The Nelson Touch

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.

Once, he’d wanted command so desperately that he’d been prepared to compromise himself to get it. Now, he felt the weight of command falling around his shoulders… and found himself praying that he didn’t let the Old Lady down. The ship seemed to hum around him as the enemy crawled closer, preparing themselves to engage the human ships. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Captain,” Farley said, “the Admiral is ordering us to deploy mines on his mark.”

“Then do so,” James ordered. It was possible, just possible, that the aliens would get a nasty shock. Anything that won the human race a few advantages couldn’t be discarded lightly, even if some naval officers considered them dishonourable. But it was also possible that the aliens might see the mines and alter course to avoid them. “And keep me informed.”

“Deploy mines,” Ted ordered. “And then start pulsing their sensors with target locks.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said. “Mines are being deployed… now.”

Ted nodded, watching the display. The course changes had been risky — the aliens had been able to use them to shorten the distance between the two fleets — but they had achieved Ted’s overall objective. Force One could engage them, but — with a little bit of luck — they could evade Force Two… if, of course, they managed to beat Force One.

He watched as the alien fleet crawled closer, heading right towards the invisible minefield. There was nothing to the mines, save a bomb-pumped laser warhead wrapped in stealth coating, capable of doing serious damage to a starship if it scored a direct hit. The beautiful simplicity of the system, Ted hoped, would be enough to allow it to work. If nothing else, it should make the aliens more paranoid about closing in on human ships.

“Mines entering attack range,” Lopez reported. Red lights flared up on the display. “I think they’ve been detected!”

“Order them to attack,” Ted said, quietly.

The mines detonated. Bomb-pumped laser beams lashed out towards the closest targets, the alien frigates and battlecruisers. Ted watched several of them ripped apart by the minefield, others damaged so badly they had to fall out of formation. One of the alien carriers was hit, blown into little pieces by several direct hits, but the remainder were completely untouched.

“Sir,” Lopez reported. “We killed or disabled twelve smaller ships and one carrier.”

She sounded disappointed. Ted didn’t blame her, but the mines hadn’t been entirely wasted, not really. The sheer walls of point defence the aliens could put out against human starfighters had been badly weakened, now their escort ships were gone. Besides, it had also taught the aliens a lesson. It was possible, he told himself, that Force One would hang back long enough to allow him to break contact.

“They’re launching starfighters,” Lopez added. “I think we made them mad.”

“Of course we did,” Ted said, with some amusement. He paused, silently calculating the time it would take for the alien starfighters to reach his ships, then tapped a switch on his console. “Launch fighters; I say again, launch fighters.”

He settled back in his command chair and watched, grimly, as new red icons streaked away from the alien ships, heading towards his fleet. They’d be far too effective against his modern carriers, he knew, and if he were in command of the alien fleet they’d bear the brunt of the attack. Take out the carriers, take out the starfighter platforms, then wear down the Old Lady and the frigates one by one. It made an alarming amount of sense.

“Order our CSP to cover the modern carriers too,” he added. The Old Lady could take a beating from the alien starfighters and keep going. None of the other carriers had such advantages. “We don’t want to lose any of them.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said. “Guns are requesting permission to engage.”

Ted hesitated, calculating vectors in his head. “Mass drivers may engage,” he said, although he was doubtful they’d score any hits. Mass driver projectiles worked best against unsuspecting targets. The aliens were clearly sweeping space aggressively, hoping to locate and destroy any remaining mines before they went active and attacked another alien starship or two. “Missile tubes are to remain locked, for the moment. We shall wait until the range shortens”

“Picking up new small craft signatures,” Lopez said, suddenly. “The aliens are launching new craft of unknown configuration.”

Ted gritted his teeth. New craft meant trouble, if only because he didn’t know what to expect from them. “What does the computer make of them?”

Lopez hesitated, consulting her system as well as relaying the request to the analysts. “The computer thinks they’re somewhere midway between a shuttle and a starfighter,” she said, puzzled. “They’re definitely three or four times the size of a standard starfighter.”

“Odd,” Ted mused. The aliens hadn’t built any specialised bomber designs, but then they’d hardly needed to bother. “Order the CSP to engage them as soon as they come into range.”

Henry gritted his teeth as his starfighter exploded out into the inky darkness of space, then looked down at his display and smiled, grimly. The aliens had taken a beating, thanks to the mines, but now they were out for blood. A vast cloud of alien starfighters were bearing down on the fleet, followed by a number of craft the computers refused to identify properly. Orders came down the line a moment later; his squadron was to engage the alien starfighters, while the CSP held the line in front of the carriers. Ahead of them, the frigates were already manoeuvring to add their firepower to the fleet’s point defence.

He winced as he saw the frigates — it wasn’t uncommon for point defence to engage friendly starfighters in the heat of battle — and then pushed the thought out of his mind as he accelerated towards the alien formation. His wingmen fell in beside him, their chatter stilled as they contemplated the odds facing them; Henry smiled to himself, then switched his weapons to automatic fire. There was little time for contemplation of his own mortality, not any longer. All he wanted to feel was happiness that he’d finally managed to get himself treated as just another pilot.

“Prepare to engage,” Paton ordered. “Break up their formation, if possible, then scatter the bastards.”

“Understood,” Henry said. “Here we go…”

He would have preferred to escort the bombers as they attacked the alien carriers, but orders were orders. Besides, if they didn’t cover the carriers, they’d have no hope of getting home. Henry might have mixed feelings about that, yet he knew it wasn’t fair to the other pilots. They didn’t have to worry about being forced onto the throne when they reached Earth…

The aliens were suddenly all around them, firing madly towards the human formation. Henry’s guns opened fire automatically, snapping off shot after shot towards the alien craft, while Henry himself concentrated on staying alive. An alert flashed up in front of him, noting that a human pilot had actually collided with an alien pilot, destroying both starfighters. The odds against an actual collision, he’d been told, were staggeringly high, even in the starfighter counterpart to Close-Quarter Battle. But it didn’t really matter, he knew; the dead pilot had at least taken an alien with him…

Space was suddenly clear as the aliens resumed their charge towards the carriers. Henry didn’t wait for orders; he flipped his starfighter around and gunned the engine, giving chase as quickly as possible. The aliens ignored the human starfighters snapping at their heels as they closed in on Napoleon and Lincoln, ready to tear two fragile human carriers apart with their weapons. In response, the Americans and French opened fire with their point defence, trying to scatter the alien formation. But the aliens refused to be deterred.

Henry barely noticed the French CSP as he swooped down and picked off two alien fighters, just as their comrades opened fire. Bolts of superheated plasma stabbed deep into the French carrier, but — thankfully — they didn’t hit anything that might have started a chain reaction and destroyed the ship. Instead, the French pilots drove them off, apart from one alien who crashed into the lower hull and exploded. Henry swallowed hard, then relaxed as it became clear the alien hadn’t deliberately intended to commit suicide. He would have supercharged his plasma containment chambers if he’d meant to become a kamikaze.

He cursed the alien technology under his breath as the next flight of alien craft closed in on the carriers, snapping off shots at the starfighters whenever they had a window, but otherwise ignoring them completely. They didn’t need to rely on bombers, he knew; their starfighters alone were a menace to the human fleet. He knew that his plasma weapons could do considerable damage, but they lacked the sheer power of the alien weapons…

“All targets destroyed,” an American voice said. She sounded incredibly relieved. “Thank God!”

Henry nodded in agreement. The American point defence had waited until the aliens had entered their attack runs, then opened fire, pouring a withering hail of plasma fire into the teeth of their formation. There were no alien survivors, although Henry knew there were plenty more alien pilots attacking the fleet. Another alert flickered up in his display, warning him that the aliens were closing in on the Japanese carrier. Grimly, feeling tired already, he yanked on his stick and sent the starfighter racing towards the Japanese ship.

Dear God, he thought, as he realised that several entire squadrons of alien ships had decided to engage Yamato. Is this what it’s always going to be like?

“Yamato is under heavy attack,” Lopez reported. “Her commander is requesting assistance.”

“Cut loose three squadrons and dispatch them to assist the Japanese,” Ted ordered, curtly. The battle had turned into a melee with terrifying speed, no matter how desperately the various fighter controllers tried to handle it. Starfighter squadrons were breaking up, pilots flew with whatever wingmen they could find and the aliens were pressing the offensive with a grim determination that surprised no one. “And Napoleon?”

“Some minor damage, but her CO insists that she can still fight and service starfighters,” Lopez said. “She got lucky, sir.”

“Good for her,” Ted grunted. Another alien strafing run could smash the entire ship, if the aliens managed to keep their formation together. “And the mystery craft?”

“Still a mystery,” Lopez said. “Nine of them have been destroyed, with no apparent ill-effects.”

Ted frowned. The aliens might be alien, but they weren’t stupid. Nothing they’d done was stupid, even though it didn’t always seem to make sense at first. And that suggested that the aliens had had something in mind for the odd craft. But what?

He turned towards the overall display. “And the bombers?”

“Making their attack runs now,” Lopez said. “But the alien CSP isn’t trying to engage them.”

Ted wasn’t too surprised. Alien point defence was alarmingly good, after all. They might well calculate that they could get away with throwing all of their starfighters at Ted’s fleet, even though it meant giving the human bombers a safe run to engagement range. He wouldn’t have taken the chance, but the aliens — it seemed — thought otherwise. And it might well pay off for them.

“Keep monitoring the situation,” he ordered.

He felt helpless. He was the commander of the fleet, with legions of subordinates to follow his orders, yet he felt helpless. No order he issued could alter the outcome, not now; instead, it would confuse his subordinates at the worst possible time. All he could do was watch, wait and pray that the human forces emerged victorious once again.

“The bombers have engaged the alien carriers,” Lopez said. There was a note of heavy satisfaction in her voice. “Torpedoes inbound… now.”

Ted switched his display to track the torpedoes. As always, the moment torpedoes were launched, the aliens switched their point defence to engage them, ignoring the remainder of the starfighters and bombers. But there were just too many torpedoes for them to take them all down before they entered engagement range and detonated, sending deadly beams of energy towards the alien hulls. One carrier exploded instantly — Ted guessed the beam must have hit a munitions depot — while four more were badly damaged. Two more exploded within five minutes while the other two staggered out of formation, spewing plasma and debris into space.

“They’re launching lifepods, I believe,” Lopez said.

“Order the pilots to leave them alone,” Ted said. They’d never seen the aliens launching lifepods before, but it was fairly clear that the humans wouldn’t be remaining in the system long enough to pick up the alien lifepods. Hell, there might well be no time to pick up human lifepods. Perhaps the aliens were willing to allow their people the chance to survive if there was a good chance they wouldn’t fall into human hands. “They’re to go after the remaining carriers.”

The alien starfighters seemed to hesitate, then fell on Ark Royal with stunning fury. Ted wasn’t sure if they’d noted that the Old Lady’s CSP had been weakened or if they had identified her as the flagship, but in some ways it was a relief. They could damage the Old Lady’s weapons or sensors, yet they couldn’t get through her armour. Unless, of course, they were prepared to ram her hull….

“They’ve taken out a handful of weapons,” Lopez reported, as the aliens retreated again, back out of point defence range. At least they’d been taught a healthy respect for humanity’s ingenuity. “But they didn’t even try to break the hull.”

Ted frowned, feeling cold ice crawling down his spine. What was happening? What was he missing? The alien tactics seemed to make no sense — and that meant that there was something he was missing. But what was it?

“Swing the CSP around to cover our hull,” he ordered, as the aliens reassembled their formation, then started to head back towards the Old Lady. Whatever they thought they were doing, they seemed to think it was working. “And…”

“Torpedoes,” Lopez snapped, interrupting him. “They’re launching torpedoes!”

Ted stared in surprise. The aliens had never used anything, but plasma weapons. It was easy to see why, too. They burned through most human armour as if it were paper, shattering carriers, armoured combat suits and tanks with easy abandon. It was bitterly ironic that the only ship humanity had that could stand up to the aliens was ancient, a relic of a bygone age, one that might have been scrapped long ago if there hadn’t been a strong political reason to keep her intact. But now they were launching torpedoes…

“The point defence is to target those weapons exclusively,” he snarled. He was treading on Captain Fitzwilliam’s toes, but there was no time. Humanity had spent months working out how best to duplicate alien weapons systems. Why wouldn’t the aliens have done the same? If they knew Ark Royal’s armour was a problem, why not look for a weapon capable of breaking the armour? “I think those are bomb-pumped lasers.”

Lopez looked at him in surprise. “Sir?”

Ted glared down at the display. “We stole their weapon ideas,” he snapped. In hindsight, it was terrifyingly obvious. “Why can’t they steal ours?”

The aliens were innovative, he knew that for sure. And they were paranoid over what humanity might have pulled from intact technology… not entirely without reason. And there was nothing particularly innovative about bomb-pumped lasers. The aliens might have captured a working model at New Russia or simply designed the concept themselves, back before they’d developed plasma weapons. Maybe the delay in reacting to the attack on Target One had been to ensure that squadrons outfitted with the latest weapons were in place to attack Ted’s fleet.

Another thought struck him and he swore. “The mystery craft are boarding pods,” he added, bitterly. He’d used Royal Marines to board an alien craft. Why couldn’t the aliens try the same themselves? “They’re planning to board us!”

He braced himself as the point defence went to work. Five alien missiles were picked off, nine alien missiles… but three remained. Only three… yet if they were bomb-pumped lasers, one of them would be enough to do serious damage. It was impossible to tell which sections they were targeting, but it might not matter. Ted cursed inwardly as the missiles entered engagement range and…

…Ark Royal shook violently as the laser beams stabbed into her hull.