The Nelson Touch

Chapter Seventeen

“Launch fighters! I say again, launch fighters!”

Henry had barely a moment to snap awake before the automated systems triggered, launching his fighter out of the tube and into open space. The inky darkness of space surrounded him, sending a tingle down his spine before he looked down at his display. Ahead of them, three large alien capital ships were heading towards the fleet, one of them very definitely a carrier already launching fighters. He shivered as he realised, to his horror, that this was real. For the first time in his life, he could die.

At least I’ll die as Charles Augustus, he thought, as the fighters fanned out. Alpha Squadron was on attack duty, followed by Beta and Gamma, while the remaining three were covering the carriers. Behind them, a stream of American fighters followed, escorting a wing of bombers. The aliens, for once, would be badly outnumbered.

“Cover the bombers as they engage,” the CAG ordered, as the aliens rapidly converged on the human fighters. “Don’t panic; remember your training and stay in formation.”

Henry flushed at the reminder, then keyed the switch to bring his weapons online. One pilot squawked in alarm as his plasma cannons refused to boot up, but Henry had no such problems… at least for the moment. The briefings had warned them, several times, that the plasma cannons could overheat and explode, taking the starfighter with them. So far, the techs had no idea how the aliens had solved the problem of not blowing up when they overused their weapons. The pilots had privately joked that the aliens had pissed on them to keep the weapons cool.

The two forces closed with terrifying speed. One moment, the humans were safely apart from the aliens, the next the two forces were dogfighting through space. Henry threw his starfighter into a series of evasive ducks and dives, then fired on an alien craft as it came into view. He missed; the alien evaded his fire with a flip that seemed almost contemptuous, then fired back with a stream of plasma pulses of his own. Henry flipped his weapons to automatic fire — it seemed unmanly, somehow — and then concentrated on remaining alive and well. Behind him, a stream of alien fighters were rapidly converging on Ark Royal.

“Leave the CSP to cover the carrier,” the CAG reminded them. “Deal with the alien carrier.”

The alien CSP rose to meet them as the human fighters and bombers converged on the alien carrier. It wasn’t that different from a human ship, Henry noted somewhat regretfully, remembering some of the starships from science-fiction movies. Giant metal cubes, bird-shaped starships, even squid-like ships… instead, the alien ship could almost have passed for human, at least at a distance. But no one could have mistaken the drives or the endless rows of plasma cannons as anything but alien.

“Hit,” North shouted. “I got the bastard!”

Henry smiled, torn between pleasure and a sense of jealously. North would be insufferable in the barracks when they finally got home. A moment later, an alien starfighter fell into his weapons range and died before its pilot had a chance to realise he’d screwed up. Henry found himself staring at the display for a long moment, realising that he’d just taken his first life, then he pushed it aside — angrily — as they closed in on the alien ship. The carrier and its two escorts were frantically filling space with plasma fire, making it very difficult to enter attack range.

Or, rather, pre-war attack range, Henry thought. The aliens had shaped their weapons and tactics to take advantage of humanity’s weaknesses. Humanity had studied the results of the first battles and done the same. Now, we see just how well we worked.

“Lock weapons on target,” the bomber CO ordered. “Fire!”

Henry watched as each of the bombers launched two torpedoes, aimed directly towards the alien carrier. Between the British and American craft, there were over a hundred torpedoes closing in on their target. The aliens responded at once, plasma fire sweeping half of the torpedoes from space, but it was too late. One by one, the bomb-pumped lasers detonated,. Sending ravening beams of pure fury towards the alien craft. She might have been larger than Ark Royal, but her armour was much weaker. Moments after the first blast ripped into her hull, a series of explosions blew her into radioactive plasma.

“Scratch one flattop,” an American voice howled.

Henry joined in the cheers that ran through the communications network, feeling an odd sense of relief overcoming him. They’d faced the aliens and won… but the moment of distraction almost killed him. Without their carrier, the alien starfighters had no hope of escape, so they turned on the humans with savage suicidal intensity. He picked off one of the aliens, then watched in horror as two human starfighters vanished in quick succession. Behind them, both of the alien battlecruisers were trying to retreat…

Ted allowed himself a cold smile as the alien carrier exploded into a fireball, scattering debris through space. It was good to have the advantage for once, good to hand out a beating to a foe who clearly hadn’t realised just how strong the task force actually was. Even given the alien technological advantages, sending one carrier up against six was suicide. But now the battlecruisers were starting to retreat…

“Order the bombers to take out the battlecruisers,” Ted ordered. The alien ships were altering course randomly, clearly aware of the danger of human mass drivers. Ark Royal was firing anyway, launching streams of solid projectiles through space, but Ted wasn’t hopeful. They were just too far from the alien ships to guarantee a hit. “I don’t want them escaping to trouble us later.”

Lopez looked up from her console. “Sir, two-thirds of the bombers fired all their shots at the carrier.”

Ted scowled, but understood. Given the sheer effectiveness of the alien point defence — not to mention the certainty that their fighters would target the human bombers when they realised there was a very definite threat — throwing everything they had at the alien ship was the only reasonable course of action. But it had made it more likely that the two battlecruisers would escape. Their acceleration rate was far superior to anything humanity had, even the frigates.

“Order the ones that still have missiles to close and engage,” he said. “The remainder are to fall back and rearm.”

“Incoming fighters,” another lieutenant snapped. “They’re converging on us and Washington.”

Ted opened his mouth to order the point defence to engage, then stopped himself. It was Captain Fitzwilliam’s job to fight his ship, not Ted’s. He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted from the larger picture by trying to take command of the carrier. Besides, they couldn’t allow a disagreement over who was in command during a battle.

Instead, he forced himself to watch as the bombers closed in on their targets.

“Incoming enemy fighters,” Farley reported. “They’re targeting us specifically.”

James nodded. The aliens should have learned, by now, that they couldn’t damage the Old Lady’s hull with their plasma weapons, merely destroy her sensor blisters and weapons tubes by blasting them right off her hull. But it was a valid tactic, crippling the carrier… and besides, they could also intercept her fighters as they returned to the barn.

“The point defence is to engage as soon as they enter range,” he ordered. So far, the battle had gone humanity’s way, but that might be about to change. A single solid strafing run on one of the other carriers would almost certainly blow her apart. “And warn the CAG to prepare to dispatch a squadron to support our allies.”

He braced himself as the aliens closed in, ducking and weaving as they came. They’d been surprised, he suspected, when they’d seen that humanity, too, had plasma weapons, but they’d definitely adapted quickly. Not, in the end, that it mattered. Four alien craft died rapidly before the others opened fire, blasting their shots right into the carrier’s hull.

“Nineteen blisters destroyed,” Farley reported, grimly. “No internal damage.”

James narrowed his eyes. The aliens had to know Ark Royal by now; it wasn’t as if she was identical to any other carrier in service. At the very least, they had to know they were facing a carrier of the same class as the Old Lady. And yet they were using a tactic they knew would fail. It made no sense. Surely, they’d do better if they fell on the other carriers…

“Detail the CSP to force them back,” he said. Maybe it was a mistake, but he couldn’t leave the aliens to get on with whatever the hell they were doing. Half of any surprise, Admiral Webster had said, was misinterpreting what one was seeing. “And then…”

A dull tremor ran through the ship. “Report!”

“One of them rammed the hull, sir,” Anderson said. “Damage control teams are on their way.”

“Better make it quick,” James said, as the alien fighters concentrated, then launched themselves down towards the chink in the carrier’s armour. Oddly, he felt a moment of sympathy for the alien pilot. He’d sacrificed his life to give his buddies a chance at taking out the carrier. “The aliens certainly intend to take advantage.”

The CSP arrived seconds later, scattering the alien pilots. James let out a sigh of relief as the aliens fell back, then blasted their way through the entire formation before turning back to engage Napoleon. The French CSP intercepted them and took out four alien starfighters before the remaining fighters broke off and headed back towards Ark Royal. Behind them, Yamato and Lincoln’s fighters chased them, firing every time they got a clear shot.

“Their tactics make no sense,” he muttered. “They could have taken out one of the thin-skinned carriers if they’d tried.”

He contemplated it for a long second. The aliens weren’t stupid, so there had to be a reason behind their seeming insanity. But what? Was it possible, he asked himself, that they were facing the alien version of the Territorial Army, but in space? Civilian soldiers, called up in time of warfare… or maybe the aliens had just not attached any great importance to defending this part of space. If they’d thought it couldn’t be attacked, they wouldn’t have bothered to station front-line units to defend it. Maybe they’d put the carrier and two battlecruisers in the system to exercise and prepare for war.

But he would still have expected them to be more careful.

On the display, one of the alien battlecruisers vanished.

“Target Two is down,” Paton said. “Swing around to cover the bombers as they engage Target Three.”

Henry smiled, then concentrated as the remaining alien fighters closed in on the bombers, firing savagely towards their targets. He snapped off a shot at the aliens, then followed the rest of the squadron forward as the American fliers attacked from the rear. The aliens didn’t hesitate; they gunned their own engines and charged at the British starfighters, blasting past them at terrifying speed. Two more starfighters vanished, one without any clear explanation, as Henry yanked his starfighter around and raced in hot pursuit. But it was already too late.

“Shit,” he breathed, as the aliens passed through the bomber formation. The bombers didn’t stand a chance. One by one, they were picked off before the aliens turned and followed the battlecruiser into the inky darkness of space. He had the unmistakable feeling that the aliens had flipped them the bird before departing, fast enough to make pursuit useless. “They got away.”

“Not yet,” Paton said. “The French are on the way.”

“Oh,” North muttered. “Stopped holding back, have they?”

“That will do,” Paton snapped. “Cover them as they go into action.”

Henry found himself smiling, coldly, as the aliens responded to the new threat. They’d thought they’d escaped, but now… the French closed in, slipping into firing position as the alien starfighters turned and raced to engage them. Absently, Henry wondered just how long they could remain in space without recharging their drives and life support, even if they didn’t have to replace their expended weapons. No one had managed to take an alien starfighter intact.

He fired a shot at one of the alien starfighters, then watched as the French launched their torpedoes in one glorious salvo. The battlecruiser turned slightly, pouring point defence fire towards the missiles, but it couldn’t hope to take them all out. Five missiles made it into engagement range and detonated, sending more laser beams lashing into her hull. Somehow, absurdly, the battlecruiser remained intact. Instead of exploding, she turned back and kept crawling away from the task force.

“Wow,” someone breathed. “That’s one tough little ship.”

“Coming apart now,” North observed. “She’s dead for sure.”

Henry watched, shaking his head in awe, as the alien battlecruiser disintegrated. It was no longer an enemy now, just another starship fighting for survival — and losing. Moments later, something exploded, shattering the entire ship into countless pieces. The remaining alien starfighters turned and hurled themselves at the human ships. They killed five before the last of them was picked off and killed.

“We won,” North said. He sounded awed — and tired. “We won!”

“Yeah, you did,” the CAG said. “Well done, all of you.”

He paused. “The CSP is to remain on guard duty,” he added. “The remainder of you are to return to the barn at once.”

Henry nodded and glanced down at his display. Alpha Squadron had been lucky, he realised; they’d only lost one pilot. But he’d known her since he’d entered the Academy. Bitterly, he found himself torn between grief and a tiredness so complete that he could barely keep his eyes open. He reached for the injector tab and shot stimulant into his bloodstream, even though he knew he’d pay for it later. It would be worse than a hangover, but he didn’t dare fall asleep in the cockpit. His starfighter would never make it home.

There will be time to mourn later, he promised himself. And I survived. And I did well.

“The damage is already being repaired,” Captain Fitzwilliam said. “But it could have been a great deal worse.”

“It could have,” Ted decided. The task force’s first major battle… it was a good thing they’d had the enemy so badly outnumbered, he knew, because the battle had revealed a number of problems that had to be handled before they faced a stronger enemy force. “But we survived.”

He glanced at his watch. The entire battle had lasted no longer than fifteen minutes, from first detection to the destruction of the second battlecruiser. As always, it felt as though it had taken hours, if not days, to win the fight. The rooks were going to have real problems adjusting when they returned to the ship, he knew. No matter how good the simulators had become, they never quite matched actual combat. The awareness that one could die at any moment was lacking.

“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said. He paused, looking down at his display. “Their tactics made no sense.”

Ted shook his head. “I think they made a great deal of sense,” he said. “Their cruise through our formation let them get solid data on just how many ships we have.”

He winced. The aliens had clearly underestimated the task force rather badly. Unless they could produce carriers far quicker than any human power, they’d just lost a carrier for nothing, apart from a handful of human starfighters. It was no trade, he knew, which suggested the aliens hadn’t realised what they were facing until it was too late to back out. And they’d definitely tried to retreat once they’d realised what they were actually facing…

“So we have to assume they forwarded word to a reception committee further up the chain,” he said. The aliens would have forces assembled at nodal positions, assuming their doctrine matched humanity’s on that point. Those forces would either defend Ted’s target or advance to intercept Ted and his fleet before it could reach the targeted system. “We can no longer hope the aliens don’t know we’re coming.”

“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said, once he’d worked through the logic. “Those poor brave stupid bastards. They gave up their chance to take out a carrier in exchange for intelligence.”

Ted shrugged. “So it would seem,” he said. He leaned forward, feeling tiredness threatening to creep over him and drag him down into sleep. “We will continue towards our target, I think. The alternative is to concede defeat now and fall back towards Terra Nova.”

He noticed Lieutenant Lopez looking alarmed and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes?”

“You’ll need to discuss it with the Council of War, sir,” she warned. “It’s in the contingency plans.”

“Bugger,” Ted said. He was too tired to say anything worse. “We wouldn’t have this problem if we’d just used British ships.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed.

Ted nodded. “I’ll talk to the other Captains,” he said. “Until then, we will proceed.”

“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said. “Do you want to continue to use stealth?”

Ted considered it. The aliens had a rough idea of where they were — now — and could probably extrapolate a rough idea of where the task force would emerge from the tramline into its target system. Losing stealth would allow them to move faster, but also allow the aliens time to prepare a reception committee in just the right place to catch them as they jumped through the tramline.

“Yes,” he said. “We have no idea what might be ahead of us, after all.”

He looked back at Lopez. “Set up the conference call,” he ordered. He noted she looked as haggard as he felt, unsurprisingly. She’d been on duty for hours before the alert sounded. “And then get some rest yourself. You’re going to be very busy later today.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.