“Maybe we need to return to the mass driver concept,” Amelia said. She looked down at the terminal, then back up at him. “And just keep throwing projectiles at them.”
James considered it, then smiled as another idea struck him. “We need to cut down on their reaction time,” he said. “Maybe we could launch the missiles on a ballistic trajectory, then trigger their drives when they get closer to their targets.”
“We’d need a two-stage missile,” Amelia observed. “Admiral Webster has been trying to get that concept to work for years.”
“Maybe we could launch the missiles through a mass driver-like system instead,” James said, after a moment’s thought. “There wouldn’t even be a launch flare to warn the aliens… hell, we can deliberately aim to miss.”
His XO frowned. “Aim to miss?”
“You can’t alter a mass driver projectile’s course in transit,” James pointed out. “So the aliens have a habit of disregarding projectiles they know are harmless, because they’re not going to go anywhere near their ships.”
“But if the projectile happens to be a missile, it can alter course,” Amelia said, grinning. It utterly transformed her face. “And then hit the aliens in the back.”
“Or at least go active long enough to confuse them,” James said. “Make them work to blow them out of space.”
He smiled, openly. “I’ll talk to the tactical crews and get them to see how many changes they can make to the programming package,” he said. “You handle the resupply, then get some rest. You’ll need it by then.”
Amelia gave him a droll smile. She’d organised the resupply — at least the Old Lady’s share — with terrifying efficiency. James had been an XO on two different ships, but he had to admit that Amelia had mastered the required skills far more than he’d ever done. But then, her file showed no trace of aristocratic connections. She’d cut her way to the top through sheer guts, determination and unquestionable competence. James had never seen her push herself so far that she was falling asleep in her chair. But then, she’d had enough experience of hair-raising deployments to remain calm.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “And you will need to rest too.”
James sighed. The Admiral would be having a rest — or at least he damn well should be having a rest — leaving command of the overall fleet in Shallcross’s hands. But James wasn’t inclined to rest while his commanding officer was sleeping, knowing that an experienced officer might have to take command at any moment. And yet… the Admiral was no longer the starship’s commander. Amelia was right to argue that James should rest in a moment of relative peace. It might come to an end sooner than any of them wished to believe.
“Very well,” he said. He turned and started to make his way towards Officer Country, then stopped and turned back to face her. “You’re doing well, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir,” Amelia said. Her face showed no trace of emotion. “And so are you, if you will permit me to say so.”
James nodded, then walked away from her. They hadn’t started out very well, he had to admit; he’d been feeling his way into the command chair, while the Admiral had come alarmingly close to treating him as if he was still the Admiral’s XO. Not that he blamed the Admiral for that, he had to admit. There was a reason why crewmen who were promoted into command slots were generally transferred to new ships, even though it meant they’d have to grapple with the complexities of a whole new starship as well as ultimate command. They didn’t have to endure the memories and habits of being a subordinate on their starship.
But there was no one else qualified to take over as Ark Royal’s CO, James thought, ruefully. There was me… and no one else. No wonder the Admiralty wanted to expand their officer base a little.
He shook his head. Admiral Smith had forced him to come to terms with Ark Royal’s oddities as soon as possible. He, by contrast, had handled too much himself, purely because he was used to doing it. Silently, he promised himself that he would do better. Amelia would have her chance to prove herself… and, to be fair, she was doing an excellent job. But she still had to deal with the disapproval of some of the crew.
They liked Farley, James thought, sourly. And who could blame them? The tactical officer was likeable… and he’d been first in line for the XO posting. He’d got the promotion, but not the posting, creating some tensions within the crew. If Farley hadn’t handled the matter professionally, someone might have done something stupid, like playing pranks on the XO.
He shook his head, wondering — yet again — just how Admiral Smith had done it. He’d kept the crew functional, despite spending half of his time in a bottle. Somehow, he’d managed to convince the crew to give James a fair chance and redeem himself at the same time. Maybe he was still feeling his way towards fleet command. He was still one of the better commanding officers James had known personally.
The Marine at the hatch to Officer Country saluted. James saluted back, stepped through the hatch and walked towards his cabin. Amelia was right, he knew. He did need a rest.
Besides, the aliens might be back at any moment.
The pilots assembled in the exercise chamber, looking rather nervous. Kurt ran his eyes over them, noting the telltale signs of exhaustion that many of them showed. Even the older pilots looked tired, unsurprisingly. They’d all been pushed to the limit by the battle for Target One.
And they’d lost friends in the battle. He looked towards where the dead pilots should have been, where their friends had closed ranks as if they wanted to deny the simple fact of the missing or dead pilots. How could he blame them for wanting to pretend that they hadn’t lost anyone? But he knew it was something they would have to come to terms with, sooner rather than later. The loss of a handful of comrades stung worse than the loss of an entire American carrier.
“You did well,” he said. He looked towards the bomber pilots, who looked as if they were expecting a lecture on the need to work with their fellows. “All of you did very well.”
His gaze passed over Charles Augustus, who looked back evenly. Quite a few mysteries had been solved, Kurt had realised, when he’d learnt the pilot’s true identity. Prince Henry would be used to facing people with far more power and authority than a mere CAG. And he’d have a strange mixture of entitlement and an urge to prove himself. Kurt moved on to the next pilot, noting how North and Prince Henry seemed to have become friends. Nothing like shared danger to make personal issues meaningless.
Good, he thought, until one of them dies.
He sighed in sympathy. Pilots were permanently trapped between forming close relationships with their comrades and trying to maintain an emotional distance, knowing that they could lose their comrades at any time. It was one of the reasons pilots burned out early, why the Royal Navy only allowed them to sign up for three-year hitches, once they’d passed their training course. Kurt himself had chosen to return to civilian life; others, he knew, had never quite managed to find somewhere to belong. A distressingly high percentage of former pilots got into trouble very quickly.
It would probably do the Prince good to have a real friend or two. But it would also be disastrous when North found out the truth.
“The squadrons have already been restructured,” Kurt said. The pilots didn’t quite glare at him, but it looked as though they wanted to do so. “No, I don’t have time for arguments; you’ll go into the new squadrons and love them. And you will be joined by a handful of American pilots.”