“The remaining starfighters are to join the CSP,” he ordered. Recovering starfighters while under fire was one of the hardest operations in the book. They’d have to bring the starfighters in to the hull and then jump through the tramline, leaving mines behind to discourage the aliens from following immediately. “And War Hog is to move ahead and make transit.”
Lopez looked over at him, alarmed. She hadn’t considered the possibility of the aliens setting an ambush on the far side of the tramline. Unlike most jumps, their arrival point would be easy to predict. Admittedly, the aliens seemed to believe in the KISS principle as much as their human enemies, but how many other chances would they get to catch a human fleet off-guard, disorientated by the jump? But would they have had a chance to mass a fleet in place to catch them?
“Aye, sir,” she said, finally. She worked her console for a long moment. “The frigate is moving ahead of the fleet now, sir.”
Ted nodded. For a few moments, they had a chance to catch their breath… but it wouldn’t last. The incoming starfighters would be on them in five minutes, perhaps less. They’d bore straight through the starfighters and go for the carriers, knowing they’d never have a better chance to inflict crippling losses. And if they succeeded…. Ted winced, bitterly. He’d started the operation with six fleet carriers, starships humanity could ill-afford to lose. Now, two of them were gone and the remainder had all taken damage. Win or lose, the operation had proved immensely costly.
“Inform me the moment she returns,” he said. He tried to formulate a contingency plan for the frigate not returning, but came up with nothing. They’d have no choice; they’d have to turn about and fight to the bitter end. “And get me a complete damage report from the rest of the fleet.”
“Form up in squadrons,” the CAG ordered. “Alpha and Beta will engage the enemy at the outer edge; the remainder will cover the carriers themselves.”
Henry nodded. The few moments of peace had been a blessing, just long enough for the starfighter pilots to reconfigure their squadrons and get back into formation. There was no longer any real barriers between British, French, American and Japanese pilots; now, they were fighting as a single unit, with pilots flying beside whoever was closest to them. The French pilots, in particular, were in an evil mood. They’d lost their carrier, their commanding officer and their friends in a handful of seconds. Now, they wanted revenge.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to remember the last time a British Prince — or King — had died on the field of battle. He’d thrilled to stories of his ancestors leading their troops into battle, in days when war was the ultimate test of a king’s character and fitness to rule their country, but it was relatively rare for them to actually die. Once, he’d thought it was because they were brave and fearless; now, he knew that there had simply been fewer kings than commoners in human history. Besides, the other side had rarely deliberately killed the king. It was considered unwise to let the commoners see aristocrats die. They might have picked up a few ideas.
Silently, he cursed himself for not having had a chance to leave a note for Janelle. He hadn’t even had time to update his will, although that was a moot point for him. ‘Charles Augustus’ owned nothing — he didn’t exist, after all — while most of Henry’s possessions belonged to the monarchy, rather than him personally. His fellows had scoffed when he’d purchased a handful of books and a personal terminal for himself with his first paycheck, but in truth they were the first things he’d ever owned himself. Everything else was merely a loan.
But Janelle deserved better than a note.
If I get out of this, he promised himself, I will tell her everything.
The Admiral was right, he knew. By screwing her, he’d screwed her life. If she decided she wanted to have nothing more to do with him, he would respect her choice and keep his mouth firmly shut. And if she accepted him as who he really was… he looked down, bitterly, at his hands. The media had destroyed lives and killed people before, merely for marrying into the monarchy. Janelle was strong, he thought, but was she strong enough?
“Move out,” the CAG ordered.
Henry pushed his thought aside and took his starfighter back into battle.
“The starfighters are engaging the alien starfighters now,” Janelle said. “Nine minutes until we cross the tramline.”
“Understood,” Ted said. “Inform the CAG that the starfighters are to be pulled back to the hull in eight minutes precisely.”
He calculated the vectors, once again. Assuming the aliens could pull the same trick — and he dared not assume otherwise — they’d take at least twenty minutes to give chase through the tramline. By then, Ted could mine their most likely arrival point and set course for the other tramline. But would it be enough to stop them? Somehow, he doubted it. The aliens could harry him all the way back to Earth if they wanted.
“War Hog just returned,” Lopez reported. “She’s reporting clear space, sir.”
Ted let out a sigh of relief, although he knew not to take anything for granted. The aliens had staged one ambush during their approach to Target One; they might well try to stage another one, given time to get into position. But why would they surrender the chance to catch him on the hop?
“Take us through the tramline as soon as we are in position and the starfighters are back,” he ordered.
The alien starfighters loomed up in front of him, diving towards the human ships. Henry watched dispassionately as two of them died under his fire, then swung his starfighter into an evasive pattern as the aliens turned and returned fire. A third of their starfighters seemed intent on wiping out the human starfighters while the remainder fell on the carriers, despite withering fire from the point defence frigates. He cursed sharply as an alien came within a hair’s breadth of killing him outright, then fired back and cursed again as the alien neatly evaded his fire. The alien was a very skilful pilot.
“Keep covering your fellow pilots,” the CAG ordered. The battle had turned into a dogfight, with individual pilots challenging individual aliens. It suited the pilot mentality, Henry realised; the aliens seemed to share it, at least to some degree. But it wasn’t as effective as joint operations. “And watch the carriers. You have to cover them.”
Henry nodded as he picked off an alien pilot, then swore as he saw a human starfighter vanish from the display. He wasn’t even sure which country the pilot belonged to, but he fired on his killer and blew him into dust anyway. Moments later, an American pilot saved him from an alien pilot who had managed to get into firing position; Henry nodded to the American and pulled his craft around in a tight circle, searching for more targets. Ahead of him, a line of alien starfighters were closing in rapidly on the Japanese carrier. He reached for his firing key and pressed the stud…
… And alarms sounded. Red icons flashed up in front of him. Henry stared for a split-second — they’d been warned that the plasma containment chamber could overheat, but there had been no reports of it actually happening — and then reached for the ejection lever. They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that if the chamber did overheat, they were to abandon ship at once. There was no way to cool the chamber or eject it before it exploded.