The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Nine

“Admiral on Deck!”

“As you were,” Ted ordered, as he strode into the briefing room. The entire senior crew of Ark Royal had gathered to meet him, as per his orders. “We don’t have much time, so take your seats and we’ll catch up on the formalities later.”

He took his seat at one end of the table, then tapped a switch, activating the holographic display. A starchart appeared in front of them, human-held stars in green, alien-held stars glowing blood-red. The tramlines were also marked; standard tramlines in gold, alien tramlines in silver. He took a long moment to study the display, then turned his attention to his subordinates.

“Operation Trafalgar, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, without preamble. “The overall objective is to make contact with Faction Two and attempt to enlist their aid against Faction One. In the event of the first objective failing or Faction Two being unable or unwilling to assist us, our secondary objective will be to attack the centre of alien space here.”

He tapped a switch. Their target, a star further into unexplored space than any human starship had ever ventured, glowed brightly on the display.

“The analysts, using the same algorithms that located Target One, believe that this star has an excellent chance of being the alien homeworld,” he continued. “In any case, the alien homeworld is almost certainly in the general area. Our orders, in the event of us failing to make peace, is to carry the war right into the heart of alien territory. This will not be easy.”

That, he knew, was an understatement — and he could tell from the hastily-guarded faces that his subordinates knew it too. Any heavily-developed world would have fixed defences, but it would also presumably have a number of heavily-armed starships defending it. No one knew just how many ships the aliens possessed, yet it was unlikely they would leave their homeworld undefended. The analysts had hinted the aliens might have drawn their forces down to attack Earth.

Wishful thinking, Ted thought, sourly. It sounded good, all right; it sounded too good to the true. He would have liked to believe the alien homeworld was practically undefended — fixed defences wouldn’t prove that much of a problem — but he knew better than to plan on such an optimistic assumption. The fact that several analysts were trying to do just that worried him more than he cared to admit.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said. “The situation is dire. We are staring total defeat in the face — not just us, but the entire human race. Our deep-strike into alien territory may mean the difference between survival and total defeat. Ark Royal is the only carrier who could hope to pull the mission off against determined alien opposition.”

He took a breath. “We should all pray that we can make contact with Faction Two and convince them to help us,” he added. “But if not… you’ve all seen the records from Earth. The aliens have devastated humanity’s homeworld. We… are charged with doing the same thing to them if we fail to make peace.”

Once, he knew, the concept would have horrified him. He’d resisted the urge to bombard alien settlements during their earlier missions. Now… now, he couldn’t help feeling curiously unconcerned about alien casualties. It bothered him, too, that he wasn’t more bothered by the prospect of committing genocide.

And there were the bioweapons, of course. But those would be held in reserve for the final days.

“We will be departing in eight days,” he said. “By then, I want the flotilla ready for anything from peace to war.”

He sighed. The last two days had been an endless series of briefings with the Admiralty, the Foreign Office and various diplomats from the spacefaring nations, all trying to argue over what peace terms the human race should consider acceptable. Ted had pointed out that humanity wasn’t in a good state to demand peace terms; they’d be lucky, he’d argued, to agree to a return to the pre-war status quo. The diplomats had not been amused, but the Prime Minister had backed him. He’d promised that the Ambassador would have been carefully warned to make the best deal he could, not hold out for an ideal deal the aliens would certainly reject.

“Ambassador Horace Melbourne will be joining us as the designated Ambassador-In-Chief for the mission,” he continued. “He will be accompanied by two other diplomats from other spacefaring powers. I trust you will all make him and his staff welcome.”

No one groaned out loud, but he sensed their irritation and dismay. Ark Royal’s sleeping quarters would have to be altered to make room for the Ambassador and his staff, all of whom would probably demand quarters in Officer Country. The crew would be trading bunkrooms and cabins for the next few days, with the humble midshipmen and junior officers getting the worst of it. Ted knew precisely how he would feel if someone kicked him out of his cabin and felt a flicker of sympathy. But it couldn’t be helped.

“I’ll reassign cabins later today,” the XO said, briskly. She’d been in line for her own command after the end of Operation Nelson, but there was no time to train up a new XO for Ark Royal. “We should be able to handle it professionally.”

“He’ll want your cabin,” Fitzwilliam said, dryly. “Admiral, I should lodge an official protest.”

“They wanted to take the White Elephant,” Ted said. “I think they’d be better off on Ark Royal.”

He had to smile at Fitzwilliam’s expression. The White Elephant — she was actually called the White Star — had been an attempt to build a five-star passenger liner for interstellar tourists. But the market hadn’t been ready for her and she’d been placed in storage, then reactivated as a possible troopship for the war. Rumour had it that she was staggeringly luxurious, which would have suited the ambassadors perfectly, yet she was hardly a warship capable of standing in the line of battle. It was far more likely that the aliens would just blow her away without even noticing.

“They have to be out of their minds,” Fitzwilliam muttered.

“In the event of us having to go to war, we will tell them to remain in their cabins,” Ted said, bluntly. “I’d prefer not to have to send a ship back to Earth with them if it can be avoided.”

He took a breath. “And, with that in mind, are we ready for war?”

Fitzwilliam looked at Anderson, who shrugged.

“Most of the internal damage has been repaired, now we were able to call on spare parts from China and several other nations,” Anderson said. “There’s enough redundancy built into the systems to allow us to operate without the remaining subcomponents. However, the main sticking point remains the armour. We will simply not be able to get new solid-state armour in time for departure.”

He sighed. “With your permission, Captain, I’ll strip it from several inner hull locations and use it to patch the holes,” he added. “But our hull will still be weak in those points.”

Ted considered it. “Will it be a major problem against alien weapons?”

“Laser warheads burn through our full armour anyway,” Anderson said. “The real problem is the plasma cannons some of their warships carry. They may be able to make a dent in the weakened armour… and, of course, they can sweep the hull clear of sensors and weapons.”

“By now, they’ll know about our weaknesses,” Fitzwilliam commented, bitterly. “Admiral, I think we have no choice, but to run the risk of using reduced armour.”

“See to it,” Ted ordered. It was risky, he knew, but the alternative was worse. “And weapons?”

“We’ve updated the mass drivers and railguns,” Anderson said. “I’m actually working on ways to use railguns as small mass drivers, but I think they’d be better reserved for close-in point defence. The last thing we want are aliens firing more laser warheads at us.”

“No disagreements there,” Ted said. “What other problems are there?”

There was a pause.

“Crew morale is in the pits,” Commander Williams said. She looked irked at having to discuss it in public, but she didn’t have a choice. “Not to put too fine a point on it, morale was sky-high until we returned to Earth, whereupon it crashed badly. At least thirty percent of the crew had family or friends caught up in the tidal waves and either killed or rendered homeless. Or missing. Morale has improved since the Captain made arrangements for his crew, but it’s still pretty low.”

She frowned. “And there are a great many angry crewmen out there,” she warned. “If we do happen to host a bunch of alien diplomats…”

“There might be incidents,” Ted finished. He had no idea if the aliens would consent to sending diplomats onboard Ark Royal. Even if they did, he wasn’t sure if he would trust them not to bring any unpleasant surprises with them… there, he had to admit, White Elephant would have come in handy. “If we do wind up playing host to alien diplomats, have the Marines guard them at all times. The last thing we need is a major diplomatic incident.”

He looked down at the CAG, “Kurt?”

“We are seriously below complement for starfighter pilots,” Schneider said, flatly. His voice was grim, yet curiously dispassionate. “Right now, we have three and a half squadrons, two of which are made up of pilots who have never flown outside simulations and training exercises. We were better prepared for war when we sailed off to attack New Russia. And I have been unable to convince the remaining home defence squadrons to cut loose any pilots. In short, we don’t even have starfighters for the escort carriers.”

Ted winced. After the first attack on Earth, it had been hard enough to convince the Admiralty that Ark Royal needed a handful of frigates and escort carriers as part of the flotilla. If the escort carriers hadn’t been so useless in the line of battle, he suspected he would never have received approval. But then, without starfighters, they were damn near useless anyway.

Commander Williams frowned. “What’s the bottleneck?”

“Pilots,” Schneider said. He looked down at the table, almost guiltily. “Admiral, right now, we have starfighters without pilots.”

“I know,” Ted said. The Royal Navy had produced Spitfires and Hurricanes in vast numbers, perhaps intending to sell some of their production line to other interstellar powers. But it was pilots that was the true bottleneck. A starfighter was useless without a pilot. “Do you have a solution?”

“Only one,” Schneider said. “I’d like to draw from the lead class at the Academy.”

“They’re kids,” Fitzwilliam protested. “They won’t even have completed the goddamned accelerated training course, let alone the full training period.”

“Yes, sir,” Schneider agreed. “But we don’t have anywhere else to look.”

He met Ted’s eyes. “There’s a big difference between flying a shuttlecraft and a starfighter,” he warned. “If the pilots are too used to one craft, they won’t be prepared for the other. I don’t think we dare use shuttle pilots until they’ve been retrained and we simply don’t have the time. And every other experienced pilot is tapped already.”

Ted nodded, slowly. The Admiralty was unlikely to agree to assign three new front-line squadrons to Ark Royal, let alone the escort carriers. Using student pilots was one hell of a risk — they might wind up shooting each other instead of the aliens — but he saw no other option either. There was no way they could recruit pilots from other nations. They’d have the same problem as shuttle pilots, with the added disadvantage of believing they were prepared for war.

“Go to the Academy and ask for volunteers among the top-scoring pilots,” Ted ordered, finally. “Make sure they understand this is a voluntary mission…”

He broke off. Starfighter pilots were always supremely convinced of their own skill, even when they’d managed to land so badly they’d broken the landing struts. It was unlikely that the best student pilots would refuse the mission, no matter how often they were told that refusing would not reflect badly on their careers. There were times, he thought, when starfighter pilots were allowed too much latitude. But now, with death increasingly likely for each pilot, they could be tolerated.

But if they prank my crew, he thought, remembering one incident on Formidable before her destruction, I’ll bring back the lash.

“Aye, sir,” Schneider said. “I don’t think we will have any trouble finding volunteers.”

“I don’t think so too,” Ted said, dryly. He looked around the compartment. “Are there any other issues we need to resolve?”

“The crew could do with a day or two of leave,” Commander Williams said. “Right now, far too many of them are approaching burn-out.”

“Sin City is gone,” Schneider pointed out. “I thought we were going to have riots when that hit the datanets.”

Ted nodded. The aliens, for reasons known only to themselves, had targeted Sin City with a long-range missile. There was no military reason for the attack; Sin City might have been a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it had no military significance. And half of the servicemen who might have been visiting had been on active duty instead. All the aliens had done was kill a few thousand prostitutes, visiting civilians and force an emergency evacuation of the rest of the complex. It didn’t seem like an effective use of a missile.

Unless they wanted to target our morale, he thought. Every enlisted crewman — and not a few officers — in every interstellar navy was intimately familiar with Sin City. One had been able get anything there for a price, from straight sex to VR simulations that covered the deepest darkest fantasies of the most depraved human mind. Do they know us well enough for that?

He shrugged. It didn’t seem relevant.

“Assign them passes to Luna if they have places to go,” he said, finally. Sin City wasn’t the only den of ill repute, merely the best-known one. “But we can’t tie up shuttles to Earth, not now. They’ll be needed for recovery work.”

“Aye, Admiral,” Commander Williams said.

Ted nodded. “Are there any more issues?”

There were none.

“We will greet the ambassadors in several days, I assume,” Ted said. “As I said, we have to put up with their presence, so… try to be polite, even if they are taking your cabin.”

He stood. “Dismissed,” he said. “Captain Fitzwilliam — a word?”

Fitzwilliam nodded, then waited until the compartment was empty, save for Ted, Fitzwilliam and Janelle. Ted gave her a look and she nodded, then headed through the hatch, which closed behind her. He felt a moment of concern — the bright and lively girl who had requested assignment to Ark Royal was gone, replaced by a stranger — but knew she had to work through her problems on her own. Perhaps it would have been kinder to urge her to change her name and emigrate to Britannia.

“Admiral,” Fitzwilliam said. “Do you believe this mission can succeed?”

“I hope so,” Ted said. “But we won’t know until we try.”

“We could have completely misinterpreted the data,” Fitzwilliam added. “Or the aliens could be trying an elaborate trick.”

“It’s possible,” Ted said. It was the Flag Captain’s job to play devil’s advocate. “But do we have many other options?”

He looked up at the display, charting the route to the alien homeworld — if it was the alien homeworld. The researchers had written hundreds of papers, each one arguing for or against the conclusion. But the only way to know for sure was to go and see. Ted was confident his command could slip through the alien rear, remaining undetected until they launched the attack, yet he knew there were too many things that could go wrong. Murphy would make an appearance at the worst possible moment.

“You’ll get a confidential briefing soon,” he warned. “If we make peace, well and good; if not, there are options.”

“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.

Ted was reminded, suddenly, of just how young his Flag Captain actually was. He’d used his family connections to try to take command of Ark Royal, yet — when thwarted — he’d shown the sense to actually learn from Ted, rather than doing his best to undermine Ted’s command. And, when he’d been handed the opportunity to relieve Ted and take command for himself, he’d rejected it.

If he was my son, Ted thought, I couldn’t be prouder.

“Many of those options are not good,” he added. “They could make the war worse.”

He had a sudden vision of humanity’s worlds burning, one by one, as the aliens wreaked a terrible revenge. And of alien worlds burning too. The limits humans had imposed on international and interstellar conflicts meant nothing to them — and why should they? They weren’t human.

Fitzwilliam snorted. “It can get worse?”

“It can,” Ted said, firmly. He paused. “What arrangements did you make for the crew’s families?”

Fitzwilliam flushed. “I had them moved to the estate,” he said. “They’ll be as safe as possible, even if we won’t be.”

“Good thinking,” Ted said. He normally disliked any form of string-pulling — although he was honest enough to admit that might be because he’d never been able to do it for himself — but he had to admit that Fitzwilliam had done well. “Will they have time to send letters to their families?”

“I believe so,” Fitzwilliam said. “But Admiral… the camps were shockingly disorganised.”

“Yes,” Ted agreed. Someone should have supplied footballs or board games or even tried to take additional volunteers out to work. “The emergency protocols were completely overwhelmed. No one expected a disaster on such a scale. Even a terrorist nuke would have been easier to handle.”

“It would have been worse if they’d gone after the towers,” Fitzwilliam said. “Do you think that’s a good sign?”

Ted sighed. “I hope so.”