Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Page 8

   “Good,” she replied. “I hope they do. Keeping people on constant alert is a classic rookie mistake. You can't maintain a focus like that forever, and after a while your attention starts to slip, your mind starts to wander, and you lose the edge that could make all the difference. Let them stew for a couple of days, wear themselves down a little, and we'll be able to launch another attack. And don't worry about not being able to use that trick again, either. I don't like repeating myself anyway. I'll think of something else for the next battle.”

   “You'd damn well better,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just give me some warning next time, will you? I was sitting in the Mayor's office when the attack came, and having to pretend I knew what was going on wasn't much fun.” He paused, smiled, and added, “Besides, I hate to miss a good fight. I don't want to let Dirk have all the action.”

   “Noted,” she replied, pulling out a datapad. “Bennett and Finch have gone over the data, and it's about as we expected.” Tapping a control on the desk, she brought a spinning holoimage into existence, and pulled out a laser pointer. “A dome on top, and the fighters next to it, resting on the asteroid itself on a prepared landing field. That means the pilots have to live in their ships if they want to get a quick launch.”

   “Those Corsairs are pretty tight inside,” Conway said with a frown. “I wouldn't want to have to sit waiting in one of them for long. They won't have their whole complement on alert at any time.” He looked at her, smiled, then said, “Fine, I give in. You were right.”

   “Next time it'll go easier if you just admit that right at the start. What interests me more is what lies underneath the dome.” She highlighted a tunnel, and said, “That network twists all through the rocks, maybe forty or fifty miles long, a couple of miles deep, almost to the core.” Shaking her head, she continued, “It'd take years for a mining crew to dig all that out, and there are no records of anything that extensive being undertaken by the colony. We've found our alien city.”

   Peering at the image, Conway replied, “We should start some systematic scans of other rocks. I doubt we'll find anything, but it might make them wonder if we know something they don't.”

   “Sneaky and devious,” Mallory said, nodding. “I approve.” There was a buzz from the wall communicator, and she reached across to reply. “Captain's Office. Go ahead.”

   “Wanted on the bridge, both of you,” Sullivan replied. “We're getting an unscheduled shuttle launch from the surface, and I've been unable to contact either Morgan or Angel. Local authorities don't know anything about it, and didn't move fast enough to stop it.”

   “Execute intercept course,” Mallory ordered, “and prepare intercept squadron for immediate launch.”

   Conway was already racing up to the bridge, almost knocking a technician off his feet in his hurry to get to the control room. He glanced behind him, Mallory sprinting to catch him, but he still beat her through the doors, Sullivan looking up with frustration on his face as he entered.

   “Still nothing, and I think you can guess where they're going.”

   “No response to my hails,” Dixon added. “Not that I expected one. It's a standard Hidalgo-class ground-to-orbit type, under the registration of the Prospectors' Union.”

   “Doesn't mean a thing,” Mallory said, stepping calmly onto the bridge. “Either it was stolen at random, or someone decided to sow a little suspicion. Has there been anything constructive from the surface?”

   Shaking her head, Dixon replied, “Sheriff McCormack managed to get an excellent view of the takeoff, but that's about all. Whoever did this moved very quickly, Captain, and almost certainly had inside information.”

   “Just like the last time,” Conway said, nodding. Churchill's engines roared into life as the carrier lumbered onto an intercept course, but a cursory glance at the trajectory plot suggested that it was a futile gesture. There was no way they could reach the shuttle before it made it to the pirate base. He stepped over to the tactical station, tapping a control.

   “Green Leader here,” Bennett said. “We're ready for takeoff and raring to go.”

   “Calculate optimum launch trajectory,” Mallory ordered. “Go to battle stations, Finch.”

   “Yes, ma'am,” the tactical officer replied. “All decks, go to battle stations. This is no drill. I repeat. This is no drill. Report alert status at once.”

   “Launch in thirty-one seconds, with an intercept in one hundred and five,” Clayton replied, looking down at her console. “Projected enemy launch will give them a forty-one second firing window.”

   “Pass the information to the fighters,” Conway said. “I'm...”

   “You'll never get down there in time,” Mallory said.

   “One of my people is out there, damn it, and...”, he paused, shook his head, and said, “and damn it all, you're perfectly right. Reaching down for a headset, he said, “Get ready for launch, Green Leader, and good hunting.”

   “Thank you, Captain,” Bennett replied. “It'll be nice to get to lead my own squadron for once.”

   “Fifteen seconds to launch,” Clayton said.

   Conway glanced at the vacant command chair, and gestured for Mallory to take it, moving to stand next to Sullivan at the engineering console, quickly reconfiguring one of the monitors as an improvised tactical display. Five ships showed on the screen, Churchill already falling behind her fighters, the shuttle altering course in an attempt to throw off pursuit.

   “Come on, come on,” Finch muttered, before finally turning to Mallory. “All stations are cleared for action, Captain. Missile salvo loaded, ready to fire.” Looking back this station, he added, “We'll be in firing range fifty-two seconds after the fighters.”

   “By then, we'll be right on top of the enemy base,” Mallory said. “Clayton, stand by to execute an evasive course on my mark. Sullivan…”

   “Doyle's already in the SAR shuttle, ready for immediate launch. I've got Gibson riding shotgun in case someone on the shuttle is a little reluctant to be rescued.” He paused, then said, “Bringing it down without destroying it is going to require some damn precise shooting.”

   “It might not come to that,” Conway said. “Once they realize they're not going to make it...”

   “Signal from the surface,” Dixon said. “It's Angel.”

   “Put her through,” Mallory said.

   The transmission broke though in mid-sentence, crackling, “took her before I could stop them.”

   “Report, Sergeant,” Mallory barked. “And make it quick, we're counting seconds.”

   “The bastards ambushed us, knocked us both cold, and took her before she could up-link the data.” She paused, then said, “The bastards shot us both.”

   “Data?” Mallory asked.

   Conway's face reddened, and he replied, “I might have authorized her to crack into the local government database in an effort to find the traitor. I guess she attracted too much attention.”

   “I got three of the bastards,” Angel said, “but there were just too many of them. They'd arranged some sort of protest, a distraction.” Conway heard agonized grunts coming from the speaker, and said, “We've got to get her back. I can just about...”

   “She launched three minutes ago, and an intercept squadron is already on the way. Stand by,” Conway said. “Keep listening, and holler if there's anything we need to know.” Turning to Dixon, he added, “Get someone on the surface to help her. Medical support. And I want her back on the ship as soon as possible.”

   “On it,” Dixon replied.

   “Interception in twenty seconds,” Finch said. “Wait one. Energy spikes coming from the surface of the base. I'd say we've got a full squadron launch in progress, all eight fighters heading our way.” Tapping a control, he nodded. “Confirmed. Four of them are heading for the interceptors, the rest of them heading for us.”

   “Can we evade?” Mallory asked.

&n
bsp;  “Not on this heading, Captain, but if we alter course now both we and the interceptors can avoid combat.” He turned to her, and said, “I hate to say it, but...”

   “The odds are too great,” she replied, finishing his sentence. “Clayton, execute course change. Finch, order our fighters...”

   “I heard that!” Angel yelled. “You can't just leave her to their theoretical mercy! She's one of us, damn it, and if any of you bastards up on the bridge had been captured...”

   “Then I very much doubt that she would sanction the destruction of this ship and the loss of all of its crew in a desperate rescue attempt. I'd give the same order if I was the one on that shuttle.”

   “You aren't in command,” Angel replied. “Jack Conway gives the orders around here.”

   Mallory looked at him, locking eyes, and said, “How about it, Jack. What do we do?”

   Conway turned to the sensor display, following the trajectory tracks in his head, trying to put himself in the position of the enemy squadron commander. They had nothing to lose by pressing an attack, and everything to gain. Time enough to complete their work on the base and flee the system. They could throw away their fighters as long as they wiped out Churchill's strike force. Or Churchill itself, for that matter. A few well-placed impacts would rip the ship to pieces.

   “Jack...”

   “Abort mission,” he said. Every fiber in his being urged him into battle, and if he'd been on one of those fighters, he'd have probably ignored the order to return home, but he knew it was the only decision he could make, and the look of relief on Mallory's face confirmed his belief.

   “You heard the man,” she said. “Conway, execute evasive course. Finch, call off our interceptors, and make sure that they avoid any contact with the enemy.”

   “Damn it, Jack,” Angel said.

   “There's no choice,” he replied. “Do you think I like this? If it was just me, I'd ride a rescue bubble to get her back, but there are hundreds of lives at stake on this ship, thousands down on the colony, and millions back home if we fail in our mission. I can't put all that on the line for one person, and if you weren't personally involved, you'd know that as well.” Turning to the sensor display, he said, “Get back to the ship on the double for a full medical check and debriefing.”

   “Green Leader to Churchill,” the speaker barked.

   “Damn it all!” Conway yelled. “Abort the mission, Cass, and get back to the barn. That's a direct order.”

   “Yes, sir,” she replied, sullenly.

   Looking around the bridge, he said, “I know what all of you want to do, and I'm right there with each and every one of you. I can promise you that we're not going to give up until we get her back, and until we've rescued every prisoner on that base and got them back to their families. Is that clearly understood?” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'll be in my office if anyone needs me. Have Angel report to me as soon as she gets back on board.”

   Without another word, he walked off the bridge, the helmsman entering the course correction to take them to safety. He stopped in the corridor, thumping his fist hard on the wall, cursing in as many languages as he could muster, and turned to see that he wasn't alone, Mallory standing just outside the door.

   “That's something I haven't seen in a while,” she said. “Not since the War. I guess you're finally fitting into that uniform again, rather than just wearing it.”

   “This?” he replied, tugging at his sleeve. “Martian Red or Triplanetary Black, it doesn't make a difference. We're still singing the same old song, just like we did back then.”

   “It was the right decision. Those interceptors would have been torn to pieces. Even if all three of the pilots had been combat veterans, I wouldn't have liked their odds.” She paused, then said, “They're still complaining about it. I guess they will be all the way to the hangar deck.”

   “I'll go down and see them when they land. Maybe they're taking this covert mission a little too much to heart.” With a short chuckle, he added, “Strange as it may seem, this is still a military ship on a combat assignment, and disobeying orders is a good way to get everyone killed.”

   “That does it,” she replied. “Where's Jack Conway, and what have you done with him? Not that I'm complaining.”

   “I'm still the same old fool I was this morning, don't worry. Once I've finished putting the fear of God in those rooks, I'm going down to the surface. With Angel, assuming she doesn't kill me first, as soon as she's been patched up. That's three times now that someone on down there has betrayed us, and this time it's cost us far too much. There isn't going to be a fourth, if I have to tear the whole damned colony to pieces to find them.” He looked at her, and said, “I know, I know, I'm sure that there are a host of standard procedures and regulations I'm meant to be following, and that I'm violating the military/civilian protocol, but I can't just sit up here and watch.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Dozens.” Raising a hand, she said, “Go and give them a little bit of hell for me. Actually, on second thoughts, give them a lot of hell. We're putting ourselves into the fire for them, and it would be nice to know that they aren't planning to stab us in the back.”

   With a frown, he replied, “Isn't that mixing metaphors a bit?”

   “I think we've both got better things to do than criticize my misuse of language, don't we? I'll start work on some sort of a tactical plan up here. There's got to be a way to crack that base, and I'm going to find it if it is the last thing I do.”

   “Good.” He turned to the corridor, smiled, and added, “One more thing.”

   “What is it?”

   “If you're planning any more hair-raising stunts like that last one, please let me know first. I don't want to miss out next time.”

   “Sure,” she replied, turning back to the bridge. He looked after her for a moment, then glanced down at the uniform he was wearing, both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Superficially, it didn't look anything like the outfit he wore during the war, but in every way that mattered, it was just the same. Maybe it was time he started to act like it.

  Chapter 9

   A blinding light washed over Morgan as she struggled to open her eyes, her arms fighting on instinct against restraints that were no longer there. A hand rested softly down on her chest, and she looked up to see a woman looking down at her, a nervous smile on her face as she glanced up at a monitor panel. Looking across at her arm, she saw a bandage wrapped around the bullet wound, stiff and sore but otherwise in no pain.

   “How do you feel?” the woman asked.

   “Angry,” she replied.

   “That sounds about right. The arm is fine, by the way. Our jailers might be a bunch of contemptible bastards, but at least they're good shots. The bullet went through nice and clean. If you were on that ship of yours, I'd be clearing you for light duty.”

   “Are you one of them?”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “I was on the Golden Fleece, captured two months ago. Ship's doctor.” Looking around the room, she said, “They didn't have one of their own.” Her gaze dropped down to the floor, and she said, “I'm a doctor. I can't just sit and watch while people suffer. Though I wish I'd been a bit quieter about my profession when I was captured. They sent the rest of my crew down to the surface.”

   Nodding, Morgan asked, “How many other prisoners are there?”

   “Twenty-nine. Most of them captured in orbit, prospectors. A handful from the ships they've taken.” She shook her head, and said, “I'd been on that ship since I left medical school. They burned her up in the atmosphere. Nothing left.” With a sigh, she added, “It all seems so damn pointless.”

   “Was the ship damaged in the attack?”

   “We surrendered when they launched their fighters. We'd only just arrived in orbit, never had a chance of evading, certainly not of fighting back.” Shaking her head, she added, “They didn't even
try and load up a prize crew. Just stripped out the cargo and spare parts inventory and set it to destruct.”

   “Interesting,” Morgan replied, trying to rise. “That's another piece for the puzzle.” Looking at the doctor, she asked, “Who are you, anyway?”

   “Oh, sorry. Krystal Medina. Call me Kris.”

   “Valeria Morgan, and call me Val.”

   Medina glanced at the door, and said, “Are they planning a rescue?”

   “Undoubtedly. Churchill won't leave the system until all the prisoners have been released, and my capture doesn't change a thing. Help is on the way.”

   “I don't think they'll find it quite as easy as that,” a voice boomed from the door. “Julian Dubois, and it is a true pleasure to meet you, though I'll quite understand if you don't see it that way.”

   “Ensign Valeria Morgan,” she replied, turning to him.

   “You can spare me your serial number,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I already have your record in tedious detail from some mutual, shall we say, associates of yours. There's a substantial bounty for your arrest, if it interests you. Under other circumstances, I might consider taking you on as a recruit, though I don't think either of us would profit by the association.”

   Looking at him, she rose from the bed, took an uncertain step forward, and said, “If you want some free advice, you might want to consider surrendering now. Captain Conway will probably offer you reasonable terms if you release all of your prisoners and leave the system at once.”

   With a smile, he said, “I have a good analysis of your combat potential, and while you've managed to cause me some problems over the last couple of days, I don't think you can stop me completing my mission in this system.” Glancing at Medina, he added, “I think our little secret is going to be well and truly out, anyway.”

   “You aren't here to raid ships,” she said. “That's just the cover story.”