Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory

by Tongue,Richard

   “Missile incoming!” Spinelli said. “Must have been roaming, looking for a target!”

   “It would pick us,” Foster replied, shaking her head. “Launching intercept missile.” She tapped her controls, and looked up, her face pale. “Malfunction in guidance system.”

   “What?” Lombardo roared, racing over to the tactical station, but there was no time for corrections, no time for repairs.

   “All hands, brace for impact,” Salazar said, holding onto his chair. The missile slammed into the rear of the ship, all the patchwork repairs failing at once as the ship wildly started to spin, angry thunder roaring as hull plating fractured in a dozen places, the lights flickering, failing, then returning dimmer than before as the power distribution network collapsed.

   “Helm controls non-responsive,” Maqua said, stabbing at his console. “Manual override has failed. I can't correct attitude.”

   “Art?” Salazar asked.

   Shaking his head, the engineer replied, “We're dead in space, sir. It could take weeks to put this ship back together.”

   “Damn it all, Art, you've got about five minutes.”

   Turning to his station, he said, “Primary reactor has failed, the distribution network has been burned out in fifteen places and destroyed in three more, we've got a hundred and ten hull breaches on every deck, and life support is on auxiliary back-up.” The lights flickered again, the consoles forced to reboot. “Now we're on the solar panels.” Running his hands through his thinning hair, he replied, “There's nothing we can do, sir. Frankly, we should probably consider abandoning ship.”

   Salazar looked at the screen, the view drifting around, Alamo caught on the corner of the display. He shook his head, still disgusted that it was under the control of the enemy, before rising to his feet, a smile creeping across his face.

   “We can't abandon ship now,” Ryan said. “We've just got here! There are twelve missiles in our arsenal. There must be something we can do with them.”

   Turning, Salazar said, “Can we fit the whole crew on the shuttle?”

   “Probably,” Lombardo replied with a shrug. “They'll have to be very good friends, but I don't see any reason why not.” Looking around the bridge, he added, “We're leaving?”

   “Where are we going?” Foster asked. “I'm not sure we could reach the rest of the squadron without catching a missile, and I don't like the idea of dropping down into captivity on Copernicus.” She frowned, and said, “Perhaps we could try for the moon, wait out the battle and link up with the survivors.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “We're not going to the moon.”

   “Then...”

   “Hooke,” Salazar said, turning to the hacker. “You once told me that you could shut down Alamo. Were you telling the truth, or just blowing smoke?”

   After a long pause, Hooke replied, “I can do it. Not remotely, though. Certainly not from here, and not from a shuttle either.” Glancing nervously around, he added, “I'd have to be at a terminal on the ship itself.”

   “Then?”

   With a nod, he said, “I could shut down every system on the ship. Take over life support, the works. From the quick probe I made the last time we saw her, I don't think they've made any changes to her systems. Certainly not her firewall.”

   “That's it, then,” Salazar said. “Lieutenant Ryan, I want you to arrange that all hands are armed before boarding the shuttle. We're going to abandon ship and transfer to Alamo.”

   “Sir,” Foster replied, still sitting at her station, “There must be at least a hundred Xandari on board, and that ship is at the heart of their fleet. Even if we could get in without getting hit by a missile, we'd be facing odds of six or seven to one when we boarded.”

   Frowning, Lombardo said, “I can do something about the missiles. If we moved them down to the hangar bay, dropped them when we launched the shuttle, we could take them with us as a defensive screen.” Warming to his idea, he continued, “I can control them from the co-pilot's seat.”

   “I'll get us there,” Salazar said. “Hooke, are you sure you can do this?”

   “Get me to a console, skipper, and I'll make Alamo sing for you.”

   “Sir,” Foster pressed, “This is a hell of a risk.”

   “Missile launch!” Spinelli said. “Five shots, heading for Vendetta. They're out of position to launch a defensive salvo.”

   “Val, I hate to break it to you, but we're losing this battle! If we don't find some way to turn this mess around, then everything we've gone through will be wasted.” Pointing at the planet, just drifting into view, he added, “Cooper will take that control station. We've just got to buy him some time.” Looking around the bridge, he said, “All of us knew that we might not make it back from this mission. This way we get to have a chance to pull this back from the brink.”

   Turning to the sensor display, he gestured at the missile tracks, and added, “Our friends are fighting for their lives out here, and if we can throw the odds back in their favor, we've got to take the chance. Art, go and get the missiles ready for launch. How long?”

   “About a minute,” the engineer replied, rushing from the bridge, pushing off the wall to slide down the corridor.

   “Can we contact Daedalus?” Salazar asked.

   Shaking his head, Weitzman said, “The whole communications network is down.”

   “Then there's nothing else we can do here. Let's get moving.” Looking around the bridge, somehow both alien and comfortable at the same time, he added, “We'll come back, old girl, and patch you up again. You haven't fought your last battle, not yet.”

   “Getting sentimental in your old age?” Foster asked.

   “Maybe,” he replied. “Let's get down to the shuttle, everyone. Remember to draw sidearms as you pass the locker, and take any spare ammunition you can. Ryan, pass the word to all decks that we're abandoning ship.”

   “Yes, sir.” With a grin on his face, he added, “It'll be good to get to grips with the bastards at last.”

   “Yeah,” Salazar said. As the bridge crew made their way down the corridor, he took a last look at the sensor display, the resolution fading as the power faded away, only the critical systems functioning. Daedalus had another salvo of missiles on her tail, one of them slamming into the rear of the ship while he watched, sending it tumbling forward.

   “Hang on, Kris,” he muttered. “Help's on the way.”

   As he drifted past the arms locker, he snatched a pistol, holster, and three clips of ammo, carefully clipping the belt into position while following the last of his crew. Maqua was just ahead, and the young Neander paused, spinning around to face Salazar as the two of them continued to the shuttle.

   “Sir, I should fly the mission.”

   “Sub-Lieutenant, I don't doubt your experience, but I've got a hundred times your combat experience...”

   “And only one eye.”

   Salazar reached up to his eye-patch, feeling the soft fabric, and said, “Nice try, Sub-Lieutenant, but this is my crazy idea. I could run this approach with both eyes covered, if needed.” Maqua looked down at the deck, and Salazar added, “Don't worry, friend. You're just looking out for the crew, and that's a pretty good trait in an officer.”

   Nodding, he added, “I'm sorry, sir.”

   “Don't be. Let's get going.”

   The whole crew was assembled in the launch bay, slowly filing into the aft section of the shuttle, Doctor Duquesne flashing Salazar an acid look as she pushed a pile of medical kits ahead of her. Missiles were scattered across the elevator airlock, Lombardo going from warhead to warhead, disabling the control safeties with the touch of a button.

   “Never done this before, sir. You think there's a reason this violates standing orders?”

   “Probably some paper-pusher worried about messing up the paintwork,” Salazar said, swinging into the cockpit. Ryan waved him in, d
rifting out of the way, heading back into the passenger cabin, and Lombardo settled down next to him, tugging his straps into position as he brought the missile controls on-line.

   “What's the story, Art?”

   “I think we're ready,” the engineer replied, nodding. “At least, as ready as we'll ever be.”

   “Last one aboard, sir,” Maqua said. “Hatch sealed.”

   “My boys are at the hatch,” Rhodes added. “We're ready to go as soon as we hit the deck.”

   “Cycling elevator airlock,” Salazar replied. “Everyone strap down, and make sure any equipment is secured. This is going to be quite a ride.” He reached up, throwing a bank of switches, disabling the warning alarms before they could fire, then tapped out a course into the navigational computer as the shuttle started to fall through the deck, the missiles rolling towards them as they dropped with them, ready to be released at the same moment.

   Salazar glanced at Lombardo, the two of them knowing all-too-well the risk they were running with the missiles. That they were usually encased in heavy armored launch tubes wasn't merely to give them a boost as they launched from a ship, but it was always considered extremely hazardous to have anything designed to explode on contact with a ship's hull floating around too close to a shuttle.

   “Air vented, sir,” Lombardo said. “We're clear for the drop.”

   Reaching down to a lever, he released the bottom hatch, and the shuttle drifted clear of the ship, the missiles tumbling after them, floating end over end. A loud clang came from the rear, and Salazar jerked his head back in panic, but the warhead harmlessly floated away, bouncing to a safe distance.

   “Correcting attitude,” Lombardo said, tapping a sequence of commands into the controls. “You know, I actually think this crazy idea might actually work.”

   “Of course it will work,” Salazar said, a smile on his face. “It's got to.”

   He called up the sensor display, a trajectory plot swinging out towards Alamo, two hundred seconds distant at maximum acceleration, as the missiles moved into formation, ready to protect them from the Xandari. The battle waged all around them, Daedalus still in the fight, launching another salvo.

   “Ready?” Salazar asked.

   “All systems go,” Lombardo replied. “We're cleared for boost at your discretion.”

   “Initiating engine burn,” he said. “We've got a date with an old friend, and I for one have no intention of missing it.” As he slid back into his couch, the engines roaring at the rear, he added, “We're coming home, Alamo. We're coming home.”

  Chapter 20

   Harper shook her head as she saw the shuttle detach from Random Walk, surrounded by a swarm of missiles. She looked across at Scott, frantically working the tactical controls, then back at the status board. Two missile impacts so far, a sea of red flooding the board, Kowalski issuing a constant stream of orders into his microphone in a desperate attempt to keep the ship flying.

   “Ingram, any signal from the surface yet, anything at all?” she asked.

   “Nothing intelligible,” the communications technician replied. “I got some reports from Due Diligence that they'd seen an attack taking place down on the deck, at Orbital Command Headquarters, but I couldn't confirm it before we lost contact.”

   “Antagonist's gone!” Arkhipov yelled. “Caught amidships by a missile, blown into two pieces. We've got a few escape pods in the air, but I don't think they're going to make it out of the debris field.” Turning to her, he said, “I don't think there's a single ship that hasn't taken some damage, Captain.”

   “I've got an escape course plotted,” Armstrong added. “If we go for full-burn now, we might be able to get clear of the battlespace. Some of the others should be able to make it with us.” Looking up at the disaster unfolding on the sensor display, she said, “Captain, if we don't take this chance, we're going to die here.”

   The lights flickered, and Kowalski said, “Power distribution network again. We're getting systems failures all across the lower levels, and some of the hull breaches are getting worse. My team can't keep up with the damage.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I think we're done, skipper.”

   “I've got a salvo ready to launch,” Scott added. “The last one. If we hold it for an escape, it should knock down anything the Xandari can throw at us.” Pointing at the screen, she said, “We've got a route out of here. I think they're giving us a way to escape.”

   “Not yet.”

   “Damn it, Kris, we're beaten! They're smashing us to pieces, and we're barely scratching them in reply. Without the defense network on our side, we can't win this fight, and you know it?”

   “Then why are the Xandari trying to encourage us to go?” Arkhipov asked. “Why not finish us off while they have the chance.” He turned to the sensor display, eyes widening, and said, “Salazar's shuttle! He's making for Alamo, Captain, at full burn.”

   “He's surrendering,” Armstrong said, her words a leaden weight on the hearts of every crewman on the bridge. Harper looked up at the sensor display, a knot of fear in her stomach, then magnified the image with the touch of a control, a smile slowly spreading on her face.

   “If he's given up, why has he taken a halo of missiles with him,” she said. “Pavel isn't surrendering, he's launching a boarding action! He's trying to take Alamo back from the Xandari!”

   “That's crazy,” Armstrong replied. “He doesn't have a chance in hell.”

   “One more chance that we had a minute ago, and besides, Ark's right. We're not going to win this battle if we fall apart at the first setback. Cooper will get those satellites turned, and Pavel will find a way to at least take Alamo out of the fight. We've just got to make sure they've got the time to pull it off. Armstrong, alter course. Take us directly towards the battlecruiser squadron.” Turning towards the rear, she added, “Ingram, see who you can raise, and put together a flotilla for me. Any ships able to respond are to follow us in.”

   “Scott,” Armstrong said. “We...”

   “Midshipman, unless you want to start saluting the sanitation technicians, you will obey the Captain's orders at once,” Scott barked. “She knows what she's doing!”

   “Yes, ma'am,” Armstrong replied, turning back to her station. “Initiating course change.” Behind her, Ingram worked his controls, desperately trying to punch the message through to the other ships, trying to bring some order into the chaotic battlefield. Harper looked back at the tactical display, shaking her head at the tangle of ships, missiles and debris filling orbital space.

   The Koltoc were keeping together, just about, but had managed to get themselves onto the far side of the planet in a bid to engage Alamo, foiled when the battlecruiser altered course at the last minute. They'd be out of the fighting for a while. That left the Neander, and Colonel Kilquan's force was scattered, each one operating independently, the heart of the squadron ripped out after the unlucky hit that crippled Random Walk.

   Only Vendetta and Red Avenger were responding to the call, angling around to come in behind Daedalus on its desperate pass. Up ahead, all three of the Xandari battlecruisers were clustering in, moving to wipe out her formation. She glanced at the status monitor, shaking her head. Fifteen missiles across all three ships. The enemy force could put up more than that in a single salvo. She looked at Armstrong, watched the young officer's hands maneuvering the controls as the engine roared, pushing the crippled ship into position.

   “Update on the damage report,” Kowalski said. “Launch Tube Three is out. We can fire the missile that's in there now, but we can't load another one.” He shrugged, and added, “Not that we've got one to load, anyway. Starboard sensor network has failed, combination of surface damage and power failure, and we're getting amber alerts from the life support system. I don't think it's going to last much longer.” Turning to Harper, he added, “Probably not an issue on this heading.”

   “Still time for you to g
et to the escape pods, Chief.” Kowalski smiled, and turned back to his station, resuming his battle with the incremental damage creeping across the ship, cascade failures throwing more of the panel a dull red, only a handful of systems remaining resolutely green. He only had to keep the ship together for the next fifteen minutes. After that, it wouldn't matter.

   “One minute, ten seconds to firing range,” Scott said, and Harper looked back at Salazar, reaching down to her controls in an attempt to open a channel to him, shaking her head as the static roared from the speaker. The Xandari were still jamming their communications, and a shuttle simply didn't have the computational power to punch a message through. It was difficult enough even for a ship like Daedalus.

   “Shadowdancer's gone!” Arkhipov said, and Harper saw the ship die, at the top end of the screen, a trio of missiles seeming to creep up on her. A halo of escape pods surrounding it, the crew having just enough warning to abandon ship before the debris wave could get them. They'd live, if any of them did, though if her forces didn't win the battle, the Xandari would either execute or enslave them.

   “Come on, Pavel,” she muttered, as a wave of Salazar's missiles streaked away, reaching out towards an incoming salvo from Alamo. Whoever was commanding that ship – their ship – had worked out what he was planning. When he boarded, he wouldn't be getting much of a welcome. Assuming he hadn't suffered any casualties, that shuttle was carrying sixteen people, only four of whom were trained Espatiers. Against more than a hundred Xandari.

   “Forty-five seconds,” Scott said. “Missile salvo ready to fire. Targeting priority?”

   “Defensive,” Harper replied. “I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal. I'd have no objection to living through this run.”

   “I'm glad to hear it,” Kowalski added, sotto voce.

   “Setting for proximity detonation,” Scott said. “Though if I get a chance for a shot, I'll take it. I wouldn't mind knocking a few chunks off one of those ships on the way past.”

   The tracks were converging now, the sensor display growing simpler as the two squadrons approached. Three small raiders against three battlecruisers, a strategic nightmare by any stretch of the imagination. A quick scan of the damage reports streaming in from the Neander ships confirmed their bravery; if anything, Red Avenger was in a worse condition than Daedalus, and Vendetta had taken a pair of missile hits in the aft section, enough to cut her acceleration in half.