Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name

by Richard Tongue

   “Where are they?”

   He shook his head, and said, “There I can’t help you. Each defensive commander places them where he chooses. We’d just finished removing the last set when the not-men arrived.” Glancing around, he said, “Part of the training we do here is digging out such defenses. I can show you where the most common positions are, but that doesn’t mean a thing.”

   “We’ll have to use scouting for that,” Cooper said. “Hopefully Nash and Martinez will come up with something.”

   “They won’t necessarily be obvious,” Gurung replied.

   “Based on what we learned when Alamo fought them on the ground,” Morton said, “I’d assume that the not-men will employ themselves as snipers. They have a…,” he paused, and looked at Cooper, who nodded. “They have a cloaking field, essentially. A holo-projector. It doesn’t stand up to close-range scrutiny, but at long-range it was pretty damn effective, and with all of this cover around, I can see them surprising the hell out of us.”

   “Why do this at all, sir?” Vaughan asked. “Why play their game for them. We’ve got the advantage of range, as well as the advantage of surprise. I say we make them come to us, pull them out of their defenses.”

   “With a feint?” Cooper asked. “Draw them forward.”

   “Exactly. We’re ordered to take out those domes anyway. A well-aimed plasma bombardment will do that at a range of half a mile. I don’t fancy getting into a plasma duel when we’re outnumbered four to one.”

   Shaking his head, Morton said, “I like the idea in theory, but in practice I can see what goes wrong. They could cut off that strike force and wipe them out, and I don’t think we could do enough damage to their forces with the initial bombardment.”

   “They don’t have anywhere to go, though,” Vaughan said. “Not if we’ve taken out their dome.”

   “I doubt they care about that,” Cooper said.

   Nodding, Gurung added, “So far the not-men haven’t shown any special regard for their prisoners. Just expendable resources. We can’t assume that their tactics will be affected in the slightest by our removal of their long-term survival prospects. Hell, the not-men could be evacuated in a single shuttle if it proved necessary.”

   Looking at his men, Cooper said, “We’re going to have to wipe them out. We can’t even assume that a surrender would be practical. Every enemy combatant will need to be killed or incapacitated.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I’m afraid I must concluded that given the brainwashing these soldiers have received, any surrender would most likely be a trick.”

   “That’s a violation of the Articles of War, sir,” Morton said.

   “No, he’s quite right,” Gurung said with a deep sigh. “Damn it, these are people I’ve known for years, people I’ve fought alongside before, people I’ve trained, and I’m telling you, we don’t have any choice here. After what those bastards did to them, it would be a mercy.”

   “I’m going to make this a direct order,” Cooper said. “If there is any official action taken in connection with this, then I will be the one who faces censorship and court-martial. Is that understood?”

   “You don’t have to do that, sir,” Vaughan said. “I’m willing to go on the record as agreeing with you on this one.”

   “That being the case, then,” Morton said. “We have to reduce their advantage.”

   Panting for breath, Nash sprinted down the corridor, barely managing to stop before trampling the hastily-sketched map.

   “Are you being chased, Private?” Morton asked.

   “No, Sergeant,” she replied, gasping. “A shuttle just landed. Big one, cargo type, with a couple of the not-men in it. Right out on the landing field. I got a good look at it with my scope.”

   “Martinez?”

   “She’s watching. They didn’t see us. Sir, they’re loading up the plasma weapons.”

   “What?” Cooper asked. “Are you sure? How many?”

   “Yes, sir. I know a UN plasma rifle when I see one, and by the looks of it, at least eighty, maybe more. Ammunition as well.”

   Shaking his head, Gurung said, “That doesn’t make any sense. They must know that we’re out here.”

   “Not necessarily,” Morton said. “They did a full search of the jungle and didn’t find us. They might be assuming that you and your friends launched that attack.”

   “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

   “Then we have to assume that there is something else going on, something that requires the use of those plasma weapons elsewhere. Either somewhere else on this planet, or up in orbit.”

   Frowning, Gurung said, “We don’t have any other facilities down here. Just a few supply dumps, but they don’t amount to very much. Ration packs and an emergency communicator.”

   “Up in orbit, then. On an attack on Alamo,” Cooper said. “That’s the only thing that makes any sense at all.”

   Morton glanced down at the map, then said, “I’ll tell you one thing, sir, they’ve given us a hell of a tactical advantage. We ought to be able to wipe out the base with no difficulty at all now. Plasma carbines against rifles, pistols? No contest, not in open ground.”

   “How many shuttles do you have on the base, Gurung?” Cooper asked.

   “Four. Three surface-to-orbit, one long-range. Unless they’ve taken them up to the ships already.”

   “I doubt that,” he replied. “Too useful in place.” Looking around the room, he said, “I’m changing our battle instructions.”

   “What?” Vaughan said.

   “Our orders are to destroy this base, sir,” Morton said. “It’s a key part of the battle plan.”

   “I appreciate that, Sergeant, and that is still my intention.” He pointed at the map, and said, “Where are the shuttles?”

   “Silos at the rear,” he said, hastily drawing squares. “No significant defenses.”

   “And correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but don’t Rangers also get training as shuttle pilots?”

   “Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m current. Took my refresher four months ago. Why?”

   “We’ve got a chance to extend the scope of our operations significantly. Assume that they need those plasma weapons for a reason, to launch an attack on Alamo.”

   “Why not use their own?” Morton asked.

   “Because I don’t think they’ve got them. They didn’t use anything like that at Yeager Station.”

   “If that’s the case,” Watkins said, “they might be taking them up to study.”

   “Eighty weapons?” Gurung replied. “No way. Two, three, half a dozen, maybe, but why strip the base of all of its defenses if they didn’t have a real reason for it? He’s right. They’re going to use them to launch an attack. What I don’t see is what we can do about it.”

   “Attack them ourselves.”

   The men looked at each other, wide-eyed, and finally Morton said, “What do you have in mind, sir?”

   “Hit the base, hard and fast, and take one of the shuttles up into orbit. You can bet that they’ll have all sorts of jamming, and if we get lucky, they’ll assume we’re survivors from the attack.” He paused to let it sink in, and added, “Timing is going to be everything here. Understand that my primary goal is to draw back any attacking force from hitting our people, but if we can get some intelligence on the not-men, I think this is worth the risk.”

   “Not a take and hold, then, sir?”

   “Snatch, grab, and destroy. We do as much damage as we can and steal anything that looks like it might be some sort of database, before running for home. Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but the largest of those shuttles could take all of us up, right?”

   “At full load and then some, but I think it might be done.” Shaking his head, he said, “You realize that this plan is crazy.”

   “The best ones are.” Pointing at the map, he said, “The atta
ck on this dome was primarily meant as a diversion, to draw attention away from what our orbital forces were doing. We can accomplish that more easily than we expected, but I for one don’t intend to sit down here on the surface and wait to see what is happening up there, not when I have a way of influencing events.”

   “It’s a hell of a risk,” Vaughan said, shaking his head. “A hell of a risk.”

   “Which is why I’m going to make this volunteer-only, Corporal.”

   “What the hell,” Gurung said. “Any chance to deal a dose of heavy payback on those bastards is fine with me, Ensign. I’m in.” He smiled, then said, “You know, with some training, you might even make a half-decent Ranger. Maybe.”

   “We’re doing this without approval from Captain Marshall,” Morton said.

   “As soon as we’re in the air, Alamo will pick us up,” he replied. “We’ll squirt off a signal alerting them of our intentions as soon as we can. If necessary, we can abort.”

   Shaking his head, Vaughan said, “I doubt that. Not once we’re so close to the enemy. Not and live through it.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Don’t mistake me. I’m in. But that has to be considered.”

   “I’m aware of the risks, and I’m taking this action in full appreciation of them,” Cooper said. “We now have information that Captain Marshall does not, and in my opinion we would be remiss in our duty if we did not act upon them.”

   “I don’t like this,” Morton said. “I don’t like it a bit, Ensign.”

   “He said this was volunteer,” Gurung replied. “You can stay down here if you want.”

   “I didn’t say that,” the sergeant snapped.

   “Anyone want out of this?” Cooper asked, looking around. There were some doubtful faces, a few side glances, but no-one stood up. He nodded, and said, “Fine, then. Vaughan, take a fire team forward and set up some sort of defenses at the tunnel. I want to be ready just in case we haven’t been as clever with our attack as we thought. Morton, make sure the aerial is set up and well hidden. No test transmissions, but I want to be able to pick up status updates.”

   “Yes, sir,” Morton said. “Come on, Nash, I guess you know the way.”

   “As for the rest, we’re going to make camp. Likely we’re going to be here for a few days, so we should set ourselves up as comfortably as possible.” Cracking a smile, he added, “Anyone got a deck of cards?”

  Chapter 23

   Marshall was sitting in his office when the alert came. Tossing his datapad to the desk, he sprinted through the door onto the bridge, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. Grant slid out of the command chair as he approached, and the elevator door opened to admit Caine, racing to Tactical.

   “Report, Lieutenant.”

   “Dimensional instability, sir, and big,” he said. “Spaceman?”

   Spinelli looked up at his console, and said, “Reads as four capital ships, sir. Two battlecruisers, an assault carrier, and a tanker. On the far side of the planet, close to the enemy,”

   “Reinforcements,” he said, settling down in his chair.

   “No, sir. They read as Republic.”

   “Are you sure, Spaceman?”

   “Positive, sir. I’ve matched them to known designs. Intelligence is preparing a dossier now.” His eyes widened, and he said, “Energy spikes, sir. They’re going to battle stations.”

   “That’s a third of their deep space fleet,” Caine said, shaking her head.

   “Get Meirong up here, right now,” Marshall said to Grant. “We’d better go to battle stations as well.”

   “Intercept course, sir?” Foster said.

   “Negative, Midshipman. Hold our current position.”

   The elevator doors opened again, and Meirong stepped out, a smile on her face. “I gather that our forces have arrived.”

   “I was expecting a battlecruiser. That’s a task force,” Marshall said.

   Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I’m afraid that was what I wanted you to think, Captain.” Stepping forward, she added, “Our flotilla is more than capable of dealing with the enemy forces.”

   Taking a deep breath, Marshall asked, “What are your intentions?”

   “The Q-Carrier is Republic property. We want it back. Further, we want that battlecruiser. The technological secrets it contains could be vital to Republic security.”

   “Captain,” Grant said, “That could tip the balance of power in their favor.”

   “Given that you have made use of our tactical data for this operation,” Marshall began, but she shook her head.

   “My government would be most unwilling to undertake an intelligence transfer of the sort you propose. Consider that the data we have shared has been to our mutual gain thus far. How would it be to our advantage to pass on the secret of the laser-missile?” Shaking her head, she said, “When captured, they will be prizes of war.”

   “You seem very confident of success,” Caine said.

   “With overwhelming force at our disposal? We have this well planned.” Crossing her arms, she said, “Whilst your assistance would be appreciated, it is not required. If you wish to sit and watch the action, that would be acceptable to our government.”

   “Republic vessels are entering combat range, sir,” Spinelli said. “Enemy fighters launching.”

   “What are your orders, sir?” Foster asked. “I have an intercept course ready if you want it.”

   “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Hold station, Midshipmen. Let’s watch the show.”

   “Missiles launching, sir,” Spinelli said. “Both sides. Four laser-missiles, twelve conventional. Ten fighters heading for the battlecruisers.”

   Marshall watched the tactical display, totally detached from the action. He’d spent four days planning this out in his head, working out how to take Alamo into battle with those enemy ships, how to mitigate their advantages, and now the battle was taking place without him. It felt strange, to say the least.

   A second wave of laser-missiles launched, eight of them now in the air, and the Republic missiles curved to intercept them. Just as he would have done. The fighters weren’t much of a threat until they got closer, they could wait. The tracks began to close in towards each other, preparing to meet on the far side, the battlecruisers slowly moving towards each other while the two carriers hung back. Standard doctrine, on both sides.

   “I still wonder…,” he began to say, but just before the missiles were to intercept, the laser-missiles fissioned, each into four smaller fragments, and he leapt to his feet.

   “Weitzman! Warn the Republic ships!”

   “Sir?”

   It was too late. Far too late. He’d expected some sort of a surprise package, and there it was. The enemy had managed to launch multiple warheads as well, splitting their laser-missiles into four independent warheads. Eight could be dealt with, knocked out by counter-missiles, but thirty-two was enough to overwhelm any defense systems. That each would be less powerful didn’t seem relevant as they exploded, thirty-two beams of light racing forward to the Republic flotilla, lingering for only microseconds but long enough to do the damage.

   Cold status updates flashed across the screen, columns of figures telling the grim story, followed by shots from the orbiting satellites. The assault carrier had been torn into two pieces, a few shuttles racing away from the expanding debris cloud, pilots ready to launch who had somehow managed to get out in time. Both of the Republic battlecruisers were still maneuvering after a fashion, their hulls burned and pitted from the savage attack.

   Then came the fighters, swooping in to unleash their missiles, all concentrating on the leading ship. Twenty missiles dived forward as one, closing the range far too rapidly to be intercepted, too quickly for countermeasures to stop more than a handful of them. Sixteen explosions tore into the ship, atmosphere spilling out in all directions to toss it around like a ship in a storm, bodie
s tossed out into space from breached compartments.

   “Good God,” Marshall said.

   Behind him, Meirong was gripping the back of his chair, her knuckles white, her eyes locked on the horror taking place in front of them. The bridge was silent, all attention on the massacre unfolding on the far side of the planet. The single remaining battlecruiser had somehow launched another salvo, still pushing forward, but the tanker was unashamedly running, heading away from the planet at maximum acceleration. Ultimately, it would do no good. The fighters were returning to the carrier to rearm, and with no opposition, they could launch a second strike on the untouched auxiliary at any time within the next hour.

   “We’re getting distress signals, sir,” Weitzman said. “From the escape pods on the shuttles.” He sighed, and added, “I think most of them are automated. I doubt they all have people onboard.”

   “I think they can make Alamo,” Spinelli said. “Do you want me to work out a course plot and get them here?”

   “I’ll get the shuttles ready to evacuate the ground team,” Caine said. “If we use all three, we can add enough fuel to get them down and up again with some room for evasive maneuvers. Recommend that we use the fighters to give them orbital cover.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “No.”

   “Danny, if we’re going to get them out, it has to be now. While the enemy forces are distracted with the battle. If we wait, it’ll all be over, and we won’t have a chance to get them back. We can’t leave them down there.”

   “Shuttles launching from the Q-Carrier,” Spinelli said. “Heavy assault craft, on intercept course for the remaining battlecruiser. Estimated time to intercept is nine minutes.”

   “There it is,” Caine said. “They wanted a sample of our technology. Looks like they’ll get a Republic ship instead of a Triplanetary one.”

   “You can’t just sit here,” Meirong said. “My fleet…”

   “Your fleet,” Caine replied. “Not ours. Didn’t you say a few minutes ago that our assistance was not needed, that you had overwhelming force?” Pointing at the display, she said, “That’s what’s left of your overwhelming force. One crippled battlecruiser and a tanker that’s running for its life. Don’t even suggest that we’re going to throw ourselves into the fire as well.”