Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold Read online

   Whoever the enemy commander was, he wasn’t inclined to waste his men; nine of them raced away in wildly divergent courses, spinning around to reach for the distant battlecruiser burning out of the system, presumably reliant on yet-to-be-launched tankers to get them back, while three hung back to duel with the missiles, giving the others a chance to escape.

   “Brave bastards,” Hitchcock said, watching the action.

   “No-one ever said the Triplanetary Fleet had a monopoly on courage, Spaceman,” Marshall replied. “I hope they bail out in time. I’d like to shake that flight commander’s hand.”

   A series of flashes danced across the display as the missiles started to do their work, some of them racing away in divergent tracks that left a scramble of course plots; it quickly smoothed out to reveal a single fighter, now burning towards the auxiliaries at what had to be maximum acceleration.

   “Kamikaze,” Marshall said. “Hitchcock, Griffon is closest. Tell its commander to stop that fighter. I think it’s heading for the Hadfield.”

   “Not the tanker?” Caine said, frowning. “Interesting.”

   Turning to her, Marshall replied, “We can discuss grand strategy later.”

   “Griffon is vectoring in, sir.”

   Looking at the display, Caine added, “I think Demon Three might be in a position to intercept if it burns its tanks dry.”

   “Pass it on, Spaceman,” Marshall said, moving over to stand back at the communications console, “And get a tanker shuttle organized right away.”

   He turned back to the display, watching his orders being carried out, four ships now seemingly converging on the same crowded bit of space. A second contact appeared next to the fighter on a rapidly diverging course, the pilot ejecting from his doomed fighter with just enough time to send him on a trajectory that would take him safely away from the planned collision.

   “Not much chance of a pickup on that vector,” Caine murmured.

   “How long until contact?”

   “Twenty-one seconds.” She paused, then said, “There go Demon Three’s missiles.”

   The warheads raced towards the fighter as the lumbering auxiliary struggled to change its course, a battle that it couldn’t win. Griffon was closing, but its salvo raced away just too late to have any impact on what was to come; all their course change had provided them was a front-row seat.

   He almost couldn’t watch the predictable aftermath. The missiles did their job, as best they could, reducing the fighter to rubble, but the remains still slammed into the tender, ripping holes in its hull, outgassing from a dozen places sending it spiraling out of control.

   “That,” Marshall said, “should never have been allowed to happen.”

   “Are you going to try and tell the Admiral that?”

   Looking at her with a smile, he said, “Damn right. Hitchcock, I want our shuttles out with medical/rescue teams right now. Let’s clean up this mess.” Turning back to the display, he said, “I don’t think I need to watch us reduce that battlecruiser to its component atoms.”

  Chapter 7

   Orlova looked around the room at the assembled students, most of whom were paying full attention, and clicked off the last image from the holodisplay, the room’s lights automatically coming back on.

   “That runs through everything we know about Cabal territory, at least in broad detail.” There was a brief commotion at the back of the room, and a pair of figures walked in; Captain Tarrant, who she had expected to see, and another figure she didn’t recognize, wearing a formal suit as though it was a uniform.

   Briefly nodding at the instructor, she continued, “Essentially, the Cabal is a large, dispersed grouping, with essentially the same industrial capacity as the Confederation but far more area to protect. This is both an advantage and a disadvantage. They have a lot of territory to defend, but they have a lot of room to maneuver in the event of war.”

   “Russia during the Great Wars of the Twentieth Century,” one of the students, a tactical specialist called Anderson, suggested. “They could fall back, luring a fleet deep into their territory, and then cut it off from its resupply.”

   “Precisely,” she replied. “That’s exactly the tactic they used with Alamo; they pulled us in deep, and then tried to cut us off.”

   Shaking his head, Olsen said, “Only an idiot would fall for that, surely. Following normal doctrine, a ship would simply pull back to the Confederation, rather than allowing itself to be caught without fuel and supplies.”

   Tarrant was watching her closely as she replied, “Basically, Mr. Olsen, if you had been in command of Alamo, you wouldn’t have attempted the operation to capture Hercules.”

   “Of course not. It was far too big a risk.”

   “Then, Mr. Olsen, I would not be standing here talking to you, and all we would know about the Cabal was that it was,” she gestured up, “out there somewhere.” There were a few chuckles from around the room, and she waited them to ebb before continuing, “Combat doesn’t follow any field regulations, and the enemy certainly doesn’t.”

   “That’s precisely why we need to follow them. To preserve our forces we must take limited risks, and therefore guarantee victory.”

   Nelyubov, from the rear of the room, said, “I’m glad to know that all we need to do is follow the rulebook. Why are we all sitting around here when we should be back in our quarters reading it?”

   “How would you take on the Cabal, then, Mr. Olson?” Orlova asked, snapping on the holodisplay to a projection of Cabal space. “Come on up and show me.”

   He stepped over to the podium with four quick strides, and gestured at Jefferson and Ragnarok. “We begin with established bases, and slowly advance forward, two systems at a time, securing key strategic strongpoints and building operational bases. Over time, we will hack into their territory like scythes, reducing their strength as ours increases.”

   “While we are launching the biggest base construction program in galactic history, what are the enemy doing?”

   “Limiting our advance…”

   “Leaves us open to attack. There are more than a dozen hendecaspace points in each of the systems you mentioned. Would you garrison them all? Even if you count scoutships, we couldn’t cover them.”

   “Some of them are less important than others. We need only protect six in Sol system, for example.”

   “Permitting an enemy fleet to come in through the Neptune Trojans.” Shaking her head, she replied, “That isn’t the way to win the war, not the sole way, in any case. We have a fleet of fast raiders, and as I said, the Cabal are a dispersed collection of worlds.”

   “U-Boats,” Anderson volunteered. “Commerce raiding, like the battlecruisers did in the last war, but on a bigger scale. Hunting packs of scoutships as well, perhaps.”

   “Precisely. Our advantage is that our resource areas and industrial worlds are concentrated, and can be protected by mobile striking forces. There are natural bottlenecks that we should fortify, but any war with the Cabal is not going to be determined by massed fleets assembling, not until we have cut them down to size economically.” She gestured at the screen, and said, “Operating fast raiders, we can divide their fleet and cripple their production.”

   “That isn’t the doctrine that won us the last war,” Olson objected.

   “This isn’t the last war. This is a new enemy, one that is determined to be the sole power in all of known space. They won’t simply be put off or delayed.” She glanced up at the clock, and said, “Today was an introduction; next time we’re going to get into specifics. Over the next five weeks, we’re going to fight a war with the Cabal, so next time we’re going to talk about opening moves and fleet positioning. For the present, I think it’s about time for lunch, so dismissed.”

   The students rose, Olsen talking quietly to a few of the others as they shuffled out of the room. Anderson walked over to her, glancing back for a
second before looking at the display.

   “You’ve done this for real,” he replied. “Commanded a tactical formation against the Cabal.”

   “Scary as hell.”

   “If you’d had the overall command of that operation, what would you have done differently?”

   “I wouldn’t, Lieutenant,” she said after a second. Tarrant stepped up behind him.

   “Better head off, Paul. I need to have words with your teacher.”

   “Yes, sir,” he replied, bustling out of the room.

   Turning to Orlova, Tarrant said, “You weren’t telling the truth.”

   “Captain Marshall…”

   “Loyalty is a wonderful thing, Lieutenant, but even the best of us make mistakes, and you cannot be blind to them.” He gestured over at the other man, and said, “I’d like to introduce you to Vice-President Ackerman.”

   Her head snapped across to him, and she hastily saluted, inwardly cursing herself for not having recognized him at once. A smile spread across his face as he returned the salute.

   “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I’m quite used to not being recognized. The President generally prefers that I keep a low profile, stick to the behind the scenes stuff. Captain Tarrant has offered to let me sit in on your lectures.”

   She glanced up at him, and Tarrant said, “That wasn’t a bad start, though I think you lingered on what the students should already have known a bit too much. I’d suggest you pay attention in Strategic Concepts tomorrow if your plan is to take them through a simulated war.”

   “I thought it was the best way to get through the material, sir. Treat it as a practical exercise. That way I might be able to learn something out of this as well.”

   He nodded, and said, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea. Just don’t get caught too deep in the details, stick to broad strategic concepts and case studies.”

   “Hell, I enjoyed it,” Ackerman said. “I ought to drag a few of the idiots from Extrasolar Relations down here to watch, might introduce them to some of the facts of life.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Might not be a bad idea at that.”

   “I’d be happy to brief you, sir, whenever you wanted.”

   “I don’t want a formal briefing. I’ve had those; your Senior Lieutenant Zebrova spent six hours boring us yesterday. I want to know what a serving officer, someone who has been out there and faced this enemy, thinks. What she would do about all of this.”

   She glanced up at Tarrant, who nodded, and said, “Essentially, we need more battlecruisers. With orbital defense networks at Jefferson, Ragnarok, Spitfire and Hydra, it would take a full-sized fleet to knock them down, as well as far too much time.” Pointing at the map, she said, “I’d split the fleet into three components. A rapid response force right here at Mariner could get anywhere needed inside a month, with the second component a network of scoutships to act as tripwires, giving us early warning of attack.”

   “And the third component would be your commerce raiders. The battlecruisers.”

   “As well as some of the scoutships, yes. Working independently to take down targets of opportunity on long-duration cruises. We could set up covert supply dumps on some of the brown dwarf stars for them to resupply. While they are hitting transports, they can coordinate with the resistance. We know that there are forces working against the Cabal, and we can encourage them.”

   “Start revolts among their subject peoples with agent provocateurs, that sort of thing.” He nodded, and said, “The Combined Chiefs would hate this plan, Lieutenant. They’re still worshiping Alfred Mahan, want to draw the enemy fleet into one big action, preferably close to our supply lines. What do you think of that plan?”

   “Sir, I think our massed fleet would sit at Mariner Station while the enemy nibbled away at the fringes and isolated us from the rest of the galaxy. They’re not far from enveloping us now, and politically they’re better able to fight a long, slow war.”

   “You have a problem with democracy, Lieutenant?” Tarrant asked.

   “No, sir, but I don’t think it would last for the sort of long, dragged-out war we’re talking about. Either we’d end up with some sort of peace treaty in their favor, or we’d be sitting around waiting for years for a great battle that will never come. We need to attack, to push into their territory, to take the initiative.”

   Nodding, Tarrant said, “If I was planning the war, that’s what I would do. Her instincts are spot on. Alamo and Hercules demonstrated how much damage battlecruisers can do operating independently quite well, I think. Yes, we’ll lose ships, but we’ll unleash chaos all across the Cabal.”

   “Next question, Lieutenant,” Ackerman asked. “Should we go to war?”

   “That’s not for me to decide, sir. I go where I’m told, and fight when ordered.”

   “Textbook. Say you were the President. Do we fight?” he pressed.

   “At some point, we’re going to have a war, sir. I’d stall negotiations until the next tranche of ships are ready, knowing that our shipbuilding capability is better for the present, and get ships positioned in strategic locations, and then,” she paused, then said, “Yes, sir. I’d go to war. I’d rather do it at a time and place of our choosing.”

   “You think it inevitable.”

   “They are holding whole races enslaved, alien races and the Neander, not to mention millions of humans. They plan to become the sole government of human space, and have the potential to pull it off. For moral and practical reasons, we should go to war.”

   Ackerman gestured at her, and said to Tarrant, “Why isn’t this young lady the President of the Confederation? She’s talking a lot more sense than most of the politicians I’ve been talking too lately.” Turning back to Orlova, he said, “If it is any consolation, I agree with you, but I have a feeling that most of this is just going to remain a theory until it is too late.”

   “What about the task force heading to Hydra Station?”

   “We’re maneuvering for peace, not war,” he replied. “Showing our teeth to the opposition with a full-scale assault to reinforce our position. And potentially buying bargaining chips to trade off at the negotiations. That peace envoy has been lodged with the President for a week, and I think he’s going to use his last few months in office to do something we’re all going to regret later.”

   “He’s the President, Silas. If he wants to be a jackass, that’s his prerogative.”

   “We’re going to be paying for it. Hell, those damn battleships…,” he turned to Orlova, and said with a thin smile, “I shouldn’t burden you with our problems, Lieutenant. I’ll probably be sitting in your next lecture. I’ll try and do the homework.”

   “I’m honored, sir.”

   “No, you aren’t,” he replied. “I’m an old man who is turning into a damned nuisance and wants to play at being Major Ackerman again. But I’m the Vice-President, so I get to behave like a jackass as well, and at least my personal peccadilloes won’t get anyone killed. Good day, Lieutenant.”

   “Mr. Vice-President,” she said, nodding. Tarrant turned to follow him, and paused for a moment.

   “Oh, I thought I’d let you know that your leave request is granted. A bit unusual, but given the circumstances I don’t mind you spending an evening out with your father. I know you haven’t had any opportunities to have much time with him since you got back.”

   “No, sir,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

   “Just this once, mind, and make sure it doesn’t affect your coursework. This is supposed to be an intensive training course, remember.” He paused, and said, “Between you and me, I think it highly likely that you will have to head for your next duty posting as soon as you’ve finished up here. Not much chance of any leave afterward.”

   “I’ll be ready for whatever comes, sir. I know what wearing the uniform means.”

   “Yes, well, I think we abuse that trust somet
imes, but I personally think that war is coming, and soon. That simulated war with the Cabal could turn out to be all too real.” He glanced at the clock, and said, “You’d better go and get something to eat if you are going to. Only thirty-five minutes left. And don’t forget; I expect you in before twenty-three hundred on Sunday. No late nights, tempting as it might be.”

   “No, sir. Thank you again, sir.”

   “Any time.”

   He walked off, and after a moment, she followed him, a confused look on her face. Nelyubov had been loitering around outside, and walked over to her as she stepped out into the corridor.

   “A personal interview with the Vice-President? Looks as if you are going up in the world. Any chance of a letter of introduction?”

   “Frank, Captain Tarrant just approved my leave request to have dinner with my father this weekend. Sunday night.”

   Frowning, he replied, “I thought we weren’t supposed…”

   “We aren’t,” she interrupted. “That was made very clear. He’s making an exception because he thinks I’m going to be assigned as soon as the course is over.”

   “That’s nice of him. Have a good time.”

   “Frank, I didn’t apply for any leave. I didn’t even know he was on Mars, I thought he was out at Callisto working on the battleship project.”

   He smiled, and said, “I bet that he found a way to get over here, knew that you wouldn’t ask for leave, and arranged it for you. Be honest, would you have asked?”

   “Yes, probably. We’re only talking about a few hours off, and I haven’t seen him in more than a year – and before that, we only had a couple of weeks together after he was rescued from Jefferson. I was hoping to go out to see him when this was over; I’ve got about a month and a half of leave time saved up.”

   “Perhaps…”

   “There’s something not right here, Frank, and I don’t know what it is.”