised that there might be others who had been completely vaporised. She jumped suddenly as she heard someone moving ahead of her in the darkness, then leaned forward, confident that she was about to meet another survivor. Instead, she found herself looking into the face of an alien.
For a long moment, she refused to believe her eyes. The ship couldn't have been boarded, could it? But then the alien lifted a weapon and pointed it right between her eyes. Nancy froze, smelling – for the first time – a hint of something fishy, then tried to duck back out of sight. It was too late. There was a flash of bright green light, then nothing but darkness.
***
“We’ve definitely got unwanted guests,” James muttered. The security reports from a handful of crewmen, several of whom hadn’t reported in since, were impossible to misinterpret. He cursed the timing under his breath. Half of the Royal Marines who should have been onboard were on Target One, no doubt utterly unaware of the fleet’s desperate struggle for survival. “Captain, can you and your men handle them?”
“We believe so,” Captain Greenfield assured him. Technically, he was Royal Marine Reserve, but James hadn't heard any complaints from Major Parnell about Greenfield and his company of reservists. The Royal Marines worked reservists to the bone just to make sure they were up to scratch when the shit hit the fan. “But you might want to evacua
te the boarded sections, just in case.”
“Understood,” James said. He cursed again; deliberately or otherwise, the aliens were holding parts of his ship that desperately needed repair. The only upside was that if the alien starfighters decided to try to pour fire into the gash in the hull, they’d be killing their own people as well as human survivors. “Get rid of them as quickly as possible.”
“Understood,” Greenfield said. “We will handle it.”
***
Captain Luke Greenfield closed the communications link and looked around at his makeshift command post. No one in their right mind, at least prior to the war, had seriously expected to have to board a starship or counter a boarding party. But that old certainty had fallen apart, just like so many others, when war had finally broken out. Right now, his Marines were all that stood between Ark Royal and enemy hands.
And if they’ve brought a nuke with them, he thought grimly, we’re dead anyway.
He glanced down at his terminal, silently thanking God that the Royal Marine radios weren't completely dependent on the ship’s datanet serving as an exchange hub. In hindsight, that might have been a serious mistake, one that had ensured they had no real intelligence from inside the compromised area. If there were no more gashes in the hull, he should have the aliens penned up through the establishment of some carefully-positioned checkpoints, but if there were – or the aliens simply used their weapons to burn through the inner hull – the aliens could simply outflank him. He’d already had to detail too many Bootnecks to guard the bridge, CIC, Main Engineering and other vital sections of the ship.
Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch Page 31
