Ark Royal (42 page)

The aliens would know their tricks by now, he knew.  But they’d still have to be careful.  One hit from a mass driver would shatter their carriers .., maybe even their battlecruiser.  It might just allow him time to get his ship to the tramline ...

“First enemy attack force inbound,” Farley added.  “Targets; our frigates.”

Ted nodded, unsurprised.  Strip the carrier of her escorts first, then close in and wipe her weapons and sensors off her hull.  It made sense, he knew, which didn't make it any less irritating.  The alien weapons, combined with their speed and agility, would ensure that that the following hour was going to be very unpleasant.  He wished, suddenly, that he’d spent more time talking with the other commanders, rather than just issuing orders through his subordinates.  But he had never commanded a multinational force before ...

Hell
, he thought. 
There has never been a multinational space force until the aliens arrived
.

“Keep one squadron of starfighters to cover our hull, then direct the remaining craft to cover the frigates,” he ordered.  “And then target the mass drivers on the alien carriers and open fire.”

On the display, the cloud of alien starfighters split up into several smaller formations as they entered engagement range, screeching down on the human frigates like a pack of wolves on helpless sheep.  Ted noted, absently, that they were clearly taking precautions against nukes or EMP-weapons, although there were limits to how much space the alien pilots could put between themselves and their fellows.  The frigates opened fire, picking off a handful of alien fighters as they closed in, then shuddered under the weight of alien plasma fire.

Ted silently thanked God for the armoured warships.  Old they might be, primitive and slow they might be, but they were tough enough to stand up to the aliens.  But damage was mounting rapidly on their hulls as their weapons and sensors were stripped away.  One frigate stumbled out of formation as her drive failed, another vanished in a ball of fire when a lucky alien shot slipped through a gash in the hull and triggered an explosion.  Ted noted lifepods launching from the stricken ship, knowing that they were futile.  Unless the aliens saw fit to recover the human survivors, they were going to die in the vastness of interstellar space.

Poor bastards
, he thought.  He could launch shuttles to recover them – and there would definitely be volunteers to mount SAR missions – but the aliens would simply fire on the shuttles, assuming them to be warships.  There were protocols among human powers for recovering stranded personnel, yet the aliens had probably never even
heard
of them.  Besides, why would they allow humanity to recover personnel who could be turned around and sent right back to the war?

“
Franco
is taking heavy damage,” Farley reported.  “Her drives are being targeted specifically.”

Ted winced as he peered down at the display.  The alien starfighters had converged to the rear of the frigate and were pouring fire into her, shattering her armour piece by piece.  There was no escape, he saw; even as his starfighters raced desperately towards the frigate the aliens finally succeeded.  A series of explosions blew the frigate into a ball of radioactive plasma.  Her tormentors slipped away and vanished into the distance, then turned and zoomed back towards another frigate.  The human starfighters moved to block them.

“Beta Squadron needs to reload,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Alpha Squadron is running dry too.”

“Call them back,” Ted ordered. 

Gritting his teeth, he mentally cursed the aliens for having such effective weapons – and for not needing to reload in the middle of an engagement.  If
Ark Royal
had been a modern carrier, recalling her fighters to reload would have been disastrous.  Even with her heavy armour and heavier weapons, it still wasn't particularly safe for
Ark Royal
to have a quarter of her remaining starfighters out of the battle.  But there was no alternative ...

“Hit,” Farley exulted, suddenly.  “We
got
one of the bastards!”

Ted felt a desperate flash of hope as he saw one of the alien carriers staggering out of formation, having taken a bomb-pumped laser to her main hull.  He found himself torn in two as the aliens struggled to save their ship, torn between praying for them to succeed and praying for them to fail.  There was a brotherhood between human spacers, no matter what interstellar power they served, but did that brotherhood include the aliens?  For all he knew, they didn't even have the
concept
of brotherhood.  But he couldn't help feeling torn in two ...

The display blinked, then replaced the icon representing the alien carrier with an expanding sphere marking a cloud of debris.  “Target destroyed,” Farley reported.  “I say again, target destroyed.”

“Good,” Ted said.  The aliens had to
feel
the loss of a carrier ... although God knew they’d killed almost ten alien carriers since they’d gone to war.  But would it be enough to force them to take a step backwards and let
Ark Royal
escape?  “Target the other carrier and continue firing.”

On the display, the alien craft converged, then flashed back towards
Ark Royal
with murderous intent.

***

Kurt was finding it hard to keep track of everything that was going on in the combat zone, despite his best efforts.  His carefully-planned formations had fallen apart as soon as the battle had begun, forcing pilots to fly with whatever wingmen they could find.  The aliens seemed to have definitely learnt from experience, filling space with thousands upon thousands of plasma bolts that threatened to wipe the human starfighters from existence.  At least one of his pilots, he’d noted savagely, had died because he’d flown right
into
the path of one of the plasma bolts, his craft exploding before he'd even recognised his mistake.

He took a shot at an alien fighter, then gave chase ... but the alien pilot rapidly outpaced him, then flipped around and came darting back.  Kurt braced himself, allowed the computers to take the shot as soon as it became possible, then yanked his starfighter to one side.  Warning lights blinked up as plasma blasts flashed past his position, but none of them managed to score a hit.  The alien pilot wasn't so lucky.  A direct hit smashed his starfighter to atoms.

“Good shot, boss,” Gladys called.  “A little help over here, perhaps?”

Kurt nodded, barking orders as he flipped his starfighter around and moved to her assistance.  The aliens were taking ruthless advantage of their numerical superiority, ganging up on the human pilots and forcing them to scatter.  Kurt drove at one alien craft and had the satisfaction of seeing its pilot jumping out of the way, then broke through to cover Gladys as she turned to make the run back to the carrier. 

Clever bastards
, he thought, sourly.  The aliens knew the human pilots needed to reload, so they were trying to make it impossible for them to return to the carrier.  He ordered Beta Squadron to cover the incoming fighters, but he was rapidly running out of pilots with loaded weapons.  The entire wing was running low on ammunition. 

“Alpha and Gamma, prepare to return,” he ordered.  Both squadrons were low, but most of the pilots still had some ammunition left.  “Let them come close before you open fire.”

He felt a moment of unwilling admiration for the alien pilots as they streaked to block their path back to the human carrier.  They’d already picked off the point defence weapons covering the landing deck, allowing themselves to lurk there and pick off human starfighters trying to land.  It was clever, he admitted, although they weren't trying to fire
into
the carrier.  The armour would prevent a series of explosions that would destroy the ship, but they could easily render the landing bay effectively useless.  Or were they more interested in picking off the starfighters?

Kindred
, he thought.  Successful starfighter pilots were neither the wild untamed dogs the movies made them out to be or slavishly obedient servants of the military.  It was strange to realise that they might have something in common with the alien pilots ...

“Fire,” he ordered.

Caught by surprise, five alien starfighters were picked off before they even realised that their intended prey was far from toothless.  The remainder scattered, just long enough to allow the human pilots to land and rush through the reloading cycle.  Kurt slumped in his seat as the ground crew went to work, feeling utterly exhausted.  They were in deep trouble and it was far from over.  He’d have to go back out within moments ...

He looked over at Rose’s starfighter, then cursed himself angrily.  Whatever else happened, he wanted her to survive ... and that was the kind of emotion he could not allow.

Moments later, the starfighter lurched as it was shoved back into the battle.

***

“The starfighters are down to three squadrons worth of starfighters,” Farley said, quietly.

Ted nodded.  Only three frigates remained intact and largely undamaged, allowing the aliens to concentrate their efforts on
Ark Royal
herself.  The repairs they’d carried out had made it harder for the alien pilots to get into range, but not impossible.  Ted had deduced that the aliens had no tradition of actually repairing their ships outside a shipyard, as the alien pilots seemed to have assumed that weapons damaged or destroyed at New Russia hadn't been replaced.  And they were still thirty minutes from Tramline Two.

“Understood,” he said.  They needed time to recuperate, then reorganise their squadrons.  The CAG had done an excellent job, but the pilots needed more guidance than could be provided in the middle of a battle.  “And our mass drivers?”

“Down to one-third projectiles,” Farley said.  “We haven’t scored a single hit.”

“I know,” Ted said.  “But keep firing.”

He scowled.  The aliens were aware of the danger now and were taking precautions, even if it meant withholding some of their starfighters from the swarms tearing the human fleet apart.  They'd come close to scoring a hit on the other carrier, but there was no such thing as proximity damage where mass drivers and inert projectiles were concerned.  They either scored a hit or they didn't.  There was no middle ground.  But, he told himself, if they kept spitting projectiles towards the carrier,  the aliens would be forced to keep some of their starfighters back to cover their ship ...

The only consolation
, he told himself,
is that we wiped out six of their frigates with nukes
.

Farley swore, suddenly.  “Sir, the
Rubicon
...”

Ted blinked, then stared at the display.  The Italian frigate was lurching out of formation, her drives spluttering madly ... but she didn't seem to be damaged.  Beside her, the French and German frigates followed, altering course until they were plunging back towards the onrushing alien ships.  Ted stared, not understanding – at first – what he was seeing.  And then the frigates opened fire.  Their weapons seemed puny compared to the alien energy cannons ...

“They’ll be in range of the plasma gun,” Fitzwilliam said, in shocked disbelief.  One of the alien frigates glowed, then vanished from the display.  The German frigate followed moments later, blown apart by a direct hit from the battlecruiser.  “Call them back!”

Ted shook his head.  The French and Italian crewmen were committed now, he knew.  There was no way they could reverse course again and escape before it was too late.  He watched, torn between horror and respect, as the Italian frigate and the remaining alien frigate killed each other ... and the French frigate rammed the alien carrier directly.  Both starships vanished in a colossal explosion.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Dear God,” Farley said, very quietly.

Ted was stunned.  It was rare, very rare, for one starship to try to deliberately ram another – and to succeed in ramming her target.  No matter what civilians might say, it was about as likely to happen as crashing into an asteroid while flying through an asteroid belt without bothering to keep a careful eye on the sensors.  But the frigates had sacrificed themselves to give the carrier – and the POWs – time to escape.

The aliens seemed equally stunned.  Their starfighters flipped backwards, away from
Ark Royal
, even though they had nowhere to go.  Could the one remaining alien craft, the giant battlecruiser, take them onboard?  Or could they return to the planet and land under their own power?  Intelligence’s best guess was that the alien starfighters were no more capable of landing on a planet than humanity’s starfighters, but what if they were wrong?  Ted shook his head, dismissing the thought.  As long as the starfighters stayed away from his ship, it didn't matter what happened to them.

“The ship-mounted plasma cannon must have a recharge period,” Anderson muttered, through the intercom.  “That would make sense, I think; they’d need to refill the containment chamber between shots ...”

Ted couldn't disagree.  If the aliens had been capable of firing multiple shots without pause, all three frigates would have been destroyed as soon as they entered firing range.  Instead, they’d taken out a carrier and damaged the alien chances of catching their target.

“Recall our starfighters, then keep us heading towards Tramline Two,” he ordered.  “Target the battlecruiser with the mass driver, then open fire if you believe you have a reasonable chance of scoring a hit.”