Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (42 page)

“All fighters have returned to their ships,” Lopez said, after several minutes had passed.  “I confirm we lost roughly a third of our fighters.”

Ted cursed under his breath.  There were spare fighters in the fleet train’s holds, assuming they managed to link back up with the freighters they’d left in Target One, but there were few spare pilots.  The CAG going out to fight might have been against regulations, yet it had been necessary; Ted only wished he had more trained pilots at his disposal.  But the Royal Navy hadn’t been able to produce enough pilots in time.  He made a mental note to raise the issue once again when they returned to Earth, or to invite crewmen to attempt to qualify on the simulators.  It would be better than nothing.

“Understood,” he said.  He paused, studying the display.  “Prepare the ships for switchover ... now.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said.  There was a long silence as she worked her console.  “All ships confirm readiness, sir.”

“Good,” Ted said.  “Trigger the drones, then take us into darkness.”

He watched, grimly, as the drones moved ahead of the fleet.  If they were lucky, alien long-range sensors would mistake the drones
for
the fleet, allowing the fleet itself to alter course and make a long dog-leg towards the system’s second tramline.  And if they weren’t lucky ... Ted had few illusions.  If the aliens detected them trying to race towards the second tramline, they’d either give chase or set up an ambush back in Target One.

“Drones underway,” Lopez confirmed.  “They’re on the planned course.”

Ted nodded, hoping they’d struck the right balance between maintaining their distance from Tramline One without heading too obviously towards Tramline Two.  It was logical, he knew, for his fleet to want to take the time for repairs, particularly now that
Ark Royal
herself was badly damaged.  The aliens shouldn't see anything unusual in that, he hoped.  They’d be more interested in waiting for reinforcements themselves before pushing the attack against the fleet home.

“Alter course,” he ordered.  “We will proceed towards Tramline Two.”

Grimly, he looked down at the roster of missing or dead crewmen.  Over three hundred crewmen were believed to the dead after the attack on
Ark Royal
, although only seventy bodies had been pulled from the damaged sections and shipped to the shuttlebay for emergency storage.  The remainder might have been vaporised, tossed into space by the aliens or simply kidnapped.  Ted had his doubts – the sensors hadn't recorded any alien shuttles leaving
Ark Royal
after they’d boarded her – but there was no way to be sure until all of the bodies were recovered.  Some of them might only be identifiable through DNA testing.

He switched to the list of dead pilots and shook his head, grimly.  Over a dozen pilots were dead, including seven of the bomber pilots, a testament to the sheer determination they’d shown in pressing their attacks against the alien fleet.  The remainder would have to be reconfigured into brand new squadrons, once again, and then sent out to fight when they broke back into Target One.  Ted winced at the thought, but he knew there was no alternative, not when there were over four thousand soldiers on the surface.  He was damned if he was leaving them behind.

They might be able to take care of themselves
, the treacherous part of his mind whispered. 

Sure
, a different part of his mind answered. 
Just like Target One was able to take care of itself
.

“Course change complete,” Lopez said, breaking into his thoughts.  “There are no signs we’ve been detected, as far as I can tell.”

Ted relaxed, slightly.  There were five hours until they crossed the tramline, assuming the aliens didn't realise what they were doing and move to intercept.  Anything could go wrong in that time, from drive failure to an accidental emission that revealed their location to watching passive sensors.  He knew he wouldn't truly relax until they were through the tramline, yet he had absolutely no idea what was waiting for them in the next system.  It was quite possible that the aliens had placed another blocking force there.

But that would be spreading their forces too thin
, he told himself. 
If they’d had additional firepower, they should have added it to Force One
.

He wished, again, that they knew more about the political and economical geography of alien-held space.  There were star systems humanity had claimed that were heavily defended, with dozens of warships on hand to respond to any emergency, and star systems that were so isolated that it would take weeks to get a military squadron in place, if necessary.  How quickly could the aliens reinforce the threatened sectors?  There was no way to know.

“Keep me informed,” he ordered, as he rose to his feet.  “I want to know the moment anything changes.”

***

“She served for over seventy years without getting as much as a scratch on her hull,” James said, sardonically.  “I take command and she gets a hole punched through her armour and boarded, all in the same day.”

“Don’t worry,” Amelia said, dryly.  “The blame will be strewn around liberally.  If we’re lucky, it will be spread so thinly that no one will notice.”

James smiled weakly, then resumed his path through the damaged part of his ship.  The engineers had rigged up sheets of armour to ensure that there was no longer any danger of decompression, but he had no illusions about how long they would stand up to alien weapons, if they returned to the attack.  A single plasma bolt would burn through the replacement armour as easily as they burned through modern carriers and frigates.

“We need to move anything explosive out of their firing path,” he said, although he knew it was unlikely they could accomplish anything worth the effort.  “They’ll be targeting the gash in the hull next.”

He shuddered at the thought.  Plasma bolts weren't dangerous
just
because they burned through modern armour, they were dangerous because they destroyed or detonated everything they encountered.  Post-battle analysis of the defeat at New Russia had confirmed that the plasma bolts had obliterated starfighter launching bays, missile storage depots and even fusion cores before the carriers had exploded.  Even if they didn't hit something explosive enough to do real damage, they would still burn through countless systems and cause endless damage and disruption. 
Ark Royal
had more internal armour than the rest of the Royal Navy put together, but it wasn't enough to deflect plasma bolts indefinitely.

“I know,” Amelia said.  “And they also took out too many point defence installations.”

James nodded, remembering how the aliens had strafed the hull.  He’d wondered if the pilots simply didn't believe the reports they must have read about his ship’s armour, but instead it had merely been the first part of their plan.  Without the point defence, it had been distressingly easy for the alien missiles to burn through his hull and allow the shuttles to land.

He said nothing as they walked further down the corridor, keeping his thoughts to himself.  He’d seen the carrier during the frantic struggle to get her battle-worthy once again, but this was worse.  Entire sections had been destroyed, or mangled beyond repair; carbon scoring marred even parts of the interior that had otherwise escaped serious damage.  In the long run, he knew, they’d have to replace the entire section.  There were limits to just how much work Anderson and his crew could do on the run.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Amelia said, as they entered a large compartment.  “It wasn't your fault.”

“I was in command,” James said, as he took in the bodies lying on the deck.  “The responsibility is mine.”

The bodies looked odd under the too-bright light.  Most of them were alien – any interesting tech had already been removed – but a handful were human.  He vaguely recognised a couple of crewmen from an inspection tour, back when he'd assumed command, yet the others were unrecognisable.  One crewwoman’s headless body clutched a small doll in her hand.  There was no sign of her missing head.  God alone knew what had happened to her.

“Crewwoman Pankhurst,” Amelia identified her.  “She came from a sect that believed in carrying those dolls, representatives of their lives.  I believe she had to secure a special exemption from the Admiralty before she was allowed to serve.”

James sighed.  Exemptions were rare ... and almost always caused more trouble than they were worth, as the person who had been granted one had to prove themselves to crewmen suspicious of their right to serve on a Royal Navy starship.  There were times when he felt the flowering of strange sects and cults – including a number who had built their own asteroid settlements – was also more trouble than it was worth.  But he did have to admit that they provided a place to go for those who felt as if they didn't belong anywhere else.

“Poor girl,” he said.  “And how was her service?”

“Very good,” Amelia said.  “There were no complaints about her from her superiors.  I believe she was in line for a promotion at the end of the voyage.”

“We can make sure she has a posthumous promotion,” James said, firmly.  It wouldn't help the poor girl any more, but it would ensure her family – if she had a family – received a larger pension.  Besides, the Royal Navy was looking at additional benefits for families who lost members to the war.  “Until then ...”

He looked over at one of the alien bodies.  As always, they looked disconcertingly humanoid and yet utterly inhuman.  He would have preferred something completely inhuman rather than the faint similarities the two races shared.  A faint aroma of rotting fish surrounded the corpse.  He couldn't help wondering why they’d developed so many different skin colours, particularly when they lived under the waters.  Surely, bright skin colour would attract predators ... or were the aliens actually the top of their planet's food chain?

Humanity is at the top of ours and yet there are still creatures out there who try to eat isolated humans
, he thought. 
Or are the aliens just unconcerned about the dangers?

“Doctor,” he said, addressing one of the medics.  “Is there any biohazard?”

“I do not believe so,” the medic said.  “All of the reports agree that the alien biochemistry is completely different to ours.  But it would be well to keep the bodies on ice until we get back to Earth.”

James nodded.  The last time the Old Lady had carried alien prisoners, every precaution had been taken to ensure that the aliens had no chance to spread germs, deliberately or otherwise, to the human crew.  This time, there had been direct contact between humans and aliens, without any form of protection.  His crew had enhanced immune systems – it was one of the perks of serving in the Royal Navy – but were they enough to cope with an alien disease?  If, indeed, the aliens had something that could spread to human bodies?

“See to it,” he ordered.  “And keep monitoring the crew for any problems.”

“There was no large-scale epidemic on New Russia,” Amelia pointed out, softly.  “The aliens had plenty of contact with humans there.”

James nodded, reluctantly.  Terra Nova had had an epidemic, when several dozen settlers from one of the smaller nations had arrived without going through basic medical checks.  It hadn't been serious, but it had made a great many people very miserable until cures and vaccinations were shipped in from Earth.  After that, the various settlements had become a great deal more careful over health checks before permitting immigration.

But Amelia was right.  The aliens could have spread all kinds of diseases to New Russia’s population by now, even if they hadn't intended to do it deliberately.  It suggested that his crew would be safe.  And yet, how could he take it for granted?

“Move the other bodies to the freezer,” he ordered, shortly.  “We’ll hold a proper ceremony for them when we’re finally on the way home.”

And we identify all of the remaining bodies
, he added, silently.  Some of his crewmen were completely gone, something he suspected would raise all sorts of conspiracy theories.  Had the aliens kidnapped them or had the bodies simply been vaporised?  People would be arguing the question for years to come. 

“Yes, sir,” the medic said.

They turned and walked out of the hatch, encountering Anderson and a team of engineers.  The Chief Engineer finished issuing orders, then nodded to his Captain as his team headed down the damaged corridor towards the gash in the hull.

“Captain,” he said.  “We were really quite lucky.”

James nodded.  One of the missiles the point defence teams had swatted out of existence had been heading directly for the drive section.  If it had detonated, the Old Lady would have been stranded, utterly at the mercy of the aliens.  Losing one or two fusion cores wouldn't be disastrous – the designers had been firm believers in multiple redundancy – but losing the entire drive section would have crippled the ship beyond repair.  If that had happened, they would have had to fight to the bitter end ... or try to surrender.  He suspected that fighting would have been the better option.

“I know,” he said.  “How quickly can you fix what you can fix?”

“We need to rebuild several parts of the ship’s power grid from scratch,” Anderson said.  “Right now, our power grid is badly stressed; if they hit us again like that, we will be forced back on batteries to power large sections of the ship.  I think ...”