Fear God and Dread Naught (14 page)

“Fuck off,” George ordered.

She rose, picking up the datapad and returning it to her belt.  The hell of it was that Potter had given her an idea.  She could ask
Paula
to keep an eye on Henderson - her duty schedule wasn't quite aligned with Henderson’s, but it was close enough to allow her to supervise him and make sure he made it to his duty station on time.  And Paula, her career already at risk, would have an
excellent
reason to make sure she did as she was told.  She’d go down with George and Henderson if all hell broke loose.

Potter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but clearly thought better of it.  George was relieved.  The urge to punch him was overwhelmingly powerful, even though she knew it would start a fight or get her in very hot water.  She honestly didn't know what was stopping her, beyond sheer tiredness.

I’ll have to talk Fraser into more lessons
, she thought.  Hand-to-hand combat was
good
for burning off stress. 
And then I will have to find time to actually take them
.

She followed Potter out of the wardroom and then into the bunkroom.  Henderson was nowhere to be seen - she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.  His next duty assignment was in six hours and he really should be getting some sleep before he went on duty.  But if she’d scared him so badly ...

He could have problems adjusting to the new schedule
, she thought, crossly.  The Academy operated on a very regular schedule, but a warship couldn't afford the luxury. 
But he could have told me about them and we could have worked out a solution
.

She stripped down, stepped into the shower compartment for a brief wash and then climbed into her bunk and set the alarm without bothering to get dressed.  Potter hadn't even bothered with the shower before getting into
his
bunk, although she supposed it didn’t matter.  He had
seven
hours before his next duty assignment, the lucky bastard.  Six hours of sleep, then one hour to shower and snatch something to eat ... absolute heaven.  She pulled the cover over the bunk, throwing the tiny space into darkness, then closed her eyes.

Happiness consists of getting enough sleep
, she reminded herself, as she drifted off into a pleasant haze.  Her tutors had told her that, time and time again. 
And none of us are really getting enough ...

She jerked awake, five and a half hours later. 
Something
had disturbed her, even though she wasn't sure what.  It felt like she was standing watch at the Academy, half-asleep before hearing someone - or something - inching towards her.  And yet ... she tensed, wishing suddenly that she had a weapon.  Henderson would have to be out of his mind to actually
attack
her, particularly without a formal challenge, but she’d threatened him with complete disgrace ...

“Shower, then get to your damned duty station,” a tired voice said.  It took George a moment to recognise Potter, if only because the voice was almost unrecognisable.  “You’re on thin ice as it is!”

“But I need to
sleep
,” Henderson whined.  “I do ...”

“Go now,” Potter said, sharply.  “Or are you a
complete
idiot?”

George didn't relax, even when she heard Henderson making his way into the shower and slamming the hatch closed.  Was Potter trying to help?  Or was he humiliating her by showing that
he
could boss Henderson around?  She still wasn't sure just what had woken her from a sound sleep.  Four years at the Academy had taught her how to sleep through a bunkmate playing heavy metal and two more chatting loudly without stirring from her slumber.  Had Potter woken her deliberately, against all etiquette?  Or was she just being paranoid?  She had no way to know.

Damn it
, she thought.  She reached for her wristcom and checked the time.  Technically, she had another hour before she had to get up and eat before going back on duty, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. 
Damn it to hell
.

She waited until Henderson had left the compartment - he was cutting it fine, although he
should
be able to make it to the tactical department in time - and then slid out of her bunk, dropping down neatly to the deck.  Potter had gone back to sleep and was snoring loudly; beneath him, Felicity was sleeping quietly, without the sound effects.  There was no sign of Paula, but - if George remembered correctly - she didn't get off duty for another hour.

On impulse, she glanced into Henderson’s bunk as she strode to the lockers.  His bedding was a mess, even though they’d been taught to make their beds every morning at the Academy before going to the mess hall for breakfast.  She sighed, wishing she’d thought to make an issue of that when they’d arrived.  Fraser had been keen that standards were maintained and he’d made sure the other midshipmen kept the beds neat and tidy.  She'd just have to take it up with them later.

She dressed quickly, then headed for the hatch.  A quick bite to eat and a coffee or two ... then she could go back on duty.  And who knew?  Maybe she’d scared Henderson straight.  If he didn't give her any more trouble, maybe she could explain his early problems as him trying to get used to a starship and irregular timetables.  It might just work ...

Sure
, she told herself. 
And maybe the horse will learn to sing
.

Chapter Fourteen

“Tactical simulation online, Captain,” Mason said.  “I have the conn.”

“You have the conn,” Susan acknowledged, as she settled into the secondary bridge’s command chair.  “Alert me if anything changes.”

She looked at Jean Granger.  “Link us into the fleet-wide tactical simulation,” she ordered, curtly.  “And authorise the flag to activate the simulation at their discretion.”

“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.  “Simulation active ... now.”

George sucked in her breath as red icons flashed into existence on the display.  Seventeen alien starships; three battleships, two carriers and twelve smaller vessels, flanked by an impressive swarm of starfighters.  Intelligence had asserted, after analysing the first engagements extensively, that the newcomer starfighter technology was no match for humanity’s, but they made up for that with aggressive tactics and a terrifying willingness to take losses.  And their carriers seemed to carry two extra squadrons of starfighters ...

They may feel that carriers are best employed hanging back from the wall of battle
, she thought, as orders began to come in from the flag.  Admiral Harper saw no reason to avoid battle, steering his squadron directly towards the enemy ships. 
And we’ll have to punch through their battleline to get to their carriers
.

“The carriers are launching their starfighters,” Granger said.  “The flag is ordering them to cover the task force.”

Susan nodded.  It was a fairly conventional posture, but with humanity’s pilots badly outnumbered it was the best thing they could do.  She might have considered ordering her starfighters to attack the alien carriers, if she’d been in command, yet the enemy would probably have doubled-back to cover their carriers while leaving their battleships to engage the human battleships.  Keeping their starfighters off the battleships might seem a worthwhile use of their time.

“Stand by point defence,” she ordered.  “Prepare to engage.”

She sucked in her breath as the alien ships belched missiles, each one moving an order of magnitude faster than any observed alien threat.  The tactical analysts believed in posing threats that outdid
real
threats, on the grounds that anyone who could handle the simulations could certainly handle real life, but she’d always found it more than a little annoying.  Their assumptions about alien capabilities might be badly off.

And no one has duplicated the range enhancers they use on their bomb-pumped lasers
, she thought, grimly. 
Who knows what else they have in their bag of tricks?

“Order the kinetic point defence to engage,” she ordered.

“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

Susan leaned forward as the buckshot cannons began to spit their tiny projectiles towards the enemy missiles.  The enemy might think they had a range advantage, but they were in for a nasty surprise - unless, of course, they’d anticipated the countermeasure.  Their sensors probably wouldn't pick up the buckshot - it was completely inert - but even the slightest evasive manoeuvre would be more than enough to save their missiles from destruction.

She smiled, coldly, as several of the red icons blinked out of existence, the remainder burning time and energy as they took evasive action.  New targeting solutions popped up on the display as the tactical computers struggled to pick off the remaining missiles, but Susan doubted the umpires would allow the computers
too
many successes.  Randomising the missile trajectories alone would make it harder to score a direct hit, although it wasn't as if the ship was in any real danger of running out of buckshot.  A couple of hours spent mining an asteroid would more than suffice to replenish the expended projectiles.

“Enemy missiles entering attack range,” Jean Granger reported.  “They’re targeting us ...”

“All hands, brace for impact,” Susan snapped.  “I say again, all hands brace for impact.”

Red lights flared up on the display as the warheads detonated, each one sending a stabbing ray of death towards their targets. 
Vanguard
took four direct hits, the armour deflecting two of them and isolating the effects of the third.  But the fourth struck a turret and knocked it out, the crew scrambling to escape before the entire section had to be sealed off.  Susan scowled, grimly.  The tactical planners had practically copied the damage her ship had taken during the first
real
engagement!”

“Turret Three is out of action,” the engineer reported.  “Damage control teams are on their way.”

“Enemy ships entering engagement range,” Reed added.

“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said.  “All ships are to open fire.”

“Open fire,” Susan ordered.  “And go to rapid fire as soon as the range closes.”

She cursed under her breath as the three battleships spat death towards their targets, knowing all too well that most of the missiles would be completely wasted.  The enemy point defence was good, very good; human missiles had to get closer before they could engage the enemy, giving the bastards more time to knock the missiles out of space.  And the umpires were definitely on their side.  Only a tenth of the missiles survived long enough to detonate; only a handful of the detonated missiles actually inflicted any real damage.  The enemy were still coming.

“Switch to plasma cannons,” she ordered, as the range closed still further.  “Tactical, mark your man, then open fire.”

The alien ships opened fire at the same moment, rolling over and over as they spat plasma fire towards the human ships.  Susan noted, absently, that a dozen starfighters had simply vanished in the flurry, wiped out in passing as the capital ships fought to hammer each other into scrap.  And yet, both sides had armoured their ships as much as possible.  The damage they could inflict was very limited.

“Set missiles to blunderbuss pattern, on my authority and fire on my mark,” she ordered, grimly.  She keyed a command into her console, overriding the safeguards.  “Fire.”

“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.  “Missiles away ...”

Susan allowed herself a savage moment of triumph as the missiles struck deep into the enemy’s vitals, sending the entire battleship rolling away, streams of plasma and atmosphere pouring from her wounded hull.  Granger didn't let up, unleashing a spread of nuclear missiles as the enemy ship fought to survive, the warheads slipping through the defences and detonating
inside
the enemy hull.  The aliens built their ships to last, Susan had to admit, but it was too late.  A chain of explosions blew the alien ship into debris.

“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said.  “The Admiral wants us to assist
New York
.”

“Acknowledge,” Susan ordered.  “Helm, move us into firing position.”

She felt her smile grow wider as the three human battleships systematically pounded the alien ships into scrap.  The aliens didn't run, even though they were outnumbered and outgunned; they held the line even as their damage started to mount up savagely.  And then one of the alien battleships lurched forward, aiming directly at
Indianapolis
.  Susan opened her mouth to shout a useless warning, but it was already far too late.  The two battleships collided and vanished in an eye-tearing explosion.

“
Indianapolis
is gone,” Granger reported.  “I’m not picking up any lifepods.”

Susan nodded, harshly.  The Americans hadn't had
time
to get to the lifepods, even if they’d had time to realise their danger.  And the remaining alien battleship was making its way towards
New York
.  She barked a command and
Vanguard
rolled in space, bringing its turrets to bear on the alien ship.  It was torn to ribbons before it could ram
New York
.

“The alien carriers are retreating,” Granger said.

Of course they are
, Susan thought. 
They know they can't stop us now.

She mentally tallied up the results, cursing under her breath.  The good guys had lost a battleship and seen two more heavily damaged. 
Vanguard
would need at least a week of repair work before she was ready to go back into action - and there was no way they could replace the lost turret without a shipyard.  She glanced at
New York’s
stats and frowned, again.  The Americans hadn't lost a turret, but they’d definitely need to replace some of their armour before they went back into battle.  And five smaller ships and thirty-seven starfighters had been lost.  She’d been so fixated on the main engagement that she hadn't even
noticed
.

“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson reported.  “The exercise is terminated.”

“Acknowledged,” Susan said.  She resisted, barely, the urge to rub her forehead.  “Send copies of our records to the flag, then report to the mess for tea and coffee.”

She watched the consoles go dark - the secondary bridge would have to be reconnected to the ship’s control network, once the emergency crew had retaken their posts - then rose and headed to the hatch.  Admiral Harper had made it clear that there wouldn't be any more formal gatherings before they reached Unity - the task force needed to progress as fast as it could - but he’d want to discuss the engagement in great detail.  And then the analysts would tell them just what they'd done wrong.

And show us how they slanted the dice against us
, she thought, darkly. 
If they’re wrong about alien capabilities, we might be in for a very nasty surprise
.

Her steward had left a pot of coffee on her desk, waiting for her.  She poured herself a cup, then tapped the terminal, linking into the squadron command datanet.  Admiral Harper was already calling for a conference, something she approved of.  They’d have a chance to go over their mistakes before they forgot what they’d been thinking at the time.  Hindsight was always clearer than foresight, but it wasn't an advantage anyone actually had during a battle.

“Susan,” Admiral Harper said, as his holographic image appeared in front of her.  “I’m afraid Captain Trodden will be buying the beer.”

Susan snorted in amusement, although she knew it wasn't really funny.  Actually
ramming
another starship was rare, particularly when the other ship’s crew were alert.  It had only happened once in actual combat, as far as she knew, when
Ark Royal
had rammed the very first Tadpole superdreadnaught and destroyed both ships.  But losing a simulated battleship would be quite enough to get Captain Trodden in hot water.  She was mildly surprised that Admiral Harper hadn't summoned Trodden to
New York
for the sole purpose of tearing him a new arsehole.

But the Yanks wouldn't want to wash their dirty underwear in front of us
, she thought, as the other holograms blinked into existence. 
Any post-engagement screaming fits will be held in the strictest privacy
.

“Thank you all for coming,” Harper said.  “As you can see, that was an ...
interesting
... engagement.”

“It could have been worse,” Jeanette pointed out.  “We
did
win.”

“Technically,” Keith Glass said.  “We lost a battleship and had the other two heavily damaged.  If we were deep in enemy space ... well, I wouldn't care to have to fight my way back out again.”

Susan nodded in agreement.  “And the enemy carriers escaped,” she added.  “They could harass us from a safe distance, if they wished.”

“Then we sneak around and engage them from the rear,” Yegorovich proclaimed.  The Russian seemed pleased with himself.  A quick look at the stats told Susan that his pilots had done
very
well.  “Losing a single battleship is hardly a disaster.”

“Five thousand officers and men were killed - would have been killed, if it were
real
,” Trodden said, crossly.  “And we would have lost a third of our mobile firepower.”