Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory

by Tongue,Richard

   Beyond, outside, bodies were scattered across the battlefield, teams of men breaking away from the celebration to start the long clean-up, checking for any survivors hiding in the scattered corpses. The air stank of cordite and blood, a soft weeping in the background belying the still-triumphant cheering of the local soldiers. They'd won their war, and the price wouldn't begin to make itself felt until later, when the exuberance of battle and glory faded away.

   “Major Vasiliev, sir,” Walpis said, as one of the Copernicans stepped forward, his arm in a hastily improvised sling. “The surviving commander of the enemy forces.”

   “We're not enemies,” Vasiliev said. “Not any more. It's Lieutenant Cooper, isn't it.”

   “It is,” Cooper said, trying to ignore the pain creeping up his side once again.

   “Lieutenant, most of my men were draftees. They didn't have any choice but to fight. I made my decision and I'll stand by that, but they shouldn't pay the price for our mistakes.” Looking out at the battlefield, he added, “More than half of them are dead anyway.”

   Nodding, Cooper turned to Cantrell, and said, “See that they're checked. If any of them are on our lists for war crimes, detain them. Otherwise, take their uniforms and get them out of here.”

   “Wait a minute,” Sergeant Moretti said. “These people fought for the Xandari against their own people...”

   “And knew that their families would pay the price if they didn't,” Vasiliev said. “My officers and I will turn ourselves over to local authorities for trial.” With a half-smile, he added, “We thought we were doing the right thing, but we were wrong, and we'll pay the price for that.”

   “What about the Xandari?” Bradley asked.

   “Most of them died in the battle, and the last survivors headed out into the fields. Maybe they're trying to make it to a shuttle. Does it matter? They don't have anywhere to run.”

   “That's what worries me,” she replied. “Moretti, set up a full defensive perimeter.”

   “I'm not sure we've got the manpower,” the battered farmer replied. He looked down at a body by his side, then said, “Oh, Christ, that's Mackenzie. My son was going to marry his daughter next month.” He wiped his hand across his eyes, and said, “How many more?”

   “Mourn them later,” Cantrell said. “The living need you more than the dead right now. Get that perimeter established.”

   “Major,” Bradley asked, “do you have any transport? We could do with getting our wounded to hospital as fast as we can. The city's only a few miles away.”

   “If the reports I've heard are true, then the hospitals will all be overwhelmed with casualties of their own, but I'll see what I can do.” He reached down to his belt, pulled out his pistol and offered it to Cooper, butt first. “I'm willing to give my parole until we've looked after the wounded, if you're willing to take it.”

   Moretti's face reddened, and he said, “You can't seriously...”

   “Thank you, Major,” Cooper said. “I accept. Get that transport ready, as fast as you can.”

   “Will do,” he replied, turning to the rear, a pair of his men following, discarding their weapons to the mud as they walked. Moretti opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from Bradley silenced him, and he moved over to the wall, shaking his head, barking orders at the few troopers still able to take them.

   Cooper looked around the battlefield, feeling sick inside. This was his doing. No matter whether or not it had been necessary, no matter what the justification might have been. More than a hundred bodies lay strewn across the landscape, dozens of injured men gathering in the compound, and that had been the result of his actions.

   “No more,” he said. “I'm done.”

   “There was nothing else you could have done,” his wife said, still clutching to his side. “We had to take this base, and we had to hold it. You can't blame yourself.”

   “Who else could I blame,” he said. He dug down into his pocket, and found Cantrell's data-crystal. All of a sudden, it seemed to symbolize the death and destruction around him. He held it in his hands, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it into the mud with his heel. Suddenly, it was as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders, and he looked at Bradley with a smile on his face.

   “You ought to be going to hospital yourself,” she said. “That arm isn't going to get any better.” Turning to the compound, she added, “I've got Saltzman trying to get the field clear. We might be able to get a shuttle down from Alamo. The medical facilities up there are a lot better than anything we'll find on the planet.” She looked at him, then said, “I want nothing but the best for you, darling.” He looked into their eyes, and realized that they had both made their decision, all the doubts dismissed from their minds.

   “Hey,” Cantrell said, racing over to them. “We're getting signals from all over. The President's dead. Suicide. Right out of her office window. Our forces have control of all key installations in the city.” She looked at the two of them, then added, “Sorry.”

   “Don't worry about it,” Cooper said, still looking at his wife. “Good news I can take.”

   “Vasiliev's got two trucks ready to move, and I've ordered them loaded with the worst of the wounded.” She paused, then added, “No reason why that shouldn't include the two of you. I can handle things here. Why don't the two of you get to the hospital.”

   Before his wife could respond, Cooper said, “Barbara, they're going to need you up on Alamo. I see dozens of shuttle flights in the future, and you're still the best pilot we've got.”

   “Flatterer,” she said. “Forgive me for thinking that all of them can...”

   “Duty first, love,” he said. “And not for much longer.”

   Cantrell nodded, and replied, “I guess you've made your decision, then.”

   “It was a nice try, though. I was tempted.” Looking around the field, he said, “Though I can give you about a hundred reasons why I'm finished.”

   With a soft smile, she said, “You can't blame me for trying, though. If there's anything I can do to help you out, you only need to ask. Intelligence doesn't just involve infiltration operations, you know. Plenty of nice, lucrative government contracts out there, and if anyone deserves a bit of assistance, you do.”

   Bradley nodded, but her response was drowned out by an explosion at the edge of the field, the body of one of the guards tossed to the side as the dreadful whine of a plasma rifle sounded. Cooper fumbled for his pistol as he saw a shape racing towards him, a Xandari in battle armor with weapon raised high, pointed at his chest. Before he could fire, he felt something pushing at him, a blow striking hard enough to send he and his wife crashing to the mud as the plasma ball raced overhead. A second later, a machine gun blast raked the Xandari, the armor-piercing bullets smashing the infiltrator into the ground, weapon dropping to the side.

   “Good God,” Bradley said, and Cooper turned to see a burned body by his side, the smell of roasting flesh filling the air. It was Cantrell, looking up at Cooper with terror in her eyes. Donegan raced over, medical kit open in his hands, fumbling for a sedative, as Cooper leaned over her.

   “We'll get someone down from Alamo,” he said. “Just hang on.”

   “No,” she replied, gasping for breath. “Not stupid. Caught in the fringe. Didn't have a chance. You?”

   “I'm fine,” he said. “And Barbara, too.”

   “Good,” she said, while Donegan dropped to her side, horror in his eyes as he looked over her wounds. The medic looked up at Cooper, shaking his head.

   “Lisa,” Cooper began.

   “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No regrets. Should have...” she gasped, her body wracked with pain, and added, “Had a job. Yours now. My cabin.”

   “What's there?” Bradley asked.

   A grim smile crossed her face, and she said, “Got to end them. Forever. Alamo can.” Nodding, she added, “K-Bomb.”

&n
bsp;  Cooper looked at Bradley, then back at Cantrell, and said, “We'll do it. You have my word.”

   “Aye,” she replied, struggling to reach up with her hand. Cooper gently took it, holding her as she took her last breath, her head relaxing into the ground. He reached across, closing her eyes with his palm, tears in his eyes.

   “Moretti,” he barked. “Double the perimeter, and if anyone else gets through I'll have your damned hide!”

   “Sir...”

   “Just do it!” Looking up at Bradley, he said, “She threw herself into us. To save our lives. Why?”

   “Can't you guess?” she replied, shaking her head. “I guess maybe you can't, at that. Why do you think she was so desperate to recruit you, to drag you off into Intelligence with her?” With a thin smile, she added, “My guess is that's the same reason she ended up coming on this mission in the first place.”

   “She never said.” He looked down at her body, so small on the ground, and added, “Not a word.”

   “And I don't think she ever would. She wasn't the type.” Donegan pulled a sheet over Cantrell's body, and sighed.

   “There wasn't a chance, sir,” the medic said. “Even if she'd been hit in the entrance to Sickbay. Her injuries were just too serious.” Pushing himself to his feet, he added, “There's a shuttle coming down from Alamo in ten minutes. I want the two of you on it.” Gesturing at their foreheads, he added, “You've both got the worst case of sunburn I've seen in a long time, and you'll start to feel it in a minute.”

   “Specialist...”

   “Sir, you've done your job. Now I've got to do mine.” Before Cooper could reply, the medic walked away, holding his medical kit in his hands, shaking his head.

   “Alamo,” Bradley said. “It doesn't seem real. Like something out of a storybook.” Turning to Cooper, she asked, “The K-Bomb? I've never heard of it.”

   “Neither have I,” Cooper replied, “but as soon as Doctor Duquesne's finished with us, we're going to find out.” Looking down at the corpse again, he said, “We owe her that much. And more besides.”

   “One more mission for the road?” Bradley asked.

   Nodding, he said, “One more, and we can rest. We've earned it.” With a deep sigh, he walked towards the landing strip, his wife by his side. Up in the sky, a light was falling, a ship entering the atmosphere, ready to take them home.

  Chapter 27

   “Attention, attention,” Foster said, the gathered crew moving as one as the shuttle doors opened. “Commanding officer arriving.”

   Orlova, still in the battered prison jumpsuit, walked out onto her ship, Nelyubov right behind her, stepping over to the beaming Salazar in three quick strides. She looked across the hangar bay, filled with Alamo crew, Neander, Koltoc, even a scattering of Copernicans, and snapped a salute.

   “Permission to come on board, sir.”

   “Granted with pleasure, Captain,” Salazar said. “She's all yours.”

   Clapping him on the back, she replied, “You got her back, Pavel.” Turning to Harper, she said, “I always had faith in you, but you've repaid that trust a thousand-fold. You never gave up.”

   “A man is only finished when he quits,” Kowalski volunteered with a smile.

   “Quite so,” she said. “Ship status, Lieutenant?”

   “We've only just finished our inspection, Captain, but the Xandari did a surprisingly good repair job. I'm sure Mr. Quinn will want to look everything over for himself, but I don't see any reason why we can't leave the system in a couple of days.”

   Nelyubov looked up from his datapad, and added, “Signal from Captain Kalb. His team boarded the orbiting spaceport and secured it with no casualties. Apparently the crew were only too eager to surrender when the alternative became apparent. As best as we can work out, that means the last of the Xandari in this system are dead.”

   Orlova paused, then asked, “Any word on the casualties?”

   With a deep breath, Nelyubov said, “We've lost twenty-one people, Captain, all told. Another thirty-two Koltoc and seventy Neander.” Shaking his head, he added, “It'll probably be a while before I can give a good estimate of the casualty counts among the Copernicans.”

   “I see,” she said. “Pavel, take the bridge. Start to coordinate repairs to the ship, and arrange for any remaining escape pods to be picked up. We're expecting some of the wounded to be transferred up here in the next few minutes, so we'll have to have Sickbay operational.”

   “Doctor Duquesne is already down there,” he said. “Ready to accept casualties.”

   “I should have known,” she replied. Looking at the assembled crew, she raised her voice, and said, “This victory belongs to all of you. They'll be talking about this battle for years, for decades, so I hope you remember enough to bore your grandchildren to death with it.” A ripple of laughter simmered across the crowd, and she added, “I am proud, and humbled, to serve with each and every one of you, never more than at this moment. Thank you all.”

   Someone near the rear started to applaud, and soon the whole crowd was roaring, the decks thundering from the noise as they celebrated their victory. Orlova forced a smile, and looked at Harper and Salazar, their happy faces as artificial as hers. The three of them knew what this victory had truly cost, knew who had paid the price for the triumph they were celebrating today, as no one else here could.

   “Company,” Nelyubov said, struggling to make himself heard, “Dismissed!”

   The crew began to disperse to their stations, the exultation at their victory tempered with the knowledge that putting the ship back into order was going to take days. Orlova walked towards the elevator, looking at a pile of Xandari bodies stacked by the wall, waiting to be buried in space. The Copernican casualties were already on their way down to their families, to rest on the soil of their own world.

   She closed her eyes as the elevator worked, the familiar hum of the ship a pleasant relief. Nelyubov looked at her, shaking his head, then looked down at his datapad, skimming through the reports streaming up from the surface and the rest of the fleet. Everything seemed so normal, as though she had only been away from the ship for a few hours, maybe a day, not three months and more.

   Back in that cell, she'd given up hope of ever seeing the ship again. Beating the Xandari was another matter, but she hadn't seen any way of doing that without destroying her ship. Somehow, Salazar had found another way, he and Harper.

   “Colonel Kilquan has assumed command of the defense perimeter,” Nelyubov said, reading from his report. “Pavel already sent replacement missiles out to the rest of the ships, just in case someone was hiding out in the deep system. We should consider the possibility that reinforcements might arrive.”

   Nodding, she replied, “We'd better set up a new orbital defense network, and this time I think we'd better make sure to build in a back door so that no one can suborn it.” Shaking her head, she added, “The new government is going to have to earn our trust, though that might get easier depending on who the next President is.”

   “Not Dietrich?” he asked.

   “Flannery would be my guess, assuming someone manages to talk him into it. Copernicus needs a leader who will bring them back together, not tear them apart in recrimination. That's why I purged the government database.” Shaking her head, she added, “Cooper did something similar, I hear, out at the battleground.”

   “Did you see the casualty reports from that action,” he replied. “I thought we'd had it bad.”

   With a sigh, she said, “Poor Cantrell. Dead after the ceasefire.” Looking across at Nelyubov, she added, “You'll have to ride Tactical for a while.”

   “Not a problem. Though I'm rather hoping for a nice, quiet ride home.” The door opened, and they stepped onto the bridge. Orlova paused at the door, looked across at Nelyubov, then stepped into the room, the duty crew turning as she entered. Maqua, now wearing his Sub-Lieutenant's insignia, salut
ed from the holotable.

   “Captain on the deck,” he said.

   She returned the salute, and replied, “We don't normally do that.”

   “This time, I thought you might enjoy it,” he said. “All systems nominal, Captain.”

   “Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant. Carry on.”

   With a smile, the Neander turned back to his station, leaning over the technician working the electronic warfare suite, piecing over the critical code to check for Xandari tempering. Orlova looked at him for a moment before heading for her office, Nelyubov still following as the doors slid open.

   Inside, everything was chaos, bloodstains on the carpet where the last commander of this ship had died, her possessions piled into a broken heap in the corner. She pulled her chair from the floor, pushing it behind her desk, then sat down, turning to look at the starfield, Nelyubov sitting opposite.

   “File the paperwork to confirm Maqua's commission, will you?” she asked.

   “Certainly,” Nelyubov replied. “I'll sort it all out when we get under way. We're going to have a mountain of admin to climb on the ride home. Between them, Salazar and Harper managed fifteen brevet promotions, including three commissions. Checking them over...”

   “All of them are formally confirmed, unless the people involved turn them down. They were heroes, Frank, and giving them more ornate insignia is the least I could do. We could give out a couple of dozen Red Shields without even thinking about it.” Shaking her head, she added, “None of them ever gave up. I figured they'd run for home, try and bring forward reinforcements, but they came back instead. They came back for us.”

   “Harper made an attempt, apparently, but she didn't get more than one jump home. We're going to have to watch out for pickets, but I don't think we'll have too much trouble getting past them.” With a smile, he said, “I've already got Powell...”