Kurt ordered his squadron to wait in the ready room until he was reasonably confident that the aliens weren't about to put in another attack immediately, then reminded the pilots to make sure they staggered their showers and meals. If the aliens did return, they'd need to drop everything and return to the fray. Starfighter pilots were used to snatching sleep where they could — constant exercises saw to that - but this was different. This time, they might be snapped awake and flung out into space to do battle with the aliens once again.
Shaking his head, he reached for a terminal and began to type out a message for his family. If the damaged frigates were sent back to Earth, they could carry the messages… although he knew the censors would see them before they were uploaded into the planetary datanet. He was midway through writing the message when another message popped up in his inbox. It was from one of the reporters, asking for an interview. Judging by the curses he could hear around the ready room, he wasn't the only one to get such a message.
“Tell them you’re still on duty,” he advised. Honestly, the constant demands for interviews were getting beyond a joke. “And then remember that you are on duty.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Captain,” Farley said. “The two frigates have crossed the tramline and vanished.”
“Good,” Ted said. The frigates, assuming they made it, carried both letters from his crewmen and his theory that Vera Cruz was near an alien homeworld. Whatever happened, the Admiralty would have a chance to consider the possibilities. “Resume course.”
“Aye, sir,” Lightbridge said. A dull quiver ran through the ship as the carrier resumed her slow plod towards New Russia, accompanied by the remainder of the flotilla. “Course underway.”
“Launch a second shell of recon drones,” Ted added. “I want to know about the faintest hint of an alien presence.”
He looked up at the display. The aliens, damn them, would know their rough course and speed. Assuming their commanders reacted at once — an assumption he dared not reject — they could have another carrier in place to intercept the flotilla long before they reached New Russia. But there was a chance they could sneak through…
“Drones away,” Farley said. “Passive sensors… online.”
Ted nodded. Passive sensors were nowhere near as capable as active sensors, but at least they didn't radiate any betraying emissions for alien sensors to detect. Using active sensors would have betrayed their position to the aliens, while the aliens themselves might remain undetected until it was far too late to avoid another ambush. There were times, Ted knew, when he might want to advertise his presence, but not in what might as well be unfriendly space.
He rose to his feet. “You have the bridge,” he said, addressing Farley. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Aye, sir,” Farley said. “I have the bridge.”
Ted strode through the airlock and sagged, almost as soon as the airlock hissed closed behind him. The weight of command had never felt so heavy, not even when he’d first assumed command of the carrier… although, to be fair, no one had ever seriously expected Ark Royal to resume active service as anything more than a museum piece. Now… a mistake on his part could cost humanity the war. What if the attack on New Russia was a total disaster?
He’d thought, seriously, about abandoning the mission and withdrawing the way they’d come. It wouldn't have been a cowardly decision, he knew; there were strong reasons to favour a withdrawal and a return to Earth. He knew that there would be people who would say otherwise, who would accuse him of being a coward, yet he knew he had the moral stubbornness to proceed anyway. But they had to knock the aliens back on their heels and New Russia was the only reasonable target… at least until they found an alien homeworld they could target.
There was a chime. He looked up, then keyed the switch that opened the hatch, allowing Midshipwomen Lopez to step into the office. Annoyingly, she looked as fresh as ever, despite the brief and violent battle. Ted rubbed his forehead, wondering if he was losing his hair at a faster rate now he was going back into action, then dismissed the thought.
“Commander Fitzwilliam ordered me to bring you tea and cake,” she said, as she placed the tray down on his desk. Ted blinked in surprise, then looked up at her. There was nothing, but earnestness in her eyes. “He also said you should get some sleep.”
Ted grunted. It would be three days before they reached New Russia — three days, which would give the aliens ample time to prepare a surprise. He’d planned their approach to bring them into the system as far from the primary star as possible, but he was still uncomfortably aware that the aliens might well detect their arrival and come swarming. Just what were they doing in the system, anyway? There were no shortage of theories, yet there was no hard data.
“Thank you,” he said, wondering why Fitzwilliam hadn't suggested it in person. It wasn't as if their relationship was that tense. “Was there anything else he wanted to say?”
“Apparently, one of the reporters wants to talk to you,” Midshipwomen Lopez said. “But I believe the XO has headed her off at the pass.”
“Understood,” Ted said. “Tell him that I will speak to one reporter tomorrow.”
He rolled his eyes. No doubt the reporters wanted reassurance from the command staff that they hadn't been in any real danger. He wondered, absently, if they’d believe the truth, that the aliens had been the ones who had decided the tempo of operations. If they’d pressed the offensive… it was odd, when he thought about it. The aliens had shown an odd sensitivity to losses.
Or maybe they were just scared of us, he thought. By any standard, Ark Royal had hammered the aliens badly in the last encounter. It would be comforting to believe that was true…
Midshipwomen Lopez poured him a mug of tea, then turned and left the office. Ted took a sip and realised, to his surprise, that the tea was actually real, rather than the processed seeds used to fuel the endless supplies of tea in the mess. Someone — he suspected Fitzwilliam — had had them shipped onboard, then donated them to Lopez with orders to use them to make the Captain’s personal tea. He hesitated, then took another sip of tea and started to read through the reports from the smaller ships. Thankfully, the smaller navies hadn't developed the unfortunate tendency to be absurdly verbose, unlike the larger navies.
Unwilling to go further than he absolutely had to from the bridge, he walked over to the sofa, lay down and closed his eyes. He had been more exhausted than he’d realised, for the next thing he knew was his timer bleeping frantically, reminding him that it was time to take his next shift on the bridge. He pulled himself to his feet, hastily undressed and jumped into the shower, then washed himself clean before pulling on the same uniform. It felt slightly unclean against his flesh, but there was no time to get a new one.
He stepped onto the bridge and glanced at the status display. The carrier was still following the planned course, without any alien presence in sight. Ted prayed, silently, that it stayed that way, although he knew that, with a little care, an alien ship could be shadowing them at a distance and remain unseen. The only real risk lay in trying to follow them through a tramline…
Sighing, he sat down and started to read through the next set of reports.
“So,” Yang said. “Just how much danger were we in?”
James briefly considered telling him that they’d come within a hairsbreadth of being killed — the inhumanly-thin reporter was right next to him, looking so pale he could almost see her bones under her skin — but decided it would be cruel. Besides, Yang probably had the experience to know that he would be lying.