Switching back to the forward view for a second, Harper saw the icy moon loom ahead in the darkness, a few pin-pricks of light scattered around, monitoring satellites to watch their run. All of them were listed as Copernican in origin, the relic of their scientific program, and none of them had been important enough for anyone to bother with.
Frantically, she jumped from her chair and raced over to the electronic warfare station, bringing the console on-line in a hurry as she began to dig into the software on the old satellites. As she'd expected, there was almost no security other than the obvious, no serious attempt to stop anyone infiltrating their network. Better still, most of them had some fuel remaining on board, and the enemy battlecruiser would be passing within a thousand kilometers of the nearest one.
“Hold your course, Midshipman,” she ordered. “If they fire any missiles, we'll try to outrun them. Scott, feel free to switch from offensive to defensive at your discretion, but keep a close watch. All of this is going to be over in a matter of seconds.”
Scott nodded, keeping her focus on her panel, and Harper settled back to watch the show. All the decisions were made, all the tactics decided. The Xandari battlecruiser closed on them, gathering speed, but it was clear that Daedalus would easily be able to outrun them once they were clear of their fake bombing run. They seemed to be ignoring the Safe Margin as it closed on their rear, evidently discounting it as a serious threat.
The ships entered combat range, No one making a move, until Scott tapped a control to release their first salvo on a course taking them down towards the refining plant. The Xandari immediately launched a counter-strike, their missiles moving to intercept theirs, not giving a thought to the fleeing Daedalus. At the touch of a button, the Triplanetary warheads changed course, recklessly spending their fuel as they spiraled towards the battlecruiser, the defensive missiles struggling to keep up.
Ten seconds later, Safe Margin fired, three more missiles entering the fray, and the Xandari could only respond with two. The tactical display was a jumble of trajectories, and Harper squinted to make sense of them, before shaking her head and returning to her station. In a few seconds, her contribution would be making its presence felt.
The old satellite had served its people in peace, and now it would serve them in war, decades-silent attitude jets firing to hurl it onto an interception course with the battlecruiser, with no defensive missiles left to repel it. The enemy commander realized the trap, fired his ship's engines, but he was a second too late, and the lone sentinel slammed into the rear of the battlecruiser, crashing into the primary engines.
The ship toppled, out of control, and Harper rose from her chair, stepping forward towards the screen, a triumphant smile on her face. A wave of explosions rippled across the display, six missiles striking their counterparts, but the Safe Margin still had one contribution to make to the melee, its last missile catching the ship in the side, right into the main oxygen reservoir. As the lumbering beast tumbled, shuttles spilled from her launch bays, evacuating the crew to the base below, and all around, the bridge rumbled with the sound of applause.
With a flash, the sensor display updated, showing the battlecruiser's final descent towards the surface of the bleak, icy wasteland below. In less than five minutes, it would meet its end, and there was no longer anything the Xandari could do to stop it. At one stroke, the enemy presence in this system had been halved.
“Send to Safe Margin,” she said, “Damn good shot.”
“Aye, ma'am,” Ingram replied, shaking his head. “Signal from Nelyubov.”
“Put him on,” she said, a beaming smile on her face.
“Come on, Lieutenant,” Nelyubov said, sharing her joy. “You're going to make the rest of us look bad.”
“They're too damn overconfident, sir. Gets them every time.” She looked up at the display, and asked, “Orders?”
“Take high guard, and set to rendezvous with us once we've completed our pass. Looks like the last ship's going to give us a wide berth. We'll set up to help with the main event.” Turning off the screen for a moment, he shook his head, and added, “Damn good work. Damn good.”
Moving back to her command chair, Harper ordered, “You heard what he said. Let's get out of here. Might as well save something for our friends.”
Chapter 8
Orlova looked at Salazar across the holodisplay, waiting for Alamo to return to normal space. If all had gone as planned, Daedalus and her companions would have caused chaos throughout the system over the last two hours. Two of the longest hours of her life, as she longed to be with her people, knowing they were fighting for their lives. At the rear of the bridge, Ryan watched, knowing a torture similar to hers, with the difference that he had no power to change the situation. He was dependent on people he'd only just met, the fate of his home now out of his hands.
“All decks are cleared for action,” Salazar said, looking up from his panel. He'd slid into Nelyubov's position with surprising ease, the cool confidence of a veteran officer belying his young age. It was a struggle to remember that he had only left the Academy a little over twelve months ago, that his promotion was only weeks old. It had been a hard year, and his eyes looked far older than his years.
“Laser charged,” Cantrell added. “Missiles ready for launch, and search and rescue shuttles are in the elevator airlocks and ready.” She glanced across at Salazar, as though evaluating him, and continued, “Lieutenant Cooper and First Platoon are in the hangar bay, on two-minute standby.”
“Very good,” Orlova said, looking around her bridge. No words were needed. They'd heard them all a thousand times before. The countdown clock ticked away its final seconds, and with a bright blue flash, Alamo returned to normal space. Copernicus hung in front of them, a jewel in the darkness. Immediately, the ship started to receive tactical feeds, and Salazar hastily began to run through the last two hours of the battle at an accelerated pace, struggling to catch up.
Orlova focused on the current situation. Daedalus and the other two ships had swung into formation, out at the far hendecaspace point, likely in an attempt to decoy the enemy forces away. A lone Xandari battlecruiser, the only enemy vessel in the system, ranged towards them, and by the looks of the Allied ships, this wasn't its first pass. The Koltoc vessel looked as if it was only just being held together, and the others were sliding in front of it, trying to protect it from the attack to come.
“My God!” Salazar yelled. “Daedalus and Safe Margin took out a battlecruiser!”
Turning to him, Orlova replied, “Are you sure?”
“Here,” he said, replaying the sensor feed. It should have been impossible, but it had happened, and she watched Daedalus draw the enemy craft in, setting it up for a sucker punch from the Koltoc.
“We might as well have stayed at home,” Orlova said. “Midshipman, set a course for the far hendecaspace point, maximum speed.” Turning to Powell, now serving as fleet liaison at the communications station, she added, “Contact all ships, and have them follow in squadron formation. If we've got the opportunity for overkill, we might as well use it.”
“Course computed, Captain,” the Neander replied. “Initiating engine start-up.”
“Signal from Senior Lieutenant Nelyubov, ma'am,” Weitzman said.
“Put him through,” she replied, and as the face of her deputy appeared on the screen, she said, “Do you still need us, Frank?”
“Oh, we need you,” he said, frowning. “I'm not sure how Safe Margin is still flying, and I've taken a few hits on Red Avenger as well.” Looking off-screen, he added, “Major Ingros needs medical attention as soon as possible. I've had to take command.”
“We're on the way,” Orlova said. “Intercept in ten minutes, five seconds. Can you hold them off long enough?”
“We'll do our best,” he said, “I'll try and draw them in towards you. Incidentally, give Harper a medal when you get a chance. T
hat ambush was all hers.”
“Will do,” she replied with a smile. “Don't talk to any strange Xandari. Alamo out.”
“Fleet is moving with us now,” Powell said, looking across from his station. “We're in an arrowhead formation.”
His brow furrowed, Salazar said, “I don't like this course, ma'am. We're running too close to the planet.”
“We're not within range of the defense network, are we?”
“No, but I'd still rather take a wider berth.”
Shaking his head, Powell replied, “That would add three minutes to our travel time, Lieutenant. I'm not sure the advance guard have that long.”
“Keep an eye on it, Pavel,” Orlova said. “Who's nearest?”
“Random Walk, Captain.”
She nodded, then turned back to the display, watching the trajectory tracks snap into position as the ships moved onto their courses. The enemy vessel wasn't reacting, continuing with its bid for vengeance, and Orlova shook her head. Salazar was right. This was too obvious, and the Xandari had never shown any instinct for taking the easy route before. They were up to something, she was certain of that. Her hands danced across the controls, and she focused one of Alamo's sensor banks on the nearest defense satellite, gritting her teeth as she looked over the specifications.
More borrowed technology, from the United Nations again. One of the latest designs of missile satellites, designed to launch eight-strong salvos, with limited combat fabricators to maintain their arsenals. As she watched, the drone began to dance, moving from side to side to some hidden rhythm, beginning evasive maneuvers. All modern capital ships had long-range laser cannons, and that meant that knocking down objects in fixed orbits was nothing more than target practice. This was going to be a lot tougher.
Still, Alamo and the rest of the fleet was well out of combat range, and one of the satellites had been crippled by Red Avenger on its initial pass, taking advantage of a target of opportunity. There didn't seem to be any way for the Xandari forces to launch a strike, which only made her more suspicious.
“Spinelli,” she said. “Let's take a closer look at that space station they're building.”
Nodding, the technician replied, “Looks like a normal construction and maintenance yard, almost finished as far as I can tell. I'm not getting any anomalous levels of activity, and no sign of any small craft in the air.” He frowned, shook his head, and added, “Fighter bays, Captain. Well hidden, but they're there.”
“They're going to launch a strike,” Ryan said, speaking for the first time. “A one-way hop, to knock us off balance and support their battlecruiser.”
“Agreed,” Salazar added.
“Let's preempt that,” Orlova replied. “Assuming they do, Cantrell, can you work out an estimated firing range?”
Cantrell looked at her, eyes wide, then turned to her console to begin the calculations. She was asking a lot, and she knew it. With no clear idea what type of fighters or missiles the Xandari would be using, any such estimate would be vague at best, but after a few seconds, a red sphere appeared on the sensor display, winking twice.
“We'll be in the zone in thirty seconds, ma'am, and in firing range for seventy. The Koltoc are likely to get the worst of it, though. They'll have almost a hundred seconds under fire.”
“Should we change course?” Salazar asked.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want them to think they've fooled us, at least for the next minute or so. Cantrell, the instant we enter firing range, I want a missile launch.” Turning to Powell, she added, “Let's get the Koltoc in on this game as well. That should be fifteen missiles for those fighters to play with.”
“Recommend we instruct the Koltoc squadron to change course to handle the attack,” Salazar said. “If they know what's about to hit them, they'll have a better chance to deal with them, and it'll keep them off our flank.” Gesturing at the map, he continued, “If I was commanding that squadron, I'd draw our missiles into firing range of the defense network, then swing around to come after us. They'd be hitting our rear just about when we engaged the battlecruiser.”
She nodded, and said, “Make it happen.”
“Aye,” he replied, stepping over to Powell. She watched the display, waiting for the moment of launch. Twelve tracks appeared on the display, launching from the station, thrown clear by magnetic catapult to give them a starting boost, but before they could move more than a few miles, Alamo and the fleet responded with a missile spread, a wave of death slashing out in their direction. Instantly, the fighters began to scatter, attempting to evade, and one flight drew down towards the planet, following Salazar's strategy as though they had overheard it.
“Colonel Kilquan is turning to engage,” Powell said, “and wishes us good luck.”
“Five minutes to the battlecruiser,” Cantrell said. “Our missiles are running true.”
Nodding, Orlova watched the show, the fighters launching a wave of defensive missiles, fighting for their lives as the Koltoc squadron released a second salvo. Two of their warheads found their targets, the fighters flaring for an instant as they died, their missiles going wild, but half a dozen managed to find safety underneath the orbital defense network, a swarm of tracks appearing on the screen as interceptors moved into position.
One of the Koltoc vessels dived after them, the commander demonstrating an uncharacteristic wild streak as he launched a third wave of missiles. Spinelli looked up, his face white, then turned to the communications station.
“Otto, warn that crazy bastard off! He'll be in attack range of Satellites Two and Three in seconds!”
Without waiting for confirmation, Weitzman flicked switches to pass the message across, but it was too late. The Koltoc commander must have realized his mistake, making a pro-grade turn to try and gain speed, but he drifted too close to the enemy forces, twelve missiles locking onto his tail. Escape pods spilled in all directions as the warheads slammed home, less than thirty seconds later, an expanding ball of debris threatening to overwhelm the fleeing survivors.
“Damn,” Orlova said, shaking her head. “Pavel, see if our search and rescue teams can assist.”
“Not without running the gauntlet themselves,” he reported. “The Xandari seem to be leaving them alone for the moment, but that would probably change if we expressed any interest in them.” He turned to his board, and said, “Looks like Colonel Kilquan agrees. He's pressing the attack.”
“Five fighters destroyed,” Spinelli reported. “Two more have multiple missiles on their tail, and the rest are down below the satellite network.”
“We can't get them,” Cantrell added, “but they can't get us.”
“Not yet,” Salazar said, “but they're going to be able to hide down there indefinitely. They're in a stable orbit, nice and low.” Frowning, he added, “The surface squadron wouldn't have a chance.”
“Suggestions?”
From the electronic warfare station, Spaceman Hooke sighed, and said, “Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, I can hack into those satellites and turn them around, but I'm going to have to be a lot closer. Someone's bound to be defending their systems, and I can't cope with a substantial time lag.”
“A shuttle,” Salazar said. “I could bring one in through the gap. It'd need some pretty fancy flying, but I think I could get close enough.” Looking at the sensor display, he added, “Now would be the best time, while they're distracted.”
“On your way,” Orlova said, tapping a control. “Chief Washington and Sub-Lieutenant Foster, report to the bridge on the double.” Salazar stepped into the elevator, followed by a reluctant Hooke.
“Four minutes to contact,” Cantrell said. “They're turning on the advance squadron now, Captain. They'll be in firing range before we can do anything to stop them.” Frowning, she added, “Red Avenger is falling behind now, covering fo
r Safe Margin.”
“Midshipman, we need more speed,” Orlova said.
“I'm giving you everything we've got, Captain.” Shaking his head, he said, “I'm running the engines hot as it is. We can't push them any more than we're doing, not without risking an overload.”
“Do everything you can,” Orlova ordered, stepping over to the tactical display. This was the worst part of battle, the waiting. Whether it was for hours, minutes or seconds, the helpless feeling tore into her, the knowledge that people she was responsible for were about to risk their lives on her orders.
“Safe Margin has launched two shuttles,” Spinelli reported. “Heading for Daedalus. The ship's drifting free. I'd say they've abandoned her.” He paused, then added, “Someone's still handling attitude control, probably remotely.”
“Good,” Orlova said, nodding. “That ought to give us the edge we need.”
“I'm not sure the Koltoc will see it that way,” Powell replied. “So far, all the losses have been theirs.”
“They can send me the bill later. How long, Lieutenant?”
“Two minutes to contact,” she replied. “Enemy battlecruiser is trying for Daedalus, but the Venture is getting in the way. They must be intending to use it as a shield.”
“Koltoc shuttles docking now, Captain,” Spinelli added. “Energy spike!” he added. “Multiple missile launches from the battlecruiser. Conventional single-shot, closing on Daedalus, running true!”
Orlova watched as the squadron of small ships raced away, trying to outpace the missiles, leaving their one, wounded companion behind to complete a final service to its comrades, drifting into the path of two of the approaching warheads, taking the hits for them. Four new tracks raced from Daedalus, her last missiles according to the telemetry, moving to intercept the enemy targets.
The elevator door slid open, Foster and Washington stepping out, the latter immediately making for the electronic warfare station, leaving the young officer looking around the bridge. She stepped up to the holodesk, and tentatively took the vacant place, scanning the systems monitors.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 7
