Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles

by Richard Tongue

   Then, behind them, he saw a pair of dots rising from the ground, slowly moving towards them. On instinct, he looked down for the sensor display on the control panel, but there was nothing there even remotely like one, just a collection of buttons and switches, most of which seemed to serve no useful function. He shook his head, taking out his binoculars again, trying to get a look at the approaching craft through the grubby windows.

   “Not helicopters,” he said. “Smaller. And whatever they are, they're closing rapidly.”

   “Hang on,” Bradley said. “I'm going to see if I can get any more speed out of this thing.” Shaking her head, she brought the craft down, almost to the treetops, the terrain rushing past them faster than before as the engine grumbled in complaint, straining with the exertion the pilot was putting it through.

   “Xandari,” Walpis said. “Drones, like on Thule, remember?”

   “Damn,” Cooper said, nodding in agreement. “They'll be on us in minutes. At best. Can we get down to the deck?”

   “The forest's just ahead,” his wife replied, gesturing at the landscape. “Once we're in there, they won't be able to see us.”

   “Make it fast,” he said. “They're closing awfully quickly.”

   “What do you think I'm doing?” she replied. With a loud bang, the engine failed, and she cursed as she worked the unfamiliar controls, trying to restart it. After a series of unconvincing clunks, it burst back into life again, but a series of red lights were now flashing on the panel, and Cooper didn't need a pilot's license to know that meant the flight was about to come to an abrupt end.

   “They're closing fast, sir,” Walpis said.

   “It doesn't matter,” Bradley replied. “I'm bringing us down.”

   The helicopter dropped out of the air as the engine died once again, the rotors disengaged to soften their landing, their stored energy setting them spinning. With a loud crash, the undercarriage smashed, and a smell of ozone started to erupt from the mechanism.

   “Run!” Cooper yelled, and the soldiers raced from the helicopter, running in all directions, trying to find cover. They'd emerged on the edge of the Wide Wood, and turned towards it, sprinting to gain distance from the expected explosion, as well as the Xandari drones homing in on their position.

   The explosion of the helicopter sent him tumbling to the ground, a pillar of flame and smoke reaching for the sky. A hand reached down to him, Cantrell pulling him forward, and they continued the race to safety, unable to worry about stealth for the present. They had to gain distance, as much as they could, before the enemy could reach them.

   Overhead, twin stars tracked their progress into the forest, stopping at its fringes, unable to reach underneath the canopy. Cooper pressed on, glancing at the rest of his people as he turned his head, scrambling over roots and branches, taking a narrow, trickling stream with a single leap that sent him splashing into a think layer of viscous mud. None of that mattered.

   Gradually, exhaustion forced him to a panting halt, and he leaned on a tall, wide tree. He sensed eyes looking at him, and looked up to see an owl staring down, before flying off into the distance. Turning to move on, he kicked something hard on the ground, and knelt down to look at it, the edge of a metal structure, the same tangled mess that he had seen in the alien city.

   Thousands of years ago, someone else had been here, some forgotten alien race that had come to this world, raised its cities, perhaps been responsible for terraforming it into a world suitable for humans, and then had died. Wiped out, leaving only a few scattered, decaying traces that they had ever existed at all. If something like this happened on Mars, or Ragnarok, and some far-future traveler visited those worlds, they'd find something like this, and wonder who the inhabitants were, just as he was doing now.

   The forest was quiet, the darkness all but total, only the occasional glimmer of moonlight forcing its way through the canopy. He glanced down at his watch, and shook his head. The display was smashed, useless, rammed into a rock during their abrupt escape from the helicopter. It was just possible that the Xandari would assume that they had died in the crash, but if he'd been leading the search party, he wouldn't have made that assumption.

   They could hide here, could live here. Be safe for the rest of their lives, breathing clean air, drinking fresh water, hunting for their food. Perhaps after a few years, emerging to rejoin civilization, albeit under the thumb of the Xandari. Certainly they were unlikely to be found, not while they remained in the safety of these trees. It would take an army to track them down, and even then, they'd have all the advantages.

   He followed the paths of the old ruins, winding around the long-forgotten roads, between the tall and proud trees. Likely he was the first person to come here in years, perhaps centuries, with no sign of previous wanderers through these woods. Pausing, he looked around, seeking some sign of the rest of his party. In all of their frantic flight, they'd lost track of each other, taking different directions into cover.

   If the Xandari couldn't track them down, he wasn't likely to have any better luck. Not without attracting enough attention that he'd bring other people to the party, enemy troops dropping out of the sky to take them back into captivity. A tap on the shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and he turned to see Cantrell grinning, shaking her head as she looked at him, pistol in hand.

   “You're going to have to do better than that,” she replied. “I think someone's moving about over there.” She gestured at one of the trails, and said, “Relax. If we can't find each other, then No one else is going to track us down, are they?”

   “I guess not,” he replied, following her through the undergrowth. “What happened up there? They grabbed us as soon as the shuttle took off, and we haven't heard anything from the ship for an hour.”

   “An hour?” she asked. “Is that all it's been? It feels more like days.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Last I saw, Alamo was about to be captured. The Captain had ordered an evacuation, but I don't know how many others got out. I do know that they'll grab anyone else who hit the deck.” Shaking her head, she added, “Let's just hope they don't shoot them on sight.”

   “They won't,” Cooper replied. “Not if they have any hope of getting technical information out of them.”

   “Daedalus was heading out of the system,” Cantrell added. “Help could be on the way.”

   “Don't count on it,” Bradley replied, stepping out of the undergrowth. “Sorry to interrupt, but the two of you are making more noise than anything else in the forest.” Looking up, she added, “I'm pretty sure I saw a drone going overhead earlier, but we're just another group of dumb creatures walking through the woods. They'll have a hell of a time picking us up, especially if any of the locals are logging this area.”

   “Even if they see us,” Cooper said, looking at the dense cover, “there isn't that much they can do about it. It'd take an army to catch us, and we'd have all the advantages in pursuit. We can dig in, hide, and wait.”

   “If the plan is to hope that Commodore Marshall turns up to execute a deus ex machina, I'd think of something else,” Bradley said. “At best, he's six months away, and that's assuming that Daedalus finds a way to contact him. They don't have the range to get back to the Confederation, and Xandari ships will be hunting them down.” Shaking her head, she said, “I think we're stuck here.”

   “I guess we were supposed to be staying behind anyway,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “We've still got a mission to complete.”

   “A mission?” Bradley asked.

   “It's quite simple, really,” he replied with a smile. “We came here to free this world from the Xandari, and that's exactly what we're going to do.”

   “The three of us? Eight, if we hook up with the others?” Cantrell asked. “That's a pretty small army, Gabe.”

   “I wouldn't want to be up against it,” he replied.

  Epilogue

   A rhythmic
beeping filled the room, the life-system monitors reporting the condition of the patient lying in the bed. His eyes twitched, his hands moved, and the tenor of the noise changed, growing more urgent, somehow louder. Steps raced into the room, and a woman burst in the room, racing to the monitors, disbelief on her face.

   “Strong bastard,” she muttered. “I didn't expect you to wake up for days.”

   He looked up at her, his vision swimming, and rasped, “Where?”

   “Sickbay,” she replied, shaking her head. “Don't move. I need to call the Captain.”

   “Orlova?”

   “Harper.”

   “My eye itches,” he said.

   “Which one?”

   “Right eye.”

   Nodding, Duquesne walked to a wall communicator, and tapped a control. He struggled to try and sit up, a tangle of cables holding him back, but with an effort he managed to turn to the viewport to his right. Everything looked strange, partly out of focus, but he could make out a pair of ships flying in formation, one Koltoc, one Neander, above a shrouded, orange world, swirling clouds all around.

   “Careful,” Duquesne said, turning back to him, checking over his cables. “I went to a lot of effort to put you back together, Lieutenant, and I will not have you undoing all my hard work.”

   “Sorry, Doc,” he rasped. “I can't see clearly.”

   “Here, have something to drink,” she replied, thrusting a straw into his mouth, squeezing the bottle to send a quick blast of water down his throat. He nodded, and she pulled back the drink, and said, “Thank you, by the way. For saving my life. It was a pleasure to return the favor.”

   “I must be delirious,” he said with a smile, his voice starting to come back.

   “Don't get used to it,” she snapped. She took a deep breath, then said, “Pavel, I'm good, but even I can't work miracles. There were so damn many patients, and we lost too many of them.” She paused, then said, “You were hit three times by the Xandari. They weren't the problem, pretty simple surgery.” Waving her arm around, she said, “All of this isn't going to be needed for much longer. You should be up and about in a couple of days.”

   “Thanks,” he said. “Your reputation...”

   “Your right eye is gone,” she said. “I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do. Too much damage, more than I could handle with the equipment we have here.” Shaking her head, she said, “If we'd been on Alamo, I might have been able to manage something, but...”

   With an effort, he grasped her elbow, and said, “Doctor, you saved my life. Without you, I'd be a corpse floating out in space right now. You did everything you could, and more than most could manage. Thank you.”

   She shook her head, and said, “Damn you, Pavel. You're supposed to be mad, screaming about your career, or something like that.” Shaking herself free, she continued, “I can't even give you a replacement. We don't have the right equipment on board for the implantation, and the fabricators aren't really up to the job of making a bionic eye anyway.”

   “I'll get one in the end,” he said. “Other than that, I'm fit for duty?”

   “Light duty in a couple of days,” she replied. “Full duty in a week or so, though obviously...”

   “You'll have to revoke my flight status,” he said, finishing her sentence. “I expected as much. Right now I'm just happy to be alive.” He took a deep breath, and said, “How many others made it?”

   “Thirty-seven,” Harper said, stepping in. “Twenty-nine Alamo crewmen, one Copernican, and seven Koltoc. The Copernican being an extremely apologetic Lieutenant Ryan. I'm getting tired of it, frankly.”

   “Yes, he can have visitors,” Duquesne said, shaking her head. “I'll give you two some privacy.”

   “Thanks, Doc,” Harper said, watching her leave the room. “Not much of that on here at the moment, but that's going to change soon.”

   “I saw the ships,” Salazar replied. “Random Walk and Profitable Venture?”

   “Colonel Kilquan is staying with us,” she said. “I've no idea where the Neander went. Back to their usual hiding place, probably. A couple of Consortium crewmen were on Random Walk, and they're as mad about being abandoned as the rest of them.” She sat down next to him, and asked, “How do you feel?”

   “Hungry, thirsty, and pissed off,” he replied. “Aside from that, I'm fine.”

   “The eye...”

   “You can have someone fabricate an eye patch for me,” he replied.

   She chuckled, and said, “I don't know if Triplanetary uniform has a standard-issue eye patch, but I'm sure I can think of something. Maybe I can get someone to paint the Jolly Roger on the hull while we're at it.”

   “Not a bad idea,” he replied. “Where are we?”

   “Trappist Nine.” At his blank expression, she continued, “Let's hope the Xandari are equally in the dark. There's been so sign of pursuit, but they didn't have any hendecaspace-capable craft back at Copernicus to chase us with.”

   Salazar yawned, settling back into his bed, and said, “Damn, I'm tired.” He looked up at her, and added, “We're going to fight them. We're going to beat them.”

   “Get some rest,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

   As Salazar drifted back into unconsciousness, the beeping of the monitor resuming once again, she looked out at the two ships, drifting alongside Daedalus through the cold eternities of space. Three tiny, friendless ships against an Empire.

   And yet, she knew, somewhere at the bottom of her heart, that Salazar was right.

   There were going to beat them.

   Somehow.

  Thank you for reading 'Operation Damocles'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

  The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj

  The story continues in Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory, available in September 2016. If you can't wait, you can purchase the first book in the new 'Strike Commander' series, 'Starfighter' right now at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01HK7I0ZC. Turn the page for a sample chapter of this latest science-fiction adventure in the Battlecruiser Alamo universe...

  Starfighter

   The clock ticked down the final hours to the end of the Interplanetary War. Lounging with an air of feigned nonchalance in the squadron ready room, the pilots of the 25th Squadron of the Martian Defense Force watched the screen, a dark-suited newscaster bringing them the latest news from the Armistice talks.

   Major Jack Conway, squadron commander and a six-year veteran, tried to ignore it, despite the rapt attention of his pilots. Out here at Proxima, there was a five-day time lag on communications. The peace treaty could have been signed by now, but until he had the word from the Combined Chiefs of Staff they were still at war. He glanced down at his datapad, flicking through the latest tactical reports. Everyone on both sides was watching and waiting, all across the system. Going through the motions.

   At the rear of the room, the door slid open, and his wife, Captain Kathryn Mallory, the squadron's Operations Officer, stepped in with a grim scowl on her face. The pilots looked at each other, knowing what was about to come, and dreading it. Who wanted to die on the last day of the war?

   “Well, Kat?” he asked, rising to his feet, taking a final swig of his coffee.

   She nodded, and said, “Orders from Brigadier Gordon.” Looking around the room, she added, “Squadron is to scramble in fifteen minutes. Strike op.”

   “Come on,” Captain Poole, one of his flight leaders, replied. “Not today. Not now.”

   “Orders are orders, Sarah,” Conway replied, turning to her. “Everyone get down to the launch bay and get yourselves kitted up. We've got a job to do.” Quick footsteps raced into the room, and his usual wingman, Lieutenant Dirk Xylander jogged in, his arm in a sling. “Don't
get any ideas, pal. You aren't going.”

   Glancing down at his arm, he replied, “I can manage.”

   “Like hell you can,” Conway said. “The medicos say you rest that wing of yours for a few days, and that's what you're going to do. Not my fault you were so damn careless.”

   “Then take one of the two-seaters, and let me fly right-seat,” he said. “Damn it, Jack, I don't want to miss this.”

   “I do,” Ken Alvarez, the other flight leader, said.

   Clapping his hand on his shoulder, Conway said, “Dirk, you're not missing much. What's the mission, Kat?”

   Tapping a button on her datapad, she pulled up a holographic display of the local system, moons and planets flashing into the air, and said, “Tanker running out of Aldrin, on a resupply run to Charlie-Lima-Zulu. Unmanned, no escort expected, only light defenses.”

   “Then what's the damn point?” Poole asked.

   Turning to her, Conway said, “You know the drill. Just like the last half-dozen times we've done this. The brass back home want to make sure that the UN knows we're ready to continue the fight, and that we're not going to give anything away at the bargaining table.” He looked around the room, and said, “Twelve years, boys and girls. Twelve years we've been fighting those bastards, and we're almost at the end of the road. We're not going to stop now, not when we're so close.”

   “At least let the kids stay behind,” Poole said, gesturing to a pair of nervous pilots at the rear of the room. Third Lieutenants both, new to the squadron, both of them untested by combat. Conway nodded, stepping over to them, but they glanced at each other as he approached, shaking his head.

   “Sir, we'd like to go,” one of them said.