“As you were,” Ted ordered, as he strode into the briefing room. The entire senior crew of Ark Royal had gathered to meet him, as per his orders. “We don’t have much time, so take your seats and we’ll catch up on the formalities later.”
He took his seat at one end of the table, then tapped a switch, activating the holographic display. A starchart appeared in front of them, human-held stars in green, alien-held stars glowing blood-red. The tramlines were also marked; standard tramlines in gold, alien tramlines in silver. He took a long moment to study the display, then turned his attention to his subordinates.
“Operation Trafalgar, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, without preamble. “The overall objective is to make contact with Faction Two and attempt to enlist their aid against Faction One. In the event of the first objective failing or Faction Two being unable or unwilling to assist us, our secondary objective will be to attack the centre of alien space here.”
He tapped a switch. Their target, a star further into unexplored space than any human starship had ever ventured, glowed brightly on the display.
“The analysts, using the same algorithms that located Target One, believe that this star has an excellent chance of being the alien homeworld,” he continued. “In any case, the alien homeworld is almost certainly in the general area. Our orders, in the event of us failing to make peace, is to carry the war right into the heart of alien territory. This will not be easy.”
That, he knew, was an understatement — and he could tell from the hastily-guarded faces that his subordinates knew it too. Any heavily-developed world would have fixed defences, but it would also presumably have a number of heavily-armed starships defending it. No one knew just how many ships the aliens possessed, yet it was unlikely they would leave their homeworld undefended. The analysts had hinted the aliens might have drawn their forces down to attack Earth.
Wishful thinking, Ted thought, sourly. It sounded good, all right; it sounded too good to the true. He would have liked to believe the alien homeworld was practically undefended — fixed defences wouldn’t prove that much of a problem — but he knew better than to plan on such an optimistic assumption. The fact that several analysts were trying to do just that worried him more than he cared to admit.
“I won’t lie to you,” he said. “The situation is dire. We are staring total defeat in the face — not just us, but the entire human race. Our deep-strike into alien territory may mean the difference between survival and total defeat. Ark Royal is the only carrier who could hope to pull the mission off against determined alien opposition.”
He took a breath. “We should all pray that we can make contact with Faction Two and convince them to help us,” he added. “But if not… you’ve all seen the records from Earth. The aliens have devastated humanity’s homeworld. We… are charged with doing the same thing to them if we fail to make peace.”
Once, he knew, the concept would have horrified him. He’d resisted the urge to bombard alien settlements during their earlier missions. Now… now, he couldn’t help feeling curiously unconcerned about alien casualties. It bothered him, too, that he wasn’t more bothered by the prospect of committing genocide.
And there were the bioweapons, of course. But those would be held in reserve for the final days.
“We will be departing in eight days,” he said. “By then, I want the flotilla ready for anything from peace to war.”
He sighed. The last two days had been an endless series of briefings with the Admiralty, the Foreign Office and various diplomats from the spacefaring nations, all trying to argue over what peace terms the human race should consider acceptable. Ted had pointed out that humanity wasn’t in a good state to demand peace terms; they’d be lucky, he’d argued, to agree to a return to the pre-war status quo. The diplomats had not been amused, but the Prime Minister had backed him. He’d promised that the Ambassador would have been carefully warned to make the best deal he could, not hold out for an ideal deal the aliens would certainly reject.
“Ambassador Horace Melbourne will be joining us as the designated Ambassador-In-Chief for the mission,” he continued. “He will be accompanied by two other diplomats from other spacefaring powers. I trust you will all make him and his staff welcome.”
No one groaned out loud, but he sensed their irritation and dismay. Ark Royal’s sleeping quarters would have to be altered to make room for the Ambassador and his staff, all of whom would probably demand quarters in Officer Country. The crew would be trading bunkrooms and cabins for the next few days, with the humble midshipmen and junior officers getting the worst of it. Ted knew precisely how he would feel if someone kicked him out of his cabin and felt a flicker of sympathy. But it couldn’t be helped.
“I’ll reassign cabins later today,” the XO said, briskly. She’d been in line for her own command after the end of Operation Nelson, but there was no time to train up a new XO for Ark Royal. “We should be able to handle it professionally.”
“He’ll want your cabin,” Fitzwilliam said, dryly. “Admiral, I should lodge an official protest.”
“They wanted to take the White Elephant,” Ted said. “I think they’d be better off on Ark Royal.”
He had to smile at Fitzwilliam’s expression. The White Elephant — she was actually called the White Star — had been an attempt to build a five-star passenger liner for interstellar tourists. But the market hadn’t been ready for her and she’d been placed in storage, then reactivated as a possible troopship for the war. Rumour had it that she was staggeringly luxurious, which would have suited the ambassadors perfectly, yet she was hardly a warship capable of standing in the line of battle. It was far more likely that the aliens would just blow her away without even noticing.
“They have to be out of their minds,” Fitzwilliam muttered.
“In the event of us having to go to war, we will tell them to remain in their cabins,” Ted said, bluntly. “I’d prefer not to have to send a ship back to Earth with them if it can be avoided.”
He took a breath. “And, with that in mind, are we ready for war?”
Fitzwilliam looked at Anderson, who shrugged.
“Most of the internal damage has been repaired, now we were able to call on spare parts from China and several other nations,” Anderson said. “There’s enough redundancy built into the systems to allow us to operate without the remaining subcomponents. However, the main sticking point remains the armour. We will simply not be able to get new solid-state armour in time for departure.”
He sighed. “With your permission, Captain, I’ll strip it from several inner hull locations and use it to patch the holes,” he added. “But our hull will still be weak in those points.”
Ted considered it. “Will it be a major problem against alien weapons?”
“Laser warheads burn through our full armour anyway,” Anderson said. “The real problem is the plasma cannons some of their warships carry. They may be able to make a dent in the weakened armour… and, of course, they can sweep the hull clear of sensors and weapons.”
“By now, they’ll know about our weaknesses,” Fitzwilliam commented, bitterly. “Admiral, I think we have no choice, but to run the risk of using reduced armour.”
“See to it,” Ted ordered. It was risky, he knew, but the alternative was worse. “And weapons?”
“We’ve updated the mass drivers and railguns,” Anderson said. “I’m actually working on ways to use railguns as small mass drivers, but I think they’d be better reserved for close-in point defence. The last thing we want are aliens firing more laser warheads at us.”