The Landfall Campaign (The Nameless War)

by Edmond Barrett

  “I see,” there was no inflection in her voice. “Thank you, sir. I would appreciate it if you would transmit updates to Earth via FTL for as long as you are able.”

  “Yes of course.” There was a hesitation on the line. “You were right Commander, I was wrong.”

  “Yes sir, you were,” Willis replied flatly.

  “The frontier squadron is likely on its way,” Kinnear said but there was doubt in his voice.

  “And might be anything up to several days away. We have received nothing from them, sir, so I must assume that they will not arrive in time to be a material factor.” She was amazed how level her voice was. If he’d sent the FTL signal when she’d asked, the frontier squadron might have already arrived. The Rizr would have fled and Vincent wouldn’t be dead. She wanted to scream at him, but screaming would do no good. “We will attempt to stop them, sir. If the base is boarded I would ask you to resist for as long as you can. Hawkings Base, this is Hood over and out.” She cut the connection before her self-control was pushed beyond breaking point.

  “Communications, Bridge. Skipper, the Captain of America wants to speak to you.”

  “Put him on.”

  “Commander Willis, are you receiving me?”

  “Loud and clear sir.”

  “Commander, I’m getting the uplink from the lunar tracking station. The Rizr are going to start to orbit around and there is a problem. They’re going to get mighty close to the Lagrange Point. On their current track, Onslaught will be silhouetted against the planet. Added to that one of the armoured cruisers and four of the destroyers are acting as close support for the transports. That’s more than Onslaught can handle on her own.”

  Bugger, she thought as the task at hand focused her thoughts. “Sir, I think we’re going to have to meet them head on as they come round, don’t give them a chance to look properly,” she said. “If they have right number of blips on their radar screens they might not look too hard. It’s not a great plan…”

  “It’s about as a subtle as a kick in the balls,” Captain Waugh interrupted. Then she heard him sigh, “but we don’t have time for anything better. Well Commander, let’s have at ‘em.”

  “Yes sir. Bridge to Coms. Signal all ships to form line abreast and advance. Signal Onslaught to treat transports as her priority and engage as tactical opportunity allows.”

  “Sensors, Bridge, Contact! Multiple contacts. Friend or Foe confirms enemy in sight.”

  On the holo a pair of blips appeared as the lead Rizr destroyers nosed out from behind the moon. Immediately both launched countermeasures and started to make braking manoeuvres. Clearly these were Rizr reconnaissance elements and they couldn’t afford to allow the fleet to hide behind the moon with the time and space to analyse the reports.

  “Bridge, Coms. Order the squadron to come three degrees to port, fire at will.”

  “Coms, Bridge. Signal from Thunder.”

  “Yes Lieutenant…” Willis trailed off as she looked at the screen. If she’d been told his name, she couldn’t remember it.

  “Lieutenant Morgan. Ma’am. Do I have permission to break off?” he asked. There was an expression of absolute dread on his face.

  “Negative Lieutenant. You’re have to hang in there.”

  “Ma’am! This ship doesn’t have any guns! It doesn’t even have a point defence grid!”

  It was murder to send in a crew, in something that barely passed as a ship. But she was going to have to do it anyway. If Thunder hauled off without apparent cause, then the Rizr might smell a rat.

  “I’m sorry Lieutenant Morgan,” she replied harshly, “I need that ship, I need them to think you’re Onslaught. Hold for as long as you can. Use the rest of the squadron for cover. Do you have escape pods?”

  “There are pods in the silos. They might even still work!”

  “Then stay in formation, when she’s taken all she can, bail out. Let them think they’ve taken one of us out.”

  As the squadron accelerated, the formation became ragged. America started to push ahead, her turrets trained out to starboard, as if sniffing for the enemy. Then in a rippling flash the cruiser opened fire. A few seconds later the Hood’s radar sighted the Rizr fleet. For a second or two the scene was clear on the holo, the green blips of her ships and the twenty-seven Rizr. The aliens were shifting formation, the armoured cruisers in the van, and protected cruisers on the flanks with the destroyers forming top and bottom cover. Then abruptly both sets of blips went fuzzy as all ships activated electronic counter measures. Still numbers and names appeared beside each blip as the computer started to categorise the various Rizr ships by class. Rizr design followed fairly consistent patterns, with light lasers in the turrets, heavier pieces in broadside mounts for the protected cruisers and in sponsons in their heavier brethren. That design was driven by technology and in turn design would drive tactics. As she watched, the Rizr slowly started to turn together to present their broadside guns. Here we go. Willis thought to herself. These were the bastards that had killed Vincent and if there was a shred of justice in the universe, she was going to repay them in kind. Below the conning tower, Hood’s two turrets swung to bear at the distant targets.

  “Bridge, Coms,” she said unemotionally, “signal America to lead us in, all ships to conform to her movements. Fire Control, Guns. Target the armoured cruiser designated AC Three. You have permission to fire when ready.”

  A ragged salvo of plasma bolts hurled forth, prompting Rizr ships to take whatever evasive action time and formation would allow but most of the shots crashed home. As metal work splintered and atmosphere pumped from breached hulls, space around the damaged aliens took on a haze of escaped gas. But it wasn’t all one-way traffic as stiletto-like laser beams burned back the other way. As they struck, the armoured plates of the Geriatrics glowed as they attempted to radiate away the energy and protect the ships and their crews. At first the armour defeated most shots, but with every hit some of the metal boiled away, leaving less to absorb the next hit.

  The first casualty was an armoured cruiser, falling out of formation as America mercilessly pounded it. As she did, Cyclone, Typhoon and Hood each duelled with a Rizr ship. But even as they engaged a ship each, they left another seventeen to fire unmolested. All the while the range continued to drop.

  “There she goes!” said one of the sensor operators. The man probably didn’t even realise he’d spoken. Twenty minutes into the slogging match, the six Rizr destroyers had sallied out from the rest of their fleet to launch a missile strike. Two were destroyed outright and another pair badly mauled, but they must have been carrying missiles on external racks because they volleyed off more than twenty each. Sheer weight of numbers carried some of them through the storm of overlapping point defence fire put up by the Geriatrics. Cyclone lost most of her bows, while the roof of Hood’s A Turret was pealed back like a tin can and missiles fragments ripped into the main hull. A modern ship would have depressurised before action, but Hood had no such capability. As a result fires erupted and the rush of the air escaping into the void turned them into infernos. Emergency bulkheads did as designed and closed, sealing crewmen and women in with the fires. Yet they got off easy. Thunder had no point defence and no final line of protection so when seven missiles went in and the old ship snapped like a dry stick. No thought given to looking for survivors, only the battle.

  “Tactical, Bridge. Skipper, the transports close escort, it’s starting to move.”

  It was what Willis had been waiting for. The armoured cruiser that along with four of the destroyers had been hanging back, was now moving toward the battle, together with two of the smaller ships. That would leave the transports protected by only a pair of destroyers.

  “Get me the America,” she ordered.

  “I see it Commander,” Captain Waugh said without preamble as he appeared on the screen. “It looks like this is going to be our best shot at the transports. Have you signalled Onslaught?”

  “She’s getting the u
plink from the lunar tracking station sir. I don’t want to send any transmissions in case it gives things away.”

  “Just as long as they move, Commander.”

  “I have confidence, sir,” Willis replied, “but we’ll have to push in sir and not give them the space to run Onslaught off.”

  Waugh looked grim but nodded. “I’ll lead us in to within thirty thousand kilometres. If that doesn’t count as pressing in I don’t know what does!” There was a flash behind Waugh and Willis saw someone slump across their console behind him. The Captain grimaced over his shoulder and said: “Follow me, Commander.”

  For fifteen minutes they closed, and all of them suffered. Even America was struggling, streaming metal vapours as lasers cut into her. The status board on Hood’s bridge now had more red lights than green. There were sections of the ship Willis hadn’t heard from in over half an hour and her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. It was hard to tell how bad the rest of the squadron were. Hood had lost the ability to receive automatic updates from the others. One thing Willis was sure of however was that her own ship wasn’t going to take too much more.

  “Tactical, Bridge. Skipper, we’ve picked up Onslaught, visual only.” As the tactical officer spoke, a new blip appeared on the bridge holo, close to the moon, moving in behind the transports. The Rizr hadn’t spotted her yet and Onslaught was already in range.

  “Understood, Helm, alter course two degrees to port. Coms, order the squadron to turn accordingly.”

  “Understood,” called back the helmsman. As Hood began to turn, a series of hits shook her to the core. There was an explosion in the lower levels of the conning tower and metal splinters burst up through the deck faster than the eye could follow. As atmosphere swirled out through the holes in the deck, Willis glanced around. None of her bridge crew had been hit.

  “Skipper! Helm’s not answering!”

  Willis spun around. They continued to slowly turn, out of formation. The deck of the bridge was riddled with holes. The hit must have severed the control runs.

  “Oh no!” she muttered, before starting to shout into the intercom “Bridge! Commander Horan you…” then behind Willis everything exploded.

  As Hood lumbered round, following line astern Typhoon started to turn with her, then broke off on realising the flagship was no longer under control. As the gap between Hood and the squadron opened, the Rizr realised that one of their opponents had just become a sitting duck. Chaff rockets were launched as fast as the crews could reload, while the remaining turret fired back defiantly until silenced by a laser beam boring through the glaze plate. Astern two engines were reduced to wreckage. All the while the rest of the squadron tried frantically to turn to cover their comrade but Hood’s fate was sealed, or should have been. Then Onslaught struck. The first of the two destroyers that had hung back to protect the transports got no warning. Onslaught powered up and fired from a range of less than twenty thousand kilometres. The destroyer blew as the salvo of gunfire and missiles completely overwhelmed it. The second started to take evasive action but Onslaught’s attention was now elsewhere. The closest of the transports shook as plasma bolts cut into its unprotected hull, then when a pair of missiles struck it amidships, it broke in half, spilling out hundreds of soldiers into the vacuum of space. A lesser Admiral would have made an immediate headlong retreat, but this one kept his head however. The Rizr did turn towards the transports, but not before firing every missile they had left at America. An hour earlier America would have stopped every one of them with contemptuous ease but now two got through.

  The crack across her visor was the first thing Willis saw as she drifted back toward consciousness, followed by spots of blood on the inside.

  “Damage Control,” she groaned. “Report.”

  There was no reply, not even the hiss of a carrier wave. Still groggy, she reached her hand up into contact with her suit’s radio transmitter. Her fingers came to rest on its broken remains. The bridge was almost completely dark, lit only by a single emergency light. Her suit spotlight came on, illuminating the shattered remains of her bridge. In front of her the helmsman was slowly moving, clearly even more stunned than she was. The two others she could see were dead. The bridge was a wreck and without the means to communicate, she needed to get to the centrifuge, where she could regain command. Willis turned and let out a horrified gasp. The rear of the bridge wasn’t damaged - it wasn’t there anymore.

  There had been two crewmen at the back of the bridge, but now they, their workstations and the hatch out of the bridge were completely gone. Stepping forward, she looked through the five-metre wide hole in the hull. She could see the stars, slowly twirling past. As it dawned on her that the Hood was still turning, the deck beneath her jolted and she realised never mind turning, we are still getting hit! Looking down through the hole in the deck, all she could see was twisted and torn metalwork. Willis took a deep breath, and then pushed off downwards.

  “Then for God’s sakes cut the fuel line to it!” Lieutenant Driant was shouting at a luckless petty officer when the hatch into the centrifuge bridge slammed open and a figure in a scorched survival suit staggered in.

  “Skipper?” Driant goggled, “I thought you were dead!”

  “Working on it,” Willis snapped as she tried to open her cracked helmet visor only for it to jam halfway. The past ten minutes climbing down through the remains of the conning tower had been a hellish experience she’d never forget.

  “Where’s Commander Horan?”

  Driant’s face fell. “Sickbay, having his legs amputated.”

  Willis made no reply. There was no point asking what had happened to him. It could be any of a dozen possibilities and the only important fact was that he was off the board. Instead she turned towards the holo. The top half was blank and the Rizr were only just visible at the edge of the other half.

  “We took serious damage to the upper radar tower Skipper. It overwhelmed the Lazarus Systems. I have a team trying to rewire…”

  “Skipper, we have helm control!”

  “Roll to port, twenty degrees!” she shouted back at him.

  As Hood rolled the Rizr came back into view and Willis immediately realised that in the twenty minutes she’d been out of the loop the situation had changed. The Rizr had retreated back toward the moon and the transports. Onslaught, in danger of getting pinned between the vengeful Rizr and the moon, had been forced to fall back. The rest of the human ships were clustered around Hood.

  “Where the hell is Cyclone?”

  Driant pointed at a contact on the holo. It was too indistinct to be a ship and more like the signal you’d see from a slowly spreading debris field. Willis swallowed hard and then dragged her eyes back to the surviving ships.

  Why hadn’t they chased the Rizr and kept up the pressure? Now the two sides were barely in range of one another. Two armoured and four protected cruisers, along with five destroyers still looked to be fully combat-worthy. A chance to consolidate could only favour the aliens.

  “Coms, get me Captain Waugh,” she ordered, but the face that appeared on the screen wasn’t Waugh’s

  “Lieutenant Parson, Ma’am.” she said.

  “Where’s your captain?” Willis demanded.

  “Dead. I’m in command now Ma’am.” Parson replied grimly. “We lost the main bridge and fire control, along with half the guns. I’ve what’s left of the guns on local control.” Willis worked hard to control her expression. The America had been a tower of strength but not any more.

  “Can you go in again?”

  Parson’s expression didn’t flicker, “Just as a long as we get to present our port side, our starboard armour is in tatters.”

  “I’ll get back to you Lieutenant.”

  One by one Willis called up each of her ship commanders. Typhoon had three guns but no launchers and was now probably the closest they had to a heavy hitter. Onslaught was almost undamaged but with the Rizr closed up on the transports, there wasn’t a lot she could do. Fina
lly there was her poor old Hood. She no guns, just one launcher and only two missiles left, while her hull was so compromised that a hard turn would likely see her snap. The reactor was damaged and only herculean efforts by Guinness were stopping the safeties from performing an emergency purge that would leave her powerless. What it had already cost her crew was something Willis couldn’t bring herself to think about.

  “They might look to retreat Ma’am.” There was desperate hope in Driant’s voice, “We’ve hurt them pretty bad.”

  They’ve hurt us worse, Willis thought to herself. The Rizr Admiral had lost two transports outright, with a third damaged. If he or she retreated now… well the Rizr ruling junta did not look kindly upon failure. On the other hand if they did manage to take the planet, victory would justify even such heavy losses.

  “Ma’am, the enemy is starting to move again.” It had always been a battle of quantity against quality and this time quantity was going to carry the day.

  “I see it,” she replied quietly. The enemy cripples were sticking close to the transports. Even those would be enough to keep Onslaught back.

  “Ma’am, what do we do?” Driant asked.

  “Hurt them as much as we can, for as long as we can,” Willis replied simply. “Coms, signal Commander Romanek: when we’re taken out… Typhoon becomes flagship.”

  “New contact!” shouted a sensor operator.

  Willis spun round, “Identify it!”

  “It’s the courier J23!”

  Willis felt a desperate hope rise, if the courier was back then it must have found the frontier force. She wouldn’t have to ask what was left of her crew, her crews, to die.

  “Skipper. Communication laser from the courier.”

  “Put it up!” L23’s commander appeared on screen, “Lieutenant, welcome back. Now please tell me you found Admiral Melchiori.”

  “I did Ma’am.”