“I killed five of them,” Rose said. “Do you think I killed enough?”
It took Kurt a moment to understand what she meant. “I think we’ve only just begun,” he said. “Three enemy carriers were destroyed, one more was badly damaged…”
“But she managed to escape,” Rose pointed out. “We could have taken her intact otherwise…”
Kurt nodded. Humanity was known for solving technical problems — now they knew what the aliens could do, human researchers would be trying to duplicate it — but he had to admit that recovering samples of alien technology would speed the whole process up considerably. But somehow he doubted the aliens would allow their technology to be captured so easily, not by a potentially deadly enemy. Human systems were rigged to prevent them falling into enemy hands.
“Maybe we could have,” Kurt agreed, finally. He gave her a long look. “Are you going to stop now?”
Rose blinked owlishly at him. “What do you mean?”
“Do you feel that five aliens are enough,” Kurt asked, “or do you mean to keep killing them until the war comes to an end?”
“Keep killing them,” Rose snapped. She sounded more than a little annoyed by his comment. “I don’t think that any number of the bastards can make up for him.”
Kurt scowled. Rose bothered him, even though she was hardly the worst of his problem children. It was easy to imagine her putting her desire for revenge ahead of sound tactics and careful planning — to say nothing of the overall objective. He understood the desire for revenge, even shared it, but he also knew that he had to put his own problems to one side and concentrate on his duty.
“Relax now,” he ordered, softly. “And remember that there will be other battles.”
“There will be,” Rose agreed. She grinned, suddenly. “We gave them a fright, didn't we?”
Kurt nodded.
“And we showed those fools back on Earth that we can kick butt with the best of them,” Rose said, her grin widening into a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek, then walked out of the compartment before Kurt could say a word. He stared at her, one finger touching the spot where she’d kissed him, then shook his head in disbelief. Rose… wasn't anywhere close to stable. But then, few pilots were.
“Damn it,” he muttered. He closed the hatch, then keyed his terminal. There was just time to record a v-mail to Molly before he went back to the pilot quarters for some sleep. “What’s gotten into her now?”
He waited till the recording light came on, then started to speak. “Hi, Molly, I don't know quite when you will get this message, but I think you’ll get it before I return home. We won a battle…”
When he was finished, he saved the message, uploaded it to the communications network and then went to get some sleep.
Ted sat in his cabin, eying the bottle on his desk. It was finest Scotch, a present from an old friend upon his promotion to Commodore; Ted had been saving it for a special occasion. Now, with an alien fleet in full retreat and his ship thoroughly vindicated, it seemed as good an occasion as any. But he wasn't sure he could ensure that he stuck to just one glass…
He’d won, he knew. The Royal Navy might call him a drunkard, the other commanding officers might question his qualifications, but none of them could deny that he’d won a battle against a powerful and seemingly overwhelming foe. Everyone had seen the recordings of New Russia by now, everyone knew that humanity’s very future hung in the balance. But he’d pulled off a victory and, in doing so, altered the course of the war. Or so he hoped.
It was worthy of a drink. Wasn't it?
He should know better, he told himself. Hundreds of thousands of naval crewmen experimented with drink… and, as a general rule, most of them learned to control the impulse or simply give it up. But Ted hadn't really learned, which was why he’d been assigned to Ark Royal as a mere Lieutenant-Commander. The Royal Navy had preferred to move him to a dead-end assignment rather than have him dishonourably dismissed from the service — or even quietly retire him when his first enlistment ended. There were days when he’d wondered just what his superior officers had been thinking. Had they been too lazy to do the paperwork for early retirement or had they questioned the wisdom of forcibly retiring someone who’d earned a knighthood through saving lives as a young Lieutenant?
The bottle glimmered faintly under the cabin light. It was worth over three hundred pounds, he knew; his friend had been making a point as well as presenting Ted with a gift. Part of him wanted to tear the bottle’s cap off and take a swig, part of him knew that he didn't dare indulge. Ark Royal was no longer orbiting a beacon in the Earth-Moon system, but facing a dangerous alien threat. The bastards could be back at any moment.
And he could lose his command. No one really cared if a reservist commander drank, not when there was no real danger to his crew. But now… his XO wanted his post and had friends in high places. Fitzwilliam hadn't done anything overt to stab Ted in the back, yet Ted knew the younger man was ambitious… and all of the arguments he'd used to convince the First Space Lord to let Ted remain in command had become less and less effective as Fitzwilliam learned more about the ancient carrier. Hell, he would be a good commander, Ted knew. The younger man had an optimism about him that Ted had long since lost.
But Ted had no intention of surrendering his command. It would be the first step towards early — enforced — retirement. There was no way he would be allowed to take command of a modern carrier, even an escort ship. He'd be lucky if he was assigned to an asteroid mining facility in the middle of nowhere. Humanity’s only winner or not, he would be lucky to be allowed to keep his rank. The Royal Navy would have its doubts about giving a modern starship to a known drunkard.
Angrily, he lashed out. The bottle plummeted from the desk and struck the deck, shattering on impact. Glass and alcohol splashed everywhere. Ted swore out loud, then stood upright and reached for a towel. There was no point in ordering Midshipwomen Lopez or another junior crewman to clear up the mess. Besides, he was more than a little ashamed of his own weakness. It was something he had to tackle on his own. Once the mess was cleared, he dumped the towel into the recycler, glass and all. It would at least serve a useful purpose when it was broken down for raw material.
His intercom buzzed. “Captain,” Fitzwilliam said. For an absurd moment, Ted wondered if someone outside the cabin had heard the bottle break, or smelled the Scotch through the airlock. “The Marines are ready to start sifting through the debris, while Primrose is ready to return to Earth.”
Ted grunted. “Tell them to make best possible speed,” he ordered. The frigate would carry the news of the victory to Earth. “And tell them that we will return to Earth within four days unless they have other orders for us.”
He scowled up at the star chart. The aliens definitely had a more advanced FTL drive than humanity’s. That was a given, now. If they used it aggressively, they might even be able to jump directly to Earth. And there wouldn't be any real warning before they arrived. Once Ark Royal returned to Earth, they might not be allowed to leave, even though they were ideally suited to raiding behind enemy lines.
Damn it, he thought, as he turned on the air conditioning to get rid of the smell. We’ve won one battle, but not the war. Not yet.
Chapter Eleven
The remains of the alien craft were almost invisible in the darkness of interplanetary space.
“I'm not picking up very much, beyond chunks of molten metal,” Corporal Henderson reported. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything we can reverse-engineer.”