Shaking his head, Morton replied, “Aye, sir.”
“Get the shuttle warmed up,” Cooper said to Gurung, pulling out his hitherto-useless communicator. “Cooper to Alamo Actual, on secured frequency. Urgent. Very urgent.”
Chapter 26
“He’s what?” Marshall asked, turning to face Weitzman.
The communications technician replied, “Confirmed, sir. Ensign Cooper is launching a boarding action on the enemy battlecruiser with a captured United Nations shuttlecraft.”
“Recall him,” Grant said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t have a chance in hell of pulling it off. He doesn’t know that the shuttles were a trap.”
Frowning, Caine replied, “He might have information we don’t, Danny. I don’t think he’d be trying this if he didn’t think he could pull this off.”
“Then why didn’t he tell us?” Grant replied.
“Because there is only so much you can fit in a quarter-second message pulse,” Marshall replied, “And I suspect he has more important things on his mind than giving us a play-by-play.”
“Firing range in seventy seconds, sir,” Foster said. “Shuttle will be entering the combat area in a hundred and fifty seconds.”
“Spinelli, what’s the status of those Republic shuttlecraft?”
“I’ve got some telemetry, sir, and we have intermittent contact. Thirty-three troopers on five shuttles, no injuries, but they’re all pretty shaken up, and their shuttles all have varying degrees of damage. They can maneuver.”
“And we have two squads here as well. That gives him sixty-plus.”
Rising from his seat, Grant looked Marshall square in the face and said, “You cannot be contemplating reinforcing this attack.”
A smile curling around his lips, he replied, “As it happens, I am thinking of doing just that. They set out to trap us, didn’t they? To grab a battlecruiser and take it home as a prize. I think it poetic justice that we do the same.”
“I doubt they’d let us,” Caine said. “They’d destroy their ship first.”
“And how much intelligence might Cooper and his force snatch from that ship in the process? We’re hurting for information, Deadeye. Right now they know a hell of a lot more about us than we do about them, and if we don’t reverse that, we’re going to be facing attacks again and again on this part of the frontier.”
“Forty seconds, sir.”
Closing his eyes, Grant said, “Then, sir, I recommend we move to a direct-line course with the enemy battlecruiser and close to minimum range, deploying our laser and multiple-warhead missiles to deal with the Q-Carrier. Zheng He should be able to deal with the carrier while we provide fire support for the attack.”
“The laser-missiles?” Foster said, looking up.
“My guess is that they are out of warheads. Those multiple missiles of theirs must have taken some work to assemble, and they had numerous opportunities to activate the warheads that Sub-Lieutenant Salazar destroyed,” Grant said.
“I agree with that assessment,” Caine said.
“Direct intercept course with the battlecruiser, then, Foster,” Marshall ordered. “Weitzman, get those Republic shuttles heading in our wake. We’re going to have to give them whatever cover we can. Grant, I want the rest of our Espatiers ready to go at a second’s notice, in the elevator airlock, with a course plot that will see them in the air for the minimum possible time. Let’s move.”
Frantically, the bridge crew started to follow his orders, all except Winslow, the reserve Flight Engineer, who looked up at his panel, his hands shaking. Right now he was the only person on the deck with nothing to do, but if Alamo suffered any damage, he would be the most important person on the ship. The technician turned to Marshall, and the Captain managed to throw what he hoped was a reassuring smile at him.
He turned back to the sensor display, watching Alamo dive into the battle. The Q-Carrier was moving back, pulling away to give its fighters time to reload, and the enemy battlecruiser swinging around towards them, obviously having the same idea as he had, to finish the battle in one devastating series of blows. A pack of missiles was diving towards Zheng He, but this time the Republic ship had put a salvo of its own up in the air to face them.
“Laser is at full charge, ready to fire,” Caine said.
“Lance-Sergeant Francis reports First and Second squads are ready for deployment. Sub-Lieutenant Bradley is leading the strike,” Grant added.
“Acknowledged,” Marshall replied. “Midshipman, as soon as we get into the combat area, begin random walk sequence. Get us to the enemy as fast as you can and match course and speed.”
Her eyes widening, Foster said, “Match course and speed, sir? Not an intercept?”
“Negative, Midshipman. Take us as close as you can to the enemy. Within fifty miles.”
Shaking her head, Caine said, “We won’t be able to retreat if this goes wrong.”
“If this goes wrong, I doubt retreat would be an option in any case, Deadeye,” Marshall said.
“You really know how to cheer me up,” she replied. “Foster, I want a firing solution on the Q-Carrier in ten seconds. I’ll get our missiles into the air three seconds later.”
“Zheng He for you, sir,” Weitzman said.
“Fine, put him on.”
The image of the Republic captain flashed onto the screen, and he immediately yelled, “Why are you sending our soldiers into harm’s way?”
“I need reinforcements for our assault on that ship.”
“For your assault,” he said. “I will not authorize this.”
“Damn it, Captain, one of my pilots damn near died saving you from an attack. We could have just turned and run, but we’re in this fight together now whether you like it or not.”
“You aren’t in command here.”
“Actually, he is,” Meirong said, stepping out from the rear of the bridge. “Under Security Directive One-Three-Nine, I am granting Captain Marshall full command authority. Or would you rather answer to the Committee when, or if, you make it home?”
“Firing!” Caine said, and a laser pulse ripped through space to slam into the hull of the Q-Carrier, tearing a black gouge down its side, clouds of gas briefly racing into the vacuum before dissipating. “Missiles away. Preparing second salvo.”
Glancing up at a monitor, the Republic captain shook his head, and said, “I do this under protest. The Fleet will have something to say about this.”
“As long as you do it. Concentrate your fire on the Q-Carrier. We’ll take care of the battlecruiser.”
Still glaring at Meirong, he said, “Understood. Zheng He out.”
“He will comply, Captain,” she said.
“I hope so.”
“Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Salvo launching, eight missiles from the battlecruiser, heading right for us.”
“Eight?” Marshall replied.
“Looks like they managed to fit two missiles in each tube.” Frowning, the sensor technician said, “I don’t recognize the type, but they look a lot more like a UN design than anything the not-men have used so far.”
“On it,” Caine said. “I’d say he’s right. Fast, lower-yield, but very agile. Shall I rededicate some of our missiles to take them on?”
“Negative.” Marshall shook his head, and added, “Get Security on it. We’ll use our second salvo if we have to.”
Glancing at a side display, Foster said, “Coming into close range now, sir. Course will be matched in three minutes, with an estimated firing window of seven hours-plus. Assuming they don’t evade.”
“No sign of that yet, sir,” Spinelli said.
Marshall focused his attention on the display, watching the missiles swarm around the Q-Carrier, Zheng He now sending another salvo into the fight. One of them dropped away, engines failing, but the others fissioned into their indep
endent vehicles, surrounding the helpless vessel. Twelve simultaneous hits, tearing and ripping into the hull. The ship started to tumble, maneuvering jets failing to counter the spin.
“Salvo ready to fire,” Caine said. “Targeting incoming missiles. I should be able to get the laser onto one of them as well.” She frowned, and said, “That still leaves one, Danny.”
“Let’s hope Harper can hack it.”
Alamo rocked back as six missiles shot away, racing towards their fellows heading from the enemy battlecruiser. Zheng He’s commander had unleashed another salvo at the crippled Q-Carrier, obviously determined to remove it as a factor. Or to destroy Republic technology, prevent the Confederation from getting a look at it, just as likely.
Cooper’s shuttle rose from the planet, soaring out of the atmosphere on an interception course for the enemy ship, so far facing no opposition. There had been no chance for him to go into details, but it seemed quite clear that he had found some way to sneak on board. While the Republic shuttles maneuvered for their run in, he kept them back, waiting. Launching the second strike wave now would overplay their hand.
Behind him, the elevator door opened, and Orlova limped out, leaning heavily on a crutch, moving to stand behind his chair, her eyes fixed on the unfolding battle. He glanced up at her, smiled, then turned back to face the viewscreen.
The missiles were still racing towards each other, the UN warheads showing amazing dexterity, though the price would have to be a reduced yield. Something Intelligence hadn’t known about, another piece of data to bring home. All at once, twelve missiles vanished from the display as they collided, just two left on a collision course for Alamo.
“Bridge, this is Harper,” a voice said. “Skipper, I can’t hack these.”
“No way in?”
“Dead-shot, sir. Once fired, everything is hard-coded and unchangeable. No way in. You’re going to have to take them down the old-fashioned way.”
“We can’t do it,” Caine said. “No way that I can get the next salvo up in time.”
“Midshipman, present minimal-damage target aspect. Deadeye, give the battlecruiser that laser. Let’s make sure not to waste it. Target his engines.”
“Cooper’s shuttle is one minute from contact, sir,” Spinelli said. “And missile impact in ten seconds.”
“Hold on, everyone,” Marshall said, watching the trajectory tracks curve in. Caine was frantically working her controls, urging the next salvo into the launch tubes, but there just wasn’t enough time. With a second to go, she fired her laser pulse into the enemy ship, but before he could register the damage, Marshall heard the vicious howl of a missile slamming into the hull, metal plates protesting in fury as Alamo’s atmosphere began to vent into space.
“Two impacts,” Spinelli said.
“Engineer, what’s the score?” Marshall asked. He turned to see Winslow looking up at the console, face white, frozen with fear, and Orlova limped over to look at the readouts, poking over his shoulder to issue commands with her good hand.
“Both on the lower decks,” she said. “Crew quarters starboard, aft sensor array. Four compartments venting into space, damage control teams on the way.” Glancing up, she said, “Unless we have to run, I don’t think it affects us.”
“The next ones will,” Caine said. “I think I got one of their missile tubes, but I can’t be sure. They’re outgassing badly from the fissure, though.”
“So are we,” Foster said, wrestling with the controls as she tried to keep Alamo on her course.
“Ride it, Midshipman, keep her steady,” Grant said. “Apply counter-thrusts to balance it out.”
“I know,” she said, “I’m on it. Spaceman, are we still losing hull plates? I’m getting more lateral drift now.”
Winslow looked across, panic in his eyes, and said, “I, uh…”
“We are,” Orlova said. “I need to vent another compartment to stop it. Working on it now.”
“Spaceman, get below,” Marshall said. “Join the nearest damage control team.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, racing for the elevator as Orlova took his place.
“Salvo away,” Caine said. “Right down their throats this time. Laser charging. At least the reflectors weren’t hit this time.”
“Try and keep them that way, Midshipman,” Marshall said.
“Cooper is thirty seconds from docking,” Grant reported. “Recommend we hold the missiles until he’s in.”
“Agreed. Deadeye, slow them a little. Try for an impact two seconds after he hits the deck. Might help. As soon as he’s in, get our shuttles into the air, and order the Republic ships to move in.”
“Our reinforcements will be over there in less than a minute, the rest in about three,” Grant said. “Are we going to stay at point-blank range?”
A huge explosion appeared in the background, the Q-Carrier finally yielding to its inevitable fate as another salvo of missiles from Zheng He ripped home.
“We’ll stay in the fire as long as we can, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “Cooper wants to do a snatch and grab. I’ll let him make the call. Put me through to him as soon as he touches down.”
“He might be a little busy,” Caine said.
“Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Six missiles, intercept course.”
“So are we, but I think he’ll be expecting the call.”
Chapter 27
Cooper looked down the unfamiliar shuttle cabin at the faces of his squad. They looked so different from the team he’d taken down to the planet a week ago. Those soldiers had been anxious, almost eager for battle, while these had no such thoughts showing on their faces. The joking banter was gone, replaced by a cold readiness for the combat to come. Sergeant Gurung moved up and down the line, checking equipment, Corporal Hunt looking over his shoulder.
“Thirty seconds to contact,” Cooper said. “Autopilot will bring us right in. This little trick is going to work for less than a microsecond once we get on board, so go in shooting. Plasma weapons authorized, but make sure not to shoot at exterior hulls. This is a smash and grab operation, emphasis on the grab.”
“What are we looking for, sir?” Watkins asked.
“Anything that looks alien, anything that looks like it might have data stored on it. Just grab what you can and we’ll let the bright boys back home sort it out when we get back. Make a lot of mess, as much as you can. We want to attract their attention to keep the heat off Alamo.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “On your feet. Weapons hot.”
The squad rose, throwing switches to prime their plasma carbines. They’d used the power plants pretty extensively during the attack on the planet, with no opportunity to recharge them. Not a man present had more than fifty percent charge, but it would just have to be enough.
“Remember, this is a hit and run,” he said as the shuttle closed for final approach. “Don’t go too deep, and make for the shuttle after five minutes on the deck. Not one second more. This shuttle launches six minutes after contact. If you run out of time, try for an escape pod, but I doubt Alamo will give you any more chances.”
A missile trail flew past the window, slamming into the battlecruiser, and Watkins said, “Are they going to keep doing that?”
“Probably, but they know what we’re doing, so with any luck they’ll give the area we hit a wide berth. Don’t expect that they will succeed, though, and be ready for anything. Watch for escape pods, rescue shuttles, anything like that.” The shuttle locked to the side of the ship, and as the airlock began to cycle, he said, “Good hunting, people. I’ll see you on the other side.”
The deception ended as the two hatches opened, Cooper firing a pair of quick pulses through the portal, destroying whatever had been standing at the thresholds. Screaming wails instantly sounded, some sort of intruder alarm, and the squad raced out of the shuttle, Hunt taking point as they charged for the main corr
idor. The layout was strange, familiar in some ways yet alien in others, built for bipeds with the same requirements as humans, but with an evidently different psychology. Lots of bulky computer controls were scattered everywhere, seemingly low-tech in the extreme compared to the ship.
“Alamo to Cooper,” cried from his communicator. “Come in.”
“Take them, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “This is the Six. Go ahead.”
“Actual here. Reinforcements on the way, two squads in one minute, four more in three. Where do you want them?”
“Smash and grab, sir, so anywhere they can. We’re here to gather intel, not to capture. They out-gun and outnumber us. I’ve timed departure in six minutes, ah, less twenty-two seconds, mark.”
“Got it. We’re keeping up the bombardment, but I’ll hold off on the heavy hits as long as I can. Good luck. Alamo out.”
A rattle of small-arms fire sounded from the far side of the corridor, where Hunt was pressing forward with a fire team, answered with the low boom of a plasma carbine. Already this boarding action was falling into a series of small brawls.
“Martinez, Gurung, Watkins, with me,” he said, heading for a nearby door. It opened at the touch, and he burst in, carbine at the ready. Empty except for a few unidentifiable objects on some shelves, obviously a spare parts storage room. He snatched what he hoped was a representative sample and crammed them into his pockets, before moving down to the next room.
“I’ll take guard at the far end,” Gurung said. “Martinez, with me.”
“Sir?” the diminutive trooper asked.
“Go,” he replied, moving across to the next door. This one was sealed, but a quick blast from his carbine solved that problem more than adequately, and he stepped through over the rim of white-hot metal into what appeared to be some sort of control room. A dead body, one of the not-men, lay on the floor, killed by the shock wave that had wiped out most of the equipment.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 22
