Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory

by Tongue,Richard

   “They all volunteered, and it is their world. Don't they have the right to defend it?”

   “Take a good look at them,” he said. “Memorize their faces. Because at a guess, more than half of them will be dead in the next twenty-four hours, and I have a horrible feeling that I'm being optimistic. We're using half-trained troops to attack a well-defended position, and now that Captain Orlova's been captured, I have a feeling that they'll have brought all of the military installations to a high state of alert.”

   “She won't talk,” Bradley replied.

   “She doesn't have to,” he said. “Her presence alone at a meeting like that would be more than enough evidence for me to move.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We don't even know if she's still alive.”

   “They wouldn't have killed her.”

   “Not intentionally, but anything can happen in a firefight.” Dropping down to his knees, he continued, “She stayed behind to let the rest get away. Her and Kelot. That's what soldiers do. That's what I'd have done, if I'd been in that room.” Shaking his head again, he said, “And they're probably paid for that with their lives.”

   “I suppose we could send a team into the city, try and find them…,” Bradley replied.

   “No,” he said. “Even with every man we have, we don't have enough to accomplish this mission. I can't spare anyone, not when the payoff is that low.” With a deep sigh, he added, “And you know what bothers me, more than anything else? The man I was three years ago wouldn't even have hesitated. I'd have rallied half a dozen troops and gone in, no questions asked.”

   “And got yourself killed,” Bradley replied, glancing at Cantrell. “You're not the man you were back then...”

   “Thank you very much,” he said.

   “You're a lot wiser, a lot more experienced. One of the best combat commanders in the Espatier Corps. Don't deny it.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “You might have gone in, and odds are I'd have been right there by your side, but we'd have both been wrong.”

   “I wouldn't have to live through this damn waiting, though.” Shaking his head, he said, “How many times have we done this? Sat on some god-forsaken piece of wasteland, waiting for the fighting to begin again in the morning. Thule, Haven, how many others. More than I can remember, sometimes. All of them start to blur into each other.” Looking down at the ground, he added, “And every time, I've had to bury friends. Damn near no one left of that first platoon, the one I boarded Alamo with, four years ago. Three, at least count, including me. Only three, out of thirty.”

   “Don't blame yourself,” she replied. “You did everything you could, more than most people would. You rode halfway across the galaxy to rescue them, remember? Then led them back into battle, always taking the vanguard. You took the risks alongside them, every time.”

   “Yes,” he murmured. “Every time. Four years of fighting, Barbara. I've had it.” Stamping his foot on the ground, he added, “This is where I hang my hat. Once all of this is over, I'm out. I've done my duty. Someone else can put on these damned insignia.” He gestured at the lieutenant's bars, shining on his shoulders. “They've weighed me down for too long.”

   “What a lot of crap,” Cantrell said, walking over.

   “This is a private conversation,” Bradley replied, stepping between them.

   “Not when half the camp can hear.” Shaking her head, she added, “Do you know why you keep going in at the tip of the spear, Gabe? It's because you are the best. Other men might have spent years playing solitaire in one garrison after another, parading diplomats in a tour of vacation spots, but that isn't meant for you.”

   “I'm tired,” he said, looking up at her. “Tired of being responsible for all of this. One platoon was bad enough, but a whole world depends on what we do tomorrow, Lisa, and I'm just about sick of it. No more, damn it. No more.” With a deep, hacking breath, he added, “I've done my share.”

   “And then what?” she asked. “What comes next? You going to buy a farm, raise sheep for a living, pushing mud around to see what comes out of the ground? Maybe you'll set yourself up as a shopkeeper, selling bits of crap to people who don't need them.”

   “Lisa,” Bradley said, dangerously.

   Pointing up at the sky, she said, “Every night, whether you can see them or not, you'll be looking up at the stars and wondering what might have been. You're not born to live on one world only, Gabe, and you aren't the sort of man who is destined to die in bed. When you go down, you'll have a rifle in your hand and a company at your back, leading a group of soldiers in a desperate charge for some objective on a world light-years from here, and the last thing you will see is someone raising the Triplanetary flag, completing your victory.”

   “Spare me,” Bradley said. “It's easy for you, wandering from assignment to assignment.”

   “Hell, I offered Gabe a job in Intelligence years ago, and as far as I'm concerned, that offer is still open. I'm sure Captain Koslov would jump at the chance to sign you up.” With a grimace, she added, “Or perhaps Harper would put in a word with Captain Winter, though I really think you'd be better off elsewhere. He has a habit of specializing in high-risk/low-survival missions, as I suspect you've experienced a few times in the past.”

   “What exactly is your point?” Bradley asked, while Cooper looked on.

   “Only this,” she said, turning to Cooper, “You are an officer in the Triplanetary Espatier Corps. Perhaps the greatest thing anyone can ever achieve is to be at the top of their profession, and you've achieved that. More combat time than officers with five times your service, and you'll be able to write your own ticket when you get back.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “I'm a Lieutenant, remember. When we go home, I'm destined for a desk job.”

   With a smile, she replied, “We've got enemies on all sides. Do you honestly think that a combat command won't be yours for the asking? And if your superiors are stupid enough to waste you in some meaningless admin role, mine aren't. You won't be bored, I can promise you that.” Gesturing down at the ground, she added, “Unless you're stupid enough to leave the service.”

   “One hundred and nine,” he replied.

   “Excuse me?”

   “That's how many people have died in units I've served in, or commanded. In battles fought in more than a dozen systems, waged all across the galaxy, against the Cabal, Triplanetary traitors, Xandari, Neander. There's a reason I'm good at my job, Lisa, and it isn't natural aptitude. I've had a lot of practice. Far too much practice.” He looked at Bradley, and said, “I'm sure the two of us can find a way to have some fun off the battlefield.”

   His wife reached his arm around Cooper, squeezing him, and added, “You don't have to worry about us, Lieutenant. We can manage.”

   Shaking her head, Cantrell replied, “You're making a mistake. Still, it doesn't have to be permanent.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a data-crystal, and said, “Slide that into a terminal at any Triplanetary installation, and someone will get in touch with you within twenty-four hours. You'll be back in uniform in a week.”

   “Does that invitation extend to both of us?” Bradley asked.

   “If you want it to,” Cantrell replied, though her eyes were only on Cooper. “If you want it to.” Gesturing over to the far side of the camp, a dozen troopers warming themselves over a flickering flame, she added, “I'd better go and see how they're getting on. You might want to think about getting some sleep, as well. We're on the march in, what six hours?”

   “Something like that,” Cooper said. “Good luck, Lisa. If I don't get a chance to tell you that before the fight.”

   “And to you,” she replied, stalking away into the darkness, Bradley watching her depart.

   Shaking her head, Bradley said, “She's wrong, Gabe. We've done our share.”

   “Yes,” he replied.

   “Sub-Lieutenant?” Major Molpa yelled. “Can I borrow you f
or a moment? We're having some trouble with these communicators.”

   “On my way,” she called back, turning to Cooper. “Don't let it get to you, Gabe. None of it. We all know what we're doing, and we've got a good battle plan to follow.” Squeezing his arm, she added, “And the best Ground Forces Commander for twenty light-years to lead it. By this time tomorrow, we'll be at the biggest victory party you've ever seen, and we can start planning our mutual retirement.”

   “I hope so,” he replied. “I hope so.” As she walked away, he headed in the opposite direction, out to the fringes of the camp, into the scrub growth that surrounded the village. The stars were shining as brightly as he had ever seen them, casting their light across the landscape, a thousand points of light looking down upon him. Each of them with worlds of its own, maybe other people looking back at him.

   One of them was Sol, though he couldn't work out which. The system where he was born, where he'd spent the first twenty years of his life, lost in the starlight. Just one more collection of worlds among uncounted billions. When he'd signed up, the adventure of it all had been the greatest appeal, the chance to see new worlds close up, new systems. A chance to do what no one else ever had. It had all seemed so real, and when he'd been assigned to Alamo as a rookie, it had felt like the answer to all of his hopes and dreams.

   He'd seen his new worlds, marched across them with a gun in his hands in the service of the Confederation, and left a trail of bodies in his wake. People he was responsible for. And now, so he'd been told, Ensign Gurung, murdered by a Xandari executioner for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How many more would die tomorrow? How many more souls could his conscience take?

   And yet, there was still that niggling voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, urging him on. The young boy he had once been, desperate to get away from life in one of a succession of tramp freighters, seeking out the adventure he'd read about in old books, or in under-budgeted movies full of brave space heroes and evil alien hordes.

   The stars were still up there, tugging at his heart, calling him back to wander the universe once again. He looked at the insignia once again, shining on his shoulders, ready to be dulled for the battle in the morning, but for now, gleaming in the darkness. When Captain Marshall had given him his commission, he'd felt ten feet tall, ready to take on the universe before breakfast and then come back for more.

   And a part of him still felt that way. Still looked up at the stars, eager for the next adventure. Some of him longed to rest, to find a place that he could call home, to settle down and build a life for himself. He looked out at the wilderness, taking a breath of cool, clean air. A world like this would be a beautiful place to live, and should they win the day, he doubted anyone would object to him settling here. His tour of duty was almost up, and so was Barbara's. They'd planned it that way, months ago, pulled strings to make sure they'd be able to make the decision at the same time.

   Turning back to the camp, he watched his wife lecturing a group of Neander on the workings of the communicators, punctuating her instructions with a series of harsh gestures. She wanted to settle down, and he knew that she was the one he wanted to live with.

   Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the data-crystal that Cantrell had given him, tossing into the air and catching it, raising his fist to hurl it into the undergrowth, to lose it in the soil of the world he hoped to make his home.

   He couldn't do it. That voice, the one that called him back to the stars, that little ten-year-old craving excitement and adventure, still had the ability to influence him, even today. Holding the crystal up, he watched it shine in the starlight, gleaming in the relic photons of worlds that might not even exist any more.

   Sliding it carefully back into his pocket, he turned and made his way back to the camp. He could leave deciding about the next fifty years until tomorrow. Assuming the outcome of the battle didn't render such speculation moot.

  Chapter 16

   Harper looked down at her datapad, her eyes flicking from the monitor to the countdown clock on the wall, the seconds slowly trickling away. She'd deliberately stayed in her office as long as possible, knowing that she wasn't a good enough actor to avoid transmitting her nerves to the rest of the bridge crew, but the time of their arrival at Copernicus was almost upon them.

   When she'd first outlined the battle plan, it had almost seemed straightforward, a chain of events leading to their victory over the Xandari, but now that it was so close, now that they were about to actually arrive into the system, she couldn't control her anxiety. She had no way of knowing what had happened to Pavel, whether he had been able to get the reinforcements they needed, or whether any resistance remained on the planet below.

   She looked up at the clock again, shaking her head. If all was going according to plan, then the uprising would start within a few seconds of them entering the system, a chain of events designed to throw the enemy forces into maximum chaos. It was a good plan, on paper, but there were so many assumptions built in that no sane strategist would have approved it. She'd only gone ahead because she hadn't been able to think of any other choice.

   Placing her datapad onto the table, she reached for a drink of water, draining the glass in three quick sips, wishing that it contained something stronger. Then, taking a deep breath to poise herself, she walked out onto the bridge, the crew watching her as she moved to the command chair, carefully sitting down and making a study of the status monitor.

   “Report, XO,” she said, turning to Scott.

   “All systems ready, Captain,” she replied.

   Nodding, Harper said, “Then I think that it's about time to go to battle stations.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” Scott said, tapping a control. “Tactical to Crew. Battle Stations. I repeat, all hands to Battle Stations. Emergence in five minutes minus.”

   “This is it,” Armstrong said, shaking her head. “We're really going to do this.”

   “That we are, Midshipman. That we are.” She settled back in her chair, watching as the monitor flashed from green to red, her crew racing to their stations to prepare for the battle to come. Calmly, Scott ran through the arming sequence, loading a salvo of missiles into the launch tubes, their precious armament ready to be unleashed on the enemy. Armstrong leaned over her panel, programming evasive patterns into the thruster controls, and Kowalski had taken the flight engineering panel personally, directing their limited damage control teams to strategic positions.

   She tapped a control, bringing up a projected tactical view of the system ahead, overlaying the intended positions of the approaching ships. Her squadron would emerge at seven second intervals, diving in towards their targets, with Salazar's formation to arrive five minutes later. Assuming it even existed. She couldn't even be certain that the Koltoc would be following. For all she knew, Colonel Kilquan had changed his mind at the last minute, veered clear of the egress point and remained behind.

   No. She couldn't doubt, not now. They'd done everything they could to make this mission work, and there was no way they could abort at this stage. In less than two minutes, they'd be engaging the enemy, ships heading in their direction with weapons at the ready. A dotted line appeared on the screen, the projected course of Daedalus towards the planet, Armstrong making some last-minute changes to their trajectory plot.

   That reminded her. “You have the call, Midshipman.”

   “Aye, ma'am,”Armstrong replied. “Fifty seconds to emergence. I have the call.”

   The formalities were out of the way, and she forced herself to wait, and watch, her left hand tapping a sequence of controls to bring the electronic warfare suite online. That, at least, was something she knew, something she was comfortable with. Command was still an alien world to her, and her ignorance weighed heavily on her mind. With an effort, she pushed her doubts away, forcing a smile as Armstrong made the final preparations for their return to normal space.

   �
�Five seconds,” Armstrong said. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

   Without quite realizing it, Harper held her breath as Daedalus raced back into normal space, the familiar blue flash lighting the sky, a beacon that would alert the Xandari of their arrival even if their sensors had somehow missed the dimensional instability. Immediately, alert lights flashed on, threat warnings scattered all across local space. Arkhipov frantically fed the incoming sensor data to the tactical computer, and Harper's eyes widened as she saw the nightmare waiting for the fleet.

   “Execute course,” Scott said, and Armstrong responded, the engines firing at full power, racing over the usual safety maximums with acceleration fierce enough to push them back into their seats. The course could be altered for the tactical situation later. For now, Daedalus had to move.

   Quickly, Harper scanned the display. Three Xandari battlecruisers hovered in orbit, holding inside the defensive perimeter, while a dozen contacts moved away from the orbital station on an intercept course, fighters moving to attack Daedalus. She glanced at Scott, who looked back with a worried frown. Without support, those little ships could tear them to pieces with a single salvo.

   Alamo was waiting in a higher orbit, the indicators reporting that her laser cannon was powering up, her engines firing to throw her on a course to follow up the fighters, meeting Daedalus as it reached closest approach to Copernicus, assuming that it survived to make it. A perfect ambush, and overkill based on the capability of her squadron.

   “Ingram, any contact from the surface?”

   “Nothing, Captain,” he replied. “No response on any channel. Massive spike in communications chatter, though, and some of it in the clear. There's something happening down there, but they're using a code we haven't broken yet.” He smiled, and added, “Though apparently, according to the morning news, a group of terrorists and pirates have just jumped into the system to loot and pillage the planet. I guess that's us.”