Alarm of War

destroyers — are now approximately three hundred miles behind the H.M.S. Sussex. They are proceeding at five per-”

“It’s a trap,” Grant said despairingly. The whole thing was a deception to lure them here. He stepped to his father’s chair. “Admiral, we have to warn the Sussex! The Duck-”

“Sit down, Lieutenant,” his father snapped. “We’re a little busy just now!”

“…five percent C,” Mildred concluded helpfully.

“Father, please!”

The DUC missile cruiser People’s Choice lined up a scant three hundred miles behind the Victorian battleship Sussex, knife fighting range in space warfare. The ten other Dominion ships were arrayed on either side of the cruiser.

“Admiral, the Tilleke have fired their missiles,” his First Officer told him. That was the signal. Admiral Quigley glanced at his Weapons Officer.

“Targets locked in,’ the WO confirmed. At three hundred miles they could hardly miss.

Quigley nodded. “Let’s not keep our friends waiting. All ships, fire!”

They weren’t taking any chances. The three E Class cruisers and two M Class cruisers were all targeted on the Sussex. The six destroyers aimed at two nearby Vicky cruisers. With luck the Vickies would never realize they were being hit from behind, but just in case, they needed to make sure the Sussex died quickly. When you take on a Vicky battleship, mused Quigley, be sure you kill it and don’t just piss it off!

Nine heavy laser beams and twenty four ship-killer missiles shot out. The laser beams struck the battleship’s engine rooms and rear defense array, spalling metal and exploding munitions. Two of the ship’s engines were immediately destroyed and the resulting uneven thrust pushed the ship into a violent tumble. In the control room, Admiral Penn just had time to glance up in question. Seven seconds later the missiles struck all along the hull. The Sussex seemed to shiver, and then simply disappeared in a ball of light and molten debris.

In less than ten seconds the flag ship of Victoria’s Third Fleet was gone.

“Good,” said Admiral Quigley. “Now let’s kill the others.”

And now the second surprise, thought Prince RaShahid. “Activate the second mine field.”

As the right wing of the Victorian Fleet continued its curving chase toward the Tilleke ships, thousands of ship-killer proximity mines arose from their electronic sleep and scanned their assigned areas for targets.

Targets were plentiful.

Daisy chain explosions chased after the Victorian ships, white blossoms of superheated gas and plasma reaching out to caress the frigates and destroyers and cruisers on the periphery of the two battle groups that comprised the Second Fleet’s right wing. Some ships were destroyed outright, others crippled. At least six ships were left intact but powerless, beginning their Long Walk that would take them and their doomed crews out of human space and into the abyss.

Of the forty ships that flew into the minefield, only twenty six flew out. Even as they emerged, battered and shaken, the Tilleke war hawks swooped down on them.

“Sir, our right flank ran into a minefield. Alpha Battle Group is badly damaged; most ships are Code Omega or not battle capable!” the Sensors Officer called out, his voice trembling. “Half of Bravo is gone; the rest are under heavy fire from Tilleke war ships. On our left flank the two battle groups from Third Fleet report heavy damage. Sussex is gone, along with Farnham, Keswick, Salisbury and Poole. Others, too, but no ID yet. Many damage reports.”

Admiral Skiffington sat in shocked disbelief. Close to half his fleet had been destroyed in a matter of minutes.

“Admiral, your orders?” asked Commander Kerrs. “Admiral?”

The Admiral pulled himself together with an act of will. Hurt or not, he still had one of the most powerful fleets in history, and by God he was going to use it!

“Commander, order all ships into globe formation, battleships at the van. All weapons to bear on those sons of bitches attacking Bravo Group! Make it happen!”

“Sir!’ Commander Kerrs replied, and snapped out orders to his crew.

Standing behind his father, bewildered and overwhelmed, Grant Skiffington desperately wanted to believe that his father could pull them out of this nightmare.

On the deck of the Emperor’s Pride, Prince RaShahid watched as the enemy fleet clumsily tried to regain some semblance of order. They were fools, but they had courage. No matter.

He motioned to the communications officer. “Release the kraits. Remember, we want the two surviving battleships!”

“At your command, Nobel Born.”

The Prince searched through the holograph display until he found the H.M.S. London, then magnified it until he actually saw the outlines of the ship itself. He pictured Admiral Skiffington on its deck, no doubt studying his own holograph.

Be bold, Admiral, he silently urged across the empty miles of space. Be bold so that I might utterly destroy you!

Chapter 27

The Kraits

In Tilleke Space

Krait, n, (krit) extremely venomous snake, originally from the Indian subcontinent of Earth; preferred method of attack is to spring from hiding. Bite is fatal.

The First Sister Pilot looked down the long line of creche-born warriors, forty in all. Her heart filled with pride. In just a moment they would activate the transporters to send the forty warriors and five Sister Pilots into the enemy’s battleship. Nine other kraits would do the same, flooding the London with four hundred of the Emperor’s storm troopers and fifty trained pilots and engineers.

“All glory to the Emperor!” she cried. “Remember your duty! You are Savak! Faith in the Emperor! Victory or martyrdom! Fear not death; you live through your brothers!”

The forty men, anonymous in black uniforms, chest armor and helmets, raised gloved fists. “Victory or martyrdom!” they shouted in unison.

First Sister Pilot activated the transporter. The air crackled and misted, then cold air gusted outward and snow swirled in a blustery cloud…then the forty men disappeared. She nodded in satisfaction and relief; the transporters were notoriously temperamental, but this time had worked flawlessly. She turned to her four sisters, seeing in each a younger reflection of her own face. “Come,” she said softly, and they crowded beside her in a tight circle, heads together, arms intertwined. “Prepare yourselves, for now we must do our duty to the Emperor, however perilous. All who die in duty to the Emperor shall be reborn in the creche.”

They took five of the seats just used by the soldiers. No one would stay behind to operate the krait. All were committed to victory. First Sister Pilot looked at the others. Second and Third looked grimly determined; Fourth was pale and Fifth had her eyes screwed tightly shut. First Sister Pilot took a deep breath. “For the Emperor!” She pushed the control stud.

“Hey, Chief, take a look at this.” In the engine room of the H.M.S. London, Chief Engineer Joan Mastromonico looked up in bewilderment as snow suddenly gusted across the main deck. What the hell? Snow? Then, through the blowing squall, she dimly saw dark shapes, hazy at first, then abruptly more substantial. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. No, that can’t be! Teleportation is impossible! As she watched the shapes coalesce into men, she thought: How did they ever do that?

Then one of the shapes stepped forward and shot her in the head.

The London carried a contingent of two thousand four hundred crew, plus fifty