“Captain,” Janelle said. “All starfighters have launched; I say again, all starfighters have launched.”
“Order them all to fall into CSP formation,” Ted ordered. On the display, blue icons fanned out around Ark Royal. Ted traced their patterns with his eye for a long moment, hoping that Prince Henry and the other young pilots survived, then turned his attention back to the overall situation. “And launch a ballistic probe towards the enemy starships.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. She paused. “We only have a couple of probes left.”
“We won’t have any if we lose this battle,” Ted said. The beancounters would definitely throw a fit when they found out how many probes he’d expended, but he found it rather had to care. “Launch the probe, then put the results on the main display.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said.
“And send a signal,” Ted added. The researchers — he thought of Polly and felt an odd pang - thought the aliens responded better to bluntness than diplomatic weasel words. “Tell them to break off or we’ll open fire.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. There was a long pause. The seconds ticked past the moment the aliens could have responded and retreated into the distance. “No response, sir.”
“Shit,” Ted muttered. He’d hoped they could communicate now, but the War Faction clearly wasn’t interested in talking — or anything, beyond victory or defeat. The other aliens were doing nothing, but watching. “Show me the live feed from the probe.”
He sucked in his breath as he saw the enemy fleet. On one hand, it was weaker than he’d expected, unless the War Faction had invented a brand new weapon. The Royal Navy had come up with quite a few weapons that could end the war if they were ever put into production and deployed and the aliens, he had to admit, were revoltingly ingenious. But on the other hand, he’d expected the aliens to commit a much larger force against Ark Royal. If there was anyone who had good reason to know how tough the ancient carrier was, it was the War Faction.
“Admiral,” Janelle said. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of alarm running through her words. “The enemy are launching starfighters.”
Ted nodded. So the fifteenth ship was a carrier, then. Larger than an escort carrier, according to the probe, but nowhere near as big as a modern carrier or Ark Royal. Four squadrons of starfighters zoomed out into space, then hurled themselves towards Ark Royal’s covering fighters. They seemed remarkably confident that the carrier’s fighters couldn’t leave their posts and engage the enemy starships.
And they might be right, Ted conceded, reluctantly. He wouldn’t have hesitated to take the risk of thinning his fighter cover with a veteran crew, but Ark Royal’s pilots were too green to be fully trusted. And yet it might not matter.
“Alter course, bring the mass drivers to bear on their ships,” he ordered. It was time to try something new. “I want to execute a full scattershot in” — he checked his console — “five minutes.”
Janelle looked up from her console, frowning. “Admiral,” she said carefully, “it is unlikely that will affect the enemy starfighters.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Ted said. One of the major downsides of mass drivers was that smaller ships could dodge their projectiles, if they had time to react. It would be a great deal harder for them to avoid the tiny scattershot projectiles. Even if they missed completely, the aliens would have a nasty fright. “Aim for the ships, then prepare to fire.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Weapons locked on target.”
Ted nodded, then diverted his attention to the display monitoring the alien world. So far, nothing seemed to have happened, one way or the other. Their defence grid was armed, sweeping space with active sensors, but they weren’t launching fighters or missiles at either side in the coming battle. Ted gritted his teeth, understanding far too well why the aliens would prefer to stay out of the fight. They didn’t seem too concerned about the prospect of the War Faction living up to its name.
They’re not human, he reminded himself, savagely. There wasn’t a human power that had survived the Troubles that would allow the murder of its ambassadors to pass without making more than a minor complaint. Ted had been expecting a diplomatic offensive, perhaps even a demand that the sole surviving Russian was handed over for punishment, but nothing had happened. The aliens, it seemed, considered their ambassadors expendable.
It might make sense, he told himself. The aliens believed in consensual thinking. Sending ambassadors to a foreign power might risk losing the ambassadors to that power, if the ambassadors were talked into accepting a different point of view. And the aliens bred so rapidly that child mortality had to be terrifyingly high. The aliens weren’t evil or malicious, even to their own kind, but they were disconcertingly lax in places. They had an oddly uncaring attitude to their own lives that worried him. It wasn’t that they were prepared to throw away their lives just for a tactical advantage, more that they simply didn’t worry if they lived or died.
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside with an effort.
“Order the starfighters that they are to engage when the enemy craft cross the red line,” he ordered, “assuming the aliens don’t open fire first.”
He drew it out on the display. “We can’t hold fire past that point,” he added. “If they’re coming that close they mean business.”
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The aliens might not have any concept of personal space, according to the ambassadorial reports, but they knew better than to deliberately court a collision. Two starships ramming each other would have been disastrous, as would ramming a starfighter into a modern carrier. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered if one starfighter had rammed Ark Royal. The armoured carrier would just have shrugged off the impact and kept firing.
“Aye, sir,” Janelle said. She paused. “They will cross the red line in two minutes.”
Ted nodded and braced himself.
“Engage as soon as they cross the red line,” Commander Rose Labara said. “I say again, engage as soon as they cross the red line.”
Henry nodded to himself, keeping a watchful eye on Rose’s fighter. He remembered her as a combative pilot, one of the ones who would start a fight merely if someone looked at them the wrong way. In hindsight, she was just the sort of personality type to start a fling with her superior officer, believing it would be meaningless. The certainty of death, sooner rather than later, would merely have added spice to the relationship.
But she’d clearly felt something for her former commanding officer, Henry had to admit, although it surprised him. Starfighter pilots weren’t the type to settle down, at least until they’d sown their oats and completed their time in the cockpit. The lives they led told against it, he’d learned very quickly. It was easier to find a prostitute in Sin City or a companion in Luna City than try to balance married life with a carrier where one could die at any moment. And he was sure Rose had done just that in her earlier days…
And now she was in mourning. And leading her pilots out to do battle with the aliens.
Henry sighed and redirected his attention towards the oncoming storm. For once, humanity had the numbers advantage, although he knew that meant nothing. The pilots Rose had had to take in hand simply lacked the polish of Academy graduates; Henry had been astonished, envious and terrified when he’d realised they hadn’t even passed the final exams. Five days of heavy exercising in the simulators had convinced him that the raw material was there, but the discipline was lacking. They would get there, given time. But he suspected time was about to run out.