The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) (42 page)

Once all the soon to be embedded journalists were in orbit they’d been given a detailed briefing on the coming operation. They’d then been allowed to each record a report to be released by the fleet once the operation was underway. With that done they were ferried up to their assigned ships. Any communication out was extremely limited and closely monitored. There was a lot of grumbling about that, but this was a case of either play ball or go home.

Once out of Deep Sleep he’d expected the attack to get underway pretty much straight away, but no, days passed quietly. On board,
Freyia
preparations were made with quiet earnestness.

“I know they say no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Lieutenant Grambel, the gunnery officer, commented when Jeff remarked on it, “but frankly we still prefer to have one. It beats frantically ‘winging it’.”

So Jeff spent the time doing interviews with the crew. He didn’t think their officers had briefed them but it was funny how people automatically reached for a lot of the same terms. Again and again, he heard men and women tell him with nervous earnestness how they didn’t want to let down their shipmates or their families. It was time to bring their A game, this was the big one, the one that would win the war. The network would likely only ever use short excerpts from interviews with the younger or more photogenic members of the crew, but some of film archives companies might be interested as well.

There was a ping outside and Jeff pulled himself up from his bunk and stepped out into the passageway so he could hear the address system properly.

“All hands, this is the Captain. A few minutes ago we received notification from the flagship that Operation Vindictive is now officially a go. We will move out at oh seven hundred hours tomorrow.
Freyia
will be on the left flank of the fleet.”

There was a pause that made Jeff think it was over, so turned to go back into his cabin. Then the Captain’s voice came through again.

“I won’t ask you to get ready because I know you are. You are the best crew on the best ship in the best fleet and we will do what needs to be done. For this evening’s meal, the galley has assured me that they will pull out all the stops. Until tomorrow morning I’m putting everyone on light duties. Finish what you are doing and then get as much rest as you can. This is the Captain, out.”

Jeff leaned against the bulkhead. This was it! He’d almost managed to convince himself that nothing would happen but it really was. Shit really was about to hit the fan, with malice aforethought. He noticed that he had the camera in his hand. He must have picked it up automatically. He switched it on and turned it to face him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your ace reporter Jeff Harlow, all set to have his ass shot off in the name of news and entertainment.”

Turning, he saw one of the crew watching him, an engineering rating going by her uniform. She smiled nervously and it struck him that she was kinda pretty.

“I’ve just gone off duty. Are you still doing interviews?” she asked.

“Sure, step into my office,” he said waving her in.

___________________________

“Well, Commander,” Crowe said as he put his signature to the document formally transferring command, “you are now formally the skipper of the good ship
Deimos
and all who sail upon her.”

“Temporarily, sir,” Commander, now brevet Captain, Bhudraja replied unruffled. “And I look forward to signing the document that returns her to your command.”

“Thank you, Captain. It’s good to know she’s in safe hands,” Crowe replied, as he offered his hand and Bhudraja shook it firmly.

All but the duty shift had lined up in the crew receiving area. Crowe moved slowly down the line, pausing to speak a few words to a man or woman here or there. When he had arrived on board
Deimos
, it had been as an officer no longer trusted by his superiors or subordinates. Now, as he paused to look back on so many familiar faces, he realised that this ship had become home.

“God willing, we will see each other in a day or two and have stories to share. All of you, do me proud.”

As the hatch closed behind him, he heard someone call three cheers for the Commodore.

Crowe took the co-pilot’s seat for the journey from
Deimos
. Their destination was in the middle of the Home Fleet’s formation. In amongst the support ships, the
Mississippi
awaited him, floating alongside two converted transports that would join her for this, her final mission. In his mind’s eye, Crowe could remember her, as she had once been, an elegant lady, aging gracefully. Now she showed too many signs of harsh surgery to ever again be called graceful. The point defence grid had been completely overhauled, two of the plasma cannon turrets replaced with flak guns and chemical booster rockets strapped to the sides of the hull. Overshadowing all of those however, were the scars, the ones from the first shots in this war. But better this than a lingering death in the breaker’s yard. When he pulled himself through the airlock, only one person waited to meet him, Lieutenant Craven, his new second-in-command.

“Welcome aboard sir,” Craven said saluting. There was no need here for the niceties of a formal command transfer. He’d never been taken off her books as captain.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, where are we up to?”

“The commander of the transfer crew is waiting on the bridge to complete handover. The munitions ship has signalled that the nukes are on their way over. I’ve got everyone doing final checks now.”

Crowe nodded. Almost everything was in place, not long now.

___________________________

“Cold start assembly.”

“Check,” Schurenhofer replied.

“Magnetic constrictors,” Alanna continued down the checklist.

“Check.”

During the journey to the Spur,
D for Dubious
had been comprehensively overhauled. The deck chief had actually been a bit sour on that point. Before leaving Earth, Alanna had been offered a factory fresh machine. While
D for Dubious
was probably no different from any other Raven class space fighter – in fact she now had a lot of miles on the clock – Alanna was used to her and her quirks. Better a reliable warhorse that maybe wasn’t quite as quick on her feet any more, than an unproven mount that might do something unexpected at an awkward moment.

It had been an unexpectedly difficult moment watching the class of trainees, whom she’d done her best to guide, disperse towards their war stations. She was well aware some of them just weren’t ready but there was nothing more she could do for them. For her part, it was a return to
Dauntless
. Apparently, once his ship re-emerged from the repair docks, Captain Philippe had pulled every available string to recover her as the carrier squadron’s second-in-command. There weren’t many familiar faces among the flight crews from their Siege of Earth days, but a few familiar faces remained.

“You know it’s not too late to swap this bird out for another unit,” Squadron Commander Len Deighton said as he pulled himself up to
Dubious
’s access hatch.

“Hello, sir,” Alanna looked up from her checklist. “Has the Chief got you doing his dirty work?”

“He did come to speak to me quite extensively on the dangers of aged spaceframes, that much is true.”

“I’d be touched if I wasn’t convinced he’s more concerned about his own workload than my personal safety.
Dubious
has had a complete strip down. All components are well inside their operating lifespan. I have the documents and signatures to prove it.”

Deighton let out a faint snort. No pilot ever quite entirely trusted the documentation from the deck crews. If something did go wrong, it wouldn’t be their immediate problem, which was why Alanna and Schurenhofer had spent an hour personally working through the checklist.

Deighton certainly had the authority to order
Dubious
put into stores, but like Alanna, he knew that a pilot needed to trust their machine.

“Well, you’ve got forty minutes to wrap it up in here,” he said. “Pilots briefing – orders have finally arrived from Flag.”

“Do I get any spoilers?”

“Yeah,
Akagi
and
Huáscar
’s fighters will clear the way for the
Mississippi
group by striking at the lunar weapons batteries. We’ll provide their top cover and act as the flying reserve.”

“So ground fire and enemy fighters then?”

“That’s about the size of it. Going by the list of objectives Flag sent over, I’d say it is damn near certain we’ll have to attack ground targets.”

“Glad to hear it sir,” Alanna replied with a nod. “The old
Dauntless
stopped them from winning this war and the new
Dauntless
will help us win it. Just as it should be.”

“Alright, get this wrapped up,” Deighton replied. “And Lieutenant, if this bird doesn’t check out
perfectly
, I want it struck down and a replacement delivered from stores.”

“Of course sir, no room for sentimentality,” she said as Deighton pushed himself off from the hatch, back towards the hangar airlock.

“No room for sentimentality?” Schurenhofer said. “Skipper, I get nervous every time you mention the old
Dauntless
.”

“Just a turn of phrase. I’m just glad I’m here Kristen, here for the death.”

Schurenhofer gave her a cautious look.

“Just as long as it isn’t
our
death, Skip. The only way I really want to see the Spur is behind us as we leave.”

Alanna glanced over at her weapons controller, ready to offer some kind of joke, but Schurenhofer’s expression was deadly serious.

“I haven’t come here to die,” Alanna said, “and if I’ve got this far without cracking, then I think we’re safe from that at least.”

“And you just go ahead and keep saying that, Skipper. Just remember we’re not here as some bit of universal balance or some such new age happy horseshit.”

“You don’t believe things happen for a reason?”

“Nope, a lot of shit happens randomly. You aren’t getting God are you?”

“No, no I’m not. Just...” Alanna trailed off, her fingers rubbing her dog tags. “Once this is all over,” she said after a moment, “there’ll be stories to tell. In the case of the old
Dauntless
, I’m the only one left to tell theirs.”

She looked sadly at her weapons controller and added: “I don’t have a duty to join them; I have a duty to stay alive.”

___________________________

At oh six hundred hours the next morning, the Home Fleet would make the jump across the few light days that separated their staging area from the Spur system. Unlike their first battle of the war, there was no need for a mad dash to the Spur. On board
Warspite
, Lewis sat in his cabin, lost in thought, although for the first time in weeks they weren’t about military matters. Instead his mind went back to goodbyes.

The small coffee shop located in the city’s outer suburbs was experiencing the usual post-lunchtime lull. A single patron was sitting in a corner, his feet up on a chair, reading a book. As the bell over the door jingled, the young woman behind the counter glanced up from where she was slowly cleaning a glass – and then did a double take as two fleet Admirals walked in.

“Two teas,” Lewis said curtly as his wife selected a table.

“And four portions of cake,” Laura Lewis called around him before addressing her husband. “And don’t snap at the girl, Paul!”

Lewis smiled slightly and nodded to the young woman.

They talked about minor matters, both of them studiously avoiding work. All the while, Laura kept an eye on the door.

“There’s Brian now,” she said as a man entered with a small child hanging off each hand.

Their son walked in and looked around for a moment before spotting Laura’s wave.

“There’s granny and granddad,” he said, letting go of the children.

A while later Laura was still playing with the children. Their young faces were smeared with chocolate cake and crumbs were spread across the table. Both of them were telling her a story with the desperate earnestness of small children.

“Dad, when do you leave?” Brian asked quietly.

“Within the next two days. Your Mother is to be the divisional commander of the Eighth Cruiser Squadron. She doesn’t ship out for another fortnight. But she’ll be heading for orbit within the week and won’t be coming back…”

Lewis stopped.

“She won’t be coming back until this is done,” he corrected himself.

His son’s grim expression made clear the slip hadn’t been missed.

“Dad, what are the chances? I’m not asking for details but don’t give me the party line.”

Lewis made no immediate reply. He half turned to look at his grandchildren. He’d known early that his son wasn’t cut out for a military career. Frankly, he had been relieved when, as a boy, Brian had shown no interest in one. Too much of a dreamer for military life, he was doing well in his chosen career in architecture though. But Brian had grown up in a military household, so he knew the language and understood far better than most what they faced.