Battlecruiser Alamo: Aces High

by Richard Tongue

   “I’ve got Alamo, sir. Captain Marshall, for you.”

   Marshall’s face appeared on the viewscreen, and he said, “Midshipman, what the hell is happening over there?”

   “Long story short, sir, we found an alien artifact on board, and while testing it, managed to crash the station computers. All of them.”

   “That’s…”

   “I’m pretty sure that the enemy ship had some sort of a monitor on board, and by the looks of it they were hit by the same thing. If ever we’re going to knock them down, I think the time is now, sir.”

   “Have you got weapons back?”

   “Negative, sir.”

   “Damn. Well, at least you gave us our shot. Sit tight, Salazar, and bail out if anything nasty heads in your direction. Good luck. Alamo out.”

   “And that is that,” Fox said. “Restoring gravity.”

   A series of thrusters fired, Salazar carefully lowering himself to the ground, the slight sick feeling of a constantly changing gravity field until it began to settle down. He turned to look at the sensors, and shook his head. The enemy ship was beginning to orient itself, heading to face Alamo.

   “Fox,” he said. “Take the spin off the station when I give the order.”

   “Why?”

   “And cut all external power. I want it to look as though we’re dead again, as if we’ve failed to repair any of the faults. Can do?”

   “Play dead, you mean?” Fox said. “No problem, I can have that done in less than a minute.”

   “Get started. Ben, I want you and the others to go and get those warheads. The Petty Officer will tell you where they are emplaced. I presume you set them for remote activation?”

   “Of course, but I think we might still need them. We can’t let that crystal get into enemy hands.”

   “And the best way of doing that is to blow their hands off. I want all of those warheads loaded into the shuttle.”

   “She’ll never maneuver on autopilot well enough to guide it in.”

   “Probably not,” he replied. “That doesn’t matter. Right now it’s the only shot we’ve got in our locker, and I mean to pull the trigger.

  Chapter 23

   “Battle stations,” Marshall ordered, leaning forward in his chair, staring at the enemy ship slowly tumbling on the screen.

   “Radiators out,” Caine reported. “Laser charging to full capacity. Ready to fire in thirty seconds. Missile salvo is ready to launch once I’ve taken the first shot.”

   “Should I accelerate, sir?” Foster asked.

   “No, Midshipman, but begin your random walk.”

   “Doctrine…”

   “Random walk only.”

   He looked across at Caine, and said, “We’re going to have to slug it out. There’s no way that either of us can build up enough distance to get out of firing range, so short of some sort of mutual ceasefire, only one of us is getting away from this one.”

   “In other words,” she replied, “make each shot tell. Got it. Foster, I’ll want a firing solution in twenty-one seconds. Aim for one of those launch tubes. If we get lucky, we might get this out of the way in a single shot.”

   “I don’t think we’re going to get that sort of luck,” Kelso said.

   “Sir,” Weitzman said, “I’m getting chatter from the surface! It looks like the jamming field has been deactivated.”

   “Anything from our team on the surface?”

   “Nothing, sir. Lots of stuff in a language I don’t understand, and not on our usual frequency. Best guess is their people checking in.”

   “Damn it,” Kelso said.

   “Belay that,” Marshall replied. “Odds are neither of them is thinking to talk to us at the moment.”

   “Should I try to hail them, sir?”

   “Negative,” he replied. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about. How long, Deadeye?”

   “Ten seconds, sir.”

   “Power generation from the enemy ship, Captain,” Spinelli said, eyes on his panel. “Looks like they’re coming about.”

   “I guess we’re run out of time. Fire when ready, Deadeye.”

   “Foster, feel free,” Caine said, and the midshipman slowly, painfully slowly, swung Alamo around on its thrusters, for a brief second lining the two ships up. A microsecond would have been enough, and the lights dimmed for a second as Alamo’s primary weapon fired, its radiators instantly glowing red-hot as the laser made contact with the enemy, gouging an angry line down the side of the ship.

   “That’s got to hurt,” Caine said.

   “No idea, ma’am,” Spinelli said, “but I’m getting a lot of outgassing, and some organic material drifting away from the enemy ship.”

   “Bodies, in other words.”

   “First missile salvo firing now. I’ve set them to hunt for anything they decide to throw at us, the second salvo can head for the enemy. Laser recharge cycle under way, next pulse can be fired in sixty seconds.”

   Looking at Foster, still looking at the screen, Marshall said, “Midshipman, resume random walk! This battle is a hell of a long way from being over.”

   “Sorry, sir,” she replied. “Resuming random walk.”

   “Energy spikes, sir,” Spinelli said. “Missiles launching, a salvo of four, new type.”

   “Let’s take a look,” Marshall replied, and a hologram of the new target appeared next to his chair, floating in thin air, details slowly adding on as the sensors gathered more data.

   “Moving very fast, sir, and aiming directly at us.”

   “Guiding missiles across now,” Caine said, but Marshall shook his head.

   “Get them to the enemy ship. Blow bits off him.”

   “Danny?”

   He pointed at the trajectory plot, and said, “Look at them, curving straight in, and small. Decoys.”

   “I hope you’re right,” she replied, tapping a control and sending the missiles diving towards the target, fanning out to give the widest possible coverage.”

   “Those are moving fast enough to do some real damage if they hit,” Erickson warned.

   “I’m aware of that, Spaceman. Midshipman, make my lady dance.”

   “Sir?”

   With a sigh, he said, “Increase the radius of our random walk pattern. Treble it.”

   “We’re burning thruster fuel very quickly, sir.”

   “Doesn’t help us if it’s stuck in the tank, does it?”

   “No, sir,” she replied, turning back to her work. The first wave of missiles was ranging close, diving in towards Alamo, gaining speed with every second. Now they were beginning to move on their track, spreading out to target key systems as Foster tried to pivot the ship, showing it the most vulnerable areas.

   “Laser firing in twenty seconds. Make sure they don’t hit our radiators,” Caine said.

   “Impact in five seconds, sir,” Spinelli said. “Our first impact in fifteen.” He looked up at his panel, and said, “Energy spike, two objects launching, laser missiles.”

   “Deadeye…,” Marshall began, but she nodded.

   “Already on it.”

   “Two seconds,” Spinelli said.

   Alamo rocked from stem to stern, warning sirens blaring as the protesting deck plates ruptured, decompression alarm sounding. Erickson’s fingers began to race along the controls as she checked damage reports.

   “Well?” Marshall asked.

   “Wait one.”

   “We got the laser missiles,” Spinelli said. “I guess sensors are fine. Registering three impacts from our missiles, all nice and clean, but I’ve got no way of evaluating damage. Looks bad, though. They’re having trouble maintaining attitude.”

   “Laser ready! Foster, give me a shot.”

   Alamo lumbered around, Marshall glancing back at the status boards, one area a sea of red warning lights. As it swung past the en
emy ship, the laser fired, and another black line raced across its hull, brief trickles of flame as air raced out into space, sending the ship tumbling in another direction.

   “Direct hit,” Caine said, unnecessarily. “Second salvo in the tubes now, ready to fire.”

   “Damage report, Captain,” Erickson said. “The missile had no warhead, kinetic only. It went in four levels before stopping, we have decompression in seven sections, but the bulkheads are holding.”

   “Firing salvo,” Caine said, and the missiles raced away, homing in on the enemy ship.

   “No casualties reported,” Erickson continued. “We’ve lost two of the maneuvering thrusters, and have sustained significant damage to the secondary life-support system. Also, our combat fabricator is out.”

   Marshall looked at her, wide-eyed, then tapped the communicator control on his armrest, saying, “Quinn…”

   “I’m already on the way, but from what my damage-control team tells me, it’s been ripped into pieces. Total loss. I can build a new one with the other fabricators, but that will take the better part of a day, and before you ask, I can’t speed that up.”

   “What about the other fabricators?”

   “A lot slower than the combat fabricator, and they don’t usually use those materials. Best guess I can get your first new missile to you in a quarter-hour. I’ve got Chief Bogodin on the way down right now.”

   “Do anything you can, Jack.” Looking at Caine, he said, “That means all we’ve got to play with are the missiles already in the tubes. Eighteen shots, counting the ones you just launched.”

   “We can buy time,” she said. “Try and move away from the field of battle. We’ve done a lot of damage, and they might withdraw.”

   “Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Two more laser missiles on the way. Forty-one seconds before our missiles can intercept them.”

   “Put on a little acceleration,” Marshall told Foster.

   “Course, sir?”

   “Right down their throats.” Turning to Caine, he said, “We’re not going to let this go. If we retreat here, then they’ll come back. There’s evidently something in this system worth fighting for, and even if there wasn’t, we can’t afford to risk showing them our tail. Get on the laser, and husband those missiles.”

   “Probes, sir,” Kelso said. “They lobbed kinetic weapons at us, why not return the favor?”

   “Good thinking, Sub-Lieutenant. Get a salvo into the air.”

   “They won’t do any real damage,” Caine said.

   “They’ll confuse them, and right now, that’s what we need.”

   “Initiating interception course, sir. Closest approach will be one hundred and twenty-nine miles. Current distance, three thousand and ninety.”

   “In space combat terms, close enough to spit in their eye,” Caine said.

   “Make our closest approach zero, Midshipman,” Marshall said.

   She turned back at him and said, “Ramming speed, sir?”

   “Chicken, Midshipman. Let’s see who blinks first.”

   Gulping, she turned back to her controls, and said, “Impact in five minutes, nine seconds.”

   “Another energy spike, sir,” Spinelli said. “They’re firing another three laser missiles at us, one of them from a new source. I’d say they’re getting to work on their damage control systems.”

   “That’s all we need,” Marshall said. “Deadeye, get on it.”

   “Big spike!” Spinelli yelled. “First laser missile fired, missed us by less than a hundred meters. They’re going to get better the closer we get.”

   “So are we. Get another salvo in the air.”

   Turning, Caine said, “Shouldn’t we save them for deflection?”

   “They can build missiles a lot faster than we can, Deadeye. If this comes down to a war of attrition, we lose. We’ve got to bring this to an end as fast as we can.” Gesturing at the damaged ship up ahead, he said, “Right now we’ve done a lot more damage to them than they have to us, and I’m going to push that advantage for everything it’s worth. Besides, if they’re throwing kinetic warheads at us, the closer we are, the less chance they have to accelerate.”

   “Closing on target, sir,” Kelso said.

   “Quinn here,” echoed Marshall’s communicator. “No luck on the fabricator at all, sir. No chance of a repair.”

   “Thanks,” he said. “You’d better get back to Engineering.”

   “Probes in the air,” Caine said. “I’ve got them on a standard attack vector. I can probably use them as flying countermeasures, try and disable some of their laser missiles that way.”

   “Massive energy spike!” Spinelli said, and alarms began to sound.

   “The ship’s tumbling!” Foster said. “I can’t keep attitude control.”

   “Try and compensate,” Caine replied. “I’ll have a laser pulse ready in thirty-one seconds. At least that’s still working.”

   “No significant damage, sir,” Erickson said. “The laser hit the outer hull, just about parallel. We’ve got damage across a hundred and ninety meters of surface, and hull breaches in nineteen places. Control teams are on the case.”

   “Damn, we were lucky,” Kelso said. “A couple of meters more and we’d be dead.”

   “I’m losing it,” Foster replied, frantically hitting controls. “We’re outgassing from too many places, and I’ve lost too many thrusters.”

   Jumping to his feet, Marshall stepped over to her, saying, “I’ll take her, Midshipman.”

   She looked up, nodded, and said, “Aye, sir.”

   He slid into the helm, running his fingers over the controls as they swung around to his preferred settings, and started to work, trying to guide her back onto the correct course. He didn’t need to worry about random walk, the ship was doing an excellent job of that for him.

   “Erickson, see what you can do about the leaks. If you can’t get them patched, evacuate the air from affected sections. We’ve got settle down this ride.”

   “Got one of the laser missiles, a probe slammed right into it. My missiles are still running true,” Caine said, “and I guess I know where you want them.”

   “Blow holes in them, and see if you can target the launch tubes.”

   “Trying, Danny, but they’re quick on their thrusters. Ready to take my next shot in five seconds, and I’ve got the next salvo ready to launch.”

   “Go ahead and get them into the air. We must be close.”

   Alamo rocked, the next batch of missiles diving towards its target, the enemy ship getting awfully close. He played his hands across the thruster controls, using the few remaining options to try and guide the ship towards its target, trying to bring the nose into line to allow Caine to get her next shot. He glanced up at the clock over the viewscreen, and shook his head. So far, all of this had only taken two and a half minutes.

   “Sir?” Spinelli said. “The remaining laser missile has moved behind the enemy ship.”

   “They must be trying for the station,” Kelso said.

   “Maybe,” Marshall replied. “Deadeye, coming up in three seconds, I hope.”

   Alamo’s nose crossed in front of the enemy ship once again, the laser scoring another line down the side of its hull, tearing through into protected areas. This time their target pivoted wildly out of control, all the thrusters firing at once, sending it into an uncontrolled spin.

   “That looks decisive,” he said, before a brief flash shot across the screen. “What the hell was that?”

   “Laser missile detonated,” Spinelli said.

   “I’ve lost control of the missiles,” Caine said. “Heading off on their own, straight-line course. Best guess that they used a short-range EM pulse to knock them out.”

   “Get the last salvo ready to fire,” he replied. “Maybe we can finish them off. Laser status?”

   “Radiator damage, s
ir,” Erickson said, shaking her head. “Looks like shrapnel.”

   “Can we use the laser?”

   “Negative, sir.”

   “Six shots left, Deadeye. Make them good.”

   “Energy spike from the enemy ship, sir,” Spinelli reported. “Good God.”

   “What?”

   “Nine, correction, eleven laser missiles in the air, sir. I think they dumped them out of some of the hull breaches. I’m reading power fluctuations, almost everywhere. I’d say they’ve sustained a lot of damage.”

   “Eleven lasers,” Caine said.

   “They’re heading into an enveloping pattern, trying to surround us.”

   “Initiating full acceleration,” Marshall said. “Dump the last of the missiles, Deadeye, see if you can manage some fratricide.”

   “Doing it, Danny, but I don’t think it’s going to help. Long before we can hit them, they can sacrifice one of their missiles to knock ours out.”

   “Full power, then. Get the radiators retracted. Can we outpace them?”

   Spinelli looked across, shaking his head, “They’ve got ten times our acceleration, sir. Best guess has them getting into firing position in three hundred and nine seconds.”

   “Hold the missiles until the last minute,” he said, turning to Caine. “Then fire them at the enemy ship, safeties off, top speed. Program them to fire when we register the energy spikes.”

   “Last shot, Danny?”

   With a smile, he replied, “We might as well take them down with us when we go.”

  Chapter 24

   Orlova looked across at Carpenter as the two of them walked across the cavernous room, two more of the figures waiting for them at the far end. They seemed to be building some sort of shelter, not inflatable like the Triplanetary designs, but some sort of modular build, forming a hexagon.

   She paused, looking at their guard, and said, “Our two ships are going to fight it out in orbit.”

   “They already are,” he replied. “You are losing, if it is of interest to you.”

   “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she replied. “In any event, what we are doing down here is meaningless compared to that. Whoever wins up there is going to win down here, no matter what happens. If you kill us, Captain Marshall will tear the planet apart to find you.”