Ted leaned forward, fascinated despite himself. “What the hell is that?”
“The analysts think it’s an in-flight refuelling craft,” Janelle said. “The pre-space militaries used to use something like it for jet fighters. I don’t think anyone ever considered using it for starfighters, not until now.”
“Clever,” Ted said. “Very clever.”
He shook his head in amused disbelief. The alien craft wasn’t much larger than a standard shuttle, which was partly why it hadn’t been detected until one of the probes had gotten lucky. But it was clearly capable of carrying enough power cells and life support packs to allow the alien starfighters to recycle and return to the battle without needing to go through a massive carrier. He had to admire the ingenuity of the concept. The aliens had developed a way of deploying starfighters away from planetary bases without a carrier.
But it was also an opportunity. No matter how fast they flew, the alien starfighters were more than nine hours from the closest inhabited world in the system. Without that tanker, he told himself, they would never get home.
“Pass the word to the starfighters,” he ordered. “I want that thing taken out.”
“Aye, sir,” Janelle said.
Kurt lifted his eyebrows in surprise as his orders popped up on the display. The aliens had come up with something new — no, not entirely new, but certainly a new adaption of an older concept. And if it could be taken out, the battle might be won without further ado. He relayed his orders to the rest of the squadron, then yanked his starfighter around and raced towards the alien tanker. The remaining pilots followed in his wake.
“Switch to random fire,” he ordered, as the alien starfighters rose up to bar his way. The tanker didn’t seem to be anything like as manoeuvrable as an assault shuttle, let alone a starfighter. It’s only real defence was remaining undetected. “Don’t let them lure you into a dogfight.”
A quick glance at the scope told him that two pilots had ignored his orders, but the remainder held firm behind him as they blasted through the alien formation and closed in rapidly on the tanker. It tried to alter course, then open fire with weapons of its own, but it was futile. Kurt pushed down on the trigger and watched with unholy glee as the tanker exploded into a colossal fireball, which faded rapidly in the inky darkness of space. Behind him, the aliens reversed course and threw themselves back towards the carrier. They had to know they didn’t have a hope of survival, he realised, so they were determined to inflict what damage they could in their remaining hour of life.
“Pursuit course,” he ordered. He wasn’t that worried about the Old Lady, but the frigates and escort carriers were at serious risk. As, he reminded himself sharply, was the alien starship from the Peace Faction. “Take the bastards out!”
But he already knew it might be too late.
“Enemy starfighters closing on attack vector,” Farley reported. “CSP is moving to engage.”
“Activate point defence,” James ordered, sharply. The aliens looked more intent on ramming his ship than trying to strafe her with plasma fire. But then, they had good reason to know that strafing Ark Royal was a waste of time. Unless they blew off her weapons and sensor blisters… he shook his head. There was no time to waste thinking about the potential dangers. “And fire as soon as the aliens come into range.”
The alien craft swooped down on Ark Royal, then scattered. Three plunged directly towards the carrier, two picked off before they could slam into the hull; the third rammed the hull directly, only to inflict nothing more than a scar. The remaining starfighters headed towards the smaller ships, despite the growing hail of point defence. One of them slammed into Bolton and the escort carrier vanished in a tearing explosion. The final alien starfighters changed course and headed towards the fleet transport. But it was too late. The CSP overwhelmed and destroyed them short of their target.
“HMS Bolton confirmed destroyed,” Farley said, quietly. “No lifepods; I say again, no lifepods.”
James winced. He’d seen too many people die since the war had begun. Very few of them had had a chance to escape into the lifepods before their ships exploded. Prince Henry had really been incredibly lucky. But at least Bolton was replaceable. She’d only carried fifty crewmen, not counting her pilots. The Royal Navy had had a dozen more conversions under way when the flotilla had departed the Sol System.
“Launch a final shell of recon drones, then stand down,” he ordered. “Recall all but one of the starfighter squadrons; designate the remaining squadron as CSP. Recycle one squadron to replace the CSP as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir,” Farley said.
James let out a long breath. “Commander Williams, you have the bridge,” he said. “Inform me if anything changes.”
“Aye, Captain,” Commander Williams said. “I have the bridge.”
James nodded, then strode towards the hatch to his office. He needed a rest, urgently. And so did the Admiral. But nagging the Admiral wasn’t his job.
But you should ask him to rest anyway, he thought, as he stepped through the hatch. He needs his sleep too.
“It does look as though the War Faction has determined that the other factions are committing treason,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “What else explains attacks that will widen the war?”
Henry shrugged. Ambassador Melbourne wasn’t as bad as some of the ambassadors he’d had to deal with, thankfully. But then, the Ambassador knew Henry had done a considerable amount of legwork in organising the first true diplomatic meeting between humans and aliens. He wasn’t just a useless Prince to the Ambassador.
“So it would seem,” he said. He paused. “You know, I never thought to ask. What do they call themselves?”
“Something we cannot even begin to pronounce,” Ambassador Melbourne told him. “We did ask them, but we don’t have a proper translation for the answer. We’re still arguing if we should call them something in Latin, perhaps ‘intelligent fishes.’”
Henry shrugged, again. He knew no Latin.
“But others think that would be offensive,” Ambassador Melbourne added. “They don’t seem to think the way we do, but they might object to being called fishes.”
“They have more in common with frogs,” Henry said. “But I suppose the French would be pissed if we called them frogs.”
Ambassador Melbourne nodded, bluntly.
“I think you didn’t come here to talk to me about naming conventions,” he said, shortly. “It is nice to talk to you, Your Highness, but I don’t have time for a long chat. What do you want?”
You to be polite, Henry thought, although it was hard to blame the Ambassador. Henry had interrupted a meeting with the Ambassador’s aides, just to make his request. As reasonable as the Ambassador was, interrupting him could not have gone down well.
“I believe you will have packed a few hampers,” he said, remembering his first diplomatic mission. “Please can I borrow one?”
Ambassador Melbourne’s eyes narrowed. “Can I ask why?”
“I’d prefer not,” Henry said. “But I would be prepared to offer my endorsement in the future.”
The Ambassador studied him for a long moment. Henry was powerless, formally, and he would have little power even if he took the Throne. But he would have a great deal of informal influence, if he saw fit to use it properly. The Ambassador would be able to call in the debt one day.