“Detail the CSP to force them back,” he said. Maybe it was a mistake, but he couldn't leave the aliens to get on with whatever the hell they were doing. Half of any surprise, Admiral Webster had said, was misinterpreting what one was seeing. “And then ...”
A dull tremor ran through the ship. “Report!”
“One of them rammed the hull, sir,” Anderson said. “Damage control teams are on their way.”
“Better make it quick,” James said, as the alien fighters concentrated, then launched themselves down towards the chink in the carrier’s armour. Oddly, he felt a moment of sympathy for the alien pilot. He’d sacrificed his life to give his buddies a chance at taking out the carrier. “The aliens certainly intend to take advantage.”
The CSP arrived seconds later, scattering the alien pilots. James let out a sigh of relief as the aliens fell back, then blasted their way through the entire formation before turning back to engage
Napoleon
. The French CSP intercepted them and took out four alien starfighters before the remaining fighters broke off and headed back towards
Ark Royal
. Behind them,
Yamato
and
Lincoln’s
fighters chased them, firing every time they got a clear shot.
“Their tactics make no sense,” he muttered. “They could have taken out one of the thin-skinned carriers if they’d tried.”
He contemplated it for a long second. The aliens weren't
stupid
, so there had to be a reason behind their seeming insanity. But what? Was it possible, he asked himself, that they were facing the alien version of the Territorial Army, but in space? Civilian soldiers, called up in time of warfare ... or maybe the aliens had just not attached any great importance to defending this part of space. If they’d thought it couldn't be attacked, they wouldn't have bothered to station front-line units to defend it. Maybe they’d put the carrier and two battlecruisers in the system to exercise and prepare for war.
But he would still have expected them to be more careful.
On the display, one of the alien battlecruisers vanished.
***
“Target Two is down,” Paton said. “Swing around to cover the bombers as they engage Target Three.”
Henry smiled, then concentrated as the remaining alien fighters closed in on the bombers, firing savagely towards their targets. He snapped off a shot at the aliens, then followed the rest of the squadron forward as the American fliers attacked from the rear. The aliens didn't hesitate; they gunned their own engines and charged at the British starfighters, blasting past them at terrifying speed. Two more starfighters vanished, one without any clear explanation, as Henry yanked his starfighter around and raced in hot pursuit. But it was already too late.
“Shit,” he breathed, as the aliens passed through the bomber formation. The bombers didn't stand a chance. One by one, they were picked off before the aliens turned and followed the battlecruiser into the inky darkness of space. He had the unmistakable feeling that the aliens had flipped them the bird before departing, fast enough to make pursuit useless. “They got away.”
“Not yet,” Paton said. “The French are on the way.”
“Oh,” North muttered. “Stopped holding back, have they?”
“That will do,” Paton snapped. “Cover them as they go into action.”
Henry found himself smiling, coldly, as the aliens responded to the new threat. They’d thought they’d escaped, but now ... the French closed in, slipping into firing position as the alien starfighters turned and raced to engage them. Absently, Henry wondered just how long they could remain in space without recharging their drives and life support, even if they didn't have to replace their expended weapons. No one had managed to take an alien starfighter intact.
He fired a shot at one of the alien starfighters, then watched as the French launched their torpedoes in one glorious salvo. The battlecruiser turned slightly, pouring point defence fire towards the missiles, but it couldn't hope to take them all out. Five missiles made it into engagement range and detonated, sending more laser beams lashing into her hull. Somehow, absurdly, the battlecruiser remained intact. Instead of exploding, she turned back and kept crawling away from the task force.
“Wow,” someone breathed. “That's one tough little ship.”
“Coming apart now,” North observed. “She’s dead for sure.”
Henry watched, shaking his head in awe, as the alien battlecruiser disintegrated. It was no longer an enemy now, just another starship fighting for survival – and losing. Moments later, something exploded, shattering the entire ship into countless pieces. The remaining alien starfighters turned and hurled themselves at the human ships. They killed five before the last of them was picked off and killed.
“We won,” North said. He sounded awed – and tired. “We won!”
“Yeah, you did,” the CAG said. “Well done, all of you.”
He paused. “The CSP is to remain on guard duty,” he added. “The remainder of you are to return to the barn at once.”
Henry nodded and glanced down at his display. Alpha Squadron had been lucky, he realised; they'd only lost one pilot. But he'd known her since he’d entered the Academy. Bitterly, he found himself torn between grief and a tiredness so complete that he could barely keep his eyes open. He reached for the injector tab and shot stimulant into his bloodstream, even though he knew he’d pay for it later. It would be worse than a hangover, but he didn’t dare fall asleep in the cockpit. His starfighter would never make it home.
There will be time to mourn later
, he promised himself.
And I survived. And I did well
.
***
“The damage is already being repaired,” Captain Fitzwilliam said. “But it could have been a great deal worse.”
“It could have,” Ted decided. The task force’s first major battle ... it was a good thing they’d had the enemy so badly outnumbered, he knew, because the battle had revealed a number of problems that had to be handled before they faced a stronger enemy force. “But we survived.”
He glanced at his watch. The entire battle had lasted no longer than fifteen minutes, from first detection to the destruction of the second battlecruiser. As always, it felt as though it had taken hours, if not days, to win the fight. The rooks were going to have real problems adjusting when they returned to the ship, he knew. No matter how good the simulators had become, they never quite matched actual combat. The awareness that one could die at any moment was lacking.
“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said. He paused, looking down at his display. “Their tactics made no sense.”
Ted shook his head. “I think they made a great deal of sense,” he said. “Their cruise through our formation let them get solid data on just how many ships we have.”
He winced. The aliens had clearly underestimated the task force rather badly. Unless they could produce carriers far quicker than any human power, they’d just lost a carrier for nothing, apart from a handful of human starfighters. It was no trade, he knew, which suggested the aliens hadn't realised what they were facing until it was too late to back out. And they’d definitely
tried
to retreat once they’d realised what they were actually facing ...
“So we have to assume they forwarded word to a reception committee further up the chain,” he said. The aliens would have forces assembled at nodal positions, assuming their doctrine matched humanity’s on that point. Those forces would either defend Ted’s target or advance to intercept Ted and his fleet before it could reach the targeted system. “We can no longer hope the aliens don’t know we’re coming.”
“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said, once he’d worked through the logic. “Those poor brave stupid bastards. They gave up their chance to take out a carrier in exchange for intelligence.”
Ted shrugged. “So it would seem,” he said. He leaned forward, feeling tiredness threatening to creep over him and drag him down into sleep. “We will continue towards our target, I think. The alternative is to concede defeat now and fall back towards Terra Nova.”
He noticed Lieutenant Lopez looking alarmed and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes?”
“You’ll need to discuss it with the Council of War, sir,” she warned. “It's in the contingency plans.”
“Bugger,” Ted said. He was too tired to say anything worse. “We wouldn't have this problem if we’d just used British ships.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed.
Ted nodded. “I’ll talk to the other Captains,” he said. “Until then, we will proceed.”
“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said. “Do you want to continue to use stealth?”
Ted considered it. The aliens had a rough idea of where they were – now – and could probably extrapolate a rough idea of where the task force would emerge from the tramline into its target system. Losing stealth would allow them to move faster, but also allow the aliens time to prepare a reception committee in just the right place to catch them as they jumped through the tramline.
“Yes,” he said. “We have no idea what might be ahead of us, after all.”
He looked back at Lopez. “Set up the conference call,” he ordered. He noted she looked as haggard as he felt, unsurprisingly. She’d been on duty for hours before the alert sounded. “And then get some rest yourself. You’re going to be very busy later today.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Chapter Eighteen
It was nearly an hour before Henry was able to get away from the barracks and make his way to the observation blister. His thoughts and emotions were so jumbled that he hadn't been sure what to think or say; they’d won the battle, they'd given the aliens a defeat they wouldn't forget in a hurry ... and yet Samantha was dead, along with four others he didn't know as well. It didn't seem worth it, somehow.
The memories of their shared training were bitter now. Samantha had been one hell of a joker, playing pranks on the other training groups after she’d been lectured, quite sharply, on the dangers of playing pranks on her comrades. And she’d been sweet and funny ... if they hadn't been warned, in no uncertain terms, of the bar on relationships between pilots, he might have tried to court her. But it would have floundered when she discovered the truth, he was sure. She hadn't had a personality that could tolerate being trapped in the goldfish bowl of Buckingham Palace.
He stepped through the hatch and closed it ... and realised he wasn't alone. Someone – Janelle, he realised – was lying on the deck, staring up at the stars. She looked hauntingly beautiful compared to some of his comrades, although nowhere near as striking as some of the women from Sin City. The training officers had warned them that some of those women were on semi-legal contracts from the Third World, but it had been hard to care. All the pilots had really been concerned about was sowing their wild oats before they returned to active duty.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as she looked over at him. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right,” she said, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I just came here to relax.”
Henry nodded, then found a seat and sat down, staring up at the stars. They looked peaceful and utterly unmoving ... it was strange to realise that he’d just fought a savage battle amongst them, against aliens who would happily have killed him if they’d had a chance. But the aliens didn't give a damn about him personally, he knew. They had never shown any interest in human societies. It wouldn't matter to them that they’d come far too close to killing one of the heirs to the British crown.
But his own thoughts still tormented him.
She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Henry hesitated. He’d looked her up on the fleet’s database and discovered she was the Admiral’s Flag Lieutenant. It had been impossible, with Augustus’s level of clearance, to discover if she had really earned the job or if the Admiral wanted her around for less savoury reasons, but she clearly held his trust. Had he asked her to keep an eye on him, he wondered, or was their acquaintance just a coincidence? In her own way, she was probably as isolated as he would be, if he served under his true name.
“I’m not sure,” he said. Confessing to any sort of weakness in front of his fellow pilots would be fatal, he knew. At the very least, they’d mock him relentlessly for weeks. “Should I talk about it?”
A Flag Lieutenant was in an odd position, he recalled from his studies. On one hand, she was her commander’s assistant, confidante and general gofer; on the other, she was still a lieutenant and badly outranked by most of the people she had to deal with on a regular basis. And her very closeness to the Admiral would make it difficult for her to make friends amongst the rest of the crew, particularly now that two-thirds of the crew hadn't served on the Old Lady until after her return to Earth. It was possible, quite possible, that all she wanted was a friend.
But it was also possible that she’d picked up on something and deduced the truth.
“It sometimes helps,” Janelle said, after a long moment. “And I won’t tell anyone, unless it presents a threat to the ship’s security.”
Henry snorted, then returned his gaze to the stars. “I killed today,” he said. “Four aliens died at my hands. I know they would have killed me first, but I still feel ... awkward about what I did.”