The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) (59 page)

The Home Fleet hadn’t moved in hours, but in contrast to the previous weeks of bloody combat, no Nameless ship approached. The only vessels appearing on the scope now were those sent out as they reported back, before being dispatched again. But although every signal had been forced to terminate at least once, the Nameless had always managed to keep at least ten beacons active at any one time. The relief force would have a signal to home in on all the way, but the Home Fleet now had a fix on every possible location. Wherever the Nameless arrived, the humans could be there within minutes.

“Captain,” Lewis murmured without looking round.

“Yes sir,” Sheehan replied.

“You said all the signals were the same.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watch for any signal that is different. Order all ships to converge on the fleet in two hours, forty minutes.”

Sheehan paused but nothing more was forthcoming.

“Yes, sir.”

Again and again, Lewis caught himself glancing at the bridge clock. With two more hours gone and over twenty additional Nameless ships destroyed, he could feel this was the moment. This entire operation had been born of the need to land a knockout blow and all the Nameless had to do was avoid it. Four years after the Mississippi Incident and everything that had followed, this was the moment that would settle it.

“Admiral! We have a transmission, it’s different!” Sheehan shouted.

Lewis didn’t wait for it to be passed to the holo and instead was instantly up and over to the communications section. Another twenty FTL signals had gone active but there, almost submerged beneath them, was the one exception. Lower powered, with a different rhythm of pulses, it was the signal that might have been missed if they hadn’t been looking for it. It was close to one of the system’s inner planet, where the fleet’s torpedoes and mines had denied them the safety of the mass shadow.

“Navigation! Jump calculations to that point!” Lewis barked out. “Communications, signal all ships prepare to jump into combat!”

“How close sir?”

“Jump us directly into gun range!”

Three battered battleships, two carriers, with less than a third of their complement between them, a dozen worn cruisers and a handful of destroyers erupted back into real space. It was a far cry from the fleet that had blasted its way into the system all those weeks ago, but as the first radar returns came in, Lewis knew that victory was at his very fingertips.

There ahead, lit up and active was a Nameless gate. As he watched it, another gateship came through and phased back into real space. Around it warships were appearing. A few were being flagged as familiar but most were newcomers, fresh undamaged Nameless ships, barely moving and already inside gun range.

“Bridge, Tactical. Confirmed contacts profiles consistent with Nameless gateship tankers with heavy escort.”

“Bridge, Sensors. We have contacts, enemy combatants jumping, bearing two, seven, one, dash, three, five, nine – range thirty thousand!”

“Coms,” Lewis said quietly, “order,
Io
and
Deimos
onto our left flank. All battleships and heavy cruisers to engage the tankers with plasma cannons.”

It was doubtful whether most of the ships had received the order before opening fire. They had targets in range and that was all they needed. Plasma bolts flashed across the intervening space, smashing through the helpless tankers. Attempted to protect them, the newly arrived Nameless warships sent missiles burning back. A human cruiser corkscrewed out of control as a cap ship missile blew off its bows, but it changed nothing. On the flank, what was left of the original Nameless fleet threw itself forward, even though few of them seemed to have missiles left to fire. For all its desperation, their charge proved futile as they ran into an unyielding wall of counter fire that burned starships like moths in a flame.

The gate was almost the last to go was. A direct hit cut it in half, its field dying as the fragments tumbled away. As the last of the tankers detonated, Lewis turned his attention to the Nameless fleet.
Is that enough you bastards
, he thought,
please let that be enough!

He focused intently on the holo . There were few missiles flying now but the smaller alien vessels continued to throw themselves forward, forcing the human ships to engage them. Lewis’s heart was beginning to sink when he saw it. Their remaining cruisers and cap ships were decelerating hard. On the holo, blips began to highlight as
Freyia
’s computer registered they were going slow enough to…

“Admiral sir! They’re jumping out!”

“I see it,” Lewis whispered.

As the last of the larger ships disappeared, the few surviving escorts and scouts, changed course, swerving around the Home Fleet, accelerating towards the planet to use it as cover, chased as they went by plasma cannon fire. Finally the only ships on the holo were human.

21st May

As
Spectre
completed jump in, Willis found her grip on the armrests of her chair tightening until she heard the material creak.
Spectre
’s computer had a record of the Spur system but now, as the holo began to fill up with data from radar and passives, thousands of new objects that weren’t there before appeared. On the holo, the computer dispassionately classed most of it as debris.

“Captain,” the sensor officer reported, “we are picking up the Home Fleet, range thirty light seconds.”

She could see it herself but the number of blips was wrong – there were far too few. Willis felt her throat go dry.

“Bridge, coms, we are receiving a transmission from the
Yavuz Sultan Selim
. It’s Admiral Lewis.”

“My screen please.”

Lewis’s face looked like death warmed up.

“Captain Willis,” he said, “report please.”

“Sir, we reached the limit of our supplies. I can confirm that on the nineteenth the beacon on their side went active. A few hours later a series of enemy ships were detected jumping into the system. Many were observed to be carrying battle damage. We believe them to be the survivors of the battle on this side of the Rift. They remained in system for a few hours before jumping away in the direction of their core worlds.

“I see,” Lewis replied. “Thank you, Captain Willis.”

___________________________

Lewis slumped back in his seat as the connection terminated. He let out a long shuddering breath and wiped at his eyes.

“Are you alright, sir?” Sheehan asked as he appeared at Lewis’s elbow.

“Yes, Captain, I am.”

Lewis restrained an impulse to respond with his customary snap, then paused and, half amused at the simple truth of the question, smiled before looking up.

“Yes, Captain, I am alright. In fact, we all are. Dispatch a courier to Earth. Send: Sir, It is my duty to report that Operation Vindictive has been successfully completed. All enemy resistance has ceased; the Nameless have been driven from this arm of the galaxy.”

Epilogue

12th August 2069
 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am delighted to introduce my guest for this evening, Mister Jeff Harlow author of ‘The Nameless War – A View from the Sidelines’.”

Jeff adjusted his collar, put on his very best smile and stepped onto the stage. He and the show host exchanged utterly convincing and equally insincere smiles as they shook hands.

“So... A View from the Sidelines,” the show host began once they were both seated. “Critics are already describing it as the first great history of the conflict. But what I think amazes so many of us, is how fast you managed to get it written.”

“Hah! Well, oddly enough, the
Worms themselves had a bit of a hand in that. One of the missiles that hit my ship wrecked all of our Deep Sleep capsules and, well, it’s a long way back from the Spur. Had to do something to keep myself busy,” Jeff replied with a modest smile.

When the dust settled and the fleet was finally prepared to admit that it had actually won, he’d realised he was the only member of the press to have made it. The rest had been either killed or been on ships that were put out of the battle early on. He was the only press witness to the entire
Battle of the Spur. While the cripples headed for home,
Freyia
and the few other ships still standing remained on patrol there. With his reports dispatched, there was nothing for Jeff to do. Then he’d had an epiphany. If he could get the first eyewitness account out, well... ka-ching! He’d broken the back of it on the trip home but he’d still needed another month hot-boxing once he got back.

“There must have been some decidedly scary moments.”

“More than a few I will admit, yet, I believe to have been out there was very much something worth doing,” he replied.

“And heroic.”

“No, no! The true heroes are the men and women of the fleet,” Jeff said conscientiously – his publicist had been firm he needed to say that. “It is an often thankless job and even after being out there, I can’t imagine being the one who had to make the hard decisions.”

That much was true. If only he’d been able to get a proper interview out of Admiral Lewis but the man was incorrigible.

“I suppose the big question – the one you haven’t answered – is the Nameless themselves: will they come back?”

“Well,” Jeff replied, “that is the big question. The answer is no one really knows. Personal opinion though, I don’t think they will. After the hammering we gave them, I don’t think they will be in a hurry to return. We don’t know what or who else is out there, but, unless we go after them, I don’t think the Nameless will dare come after us again.”

___________________________

“Hawkings Control, this is the cruiser
Black Prince
. We are clear of docking port, request exit vector.”

Berg half listened as her new communications officer worked through the formalities of clearing Hawkings Base. Looking around the bridge, there weren’t many of the old faces left now. In war she’d been crewed by reserves and now that peace had returned they were all gone, replaced by veterans from ships that had either failed to return from the Spur or come back badly damaged.

“Captain, Hawkings Control has given us permission to depart. We are to take exit path Omega.”

“Very well,” Berg replied. “Navigator, give Helm a course.”

She stayed on the bridge as the cruiser navigated around the commercial traffic and began to accelerate out of the planet’s mass shadow. Ahead was a week of patrolling the systems close to Dryad, a job that really required two or more ships, but which was more than could be spared. Battle Fleet might be victorious but it was also exhausted. Looking around the bridge, Berg couldn’t help but feel her ship probably summed up the fleet in general. Not an old ship but already hard used and tired. Those of them that remained would carry a heavy burden until the fleet could rebuild.

“Captain, a piece of housekeeping has just come in from Earth, which Hawkings has forwarded to us. Headquarters has announced all Battle Fleet personnel who have been awarded the Fleet Cross. Commodore Ronan Crowe is the first name on the list – posthumously.”

“I served with him,” she replied simply.

There was movement on the bridge to suggest that everyone was now listening to the conversation.

“May I ask Captain, what he was like?” the communications office asked carefully.

“Good explorer, a good man, a good officer and an unlikely war hero,” she said.

Had he lived, Crowe would have hoped to return to the exploring he loved – and been disappointed. The days of exploration were on hold, at least for the moment.  These were the days of retrenchment, drawing lines on maps and saying this far and no further. As terrible as it was to think, perhaps it was as well he hadn’t lived to see that.

___________________________

“Captain, the
Clover
reports the last of the torpedoes are away.”

On the holo Willis could see them making their way down into the planet’s mass shadow, joining the scores that had already been deployed by the Home Fleet. Any attempt by the Nameless to use the shadow, as cover to transfer through the Spur would be met by an immediate hail of torpedoes.

And that was only the beginning. Given time, the Spur would become the most heavily defended point in human space. Even now, months after the last Nameless ship had fled the system – it still had the feel of a combat zone. For a good reason – with so much wreckage and various munitions floating about, it was rare to get through two consecutive shifts without an alert. Some ships had taken hits – and casualties, but then this was the new frontier.

When most of the battered remnants of the Home Fleet set course for Earth,
Spectre
and a few others had stayed behind to protect what had been so dearly won. Not only that, but surveying nearby systems and deploying sentry satellites. Willis had seen and contributed to the first draft of plans for what was already being described as the Rift Line. When, or perhaps if, the Nameless came again, if would have to be through here.

Willis nodded. “Alright, Communications. Navigator, make the calculations for jump,” she ordered.

“Well congratulations on the successful completion of your final mission Captain,” Yaya said.

“Not quite, Commander,” Willis replied with a smile. “I have to do the hand over to the new Third Fleet. But once that’s done, we’re on our way home.”

“And thank God for that,” Yaya agreed.

“Yes. Well, I’m going below to try and have my reports ready. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for home,” Willis said with a wan smile.

Sitting down in her cabin Willis wearily rubbed at her eyes. No one could know the future, least of all if or when the Nameless would return. But she did at least know her own future.
Spectre
’s withdrawal was already overdue. Her battle damage had been only roughly patched and her machinery badly needed an overhaul. Once that was done,
Spectre
would head back out, but Willis knew that she would not be in command. A communication for her had arrived with one of the ships of the newly re-formed Third Fleet. Her next posting would back on Earth, back in Headquarters. It would be a twin posting, both as an instructor in the Advanced Tactical Training School and a planner in the Strategic Forecasting Section.

Three years ago her career had been going off the rails. Now, not only was she back to where she had expected to be, but far beyond it – very much on the fast track for senior command. But then that would mean that if the Nameless came again, she would be among those standing in their path. Willis looked around her small cabin, at the pictures she’d started to hang up – ones of home, of family, poor old
Hood
, the austerity cruiser
Black Prince
,
Spectre
– the ship that brought death to an entire world – and last but by no means least, the late Commander Vincent Espey. No. If the Nameless came, if would have to be through her. So things were as they should be.

___________________________

“Good to have seen you and thanks for coming. See you again soon,” Guinness said as the last of the guests wobbled their way out the door.

“Is that everyone?” his son called from the kitchen.

“Yep, that’s the lot,” Guinness replied.

Thanks be to a good and merciful God
he thought to himself as he made his way into the living room. They’d meant well, they really had, and he’d brought it upon himself by letting them know when he was being demobbed, but really he could have done without the surprise party. In a day or two he’d have felt far more ready for it but what could you do? It was not as if he’d really even wanted to come home.

Moving a couple of plastic plates, he sat down in his easy chair with a sigh. He’d lied about his age to get back into the fleet, while it, desperate for trained personnel, looked the other way. But with peace came the inevitable sorting of paperwork and it had been ‘discovered’ that he was overage. So they’d given him a pat on the back, some new medals, a place in the victory parade... and a gentle shove out the door.

“You all right, Dad?”

Guinness looked up at his son – he hadn’t heard him come in – and realised his mind must have drifted.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“It wasn’t too much for you was it?”

“No, no, it was... nice to see everyone. Although I supposed we’ll be doing the same song and dance again next month.”

A couple of local councillors had popped in during the afternoon and one had mentioned a formal memorial event for the following month. Guinness was one of four people from the county that had gone to war. One came back minus his legs and one didn’t come back at all. Now the council wanted to hand out freedoms of the city or some such.

“If you want to head for bed I’ll deal with the clean up,” his son continued.

Guinness looked around. The place certainly gave the impression that it had been bombed in the middle of a burglary. Then he looked up again at his son. He was a good lad, looking out for his Da. But then his Da was a man who’d spent the last three years keeping antiques and patchwork ships going as they were shot to pieces around him. He’d walked in the door in his uniform, a chief engineer, master of the engineering spaces, but at some point during the festivities, he’d taken off his jacket and become an old man again. In a few weeks he’d probably be just some old fart to be avoided before he started banging on about the war to people who wouldn’t be able to understand what it had been like.

“No, I’ll help,” he replied getting up, “you don’t know where half the stuff goes anymore. If I let you do it, tomorrow I’ll be wondering where half my plates have gone. Anyway tomorrow I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Oh? What kind of stuff?”

“Figuring what the bloody hell I’m doing with the rest of my life.”

___________________________

“Congratulations Lieutenant Commander,” the Admiral murmured as he pinned on the medal.

“Thank you, sir,” Alanna replied as she saluted sharply and the Admiral continued down the line of recipients.

The awards ceremony was followed by an obligatory reception, for which the fleet had put on a surprisingly good spread. But then how often would there be six freshly minted Earth Crosses, the fleet’s highest award, in a single room? Given that half of the medals had been posthumously awarded, if never again then, to Alanna’s way of thinking, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Her conversation with Commodore Crowe’s widow had been awkward. She hadn’t realised he’d even been married. Always the unspoken question – why did you come back and he didn’t?

Alanna took a spot by the buffet table and a particularly good cheese platter where she could watch the room. It was vaguely amusing to observe the full range of military personnel from ratings to admirals sharing a space, each attempting to make awkward small talk, while civilians – friends and family – blithely sailed through the middle of it all. She could see Schurenhofer, her father, and her former gunner’s boyfriend near the centre of the room, talking to a senior captain, which under other circumstances might have made her nervous.

“Ah, there you are. I was looking for you Lieutenant Commander.”

It was Admiral Clarence. Alanna automatically started to salute but with one arm still in a sling and her other holding a wine glass, she realised she was stuck.

Clarence grinned.

“Don’t worry about that. How’s the arm?”

“Getting better, sir.”

“I wanted to have a little word with you.”

“About, sir?” she asked, although she immediately guessed what he wanted to talk about.

“I understand from my office that you’ve put in to resign from the fleet.”

“That’s correct, sir,” Alanna replied. “On medical grounds. The doctors say my shoulder is mending well but I’ll never regain full mobility in the joint. Ninety to ninety five percent but that’s not enough for fighter operations.”