The Nelson Touch

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Five carriers gone, sir,” Lopez reported. “One more badly damaged.”

“Launch fighters,” Ted snarled. “All batteries commence firing!”

He watched, grimly, as Force Two withered under his fire, then started to launch its remaining fighters. The aliens seemed stunned, but they were already collecting themselves — and, behind the humans, Force Three was catching up. Losing so much speed so rapidly opened the serious risk of being taken from behind.

“Resume course and speed,” Ted ordered, as the starfighters lanced out ahead of his ships. “I want us to pass through the tramline as soon as possible.”

Kurt barely managed to prevent himself from crying out in delight as he saw just how much damage the alien fleet had taken; the rooks were much less restrained. A force that might have been able to stop the humans directly had been crippled, badly enough to give the human fleet a fighting chance. He smiled to himself as he led the starfighters and bombers towards the alien ships, which were starting to scatter. Their fighters were hastily organising themselves into a formation to cover the retreat.

“We can’t just concentrate on the carriers this time,” Kurt said. At close range, the alien frigates and battlecruisers were just as dangerous as the carriers and their starfighters. “I’m designating targets now. Take them all out as quickly as possible.”

He braced himself as an alien starfighter swooped down on him, then fired off a stream of plasma as he took evasive manoeuvres. Even facing overwhelming odds, the aliens held the line and tried to beat the humans off, while others slipped past the human starfighters and roared towards the human starships. Kurt wondered, in a sudden moment of insight, if the aliens had a far larger fleet of carriers than humanity. They’d certainly been less concerned about losing carriers than the human race.

“Gamma, cover the bombers,” he ordered, as the bombers closed in on their targets. Alerts flared up in his HUD as several mass driver projectiles shot past, aimed at the alien frigates. Only one struck home, but it smashed its target into rubble. The remainder were either blasted into dust by the aliens or simply missed their targets. “Everyone else, focus on keeping the alien starfighters busy.”

The alien frigate loomed up in front of him on the display, firing endless streams of plasma towards the human fighters. Kurt saw two of his fighters vanish in quick succession, followed by an American bomber that was struck moments before it could launch its torpedoes, then the fire drained away as the remaining bombers opened fire. The alien frigate managed to shoot down all, but one of the torpedoes. But one was enough to destroy the ship.

“Target destroyed,” a Japanese-accented voice said. “I say again, target destroyed.”

“Good shooting,” Kurt said. “Now let’s do it again.”

“Incoming starfighters,” Farley warned. “They’re targeting us and Napoleon.”

“Lock point defence on incoming craft; fire at will,” James ordered. “I say again, fire at will.”

He braced himself as the alien starfighters swooped down on Ark Royal, shooting continous streams of plasma towards her hull. As always, sensor blisters and weapons mounts were destroyed, but this time their fire raged towards the weakened section of the hull. James sucked in his breath as the aliens closed in, then smiled in relief as four alien starfighters were picked off by the point defence before they had a chance to start shooting through the gap in the carrier’s armour. Anderson had been right, he noted; placing the makeshift point defence weapons near the damaged section had lured the enemy right into the teeth of their guns.

But it wouldn’t be enough if the aliens continued their assault. A dull thump ran through the ship as an alien fighter slammed into the hull, scratching her armour quite badly. Thankfully, there was no major damage, but if more aliens resorted to suicide tactics the carrier might be in real trouble. James smirked at the thought, rolling his eyes at the absurdity. They were in real trouble already.

“We’ve lost multiple sensor blisters,” Anderson muttered, through the communications link. “If this goes on…”

“Inform the Admiral,” James ordered. If Ark Royal lost the ability to see what was happening around her, the Admiral would no longer be able to coordinate the fleet. Admiral Shallcross would have to assume command at short notice. But if the aliens realised that the fleet’s Deputy Commander was on a far more vulnerable carrier…

He pushed the thought aside. “Scramble damage control teams,” he ordered, as the CSP chased the aliens away. “We will continue firing as long as possible.”

Ted watched the battle, powerless to affect its outcome any longer. The starfighters and bombers, combined with long-range mass driver fire, had smashed Force Two, although its remaining starships were fighting to get into plasma weapons range. At least the aliens didn’t seem to have devised any long-range weapons, thankfully. But then, long-range missiles could be picked off with ease.

“Warn the fighters not to let those frigates enter plasma range,” he ordered. “And keep the CSP on alert.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said. She paused. “The alien starfighters are targeting Napoleon.”

Ted scowled down at the display. Did they think that Ark Royal was still a tough target or did they think they’d already crippled her and intended to cripple or destroy the other carriers? It didn’t matter, he told himself a moment later. All that mattered was protecting the carriers as long as possible.

“Order the CSP to cut loose a squadron to assist the French,” he ordered. “We need to drive the aliens away from the carriers…”

But the aliens, furious or desperate, weren’t going to back off so easily. Ted watched, grimly, as alien starfighter after alien starfighter lanced down towards the French carrier, firing into her hull with cold precision. Unlike Ark Royal, the French carrier’s armour was insufficient to stand up to the blasts; it was sheer dumb luck the aliens hadn’t already managed to destroy her. As Ted watched, a line of explosions shattered the carrier’s landing bay, crippling her ability to recover starfighters.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Raise Captain…”

Napoleon exploded. Ted watched in growing horror as a series of explosions ripped the carrier apart, scattering pieces of debris through space. There were no sign of any lifepods; the French hadn’t had time to abandon ship, even when they’d realised there was no hope of preserving their vessel any longer. Ted shuddered — three thousand French crew had been killed in a matter of seconds — and then forced himself to look away. There was no time to mourn the dead.

“We keep moving,” he ordered, harshly. If there was any advantage to the whole sorry incident, it was that a number of alien starfighters had been caught in the blast and obliterated. “We will not let their sacrifice go to waste.”

He looked down at the display, silently calculating vectors. Force Two had been effectively destroyed, now; there was nothing blocking their escape through the tramline, once they reached it. But Force Three was launching starfighters, ready to press the offensive. And if he sent his own starfighters to engage Force Three, he risked being unable to recall them in time to make the jump. Nothing smaller than a frigate, at least nothing built with human technology, could jump through a tramline.

“The remaining starfighters are to join the CSP,” he ordered. Recovering starfighters while under fire was one of the hardest operations in the book. They’d have to bring the starfighters in to the hull and then jump through the tramline, leaving mines behind to discourage the aliens from following immediately. “And War Hog is to move ahead and make transit.”

Lopez looked over at him, alarmed. She hadn’t considered the possibility of the aliens setting an ambush on the far side of the tramline. Unlike most jumps, their arrival point would be easy to predict. Admittedly, the aliens seemed to believe in the KISS principle as much as their human enemies, but how many other chances would they get to catch a human fleet off-guard, disorientated by the jump? But would they have had a chance to mass a fleet in place to catch them?

“Aye, sir,” she said, finally. She worked her console for a long moment. “The frigate is moving ahead of the fleet now, sir.”

Ted nodded. For a few moments, they had a chance to catch their breath… but it wouldn’t last. The incoming starfighters would be on them in five minutes, perhaps less. They’d bore straight through the starfighters and go for the carriers, knowing they’d never have a better chance to inflict crippling losses. And if they succeeded…. Ted winced, bitterly. He’d started the operation with six fleet carriers, starships humanity could ill-afford to lose. Now, two of them were gone and the remainder had all taken damage. Win or lose, the operation had proved immensely costly.

“Inform me the moment she returns,” he said. He tried to formulate a contingency plan for the frigate not returning, but came up with nothing. They’d have no choice; they’d have to turn about and fight to the bitter end. “And get me a complete damage report from the rest of the fleet.”

“Form up in squadrons,” the CAG ordered. “Alpha and Beta will engage the enemy at the outer edge; the remainder will cover the carriers themselves.”

Henry nodded. The few moments of peace had been a blessing, just long enough for the starfighter pilots to reconfigure their squadrons and get back into formation. There was no longer any real barriers between British, French, American and Japanese pilots; now, they were fighting as a single unit, with pilots flying beside whoever was closest to them. The French pilots, in particular, were in an evil mood. They’d lost their carrier, their commanding officer and their friends in a handful of seconds. Now, they wanted revenge.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to remember the last time a British Prince — or King — had died on the field of battle. He’d thrilled to stories of his ancestors leading their troops into battle, in days when war was the ultimate test of a king’s character and fitness to rule their country, but it was relatively rare for them to actually die. Once, he’d thought it was because they were brave and fearless; now, he knew that there had simply been fewer kings than commoners in human history. Besides, the other side had rarely deliberately killed the king. It was considered unwise to let the commoners see aristocrats die. They might have picked up a few ideas.

Silently, he cursed himself for not having had a chance to leave a note for Janelle. He hadn’t even had time to update his will, although that was a moot point for him. ‘Charles Augustus’ owned nothing — he didn’t exist, after all — while most of Henry’s possessions belonged to the monarchy, rather than him personally. His fellows had scoffed when he’d purchased a handful of books and a personal terminal for himself with his first paycheck, but in truth they were the first things he’d ever owned himself. Everything else was merely a loan.

But Janelle deserved better than a note.

If I get out of this, he promised himself, I will tell her everything.

The Admiral was right, he knew. By screwing her, he’d screwed her life. If she decided she wanted to have nothing more to do with him, he would respect her choice and keep his mouth firmly shut. And if she accepted him as who he really was… he looked down, bitterly, at his hands. The media had destroyed lives and killed people before, merely for marrying into the monarchy. Janelle was strong, he thought, but was she strong enough?

“Move out,” the CAG ordered.

Henry pushed his thought aside and took his starfighter back into battle.

“The starfighters are engaging the alien starfighters now,” Janelle said. “Nine minutes until we cross the tramline.”

“Understood,” Ted said. “Inform the CAG that the starfighters are to be pulled back to the hull in eight minutes precisely.”

He calculated the vectors, once again. Assuming the aliens could pull the same trick — and he dared not assume otherwise — they’d take at least twenty minutes to give chase through the tramline. By then, Ted could mine their most likely arrival point and set course for the other tramline. But would it be enough to stop them? Somehow, he doubted it. The aliens could harry him all the way back to Earth if they wanted.

“War Hog just returned,” Lopez reported. “She’s reporting clear space, sir.”

Ted let out a sigh of relief, although he knew not to take anything for granted. The aliens had staged one ambush during their approach to Target One; they might well try to stage another one, given time to get into position. But why would they surrender the chance to catch him on the hop?

“Take us through the tramline as soon as we are in position and the starfighters are back,” he ordered.

The alien starfighters loomed up in front of him, diving towards the human ships. Henry watched dispassionately as two of them died under his fire, then swung his starfighter into an evasive pattern as the aliens turned and returned fire. A third of their starfighters seemed intent on wiping out the human starfighters while the remainder fell on the carriers, despite withering fire from the point defence frigates. He cursed sharply as an alien came within a hair’s breadth of killing him outright, then fired back and cursed again as the alien neatly evaded his fire. The alien was a very skilful pilot.

“Keep covering your fellow pilots,” the CAG ordered. The battle had turned into a dogfight, with individual pilots challenging individual aliens. It suited the pilot mentality, Henry realised; the aliens seemed to share it, at least to some degree. But it wasn’t as effective as joint operations. “And watch the carriers. You have to cover them.”

Henry nodded as he picked off an alien pilot, then swore as he saw a human starfighter vanish from the display. He wasn’t even sure which country the pilot belonged to, but he fired on his killer and blew him into dust anyway. Moments later, an American pilot saved him from an alien pilot who had managed to get into firing position; Henry nodded to the American and pulled his craft around in a tight circle, searching for more targets. Ahead of him, a line of alien starfighters were closing in rapidly on the Japanese carrier. He reached for his firing key and pressed the stud…

… And alarms sounded. Red icons flashed up in front of him. Henry stared for a split-second — they’d been warned that the plasma containment chamber could overheat, but there had been no reports of it actually happening — and then reached for the ejection lever. They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that if the chamber did overheat, they were to abandon ship at once. There was no way to cool the chamber or eject it before it exploded.

He pulled the lever and exploded outwards into the darkness of space.

Ted hadn’t wanted to monitor the young prince more than strictly necessary. He could understand, more than he cared to admit, just why the prince would want to live a life without his title hanging over his head, but he also had his duty. In the end, he’d set up a monitoring subroutine to inform him if anything happened to ‘Charles Augustus.’ Now, an alert flashed up in front of him. Prince Henry’s starfighter had vanished.

It was unlikely, Ted knew, that Prince Henry had survived. The starfighter jocks were allowed so much liberty because their lives could end in a split second. Even a glancing blow could prove fatal. He wanted to hold out hope, both for himself and Lopez, that Prince Henry had survived. But cold logic told him that it was unlikely. There was no time to search for any traces of his remains, either. They had to cross the tramline before Force Three got any closer.

I’m sorry, he thought, although he wasn’t sure who he was apologising to. The King, for losing his son? Or the First Space Lord, who would have to deal with the enormous shitstorm that would be hurled at the navy as soon as the media realised who had died. Or Janelle Lopez, who would have her life torn apart by the media…

“Recall the starfighters,” he ordered harshly. “And prepare to drop mines.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said. She didn’t know yet, Ted realised. It spoke well of her that she hadn’t tried to monitor her lover’s starfighter, even though she definitely had access to the systems that could do it. “Jump in two minutes.”

Ted watched, grimly, as the aliens fell back. It puzzled him for a long moment — were they actually letting the humans go? — then he thought he understood. They were heading back to their own ships in preparation for their own jump. The battle was far from over.

“All starfighters have linked to the hulls,” Lopez said. “We’re ready to jump.”

Ted wondered, for a long moment, if their mission would be counted as a success — or a failure. The aliens had taken a beating, they’d lost numerous ships and even a whole planet, yet in the end they’d booted the humans back out of Target One. But then, the humans had forced the aliens to react to them for once. It was worth the risk to make the bastards pause before they resumed their offensive.

But we lost the Prince and two carriers, the pessimistic part of his mind noted. Was it actually worth the material losses?

“Jump us out,” he ordered, quietly.