Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles

by Richard Tongue

   “This way,” Walpis said, pointing at a sign. “Auxiliary control. I'd bet they were using it to run the battle.”

   Without a word, Cooper took the suggested corridor, Rhodes moving over to his side, shooting worried glances at his commander. Walpis jogged up, attempting to take the lead, but Cooper redoubled his pace, keeping point. A trio of surprised Xandari were in the middle of setting up a defensive position, tugging crates into a crude barricade, and Cooper leveled his rifle at the first of them, executing a shot that wouldn't have disgraced a firing range, the enemy trooper sprawling over the box he had been carrying, crimson blood trickling down its sides.

   Another shot came from inside, and Cooper opened the door with the tap of a control to see a young Koltoc dropping to the floor, clutching at his chest, looking at him with terrified eyes. His executioner loomed over him, ready to fire at his next victim, but Cooper charged forward, sending him sprawling to the ground, his gun forgotten as the red mist descended. He ripped at the Xandari's throat, smashing blows to the stunned man's head, beating him again and again before hands dragged him away, Rhodes pulling him from the Xandari.

   “Let me go,” he said. “That's an order, damn it.”

   “He's dead, sir,” the trooper replied, holding him fast. “They're all dead.”

   “This one's alive,” Ryan said, kneeling beside the young man on the floor. “We need a medical team, on the double.”

   Cooper looked at Rhodes, who released him after a second's glance, careful to stand near him. From what seemed like a million miles away, he heard a chirp, an incoming transmission from his communicator, and he reached down to retrieve it, opening the channel.

   “Gurung here, sir! We've linked up with the medical team in the cargo decks. Looks like they've had it, sir. The last of them are making a stand in the enlisted quarters, but we're taking them from three sides. Major Segna reports that we should have the station secured in a matter of minutes.”

   “Yeah,” Cooper said, his eyes locked on the bloodbath.

   “Sir, didn't you hear me? We won!”

   “Sure,” he said, staring at the bodies by the wall, the innocent prisoners who had died before they could reach them. “We won.”

  Chapter 11

   Daedalus lazily cruised towards the moon, a pair of Neander raiders following, curving in a long arc towards their destination. On the bridge, the mood was jubilant, Scott reading out a litany of reports from the surface, the station and the fleet, all of them celebrating their tremendous victory. Armstrong turned from the helm, a happy smile on her face.

   “Do you think we'll get back to orbit in time for the party, ma'am?”

   “One half-hour pass, and we're heading home,” Harper replied. “We've got to spill some of this velocity anyway. Don't worry, you'll get down in time for the celebrations.” Leaning back on her chair, she added, “I'll keep the shipboard watch.”

   “You don't have to,” Scott said. “I don't mind staying up here. This is your victory as much as it's anyone's. Taking out the battlecruiser...”

   “We had a job to do, and we did it. Damned well, if I say so myself, but that's what we did. I've earned an evening off.” She smiled, and added, “Think of it this way. Captain Orlova is going to be spending the night listening to a succession of planetary leaders trying to win the Galactic Verbosity Award, while the rest of the senior staff will have their ears blasted out by the military band.” Frowning, she added, “Are we still on course to pick up Pavel after we've finished this run?”

   “In about twenty minutes,” Armstrong replied. “I still don't understand why he insisted he could wait for us. One of the search and rescue shuttles could have picked the two of them up an hour ago.”

   “I don't think he's in any real hurry,” Harper replied. “You're training to be an officer, Midshipman. You work it out.”

   She paused, then said, “He's skipping the party as well?”

   “I understand the two of us have invitations to something that should be a lot more fun tomorrow night. There's a bottle of vodka sitting in my cabin with a pair of glasses.” Shaking her head, she said, “We're getting the better end of this deal, so the two of you can have all the fun you want on the surface.”

   “You don't really believe that, do you?” Armstrong asked.

   “She does,” Scott said, shaking her head. “I'm half-tempted to join you, but someone's got to fly the flag for the ship, I guess. I'll just have to collect the accolades in your place.” Tapping a control, she pulled up a wall of text, and she said, “I've even prepared a speech.”

   “You're kidding,” Harper replied.

   “Well, I had the computer find me something appropriate, then changed the names to fit.” She peered at the accompanying text, and said, “This is from the victory celebrations after the UN Fleet took out the Red Hand Gang, apparently. Whoever the hell they were. Back at the turn of the century.”

   “A criminal syndicate that took over half a dozen asteroids,” Armstrong volunteered. “They converted several deep prospectors to carry modified missiles, and stood off the fleet for almost a year before…” She paused, looked around, and said, “Sorry, I've been working on my dissertation. Early Space Warfare.”

   “No objection to my junior officers getting on with their homework,” Harper replied. “With a little luck, you'll have plenty of time to get it finished while we're waiting to head home.” She frowned, then added, “I don't have to grade it, do I?”

   “God, you're in trouble, Jen,” Scott said, shaking her head. “It'll be Senior Lieutenant Nelyubov, Kris. He's in charge of the training program.”

   “Hell, I'd have given you top marks. Send me a copy anyway. Perhaps I can help.” At Scott's puzzled expression, she added, “The Harpers, as my dear father continually notes, have been in the service of one space-side military or another for as long as anyone's had one. United States Space Force, then the United Nations Space Fleet, then the Martian Space Service, now the Triplanetary Fleet.” Shaking her head, she added, “I never thought I'd be following the tradition.”

   “I'm glad you did,” Scott said. “Having a conventional commanding officer would be boring as hell after serving under you for a couple of months.”

   “I think that's a complement,” she replied. “How are we doing, Midshipman?”

   Turning back to her station, Armstrong said, “We'll be in close scanning range in three minutes, closest approach in five. That'll be at twenty-one miles. The rest of the formation is moving lower, to get better resolution.” She tapped a control to make a course correction, then added, “What do you think the garrison will do?”

   “I think they'll probably blow the place to bits,” Harper replied. “My guess is that they're setting up the charges right now, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it. At least there aren't any Copernicans down there.” Shaking her head, she added, “Kat, you'd better work out an attack plan, just in case they don't do the decent thing.”

   “There's no way we could capture it?” Armstrong asked.

   “Not with ten times the men we've got,” Harper replied. “They've got three hundred Xandari down there, and they could blow the place into orbit whenever they wanted. I'd love to take it intact, but I don't think we're going to get that option.” With a sigh, she added, “If they don't blow it up, we're going to have to do it for them.”

   “Two minutes,” Armstrong said.

   Nodding, Harper said, “Fine, let's do this properly. Standby alert, all decks.” Scott moved to respond, the rest of the bridge crew sluggish in their responses. “Come on,” she chided. “Time enough to celebrate when you've got a glass of something in your hand. We've got work to do before we rest.”

   “Loading missiles,” Scott said, glancing at Harper. “Glad we re-armed. What about the rest of the formation?”

   “Ingram, contact the Red Avenger and the Random Walk, and suggest th
at they take themselves to alert status.” At Scott's look, she added, “I'm not in command of the formation, remember. I can suggest, but not order.”

   “Major Melnos suggests that you're over-reacting,” Ingram said, shaking his head.

   With a shrug, she said, “His funeral, if all of this goes wrong. Let's just make sure that we're as ready as we can be, shall we?” The bridge crew redoubled their efforts, and the winking monitor lights flashed green as the ship prepared itself for battle.

   “Cleared for action,” Scott said. “All decks on standby alert.”

   “Evasive maneuvers ready,” Armstrong added. “It's a bit tight down there, though. Could be a little tricky if we're at the low point of the maneuver.” Glancing at a readout, she added, “One minute to sensor range.”

   “You ready, Spaceman?” Harper asked, turning to Arkhipov.

   “All systems go, skipper,” he replied, poised over his controls. “I don't want to have to do this twice. Precision scanners are ready, and I've set up a datalink to Alamo, just in case.”

   “Good,” she said, turning back to the viewscreen. Copernicus' moon looked no more appealing close up than it had from a distance, a barren ball of ice, jagged mountains rising to sky from asteroid impacts, deep cracks running across massive plains. And below there, a Koltoc installation, stolen by the Xandari.

   She glanced at her datapad, and scowled. Colonel Kilquan had already sent a request that a mission plan to recapture the installation be outlined. Shaking her head, she started to work on a reply that boiled down to a suggestion that he try it himself. Pausing, she thought of the look on Cooper's face when he'd filed his after-action report. Taking the station had been bad enough, without the hell the troopers would face if they attempted an attack on the surface. Best, and safest, to blow it up from a distance.

   “Thirty seconds,” Armstrong said, and Harper looked up from her work. A single light appeared on the surface, the base navigation beacon, the only landmark in a desolate frozen sea. She frowned, an idea coming into her head. If the Koltoc would turn over some information on their security systems, it might be possible to hack into the base computers, cause some mayhem that way. And provide information she could file away for potential future use, should the Koltoc ever become a problem.

   “Threat warning!” Arkhipov yelled. “We've got missile launches from the surface, six of them, two for each ship.”

   “Get us out of here, Midshipman,” Harper said, rising from her chair. “Scott, get a salvo in the air now, targeted for defensive fire. Go to battle stations.”

   Daedalus rocked as Scott rushed to obey her order, four missiles, the last four in their arsenal, racing away from them, diving towards the planet to meet the enemy warheads heading in their direction. She looked at the missile tracks, the trajectories stabilizing on the screen. Two missiles to each ship, six in total, with only four available to block them. Scott had opted to protect Daedalus, offering one to safeguard each of the other ships in the formation.

   Harper turned to Ingram, but shook her head and returned her focus to the screen. Neither of the commanders would need orders to save their ships, as long as they'd left themselves some means of doing so. Red Avenger had reacted first, albeit slower than Daedalus, and was beginning to pull away from the moon. The Neander ship launched a missile to add to the defensive formation, skimming down towards the incoming salvo.

   Random Walk was faring less well. They'd been on the lowest trajectory, and had been the slowest to respond, their commander's unwillingness to press his crew soon to pay a dear price. Harper glanced at Scott, who shook her head. There was nothing else they could do to help them, and Red Avenger was pulling out of range.

   With a quick series of flashes, the tactical view simplified, five of the Xandari missiles disappearing, destroyed by their rapid counter-strike. All three ships were now too high to be targeted by a ground-based launcher, but that still left a single missile diving towards the Random Walk, the Neander vessel struggling to gain speed, to evade its pursuer, a race that it was doomed to lose. Up to the last second, Harper willed them to launch a missile, to think of some trick, to simply out-last the Xandari warhead, but it wasn't to be.

   The missile crashed into the rear of Random Walk, sending the ship tumbling, end-over-end, atmosphere leaks quickly throwing the ship into a long, low spiral, dancing through the night. Harper looked at the course trajectory, shaking her head. They were on a safe course, well away from the surface, but that was little comfort for the crewmen who had just died.

   “Contact Alamo,” she said, quietly. “Have a medical and rescue team dispatched immediately. And get someone to pick up Salazar, we're going to be too busy.” Turning to Armstrong, she said, “Match our course and speed, Midshipman. Let's go and pick up the pieces.”

   Nodding, she replied, “Aye, ma'am,” before somberly turning to her controls.

   “Well,” Harper said, moving over to Scott, “What the hell happened?”

   “I've been going over our long-range scans from our first arrival in the system, and there's something new.” Pulling up a display, she pointed at a fuzzy mark with her finger, and continued, “Mining shafts, carved into the ice. I think they've turned them into silos, launch platforms. A sucker punch in case someone decided to take a close look.” Frowning, she added, “There's no chance that they could reach orbit.”

   “They don't have to,” Harper said, shaking her head. “If anyone tries to bomb them from orbit, they can destroy the incoming missiles in plenty of time. If a ship goes close, then it will be subject to bombardment in its own right.” Looking at the image of the base again, she said, “They couldn't have improvised missiles that quickly.”

   “Maybe they were building them down there,” Armstrong suggested. “Away from the penal labor, to reduce the risk of sabotage.” She looked up at her screen, then added, “Course change ready, Captain.”

   “Get us there,” Harper said, still looking at the tactical display. “So despite everything, the Xandari have managed to retain a foothold in this system.” Turning back to the communications station, she said, “Ingram, get me Captain Orlova, full scrambler.”

   “I guess they're going to have to cancel the party,” Armstrong said.

   “Just postpone it,” Harper said. “We'll beat the bastards. Too many people have already died for us to give up now.” Taking a deep breath, she slid on a headset, and said, “Captain, this is Lieutenant Harper. We've got a problem.”

  Chapter 12

   Orlova stepped onto the flight deck, a hive of activity as medical teams boarded a transfer shuttle, bound for Random Walk. Most of them were Neander, borrowed from the other ships in the fleet, Alamo's medical staff either over on the station or handling critical emergencies. She looked down at the datapad in her hand, scanning the report, and sighed. The casualties had been horrifying, and the death toll continued to rise as Duquesne and her team struggled against impossible odds.

   And now the news from Random Walk, Major Melnos killed as his ship was crippled, Quinn taking an engineering team in an attempt to nurse it back to the shipyard. An hour ago, she'd been celebrating along with all the rest, but now the war had returned with a vengeance. She looked at the waiting landing shuttle, ready to take her down to the surface, and shook her head. Now she had to tell the Copernicans that their enemy still had a base in their territory, a fortress that was going to be next-to-impossible to break. Already there were signs that they were preparing to launch an orbital defense network, and if they succeeded, it would only make a difficult situation impossible. Whatever they were going to do, it had to be soon.

   A young woman, a Koltoc, stepped nervously out of an elevator, walking over to her. She vaguely recognized her as one of the crew rescued from the freighter, and turned to meet her.

   “Captain?” she asked.

   “Yes?”

   She paused for a second, then said, �
��My name is Itzel. Your medical teams saved my life, and I wanted to thank you.” Turning to the door, she added, “I stopped off at sickbay, but they're all so busy down there. I hoped that you might pass on my good wishes for me, when things settle down.”

   “Of course,” Orlova replied with a smile. She frowned, then replied, “Aren't you Commander Ryan's daughter-in-law?”

   She blushed, and said, “I hope to be. He's always been opposed, but...” She looked up at her, hope in her eyes, and added, “That's why I took the freighter job. Maybe things will be different now.”

   Nodding, Orlova said, “I think he took a ride down to the surface from the station.” Gesturing at the shuttle, she said, “I'm heading down now, and I'm sure we can make room for an extra passenger. I'm not sure when the next transfer shuttle will be leaving.”

   She smiled, replying, “Thank you, Captain. I don't have anything other than what I'm wearing. All my possessions were lost on the transport.” Shaking her head, she added, “It was all supposed to be such a great adventure. Now I can't wait to get home.”

   “Come with me, then,” she said, stepping onto the shuttle, the young technician diffidently following her. Orlova took her usual seat, next to Nelyubov, and Itzel slid into the single empty chair at the rear, looking out of the window. As the shuttle hatch closed, the vehicle beginning its descent through the elevator airlock, Nelyubov glanced at their new arrival.

   “I couldn't just leave her here,” Orlova said. “We've got space, and she needs to get home.”

   “No, that's not it,” he replied. “I thought all of the Koltoc crewmen were picked up this morning. Colonel Kilquan spread them throughout his squadron.” Shaking his head as he settled into his couch, he added, “Seems strange that they'd leave her behind. Or that Ryan wouldn't arrange transport.”