Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 11

   “It was her first flight, and she does live down there. And the Commander's got a lot of problems at the moment. I'm sure he'll be glad to see her when she makes it down.” With a sigh, she held up the datapad, and said, “You read Harper's after-action report?”

   “Pretty grim reading,” he replied. “About all I can think of is a stand-off orbital bombardment. Put the whole fleet into a low synchronous orbit, some of them concentrating on defensive fire while the rest try and bomb them.” Frowning, he continued, “It'll need us at our best, and the co-operation of the whole fleet.”

   “Let me guess. Kilquan.”

   “It is a Koltoc installation, and he's claiming that we should make some attempt to capture it. Harper's got some idea about hacking into their network, but that's going to require a much closer pass. Far too close.”

   “Get Cooper onto it,” she said. “Maybe there's something we can do with a small assault team, set up a relay down on the surface.” Rubbing her forehead, she added, “We're asking far too much of everyone, Frank. This was supposed to be one fight, and all over.”

   “We've got some smart people up here, Maggie. We'll work the problem, and we'll come up with something. And we should get the Orbital Guard onto it, as well. It is their system, maybe they'll think of something. Pavel's acting as liaison.” With a smile, he said, “More accurately, he just started to work on the problem as soon as he got the update, and I figured it was best just to let him run with it.”

   “Keep an eye on it, Frank. There's got to be some way we can handle it.”

   “To be fair, they can't do much harm,” he replied. “Colonel Skeuros has his squadron moving into high guard, out of range, and they should be able to knock down anything they put into the sky at will.”

   “Don't underestimate them,” she warned. “They've got something in mind, and I don't know what. There's some reason they're hanging onto that base. We're sure there are no prisoners down there?”

   “I've checked twice, and there are no reports of anyone being transferred from the station. They only obtained those by threatening a bombardment.” Shaking his head, he added, “Must have been a hell of a decision. Handing over a couple of hundred people. Even if it saved everyone else on the planet, they'd have known they were going to their deaths.”

   The shuttle's engines roared, kicking them down to the planet, and Orlova looked out of the window at the glorious world rolling beneath, a scattering of white clouds over blue ocean and green land. Of all the planets she'd visited in her years on Alamo, this was the loveliest, the most perfect.

   “I'd have volunteered,” she said. “So would you.”

   “True.” Looking down at his datapad, he added, “Apparently there's a procession tonight through Kepler City, and we're both supposed to be present as the militia demobilize.”

   “What?” she replied. “The war isn't over, Frank.”

   “I know,” he said, raising his hands. “As soon as we land, we're meeting with the President and her top advisers, and I already told her that was going to be at the top of the agenda.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I suppose I can understand how they must feel, but this isn't the time for that decision. Not with the Xandari still waiting to strike.” The shuttle slid into the atmosphere, the wing tips turning red as the pilot guided them through re-entry. She looked back at Itzel, saw the exultation on her face, a warm glow as the shuttle dived into the welcoming atmosphere.

   “Landing in three minutes,” Bradley said, her voice echoing through the cabin.

   The fiery halo of re-entry was replaced by calm blue skies, and Orlova rose to her feet, tugging at her dress uniform as she struggled to pull it into place. Ensign Gurung gestured at his men, half a dozen Espatiers to provide an honor guard. She nodded at the new officer, then turned down to Nelyubov.

   “Where is Cooper?” she asked. “I'd have expected him for this job.”

   Looking out of the window, he replied, “Don't ask me that, Captain.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Frank...”

   “He went down with the casualty shuttles, and I haven't heard from him since.” Looking up at her, he added, “I spoke to him right after the station was secured, and I know what happened over there hit him hard. I guess he's trying to make up for it by helping with the wounded.”

   She nodded, and said, “I suppose if anyone's earned a little latitude, he has. Have someone find him, though. Just to check up on him, at least for the moment.” She paused, then said, “Keep it unofficial.”

   “I was planning to,” he replied, rising to his feet. “How do I look?”

   “Like you're going to a costume party.”

   “Funny, I was about to say the same to you. Can't they make these damn things comfortable?”

   “Be happy you don't have to wear it all the time.”

   The two of them walked down the cabin to the hatch, Gurung ahead of them, taking a last look at his men. All of them were veterans of the assault on the station, and he'd made sure to include several Neander in the detachment. She nodded at Corporal Stewart as she took her position, getting a last glance out of the viewport. The shuttle was dropping towards a shining city, towers reaching to the sky, gleaming from the solar arrays on their roof. Over to the right, she saw a shape rising towards them, and turned towards the cockpit in momentary alarm.

   “It's fine, Captain,” Bradley said, a second later. “Local fighters. I guess they're sending up an escort to bring us down.”

   “They might have warned us,” she replied, turning back to the door.

   “Maybe it's just the usual protocol,” Nelyubov said, the roar of the landing thrusters almost drowning him out. They were landing on the edge of the city at a military airport, a row of fighters lined up on the far side of the runway, uniformed troops running back and forth to prepare for their arrival. Finally, the shuttle settled on the plasticrete, the hatch sliding open, and a gust of clean, sweet air swept into the cabin.

   Gurung hurried down the steps, followed by his unit, forming up into a parade on either side of the hatch. Glancing at Nelyubov, Orlova walked after them, slow and careful, a wave of cheers washing over her as she made her way to the ground. A tall, aristocratic woman was waiting for them, standing at the heart of a cluster of officers, beaming a smile towards her. The crowd grew silent for a moment, waiting for her to speak.

   “Captain Orlova?” she asked, stepping forward. “I'm President Wulf, and on behalf of the Council and the People, I formally welcome you to Copernicus Colony.”

   “Thank you, Madam President,” Orlova replied, holding out her hand. “I'm very pleased to be here.”

   As the President took her hand, shaking it with a firm grip, the cheers began again, drowning out any attempt at conversation. Looking around, Orlova saw Commander Ryan, now in his own uniform, standing in the crowd of officers, next to a younger version of himself. Nelyubov walked out of the shuttle, followed by Itzel, and Ryan's son ignored protocol to run towards her, holding her in an embrace as the gathered soldiers cheered on. She looked at his father, and caught a moment of disapproval on her face, a brief instant of disgust that quickly vanished.

   “Captain,” Wulf said, fighting to be heard, “I know we've got a lot to talk about. The base commander has donated his office, if you want a brief talk. We've got a full schedule planned for the next few hours, but none of that starts for a few minutes.”

   “Thank you, Madam President,” she replied.

   “Shall we?” Wulf extended her arm, and Orlova followed, Nelyubov on her tail, stepping through the celebrating crowd. Overhead, a trio of fighters roared, one of them making a barrel roll before pulling up, making their way belatedly to orbit. The assembled mass slowly began to disperse, returning to their jobs, as the trio walked towards the control tower, a huge sensor dish casting shadows onto the runway as it slowly revolved.

   Ry
an raced to catch up with them, making it to the door just as Wulf opened it, ushering them into a small, featureless office, a half-dozen plastic chairs scattered around, a blank monitor panel on the wall. Wulf sat by the window, looking out at the crowd, while the others took their seats.

   “You've made their day, Captain,” she said. “Hell, you've made their year.”

   Glancing at Nelyubov, Orlova replied, “I understand that you're disbanding the militia.”

   “They've been mobilized for three months. It's time for them to go back to their families.”

   “The war isn't over yet, ma'am, and those forces might be needed.”

   “Commander Ryan has briefed me about the base on the moon,” she said, gesturing at the officer, “and informs me that while it is a strategic threat, it cannot launch an attack on us.”

   “That's true,” Nelyubov added, “but it still represents a long-term hazard to the security of the system, and one that must be dealt with before you can return to a peacetime footing.”

   “And you are?” Wulf asked.

   “Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, Alamo's Executive Officer.”

   “Well, Lieutenant, there is no intention of going to a peacetime footing. The Orbital Guard will remain on alert until the base has been neutralized, though I very much hope that action will take place against them soon.” She paused, then added, “Naturally, we will provide any assistance that you wish, and I am happy to allow your forces the tactical lead on this.” Ryan moved to speak, but she added, “They've got the ships to handle it, Eric. We don't. At least, not yet.”

   Nodding, Orlova said, “We're preparing for the installation of an orbital defense network. Six of our Cybele-class Missile Satellites. That will provide you with thirty-six missile tubes, all of them equipped with combat fabricators for near-instant reloading.”

   Wulf looked at Ryan, and said, “How effective are these satellites?”

   Nelyubov pulled out a datapad, and said, “In terms of raw firepower, extremely effective, though their ability to defend themselves against a laser attack is limited. Supplemented with fighter protection, though, I believe you'll be able to face off against an enemy as large as the Xandari fleet we just defeated without outside help.”

   Sitting back with a smile, the President replied, “And how much will this installation cost us?”

   Orlova smiled, and replied, “The Triplanetary Confederation is at war with the Xandari Empire. We're the vanguard of a much larger force, one strong enough to defeat them and bring the conflict to an end. However, we're operating at the extreme end of our logistic capabilities.”

   “You want the spaceport,” Ryan said, nodding.

   “We want to use it,” Orlova said. “We'd like permission to base our task force here. The station is of a Triplanetary design anyway, stolen by the Xandari, so it's compatible with our ships. This world is a strategic strong point, and from it we can make sure that they never launch an attack on this planet again.”

   “Don't assume that you are safe,” Nelyubov added. “They won't give up this world without a fight. They'll be back, and in force.”

   Nodding, Wulf said, “Naturally, I'll have to take this to the Council. I don't have the authority to make decisions such as this. Who will control the orbital network?”

   “We'll install it, and train your military in their operation and maintenance,” Orlova said. “Consider it a gift from the Confederation, a demonstration of our goodwill.”

   “And it will be run from this base,” Ryan said.

   “That isn't a problem,” Nelyubov added.

   Rising to her feet, Wulf replied, “I'll be recommending that we accept your offer, but it will probably be a few days before everything is approved.” She sighed, and said, “With something this important, everyone will want to have their say. How long before the network is operational?”

   “Forty-eight hours,” Orlova answered.

   “Perhaps some sort of demonstration can be organized. I'll let you know the details.” Moving to the door, she added. “Until then, I suggest we all put on a happy face for the festivities. Lots of speeches, I'm afraid.” Shaking her head, she added, “Come on. Your adoring public awaits.”

   “Yes, ma'am,” Orlova said, stepping out to be greeted by another jubilant crowd. It was going to be a long, long day.

  Chapter 13

   “Pavel,” Harper said, looking over Salazar's shoulder. “You've been at this for ten hours. It's time to take a break.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Not until I've thought of a way to take out that damn base. There's something we're missing, and I've got to find it.”

   “You've been over everything a dozen times,” she said, sitting down next to him. “We both know that the only option is massive force, an overwhelming attack.”

   “One that, according to my best estimates, will knock out two of our ships. We've already lost enough people. I've got to do better than that.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “This isn't your responsibility.”

   “Captain Orlova ordered me to work out a mission plan, and so far I haven't got anywhere!” He tossed his datapad to the far side of his cramped desk, and said, “Maybe someone more experienced should have taken the job. Someone who knows what they are doing.” Closing his eyes, he added, “I've been over everything I can think of. A ground assault just won't work, not without losing a hundred people. We can't even wait them out. They've got everything they need down there for a long stay.”

   “Then submit your report, and let the Captain and the rest of the senior staff make the decision. That's not your job, Pavel, unless you got a promotion when I wasn't looking.”

   Glancing down at his insignia, he replied, “It doesn't work that way. I can't just stand there up on the bridge, watching people die because I couldn't do my job properly. There's got to be an answer, somewhere, and I'm going to work it out if it takes all night.”

   Rising to her feet, she said, “No, you don't. You need to think about something else for a while.”

   “I tell you...”

   “And you're on my ship, which means I'm in charge.” Sweeping the remaining datapads away, she added, “Simply brooding up here in your cabin won't do anyone any good. We'll have another try at the problem tomorrow.”

   “We?”

   She smiled, and replied, “Scott can handle the satellite deployment every bit as well as I can, probably better. Everything's set up.” Shaking her head, she added, “It's a mess out there. Lombardo just got back from Random Walk, trying to put the pieces back together again. He's convinced that she can be ready to leave the system in five days, along with the rest of us, but it's going to be touch and go.”

   “Five days?” Salazar asked. “We're leaving so soon?”

   “I think everyone wants to get home, and the sooner we bring up the task force, the better. There's no sense waiting any longer than we have to.” She paused, then added, “Assuming that we can reduce that base, of course, but we can worry about that tomorrow. Right now we both need a rest, and I've arranged something to help.” Walking over to the door, she pulled out a holdall and tossed it over to him. He reached inside, pulling out a set of clothes, the garish strips and patterns that had been the latest fashion when they left.

   “Put them on, Pavel. That's an order. Then swing by my cabin. I'll see you in five minutes.”

   He shook his head, looked down at the datapads again, and carefully stacked them into a pile for later. The clothes were a good, comfortable fit, the soft fabric feeling strange against his skin. He tried to remember the last time he'd worn a non-regulation outfit, and he couldn't. He didn't even have any back on Alamo.

   Leaving his uniform neatly folded on his borrowed bed, he tugged on the shirt, fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings, and looked around the room. At some point, he'd started spending so much time on Daedalus that he'd e
nded up with his own cabin, a pile of his possessions dumped unceremoniously in the corner. Oddly, it felt more like home than Alamo.

   Walking out into the corridor, he saw Bartlett, strapped to the ceiling, working on an overhead relay. His friend waved at him as he walked along the corridor. The ship hadn't sustained any damage in the fight, but they were still months behind the maintenance schedule, and falling further away every day. When they got back, this ship was destined for the mothball fleet, abandoned aside from the occasional visit by an engineering team to handle the essential work. Until, some day, probably soon, it was listed as surplus to requirements and sold for scrap. It didn't seem fair.

   He stopped at Harper's quarters, then tapped for entry. The door opened, and she stepped out wearing a long, shimmering dress, a similar pattern to his shirt. He gazed at her for a moment, unable to speak.

   “Something wrong?” she asked.

   Eyes wide, he replied, “I just never...I mean, I've never seen you wearing anything like this before.”

   “Even I can scrub up occasionally, Pavel.” She smiled, and added, “Though I must admit it's odd seeing you wearing real clothes.”

   “You look great,” he replied, his cheeks reddening. “I mean...”

   “Come on,” she said, taking his arm. “We'd better get to the party before you lose the power of speech altogether.”

   He glanced across at her, a smile creeping on his face as they walked back down the corridor, underneath a grinning Bartlett. The technician flashed a thumbs'-up at him as they passed him by, and he shook his head in reply.

   “What's the occasion?” he asked.

   “Actually, it wasn't my idea. You had an appointment on the surface, if you remember.”

   He frowned, then replied, “The Copernican fighter squadron.”

   “They wanted to thank you in person.” She smiled, then added, “I don't think they wanted to be stuck with the speeches on the surface either. Though if you're interested, I think the planetary broadcaster is sending full coverage up to us.”