“WATO, order Colossus ahead of us!” Billy said. “Let the Ganthorans think that we’re damaged and can’t keep pace with her, let them think we’re a lame duck!”
“Yes, sir!” The WATO had malicious glee in his voice.
“Remind me never to play games of strategy with you, sir.” Lokkrien smiled his admiration at Billy for his clever tactical move.
“I’ll teach you how to play a game called Gin Rummy the way my mother plays,” Billy responded, “she makes the rules up as she goes along, and never ever loses!” Billy added with a smile.
Meanwhile, on the War Table image, the pursuit was continuing. The Ganthorans, frustratingly out of range, were firing their weapons pods uselessly in the hope of a lucky strike against the fleeing Star-Destroyers. Colossus was beginning to pull away from Olympus, which was holding her course and speed towards the Wormhole.
“They have to buy it!” Lokkrien smiled in anticipation of a successful bluff.
“Let’s hope so.” Billy continued to watch the War Table image anxiously.
Colossus was now clearly starting to pull away as the Ganthoran Destroyers began to fan out. For many, the loss of momentum caused them to fall further behind the lead vessels, but General Sal’nor had ordered them to be prepared to launch an immediate attack on the straggling Alliance ship.
“He’s fanning them out!” Billy clapped his hands together once in delight and began to smile. “He’s buying it! He thinks he can catch us here or at the Wormhole, so he’s taking up attack positions!”
“Do you think he’ll follow through at the Wormhole?” Lokkrien asked.
“Oh yes, Admiral, he thinks he can take us!”
“Colossus approaching Wormhole, sir,” the Scanner Officer said.
And, as planned, Billy watched the mighty Colossus, slowing down to open the enormous, swirling, misty maw of the Wormhole with Cheddax radiation, before dropping neatly into the Trionic Web. To Billy, watching the War Table image, it looked like a huge octagonal snooker ball had dropped neatly into one of the snooker table pockets.
“One down,” Lokkrien said.
“And, one to go.” Billy grinned as he completed the famous saying.
“One minute to Wormhole, sir,” the Navigation Officer said.
“Excellent! Propulsion, warm up the Trion Drive. Navigation, slow right down at the Wormhole, and WATO, be ready to open it up in a hurry!” Billy ordered.
“Do you want to give them one last shot of the Trionic Cannon, sir?” Lokkrien asked.
“No!” Billy responded perhaps a bit too sharply for his own liking. “Their blood is up, and they’re following us as top speed. Let’s not dampen their enthusiasm to destroy us,” Billy added calmly.
It was all falling into place just as Billy had hoped it would. The Ganthoran Destroyers had fallen behind slightly, to get themselves into an attack arrowhead formation. That was all the better for Billy, who knew that he wouldn’t have to take the chance of making a last-minute burst of speed to give them time to open the Wormhole before vanishing into the Trionic Web. A sharp-eyed Ganthoran Scanner Operator might detect the additional speed and potentially destroy the pretence of a damaged warship.
“Thirty seconds to wormhole, sir!” the Navigation Officer called.
They were close, very close to success.
“Very well, Navigation, set co-ordinates for the Trion Drive, follow Colossus, signal Admiral Parbe’an to stand-by!” Billy commanded.
The Ganthorans were still following, at the top speed that their vessels could manage. Billy knew that if he really wanted to, he could leave these enemy warships light years behind him in a few minutes. But, he wanted them through the Wormhole.
“Twenty seconds, sir!” the familiar voice called.
“Very well, Navigation, slow us down at the last possible moment, but don’t overshoot the Wormhole!” Billy warned. “WATO, open the wormhole up when we slow down.”
“Signal from Admiral Parbe’an, sir- ready when you are,” the Communications Technician called out.
“We’ll be a couple of minutes early,” Lokkrien said.
“Well, no one’s perfect.” Billy smiled.
“Ten seconds, sir!” the voice called one last time.
And, for one last time, Billy looked at the War Table image. The Ganthorans were still following doggedly on, and the Destroyers were now in their formidable arrow-head formation, like the Cruisers and “Six-Cigar” Carriers that lagged just over four thousand kilometres behind them.
“Like lambs to the slaughter,” Billy said softly to himself.
“Slowing down now, sir,” the Navigations Officer said.
“Open her up, WATO!” Billy watched in awe as the WATO sent out a well-aimed and judged burst of Cheddax radiation.
The great smoky and misty opening of the Calyx Wormhole stretched wider and wider apart under the influence of the radiation, until it was wider than the Olympus.
“Entering Trionic Web now, sir!” After the Propulsion Officer’s announcement, a cheer broke out from the War Room personnel.
To the Ganthorans racing to catch the huge space fortress, the Olympus appeared to open the great mouth of the Wormhole, and disappear through it.
“Well done, everyone!” Billy breathed a massive sigh of relief.
They had done it. At least, Billy believed that they had done it.
Now it was up to Admiral Parbe’an.
Chapter 17: The Caudwell Home
With a sigh of relief, John Caudwell finally stood at the front door of his own home.
The headlights of the taxi that had brought him from the railway station were starting to fade into the distance as the driver sped off down the secluded country lane. And, with a sigh John Caudwell announced that he was home. Turning the small, aluminium-silvered key in the brass lock, John Caudwell heard the soft, satisfying CLUNK as this final barrier to reaching peace and sanctuary was overcome with a small turn of the wrist. With a slight push, the portal to his peace and sanctuary opened with a soft, deep groan.
Holding his breath like a thief in the night fearing discovery, John Caudwell stood on the threshold to his own home. With his own heartbeat hammering in his ears, he carefully lifted the two heavy leather suitcases; that had travelled with him around the entire planet, and carried them the last few feet of their journey. With great care, he set them down gently in the darkened and silent hallway with the faintest of scuff on the varnished wooden floor. It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday night, and Elizabeth would probably have taken an early night after her trip from New York, and the train journey from London. Carefully, he retrieved his key from the lock, and closed the door behind him with the same slow, deep groan.
Leaving his two suitcases, John made his way slowly and quietly into the living room, where the shadows of familiar and much loved objects took on a menacing and sinister appearance in the darkness. Careful to avoid the loose floorboards that would creak and groan their protests to the darkness, John set the two suitcases down behind one of the living room chairs. Then, switching on one of the table lamps by the large bay window, the room began to look more familiar and less threatening to John. Walking over to the cocktail cabinet in the far corner of the room, John Caudwell finally shrugged off the jacket that he had worn on his round-the-world quest and dumped it, unceremoniously, on the white leather settee in the centre of the living room. He needed a drink, he decided, and poured himself a large measure of whisky from one of the square, crystal spirit decanters into one of the tumblers that his wife had insisted on buying at the most expensive shop in Edinburgh.
Adding a little water to the large measure of spirits, John noticed the swirling and rippling pattern in the dark, golden liquid that said ‘too much whisky, not enough water’. With a shrug, John Caudwell ignored the message from the tumbler and took the first taste. Unsurprisingly, it was strong, causing John to cough as he swallowed the soothing alcoholic drink. Sitting down in the centre of the white leather sofa, Jo
hn noticed that the local newspaper was lying on the coffee table.
Well, it’ll be good to catch up on the local news, he considered, taking another sip from the ridiculously expensive tumbler.
Opening the newspaper, the first column on the inside page was listed the births, marriages, and death notices; the ‘hatches, matches, and dispatches’ as Billy had called them. Scanning down the lists, John recognised none of the names, and was relieved.
“Well, at least I’m still alive,” he said softly to himself. He smiled at the memory of what his late grandfather had said when he read the same columns almost thirty years before.
John remembered recalled that as his grandfather had grown older, the old man had scanned the same column of the local newspaper searching for the names of friends. And, almost every week, there was a name he recognised; a friend who had departed. There, listed in the cold, hard, impersonal, printed type-face of the local newspaper.
The wry humour had been William Caudwell Senior’s way of coping with the losses that mounted up week after week, month after month, gradually stripping away the people who had helped shape his life. It was at times like this that John Caudwell wished he could go back in time and tell the old man that he had grown so close to, that he understood what he had meant.
Moving on from the death notices, John Caudwell was aware of the ticking of the mantle clock above the fireplace. Looking up, John Caudwell could see that it was eleven thirty, and was surprised that the time had passed so quickly. The whisky tumbler next to the open newspaper was almost empty, and John Caudwell could barely remember drinking the contents. He was obviously a lot more tired than he thought he was, and closed the newspaper to make preparations for bed.
Slowly, and with a degree of tired stiffness in his joints, he raised himself from the comfortable embrace of the white leather sofa.
Yes, I’m definitely getting old, he considered.
His waistline was spreading, and the old knees were starting to play up. Stretching as he yawned, John Caudwell decided that it was time for the rest and relaxation to begin in earnest. With a good night’s sleep under his belt, he would be able to outline his plans for the site in Nevada to Elizabeth in the morning. Yes, he wanted to see Elizabeth, but she would be asleep, upstairs in that pink and lacy confection of her bedroom. It was something that made John Caudwell smile.
He had never thought of Elizabeth as a fan of pink, lace, frills, and soft furnishings. She had always been such a hard-headed, sensible, and pragmatic woman.
Well, she had worked hard with her book, and she deserved the success.
So, he was the last person in the world to begrudge her a few little luxuries and indulgences. And, if he had any say in the matter, she would be getting spoiled and indulged a great deal more in the days to come. She had been with him, steadfastly, through the thin part of the “thick and thin” of their lives. Now, she was going to reap the rewards of that loyalty.
But, the hotel incident in New York still left John Caudwell feeling slightly uneasy. It wasn’t like Elizabeth not to leave a message. In their old house, back on the Council estate, the “to do” lists were often a whole page of notepaper long.
No doubt there will be some perfectly simple and innocent explanation John Caudwell consoled himself, that will become clear over the morning breakfast table.
Finishing the last of his drink, John winced at just how strong the whisky and water combination had been. Folding the newspaper, and setting the tumbler next to it on the coffee table, John resolved to wash up and tidy in the morning.
And, it was just as he set the tumbler down and looked at the clock one last time that he spotted the white folded sheet next to the rhythmically-ticking time piece.
Another note, he thought to himself, remembering that the last note from Elizabeth had sent him around the world.
Stepping round the coffee table, John Caudwell lifted the small folded piece of paper and opened it up to reveal what message his wife had left him prior to retiring for the evening. Almost absent-mindedly, he unfolded the paper and read the contents. With the first reading he stared in shock and disbelief at the small piece of paper in his hand. With a THUD, he sat down heavily on the edge of the coffee table, which protested his weight with a loud CRACK of splitting wood. Twice more he read the note, his mind understanding the words, the meaning becoming more and more convoluted.
DEAR JOHN,
SORRY TO MISS YOU IN NEW YORK, BUT HAD TO GET AWAY QUICKLY.
GONE TO MOTHER’S TO BE ALONE, AND TO THINK. PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW. WILL CALL YOU NEXT WEEK.
ELIZABETH
His instinct said to pick up the telephone and demand to know what was going on, but it was almost quarter to midnight. There would, most likely, be no one awake in the Mackintosh household at this hour.
What was she playing at? Why couldn’t she just sit down and talk to me about whatever it was?
And, try as he could, he could come up with no answer that made any sense.
With the glass in his hand, John Caudwell, a man not noted for any great expressions of emotion or outbursts of anger, let out a great yell of frustration and threw his expensive tumbler; shattering it into a dozen fragments, against the living room door with all the strength he possessed.
Chapter 18: The Calyx Wormhole
It took two minutes for Olympus and Colossus to reach the Calyx Wormhole. And, by the time the two huge Star-Destroyers had reached their destination, the slaughter of the Ganthoran Combined Frontier Fleets was only just beginning. The deception on the far side of the Wormhole had been successful, and Frontier General Sal’nor had launched his Destroyers at what he expected to be a disorganised Alliance position beyond.
But, unknown to General Sal’nor, his worst fears were already starting to come true. With the Ganthoran communications systems rendered useless by the Wormhole radiation, Sal’nor was unaware that the lead elements of his Destroyer formation were already being torn to shreds as soon as they emerged. Instead of a disorganised, jostling rabble of confused and panicked vessels, the first of the Frontier Fleet Destroyers fell straight into the carefully organised trap set by Billy Caudwell and executed by Second Admiral Parbe’an.
Watching on the War Table image, Billy could see the first of the Ganthoran Destroyers exploding beneath the pitiless hail of pulsar-bolts. Fixed in their positions by the waves of “Screaming Death” from Grobbeg’s Cruisers and Destroyers, the Frontier Fleet crews were only able to count their survival time in seconds, before the thousands of high and low-yield pulsar-bolts sought out their vulnerable and fragile hulls. From the same image, Billy could see the combined Star-Cruiser formations from First and Third Fleets in a circular formation, choking off the exit from the Wormhole.
The Star-Cruisers were stationed side-on to the Wormhole to allow all of their high-yield pulsar-cannon, and the Self Defence Turrets of that flank, to bear on the emerging targets. They were accompanied by formations of one single Ganthoran Cruiser supported by eight Destroyers, each one arranged in a diamond pattern. Surrounding the Star-Cruisers, the Alliance Eagles had been successfully launched, and were adding their low-yield pulsar-cannon fire into the avalanche of weapons fire that was directed at the emerging rebel Frontier Fleet ships. The low-yield pulsar-cannons from the Eagles and Self-Defence Turrets would provide the bulk of the Alliance’s weapons fire. Hundreds of thousands of low-yield pulsar-bolts being unleashed every second would create a nightmare fire storm in the mouth of the Wormhole.
Frontier General Grobbeg had suggested using a mixed formation of Cruisers and Destroyers to combine their Screaming Death weapons in a type of area denial strategy. With the Ganthoran weapons pods set on the widest possible field, the large Cruisers, supported by the small but powerful Destroyers, could project a wave of Screaming Death over the maximum area that would disrupt the hull and systems of an enemy ship, but not enough to immediately destroy it. The low and high-yield pulsar-cannons of the Alliance ships could bring a much
more powerful and immediate punch to bear against the Combined Frontier Fleets vessels. The small clusters of Ganthoran vessels would be able to lay down overlapping fields of fire that would block the exit to the Wormhole like a cork in a bottle top.
To that end, Second Admiral Parbe’an had ordered the mouth of the Wormhole divided up into sectors. And, having created sixteen sectors of fire, Parbe’an had then given the overall responsibility for defending, and blocking, each sector to one Alliance Star-Cruiser. With a full complement of twenty-eight Star-Cruisers from two Fleets, Parbe’an then allocated the remaining twelve Alliance Cruisers to the fire support role. Several Star-Cruisers from Second Fleet were replacements for the losses incurred in the earlier battle with Frontier General Grobbeg. The fresh, and untried, crews of the replacement Star-Cruisers were allocated to support more experienced vessels.
The most inexperienced crews were tasked with the fire-support duties at the peripheral sectors of the Wormhole’s mouth; where Parbe’an expected there to be less traffic. The more experienced crews were allocated the duty to the more central sectors. Still, with only twelve Star-Cruisers to support in sixteen sectors, it meant dividing the fire of some vessels over two sectors at times. It was a situation that worried Billy Caudwell. He would have, ideally, liked to have had the additional Star-Cruisers to plug the gaps in the fire support network, but warship and crew resources were still scarce in the Universal Alliance Fleet. And, the allocation of new replacements to Second Fleet had almost completely absorbed the latest batch of graduates from the Alliance’s growing number of Training Centres.
With scarce Star-Cruiser resources, Parbe’an knew that he had to plug the gaps with low-yield pulsar-cannons of the single-seat Eagle fighters and the Self-Defence Turrets of the Star-Cruisers. The surviving vessels from Grobbeg’s Fleet were also allocated to sectors, but the broad coverage of the Screaming Death waves that they could generate meant that some groups were covering four or more sectors. Parbe’an had covered all of the bases with his deployment of vessels, but the lingering doubt still remained in Billy’s mind that the position was just not quite strong enough.
The Ganthoran Gambit (The First Admiral Series) Page 20
