Authors: Christopher Nuttall
He strode back through the network of corridors –
Ark Royal
was even more internally complex than the more modern carriers – and into the tactical section. Lieutenant Commander Keith Farley was already there, issuing orders to a handful of crewmen while watching a tactical simulation on the display. There was little data on the enemy forces – at least, not yet – but
Ark Royal
had quite a few surprises for any human starship that got too close. The rail guns and mass drivers might be outdated, yet they packed one hell of a wallop.
“We’re going to need a regular supply of projectiles,” Farley informed him. “I’d like to obtain a compressor – perhaps from an asteroid mining crew – and then use that to produce new projectiles upon demand. We may be operating some distance from regular supply services.”
James nodded, impressed. Mass drivers were powerful, but they burned through ammunition at a terrifying rate. It wasn't as if they were firing expensive missiles – the projectiles were nothing more than pieces of rock – yet even a carrier as large as
Ark Royal
couldn't carry an infinite supply. But a compressor would allow them to produce their own projectiles from asteroid materials, if they had time to pause to reload.
“Put in the request and I’ll countersign it,” he said. There shouldn’t be any problem arranging for a compressor, not when no one else would have a use for it. The only other ships that carried mass drivers were older ships from the lesser powers. “What about missiles and pulse cannons?”
“Missiles may be delayed,” Farley admitted, reaching for his terminal. “Everyone and their dog wants missiles right now and we’re down at the bottom of the priority list. The pulse cannons are on their way – thankfully, the other carriers already had theirs installed – and we should have them set up within the week. The real problem, of course, is going to be coordinating everything.”
James winced. Modern carriers were built to
avoid
friendly fire ... but
Ark Royal’s
systems were less capable of separating friend from foe. Even with computers – no human mind could hope to handle the speeds involved – it was still difficult to be absolutely sure that a foe was being targeted before the opportunity vanished into nothingness. The engineering crew had promised that more modern sensors would be arranged, but they had problems interacting with the other systems. Given enough time, he suspected that Anderson would have preferred to rip everything out and start again with more modern technology. But that would have taken years.
“I’m currently working out ways to manipulate active sensor probes and passive sensor arrays to make it easier to provide full coverage,” Farley added. “However, if we were flying with more modern carriers, I would suggest tapping down our own sensors and relying on theirs.”
“Dangerous,” James observed. “I don’t think the Captain would approve.”
“Me neither,” Farley agreed. “It depends on just how the Admiralty intends to employ us.”
James sighed. After the first briefing, there had been nothing from the Admiralty – at least nothing concerning
Ark Royal
directly. There had been security alerts, warnings that peaceniks were already starting to protest against the war, and a handful of speculative papers on just what the aliens might have in mind, but nothing more specific. The media had been crammed with even more baseless speculation, ranging from horror stories about alien atrocities to suggestions that the human race had somehow provoked the war. But no one knew anything for sure.
“I believe that depends on how quickly we get ready for active service,” James said. He sighed, then looked up at the simulation. “Keep me informed of progress.”
Farley nodded, then returned to his work.
James’s terminal buzzed. “Sir,” Midshipwomen Lopez said, “the Royal Marine shuttle is requesting permission to land.”
“Oh,” James said. He glanced at his chronometer, then swore. The planned schedule had called for the Marines to arrive the following day, when
Ark Royal
was ready for them. If the Marines came onboard now ... they would have to help set up their own gear. The crewmen didn't have the time to handle it. “Tell them to dock, then inform the Captain. I’ll meet them in the shuttlebay.”
***
“Someone seems to like us, sir,” Captain Reginald Jackson said, once the XO had shown them to the barracks and departed. “Only a little dust, smelly sheets ... good god, they even gave us a shower!”
Charles snorted, unable to conceal his amusement completely. Compared to some of the places his commando had slept over the years,
Ark Royal
was paradise incarnate. Marine Country was always cramped, forcing the commandos to share beds from time to time, but that wouldn't be a problem on
Ark Royal
. Only 120 Royal Marine Commandos had been assigned to the ship under his command, which meant there was plenty of room for them to spread out in the vast barracks.
“It doesn't look like they set out to welcome us,” he agreed. Normally, Royal Marines and naval crewmen hazed one another mercilessly.
Ark Royal’s
crew clearly hadn't had the time, even if they’d had the inclination, to prepare an unpleasant welcome for the marines. But then, there
was
a war on. Even the pettiest of naval crewmen would have thought better of continuing the rivalry when they might have to rely on the marines to save their lives. “Get the bags unpacked, then we can inspect the training facilities.”
He watched his men preparing themselves, feeling a twinge of pride. The Royal Marines prided themselves on being the roughest and toughest British fighting men – a claim that was hotly disputed by other units that considered themselves equally tough – and no marine was ever allowed to wear an armoured combat suit without proving himself on the ground first. Training was harsh, unrelenting and sometimes lethal, but those who emerged from the experience were ready for anything. But they’d never seriously prepared for alien contact.
The RSM saluted, once the final bags were stowed away. “All present and correct, sir,” he said. “We’re ready for deployment.”
Charles smiled. “Good,” he said. Royal Marines served as everything from boarding parties to onboard security. If nothing else, they could be sure of doing something new every few days. Just because there was a war on there was no good reason to neglect endless training and exercises. “Let us go prepare for the war.”
Chapter Five
“Enemy fighters at three o’clock,” Kurt said.
“Roger,” Rose answered. “What should I do until then?”
Kurt rolled his eyes. The joke had been outdated when the military had started experimenting with jet fighters, let alone starfighters in interplanetary space. But it was good to realise that the squadrons were coming together, even if it did mean some cheek and backtalk from his subordinates. He settled back into his chair, then watched as the enemy fighters closed in rapidly on the flight of Spitfires.
“On my mark, jink and engage,” he ordered, curtly. “I don’t want them anywhere near the carrier.”
The enemy starfighters looked as if they weren't even bothering to try to hold a formation. A civilian pair of eyes would have thought the pilots were drunk or incompetent, but experienced starfighter pilots knew better. Predicable flight paths meant certain death for the pilots; the enemy were jinking around like mad, even as they approached
Ark Royal’s
defenders. Long-range shots would almost certainly do nothing more than alarm them – and accomplish that much only if they were not experienced enough to know that the odds of being hit were almost non-existent.
Spitfires didn't
look
anything like their famous namesakes from the Battle of Britain. They were spherical craft, bristling with weapons and drive thrusters that could push them in any direction. Spacecraft didn't have to be bound by the laws governing jet aircraft in planetary atmospheres, after all. It was impossible to build a starfighter that also functioned as a jet fighter to engage targets on the ground.
“Mark,” he ordered. “Now!”
The starfighters jinked, then opened fire as the enemy came into range. Kurt watched grimly as the enemy concentrated on blowing through the defending formation, instead of trying to hunt them down one by one. It suggested, part of his mind noted, that they were armed with anti-carrier missiles rather than being configured to sweep space clean of hostile starfighters. But they still carried chain guns of their own, ready to take shots at any starfighter that presented itself as a target. Kurt cursed under his breath as two of his pilots died, followed by five enemy fighters. The remainder accelerated towards
Ark Royal
, forcing the defenders to give chase.
We’re rusty
, he thought, sourly. Two weeks of intensive practice had allowed the pilots to recover their skills, but none of them had worked together before being assigned to
Ark Royal
. It didn't help that some of the reservists hadn't set foot on a carrier for years, let alone flown a starfighter. If they were being graded, Kurt suspected, the entire unit would have been relieved of duty and probably broken up completely. But instead they might have to face a mysterious alien foe ...
The enemy starfighters didn't flinch as they flew into the teeth of Ark Royal’s point defence. Instead, they launched missiles towards the carrier, then tried to break free before it was too late, scattering randomly as they fled. Kurt cursed again as four of the missiles struck home, nuclear warheads detonating against the ship’s hull. Moments later, it was all over.
“End exercise,” he ordered, quietly.
Ark Royal
was tough, armoured in a way no modern carrier was armoured, but even she couldn't survive four nuclear blasts in quick succession. Even a single direct hit would have been alarming; if nothing else, it would damage the network of sensors and weapons mounted on the ship’s hull. “Return to base; I say again, return to base.”
He didn't say anything else until they were seated in the briefing compartment with mugs of hot tea in front of them. There was no hard data on just what the enemy could do, he knew, so they’d assumed that they would be facing modern starfighters armed with the latest in drives, weapons and stealth gear. The Spitfires weren't
that
outdated – the mechanics had been able to refit them with modern sensors – but they had their limitations. And
Ark Royal’s
limited sensor arrays didn't help.
“So,” he said, looking around the compartment. “We lost the carrier. I think that counts as a disaster.”
No one disagreed. Starfighters couldn't hope to return home without a carrier, not with their very limited life support. In theory, they could be picked up by other starships, but no one had ever tried to recover more than a handful of starfighters at once. Kurt made a mental note to recommend that such operations be practiced as soon as possible, although he suspected that the Royal Navy had other problems. Two carriers had been added to the unified defence fleet and dispatched outwards to New Russia, while most of the remainder had been assigned to Earth or Britannia. It would be months before they were ready to start experimenting with new procedures.
“The Captain will not be pleased, I imagine,” he continued. “What did we do wrong?”
“Let them get past us,” Rose said, sourly. She’d come very close to being taken out too. “We need another flight of starfighters closer to the carrier.”
“And what would happen,” another pilot asked, “if the point defence mistakes those craft for enemy fighters?”
“They end up dead,” Rose pointed out, snidely. “Look; we either run the risk of letting them get within missile range of the carrier or we run the risk of letting our point defence take pot-shots at us.”
Kurt snorted. He knew the ideal answer from exercises, but exercises always left out the real danger. The Royal Navy’s planners fought constant battles with the bureaucrats and well-meaning politicians over the use of live weapons in exercises, even though such exercises were always more informative than simulated danger. But then, losing a pilot in an exercise would be politically dangerous. It would be used against the Navy by the politicians.
“We will have to split our forces,” he said, raising his voice. Debates were often interesting and it was important that the pilots learned to speak their minds, but in the end the final responsibility stopped with Kurt himself. Somehow, he doubted the other pilots would be allowed to join him when he faced a court martial if things went wrong. “It will mean additional risk, true, but I see no alternative.”
He sighed. “We’ll run another set of exercises in two hours,” he added. “Go get some sleep, then assemble back here for pre-flight briefing. Any questions?”
“Yes,” one of the pilots said. “When can we expect to receive more pilots?”
Kurt sighed. After the first rush to get pilots and fighters to
Ark Royal
, the bureaucrats had switched their attention to equipping the unified defence fleet, downgrading the ancient carrier to a lower priority. He couldn't really blame them, he knew, but it was still frustrating when he was responsible for the carrier’s fighters. They could cram another two wings of starfighters into the launch bays without real difficulty, hopefully including some torpedo-bombers. Right now,
Ark Royal
had almost no long-range striking power, apart from the mass drivers.