Alarm of War (20 page)

Cookie skittered back until she was up against the bulkhead. Her chest was heaving and her teeth were chattering, which she dimly thought was odd. Then the other private, Mickey Millard, was shaking her and shouting, “Corporal? Corporal! Are you okay?”

And with that, abruptly, she was. Her teeth stopped chattering and the corridor leapt into focus. Millard was looking at her anxiously. She tried to smile. “I’m okay, Mickey.” She took a deep breath and stepped forward. Little shaky, but not too bad. “Get Cogan’s ammo and grenades, we’re gonna need them.”

“Bugger me! He killed him with a sword! A fucking sword!” Now that his Corporal seemed okay, Millard began to come apart at the seams.

Cookie stopped down next to Cogan’s body, stripped the extra ammo clips off his harness and patted his pockets for grenades. The lights suddenly flickered off, leaving the corridor dimly lit by bluish emergency lamps. In the distance, she saw someone run past a corridor entrance, then the sound of shooting. She stood up. God, she was thirsty. “Come on, Mickey, we’ve got to get to Engineering.”

Aret1 stood at the hatchway leading to the
London’s
bridge. Two Brets stood on either side of him. They had fought their way past several small groups of Victorian Marines to get here, taking casualties along the way. Now all he had were eight of his Arets, nine Brets and two of the slow Crets. The fact that the hatchway wasn’t guarded made him uneasy. Was it a trap? Would a platoon of Victorian Marines be waiting on the other side? He turned to face the others.

“When we go in, split up left and right,” he signaled, using he hand signs they had all learned as children. “Kill them all!” He drew a breath. “Glory to the Emperor!” he shouted, then pushed open the hatchway.

“
Westchester,
respond! I am ordering you to move four hundred miles forward and take up a screening position. Acknowledge!” Admiral Skiffington watched the hologram for a moment.
Westchester
did not move. “Dammit, what are they doing?” he roared.

“No reply, Admiral,” the Communications Officer said. “Nothing from
Westchester, Sea Witch
or
Balmorel.
The
Yorkshire
is responding and moving into position now.
”

Admiral Skiffington watched the battle unfold on his hologram. The two Battle Groups on his right flank, Alpha and Bravo, were gone. Annihilated. One after another, the ship colors had turned from blue to blinking orange. His left flank, the Battle Groups he had commandeered from Third Fleet, were badly chewed up and scattered. His remaining two Battle Groups seemed still intact, but more and more they weren’t responding to his commands. One by one they were falling out of formation and just hanging in space. The computer still displayed them as combat ready…but they weren’t.

He didn’t understand.

The hatchway swung open and armed men spilled into the room. Everyone on the bridge stopped what they were doing and stared. Someone stifled a scream. Admiral Skiffington stared. A spark of anger flared within him and grew. These men. He stood and pointed at them. “Get off my bridge!” he thundered.

Grant Skiffington hugged the wall. Ten feet ahead of him four Marines lay sprawled in an intersection of two corridors, killed in some earlier skirmish. Grant could hear calls and screams and more shooting. He knelt down and peeked rapidly around the corner. Three of the armed intruders stood, backs to him, less than one hundred feet away. He looked back at the dead Marines. One of them still clutched a Bull Pup in his hand. He wanted that gun. Another peek; the gunmen were still facing the other way. He took a step-

A strong arm snaked around his neck and jerked him off his feet. “Gods of Our Mothers, didn’t you learn anything at Gettysburg?” a voice whispered harshly.

Grant squirmed around to see a Marine in a ballistic helmet. The figure raised the visor. “Cookie?” he stammered. She put a finger to her lips. “Shhssh. How many?”

“Three, about a hundred feet up.”

Cookie gestured to Millard, who crept to the corner, then flung a grenade. As soon as it exploded, Cookie and Millard stepped into the corridor and fired down its length. “Okay,” she called to Grant. “Get a gun and as much ammo as you can find.”

“That was my last grenade, Corporal,” Millard said.

“I know, Mickey.” She turned to Grant. “Do you have any idea what the hell is going on?”

“I know the Ducks are involved. I think those Dominion ships we rescued nailed the
Sussex.
They’ve got to be working with the Tilleke somehow.” Grant checked the charge on the Bull Pup. Half full. He found another clip and pocketed it. One Marine had a pistol on his belt and Grant took that as well, stuffing it into his pants.

Cookie grimaced. “The Ducks are working with the Tilleke? Then we are
truly
fucked.” She gestured to the dead intruders. “These guys are Savak, the Emperor’s Guard unit. Somehow they got on board, a lot of them. I’ve counted over sixty that we’ve seen and from the sounds, there must be more. They’re going room to room, killing everybody they find.”

Aret1 nodded when First Sister Pilot led the other Pilots onto the bridge. “The ship is yours,” he told her. We hold Engineering, Combat Systems and the bridge. We will eliminate the rest of the crew within the next hour.”

“The Emperor’s blessings!” she replied, eyes sparkling. They had captured a Victorian battleship intact! Her Sister Pilots quickly fanned out to the control systems they had studied for years. One opened a com to the Engineering Room, where other Pilots were bringing up power and restoring systems. First Sister Pilot found the ship’s navigation lights and turned them on, then examined the sensor display. There were six other Victorian ships in the immediate vicinity, three of them with blinking navigation lights. She studied the ships without navigations lights. Each of those ships would soon be the target of a Savak attack. She looked at her watch. Her orders were to destroy any ship not captured within two hours. “Get the missile systems ready,” she ordered.

The lights suddenly flared on, making Grant blink and Cookie and Millard duck into the nearest doorway. “Get out of the corridor!’” Cookie hissed. They waited a moment. In the distance there was the sound of intermittent shooting. Millard reached up to a wall com.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Grant told him. Millard looked at Cookie in confusion. “But the power’s on. We can get help!”

Grant shook his head. “It means we’ve lost the ship. If you call in, they’ll know there are survivors and exactly where we are.”

There was a shout, then a shot. Millard screamed and clutched his leg, blood blossoming between his fingers. Cookie crouched, let loose a burst, then a second, then they were running, dragging Millard by his combat harness.

Behind them they heard shouts and the pounding of pursuing feet. They reached an intersection, saw more Savak coming from the right, and then more yet emerged at the far end of the corridor. “Left!” Cookie shouted, then cursed as a pellet ricocheted off her helmet. Grant stopped in front of her and she bounced off him. “What?” she cried. They were in a dead end. Millard pushed himself up against the wall and shakily raised his weapon. Cookie unclipped her last grenade and tossed it around the corner, then knelt and raised her weapon, only dimly aware that Grant was struggling to open some hatchway in the wall. The grenade rattled along the deck, but obstinately refused to explode. Footsteps pounded closer. One Savak skidded into the intersection and Cookie hammered him with a short burst. A second ducked his arm around and fired a spray of pellets. Millard uttered a sharp cry of pain. “Goddammit, I’m hit again!”

“
We’re having fun now!”
Cookie muttered. Then Grant grabbed her by her battle harness and pulled her backwards though a small enclosure. She tripped and sprawled on the deck

“Don’t leave me,” Millard begged. “Don’t leave me!” He began to crawl across the deck. A spray of pellets stuck the wall above him. He reached out an imploring hand. “Please! Corporal, help me!”

Cookie struggled to her knees, but a Savak commando suddenly loomed in the hatchway. Cookie tried frantically to bring her rifle to bear, but the front sight caught on her clothing. The Savak was shouting something, his weapon almost on her, and then he flinched backwards, blood spurting from his knee. Grant shot him a second time in the leg. The storm trooper’s leg buckled and he fell on top of Cookie, pinning her with his weight, and then Millard was screaming in agony and another Savak was there, firing again and again into Millard’s chest and Grant stepped forward and smashed his fist against the large red button on the wall.

The hatchway closed with a bang and suddenly they were all hurled to the floor by a tremendous jerk.

And then Cookie understood: They were in one of the ship’s escape pods. The explosive bolts blew and kicked the pod into space, leaving the
London
behind.

A
dmiral Mello nodded once to his aide, who keyed the com so that his words would be heard throughout the First Attack Force. His voice was deep and vibrated with pent-up emotion.

“Soldiers and sailors of the Dominion of Unified Citizenry! I salute you! Fifteen years ago the Dominion suffered its first and only defeat, at the hands of the Victorian navy. That loss has been a stain on our honor. Today we regain our honor. The Dominion is the greatest society in all of human space, but for fifteen long years we have been pushed, bullied and taken advantage of by the Victorians. The Victorians beat us at Windsor, but in their blind arrogance they think that because they won
one
battle, they had defeated the Dominion for all time.

“Today, you and I and everyone in this Attack Force will teach them the error of their ways! In a moment, the entire First Attack Force will cross into Victorian space. Soon we will meet the Second Attack Force, led by Admiral Kaeser. Together, we will attack Victoria, and when we are done, it will no longer be Victorian space, it will be
Dominion
space!

“This will be the decisive battle! With this one stroke, the Dominion shall rule all of inhabited space. I expect each of you to do his duty! Admiral Mello out.”

Mello swiveled in his chair to face Captain Pattin. “Send the order: First Attack Force to enter Victoria!”

T
he Savak on top of Cookie grabbed her by the throat and began to beat her head against the deck. Cookie clawed at his face, ripping off his helmet. Choking, frantic with the need for air, she jammed stiffened fingers into his eyes, hard. His grip loosened for a second.

“Do something! Grant!” she croaked.

Groaning with the effort, Grant sluggishly pulled himself up, grabbed the Savak around the neck, stuck his pistol in the commando’s ear and pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering Grant’s face and chest. He flopped back down on the deck, gasping for air. The Savak collapsed sideways, eyes bulging from the hydrostatic effect of the bullet. Cookie stared at the body, feeling a shock of recognition as she realized he looked identical to the five Bobs she had killed on the
London
just minutes earlier.
Bugger me, how many times do I have to kill you?
She heard a noise and looked up.

Grant Skiffington was sitting up against one wall, arms hugging himself. His teeth chattered. His eyes blinked furiously. Cookie crawled to him and put her arms around him. “You are a complete and utter fuck-up, Skiffington, but you did good. Real good.”

Grant tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I – I don’t know what-”

“Takes some gettin’ used to. No shame in it.” She wearily leaned her head against the bulkhead. For the first time, she thought she truly understood the blood tears tattooed on Sergeant Capezzera’s face.

• • • • •

Thirty minutes later, Grant could see the
London
receding in the distance. “Look,” he said, pointing. “They turned on the navigation lights. They’re blinking.”

Cookie joined him, leaning over his shoulder to see the video display. “There’s another ship over there with blinking lights.” She adjusted the camera. “But that one over there doesn’t have its nav lights on.”

“Then that’s the one we head to,” Grant said. “According to the sensors, it’s the
Yorkshire.
Hmmm…a Third Fleet ship. What the hell is it doing over here?” He adjusted the course and goosed the thrusters.

“What’s that?” Cookie asked, and pointed to a shadow sitting several miles from the
Yorkshire
. “See, something just drifted in front of that star.”

• • • • •

Captain Yossi Gur was unhappy. No, he was pissed off. The
Yorkshire
was a sitting duck, all alone four hundred miles in front of the confused remnants of the vaunted Second Fleet. Ships were milling around accomplishing nothing much at all. Since their orders from the
London
, they’d received no other instructions. There was some sparse radio chatter on the net, but mostly nothing. Two other Third Fleet ships, the destroyer
Rutland
and the cruiser(E)
Kent
were moving slowly up to take position with him, thank God. For all he could see, they were all that was left of the two Battle Groups of the Third Fleet assigned to this fiasco. Three ships out of forty. He grimaced inwardly, remembering the shock and total confusion after the
Sussex
blew up. Suddenly ships were being hit all around them, but they couldn’t find anyone to shoot back at. At a total loss for what to do, he had taken the
Yorkshire
vertical for one thousand miles, which seemed to take it out of the enemy’s kill zone. A few others had escaped as well, but most had become separated, so he had plotted a course to the
London,
arriving just in time to be ordered to take the van.

His XO, Benny Peled sat down beside him. “
Rutland
and
Kent
are both calling in, wanting to know what’s going on.”