The only consolation, he told himself, is that we wiped out six of their frigates with nukes.
Farley swore, suddenly. “Sir, the Rubicon…”
Ted blinked, then stared at the display. The Italian frigate was lurching out of formation, her drives spluttering madly… but she didn't seem to be damaged. Beside her, the French and German frigates followed, altering course until they were plunging back towards the onrushing alien ships. Ted stared, not understanding — at first — what he was seeing. And then the frigates opened fire. Their weapons seemed puny compared to the alien energy cannons…
“They’ll be in range of the plasma gun,” Fitzwilliam said, in shocked disbelief. One of the alien frigates glowed, then vanished from the display. The German frigate followed moments later, blown apart by a direct hit from the battlecruiser. “Call them back!”
Ted shook his head. The French and Italian crewmen were committed now, he knew. There was no way they could reverse course again and escape before it was too late. He watched, torn between horror and respect, as the Italian frigate and the remaining alien frigate killed each other… and the French frigate rammed the alien carrier directly. Both starships vanished in a colossal explosion.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Dear God,” Farley said, very quietly.
Ted was stunned. It was rare, very rare, for one starship to try to deliberately ram another — and to succeed in ramming her target. No matter what civilians might say, it was about as likely to happen as crashing into an asteroid while flying through an asteroid belt without bothering to keep a careful eye on the sensors. But the frigates had sacrificed themselves to give the carrier — and the POWs — time to escape.
The aliens seemed equally stunned. Their starfighters flipped backwards, away from Ark Royal, even though they had nowhere to go. Could the one remaining alien craft, the giant battlecruiser, take them onboard? Or could they return to the planet and land under their own power? Intelligence’s best guess was that the alien starfighters were no more capable of landing on a planet than humanity’s starfighters, but what if they were wrong? Ted shook his head, dismissing the thought. As long as the starfighters stayed away from his ship, it didn't matter what happened to them.
“The ship-mounted plasma cannon must have a recharge period,” Anderson muttered, through the intercom. “That would make sense, I think; they’d need to refill the containment chamber between shots…”
Ted couldn't disagree. If the aliens had been capable of firing multiple shots without pause, all three frigates would have been destroyed as soon as they entered firing range. Instead, they’d taken out a carrier and damaged the alien chances of catching their target.
“Recall our starfighters, then keep us heading towards Tramline Two,” he ordered. “Target the battlecruiser with the mass driver, then open fire if you believe you have a reasonable chance of scoring a hit.”
“Understood,” Farley said, although he sounded doubtful. The alien battlecruiser was surrounded by a swarm of starfighters, buzzing around like angry bees. It was unlikely that a projectile would get within kilometres of its target without being engaged and deflected or destroyed by the starfighters. Or an unpowered missile, for that matter. “I’ll watch for a suitable opportunity.”
Ted kept one eye on the alien ships as his starfighters reloaded, then repositioned themselves in the launch bay. His pilots needed a chance to rest and recuperate, but they were unlikely to get it; silently, he made a mental note to insist on training up new starfighter pilots if the war threatened to go on for much longer. There was no reason why a carrier the size of Ark Royal couldn't carry more than one starfighter pilot per starfighter, allowing the starfighters to be turned around and pushed back into combat quicker than before.
The aliens kept their distance as the giant carrier moved rapidly towards Tramline Two. Ted couldn’t help wondering if they’d learned caution… or if they were merely waiting for reinforcements. His imagination provided too many possibilities, including the very real danger of running into an alien ambush as soon as they jumped through the tramline. But if there was an ambush waiting for them, the optimistic side of his mind pointed out, why had the aliens sought to bring them to combat already? They could just have herded Ark Royal and her flotilla towards Tramline Two without coming close enough to engage the carrier.
No way to know, he reminded himself.
He keyed his console, instead. “James, make sure that everyone has a bite to eat,” he ordered. “I want them as alert as possible when we jump through the tramline.”
“Understood,” his XO said. “I’ll see to it at once.”
Ted wondered, in a moment of mischievous amusement, just how badly the reporters were taking the running battle. Had they learned to read the display well enough to realise that all of the frigates were now gone? Or had they concluded that Ark Royal had actually won the battle outright, rather than scoring a victory on points? He considered, briefly, calling their compartment and asking them, before dismissing the thought as unworthy of him. There was no point in wasting time…
Midshipwoman Lopez appeared with a tray of food packets, which she passed around the bridge. Ted took his gratefully, silently impressed that the young woman was bearing up well under the stress of combat — and dealing with reporters. He made a mental note to ensure she was promoted when they returned to Earth, perhaps with a transfer to a more modern starship if it was what she wanted. Or maybe she’d prefer to stay on Ark Royal. Unless the human race made a definite breakthrough in point defence — and light armour — the modern carriers were little more than death traps.
“Thank you,” he said. The packaged food had no taste, as far as he or anyone else had been able to determine, but it did help him to become more alert. He ate the two ration bars — they had the consistency of fudge, although not the taste — and then passed her the empty package. “How are the reporters coping?”
Midshipwoman Lopez smiled. “They’re coping about as well as can be expected,” she said. “I don’t think they understand the situation.”
Ted smiled. It was a very diplomatic answer. “Good,” he said. “Keep an eye on them, once you have finished with the food.”
He turned back to the display as Tramline Two loomed up in front of them. The aliens might well have left a stealthed picket somewhere along the tramline, watching the human ships as they fought their desperate battle for survival. They'd clearly had a ship at Tramline Four, so why not one at Tramline Two. And they’d have a very good idea of where — precisely — the human ships would jump into the system. There was no time to do anything to make their jumping coordinates more random. If the aliens had an ambush waiting for them, it would be impossible to avoid. They’d just have to hope they could fight their way through it.
“All starfighters are ready to launch,” Fitzwilliam reported. “The pilots are standing by.”
Ted scowled. The pilots had waited for hours, then fought savagely… and all the best studies agreed that starfighter pilots should have hours of rest between bouts of combat. But the scientists who had carried out the studies weren't on the carrier. He had no choice, apart from sending his exhausted pilots back into the fight. Assuming, of course, the aliens were lurking in ambush.