Alarm of War (50 page)

“All ships, fire! Fire! Fire!” he yelled.

The thirteen remaining Dominion cruisers fired their anti-matter weapons as one. Their missiles criss-crossed with the incoming Victorian missiles and exploded. The Victorian ships and a huge piece of the minefield they were near vanished in an expanding ball of corpse-white light.

“Reload!” ordered Admiral Mello, although the order was unnecessary. The cruisers were reloading as fast as they could.

“What the fuck was that?” Captain Rowe screamed. “Sensors, report, dammit!”

“Sensors identify them as the
Swansea
and
Repulse
,” the Sensors Officer said, his voice shrill with excitement and stress. “They popped out and flushed their weapons at one of the Duck cruisers, then all of the Dominion ships blasted them with anti-matter missiles.”

“Status of
Swansea
and
Repulse
?”

The Sensors Officer shook his head emphatically. “Code Omega, sir. No life pods, no nothin’.”

“Enemy cruiser?”

“They killed it, sir.”

Well, that was something, at least, he thought bitterly. “Fire all weapons!” Rowe ordered. The two cruisers and five destroyers concentrated on four of the Dominion cruisers. All four sustained heavy damage and fell out of formation. Two of them blundered into the minefield and were chewed up by missile mines.

“Pull back,” Rowe said again. “Reload missiles and recharge lasers!”

The eight undamaged Dominion cruisers frantically tried to recharge their lasers, but for the moment their entire weapons array was empty and impotent. Dominion cruiser captains were not selected for their timidity, however. As one the eight ships accelerated forward, intent on maintaining sensor contact with the retreating Vickies so that they could destroy them once their weapons were back on line.

Then the H.M.S.
Everest
reached the front edge of the minefield, flanked by twenty stout tugboats and their precious missile pods. More tugs were arriving behind them.

“Merlin!” Captain Johanna Fuller called. “Slave all missile pods to you and fire when ordered.”

A pause. “Twenty five pods are clear to fire; all systems integrated.”

Fuller turned to her Sensors Officer. “Go active, Fiona, we’ll only get one shot.”

Fiona nodded, pale and pinched, but her hands were steady as she typed in her orders. A moment later her sensor array blasted its energy across the incoming Dominion cruisers and her readout display lit up with tracking data. Several lights turned red and tones sounded. On the frigate’s battle display, more tugs appeared on their flanks and their missile pods synchronized with the
Everest’s
computer.

“Firm locks on three of the ships coming towards us, Captain.”

“Merlin!”

“I have locks.”

“Then fire, you damn computer! Fire!” Fuller said, eyes intent on the battle display, a wide grin on her face.
God, she had waited so long for this!

Admiral Mello leapt from his seat. “How did that happen?” he shouted angrily. The battle display showed that three of his remaining eight cruisers just blew apart. The Sensors Officer flinched, then stammered. “Admiral, Vicky reinforcements have just arrived. Missile pods. More are arriving.”

Admiral Mello seethed. “Full military power! All anti-matter missiles prepare to launch on my order. Lasers, target any missile pods and fire as soon as you have a lock.” He folded his arms and glowered at the battle display.

The battleship
Vengeance
leapt forward. It shouldered past the wreckage of two cruisers, simply plowing through the debris and life pods. Vicky missiles reached out for it and the
Vengeance
swatted them down with lasers. Its main battle lasers probed for the offending Vicky missile platforms and turned them into molten slag.

“More missile platforms arriving,” the Sensors Officer warned.

One thousand miles away from the
Everest,
Captain Rowe of the
Bristol
looked at his battle display, where dozens of tugboats were emerging into view on either side of a small glowing blue dot. He increased magnification and smiled when he saw the ship’s name: H.M.S.
Everest.
“Best damn frigate captain in the Fleet,” he muttered to himself, relief washing over him.

“All ships,” Rowe radioed to the others, “turn around and go back to the edge of the minefield. Fire as soon as you have targets.” The seven ships wheeled about and sped back to minefield’s edge, where they would be clear to fire once more.

We’re going to do this!
Rowe thought savagely.

Above the fighting, Emily Tuttle watched the battle display in horrid fascination. On the display the enemy battleship looked like a marauding bull, huge and unstoppable as it raced forward to join battle with the Victorian forces.

“Geez, look at the bloody size of that thing,” someone muttered reverently.

“
‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
’” Seaman Partridge quoted softly.

Emily looked at him and blinked in surprise. Rudd shook his head and snorted. “You have unknown depths, Mr. Partridge. Now, please, tell us what the hell is happening.”

“Admiral, two Vicky cruisers and five destroyers are joining the missile platforms!” the Sensors Officer called out.

Admiral Mello nodded in satisfaction. The enemy ships were massing directly in front of them. Excellent.

A strong man
can
bend the universe to his will.

“Fire the anti-matter missiles!”

Captain Rowe watched, appalled, as the monster sized battleship appeared on his holo screen. The
Bristol
had arrived a moment too soon; none of his ships had had a chance to reload their missiles and only a handful of lasers were ready. He was dimly aware that more of the missile pods were firing, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“All anti-missile batteries to full automatic!” he ordered.

The anti-matter missiles sped towards him. Rowe just had time for a fleeting thought of his wife and teenage son. His son would grow up without-

Then he was gone.

I
t could not have been worse.

When the
New Zealand’s
sensors finally came back on, the rest of the Coldstream Guard was gone. Simply, irrevocably, gone. Captain Rowe and his cruisers and destroyers, Captain Fuller, the
Everest
and all of the tugboats had disappeared, gone in the blink of an eye. A long, winding hole had been gouged out of the minefield, with missile platforms along the edge scorched and tumbling wildly.

The Dominion battleship and its cruiser escort had stopped, their sensors as blinded as the
New Zealand’s
, no doubt. Emily weighed the odds and felt only despair. One mammoth battleship and five cruisers against two damaged Vicky cruisers and two understrength destroyers. All they had in their favor was surprise.

Then Captain Specht of the
Emerald Isle
flushed her missile tubes and ruined any surprise they might have had.

“
Emerald Isle,
what are you doing?” Emily demanded, shock turning to anger.

“I am
firing
on the enemy,” Captain Specht answered tartly, “which is more than you seem capable of.”

“Gods of Our Mothers, you’re going to kill us all!” Emily shouted. “All ships, back into the minefield. Hurry!”

The ships spun in place and accelerated wildly…all except the
Emerald Isle.
She labored to come about, but her propulsion system was too damaged to be nimble and the most she could do was slowly swing her bow away from the enemy that even now was reaching for her with active sensors. A moment later twenty five battle lasers raked the
Emerald Isle
from stem to stern, and a minute after that the first missiles arrived.

On board the H.M.S.
Yorkshire,
Cookie watched the holo repeater in morbid silence. She was sitting on the hanger deck surrounded by her company of two hundred and forty Marines. One hundred or so carried air rifles that had been taken from the dead Savak commandoes or manufactured in the
New Zealand’s
work shop. The rest looked with displeasure at the six-foot sharpened poles they held in their hands.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” one husky Marine asked in disgust.

Never taking her eyes off the holo, Cookie said: “Stick ‘em with the pointy end, Wisnioswski, then take their weapon and shoot ‘em.”

“Bugger me,” he muttered sullenly.

“Shut up, Wisnioswski, you’re boring me.”

Lori Romano came and flopped down on the deck beside her. “Cookie!” she whispered excitedly, “we’ve been playing with the transporters.” She paused, eyes gleaming.

Cookie shifted her gaze from the holo to the AI specialist. “What? Spit it out.”

“We’ve got a firm lock on the engine room of the big Dominion battleship,” Romano said. “We could send one hundred and twenty guys there any time you want.”

Cookie blinked. “Really? No bullshit?” Romano nodded soberly. “How soon?” Cookie asked, excitement beginning to grip her.

Romano shrugged. “As soon as you can get the Marines into the transporters. We’ve got them warmed up and ready to go.”

Cookie leapt to her feet, fumbling with her communicator. “Grant? Grant? We’ve got a way to take out the battleship. Grant, answer me, dammit!”

Two hectic minutes later, Cookie and Grant Skiffington were talking to the
New Zealand
via a whisker laser.

Emily was watching the battle display when the call came in. She could see the
Vengeance
and its remaining five cruisers shake into formation for the final push through the minefield. Once through, there would be nothing standing between them and the Atlas except Emily’s pathetically small task force.

“Priority message coming in from the
Yorkshire,
Ma-am,” Betty called out. Emily tore her eyes off the battle display with difficulty. “Put it up, Betty,” she ordered.

Cookie and Skiffington talked excitedly, interrupting each other and at one point starting to argue, but Emily got the idea.

“That sounds nuts!” she told them.

“No, no Em, it’s exactly what the Tillies did to us on the
London.
They swarmed over us,” Cookie said breathlessly.

Emily thought for a moment. If the battleship was out of the picture, they
might
be able to hold off the cruisers until Admiral Douthat got back. Then she remembered the promise she had made to Hiram.

“Cookie, once you’re on the
Vengeance,
how will you get back?”

“Well, that part really sucks, doesn’t it?” Cookie said, a devil-may-care grin plastered on her face. “But we’ve got to stop that damn battleship, Em. Stop it or lose everything.”

“If they can take the
Vengeance,
I’ll be able to take them off afterwards,” Grant Skiffington said, but Emily could see he didn’t really believe it.

Emily closed her eyes. She knew if she ordered Cookie to go in, there was little chance of her getting back. How would she ever face Hiram again?

“Go!” she said. “Disable the battleship and then bail out in the life pods. We’ll figure out how to handle the cruisers.”

Cookie grinned, then faltered. “Tell Hiram-”

Emily cut her off. “Just get your ass back here, that’s an order.”

“Yes, Ma-am!” Cookie cut the connection.

“I’ll bring her back,” Grant said again.

“Grant, until Admiral Douthat arrives, there are just the four of us. Just the
New Zealand, Yorkshire, Kent
and
Galway.
I can’t afford to lose your ship, do you understand?” Emily felt cold. Her voice seemed far away, removed.

Grant stared at her, his mouth opening, then closing. “Christ, Emily, listen to you.” He shook his head and cut the connection without another word.

And despite the fact that she knew she was right, knew she was doing the right thing, Emily felt ashamed.

On the
Yorkshire
, Cookie met the inquiring gaze of Master Sergeant Zamir. “They want us to go in,” she said simply.

Zamir nodded impassively. “Thought they would, if they believed your hair-brained idea.” He held her gaze. “You know that not everybody who goes will make it back? That’s just the way it is.”

“I know, Master Sergeant.” But the weight of it suddenly pressed down on her.

“Lead on, Sergenat Ortiz, I think this is your show,” Zamir said, but with an odd gentleness in his voice that Cookie had not heard before.

Cookie stepped on top of a packing crate and held up her hands for silence. The murmur of two hundred and forty Marines faded away, all eyes on her.

“We’re goin’ in,” she said simply. Some cheered, some looked stricken. She held up her hands again. “We’re goin’ in two waves. First wave, two gunners for every man with a spear. Second wave, all the rest. Specialist Romano and her team will operate the Tilleke transporters. You Marines do what they say, no questions, no bullshit.

“Once we’re on the Duck battleship, we take the engineering deck and the bridge, then secure the rest of the ship,” she said.

“What do we do with prisoners?” somebody called from the back.

“Cuff them to a stanchion and leave ‘em,” she answered. “If they resist, kill them.” The Marines glanced at each other, smirking. Cookie did not expect to see a lot of prisoners. “Move fast! Keep hitting them. If your squad gets separated, just keep moving towards the bridge.”

“Where is the bridge?” another voice called.

“No fuckin’ idea,” Cookie said cheerfully. “We’re Marines, we’ll figure it out. Everybody up! Equipment check, then move into the Tilleke ships and take a seat. Move!”

Nine minutes later, Lori Romano wiped the sweat from her forehead, said a silent prayer and activated the transporters on the first Krait ship.

T
hey materialized in a blizzard.

In the wrong place.

They were in a large room with a long line of tables and chairs, and at the far end, an area full of industrial cooking equipment. Two men dressed in white uniforms stared at them open-mouthed.