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  VICTORY OR DEATH

  Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 3

  Richard Tongue

  Battlecruiser Alamo #3: Victory or Death

  Copyright © 2013 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: August 2013

  Cover By Keith Draws

  All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

  With Thanks To: Kenneth Bailey, Mark Berryman, Jon Clivaz, Peter Long

  There's a race of men that don't fit in,

  A race that can't stay still;

  So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

  And they roam the world at will.

  They range the field and they rove the flood,

  And they climb the mountain's crest;

  Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

  And they don't know how to rest.

  If they just went straight they might go far,

  They are strong and brave and true;

  But they're always tired of the things that are,

  And they want the strange and new.

  They say: "Could I find my proper groove,

  What a deep mark I would make!"

  So they chop and change, and each fresh move

  Is only a fresh mistake.

  And each forgets, as he strips and runs

  With a brilliant, fitful pace,

  It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

  Who win in the lifelong race.

  And each forgets that his youth has fled,

  Forgets that his prime is past,

  Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

  In the glare of the truth at last.

  He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;

  He has just done things by half.

  Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

  And now is the time to laugh.

  Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

  He was never meant to win;

  He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

  He's a man who won't fit in.

  'The Men That Don't Fit In', Robert Service.

  Chapter 1

  Roaring applause echoed around the room as the champagne bottle hit the side of the station, dozens of officers and men mingling with the combined dignitaries of five planets in a wide variety of styles. It wasn't often that even two ships' crews were in the same place at the same time, but the Triplanetary Fleet had managed to assemble four of them for the ceremony, mixed in with the crews of Ragnarok's Home Fleet. Through the window, the long shapes of Alamo, Samar and Thunderchild drifted at station keeping, while a squadron of fighters flew in at high speed, cutting just past the station in a well-rehearsed flyby.

  Counter-Admiral Remek looked back from the window and grasped the podium with both hands, the long black hair that had become her trademark flowing around her shoulders as her severe eyes seemed to lock on everyone in the room, bringing the crowd to silence. With her left hand she made a swift gesture to the band in the corner, before turning to address the room.

  "I hereby dedicate Hunter Station, headquarters of the Triplanetary Deep Space Fleet!"

  The band started to play the Triplanetary anthem to thunderous applause, albeit most of it single-handed with most of the crowd now wielding champagne glasses. Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall stood at the forefront of the crowd, looking at his espatier officer, Ensign Esposito, loitering around near the back with the junior officers. Sergeant Hunter had been her first NCO; it hadn't taken much lobbying on his part to have the Triplanetary base that was hastily constructed around the newest addition to the Confederation named for his sacrifice during the short civil war on the planet below.

  An older woman came forward out of the crowd as the anthem came to an end, Remek stepping back to allow her to pass. The Governor-General of Ragnarok, recently elected in the colony's first democratic elections, stepped up to the podium; Governor Cooper had eschewed any formal wear, instead choosing an old but obviously well-cared-for uniform. She looked across at the band, and nodded; the local musicians were looking forward to this part.

  "As the Governor-General of Ragnarok, I hereby welcome the Triplanetary Fleet for what I hope will be a long stay! Boys?"

  With a flourish, the band started 'Waltzing Matilda', and with a final round of applause, a pair of flags began to rise up flagpoles at the rear of the room, flanking the viewport; the left the black and green of the Triplanetary Confederation, the right the black and yellow of the Republic of Ragnarok. The crowd began to spread out, and Marshall made his way over to the bar; Esposito and Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, one of his other junior officers, were sitting around talking quietly.

  "Quite a show," he began.

  "We were just talking about Hunter," Orlova said, taking a sip of her drink. "I think he'd have loved this."

  "I still can't believe they got this station finished so quickly. Mostly modular materials, I know, but the construction engineers really did their stuff this time," the Captain replied.

  "Can I get you a drink, sir?" Esposito asked, glancing at his glass.

  "Thanks, Ensign, another champagne, I think. Good year on the Martian vineyards this time; I think they're finally getting the climate controls right." He turned back to Orlova, "Getting used to being a department head yet?"

  She shook her head, "My department still hasn't turned up yet, I'm still a one-man band."

  "That's fine, Maggie, you always work best that way," Esposito said, "Besides, the last security chief didn't exactly leave a high bar for you to jump over."

  The three of them smiled, though Marshall was forcing it a bit. "If you want to have a good long-term career in the fleet, Sub-Lieutenant, you're going to have to get used to running a department. Which means paperwork, personnel issues, all sorts of fun."

  "We have different ideas of fun, sir."

  "Oh, I agree with you. That's why I filched Matsumoto as my Admin Officer."

  Esposito put the refreshed glasses on the bar, taking her card back from the busy bartender, before looking more seriously at the Captain, "Sir, are we going somewhere?"

  "Not that I know of. We're still waiting for assignment. I wouldn't be surprised if we're going to be here for a bit, though; with the Republic grabbing Sirius and Procyon I hear that they're planning to wave the flag pretty high for a while."

  "Just before we left for the party, I got notification that my third squad was being returned."

  Marshall frowned, "When?"

  "Immediately. Corporal Forrest handed me the orders himself; apparently he and his squad were shipped out on the Mullane. I double-checked, and we didn't receive any advance warning from Mariner."

  "That's odd. I'm not turning it down, though. Nice to have a full platoon on board again."

  The door opened, and a crowd of pilots walked in, still wearing their flight jackets, setting off a brief twinge of envy from Marshall, who rubbed his wings unconsciously with his left hand. The squadron leader, a tall blonde with short-cropped hair, made her way over to the bar, calling out to the barman for a double vodka. She slid into seat next to Marshall, knocking back her shot in one then gesturing for a champagne.

  "You Marshall?" she asked, grabbing her glass by the stem.

  "Yes," he replied, somewhat taken aback.

  She slapped him on the shoulder, then smiled as she saw his wings, "We're going to get on. I'm Tabby Dixon."

  "Pleased to meet you," he said, baffled. He gestured across to the others, "Ensign Esposito, Sub-Lieutenant Orlova."

  "Read about you two. Both got your wings out at S
hakespeare, yeah?"

  Before either of them could reply, Marshall interrupted, "You seem oddly well-informed, Lieutenant."

  She chuckled, "I should be. I'm your Squadron Leader. Me and two of my gang are coming on board. You've already got one holdover, Douglas, right?"

  "Hold on a minute. You have been assigned as my Squadron Leader?"

  "As of this morning. Transfer right here," she patted her jacket pocket, "Didn't anyone tell you?"

  "I didn't even know we were carrying fighters." That was a half-truth, but he'd gone to some efforts to keep the fighter his chief engineer, Lieutenant Quinn, had been rebuilding out of old components a secret.

  "Well, now you know. Where are we going?"

  Marshall drank his champagne down in one gulp, then shook his head, "I didn't even know we were going anywhere."

  The familiar figure of Lieutenant Caine, his Tactical Officer, was making her way through the crowd towards him, a puzzled expression on her face that mirrored his own. There seemed to be some movement at the rear of the room; the other captains were making their way out, and Flynt's dates were making a bit of a scene about it. There was no sign of Remek, either. She seemed to have vanished immediately after the dedication ceremony.

  "Gotta go, Danny," Caine said.

  "If you have any idea what the hell is going on, then I would really like to know now, Deadeye."

  "All I know is that all commanding officers are to make their way to the flag office immediately for a crash briefing. Tactical and Executive Officers are getting one as well."

  "Who's this?" Dixon asked, gesturing at Caine.

  "Ah, Lieutenant Caine, my Tactical Officer, meet Lieutenant Dixon, our new Squadron Leader."

  "What?"

  "That was my reaction. We'd better get out of here and compare notes later. Esposito, make sure no-one gets too drunk in case we have to get out of here in a hurry. Better get them back to the ship after they finish what they're drinking."

  Caine shook her head, "We finally get a party, and we have to bug out after the speeches. Typical."

  Clapping her on the shoulder, Marshall hurried out of the room, jogging down the corridor towards the elevator. Flynt had beat him to it, holding the door open with an outstretched arm as the young captain raced in. The doors slammed shut as he leapt inside, Flynt tapping the button to send it down the decks.

  "You know what this is about?"

  "Only that there are five Captains present."

  "Five?"

  "Skippers of the Mullane and the Makarov beat me to the door."

  The door opened a few seconds later on a bustle of brass; three other Lieutenant-Captains were standing outside the closed flag office door, their conversation brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of the elevator. Marshall knew one of them; he'd been at the Academy with Frank Rogers, captain of the Mullane, but he'd no idea that his old friend had transferred across from the Martian Space Service. Lieutenant-Captain Ben-David was the commander of Thunderchild, he'd never met her before, but knew that she had recently transferred across from the Callisto Patrol. The third man he had never met; his face was dour, a frown seemingly a perpetual resident of his face. His nameplate read, 'Gorski', his uniform so fresh that it must have been new. Before he could speak to Frank, the door opened, and a fresh-faced Lieutenant wearing the shoulder braid of an Admiral's Aide stepped through.

  "Admiral Remek will see you now."

  The five of them filed in, taking seats at the rear of the table. Remek was talking with Commodore Tramiel, commander of the Deep Space Fleet – and that came as a big surprise to all present, as he was supposed to be at Mariner Station. Only Frank didn't display any shock; obviously the grizzled old commander had taken passage out on the Mullane. An Espatier Lieutenant-Major sat looking down at a datapad on Remek's other side, another new face to Marshall. Displayed on the holoprojector by the wall was something that immediately caught his eye – a starchart, with a trio of trails dancing across it from star to star. Tramiel noticed his interest, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips.

  Remek turned to the officers, placing her hands on the desk, "Well, Captains, I'm sure you are all wondering why I took you away from the party. Not to mention what your next assignments are to be. I'll start with an announcement that I am certain will be good news to all of you; as of a week ago, the Triplanetary Senate has assigned funding for the next four years of Fleet Operations. We're here to stay, gentlemen. Which is why there are five of you here, not three; the Michael Mullane and the Oleg Makarov are among the assets being transferred to form our Auxiliary Fleet."

  There were smiles around the room from all but Gorski, who continued to stoically look forward. Marshall, looked up at the chart again, and asked, "Admiral, I found out a few minutes ago that Alamo's been assigned another Espatier squad and a fighter wing."

  Tramiel looked at Remek, then turned to Marshall, "Security restrictions meant that all personnel transfers for this operation had to be kept tight, Captain. I'm sure you'll find uses for them where you are going."

  Flynt gestured up at the chart, "And where might that be?"

  Remek stood up, and walked over to the holoprojector, all eyes following her, "The mission involves all five of your ships, the entire Deep Space Fleet. Home Fleet will handle the normal patrol duties for the duration of this assignment. We're calling it Operation Dampier, the exploration of deep space routes beyond Ragnarok, beyond Lalande 21185."

  She paused for a second to let that sink in, before continuing, "With the recent establishment of a Republic colony on Procyon III, our prospects for future interstellar expansion are threatened. This is the aim of your mission; to find out what lies in those worlds before the Republic can get to them." Tapping a series of buttons, the routes illuminated one by one, "Each of you has been assigned a flight path to examine strategically placed stars along the routes from Ragnarok. All three of those routes begin and end right here, at this station – which will be the jumping-off point for all future exploration from this system. That's why we threw it together in such a hurry."

  Marshall was stunned. All his life, he had dreamed of leading an expedition into deep space, to probe the limits of the unknown, and now he was finally going to get to do it. Flynt and Ben-David were grinning, Rogers looked enviously at the other captains, and Gorski continued to look as if the whole concept bored him.

  Finally, he said, "What about the Makarov, Admiral?"

  "We're keeping a tanker and a pair of tenders here in case they are needed. The Brandenstein will be joining us in a week."

  "For a potential rescue mission?"

  "Or support." She looked seriously at each of the exultant battlecruiser captains, "Before you get the idea that this is some sort of wild adventure, you should realize that on three occasions in the last year we have lurched close to war with the Republic. If they are out there, then our mission analysts suggest a realistic possibility of a military confrontation. I do not rule out a surprise attack. It might be thirty or fifty years before we seriously start exploiting the territory that you will be heading into, but we must prevent a Republic land-grab at all costs."

  Ben-David arched her eyebrow, "Including war, Admiral?"

  "As a last resort. Don't start a war, but if they push it, you are authorized to respond." She tapped a button, and the display switched again to a series of tactical projections. "Our intelligence indicates that they have two battlecruisers stationed out at Procyon, and I can't imagine they are just sitting there waiting for Godot. I believe they are out there, and if there is something out there – another Ragnarok, another Desdemona, then we need to find it first."

  "How long have we got, Admiral?" Marshall asked.

  "We're keeping this one open-ended; after all, we don't know what you are going to find out there. We'll expect you back in six months, and someone will come looking for you after that. You should have enough supplies to last a year at least, more if you stretch them." She looked around the room again,
"I've seen that you have all the resources we've got. All holes in your crews are filled, and between the three of you are two full squadrons and an Espatier company. Do what is necessary." She waited for her last bombshell, "And your departure time for the nearest egress point is in three hours."

  "Three hours?" Flynt and Marshall spoke almost together; Flynt continued, "Admiral, I'll be lucky to get all my crew back on board in three hours."

  "What's the urgency, anyway?" Ben-David asked. "Last time an expedition this big left known space, they spent three years getting everything together."

  "Security. I want to stay a jump ahead of the Republic, and I don't doubt that they still have sympathizers on Ragnarok. No non-military traffic will be leaving this system for ten days after your departure. Hopefully that will give you all an advantage." She looked around the room again, then down at her watch, "Right now, your senior officers are being given a substantively similar briefing by members of my staff. Once you are underway, feel free to brief your crews."

  She returned to her seat, turning the holoprojector off, continuing, "This could be one of the most important missions you are assigned. Your discoveries could shape Triplanetary policy for the next three decades. I don't need to tell you all to get this right. I'm sure that you are all eager to return to your ships. Any more questions?"

  Silence filled the room; Marshall caught himself looking at the door. "Then dismissed." As Marshall stood up, Remek raised a hand; "Not you, Captain Marshall. Please remain a moment."

  The rest of the staff filed out, Flynt tapping him on the shoulder as he talked to Ben-David on his way out of the room, and Tramiel throwing him a sympathetic smile as the door slid shut behind him. Remek sat, looking at Marshall, holding him in eye contact with her gaze as if she was trying to scrutinize his soul.

  "Admiral, if this isn't urgent...", Marshall said, thinking of a thousand things he needed to be doing rather than sitting here.

  "Jack Tramiel talked me into assigning you to this mission, Captain." She raised her hand, "This has nothing to do with your record, and I still have every confidence in you as a battlecruiser commander. I have concerns, however."