The Nelson Touch

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Stand down from Red Alert,” Ted ordered. “But maintain a full sensor watch at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Lopez said. “Do you wish us to enter orbit?”

Ted shook his head. It would be irritating and inconvenient to the Marines, but entering orbit — particularly when there were still thousands of pieces of debris floating through space — posed too many risks to the fleet. The aliens might still have plasma weapons hidden on the surface, even if space debris didn’t become a threat. Besides, he wanted room to manoeuvre when the aliens returned to the system in force.

“We’ll stay here, but keep randomising our positions,” he ordered. Just because the aliens hadn’t shown mass drivers yet didn’t mean they couldn’t produce them. There was nothing particularly complex about the technology. “And make sure that we maintain regular CSP around the carriers.”

He looked down at the display, suddenly feeling very tired. The fleet had shot through nearly its entire supply of loaded missiles, something that would cost them if they had to return to battle within the next few hours. If they hadn’t brought the bombers along, Ted knew, Target One’s defenders would have won the battle, forcing him to either risk deploying mass drivers or withdrawing, conceding defeat. It wouldn’t have set a good precedent for future operations…

“Yes, sir,” Lopez said.

“And order the resupply officers to begin resupplying the fleet,” Ted continued. “I want us loaded to the gunwales as quickly as possible.”

He wondered, briefly, what the other commanders were feeling. The French and Japanese had good reason to be relieved; they’d each lost a carrier at New Russia and the victory at Target One had gone some way towards redeeming their navies. But then, if Ark Royal hadn’t been kept in reserve, the Royal Navy would have been smashed within six months of the war’s start. And the Americans… they’d actually lost a carrier.

Ted glanced down at the reports from the SAR teams. Only a handful of crewmen saved, out of a complement that numbered in the thousands. It was a serious loss to any of the interstellar powers, he knew; spacers couldn’t be trained as easily as soldiers. The Royal Navy was already threatening to start conscripting merchant spacers, even though there weren’t enough of them either. They’d probably have to design yet another accelerated training program, he reasoned, with all the problems that would cause.

He’d expected losses, he knew. God knew he’d lost men and women in combat before; starfighter pilots, the crews of the frigates that had escorted Ark Royal into combat, even a handful of Royal Marines. But losing so many stung, even if he hadn’t known them personally. And yet, even though he knew it could have been worse, it still nagged at his mind.

“I need to speak to Admiral Shallcross,” he said. “Establish the link.”

Moments later, Admiral Shallcross’s face appeared in front of him. “Admiral?”

The American looked tired and worn, Ted decided, at least as tired as Ted felt himself. The entire fleet needed a rest, he knew, but it was unlikely the aliens would give them much chance to relax. They might have blown up the orbital installations to prevent the humans from getting their hands on them, yet they had to know that humanity could pull secrets from the groundside cities too. No, they would take as little time as possible to mount a counterattack.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ted said, formally. There would be no time to hold a fleet-wide ceremony before they returned to Earth, but there was nothing stopping him from expressing his condolences. “The carrier and her crew fought well and deserved better.”

“I know. Admiral,” Shallcross said. “But we will have our revenge, in time.”

Ted nodded, feeling oddly relieved that the alien civilians had vanished below the waves. He had faith in his landing forces to remain disciplined, but he knew all too well just how badly discipline could suffer under the weight of strong emotion. Civilians had been abused before by soldiers and no amount of later recompense could make up for the damage. But then, there weren’t many humans who would argue the aliens deserved any concern at all.

“We will,” he agreed. “However, we also need to proceed with the resupply operations as quickly as possible, then start smashing the rest of the system. Can you handle the fighters from Roosevelt?”

“We would prefer to pass some of them over to you,” Shallcross said. “Or fly them from Napoleon, if necessary.”

“Speak to her commander; tell him I authorised it if he balks,” Ted said. He understood why the Frenchman would want to balk — the American pilots wouldn’t have been trained to launch from a French carrier — but there was no time to deal with it. “His pilots can be launched first, I think.”

“That won’t please my pilots,” Shallcross said, darkly. They shared a look of understanding; fighter pilots were trained to be aggressive, to get out into space and start fighting the enemy. “But they’ll cope with it.”

Ted smiled. “Good,” he said. “Once we have completed the resupply operations, we’ll start attacking the other installations within the system. The frigates can handle that, I think, which will allow us to keep the carriers here.”

“Probably the best course of action,” Shallcross agreed. “How long do you think we have before they come back?”

“As short as they can make it,” Ted said. He made a mental note to dispatch other frigates to peek through the other tramlines. They needed to know what was on the far side before it was too late. “But we will see, Admiral. They might have problems working out just what we have in mind.”

He smiled as he closed the connection. It was unlikely the aliens would leave them in peace long enough to complete the destruction of the system’s facilities, but he could hope. And, if they did, he could pull the fleet out through Tramline One or attack targets of opportunity along the other Tramlines, depending on just what they found on the far side.

“Admiral,” Lopez said. “You really need to get some sleep.”

“You keep telling me that,” Ted said. He shook his head, shortly. It was her job to tell him when he needed sleep. “I’ll be in my office. Wake me the moment — and I mean the moment — something happens.”

He stood, nodded to his officers, and strode out of the CIC.

“We’re reloading the missile tubes now,” Amelia said. The XO had to be as tired as everyone else, but she didn’t seem to have a single hair out of place. “The missiles were less effective than we had hoped.”

“The aliens had too much time to plot their course and plan an intercept,” James said, rubbing his forehead. The bomb-pumped lasers had seemed a dream come true, the answer to the problem of getting close enough to the alien ships to do real damage. But, like all weapons systems, they could be countered by a cunning adversary. “And they’re too fragile to take even a minor hit without being destroyed.”

He looked down at the report from the analysts. They’d managed — as always — to produce dozens of pages worth of blather, but the basics were clear. The missiles were effective, but not effective enough. Somehow, the lasers needed to be triggered further from the alien ships, which reduced their effectiveness considerably.

“Maybe we need to return to the mass driver concept,” Amelia said. She looked down at the terminal, then back up at him. “And just keep throwing projectiles at them.”

James considered it, then smiled as another idea struck him. “We need to cut down on their reaction time,” he said. “Maybe we could launch the missiles on a ballistic trajectory, then trigger their drives when they get closer to their targets.”

“We’d need a two-stage missile,” Amelia observed. “Admiral Webster has been trying to get that concept to work for years.”

“Maybe we could launch the missiles through a mass driver-like system instead,” James said, after a moment’s thought. “There wouldn’t even be a launch flare to warn the aliens… hell, we can deliberately aim to miss.”

His XO frowned. “Aim to miss?”

“You can’t alter a mass driver projectile’s course in transit,” James pointed out. “So the aliens have a habit of disregarding projectiles they know are harmless, because they’re not going to go anywhere near their ships.”

“But if the projectile happens to be a missile, it can alter course,” Amelia said, grinning. It utterly transformed her face. “And then hit the aliens in the back.”

“Or at least go active long enough to confuse them,” James said. “Make them work to blow them out of space.”

He smiled, openly. “I’ll talk to the tactical crews and get them to see how many changes they can make to the programming package,” he said. “You handle the resupply, then get some rest. You’ll need it by then.”

Amelia gave him a droll smile. She’d organised the resupply — at least the Old Lady’s share — with terrifying efficiency. James had been an XO on two different ships, but he had to admit that Amelia had mastered the required skills far more than he’d ever done. But then, her file showed no trace of aristocratic connections. She’d cut her way to the top through sheer guts, determination and unquestionable competence. James had never seen her push herself so far that she was falling asleep in her chair. But then, she’d had enough experience of hair-raising deployments to remain calm.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “And you will need to rest too.”

James sighed. The Admiral would be having a rest — or at least he damn well should be having a rest — leaving command of the overall fleet in Shallcross’s hands. But James wasn’t inclined to rest while his commanding officer was sleeping, knowing that an experienced officer might have to take command at any moment. And yet… the Admiral was no longer the starship’s commander. Amelia was right to argue that James should rest in a moment of relative peace. It might come to an end sooner than any of them wished to believe.

“Very well,” he said. He turned and started to make his way towards Officer Country, then stopped and turned back to face her. “You’re doing well, Commander.”

“Thank you, sir,” Amelia said. Her face showed no trace of emotion. “And so are you, if you will permit me to say so.”

James nodded, then walked away from her. They hadn’t started out very well, he had to admit; he’d been feeling his way into the command chair, while the Admiral had come alarmingly close to treating him as if he was still the Admiral’s XO. Not that he blamed the Admiral for that, he had to admit. There was a reason why crewmen who were promoted into command slots were generally transferred to new ships, even though it meant they’d have to grapple with the complexities of a whole new starship as well as ultimate command. They didn’t have to endure the memories and habits of being a subordinate on their starship.

But there was no one else qualified to take over as Ark Royal’s CO, James thought, ruefully. There was me… and no one else. No wonder the Admiralty wanted to expand their officer base a little.

He shook his head. Admiral Smith had forced him to come to terms with Ark Royal’s oddities as soon as possible. He, by contrast, had handled too much himself, purely because he was used to doing it. Silently, he promised himself that he would do better. Amelia would have her chance to prove herself… and, to be fair, she was doing an excellent job. But she still had to deal with the disapproval of some of the crew.

They liked Farley, James thought, sourly. And who could blame them? The tactical officer was likeable… and he’d been first in line for the XO posting. He’d got the promotion, but not the posting, creating some tensions within the crew. If Farley hadn’t handled the matter professionally, someone might have done something stupid, like playing pranks on the XO.

He shook his head, wondering — yet again — just how Admiral Smith had done it. He’d kept the crew functional, despite spending half of his time in a bottle. Somehow, he’d managed to convince the crew to give James a fair chance and redeem himself at the same time. Maybe he was still feeling his way towards fleet command. He was still one of the better commanding officers James had known personally.

The Marine at the hatch to Officer Country saluted. James saluted back, stepped through the hatch and walked towards his cabin. Amelia was right, he knew. He did need a rest.

Besides, the aliens might be back at any moment.

The pilots assembled in the exercise chamber, looking rather nervous. Kurt ran his eyes over them, noting the telltale signs of exhaustion that many of them showed. Even the older pilots looked tired, unsurprisingly. They’d all been pushed to the limit by the battle for Target One.

And they’d lost friends in the battle. He looked towards where the dead pilots should have been, where their friends had closed ranks as if they wanted to deny the simple fact of the missing or dead pilots. How could he blame them for wanting to pretend that they hadn’t lost anyone? But he knew it was something they would have to come to terms with, sooner rather than later. The loss of a handful of comrades stung worse than the loss of an entire American carrier.

“You did well,” he said. He looked towards the bomber pilots, who looked as if they were expecting a lecture on the need to work with their fellows. “All of you did very well.”

His gaze passed over Charles Augustus, who looked back evenly. Quite a few mysteries had been solved, Kurt had realised, when he’d learnt the pilot’s true identity. Prince Henry would be used to facing people with far more power and authority than a mere CAG. And he’d have a strange mixture of entitlement and an urge to prove himself. Kurt moved on to the next pilot, noting how North and Prince Henry seemed to have become friends. Nothing like shared danger to make personal issues meaningless.

Good, he thought, until one of them dies.

He sighed in sympathy. Pilots were permanently trapped between forming close relationships with their comrades and trying to maintain an emotional distance, knowing that they could lose their comrades at any time. It was one of the reasons pilots burned out early, why the Royal Navy only allowed them to sign up for three-year hitches, once they’d passed their training course. Kurt himself had chosen to return to civilian life; others, he knew, had never quite managed to find somewhere to belong. A distressingly high percentage of former pilots got into trouble very quickly.

It would probably do the Prince good to have a real friend or two. But it would also be disastrous when North found out the truth.

“The squadrons have already been restructured,” Kurt said. The pilots didn’t quite glare at him, but it looked as though they wanted to do so. “No, I don’t have time for arguments; you’ll go into the new squadrons and love them. And you will be joined by a handful of American pilots.”

His gaze swept the room. “Alpha and Beta are to go to the sleep machines and get an hour of sleep,” he ordered. “The remainder are to wait in the squadron rooms, catching more normal naps if you can, apart from Gamma. You” — he looked at the Gamma pilots — “will relieve the CSP for an hour. Any questions?”

North raised a hand. “Why don’t we all go into the sleep machines?”

Kurt glowered at him. “As was explained to you at the Academy, and I was there so I know it was explained to you, sleep machines can have unpleasant effects if the user is yanked out of them early,” he said. “Blinding headaches are among the more pleasant side effects. If you don’t believe me, you can try yourself when we’re heading back to Earth. Until then, do as I bloody tell you.”

He caught his breath, annoyed at himself. He was tired and stressed, but that as no excuse for shouting at his subordinates. It just made him sound like Captain Bligh.

“The sleep machines may keep the pilots out of combat,” he added, lowering his tone. “I would prefer not to lose more pilots to sleep than strictly necessary.”

He looked from face to face, then sighed again. “Dismissed!”

Rose waited for the room to empty, then walked up and gave him a hug, more of compassion than lust. Kurt relaxed into it for a long moment… and then remembered where they were.

“We can’t hug here,” he said, pulling himself away from her. “Not here!”

“Pity,” Rose said. She gave him a daredevil smile. “You want to do it on that sofa over there?”

“Rose!”

Rose giggled. “You should have seen your face,” she said, as she stepped backwards. “I was very insulted at your refusal.”

Kurt blinked, then realised he was being teased. “I don’t think it’s funny, particularly now,” he said. “They’re going to have to come to terms with reconfiguring the squadrons sooner or later, sadly. They don’t need more shocks.”

“We are not quite within the forbidden zone any longer,” Rose pointed out. “And it isn’t as if you treat me any differently when others are around.”

“Not quite,” Kurt said. He wondered, absently just how well that argument would hold up in front of a court martial board, then decided he didn’t want to find out. “Besides, we both need to sleep. And I do mean sleep.”

Rose nodded, then slipped out of the compartment.

After a long moment, Kurt followed her.