The Ganthoran Gambit (The First Admiral Series) (23 page)

With two more Destroyers on his port side and one on his starboard, the Captain held his station directly behind the decoy leader at about three hundred metres distance. Engaging maximum attack speed, the Captain ordered the slightly upwards angled course that would take them as close as they dared towards the huge Alliance fortress. At one thousand metres to the target, the Alliance Self-Defence Turrets opened up at the decoy leader.

In response, the decoy leader opened fire with his “Screaming Death” pods and began the violent swerving and dodging manoeuvres that would distract the Alliance guns.

The white-hot, low-yield pulsar-bolts began to whizz and zip past; close to the brave Captain’s Destroyer, as the Alliance guns failed to strike down the decoy leader. With the decoy leader dodging and weaving for his very survival, near misses on the leader were also desperately close to the Captain’s Destroyer. The pulsar-bolts whizzed towards the Destroyer, growing from tiny specks of light into huge blinding flashes as they zipped past the hull and off into the distance behind them. Ahead of him, the Captain saw the lead decoy take a direct hit. To the Captain, it looked like the nose of the lead decoy simply burst open with a huge dazzling flash. But, the first strike did not prove to be fatal to the lead decoy.

Having lurched to a halt, for a split-second; like a boxer hit with a heavy punch to the skull, the brave crew of the decoy ship pressed on as they weaved, dodged, and fired their weapons.

Around the Destroyer Captain, the hail of deadly Alliance pulsar-bolts was growing heavier as the target area expanded in front of him. Suddenly, beside him, the Destroyer on his starboard side was hit once, then twice, and then a third time by Alliance fire. The first pulsar-bolt hit the Destroyer like sledgehammer, causing it to lurch in space and throw a slew of burning debris out in every direction. The second strike caused another explosion and made the stricken Destroyer tumble to its left, away from the Captain’s vessel, before the third strike a split-second later annihilated the Destroyer in a huge burst of red and orange flame. The debris was scattered everywhere, but the Captain’s Destroyer was moving too quickly to become entangled with the deadly fall out of the explosion.

The Captain’s mind was completely focussed on the gun deck of the huge Alliance Star-Destroyer, despite the great flurry of pulsar-bolts that zipped past his vessel. Two heartbeats later, the leader decoy ship veered off to the right, leaving him with a clear run at the target. He could already see the Alliance gunners, in green uniforms, working feverishly to prepare the Trionic Cannon for its next firing. However, the Ganthoran Destroyer Captain was quicker on the trigger than the Alliance soldiers. At a range of less than one hundred metres, and with pulsar-bolts zipping all around him, the Captain opened up with a two second burst of “Screaming Death” that struck the Force Shielding in front of the Trionic Cannon barrel.

Had the Force Shielding not been in place, the entire Trionic Cannon gun crew would have been killed, and the gun itself damaged. But, unknown to the Captain, the Alliance Force Shielding had held firm, the gun crew had survived unscathed, and the Trionic Cannon was just about to fire again. Having fired the weapons pods, the Destroyer Captain’s next priority was to escape the maelstrom of vessels and the deadly pulsar-bolts. Veering his vessel steeply to the left, the Destroyer Captain held on for dear life, just as Billy had grasped the edges of the War Table, whilst the vessel banked sharply away from the Star-Destroyer.

But, as the vessel turned, one of the hundreds of thousands of low-yield pulsar-bolts that had already been fired found the underside of the Captain’s Destroyer. With a loud bang and a deep yellow flash, the crew compartment of the Destroyer was shaken and jolted as if it had been struck by a huge hammer. The Captain was flung forwards from his position, and slammed savagely against the ceiling of the crew compartment, knocking him out.

The second-in-command reacted immediately and threw himself across the mayhem, chaos, devastation, and destruction of the crew compartment to aid his fallen Captain. And, with the pulsar-bolts still zipping around the vessel, the Ganthoran Destroyer made good her escape from what would be her final attack run. As the Ganthoran Destroyer limped away from the fight, Billy Caudwell heard the news that he had expected.

“Sir!” the Communications Officer called out, “Star-Cruisers in final positions!”

“It’s about time! Navigation, get us out of here, but not too quickly...we’ll make it a running fight all the way to the Wormhole, now, we make our move, Admiral!” Billy smiled at Lokkrien.

For the attacking Ganthoran Destroyers, who were becoming used to the great Alliance beasts standing their ground and soaking up the punishment that they were inflicting, the sudden movement of the Star-Destroyers came as a shock. It was, however, not as great a shock as that received by the dozen or so Destroyers, and the three Cruisers, that were swept away to annihilation by the final Trion Stream from Colossus, as she broke station and moved away towards the Wormhole.

The hundreds of Ganthoran Destroyers, which were in the process of making their attack runs to the rear of the two Star-Destroyers, were smashed against the Force Shielding like balsa wood and matchstick models. The two space fortresses simply barged through the cordon of Ganthoran vessels as they had done during the earlier rampage through the Axe-Blades. The Destroyer Captains with enough presence of mind aborted their attacks and swung their vessels away from the path of the rampaging Star-Destroyers. Those not quite so astute, or just plain unlucky, were smashed to into oblivion in red, roaring flames that looked like Christmas lights on the faces of the huge Alliance ships.

The Ganthoran Destroyers attacking from the front or flanks suddenly found that the huge targets they had lined up in their gun sights suddenly melted away from their lines of vision. And, given that an Alliance Star-Destroyer was almost ten kilometres across, then that was some achievement. The Destroyers attacking from the front, however, simply kept on following their original courses as the Star-Destroyers and the hail of low-yield pulsar bolts began to draw away from them. Those attacking from the flanks rapidly altered course and found themselves playing catch-up with their comrades. For Frontier General Sal’nor, the sudden movement of the Alliance Star-Destroyers, after such a furious and concerted attack, meant only one thing: a hasty retreat.

Ordering the Ganthoran Cruisers and surviving “Six Cigar” Carriers forward; at full speed, Sal’nor believed he had the matching of these two impudent space fortresses with his Cruisers.

“Not so fast, Navigation!” Billy watched the War Table image as two Star-Destroyers started to pull away from the pursing Ganthorans. “Let them keep up with us!”

“Yes, sir, sorry sir,” the Navigation Officer apologised.

The pursuit was now on. This was the move that Marrhus Lokkrien had asked about, and now Billy Caudwell was making that move. It would be a three minute run to the Wormhole, and Billy Caudwell needed the whole Ganthoran fleet to follow him there and proceed through to the other side. It was going to be a tense and nerve-wracking three minutes to the Wormhole, but Billy knew that the Navigation teams could keep the huge Star-Destroyers just one half-step ahead of the Ganthorans.

“Watch your speed, Navigation, keep it just about there!” Billy warned.

On the War Table image, Billy could see the two Star-Destroyers, followed by the great straggle of the Ganthoran Combined Frontier Fleets. In the lead, just tantalisingly out of weapons fire range, the great clusters of Destroyers were strung out like tired athletes at the end of a long gruelling race. Over four thousand kilometres of space away, the Ganthoran Destroyers were spread back, but still some five thousand kilometres ahead of the main body of Cruisers. There was no shape or formation to the Destroyer pursuit, but it soon became clear that the damaged ships were starting to lag behind.

“WATO, order Colossus ahead of us!” Billy said. “Let the Ganthorans think that we’re damaged and can’t keep pace with her, let them think we’re a lame duck!”

“Yes, sir!” The WATO had malicious glee in his voice.

“Remind me never to play games of strategy with you, sir.” Lokkrien smiled his admiration at Billy for his clever tactical move.

“I’ll teach you how to play a game called Gin Rummy the way my mother plays,” Billy responded, “she makes the rules up as she goes along, and never ever loses!” Billy added with a smile.

Meanwhile, on the War Table image, the pursuit was continuing. The Ganthorans, frustratingly out of range, were firing their weapons pods uselessly in the hope of a lucky strike against the fleeing Star-Destroyers. Colossus was beginning to pull away from Olympus, which was holding her course and speed towards the Wormhole.

“They have to buy it!” Lokkrien smiled in anticipation of a successful bluff.

“Let’s hope so.” Billy continued to watch the War Table image anxiously.

Colossus was now clearly starting to pull away as the Ganthoran Destroyers began to fan out. For many, the loss of momentum caused them to fall further behind the lead vessels, but General Sal’nor had ordered them to be prepared to launch an immediate attack on the straggling Alliance ship.

“He’s fanning them out!” Billy clapped his hands together once in delight and began to smile. “He’s buying it! He thinks he can catch us here or at the Wormhole, so he’s taking up attack positions!”

“Do you think he’ll follow through at the Wormhole?” Lokkrien asked.

“Oh yes, Admiral, he thinks he can take us!”

“Colossus approaching Wormhole, sir,” the Scanner Officer said.

And, as planned, Billy watched the mighty Colossus, slowing down to open the enormous, swirling, misty maw of the Wormhole with Cheddax radiation, before dropping neatly into the Trionic Web. To Billy, watching the War Table image, it looked like a huge octagonal snooker ball had dropped neatly into one of the snooker table pockets.

“One down,” Lokkrien said.

“And, one to go.” Billy grinned as he completed the famous saying.

“One minute to Wormhole, sir,” the Navigation Officer said.

“Excellent! Propulsion, warm up the Trion Drive. Navigation, slow right down at the Wormhole, and WATO, be ready to open it up in a hurry!” Billy ordered.

“Do you want to give them one last shot of the Trionic Cannon, sir?” Lokkrien asked.

“No!” Billy responded perhaps a bit too sharply for his own liking. “Their blood is up, and they’re following us as top speed. Let’s not dampen their enthusiasm to destroy us,” Billy added calmly.

It was all falling into place just as Billy had hoped it would. The Ganthoran Destroyers had fallen behind slightly, to get themselves into an attack arrowhead formation. That was all the better for Billy, who knew that he wouldn’t have to take the chance of making a last-minute burst of speed to give them time to open the Wormhole before vanishing into the Trionic Web. A sharp-eyed Ganthoran Scanner Operator might detect the additional speed and potentially destroy the pretence of a damaged warship.

“Thirty seconds to wormhole, sir!” the Navigation Officer called.

They were close, very close to success.

“Very well, Navigation, set co-ordinates for the Trion Drive, follow Colossus, signal Admiral Parbe’an to stand-by!” Billy commanded.

The Ganthorans were still following, at the top speed that their vessels could manage. Billy knew that if he really wanted to, he could leave these enemy warships light years behind him in a few minutes. But, he wanted them through the Wormhole.

“Twenty seconds, sir!” the familiar voice called.

“Very well, Navigation, slow us down at the last possible moment, but don’t overshoot the Wormhole!” Billy warned. “WATO, open the wormhole up when we slow down.”

“Signal from Admiral Parbe’an, sir- ready when you are,” the Communications Technician called out.

“We’ll be a couple of minutes early,” Lokkrien said.

“Well, no one’s perfect.” Billy smiled.

“Ten seconds, sir!” the voice called one last time.

And, for one last time, Billy looked at the War Table image. The Ganthorans were still following doggedly on, and the Destroyers were now in their formidable arrow-head formation, like the Cruisers and “Six-Cigar” Carriers that lagged just over four thousand kilometres behind them.

“Like lambs to the slaughter,” Billy said softly to himself.

“Slowing down now, sir,” the Navigations Officer said.

“Open her up, WATO!” Billy watched in awe as the WATO sent out a well-aimed and judged burst of Cheddax radiation.

The great smoky and misty opening of the Calyx Wormhole stretched wider and wider apart under the influence of the radiation, until it was wider than the Olympus.

“Entering Trionic Web now, sir!” After the Propulsion Officer’s announcement, a cheer broke out from the War Room personnel.

To the Ganthorans racing to catch the huge space fortress, the Olympus appeared to open the great mouth of the Wormhole, and disappear through it.

“Well done, everyone!” Billy breathed a massive sigh of relief.

They had done it. At least, Billy believed that they had done it.

Now it was up to Admiral Parbe’an.

With a sigh of relief, John Caudwell finally stood at the front door of his own home.

The headlights of the taxi that had brought him from the railway station were starting to fade into the distance as the driver sped off down the secluded country lane. And, with a sigh John Caudwell announced that he was home. Turning the small, aluminium-silvered key in the brass lock, John Caudwell heard the soft, satisfying CLUNK as this final barrier to reaching peace and sanctuary was overcome with a small turn of the wrist. With a slight push, the portal to his peace and sanctuary opened with a soft, deep groan.

Holding his breath like a thief in the night fearing discovery, John Caudwell stood on the threshold to his own home. With his own heartbeat hammering in his ears, he carefully lifted the two heavy leather suitcases; that had travelled with him around the entire planet, and carried them the last few feet of their journey. With great care, he set them down gently in the darkened and silent hallway with the faintest of scuff on the varnished wooden floor. It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday night, and Elizabeth would probably have taken an early night after her trip from New York, and the train journey from London. Carefully, he retrieved his key from the lock, and closed the door behind him with the same slow, deep groan.

Leaving his two suitcases, John made his way slowly and quietly into the living room, where the shadows of familiar and much loved objects took on a menacing and sinister appearance in the darkness. Careful to avoid the loose floorboards that would creak and groan their protests to the darkness, John set the two suitcases down behind one of the living room chairs. Then, switching on one of the table lamps by the large bay window, the room began to look more familiar and less threatening to John. Walking over to the cocktail cabinet in the far corner of the room, John Caudwell finally shrugged off the jacket that he had worn on his round-the-world quest and dumped it, unceremoniously, on the white leather settee in the centre of the living room. He needed a drink, he decided, and poured himself a large measure of whisky from one of the square, crystal spirit decanters into one of the tumblers that his wife had insisted on buying at the most expensive shop in Edinburgh.

Adding a little water to the large measure of spirits, John noticed the swirling and rippling pattern in the dark, golden liquid that said ‘too much whisky, not enough water’. With a shrug, John Caudwell ignored the message from the tumbler and took the first taste. Unsurprisingly, it was strong, causing John to cough as he swallowed the soothing alcoholic drink. Sitting down in the centre of the white leather sofa, John noticed that the local newspaper was lying on the coffee table.

Well, it’ll be good to catch up on the local news
, he considered, taking another sip from the ridiculously expensive tumbler.

Opening the newspaper, the first column on the inside page was listed the births, marriages, and death notices; the ‘hatches, matches, and dispatches’ as Billy had called them. Scanning down the lists, John recognised none of the names, and was relieved.

“Well, at least I’m still alive,” he said softly to himself. He smiled at the memory of what his late grandfather had said when he read the same columns almost thirty years before.

John remembered recalled that as his grandfather had grown older, the old man had scanned the same column of the local newspaper searching for the names of friends. And, almost every week, there was a name he recognised; a friend who had departed. There, listed in the cold, hard, impersonal, printed type-face of the local newspaper.

The wry humour had been William Caudwell Senior’s way of coping with the losses that mounted up week after week, month after month, gradually stripping away the people who had helped shape his life. It was at times like this that John Caudwell wished he could go back in time and tell the old man that he had grown so close to, that he understood what he had meant.

Moving on from the death notices, John Caudwell was aware of the ticking of the mantle clock above the fireplace. Looking up, John Caudwell could see that it was eleven thirty, and was surprised that the time had passed so quickly. The whisky tumbler next to the open newspaper was almost empty, and John Caudwell could barely remember drinking the contents. He was obviously a lot more tired than he thought he was, and closed the newspaper to make preparations for bed.

Slowly, and with a degree of tired stiffness in his joints, he raised himself from the comfortable embrace of the white leather sofa.

Yes, I’m definitely getting old,
he considered.

His waistline was spreading, and the old knees were starting to play up. Stretching as he yawned, John Caudwell decided that it was time for the rest and relaxation to begin in earnest. With a good night’s sleep under his belt, he would be able to outline his plans for the site in Nevada to Elizabeth in the morning. Yes, he wanted to see Elizabeth, but she would be asleep, upstairs in that pink and lacy confection of her bedroom. It was something that made John Caudwell smile.

He had never thought of Elizabeth as a fan of pink, lace, frills, and soft furnishings. She had always been such a hard-headed, sensible, and pragmatic woman.

Well, she had worked hard with her book, and she deserved the success
.

So, he was the last person in the world to begrudge her a few little luxuries and indulgences. And, if he had any say in the matter, she would be getting spoiled and indulged a great deal more in the days to come. She had been with him, steadfastly, through the thin part of the “thick and thin” of their lives. Now, she was going to reap the rewards of that loyalty.

But, the hotel incident in New York still left John Caudwell feeling slightly uneasy. It wasn’t like Elizabeth not to leave a message. In their old house, back on the Council estate, the “to do” lists were often a whole page of notepaper long.

No doubt there will be some perfectly simple and innocent explanation
John Caudwell consoled himself,
that will become clear over the morning breakfast table
.

Finishing the last of his drink, John winced at just how strong the whisky and water combination had been. Folding the newspaper, and setting the tumbler next to it on the coffee table, John resolved to wash up and tidy in the morning.

And, it was just as he set the tumbler down and looked at the clock one last time that he spotted the white folded sheet next to the rhythmically-ticking time piece.

Another note
, he thought to himself, remembering that the last note from Elizabeth had sent him around the world.

Stepping round the coffee table, John Caudwell lifted the small folded piece of paper and opened it up to reveal what message his wife had left him prior to retiring for the evening. Almost absent-mindedly, he unfolded the paper and read the contents. With the first reading he stared in shock and disbelief at the small piece of paper in his hand. With a THUD, he sat down heavily on the edge of the coffee table, which protested his weight with a loud CRACK of splitting wood. Twice more he read the note, his mind understanding the words, the meaning becoming more and more convoluted.

DEAR JOHN,

SORRY TO MISS YOU IN NEW YORK, BUT HAD TO GET AWAY QUICKLY.

GONE TO MOTHER’S TO BE ALONE, AND TO THINK. PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW. WILL CALL YOU NEXT WEEK.

ELIZABETH

His instinct said to pick up the telephone and demand to know what was going on, but it was almost quarter to midnight. There would, most likely, be no one awake in the Mackintosh household at this hour.

What was she playing at? Why couldn’t she just sit down and talk to me about whatever it was?

And, try as he could, he could come up with no answer that made any sense.

With the glass in his hand, John Caudwell, a man not noted for any great expressions of emotion or outbursts of anger, let out a great yell of frustration and threw his expensive tumbler; shattering it into a dozen fragments, against the living room door with all the strength he possessed.