Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 21

   She looked around the bridge, all eyes upon her, waiting for her to conjure a miracle that would save their lives. Turning to the electronic warfare station, she shook her head, knowing that she'd never be able to knock down twenty missiles at once. Or twelve, counting the defensive fire that Daedalus could launch. They'd only get one salvo, but that would be all they'd need.

   “I've gained a little extra boost,” Armstrong said. “We'll be at the hendecaspace point ten seconds early.”

   Harper's eyes widened, and she looked at the sensor display again, a smile spreading across her face. She adjusted the display, focusing in on the slowly receding planet, a halo of Xandari fighters beginning to surround it.

   “Alter course,” she said, mustering as much confidence as she could. “Set up an attack run on the station.”

   Armstrong turned, disbelief on her face, and said, “You can't be serious. That'll take us right into the path of the fighters! Combat range in one minute, and they'll have all the time they need...”

   “The Xandari are running out of missiles, Midshipman, and it doesn't matter right now whether we stay in range for a week! They won't be able to reload until they get a new production queue set up on the station. Twenty shots is all they have. Set course for the station, best speed, and prepare for attack.”

   Frowning, Scott said, “If you're thinking about taking out their base, then...”

   “No, I'm not,” she replied, as Armstrong initiated the course change, swinging them around, back towards the planet. “Think about it, though. If you were a Xandari, what would you do?”

   “Go down fighting, doing maximum damage to the enemy,” she said, nodding. “Which in this case would mean a suicide run at the station, firing all of my missiles at the last second.” With a growing smile, she continued, “I see what you're thinking. Risky, though.”

   “Do we have a choice?”

   “Not that I can think of.”

   “Course change complete,” Armstrong said, shaking her head. Behind her, the door opened, Hooke walking onto the bridge, nodding at Harper before taking the vacant electronic warfare station, as though that had always been the plan. “We'll be in position to attack the station in a hundred seconds.”

   “They'll launch long before then,” Arkhipov said, shaking his head. “In fifty-nine seconds, to be precise.”

   “Just because they can do something doesn't mean they will,” Harper said, sitting back in her chair. She tried not to think about what was going on in the corridors behind the bridge, crewmen fighting for their lives. Duquesne had been right, curse her. All the medical care in the universe would be useless if she didn't find a way to escape this system.

   Almost as though she had ordered it, the enemy fighters moved into a pursuit course, diving in a wide arc, wasting the speed they had painstakingly gathered as they prepared for one final strike. One way or another, the battle in orbit would be over in a matter of minutes, nothing left for either side to fight with.

   The station came into view on the main screen, Armstrong throwing in a filter to bring it into stark relief. Already some of the Xandari fighters were heading for it, likely hungry for fuel. She shook her head, and sighed. All the blood that they had spilled for that station, all the lives that had been lost, and they were forced to simply hand it back to the enemy.

   “We're in firing range,” Scott said. “I've got my missiles ready to go.” Turning to Hunter with a grin, she said, “I'll save them until the last second. No point giving them any ideas that we might not be planning to blow the place to bits.”

   “We aren't?” Fitzroy asked.

   “Never do what the enemy thinks you're going to do, Spaceman,” Harper said, “and if he wants you to do something, do the opposite.”

   “Closing on firing range with the station,” Scott said.

   “Fire at will,” Harper replied.

   “I don't get it,” Fitzroy said, shaking his head.

   Turning to the engineer, Harper said, “Watch and see.”

   As Daedalus fired its penultimate salvo, four fast targets appearing on the sensor display, racing for the station, the fighters fired as one, ten missile ranging towards them, eight of them targeting the Triplanetary missiles, only two of them saved for Daedalus.

   “Take us nice and close, Midshipmen. Let's scare the hell out of them. Minimum approach, fifty meters.”

   “Regulations...”

   “If it makes you feel any better, you can quote them at the Xandari on our way home.”

   Alarms sounded as the missiles drew close, but Harper saw with satisfaction that the missiles wouldn't catch them before they passed the station. For eternal seconds, the image on the screen grew larger, until it flew by in a flash, the empty stars all that remained on the display.

   “They destructed their missiles,” Scott said.

   Nodding, Harper said, “They didn't want to risk destroying their own station. Set up for another pass, Midshipmen. Let's play their game for a moment longer.”

   The enemy fighters weren't going to give them the chance, and with their engines at maximum, they unleashed a second series of missiles, all that remained, forming a single wave of destruction surging towards them. Scott launched her last remaining warheads, the tracks curving back to meet the approaching targets, but only four against ten wouldn't be enough. If one missile hit in the wrong place, Daedalus would share Alamo's fate.

   “Down into the atmosphere,” Hunter said. “As low as you dare, Midshipman. We can handle it a lot better than those missiles can.”

   “Not well, though,” Scott said, shaking her head. She tapped a control, and said, “All hands prepare for pressure leaks.”

   “I'm sending damage control teams to the outer hull,” Fitzroy added.

   Harper looked at Armstrong, the young officer's hands shaking as she programmed the course, taking Daedalus into the alien environment of Copernicus' stratosphere. Alamo had tried this maneuver a few times in the past, but that was a tough, purpose-built warship. Daedalus had none of that robustness in the design, and if this maneuver was off by a fraction of a degree, they wouldn't even have time to get to the escape pods before they burned up in the atmosphere.

   The planet filled the screen as they began their approach, the enemy fighters turning away, reluctant to follow them to what must have appeared their doom. Warning alarms rang throughout the bridge, the computer attempting to persuade them not to undertake such a suicidal course of action, with six missiles still on their tale, no alternatives were open to them.

   Beneath them, the land and ocean flashed by, alerts flashing down the sides of the viewscreen as the outer hull temperature soared beyond safe levels, stress sending a series of alarming creaks through the ship. A series of red lights flashed on Fitzroy's engineering monitor, areas where the pressure had been too much. All of this damage was repairable, once they had pulled out of the dive.

   The effect on the missiles was worse, far worse. The Xandari had given the warheads little autonomy, only a mindless drive to seek and destroy the enemy, and that determination drove them to destruction, their fuel running out as the missile engines burned hotter than ever they should, forced to herculean labors in a failed attempt to pull out of the gravity well. One by one, the last enemy missiles that could threaten them died, pulled down to burn up in the depths of the atmosphere below.

   Slowly, painfully, Daedalus rose from the sky, back into the cold of space, and Fitzroy began to work his panel, managing the damage control teams, throwing a quick, curt nod at Harper. They'd made it through. Somehow, against all the odds, they'd made it through. Armstrong looked up at the viewscreen in disbelief, the stars shining once more, beckoning them to safety.

   Tapping a control, Harper brought the sensor display back up, and at last it was clear. The Xandari had been left reeling by their unexpected maneuver, and none of their fighters were in any position
to mount an intercept, even if they'd had the weapons to do it. Ahead lay the far hendecaspace point, less than ten minutes distant, and nothing that could stop them finding their safe route out of the system.

   Alone lay Alamo, stranded in orbit, surrounded by enemy craft. By now, the Xandari would be swarming all across her decks, seizing control of the ship and capturing or killing her crew. She'd saved forty-nine, and had left behind almost a hundred. Some of them had reached escape pods, but would be descending into captivity, ready to be snatched upon landing by the traitors in the Copernican government.

   “Egress in nine minutes,” Scott said, looking at Harper. “This feels wrong.”

   “We're coming back,” Harper said. “Don't ask me how, but we're coming back. Count on it.”

  Chapter 26

   The truck bounced over the rough road, seemingly catching every pothole. Only occasional glances of moonlight through the crack in the door gave the prisoners a hint of the outside world. Though almost everything had been taken from them in the last shakedown, Cooper had been allowed to keep his watch, and he glanced at the readout as his mind flew up into orbit. The battle on the moon would be over by now, and he had no idea whether his wife was alive or dead.

   He looked around the truck, his squad ready to make a break for it at the first chance. They'd never have a better opportunity than they did right now, while they were in transit. Once in a secured facility, escape would be a hundred times harder, even if they had more time to plan it. He caught a glimpse of a building through the cracks, and the truck slowed down, breaks squealing in protest.

   “I think this might be it,” he whispered. “We go, we run, and we don't look back. Don't stop for anyone, and just head to whatever cover you can find. We can worry about linking up later. Much later. Are you ready?” A chorus of nods replied, and he rose to his feet, the truck slowing to a halt. He peered through the crack, shadows and shapes dancing across the road, the incongruous sound of children playing in the distance, unaware of the fight being waged for their freedom right above them.

   Walpis moved to the far side of the door, and the two of them braced themselves to charge it down. The truck was old, the lock weak, and an experimental push had revealed that it would likely respond to such vigorous encouragement. He raised three fingers as a signal, lowering them one at a time, but before they could break the door, a pair of gunshots echoed outside, followed by a long, low yell and a scream.

   “Now,” Cooper said, and the two of them threw themselves at the door, sending it crashing to the dirt outside, taking them with it as they stumbled to the ground. Staggering to his feet, he started to run, disobeying his own order to glance back, a man with a shotgun waving at him. A figure he recognized.

   “Where are you going, my son?” Father Flannery asked. “After the good Sergeant and I went to so much trouble to procure this truck.”

   Cooper paused, a smile on his face, and turned back to the truck to see Rojek dragging an unconscious guard into the street, laying him carefully on the sidewalk and checking his pulse.

   “He's fine, Father,” Rojek said, “Though I hope he has some downright vicious nightmares.”

   “I'm sure our sleeping friend has called for assistance,” Flannery said, “so I think the best course is for us to make a speedy exit from the scene.”

   Nodding, Cooper gestured for his men to return to the truck, Flannery following them into the rear while Rojek, still in uniform, took the driver's seat, jerking the vehicle into life with a series of alarming groans from the engine. As Walpis took position by the broken door, watching the dark road behind them, the truck skidded back the way it had come, heading out of the city.

   “You're fortunate indeed the Sergeant Rojek is a devout man, Lieutenant,” Flannery said. “He refused to have any part in your capture, and came to me for assistance.”

   “Do you know what's happening?” he asked.

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Unsurprisingly, the church isn't equipped with access to the orbital satellite network, nor does it have a link to the defense communications grid. However, my little telescope spotted some rather alarming flashes in orbit, and there are a lot of ships moving around up there. I'm certain I saw a ship at the hendecaspace point, but whether it was coming or going I couldn't say.”

   “Where are we going?” Walpis asked.

   “An abandoned landing pad a half-dozen miles away,” Flannery said. “There's no garrison other than a very bored janitor, who happens to be an old friend of mine, but there is a communications set-up in mothballs. I was rather hoping that you might be able to bring it back to life and request assistance from your friends in orbit.” His face darkened, and he added, “I'll be honest and admit that I do not believe all is well up there. The news is reporting that your people have been defeated, that some sort of conspiracy to conquer the planet has been thwarted.”

   “People believe that crap?” Saltzman asked.

   With a shrug, Flannery replied, “What choice do they have? I know a state of emergency has been declared, and they're planning to recall the militia again. I think it might be a long time before we see another election.”

   They'd left the city now, were curling around the roads beyond the suburbs, out in open country. A gleaming river ran along the side of the road, white foam skidding over rocks, and the moon still hanging in the sky, casting a bale light over the landscape. Up ahead, he could see the shape of a building, a figure pushing open a gate as the truck bounced through, jerking to a stop.

   “Walpis,” Cooper said, jumping out of the truck. “You and Saltzman take look-out. Let me know if anything's coming.”

   Nodding, the Neander raced to the side of the gate, rushing past an old, stooped man in an ill-fitting uniform, who snapped a salute as Cooper approached.

   “Private Lombard reporting, sir.”

   “At ease, Private,” Cooper said. “And thank you.”

   “A pleasure to be of service, sir.” The compound held four buildings, all long and low to form a perimeter, with a plasticrete landing pad in the middle, holding an ungainly helicopter, a bulbous cabin resting on spindly legs with long, sagging rotors above. Lombard escorted them to the nearest building, fumbling in his pocket for the key.

   “There aren't any weapons here, I'm afraid. All of them were taken away last week. That's when I realized something was going on.” Cooper glanced at McBride, and shook his head. This was no response to a changing situation, but part of a long-established plan. The door rattled open, and he stepped inside, cobwebs catching in his hair.

   Opposite the door was a dust-ridden console, an old communications terminal, and he sat down at the controls, throwing switches almost at random, lights flashing on as power was restored to the panel.

   “You realize they'll know you're transmitting in seconds, sir,” McBride said.

   “I know,” he replied. “We've got to know what's happening, Private, and I don't expect we'll be here for long enough to matter. Either we'll be able to contact Alamo and arrange a pickup, or...” He trailed off, looking at the trooper, who nodded in response. If Alamo had been destroyed, then none of this was going to make any difference in any case, and the odds of them evading capture were remote.

   As the panel warmed up, Cooper strapped the bulky headphones into position, clamped uncomfortably over his ears, and started to play around for the military frequencies. Bursts of faux-patriotic music briefly flared into life, followed by chatter in a code he didn't understand, and a garbled transmission too distorted to read. Finally, he found what he thought was the Triplanetary communications band, and flicked the switch from receive to transmit.

   “This is Cooper calling any station, any station, do you read me? This is Cooper calling any station, any station, do you read me? Over.”

   A roar of static hissed through the headphones, a voice struggling to fight back. In frustration, he threw more switches
on the panel, trying to focus on the transmission, then picked up the microphone again.

   “I read you distorted. Repeat transmission.”

   “I said,” Bradley replied, sending a smile to his face for the first time that day, “I'm on a landing vector and will be with you in a couple of minutes. Everything's gone to hell up here, Gabe. Details to follow. Keep this channel open, and I'll home in on it.”

   Looking around, he held his hand over a control, and said, “Switching to homing beacon. See you in a second. Out.” Rising to his feet, he clapped McBride on the shoulders, and said, “Help's on the way.”

   “We're going to need it,” Walpis said, bursting into the room. “Vehicles heading our way. We're going to have company in six minutes minus.”

   Nodding, Cooper left the console, walking back out onto the field. He looked up, scanning the horizon, and saw a ball of flame high up in the sky, curving in their direction. Someone in final re-entry, preparing for landing. His smile became a frown as other flaming balls became visible, and he glanced at Walpis. The two of them had seen this once before, in an equally desperate time, back on Thule. Escape pods raining down through the atmosphere, refugees from doomed spaceships.

   “This looks bad, sir,” Walpis said. “Maybe we should bug out.”

   Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “We'd never outrun them in the truck, and we sure as hell aren't going to do it on foot. We'll just have to hope for a quick pick-up, Corporal.”

   “Here, sir,” Lombard said, passing him a pair of old binoculars. Cooper raised them to his eyes, scanning the sky until he found the largest re-entry track. It looked small for a shuttle, more like a fighter, and his spirits began to sink. He'd seen those Copernican fighters, and even if Bradley had enough fuel to take off again, which seemed unlikely, there wouldn't be room for any passengers.

   “Father,” Cooper said, “I think you need to become our prisoner. Lombard and Rojek as well. There's no sense you going down with the rest of us. I'll tell the soldiers...”