Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor (21 page)

 “That isn’t good enough,” the Major replied. “All they need to do is duck out of the way. Can’t you fit some sort of target acquisition?”

 “Most of them need some time to lock in on their target. We want to be firing within the first few seconds of our emergence,” Caine said.

 “There’s an answer,” Lane suggested. “Mr. Quinn, can we add additional control circuits to Alamo using the shuttle guidance systems?”

 “Fly the missiles from shuttlecraft?” he said, frowning. “I think so, but that only gives us six more controls at the most.”

 “Then all you need to do is to have one guided missile in each batch of six, the remainder to simply follow the leader. The catch is that as soon as the enemy forces work out what we’re doing, they’ll be able to focus all their attention on the lead missile, but it should get those two salvos into their target.”

 “That’s...actually a really good idea,” Quinn said. “I’ll get on it right away.”

 “There’s another wrinkle we can use with the shuttles, as well,” the Major said. “We can load them with explosives, and use them as missiles as well.”

 “Can we do that and use their guidance systems?” Marshall said.

 “I don’t see why not. All of them can be controlled remotely in any case. We can get a hell of a warhead into their cargo bay, and they’ll be a lot harder to stop.”

 “I’m not sure I like the idea of using up all of our shuttles,” Quinn said. “Given enough time, I can probably put together some replacements, but even so…”

 “We’ve got to get through this battle first,” Caine said. “We can put the pieces back together again afterwards.”

 “It would be a good second-salvo weapon,” Marshall said, nodding. “Make it happen.”

 Zebrova looked around the room, and said, “I should say at this point that there is a reason that ships normally don’t run themselves this low. We’re going to strip Alamo of consumables to make this work, and sustain a hell of a lot of damage that we’ll struggle to repair. Not to mention that the trick with the salvo missiles will only work once, maybe twice.”

 “The laser gimmick is something we probably can use again,” Quinn replied, “Though I’m a bit nervous about the shuttles, I must admit.”

 “Our objective is simple for this battle – to cause maximum damage to the enemy. Only that and nothing more.”

 “We might be wasting the shuttles, though,” Zebrova said. “This won’t work for the planetary shuttles, but we could convert the orbital craft into missile boats. Rig small Mark Tens on each one in packets.”

 “That’s crazy,” Caine said. “The enemy fighters would shoot them down in seconds.”

 “Not if we kept them close into Alamo, used them for point-defense.”

 “You want to send shuttle pilots out into a hail of missiles and try and shoot them down?”

 “It might work,” Lane said. “We’d have to mesh them into our tactical net. They’d be close enough to home that we could retrieve the pilots if needed. They couldn’t be flown on remote, though.”

 Sighing, Marshall replied, “Where do we find the people to crew them? We haven’t got any fighter pilots on hand, and no, Deadeye, you are needed on the bridge.”

 “Our shuttle crews have had a lot of experience in combat flying lately…,” Zebrova said.

 “Most of it acquired the hard way,” Quinn replied. “They are shuttle pilots, not fighter pilots. It wouldn’t be fair to them to put them through that sort of hell.”

 “If things were fair, we’d all be sitting in the officers’ club on Mariner Station right now sipping cocktails,” Marshall said. “Proceed with the modifications, Mr. Quinn. Lane, I need you to help him out on that.”

 Quinn looked at her, then said, “I’ll do the missiles, you do the shuttles.”

 “Deal,” she said.

 Taking a deep breath, Caine said, “I’ll select some pilots and start getting them into a training program.”

 “Do what you can in the time. There’s something else, something important – none of you are to work around the clock on this one, and I expect you all to have had at least eight hours sleep in the twelve hours before the battle. I’m going to need officers who are fresh and alert, not nodding off. Let’s do this right.” He looked over at his father, “If anything happens to me, my father succeeds me as commander of Alamo, which means I’m going to need you down in Auxiliary Control, Major.”

 “Understood, Captain.” 

 “No briefings or work are to begin until we jump. That’s going to limit us a little, but do what you can with what you have for the moment.”

 “Are you going to brief the crew?” Zebrova asked.

 “With the saboteur on board, we can’t dare.”

 Quinn frowned, “There’s no way we can hide what we’re doing, skipper.”

 “Play it as preparations for battle, and tell your people that they are going to be doing work on the outside of the ship when we arrive. Make stuff up, anything to throw the saboteur off the scent.”

 Shaking his head, Quinn said, “The only way we’re going to catch him is when he breaks cover. What about Cooper?”

 “He hasn’t been seen since the message was sent yesterday,” Zebrova said. “I think we have to assume that he is dead.”

 “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Caine said.

 “No, she’s probably right,” Marshall said. “If he wasn’t, he would have found some way to get in touch with me. He must have found out who the saboteur was, and I suspect he paid for that knowledge with his life.” Looking around the room, he said, “For the present, no-one outside the room is to know that Cooper wasn’t the traitor.”

Nodding quietly, Lane replied, “It isn’t fair on him, but we don’t have much choice. I’d like to countersign the citation for whatever you want to place on his record.”

 “You tried to kill him,” Quinn said, shaking his head.

 “I tried to kill a man I thought was a traitor to us all, Lieutenant. That isn’t quite the same thing.”

 Marshall raised a hand, saying, “That’s enough. I don’t need to tell you all that I’m going to need the absolute best from you over the next few days. Odds are that afterward, we’ll have a long time to relax, one way or another. We’re going to run at least one evacuation drill while we’re in hendecaspace, make sure the crew is up to date.” Glaring at each of them he continued, “And one final thing. The only one to have the privilege of going down with the ship is the Captain.”

Chapter 21

 Orlova had been looking at the microphone sitting on her desk for a long time, going over what she was going to say in her mind. Any words she could come with seemed woefully insignificant for what she was about to ask the crew to do, and for the hundredth time, she wished that there was someone else present to whom she could pass her burden. At the end of the day, though, this job was hers, and she reached for the microphone.

 “Sergeant Mathis,” she began, trying to keep her voice as carefully poised as she could, “connect me to the entire ship.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he replied, throwing a switch. “You’re on, skipper.”

 “This is the Captain. As you all know, we now have access to a second starship, in the form of the Dumont. She is supplied and prepared to make the trip back to Spitfire Station along the new route we have discovered, a route that provides a safe way home. It is of paramount importance that the information we have accumulated should get back to the Admiralty.”

 “What is of no less importance, however, is the fate of our comrades on Alamo, who even now are on their way into an ambush set by our old friends of the Cabal. This ship is going to proceed to their relief, to throw our weight into battle alongside that of our fellow starship crewmen. I cannot and will not simply abandon them to their fate.”

 Taking a deep breath away from the microphone, she continued, “I know that you have all been through a lot, and that you all deserve a chance to go home, to see your loved ones once again. Already you have performed
far
above and beyond the call of duty, and I do not believe that it is fair to ask you to do any more. Therefore, I have decided that for this mission, Hercules will only be crewed by those who volunteer to remain.”

 “Those who wish to go home will crew the Dumont on its nine-week journey back to Sol. That crew’s mission is no less critical than that of Hercules, no less important to the future of the Confederation. I want to be clear about something else, also; in my opinion, proceeding to the relief of Alamo is a one-way mission.”

 “Hercules has been through a lot of battles, traveled all across the stars in the service of her country, and her career is about to come to an end, not in the slow death of decommissioning, but in the fiery heat of combat. I think that’s the way she’d like to go out, and I think she has earned the chance to avenge her years of captivity by the Cabal, as have you all.”

 “I will be leading the Hercules on this flight; the senior officer who opts to return will command the Dumont. We will be jumping in eight minutes. Those who wish to transfer to the scoutship should report to Airlock One immediately. That is all.”

 Closing her eyes, she reached for a tube of water and took a long, deep squeeze, the cold liquid running into her mouth and escaping into the room in small bubbles. Rubbing her hands across her forehead, she pushed out of the office onto the bridge, and looked around at the assembled crew, already somewhat diminished. 

 “Frank, you’re staying?” she said to Nelyubov, wondering exactly when they had switched from antagonism to first-name terms.

 “I hate to miss a fight, ma’am.”

 Durman was leaning by the captain’s chair, and said, “I might as well stay. You did tell me that Hercules was the best way out of the system.”

 “We’ve secured the station. You don’t have to go anywhere,” she replied.

 Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. I can be of use.”

 “I certainly won’t argue with that. Frank, you take the conn, I’m going down to the airlock to see who we’re losing.”

 “One thing before you go, ma’am,” he said.

 “Yes?”

 “I think we can crew her with six if we have to. Lousy on damage control, but if needs must, we’ll manage.”

 “Thanks,” she said, drifting into the elevator. Contingency plans ran through her mind as she waited for the doors to slide open again, trying to determine which stations needed to be manned, where she would position a small crew; Hercules was already running with a skeleton staff, and would soon be reduced further. Still, they weren’t going to have to worry about what happened after the battle.

  A small group of eight were waiting for her out of the airlock, more than she had hoped but fewer than she had feared. Curry was at the head of the pack, trying to avoid looking at her; Orlova drifted over in front of her.

 “You’re going?”

 “Maggie, I don’t agree with what you are doing. I don’t think it is the right thing to do, and...I want to go home. I think I’ve earned it.”

 “I know you have,” Orlova replied, holding out her hand. “No grudges.”

 Taking it, she said, “Thanks.”

 “I hereby appoint you as the commander of the Dumont. Your orders are quite simple – get home and alert the Admiralty to the situation out here, and push them to dispatch a relief force to Hydra Station.”

 “I’ll do what I can.”

 “With any luck, we should do enough damage to that fleet to buy you some time, but you’ll be best getting out of here as fast as you can.”

 Nodding, she said, “I know what to do.”

 Pushing past, she saw Mathis and Ballard holding a whispered conversation; Mathis looked up at her, embarrassed, and said, “I’m staying, ma’am, but I wanted to see Clara off.”

 “It’s nothing personal, ma’am,” Ballard said. “Maybe I’m being selfish, but I want to see my son again.” She looked over at Mathis, “I’ll be waiting for you, Winston. You get through this.”

 “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way. Right, Lieutenant?”

 “You can’t write Hercules off yet, Corporal. She’s pulled off a few miracles already, and all we need is one more to get us home.”

 Looking at the rest of the group, Orlova said, “I don’t for one moment blame you all for going; in fact I somewhat suspect the sanity of those who have declined the invitation. I wish you the best of luck, and a safe journey home.”

 Vargon drifted down the corridor, coming after the group, slowly swinging gracefully from handhold to handhold, bringing himself to a dead stop at the wall.

 “Wait,” he said. “Lieutenant, I wish to stay.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “I wish you could, but you can’t. Someone’s got to help get Dumont home, and Curry’s going to need all the help she can get. Besides, your people want to put their case before the Triplanetary Senate, and Hercules is heading in the wrong direction.”

 Looking at the elevator, he nodded, then said, “This feels wrong. As though I am running away.”

 A few of the crewmen looked down at the deck at that, but Orlova said, “You’re doing a job that needs to be done. All of you.” With a smile, he said, “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

 “Good hunting, Lieutenant,” Curry said, looking back at her crew. “Come on, everyone, let’s get out of here.”

 The group quietly filed into the airlock, leaving Orlova and Mathis alone in the corridor as the hatch sealed, locking into place, and a brief judder rocked through the deck as the shuttle disengaged on its journey to the Dumont. Orlova looked across at Mathis. 

 “Not too late for you to change your mind, Sergeant.”

 “I’d rather like to see this one through, I think. Be there for the end, whatever it might be.”

 “I’m going to do everything I can to get the crew off at the last.”

 “I know.” He turned to her with a smile, “I trust you to do everything you can, and at the least to make sure that all of this is not in vain.”

 “We’re going to have a damn good try,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go up to the bridge.”

 The two of them stepped into the elevator, Orlova this time in somewhat higher spirits. She now had only seventeen people left on her crew, but all of them were volunteers, all of them knew what they were going to be in for, and all of them had chosen that course willingly. She stepped out onto the bridge with a smile on her face, then frowned as she saw Ixia standing on the deck.