“One down, nine to go,” Harper said, shaking her head. “Midshipman, how are you doing with the sensors?”
“Coming on-line now, ma'am,” she replied. “Full resolution in a minute. There won't be enough power to last for long, though.”
“We shouldn't need it,” Harper said. “Less than an hour will be more than enough.”
As she reached down to the second module, she heard a familiar alert from the front, and turned to look at the sensor display flooding the viewscreen, a new contact appearing ahead of them, worryingly close. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was.
“Dimensional instability!” Siegel yelled. “Close to us, ma'am, and big! Bigger than any I've ever seen!”
“Hurry,” Harper said, turning to Burgess. They tugged free the second module, placing it next to the first, as the fabric of reality started to rip all around them, a ship preparing to come through, as large as a dreadnought. She glanced at the Corporal, knowing what he was thinking, that his first allegiance still lay with the United Nations Fleet, and that it would be his duty to do anything possible to see that the data reached the new arrival, rather than Alamo. Reluctantly, Harper's fingers reached down to her holster, as Siegel turned from the display.
“Capital ship, Lieutenant!”
“Whose, Midshipman?”
Looking up at the monitor, she replied, “Republic! Fleet Carrier Dingyuan, ma'am, and she's at battle stations!”
Glancing at Burgess, Harper said, “Looks like we're still friends, Corporal. At least for the moment.”
Chapter 20
“Confirmed, sir,” Ballard said, turning from her station. “Fleet Carrier Dingyuan has entered the system in an aggressive posture, and has opened its fighter launch tubes. We can expect a squadron to be in the air at any minute.”
Salazar turned to Marshall, and said, “Captain, we've got to scramble our fighters right away. We'll be pushing it to intercept before they can catch the shuttle as it us.” Looking up at the sensor display, he added, “Optimum launch time is only three minutes away.”
Shaking her head, Caine said, “Without boosters, and with that deep a gravity well, you'll never make it, Pavel, and you know it.” She frowned, and added, “The commander of that ship has to...”
“They aren't operating under the same limitations,” Salazar pressed. “We have to assume that they know what they are facing, and that they've taken the appropriate precautions. They'll already have modified their fighters for the environment.” Looking at the viewscreen, he added, “We can make good use of that, Captain. They'll be slow, hard to maneuver, easy to bring down.”
“I've got a response from Dingyuan, sir, text only,” Bowman reported. “They order us to permit them to recover the shuttle, and to prepare to leave the system at the first opportunity. Apparently they have annexed this area into the Lunar Republic, based on prior discovery.”
“I thought they were supposed to be our allies,” Imoto said, shaking his head.
“Sometimes, Midshipman, the enemy of our enemy remains our enemy,” Marshall replied. “Deadeye, how long before they're in position to launch a strike against us?”
“Less than twelve minutes, Danny. They'd have to sacrifice their fighters to pull it off, though. I'm not sure they could recover the crews.” Frowning, she added, “We've had some technical intelligence reports suggesting that they've been working on drone fighters lately. Maybe they don't need to worry about bringing their birds home.”
“Status of the shuttle?” Marshall asked.
“Lieutenant Harper reports that they have disengaged from the target and are on their way home at maximum acceleration,” Bowman said.
Shaking her head, Ballard added, “There's no way they'll make it, Captain. I'm picking up a launch from Dingyuan, looks like a modified search and rescue shuttle. They'll be on them long before they get back to Alamo.”
“They don't need to rescue the crew,” Francis said. “Just take the memory banks, siphon the fuel and return to their ship. Then abandon them to their fate.” Turning to Marshall, he added, “And if they destroy us here, there will be no evidence of the battle. The anomaly will sweep the system clean for them, debris, escape pods and all, and we'll be written off as just another lost ship.”
“Assuming they don't shift the blame to the United Nations,” Marshall added. “Midshipman, alter our trajectory to allow our fighters the optimum intercept window. Without adversely affecting our orbital track, of course.”
“Aye, sir,” Imoto said, frowning. “I can't do much, Captain, not within those parameters.”
“I'm aware of that,” he replied. “Ballard, has Dingyuan moved to launch their fighters?”
“No, sir, not yet, but their launch tubes are ready for an immediate scramble. We might only have a few seconds' warning.” Turning up to her monitor, she continued, “Missile tubes are open and ready, though, sir. They're certainly ready to back up their claim to the system.”
Nodding, Marshall glanced at Bowman, and said, “Spaceman, connect me to Dingyuan. They might not acknowledge it, but they'll damn well hear me.”
“Aye, sir,” the communications technician replied. “You're on, sir, by laser tight-beam.”
“This is Fleet Captain Daniel Marshall of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. You are intruding on a system claimed by the Triplanetary Confederation, and your ship is currently on an intercept course with one of our shuttles. I will agree to a mutual withdrawal and exchange of scientific information, if our shuttle is allowed to proceed unmolested. If I do not receive your acceptance of these terms in the next sixty seconds, I will be forced to initiate hostile action.”
“They've gone far enough that I doubt they'll reply,” Caine said. “Should I go to battle stations?”
Marshall paused for a moment, then nodded, replying, “Do it.”
“Sir,” Salazar said, “our squadron is short one flight leader. I doubt McCormack will like it very much, but...”
“No point leaving one of our birds in the nest, Lieutenant. Go.”
Salazar barely waited for the order before racing for the elevator, slamming the control to send him speeding down to the hangar bay, overriding all other priorities. As Caine called the crew to action stations over the speakers, he tugged out his datapad, hastily scanning over the tactical display, the updated feeds of the fighter's trajectory plots winking into existence as orders flashed down from the bridge.
McCormack might be annoying, but she knew her stuff, plotting a conservative assault profile, keeping everything as simple as she could. Fighting in a gravity well was tough enough at the best of time, but with a field as great as the anomaly, they'd have to keep their engines running at maximum all the time just to keep ahead of the game.
The elevator stopped, doors opening onto the hangar deck, and Lombardo tossed a helmet and flight jacket to him as soon as he walked into the bay. He snatched them from the air, as a fuming McCormack stormed towards him, her face red from anger, the ubiquitous Bryant standing behind her.
“If you think you're going...”
“I do,” Salazar said. “Orders from the Captain. We're not leaving a fighter sitting on the deck when there's a pilot ready to take her up.” Turning to two of the pilots, the members of Murphy's flight, he added, “Hadley, Ivanovich, you're with me.”
“Flight assignments...”
“All fighters, immediate launch,” Caine's voice said, echoing from the overhead speakers, immediately bringing the argument to an end. “All fighters, scramble, scramble, scramble.”
“They're singing our song,” Salazar said, shrugging on the jacket as he raced for Murphy's abandoned fighter, the rest of the pilots making for their ships, McCormack loitering for a second as though contemplating another retort before finally deciding to obey the launch order, the delay making her the last to reach her cockpit.
&nbs
p; As the canopy dropped into position above him, Salazar ran his hands over the control systems, running through the abbreviated pre-launch checklist as the fighter began to drop into the elevator airlock, ready for launch. He settled a hand on the throttle, ready to throw the engines to full power as soon as they dropped clear of the ship, and watched as the sensor data streamed down from the bridge onto his monitor, a trajectory track racing towards their distant targets.
“Leader to Alamo,” McCormack said. “Request weapons free.”
“Negative,” Marshall replied, his voice speaking to every cockpit in the squadron. “Fire only on my order or if they fire first. Do not, repeat not, take the first shot. If we can get away without starting a war today, we're going to do it. Orders to proceed as close as you can to the shuttle and escort it back to the base.” He paused, then added, “Don't do anything crazy. That includes you, Pavel.”
A smile spread across his face as the fighter reached the lower hatch, finally dropping clear of the ship as they opened, the centrifugal force of Alamo's rotation tossing him clear. He threw the throttles full open, diving onto trajectory, not waiting for the rest of the squadron to settle into formation. He looked down at the display, nodding as he saw the other members of his flight follow him, the first to reach cold vacuum.
“Red Leader to Red Flight,” he said. “Form on me, arrowhead formation, and keep your engines at full. Watch your trajectories and your fuel readouts, and as soon as you drop to sixty percent, turn for home regardless of the tactical situation. I don't care if you've got a ship in your sights, get back to Alamo when your fuel passes the red line. We can't retrieve you if you drop too low.” He paused, then added, “And by the same logic, don't bail out. It's a one way trip to Hell if you do.”
He looked down at the sensor display, watching as the rest of the squadron emerged from the ship, McCormack the last to leave at the rear of the formation, taking a position at the heart of Bryant's Green Flight. His two wingmen sped to catch up with him, running their engines hot in a bid to catch up.
“Cut that out, Red Flight,” he said. “Save fuel. Limit yourselves to one-oh-two on the engines unless you don't have a choice. With a gravity well this deep, we don't have the time for fancy flying formations. Concentrate on the enemy.” He paused, then added, “Red Leader to Alamo...”
“Flight Leader to Red Leader. Pass all messages to Alamo through me.”
“For interest,” Caine replied, “Dingyuan has launched her fighters. Twelve birds in the air, heading for an intercept course. We can't tell whether or not they've gone weapons hot. Sending tactical schematics through to your systems now.”
“Roger, Alamo, understood,” McCormack said. A light flashed on, and Salazar knew that they were on tight-beam, only he and the squadron leader able to hear each other. “Lieutenant, you are in this formation on sufferance, not by my choice, and I will not have my authority undermined. I hope that is perfectly clear.”
“Ma'am, my board shows that we will be making contact with the enemy, if that's what they are, in six minutes. With all due respect, I think that we've got far better things to do than have a conversation about discipline.” Mustering all of the patience he could, he continued, “I strongly recommend that we adopt a double-wave formation. Red Flight first, Green Flight in support. To be blunt, we don't have the fuel for anything else.”
She paused, and he expected her to come up with a rebuttal, some conjured tactical reason why she had to be at the head of the fight. Had he been commanding the squadron himself, he'd have been tempted to work out some excuse to take the lead himself, but she was too far behind, her second of tardiness costing her a position at the forefront of the battle. With the anomaly still dragging down on them, there was no realistic option other than for her to agree to his suggestion.
“Very well, Lieutenant, but I will expect to see you in my office upon the conclusion of this mission, and I shall inform the Captain in the strongest possible terms that you are not to fly as a part of this squadron again. Your duties are on the bridge, not in my strike wing.”
“Aye, ma'am,” he replied. “Switching to open frequency.” He paused, trying to recall the service records of his two pilots, both Sub-Lieutenants who had only recently graduated from Flight School. Neither could have ever experienced combat for themselves, but the Academy only took the best, and while there was no substitute for actual battle, they'd still be ready for the fight.
“Red Leader to Red Flight. We're going into something worse than action in a moment, a situation where we may or may not be required to engage the enemy, and that decision may rest on your shoulders. You will not fire without direct instructions for any reason, unless you are fired upon first. I want that clear. They'll try and trick you, try and lure you into a fight, goad you into making the first move, but you will not comply with that little request.”
“And if they launch an attack, sir?” Ivanovich asked.
“Fire a full salvo of defensive fire and run for home. This is no place for a battle, Sub-Lieutenant, and I'm not in the habit of throwing lives away for nothing. We can't fight here, not and expect to win with acceptable cost.” He paused, then added, “Alter course five degrees starboard. Let's see if we can draw them clear of the shuttle, at least.”
He tapped controls, swinging his fighter on the course, still with one eye on the fuel gauge, the levels dropping awfully fast. Once again, he could swear that the gravitational field of the anomaly was fluctuating, changing, dragging them further down towards the unknown mass at its heart. Shaking his head, he focused on the fighters up ahead, tapping a sequence of controls to get a close-range scan of the enemy vehicles.
One quick glance confirmed what he suspected. This had been a trap, all along, but not one set by the United Nations, but by the Lunar Republic. These fighters had been modified, and with more care than Lombardo's work crews had been able to manage in the time. Planning had gone into the alterations to the Republic fighters, modifications that might render them sluggish in the fight, but would give them an endurance that Alamo's squadron lacked in the battlespace.
The motivation was obvious. To destabilize relations between the Triplanetary Confederation and the United Nations would force both nations to focus their attentions on their mutual frontiers, rather than pressing out into unexplored space, leaving the field clear for the Lunar Republic, envious at the Confederation's recent territorial expansions, to carve out an empire of their own. Obtaining sole access to the anomaly was a fringe benefit, one they could take full advantage of. The first prize their efforts would win.
Which meant something important about the saboteur, as well.
“Red Leader to Alamo Actual, full scramble,” he said, but only the crackle of static answered him, the Republic vessels already jamming their systems. That meant that the only way he could share his theory with Captain Marshall would be face-to-face. The tight-beam laser relays were still working, but he couldn't reach the ship, not at this range. Still, he could at least increase the odds a little.
“Red Leader to Red Flight. If I don't make it home and you do, tell Captain Marshall or Lieutenant Harper that this whole operation has been a Republic trap, and that my proof is the design of the fighters they've launched against us. You understand?”
“Sounds a bit defeatist, sir,” Ivanovich replied. “Not your reputation at all.”
“Damn, not you as well, Ivan,” Salazar said with a chuckle. “I'm never going to live my last mission down, am I?”
“I was surprised when I saw you,” Hadley said. “You're a good three inches shorter than you were on screen.”
“You're picking an innovative way to draw a charge of insubordination, Sub-Lieutenant, I'll give you that.” A light flashed on, and Salazar said, “Cut the chatter, people. Three minutes to target. Get firing solutions as soon as you can, but don't act on them until you get the word from me.”
&nbs
p; Now it was all down to him. Captain Marshall's decision devolved all the way down to him as senior officer on the scene. Technically, McCormack could override him, but he didn't trust her not to risk a war to get that fifth kill, to win the designation she craved. He looked down at the three small stars over his flight wings, remembering the battles in which he'd won them, the pilots who had flown with him, died for him.
Two minutes left. He scrutinized the sensor display, waiting for the Republic fighters to make a move, watching as their boosted SAR shuttle raced towards Harper's ship. There had to be an alternative to war, had to be. If the two squadrons ran into each other, someone was going to get careless, and someone was going to make the mistake that led to Alamo's death. Against Waldheim, they had a chance, but a carrier with twenty-four fighter/bombers ready to launch? There was no chance, no hope, and with the anomaly forcing the battlecruiser onto a tight orbit, nowhere to run. The Republic commander could wear Alamo down with strike after strike, and there would be nothing they could do about it. And if they seized the information on the shuttle, more importantly, Harper and her crew would be killed.
There wasn't anything he could do about Dingyuan, that much was clear. Not one shuttle, especially without first fire orders that he had no intention of giving. Captain Marshall was going to have to dream up a way of escaping the system without him, returning home to tell the tale of treachery and deceit they had uncovered out here. All he could do was make sure that he had the information he needed to make the mission a success.
“Red Leader to Red Flight,” he said. “Hold your course until further orders. Watch for the fighters, and remember, don't let them force you into action. Though if my guess is right, they'll be altering course any minute and heading home.” With a smile, he added, “And apologize to McCormack for me. She's going to have to wait a little longer for that fifth kill.”
Without another word, he tapped a five-digit sequence on his navigation computer, silencing all of the wailing klaxons with the touch of a button as the fighter slewed around, burning fuel with reckless abandoned as he altered his course, The trajectory track danced across the screen before the systems gave up, instead flooding the image with electronic gibberish. There was a vector he could use to intercept the SAR shuttle, not to attack it, but to ruin its approach trajectory by forcing it to alter course. Unless it refused, of course, but that would handily take them both out of the picture.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom Page 19
