Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

   “We've carried them before,” Marshall replied, “and they'll hopefully just assume that we had them ready to go.” Raising a hand, he added, “I admit that's the weak part of the plan, but on the other hand, can they afford to take the risk?”

   “And if they did leave them,” Francis said, “Eighteen missiles is a pretty good salvo to throw at the enemy. No, sir, I agree with you. They'll launch the attack.”

   “Then one good pass, and we'll have to make sure we live through it,” Marshall said.

   “Tricky,” Salazar replied. “Even after losing their fighters, they'll still have at least tactical parity. We'll be relying heavily on our fighters.”

   “Agreed,” Marshall said. “I'd like to see your battle plan within the hour, Lieutenant.”

   Glancing at Harper, Salazar said, “Sir, I honestly think...”

   “My intention is to name you squadron leader, Lieutenant. You can keep your position as Security Officer for the present, as well as Second Officer.”

   Eyes widening, Salazar replied, “What do you want me to do with the other hand, sir?”

   “I'm confident that an officer of your abilities...”

   “Sir,” Francis said, “In my opinion, Lieutenant Salazar would excel in any of those roles...”

   “I'm glad we agree.”

   “But not all of them. You've got other good officers...”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “I have every intention of revisiting the command structure as soon as the current crisis is over, but now is not the time. Pavel, I know that I'm asking a lot, but I need a senior command officer with the fighters for the attack, and by any reasonable definition, you're the best choice for the job.”

   “No, sir. That would be Senior Lieutenant McCormack.”

   “I need a safe pair of hands, Lieutenant, and I need someone I trust in that role. That person is you.” He paused, then added, “As for my objective, I wish to reduce the enemy's options to force them to the negotiating table.”

   Nodding, Salazar said, “Sensible. If we can convince General Estrada that victory will be costly at best, then he's likely to come to some sort of agreement. He's a tough negotiator, but we've got some advantages at our disposal. Not least is a complete psychological profile on him. Colonel Cruz will be the problem, though. She'll resist to the end.”

   “Surely as a subordinate officer...”

   “The United Nations Fleet doesn't work that way,” Harper said. “Even under normal circumstances, the senior staff of a major warship is highly politicized. Out here, when there is nothing to restrain them, you can expect Colonel Cruz to be pushing for the command. The odds are that this whole campaign has begun as an effort to appease her and her faction.” She paused, then said, “Major Pastell is likely to be an ally we can exploit.”

   Salazar added, “On Dante, he suggested that some sort of negotiated settlement was possible. And ultimately, I can't see Waldheim staying here forever, or even leaving behind a garrison.” He paused, then said, “Though we can't reject the possibility of a surface strike.”

   “Wiping out the settlement?”

   “Effectively, with a targeted assault on Cosmograd. Consider, sir, that this is a spacefaring culture, and while they might have been thrown a setback, they'll undoubtedly throw all of their efforts into orbital defenses. They're playing a long game. If they find a way home, and get there before we do, then the United Nations will move to secure both ends of the terminus, and obtain a permanent foothold in Andromeda. And this system would be an ideal base of operations for exploration and trade.”

   “Agreed,” Francis said. “Which rather overrides my original objection to the attack. We've got to go in, sir, and we've got to find some way to push Waldheim out of the system.”

   “What happens,” Harper replied, “when the negotiations fail? We're talking about General Estrada as though he is willing to talk terms, a reasonable man, but he is still a flag officer in the United Nations Space Fleet, and you don't rise that far without impressing the hawks. He'll fight, and he'll fight ruthlessly, and he won't need Colonel Cruz to cheer him on.”

   “If we can wipe out their fighters,” Francis said, “We'll take back the strategic advantage, and ultimately be able to wear them down in a war of attrition. Though with any luck at all, it won't come to that. We might not get an agreement that lasts more than a few weeks, but...”

   “And how do we guarantee that they'll live up to whatever unholy bargain we sign?” Harper replied. “What will stop them from coming right back here, wiping out Cosmograd, then heading off on their merry way.” Turning to Salazar, she added, “I'm far less sanguine than you about the possibility of a garrison remaining, either. Estrada might think it a good way to get rid of some unwanted elements. Colonel Cruz, for example. She'd have a hard time turning down a planetary governorship.”

   “Then you think...”

   “I think we need to find a way to beat them, Captain, and to make it stick. I don't think either we or the residents of this planet will be safe until Waldheim is nothing more than flaming rubble, and I believe that we must plan for that eventuality. You can't trust them, sir. Too many lives are at stake.”

   “Pavel?” Marshall asked.

   Looking at Harper, the pilot replied, “I'm torn, sir. To an extent, I agree with Kris, but I'm not blind to the strategic reality of the situation. We're at a disadvantage, sir, and we might not be able to obtain anything like the optimum outcome. Though there are things we could do. Install a real orbital defense network, for example. Provide them with some support to develop a space-based military. We do have options. Though I would also recommend taking any possible chance to bring those bastards down, sir.”

   “There are eight hundred people on Waldheim, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “Many of whom will not be there by choice.”

   “There are a hundred thousand civilians on the surface, sir, and none of them volunteered for the firing line. They've got to be our first priority.”

    Nodding, Marshall said, “I don't disagree, Lieutenant. I still maintain that a negotiated settlement is the best course of action, for the present. You will take any and all steps to do the maximum damage to Waldheim, and if we do enough that bringing her down is a realistic possibility, we'll press the attack to the limit. Is that understood?”

   “Yes, sir,” Salazar replied.

   “Is there anything else?”

   Salazar looked at Francis, then said, “There is, sir, but you're not going to like it.”

   “You're talking about replacing Deadeye.”

   Nodding, the young officer replied, “Yes, sir, I am.”

   “Ambitious, aren't you.”

   “Sir,” Harper said, eyes narrowing, “That's grossly unfair. Pavel would be remiss in his duty as Second Officer if he didn't bring this to your attention. The crew need to know where they stand, sir, and with a hostile ship in-system, we can't be too careful.”

   Taking a deep breath, Marshall said, “I'm assuming the three of you have already come to some sort of an arrangement on this issue.” Turning to Francis, he said, “Right?”

   “My judgment is that Lieutenant Salazar is next in line, sir, as things stand. As Captain, it is your prerogative to make a change, and nobody in this room, or on this ship, would question that for even a moment. I presume you are aware of that.”

   “But you need to make the call, sir,” Harper pressed. “One way or another.”

   Looking up at the strategic display, Marshall replied, “As soon as the current crisis is over, Lieutenant, I will make my final decision on reshaping the command structure. Until then, we will leave things as they stand, if for no other reason than that I need Pavel to be commanding the fighter wing for this battle.”

   “Very good, sir,” Salazar said.

   “Dismissed,” Marshall said, and the three officers rose to attention, walking out of the room,
heading out to the bridge beyond. He could guess what their topic of conversation would be. Looking up at the wall, he saw the selection of holoimages on display, each of them a memory that he wanted to preserve. His father, commanding Hercules during the War. Then the two of them together after he'd found him, stranded on a forgotten world, months before his death.

   Then he and Caine, standing on Ragnarok, a photograph taken by Maggie Orlova in a far simpler time. Back then, the height of their ambitions was to scramble to preserve their independence, known space less than twenty systems, none of them more than six parsecs from Sol. Even in the earliest days of his command, he'd pushed the frontier further out into space than anyone had dreamed they would go, visited worlds all across the galaxy.

   And now they'd gone still further, millions of light-years from home, a fragile ship, lost and alone in deep space. With the only person on this ship he truly felt he knew, the only one he could trust, lying in a coma in Sickbay, perhaps destined to remain there for the rest of her life. If she was on her feet, he'd have no problems. Or if Orlova was here, she'd be someone he could trust with any level of responsibility. She'd proven that during the Xandari War, a hundred times over. But now she too was lost, somewhere out here, stranded in deep space on a ship of her own.

   Reaching down to a control, he brought up the service records of the senior staff, starting with Salazar. He'd packed a lot into the last few years, had changed beyond recognition from the bitter young midshipman who had first reported on board, four years ago, during his final days as Alamo's commander. He'd earned his commission on their first mission, then gone on to a command of his own during the Xandari War, skipper of a beaten-up raider with a crew salvaged from the remnants of the captured Alamo. He knew that many of his crew had served under him in those days, that Salazar had been Orlova's Executive Officer during their triumphant return to Triplanetary space, but something was still holding him back.

   He scanned through the other records, those of Francis, McCormack and Harper. In other circumstances, Francis might have been a good choice, but he didn't have the independent command experience that Salazar possessed. As an outside candidate, Harper even had potential, after six months commanding Daedalus during Alamo's last mission. McCormack, on paper, looked promising, but there was something about her he just couldn't trust. Though that, he suspected, had more to do with his desire to ride fire again himself.

   He looked up at Caine, and sighed. He knew what the problem truly was, even if he could hardly bear to admit it, even to himself. Naming Salazar as Executive Officer would be as good as writing her off, someone he had known for twenty years, had worked with and fought beside. He couldn't do it. Not yet.

   When they'd beaten Waldheim, after a reasonable time had passed, then perhaps he could face the toughest decision of his life. Not today. Compared to that, the destruction of an enemy battleship seemed straightforward. Though in practice, he knew that even if Estrada went down, he wouldn't go down easy.

  Chapter 8

   Salazar had led a fighter squadron into battle many times before, mostly against the Xandari, but this time it felt different, wrong. Probably because the real squadron leader, McCormack, was standing at the back of the room, watching as he concluded his tactical briefing, eyes narrowed as though scrutinizing for a single mistake.

   “I think that's it, then,” he concluded. “You all know what to do, and you all know your roles for the battle. Remember that we've got to do maximum damage to Waldheim, and we've got to make sure that the hits we inflict are those that cannot be easily repaired. Watch for opportunities, and fine-tune your approach accordingly. Good hunting, and I'll see you in the sky. Dismissed.” As the squadron walked out of the room, he walked over to McCormack, watching her pilots leave, and said, “I'll take care of them. Do my best to get them all back in one piece.”

   “That isn't your job,” she replied. “Your job is to complete the mission, no matter what it takes. While I get to sit back on the deck and wait for you all to come home.” Glaring at him, she added, “I guess you got what you wanted.”

   “If I had what I wanted, you'd be taking your squadron into battle and I'd be up on the bridge. Believe me when I tell you that this wasn't my idea, and that I protested the decision to the Captain right up until the final pre-battle briefing.”

   “Is he always this unreasonable?” McCormack asked.

   “Not usually,” Harper said, walking into the room, standing beside Salazar. “It's Caine. He's used to having her as an anchor, and she's always been the one he can count on. And he's served with Pavel before, knows his record.” She paused, and added, “He's wrong, though.”

   Frowning, she replied, “I'd have thought...”

   “Lieutenant, three years ago I'd have done damn near anything for the chance to lead a squadron into battle. I more than satisfied that particular urge when I fought the Xandari.” His eyes grew distant for a moment, and in a softer voice, he continued, “I got to take a collection of rookies into the fire, and had to watch as they were swatted out of the sky one after another because that's what had to be. There was a job to do, one that everything depended upon, and we didn't have a choice.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Don't read me wrong. I'm confident in my ability to lead a squadron into battle. I just don't hunger for it. Not any more. It's a job, and one Captain Marshall has, over my objections, assigned me to. That's it.”

   Tapping her wings, McCormack replied, “Fourteen years I've worn these, Lieutenant. For all of that time I've worked up to command of a fighter wing. I actually took a step back to command Alamo's squadron. I'd been assigned to Yeager Station, an eighteen-fighter formation. Here I had seven. And now I'm stuck on the deck because of the whim of a commander, and my people are given to a twenty-five-year old flyboy.”

   “Twenty-six next week,” Harper said. “If that helps.”

   “Not really, no.”

   “Listen, I'm sure this is only temporary,” Harper replied. “As soon as everything settles down, the Captain will almost certainly name Pavel Executive Officer, and he can hardly do that job and still lead the squadron.”

   “Unless he gives it to Lieutenant Murphy.”

   “I would strongly recommend against that,” Salazar said. “Jessie's a good flight leader, and she certainly has potential, but I wouldn't put her in sole command of a squadron. Not until she's had a chance to calm down a little. Right now, she's a bit too wild for my liking.”

   “I'd have thought those were traits you would encourage, based on what I've seen of you in a cockpit.”

   “One of my flight instructors liked to say that rules were for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men. The trick is to know when you need to toss the rule book out of the airlock, not to ignore it altogether. There are times that you've got to trust your instinct, but she doesn't have the experience to know when they are. Not yet.”

   “I may have to reconsider my opinion of you, Lieutenant,” she replied. Walking over to him, she said, “Get the job done, and bring my people back in one piece. Do that, and I'll forgive you.”

   “Will do, ma'am,” he said. “Are you heading down to Astrogation?”

   “I'll watch your back the whole way,” she confirmed. “Good luck.”

   Salazar nodded, saluted, then walked out of the room, Harper by his side, heading into the mass of technicians racing to their alert stations, as Alamo began the final preparations for the imminent battle.

   “She seemed almost human,” Harper quipped.

   “I'd hate to be in her place,” he replied. “Stuck back here, watching people she's responsible for heading off into battle without her. Another form of hell. Worse than facing it herself.”

   “I know what you mean,” she said. “Still, I can see the Captain's point. You've got far more combat hours logged than she does, even as a squadron commander.”

   “Not much chance to log them in pea
cetime,” he said, “and that's where she's spent most of her career. That doesn't mean she doesn't know what she's doing.” Turning a corner, keeping his voice low, he continued, “Right now I'm wearing three hats, and none of them fit especially comfortably. Being Second Officer and Security Officer was tough enough, but I'm trying to command a squadron as well, and that's no fun at all. Hell, he could give Security to Foster. She's done it before. Name you Second Officer in my place, if he really wanted me to focus on this.”

   “Don't wish that on me.”

   “I'm serious, Kris. I can't be everywhere at once.” Frowning, he added, “I can see the Captain's problem, but he's going to have to start trusting some of the new hands, or we aren't going to get anywhere. Scott's still only Acting Tactical. McCormack's kicking her heels back on the deck. I'm surprised he hasn't suggested Carpenter for Second Officer.”

   “Careful, Pavel,” she replied.

   “And don't be so sure about what happens next.” Turning another corner, the hangar deck just ahead, he added, “I'm with you on Waldheim, where feasible, but I doubt they're going to give us the opening we're looking for. More likely they'll try and smash us to pieces, with some tricks of their own that we aren't expecting. They've had two weeks to get ready for us, and they must have assumed that we'd come out this way.”

   “Then you don't think this plan will work?”

   “It has a chance. Maybe a good one.” He sighed, then said, “Pre-game jitters. Don't worry about it. We'll find a way to pull this off. We always do, don't we?”

   An overhead speaker barked, “Five minutes to contact. Squadron scramble in three minutes. All hands to combat stations.”

   “They're singing my song,” Salazar said. “You'd better get up to the bridge. See you later.”

   “Don't do anything stupid out there,” she replied. With a smile, she added, “At least, nothing worse than usual.”