Rose glanced around the compartment, then kissed him hard on the lips. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, when they broke contact. “We have to get out there and defend the ship. Our personal lives can come later.”
Kurt nodded and watched her walk out of the compartment, twitching her hips in a ludicrously sassy manner. He snorted, checked his appearance in the mirror, then followed her through the airlocks and into the briefing room. All of the pilots were gathered there, save for the ones already in their starfighters, waiting for the command to launch. It was possible, they knew, that the aliens might have a third fleet sneaking round in front of them, ready to ambush the humans when they entered engagement range.
He paused, long enough to try to capture the mood in the room. Some of the rooks — no, they were hardly rooks any longer — seemed nervous, as if they hadn’t expected to be forced against the wall so soon. The older pilots looked resigned; they, at least, knew how quickly a situation could move from being firmly in control to absolute chaos. Kurt briefly glanced at Prince Henry, trying not to show any untoward interest, and was relieved to see that the Prince was holding up well. He’d met some aristocrats who were so used to the idea of the universe bending to their whims that they started to whimper or scream in protest when the universe refused to cooperate.
Good, he thought, dryly. Maybe he would make a good King after all.
Or maybe not, part of his mind suggested. The King wasn’t meant to do anything, beyond looking good and signing laws put forward by the Prime Minister and his Government. Some people might enjoy a coddled existence, but Henry — from what he’d seen of the young man — would hate it so much he’d either lash out or try to escape. Perhaps his sister would be a better choice… besides, Queens called Elizabeth had a good record. The same couldn’t be said for Kings called Henry. He honestly had no idea why the Royal Family had chosen that name.
And to think that Molly would want me to suck up to him, he added, silently. Henry would hate that too, he was sure. If he’d wanted to be sucked up to, he would have served under his real name. Brave boy…
Rose cleared her throat, meaningfully. Kurt snapped out of his thoughts and walked up to the stand, then glared at his pilots. There were too many empty chairs, he saw, wishing they could be removed as they were on the modern carriers. But Ark Royal’s were bolted to the deck. Not, in the end, that it was anything more than an illusion. There would be many more empty chairs at the end of the day.
“The enemy thinks they have us bent over a barrel,” he said. The crude analogy would appeal to them, he knew. “They’re currently planning to ram something unpleasant right up our buttocks, probably a dildo coated in chilli.”
There were some chuckles. The atmosphere of doom started to lift, slightly. Kurt smiled inwardly, then continued.
“We have to stop them,” he said. “In particular, we will have to keep them off the modern carriers as well as launching antishipping strikes of our own, in unison with the ship-mounted weapons. Ideally, we want to wreck their carriers and force the rest of their ships to keep their distance. This will not be easy, but if it was easy, they wouldn’t need us.”
He paused. “This is what we’ve trained for, since the start of the operation,” he continued. “You will be flying in makeshift formations, operating beside pilots from several separate nations, defending all of us from the aliens. I expect each and every one of you to do your duty, knowing that everything rests on you.
“Years ago, Britain’s fate rested in the hands of a handful of pilots. Now, the fate of all of humanity may rest on her starfighters and the brave men and women who fly them. It will not be easy, it will be costly, but there is no other choice. Watch your wingmen, fight with your comrades and kick alien butt.”
He took another moment to survey the room. The next operation, if there was a next operation, would involve more prep time, if he had anything to say about it. They’d flown endless simulated missions, but not enough real flying beside their international allies. Most of their experience had come from learning on the job. In future, he promised himself, the Royal Navy would take the lessons from this deployment and apply them thoroughly.
“Good luck,” he said. He lifted his helmet. “I’ll be flying out there beside you, so don’t let me down.”
They looked surprised, even though he was wearing a flight suit and carrying a helmet. Kurt remembered his own days as a young pilot and understood their feelings; he’d never really believed, emotionally, that his CAG had also been a pilot. No, the pilots had assured themselves that the CAG didn’t really know what it was like to be a pilot. But they’d been wrong, as he’d discovered later. The CAG had been a flyer — it was a requirement for the post — but he’d never needed to fly into battle. Back then, the Royal Navy had never really believed that a war was likely.
Which does raise the question of just how much the world governments knew, Kurt thought, coldly. It was a question that was still hotly debated. Did they start the military build-up because of a prospective alien threat?
“Your flight schedules are posted on the datanet,” he concluded. “Half of you will escort the bombers; half of you will cover the carriers. If you have to switch roles in a hurry, I’ll let you know. Try not to fuck up under enemy fire. That’s always costly.”
The pilots grimaced. One advantage of the simulators was that they could make mistakes without anything more than public humiliation. And, as always, they’d made every mistake in the book long before taking a single starfighter out of a launch tube. But, thankfully, most of them had learned from the experience.
Kurt smiled at their expressions. “Report to your starfighters,” he ordered, finally. The pilots would do well, he knew, or die trying. But far too many of them would die anyway. “And prepare for launch.”
Chapter Thirty
“Sir,” Lightbridge said, “the Admiral is providing a second set of course changes.”
“Implement them,” James ordered, shortly. He tracked them on the display, then nodded to himself. Force One was overtaking them, slowly but surely, but Force Two was still holding position near the tramline. The Admiral had effectively ensured that they would only have to face Force One. “Time to interception?”
“Ten minutes to effective starfighter range,” Farley said.
James sucked in his breath. He hated the waiting, but there was nothing he could do, short of spinning the ship and engaging Force One directly. Ark Royal was heavily armoured, but she wasn’t armoured enough to survive a short-range duel with the alien ships. He rather doubted that anything human could stand up to alien plasma cannons at short range. If nothing else, they’d boil the weapons off the Old Lady’s hull, then slowly burn through the solid-state armour and slaughter her crew.
He looked down at the live feed from the launch bay. The CAG had taken a starfighter, much to James’s irritation, but he had to admit there were few other alternatives. They needed everyone who could fly a starfighter out there, covering the hull. Admiral Smith’s half-formed plan might work, James knew, but they would still take terrifying losses. It was quite possible that one of those losses might include a carrier called Ark Royal.