Alarm of War, Book II: The Other Side of Fear (12 page)

Chapter  11

Atlas Space Station, in Refuge Space

              Emily collected her duffle and exited the ferry.  She walked with long strides and, although she was not aware of it, a faint smile on her face.  Her mind was trying to focus on what her new assignment would be, but she kept flitting back to Rafael and his formidable little sister, and his fathers and his mothers, particularly his birth mother, Leila.

              With a start, she came back to the present, suddenly aware that someone was walking beside her, matching her stride for stride.

              “Welcome back to Atlas,” said Martha Wilkinson cheerfully.  The Fleet Senior Surgeon radiated cheer and well-being.  Emily was instantly suspicious.

              “Thank you, Ma’am,” Emily replied. She cocked an eyebrow.  “And did the Admiral just happen to be walking through the shuttle bay when I arrived, or has the Admiral been waiting to see if I came back in a state of catatonic fugue?”

              “Really, Commander,” Wilkinson tutted.  “Don’t you know that admirals work in mysterious ways?”

              “Of course, Ma’am, that actually would explain a lot,” Emily replied dryly.

              Wilkinson’s eyes crinkled in amusement.  “But since I have had the good fortune of bumping into you, tell me, how was your leave?”

              “Actually, it was very enjoyable, considering I was chased through the forest by a pack of ferocious grogin and had to climb a tree to avoid being torn to very small pieces and eaten alive.”

              Wilkinson laughed and put her arm through Emily’s as they walked through the shuttle bay.  “Really?  Tell me all about it!”

              When Emily finally arrived at her cabin, a message was waiting, telling her to meet with Admiral Douthat at 1800, Atlas time. There was a note telling her to review the attachment before going to the meeting.  The attachment was a computer re-creation of the last three skirmishes with the Dominion.  Emily sighed inwardly.  First Wilkinson, now Douthat.  This was about her new assignment and she had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like it.  She showered and changed into a fresh uniform, made a cup of tea and sat in an old rocking chair she had found planetside on an earlier trip.  They were going to take her off the
New Zealand,
that much she was sure of.  There were too few warships and too many senior grade officers to allow her to keep it.  Heck, it was a fluke that she ever commanded the
New Zealand
at all, but now her time had run out.

              With a grimace, she opened the computer simulation of the Dominion skirmishes. 

              The holo display showed the wormhole entrance, with the two Refuge forts still intact, so this was one of the early clashes.  As she watched, four Dominion destroyers burst through the wormhole entrance and were promptly taken under fire by the forts.  The perspective of the observer was from above the plane of advance, the “God’s View,” so Emily guessed that this simulation was created by Gandalf, based on sensor inputs from dozens of Victorian and Refuge ships.

              In the re-creation of the battle, the Dominion ships veered to the “north” and focused their fire on just one of the forts.  More Dominion warships poured through the wormhole behind them, including two of the ferociously effective hedgehogs and two heavy cruisers.  Whoever had made the re-creation had focused primarily on the actions of the Refuge gunboats and Emily saw them appear in the “west” side of the holo.  The holo flashed an arrow pointing to them, with the number ‘250’ to designate how many there were.  They came in fast, in a large, uneven globe formation and swarmed towards the Dominion ships like a giant amoeba.  There was no maneuvering, no attempt at a pincer attack; it was just one large sledgehammer blow.  It reminded Emily of old cavalry charges she had seen in war movies of old Earth.

              The gunboats fired their missiles, some seven hundred of them, and followed them in firing lasers, but there was no coordinated effort to focus on specific targets.  The hedgehogs knocked down or jammed most of the missiles, but several of the Dominion ships took damage and one actually cartwheeled into the Refuge space fort, triggering a massive explosion.  Then the remaining Dominion ships turned in a tight circle that took them through the mass of Refuge gunboats and began firing at the gunboats with everything they had, including a full array of anti-missile batteries. 

It was like a farmer scything wheat.  A wide swath of the fragile gunboats died as the Dominion warships swept through them.  Having emptied their missile racks, the gunboats had no more missiles to fire, and the long recharge time for their lasers meant only a few dozen of the tiny craft could fire even those.  The Dominion ships made it back to the wormhole and passed through.

              The video display paused and words appeared in the holo:

#1 - “Gunboat’s destroyed – 82 of original 250 (32%).  Gunboats damaged – 135 (54%).  Crews lost – 40%.”

              Emily winced; those were brutal losses.  She paused long enough to pour more tea, and then started the second holographic simulation.   It began much as the first, with Dominion warships bursting through the wormhole and concentrating their fire on the northerly fort, which by this time was showing extensive damage and had almost no anti-missile capacity.  Once again the Refuge gunboats swarmed in, some two hundred of them in no discernible formation and no tactics other than to rush in and fire everything they had.   This time they were luckier and three Dominion destroyers fell out of formation and began limping back toward the wormhole.  A few gunboats actually broke through the Dominion line of ships to pursue the wounded destroyers, but when they caught up with them they could only fire their front-mounted small laser and the destroyers successfully kept them at bay with anti-missile fire and lasers of their own.

              While the gunboats impotently buzzed about, the Dominions pounded the Refuge fort into rubble and turned back for the wormhole.  The Victorian cruisers entered the battle at that point and one of the Dominion cruisers blew up, but even as that was happening, Emily could see dozens of gunboats blossom briefly and disappear as the Dominions kept up a stiff rate of fire against them.  This time the message read:

              #2 - “Gunboat’s destroyed – 60 of original 200 (30%).  Gunboats damaged – 110  (55%).  Crews lost – 36%.”

              Troubled, Emily skipped the replay of the third battle and went right to the statistics at the end:

#3 - “Gunboat’s destroyed – 91 of original 275 (33%).  Gunboats damaged – 127  (46%).  Crews lost – 39%.” 

She thought that was it, but then more words appeared:

              “Original fleet of gunboats – 473.

Total gunboats destroyed – 233. 

Total damaged – 372. 

Remaining usable stock, including newly manufactured – 112.

Current number of trained crews – 60.”

“Gods of Our Mothers,” she muttered under her breath.  She thought for a long moment, trying to figure out who might have the information she wanted, then snorted at her own dim-wittedness.  Who always had information when she needed it?  She activated her comm and punched in the number.  Hiram Brill’s face appeared on the screen in a moment.  He smiled at her.

“Well, look who’s back!” he said warmly.  He looked exhausted, she thought, but at least he was smiling.  “How was your leave?”

“Rather different than I had anticipated, but very good overall.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her comically.  “Well, well,” he teased.  “May I assume there is a handsome young man in the picture, someone who can overlook your more serious character flaws and your propensity to talk about books for hours on end?”

She tilted up her chin.  “Actually,” she said with studied casualness, “there
is
a young man involved.” Hiram’s eyes opened a little wider, but then she let the other shoe drop.  “Well, actually, it would be more fair to say that there is a young man, his eight brothers and sisters and his three mothers and three fathers.”

“Ah,” said Hiram.  “Nothing like a little family time when you’re on leave.  Did you happen to know any of these people or were you staying in a hotel full of strangers?”

“Do you remember Rafael Eitan from Camp Gettysburg?”

“Sure,” Hiram said instantly.  “He commanded Gold Company on the last field exercise.”

“He was my guide up into the Atlas Mountains,” she told him.  “But that’s not why I called you.”  She explained about her meeting with Admiral Douthat and the computer simulations she had just reviewed.  “I need some background on the Refuge gunboat squadrons.  I know the ships are small and don’t have any armor, but their losses are staggering and I don’t understand why they don’t change tactics.”

Hiram blinked.  “I’m not exactly an expert on Refuge gunboat history or tactics, Em.”

“Of course you’re not, but I’m willing to bet that you’ve got the name of an expert in that little book of yours,” she retorted.

Hiram cocked his head, thinking.  “Hmm, I do happen to know of someone, but he is not currently in the military; he‘s retired and is considered a black sheep in some circles.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, he has published several articles in the Refuge fleet magazine on strategy and tactics challenging traditional gunboat tactics as self-defeating and dangerous.  It was after the first of those articles that he was forced to retire.”

This sounded more and more promising.  “What was his rank when he retired?” she asked.

“Captain.  He was passed over for promotion to Rear Admiral twice.  He always had a reputation for being a maverick, but his service record was pretty good until he published the first of his articles, then his performance ratings plummeted,” Hiram explained. He paused. “Sending his articles to you now.”

“I have to meet with Admiral Douthat at 1800, is there any chance of talking to him before then?”

Hiram laughed.  “Oh, the Gods must like you, Tuttle.  His name is David Lior and he is on Atlas right now, hoping to persuade the Fleet to adopt a new small fighting ship to replace the Refuge gunboat.  He has a set of technical plans all drawn out and even has developed tactical doctrine.”

Now it was Emily’s turn to blink.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Come to my cabin, Em.  I’ll give you some lunch and you can meet the notorious Captain Lior.  But I warn you, he’s a bit abrasive and opinionated.”

“I’ll forgive almost anything if he can give me the background I need,” Emily countered.

They signed off and as Emily finished unpacking her door chimed.  When she opened it she was surprised to see Grant Skiffington standing there, scowling.  She hadn’t seen much of Grant since their desperate fighting retreat from Cornwall to Refuge.  She had not actively avoided him, but wondered if he might be avoiding her.

Now he stood in her doorway with thunderclouds in his face.

He held up a message flimsy.  “Douthat wants to see me at 1800,” he said, his voice thick with anger.  “I think she’s going to take away the
Yorkshire.

Emily nodded.  “I know, I got one, too.  Did she send you the attachments about the Refuge gunboats?”

“Yes, but I don’t see-“

“Did you view them?”

“Not yet, I was too upset by the thought of-“

“How about if you join me for lunch?” she asked brightly.  “I’ve got someone we should both meet.”

David Lior was a short, rotund man with an angry expression and a wild bushy beard that looked like a bird’s nest.  He sat at Hiram’s dining table and looked at them belligerently.

“Who are you?” he demanded curtly.

“I am Commander Emily Tuttle of the H.M.S.
New Zealand
and this is Commander Grant Skiffington of the H.M.S.
Yorkshire
, sir,” Emily said formally.  Lior nodded in recognition.

“You’re the poor bastards who held the back door while the Atlas ran for Refuge,” he said, peering at her.  “You’re all that’s left of the Coldstream Guards.  Heard at the end you were down to throwing rocks and getting ready to ram a Duck battleship.”  He studied her coolly.  “That true, young lady or just more Victorian bullshit?”

“Are you always this charming Captain?” Emily asked.

“No, I am making a special effort because Brill here says you’re somebody important.  Now, answer my question.”

“It’s true,” Emily admitted, marveling at how much it hurt to think about it again.  “I was going to ram the battleship.”

“Why?” Lior asked roughly.  “Not enough imagination to think up better tactics than destroying your ship and killing your entire crew?”

Emily glanced at Hiram, who nodded once.  Part of her wanted to just turn and walk out rather than deal with this obnoxious toad of a man, but then another voice whispered in her mind,
This guy is nowhere near as tough as the grogin, and you beat them!

“Well, Mr. Lior, it was like this,” she said matter-of-factly.  “I had three ships left and we were all damaged and had naught but a handful of missiles between us.  We had to buy about thirty minutes for the Atlas to make it through to Refuge safely.  Atlas carried our Queen and all our hopes to somehow turn this terrible calamity around.  So I made a decision that if I had to use the
New Zealand
herself as a weapon, I would, because that is what I thought it would take to accomplish my mission.”