Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles

by Richard Tongue

   “Have two of our missiles head towards the Xandari. Let's give them something to think about.”

   Scott smiled for a second, before a frown started to spread across her face as she replied, “We're getting a launch from the leading ship. Heading for the freighter.”

   “A missile?” Harper asked, turning to the sensor display.

   “Negative,” Arkhipov replied. “Shuttles, three of them now. I think they're going to board her.” He looked up at a panel, and shook his head, “Out of firing range. We can't get to them in time.”

   “Two hits!” Scott said, the smile returning. “Rear section of the leading scoutship. I think we've damaged his engines. He's falling back out of the formation.”

   “That should make it a little easier,” Harper said. “Now it's up to Alamo to finish the job.”

  Chapter 2

   “Report,” Orlova said, tugging on her jacket as she stepped onto the bridge.

   At the central holotable, Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, her executive officer, watched the tactical display as the ships danced around, moving onto an intercept course. He looked up with a frown, then walked around the table towards her, a datapad in his hand.

   “Three Xandari Bravo-class Heavy Scouts,” he said. “Daedalus managed to knock some chunks out of one of them, damaged its engines, but all of them are still coming.” Looking back at the display, he continued, “They're on an intercept course, and gaining speed. My guess is that they're hoping to make it through a fast pass, then head out into the deep system before we can stop them.”

   Rubbing his hand on his forehead, he continued, “They've launched boarding shuttles towards the freighter they were chasing, but don't seem to be making any other offensive moves against it for the moment. Ensign Cooper and his platoon are boarding shuttles right now, and will be ready for launch in ninety seconds.”

   Moving past him, she walked towards the tactical station, and asked, “Cantrell, weapons status?”

   “We're at battle stations, ma'am, and cleared for action. I've got a salvo in the tubes, and our laser will be charged in thirty seconds.” Glancing across at a readout, she continued, “Firing range in six minutes.”

   The doors slid open, and Lieutenant Pavel Salazar walked onto the bridge, immediately looking at the tactical display with concern on his face. Orlova smiled, and gestured him over to the holotable.

   “Frank, I want you to liaise with the rest of the fleet. Have them form into two squadrons, Koltoc and Neander, and take one ship each. We'll go right down the middle. Make it clear that I expect none of these ships to make it through this pass. We can't afford to let one of them get away.”

   “Understood,” he replied, moving over to the communications station, sliding into a vacant seat next to Spaceman Weitzman. He turned as he slid on a headset, and added, “Harper and the others are heading our way as well, but they're not going to be able to do anything other than a coup de grace.”

   “Have them return to the hendecaspace point. I want them to provide support for that freighter, and watch for a second wave. If it's anything they can't handle, they're to run for it.” She paused, looked at the screen, then added, “Have Ensign Cooper launch when ready.”

   “Through the combat area?” he replied.

   “The only reason the Xandari can have boarded that freighter is because there's something on board they don't want us to have. There's no way they'll be able to get back to their own ships, so they're on a suicide mission.” Shaking her head, she added, “They'll blow it up rather than let it fall to us, and we've got to prevent that from happening.”

   “We're at maximum acceleration, Captain,” Maqua, the Neander midshipman at the helm, reported. “I've got an evasive course ready for when we get into attack range.”

   “Good, Midshipman,” she said, looking at the waiting Salazar. For a second, she contemplated ordering him to take the helm, but Maqua seemed to be doing a good job, and he needed to be tested in battle in any case. Better now when the odds were in their favor, and a replacement was on hand if needed. She looked up at the tactical display, the rest of the ships in the fleet moving into position, a wall of firepower heading towards the incoming enemy vessels.

   “Looks like the Koltoc are moving close to their freighter,” Salazar said, gesturing at the display. “I suppose it's reasonable enough, but it's going to leave that flank awfully exposed if they don't tighten up.”

   Nodding, she said, “Frank...”

   “I'm on it,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Talk about herding cats...”

   With a nod, she said, “Take the second station, Pavel.”

   He raised an eyebrow, then moved into Nelyubov's vacated position at the holotable, leaning over the reports streaming in from across the ship. He glanced at the communications station for a second, long enough for Nelyubov to flash him a reassuring smile, then looked back at the display.

   “Closing fast, Captain,” he said. “We're getting reports from Daedalus of some sort of two-stage missile with extreme range. Recommend we get a screen launched ahead of time to counter it.”

   “We'll be facing twelve missiles,” Cantrell added. “We've got twenty-four to play with. They won't get through our first wave.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “It won't be as easy as that, Lieutenant.” Turning to Weitzman, she said, “No signal from the Xandari, I presume?”

   “No, ma'am,” he said, shaking his head.

   She turned back to the display, a frown on her face. The enemy they were facing had never shown any inclination to surrender, but now would have been a good time for them to start. Their current course was simple suicide. While the projection showed them reaching another hendecaspace point in the outer system in six days, they must know that they would never live to get there.

   “Enemy acceleration increasing, Captain,” Spinelli said from the sensor station. “If our information from the Koltoc is correct, they're running well over their usual maximum. I guess they're in a hurry to run the gauntlet.”

   “Firing range now four minutes, ten seconds,” Cantrell added. “We'll have enough time for two launches. Maybe we should have some of the ships hang back, just in case we need a second try.”

   Orlova shook her head, concentrating on the display. There was something she was missing, something they had all missed, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. All three of the ships were converging on the fleet, their courses not quite parallel, but converging on a distant point, albeit well short of their presumed target.

   “Three minutes, thirty seconds,” Cantrell said. “They're accelerating again, ma'am. They must be pushing their engines to the absolute limit.”

   Looking up from his station, Salazar added, “Cooper's attack force is on the way. They should be on the deck in nine minutes.” He frowned, then continued, “That's strange. They haven't altered their approach. They've got plenty of time to move into attack position. We'd be able to defend them, but I'd have thought they would have at least tried for it.”

   Orlova looked at the display again, and her eyes widened as her fingers flew down to the controls, working a series of navigation projections. Cursing under her breath, she raced over to the helm, the startled Maqua looking up at her.

   “Full evasive course, Midshipman. Get us moving. Frank, order the squadron to scatter, and move to envelop the incoming ships.” Turning to Cantrell, she continued, “Fire when ready, Lieutenant, and I want those bastards reduced to their component particles.”

   Nelyubov frowned for a moment, then replied, “They're going to ram us. It's a suicide charge.”

   “Alamo's the most important strategic target in this system, and if they can take us out of the equation, this fleet will scatter to the four winds,” she said, fumbling for a control. “Quinn, I need all the speed you can give me.”

   “I'm already at maximum, Captain,” the
engineer protested.

   “Find me some more. Anything you can give me.” Turning back to the viewscreen, she continued, “Those bastards are faster and more agile than we are.”

   “Engines to full power,” Maqua said, glancing back at Salazar for a second while laying in his course. She looked down as his hands danced over the controls, then patted the young midshipman on the shoulder before returning to the central holotable. A countdown clock appeared on the viewscreen, counting down the seconds before the ships entered weapons range, followed by a second one to display the projected time to impact. Just under three minutes before they could launch their missiles, four and a half before all three ships would collide into Alamo.

   If they were only facing a single kamikaze, this would be simple. Accelerate towards the approaching ship at full speed, and veer off at the last second. With three, they could hedge their bets, covering a variety of courses and orient to draw Alamo in. They had to gain time, enough to knock out their engines and their power plants, and deny them the ability to maneuver. Then they'd be able to finish them off at leisure.

   “Two minutes, thirty seconds,” Cantrell said.

   Salazar, his face pale, said, “Recommend all non-essential personnel stand by in the escape pods. They'll have a chance if they bail out with more than thirty seconds to go.”

   With a regretful nod, she replied, “Do it, Pavel.”

   He nodded, returning to his work, while Orlova looked around the bridge. Everyone else had a console to run, duties to fulfill, something to take their minds of the menace that was bearing down on them. For the next two minutes, all she could do was watch and wait. The three tracks slowly converged on Alamo, Maqua doing his best to delay the inevitable, the countdown clock jumping forward as he altered his course. Around them, Alamo's six escorts dived around, ready to unleash a rain of death on the approaching ships, all ready to fire their missiles at the same instant.

   “To hell with defensive fire,” Orlova said, looking at Cantrell. “We'll take a few hits if we need to. We've got to knock out their engines, or this whole game is over.”

   “Missiles are locked on,” she replied. “They'll be more interested in knocking down our missiles than attacking us, I think.”

   The seconds ticked past, and Orlova ran her eyes across the bridge, looking from station to station, more concerned about the people at the controls than the data shown on the displays. All were cool, calm, collected, veterans to a man. Even Maqua was no stranger to combat, though this was the first time he had faced it on the bridge.

   “Thirty seconds,” Cantrell finally said, in a monotone. “Standing by with first salvo. We'll get at least two up before impact, and might even manage a third.”

   “All ships in the fleet are ready for time-on-target firing,” Nelyubov added.

   “Laser first,” Orlova said. “We might be able to finish one of them quickly, at least.”

   “Ten seconds,” Cantrell said, holding her finger over the controls. “Midshipman, I want a line of sight on the engine section of the leading ship, in eight seconds, mark.”

   “Mark,” Maqua said, skilfully setting up the maneuver. Salazar looked at his protege with a confident smile on his face, then looked back to Orlova. She knew exactly how he felt; at times, she felt the same way about him. And Harper, Cooper, Bradley, and half a dozen others. Five years ago, she'd been the one sitting in that chair, up at the helm, and she idly wondered whether Captain Marshall had thought that of her, back at Ragnarok, or Jefferson.

   “Energy spike!” Spinelli said, and the board lit up with twelve missiles erupting from the Xandari ships. An instant later, Alamo fired its laser, pumping megawatts of energy into the leading ship, ripping a line down the side of the vessel. A fountain of air burst through a series of hull breaches, sending it rolling away, the engine stuttering and failing as the ship tumbled out of formation. Two of the Neander vessels dived down to finish it off, eight missiles leaping towards the helpless target.

   Alamo rocked back as its first missile spread launched, six new targets appearing on the screen. Over the next five seconds, the remaining ships in the formation added to the arsenal, trajectories carefully calculated to bear down upon the enemy vessels at the same time, pinning them into position. The enemy pilots ducked and dodged, trying to evade, but still dived towards Alamo, their engines running hot enough to burn out their power relays in minutes. If their plan worked, that wouldn't be a problem.

   “Missiles running true,” Cantrell said. “Laser recharging. We'll have another shot.”

   Orlova looked at the strategic view, trying to focus on the battle, shaking her head as the screen continued to flicker. The display was a tangle of missile trajectories and projected course changes, chaos and confusion ranging all around. Two by two, the lines vanished from the screen as the missiles crashed into each other, clouds of ever-expanding debris marked on the display, tangles of twisted metal to endlessly spiral into the void.

   “First impact in ten seconds,” Cantrell said, calmly. “Four from our salvo running, eleven in total.” Glancing across at her panel, she added, “Midshipman, I'll want a shot at the second ship's engines in twenty-one seconds, mark, but watch for changes.”

   “Setting up the course now,” Maqua replied, assured at the controls. The dancing had stopped now, replaced with a simple drive for more speed. Getting the ships back into formation after the battle was going to be a nightmare, but being around to deal with it would be blessed relief at this stage.

   “Impact!” Spinelli said, with a triumphant smile. “The rear ship's had it, ma'am! Three hits in its engine section, and it was already damaged!” Before he could report further, there was a brief flare on the viewscreen, and he added, “Enemy ship is destroyed, Captain. Looks like the last shot got it in the superstructure. No sign of escape pods.”

   “The second?” she asked.

   “Still accelerating,” the technician replied.

   “We missed,” Cantrell cursed. “Hits to their forward section, but its still coming. I think we've knocked out their missile tubes, but they aren't going to need them.” Turning to the helm, she said, “Get this right, Midshipman. Eight seconds, mark.”

   “Mark,” he repeated, eyes focused on the controls. Orlova waited, looking at the holoimage again, counting down the seconds in her head. Alamo swung around on its thrusters, aiming towards the enemy ship, and with a last twist, lined up to take the shot. At the precise second, they fired, a beam of powerful energy racing down the side of the Xandari vessel. The enemy ship's engines continued for a brief second, before jerking to a stop, the ship rolling forward, revealing an angry gash along the midsection, jets of atmosphere leaking into space.

   “We got him,” Cantrell said with a sigh of relief. “Not where we wanted, but we must have knocked out the power distribution network. I think he's disabled.” Another flare, and the final ship disappeared, replaced by a field of debris.

   “Self-destructed,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “Suicide tactics again.”

   “Secure from battle stations, maintain alert status,” Orlova ordered. “Take us to the freighter, Midshipman, best speed. Let's see if we can give Cooper some support.”

  Chapter 3

   Ensign Gabriel Cooper, the commander of Alamo's Espatier platoon, looked down the shuttle's passenger cabin at the squad he was commanding. Somewhere behind him, two other ships were bringing in the rest of his troops, hastily assembled and bundled on board without even time to check their equipment. He glanced up at the status panel over the cockpit door, and quickly ran his eyes over the tactical display. At least there were no hostiles to worry about now, the last of the Xandari ships wiped off the map, but that just meant the fight ahead was going to be tougher.

   At the best of times the Xandari were an implacable, remorseless adversary, but with no possibility of retreat or escape, they'd fight to the death, taking as many of
his people with them as they could. The whole ship, if they could manage it, and that had to be their ultimate objective. Nothing else made sense.

   He reached down to his respirator, running a final systems check before beginning his briefing. They were spared wearing the cumbersome spacesuits, but given the damage that ship had sustained, he didn't want to take any chances on a failing life support system. All along the cabin, Corporal Walpis was going from man to man, checking their kit, chiding them about one infraction or another, more to keep their minds from worrying about what was waiting for them over there than anything else.

   Glancing at his watch, he rose to his feet, the respirator bouncing on its straps. Before he could begin, an urgent beep came from his datapad, and he quickly snatched it out of his pocket, tapping the screen to open the latest file. Finally Colonel Kilquan had come through with the deck-plans of that ship he'd promised, less than three minutes before boarding. Conscious that all eyes were on him, he quickly scanned the document, then slid a control to send it across the platoon's tactical net.

   “Listen up,” he said. “We're boarding a friendly ship of unfamiliar design, and one that has sustained a hell of a lot of damage, even before this latest batch of bad guys show up. Don't touch anything that looks like it might be important. If in doubt, don't touch anything at all. We're expecting anywhere between fifteen and forty Xandari, numbers uncertain, and we all know how they operate in a fight. Don't give them a break.”

   “What about the friendlies, sir?” Donegan, the squad's medic, asked.

   “We're expecting both Koltoc and Human, Specialist, but aside from that, I don't know. If you see a Xandari, shoot to kill. If you see anyone else, hold your fire until you've determined hostile intent. We're supposed to be forming an alliance, and killing our new friends isn't going to help.”