Ark Royal (31 page)

“Yes,” Ted said.  If a Puller Drive was badly damaged, it wasn't unknown for a starship to arrive at her destination star system in pieces. 
Ark Royal
was nowhere near that badly damaged, but it was unlikely the aliens knew that.  And, if the explosion seemed big enough, it might well have swallowed the other ships too.  “Let them think us gone.”

“We don’t have enough debris to pull it off,” Anderson said.  “But we could probably create the illusion on
this
side of the tramline, if you don't mind losing the ECM drones.”

Ted smirked.  Each ECM drone cost upwards of a billion pounds apiece and he was sure to face some hard questions from the beancounters when they returned to Earth, but the alternative was losing
Ark Royal
herself.  No, he decided, shaking his head.  The bureaucrats could go hang.  If they wanted to complain, they could do it afterwards, when at least he would have brought his ship home.

“See to it,” he ordered.

The alien attack grew more savage as the human ships crawled closer and closer to Tramline Five.  Thankfully, the alien capital ships seemed to be keeping their distance, but the starfighters pressed the attack time and time again.  Ted watched, grimly, as two of his starfighters were lost because the pilots were too tired to focus properly on what they were doing.  Between tiredness and the aliens, he might lose a third of his starfighters before they even managed to make it out of the cursed system.

Finally, Anderson called him.  “Everything is in order, sir,” he said.  “I recommend having the starfighters docked to our hull when we make the jump.  And that we fire missiles and mass drivers at the aliens to keep them occupied.”

Ted nodded.  “Do it,” he ordered Farley.  Ahead of them, Tramline Five blinked on the display.  “Launch the drones as soon as we reach the outer edge of the tramline.”

The alien starfighters pulled back as the missiles were launched, leaving the carrier alone as they engaged the missiles.  Oddly, they didn't seem to care about the mass driver-launched projectiles, although they might simply have calculated that there was little chance of the projectiles hitting anything important.  Ted gripped the side of his command chair as the drones went to work, skilfully creating a false image that should confuse the aliens long enough for them to jump ...

“Jumping ...
now
,” Lightbridge said.

Space seemed to twist around the massive carrier as she jumped through the tramline.  Behind them, the drones created the illusion of the carrier’s sudden destruction, caught in a gravimetric fold that smashed her and her comrades into rubble.  The aliens would want to believe it, Ted knew.  But would they?

“Jump completed,” Lightbridge said.  “No enemy contacts detected.”

“Activate full stealth protocol,” Ted ordered.  The advantage of hitting the tramline at speed was that there was no way to predict their vector on the other side.  Even their arrival point could be dangerously random.  “I don't want a single
hint
of betraying emissions to reach their sensors.”

And then pray
, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts.  If the aliens caught them with drives, weapons and sensors stepped down, they were dead.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kurt guided his starfighter into the landing bay then sagged, barely able to move.  He was utterly exhausted.  Part of him just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, even though he knew he had to move.  The aliens could be on them at any moment.  Somehow, he managed to open the hatch and stumble out onto the deck.  None of his fellow pilots, even the younger ones, looked much better.

“All hands,” the intercom blared, “rig for silent running.  I say again, rig for silent running.”

“Crap,” Kurt muttered.  They were
all
exhausted – and yet, at least one squadron would have to remain on alert.  He looked up, then keyed his communicator.  “Move the bomber pilots to the spare fighters and prime them for immediate launch.”

Shouldn't be trying to combine CAG duties with flying duties
, he mocked himself, as he led the way through the airlock and into the ready room.  He knew he was right; the CAG should remain separate from his squadrons, not leading them into battle.  But there just weren’t enough pilots onboard for him to refuse to fly a starfighter.  And he didn't
want
to stand on his rights and refuse to fly.  There was a reason CAGs weren't always taken seriously unless they flew every so often.

His fingers refused to cooperate properly as he wrestled with his flight suit.  It took several minutes to remove it and leave it on the deck as he stumbled into the shower and gasped as icy cold water washed over his body.  Behind him, the other pilots stumbled in, too tired to indulge in the laughing and joking they would normally have used to break the tension.  He caught a glimpse of a female pilot’s breasts, then forced himself to look away, damning himself for staring.  It was a breakdown in discipline his squadron could ill afford.

Somehow, he managed to make it out of the shower and over to the sleep machines.  Using them was never pleasant – they would need to catch up on natural sleep sooner rather than later – but there was no choice.  A natural sleep couldn't be broken so easily, even if it did mean less wear and tear on their mood.  Issuing a quick flurry of orders, he climbed into one of the machines and pulled the hatch down over his head.  Moments later, he was asleep.

***

Someone – the file refused to say who – had named the red star Barong.  Ted puzzled over it for a long moment, then decided it didn’t matter.  Barong had nothing to interest anyone, apart from a pair of tramlines that led to New Russia and Vera Cruz.  Even the handful of asteroids and comets weren't particularly interesting.  There was barely enough of them to sustain a very tiny settlement.

“No sign of pursuit,” Farley reported.  “I ...”

He broke off as red icons appeared on the display.  “Contact,” he snapped.  The mood on the bridge sank rapidly.  “Four frigate-sized craft, Captain.”

Ted swore.  He'd known better than to think they’d fool the aliens for long, but he had hoped ... and now those hopes had been shattered.  But the aliens had come through the tramline at some distance from them, enough – he prayed desperately – for them to overlook the carrier when they started searching in earnest.  If they
did
start searching in earnest ...

“Keep a sharp eye on them,” he ordered.  It was possible that the aliens would merely maintain a watch for several hours, then pull back.  Or that they would go doggo themselves and wait for the carrier to reveal herself.  “Alert me if they start probing space near us.”

He silently ran through the vectors in his mind. 
Ark Royal
might have been unpowered, but she was still moving away from the tramline at a considerable speed.  Given enough time, they might make it far enough from the alien craft to be able to manoeuvre without being detected, although it would take days.  He shook his head.  Days of rest, recuperation and repair work sounded very good right now.

“Understood, sir,” Farley said.  He sounded tired, utterly exhausted.  “So far, they’re just holding position.”

Ted scowled, trying to put himself in his enemy’s shoes.  What would
he
think, if he thought he’d seen the carrier he was chasing accidentally destroy herself?  Would he suspect a trap or would he gloat over his victory and return to preparing the invasion of human space?  Ted knew, naturally, that it
was
a trick.  It was hard to imagine what the enemy would do when he knew that ... and that the enemy was thoroughly alien.  Who knew
what
would seem to make sense to them?

“Then we will do nothing,” he said.  He shrugged.  There was no shortage of repair work that had to be done.  The point defence network had to be repaired, the mass drivers had to be reloaded ... he smiled, thinking of the asteroids drifting in orbit around the dull red star.  A few days of intensive mining and processing and they’d have more than enough projectiles to rebuild their stockpiles.  “Contact the other ships.  I want a complete breakdown of their status.”

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair.  “And then switch out the Alpha shift completely,” he added.  “Tell everyone that I want them to get at least a few hours of rest.”

His earpiece buzzed, two minutes later.  “Captain,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Might I advise you to get some rest too?”

Ted shook his head, then remembered that his XO couldn't see him.  “No,” he said.  Rest sounded a very good idea right now, but he knew his duty.  “I have to stay on the bridge.”

“Captain,” Fitzwilliam said, “you’ve been in command for the last twenty hours.  You need some rest.  As your XO, I must
insist
on it.”

“You must
insist
,” Ted repeated.  It was true; one of the duties of the XO was to point out when the Captain was overworking himself.  The duty was laid down in naval regulations, but it made for some awkward conversations.  Ted had never heard of any other XO actually carrying out the duty.  But then, it wasn't the sort of thing that would be recorded in starship logbooks.  “And yourself?”

“I snatched a nap before we launched the attack,” Fitzwilliam reminded him.  “I’ll take the next few hours on the bridge, then you can relieve me.”

Ted sighed and gave up.  “Very well,” he said.  “You take the bridge.  I’ll be in my office.”

He looked back at the display as the channel closed.  The alien ships were still holding position, watching and waiting.  If they started to search ... but they weren’t moving.  Every moment they delayed, he knew,
Ark Royal’s
chances of escape grew much stronger.  But realistically ... all they would have to do was blockade the two tramlines and prevent the carrier from leaving the system.  If, of course, they thought the carrier was still intact.

The hatch opened, revealing Fitzwilliam.  Ted took a moment of petty pleasure in noting that the XO looked tired and exhausted himself, then rose to his feet and surrendered the bridge to his subordinate.  The XO eyed him for a long moment, clearly concerned, then nodded towards the office hatch.  Tiredly, Ted left the bridge and stepped into his office, then noticed that his terminal was blinking.  The list of dead officers and men – mainly starfighter pilots – was waiting for him.

Ted glanced at it, then cursed under his breath.  He knew he should feel something – anything – for the dead, but he was too tired to let their loss affect him.  Instead, he sat down on the sofa, then lay down and closed his eyes.  Sleep overwhelmed him seconds later.

***

“It’ll take us at least four days to close all the blind spots,” Anderson said.  “The bastards did a damn good job of peeling away our defences.”

James sighed, rubbing his forehead.  His head hurt, but he didn't dare take anything for it, not even a simple painkiller.  The last thing he needed was to have his judgement impaired any further.  Even as it was, he was deeply worried about accidentally doing something that would alert the aliens to their position.  The carrier was in no state to fight off a renewed offensive.

The Chief Engineer was right, he knew. 
Ark Royal
had lost enough of her point defence to make her hellishly vulnerable, although none of the internal systems and power conduits had actually been destroyed.  Given time, the damage could be repaired, while the destroyed weapons could be replaced from the stockpiles they’d taken onboard before they’d departed from Earth.  But would they have the time?

“Start work as soon as possible, but remember we have to remain undetected,” he ordered.  Ideally, he would have preferred to wait a week, long enough to place quite some distance between themselves and the alien craft even without the main drives.  But if the aliens caught them now, they wouldn't have a hope of fighting back long enough to reach the other tramline.  “I don't want a single betraying emission.”

Anderson gave him an offended look.  “My crew are not amateurs,” he said, crossly.  “They know what they’re doing.”

James opened his mouth to deliver a stinging rebuke, then realised that the engineer was as exhausted as everyone else.  “Get some sleep first,” he said, instead.  “Your second can handle the work.”

“I don’t trust anyone to work on the Old Lady without supervision,” Anderson said, flatly.  “With your permission ...?”

“Keep me informed,” James said.  Four days of work, all of which had to be undertaken without emitting a single betraying pulse of energy that would bring the aliens down on them like a hammer.  It wasn’t going to be easy.  “And don’t hesitate to conscript others if you need more hands.”

He sighed, remembering one of the stories passed down from his illustrious ancestors.  One particular Fitzwilliam had shocked his aristocratic relatives by taking command of a submarine, rather than an aircraft carrier or a battleship, during the war against Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.  That Fitzwilliam had once spent several days being hunted by German ships after a mission into the Baltic Sea had gone badly wrong.  James hadn't understood how his ancestor had felt, not until now.  Detection would mean almost certain death.

His console chimed.  “Commander,” Midshipwomen Lopez said, “the reporters would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

James bit down the response that came to mind.  “Tell them that I will speak with them as soon as it is
convenient
,” he said.  “And until then, they should go back to their cabins and get some sleep.  It will not be
convenient
for at least a day.”