Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Read online

 “What makes you say that?” Harper asked, frowning.

   Shaking his head, he said, “Don't worry, I haven't been given any illicit word. Just that in my experience, unexpected weddings among military personnel in time of war usually mean that a battle of some sort is in prospect. Trade has been brisk the last few months, while we were under the guns of the Xandari.”

   The officers looked at each other, and he replied, “I know how to keep a secret, I assure you. No one will hear any word from me.” With a beaming smile on his face, he continued, “My God watch and protect you, in whatever it is you plan to do.” Turning back to the church, he said, “I must go and arrange for the others to get home. Just in case any of those government agitators are loitering in the alleys.”

   “What about you, Father?” Salazar asked.

   He shook his head, and said, “I'll be fine, son. Have faith.”

   Looking at his watch, Cooper said, “We'll have to push it to meet our schedule. I think this means an additional couple of shuttle trips.” Frowning, he said, “I'd better go and have a word with the Captain.” He turned, paused, and said, “Be careful up there, you two. Don't take any stupid risks. That's my job.” With a half-smile, he walked away, leaving Harper and Salazar alone on the steps of the church.

   “I guess we'd better get to the spaceport,” Salazar said. “We're sneaking the rest of the pilots up on this run. You'll have to be getting back to your ship, as well.”

   She nodded, looking out wistfully at the shimmering sea, and said, “We never did get that walk, did we. There just wasn't any time.” With a sigh, she added, “Come on. Duty calls.”

  Chapter 20

   The buggy bounced over the track towards the outpost, and Cooper glanced behind at the newly married couple in the rear seats, both of them lost in each others eyes. He shook his head with a smile, then turned back to the road, Bradley taking them tight around a corner. Two other buggies were behind them, carrying the rest of the squadron, destined for Alamo and the launch of their strike on the lunar refinery.

   They sped through the alien city, eerie in the dying light of dusk, the moon hanging low on the horizon as a silent beacon of dread. In a little over an hour, the fighter squadron would be on its way, his wife among them. He glanced at her, inwardly frowning, trying to conceal his concern. She was a good pilot, one of the best he'd ever seen, but this strike would tax her skills, those of the whole squadron, to the limit.

   Glancing at his watch, he said, “We've got more than an hour. You don't have to ride it quite so hard.” A loud roar drew his attention, a pair of trails racing up into the sky from the main starport. Orlova and her party on their way up to orbit.

   “The sooner we get out of here, the better. I've already contacted the ship. Shuttle Two will be coming down in about half an hour to pick the rest of you up. I'll be happier if you're up there before we begin the attack.” Shaking her head, she said, “I have a feeling that we won't be staying behind after all.”

   After another bend in the road, the outpost came into view, a trio of soldiers opening the gate to let them in. The shuttle was waiting, hatch open and prepared for launch, with Spaceman Hooke loitering outside, chatting to one of the soldiers. As he saw the buggies, he sighed, stepping into the cockpit, finishing preparations for launch.

   The commander of the guards was unfamiliar, Sergeant Rojek nowhere to be seen, but his replacement gave Cooper a snap salute as he stepped out of the buggy. The squadron tumbled out after them, calmly making their way into the shuttle, Michael and his wife hand in hand as they climbed on board.

   “Watch yourself,” Cooper said, as Bradley stepped into the cockpit. “I'll see you in an hour.”

   “You too,” she replied, looking around. “Better get well clear. I'm going to give her the gun in ninety seconds.”

   Nodding, Cooper stepped away, a cluster of his men with him, moving to the edge of the field. The Copernican troopers followed, watching as the shuttle slowly lifted from the ground, thrusters playing around as Bradley carefully gained altitude, pivoting back as she threw the engines to full, a cloud of smoke and flame roaring as it sped over the horizon, rising to orbit.

   Turning to the patrol commander, he said, “Where's Sergeant Rojek?”

   “Back in town,” the man replied. “Some sort of emergency.”

   Cooper glanced at Walpis, and said, “There'll be another shuttle for the rest of us in half an hour or so. Can you arrange landing clearance?”

   “Don't worry, I'll take care of it.” Nodding at the canteen, he said, “There's a little bit of dinner left over if you want to get something to eat.”

   “Thanks,” Cooper replied, leading his men into the low, cramped building. He wasn't hungry, but he made his way over to the metal trays, scooping out some congealing potatoes and a ladle of lukewarm, fatty gravy, snatching a fork before sitting down at the nearest table, the rest of his unit gathered around him.

   He hated being idle at the best of times, and knowing that his wife would be going into battle without him was abhorrent. He glanced at his watch again, shaking his head. Less than two minutes had passed. She'd still be in the atmosphere, climbing up towards the ship, where the squadron of fighters had been quietly assembled over the last three days, one at a time, for supposed inspection by Triplanetary engineers. A part of him was surprised No one had noticed, but the planetary government didn't strike him as overly competent.

   “Sir,” Walpis said. “Word is you're staying behind, when Alamo leaves to get the task force.”

   “That's the plan,” he replied. “Military liaison. It's just until the fleet gets here.” He shook his head, adding, “I'm not sure it's going to happen now, though. Not after that business outside the church.”

   “It seemed such a nice place,” the Neander said. “Sir, you're going to need a staff.”

   “Probably. I think the Captain was talking about two or three, but I haven't really thought about it.”

   “I think four, sir. Specifically, me, McBride, Saltzman and Donegan.” He nodded at the next table, where the named troopers were wrestling with a trio of overcooked steaks.

   “I'm not sure a fire team is called for, Corporal.”

   With a smile, the Neander replied, “I saw that crowd too, sir. I'd feel a lot better knowing that you were being guarded by someone more qualified than a couple of admin techs.”

   “I'll put it to the Captain,” he said. “I won't deny that I don't think this will be the nice posting I'd expected. I don't think we're going to get much help from the local administration.”

   Before Walpis could reply, the door slammed shut, the window shutters following in hasty succession, and Cooper dropped his fork to the table, racing to push it open, Walpis only a step behind him. He pushed at the door, first with his hands and then his shoulder, but something had been firmly lodged against it on the other side, jamming it closed.

   “On three,” he said. “One, two, three.” He and Walpis hurled themselves at the door at the same instant, but it remained firmly closed. As he rubbed his shoulder, he looked around the room, Saltzman trying every shutter with the same result. Reaching for his communicator, he flipped it open to hear only static roaring from the speaker. He played with the settings, trying to adjust the signal, but someone was jamming him with surprising efficiency.

   Over in a corner, McBride and Donegan tried one of the shutters, opening the window and smashing against it with a chair, sending splinters flying through the air but having no other result. After breaking their third chair, they turned back to Cooper, angrily defeated.

   “We're sealed in, sir,” Saltzman said. “Damn it, if we had one pistol between us, we'd be out of here...”

   “See if you can improvise some weapons,” Cooper said. “Search the room. Anything you can find.” Tapping the communicator again, he said, “Cooper to Alamo. Emergency Recall. Cooper to Alamo. Do you read?”


   “Nothing?” Walpis asked.

   He cursed, and said, “That damned station in orbit. It's built to our design, right down to the communications relay. If someone's managed to suborn it, then they can block our signals all across the planet.” Raising his voice, he asked, “Anyone found anything?”

   “Wooden forks, metal spoons, a few bits and pieces,” Saltzman said in disgust. “They've picked the place clean, sir. About all we're going to have are some clubs.”

   “They've got guns,” Walpis said. “And a numerical advantage. I don't see this ending well.”

   Nodding, Cooper said, “Leave the furniture be, Private.” He paused, smiled, and asked, “What about the heating elements?”

   “I thought about that,” McBride said. “They've all been turned off. Someone's killed the power to the building.” Gesturing at the fading lights, he added, “They're probably on a different circuit, or a battery backup.”

   “Orders, sir?” Walpis asked.

   “Sit and wait,” he replied. “McBride, head over to the door, and be ready to ambush anyone who arrives. Strike first and ask questions later. The rest of us will get into whatever cover we can find.”

   “We can't just let them keep us prisoner, sir,” Donegan protested.

   “Unfortunately, we don't have a choice,” he replied. He toppled a table, leaning it on its side, and settled down behind it to wait. He glanced at his watch again, shaking his head. The shuttle would be arriving to pick them up in twenty minutes, and if they tried to block it, someone up on Alamo would start wondering what was wrong down here. The odds were that they'd capture it, but that in itself would lead to questions from Alamo's command staff.

   “Thoughts, sir?” Walpis asked. “What are we waiting for?”

   “The rest of the platoon,” he replied. “It's possible they might stall the Captain until after the battle, but she certainly isn't going to leave the system while we're missing, and she knows where we are. Two shuttles, two squads, five minutes, and all of this will be over.” Shaking his head, he said, “The damn fools won't even know what hit them.”

   “Why, though?”

   “Maybe someone decided having some hostages could be useful,” Donegan said.

   “For what?” Cooper asked. “There's something we're missing.” Glancing at his watch again, he shook his head, and added, “If we're going to have any chance, it'll be when the shuttle lands. Now keep quiet and listen. If anyone hears anything, let me know at once.”

   The next quarter-hour was one of the longest in his life. Every few seconds, he tried his communicator again, sliding in an earpiece to keep constant listening watch, but all he heard was the roar of artificially generated static. The time seemed to drag as the lights continued to dim, finally sending them into inky blackness, only a faint glare through one of the shutters giving any illumination at all.

   Finally, he heard a roar in the background, the shuttle coming down from Alamo. He looked at Walpis, who tensed himself to strike at whatever might come through the door. The shuttle's landing jets fired, and he could picture the shuttle settling on the plasticrete, poised for immediate takeoff. The hatch would open, the pilot tricked out with some excuse, then captured.

   A pair of gunshots fired, followed by a scream, and Cooper smiled. Those were Triplanetary rounds, and the pilot had evidently decided not to go down easily. Four more shots rang out, and after another cry of pain, all was silent. Seconds later, the door swung open, half a dozen soldiers waiting outside with combat rifles raised, led by Commander Ryan.

   McBride glanced at Cooper, both of them squinting from the bright light of day, but he shook his head. Taking out a single guard, snatching his weapon, might have been possible, but if one of those guards squeezed the trigger of his gun, they'd all be dead.

    “Very sensible,” Ryan said. “I'm sorry the shuttle pilot didn't have your intelligence.”

   Rising to his feet, Cooper replied, “You'd better kill us now, Commander, because that's the only hope you have of living through this.”

   “I'm not going to kill you, Lieutenant,” he replied, shaking his head. “There's no need for it. You and your men are far more valuable to us alive.” Turning to the guards, he said, “Take them. And Lieutenant, don't try anything. I've got another ten men outside, all of them instructed to shoot first and take prisoners later.”

   Raising his hands, Cooper led the way out of the canteen, wincing as he saw two bodies being dragged from the field, one of them a Copernican soldier, the other wearing a Triplanetary uniform. Spaceman Lane, one of the more recent additions to Alamo's roster. At least he'd gone down with a gun in his hand, taking one of his murderers with him.

   A large truck was waiting for them, and they were unceremoniously bundled inside, each of them quickly and roughly patted down for weapons. As the last of them climbed in, Ryan watched, flanked by two of his guards.

   “We saved your life, you bastard,” Cooper said.

   Shaking his head, Ryan said, “I'm trying to save my world, Lieutenant, and if I have to sacrifice you, your men, and your ship to do it, I will. Don't think I'm getting any pleasure out of this. I have a job to do, just like you.”

   “Can't you hold the firing squad here?” McBride asked.

   “You are to be held in close confinement for the moment, until the crisis is over. After that, it'll be down to the Xandari, not I.” He turned away, adding, “And don't worry, I made sure that our signal to Alamo wished your wife all the best, from you. She'll not go into battle worrying.”

   Cooper's eyes widened as he jumped to his feet, racing for the door.“Traitor! You've sold us out, all of us!”

   Before the guards could react, Walpis pulled him back, saying, “Let it go, sir. There'll be another time.” Quietly, he added, “She's a good pilot, sir. She'll get through whatever they've thrown in her way.”

   Helplessly, Cooper slouched back to the ground as the truck jerked into life, sending them bouncing over the terrain. His thoughts were still up in orbit, where right now his wife would be preparing for the mission of her life. One that was doomed to fail, unless he could think of a way to save it.

  Chapter 21

   Salazar walked out of the elevator onto the flight deck, helmet in hand, a smile on his face. Eight fighters lay before him, Koltoc technicians swarming around to prepare them for launch under the watchful supervision of Quinn. It was an amazing sight, especially for a fighter pilot. The sort of mission he'd dreamed about, back at the Academy.

   Three days in the simulators to get ready for the flight, until he knew every inch of the terrain they'd be flying over. The control surfaces were close enough that the engineers had been able to adapt Triplanetary controls, and the feel of the fighters had been remarkably similar to some of the older designs he'd flown in Flight School. Bradley burst out of the office, heading for him with a scowl on his face.

   “Still nothing from the surface,” she said. “Just that the shuttle has been held up with a maintenance glitch, and that the pilot is working on it but doesn't need any help.” Shaking her head, she said, “I don't like it.”

   “Have you told the Captain?” he asked.

   “I just did, and she's contacting the local officials now.” Looking out at the fighters, she continued, “He'd have sent a message personally, Pavel. He wouldn't have just passed something on through the pilot.”

   “Problems?” Deveraux asked, standing by his fighter. “We're three minutes to launch.”

   “Maybe we should postpone,” Bradley said. “If there's something wrong on the surface, some of our people at risk, the Xandari can wait.”

   “Too late,” Salazar replied. “Daedalus started her scouting pass five minutes ago, and the Neander will be making their attack run any time. If we miss this chance now, we won't get another one.”

   “Agreed,” Deveraux said. “All hands, to your ships!”

   
Sirens sounded across the deck as the pilots made their way to their fighters, sliding into the cockpits on their bellies. They were far smaller than anything he was used to flying, barely room for the pilot to lie facing forward, his hands reaching up to the controls. It felt strange, but was surprisingly comfortable when he got used to it, and anything that reduced the mass of the ship was a bonus. These ships were a little antiquated, but were faster than any ship the Xandari could deploy.

   “Salazar to Orlova,” he said, sliding on his headset. “I'm all set, ready for launch on your signal. Have you heard anything else from the surface?”

   “Nothing new,” Orlova replied, her voice tinged with concern. “Don't worry. We'll handle it. I'm getting First Platoon ready for action, just in case.” She paused, then said, “You focus on our mission, and on getting back in one piece. This ship wouldn't be the same without you.”

   “Roger that, Alamo. Save me a seat at the bar. Salazar out.” With a series of grinding clicks, the elevator airlock snapped into life, lowering his fighter through the decks before spitting him out into space. With the flick of a switch, the thrusters stabilized the ship, and the navigation computer flashed a melange of data across his display, a course plot heading for the moon. The Xandari would know they were coming, but the trajectory they'd chosen would leave them guessing about how, making them think they were moving to support the Neander attack, rather than launching a strike of their own.

   There were too many fighters to launch them together, and Salazar waited impatiently for the second batch to descend, wondering what was happening at Orbital Guard headquarters. By now, they'd be alerted that something was going on, that the attack on the moon was taking place regardless of their thoughts and wishes, and someone would be frantically reporting the launch of their fighter squadron to his superior.

   As the remaining fighters fell into position in the squadron, he half-expected something to flash across the screen, warning him that his controls had been taken over, that someone on the surface had found some means to stop them from launching, but nothing happened. He was clear for ignition, all the way to the target.