And now there was an alien threat. What sort of technology would they have?
“So far, the media has not caught wind of the threat,” the First Space Lord informed him, shortly. “The Prime Minister and other world leaders has ordered a total blackout. However, I do not expect that to last long. Rumours are already flying around the datanet and it won’t be long before someone breaks the blackout. It will certainly be broken when we start calling up reserves and conscripting civilians.
“Go back to your ship, taking your new XO with you,” he continued. “Requisition whatever you need; I’ll do my best to make sure you have it. If we’re lucky, this will all blow over, but I rather doubt it.”
Ted nodded in agreement. The aliens had just attacked. Unprovoked, as far as anyone knew, they’d just attacked — and not one colony, but four. It suggested either unhealthy confidence or careful observation of humanity before opening fire. Ted wouldn't have been surprised to discover that the aliens had surveyed the entire human sphere. There was enough civilian traffic moving through interstellar space to conceal a handful of alien spy ships, if the aliens showed up on sensors at all. Whatever the civilians might think, there was plenty of space between the planets to hide the entire human fleet.
They think they can win, Ted thought. He shivered at the thought. Only a fool would start a war they didn't think they could win. What do they want?
“Yes, sir,” he said, pushing his thoughts aside. The prospect of actually taking his ship into harm’s way galvanised him. “I won’t let you down.”
He rose to his feet and saluted, as smartly as he could. Captain Fitzwilliam — no, he’d be a Commander now — followed, his face blank and unreadable. Ted sighed, inwardly. Fitzwilliam would have a major chip on his shoulder after being told he would be given command — and then watching as it was snatched away from him. Ted wouldn't really blame him for being irked, but he couldn't afford the distraction of a sulking XO. They would have to talk and hash it out, perhaps over a drink…
No, Ted told himself, firmly. A drunkard could not take command of a ship that was going into action. That was plain common sense. You are not going to drink until the war is over.
Chapter Two
Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam had to fight to keep his annoyance and disappointment from showing on his face as he followed his new commanding officer through the metallic corridors of Nelson Base. It had seemed so perfect. His uncle — a high-ranking officer — had known about the alert in time for James to attempt to push himself forward as Ark Royal’s commander. A modern carrier would have required an officer with more experience — the old boy’s network went only so far — but Ark Royal didn't have such stringent requirements. He could have taken command — and, in becoming the youngest commanding officer in the Royal Navy, ensured his swift promotion to command of a more modern starship.
But Commodore — Captain, he reminded himself — Smith had talked the Admiral into leaving him in command of Ark Royal. The hell of it was, James knew, was that Smith might not be too far wrong. James had served on two carriers and a frigate, but all three of them had been modern ships. Britannia had barely been out of the slips when he'd served as her tactical officer. But Ark Royal was over seventy years old. She might well be harder to command than a more modern vessel.
Resentment bubbled at the corner of his mind, muted by the grim awareness that Smith might have saved him from embarrassment — or worse. He wouldn't gain experience of serving as XO on a modern carrier if he served on Ark Royal — and he wouldn't gain command experience to offset the starship’s age. His career might just have been frozen solid, as solid as Smith’s own… and he'd done it to himself. How could he reasonably blame Smith for wanting to keep command? He wanted command!
They entered the shuttlebay and passed a handful of elaborate security checks before boarding the tiny ship. Smith spoke briefly to the pilot, then settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. James eyed him thoughtfully, wondering just what the older man was thinking. Relief, perhaps, that he’d retained his command? Or irritation at having a new XO thrust down his throat? But then, Ark Royal hadn't had an official XO since she’d been placed in the reserves. Smith had effectively been his own XO.
The shuttle quivered as it floated out of the shuttlebay and headed towards the naval reserve yards, where Ark Royal was waiting. James couldn't help a flicker of excitement as he leaned forward, peering out the porthole for his first glimpse of the massive carrier. Even if he wasn't going to take command, he would still be serving on her — and the first sight of a new starship was always special. Dozens of other shuttles and tiny starships floated through Earth’s crowded orbital space, their sheer multitude a sign that something was badly wrong. It was only a matter of time, James knew, before the news media discovered what was going on. And then…
He swallowed, feeling a curious tension at the base of his throat. Unless it was all a big misunderstanding, they were going to be going to war — with aliens. It was a staggering thought. No one had anticipated aliens, not really. The Royal Navy had confronted Chinese and Russian starships over brief disputes over mining and settlement rights, but there had been no major shooting war since the Puller Drive had been invented. And yet… he wondered, suddenly, just why so many resources had been poured into the military. All of the major spacefaring powers had built up their navies, often at staggering cost. Had they known there was a potential outside threat?
But humans aren't known for being peaceable, he thought, snidely. If we didn't keep up with our defences, our human enemies would overwhelm us.
The shuttle quivered again as Ark Royal came into view. James sucked in his breath, drinking in the details; the giant carrier was larger than he’d realised… and cruder. The elegant lines of modern carriers — to say nothing of civilian starships — were missing. Instead, she was a boxy hulk, studded with weapons and sensor blisters. Four fighter launch tubes protruded out of her hull, each one wrapped in heavy armour. Ark Royal was as much battleship as she was carrier, he recalled from the briefing notes. The naval doctrine of her time had insisted that carriers had to be able to take damage as well as dish it out. It was one of the reasons her rate of acceleration was so slow.
“Half of the weapons have been replaced over the years,” Smith said. “Our tactical system had to be modified extensively just to handle them.”
James jumped. He hadn't realised Smith was watching him. The back of his neck heated as he turned to face his commanding officer, realising that he had no choice, but to do his job to the best of his ability. Connections, no matter how highly placed, wouldn't be enough to save him if his commanding officer wrote a negative review. And besides, he had asked for it.