Alarm of War

Cookie pulled him down the line. “This is Tom,” she gestured to twenty or more corpses. The Toms were a different model. Sandy hair, narrow face and built like a long-distance runner.

“Bugger me,” he breathed. The rumors were true. “Creche-born soldiers.”

Cookie raised her bottle in a mocking toast. “Hiram told me about them. Rumor was they are raised to totally obey the Emperor. And when they are just fuckin’ little babies, they do some sort of surgery to their brains to make them…something.” She waived the bottle dismissively. “No one seems to know just why, but they do the surgery alright, just look at the scars on Bob’s temples.” She hiccupped thoughtfully. “Nasty.”

Grant gestured to three other lines of Savak dead. “And those?”

“Dicks and Harries and ten goddamed Janes.” Cookie’s face lit in a slightly drunken grin. “Join the Marines, Grant, and you get to kill every damn Tom, Dick and Harry you meet.” She took another swig. “And Bob and Jane, too.” Her grin vanished, replaced by a look of utter bleakness. “They sure do know how to fight, though. Give ‘em credit for that. Fight until you kill ‘em.” She turned to Grant then, and for the first time he realized tears were streaming down her face.

“Oh, sweet Gods of Our Mothers, how are we ever going to get home?” she asked.

• • • • •

On the captured H.M.S. London, First Sister Pilot sat back, puzzled. She had ordered six of the ten captured ships to head for Victorian space, there to meet up with the Dominion forces. Three ships, the Rutland, Kent and Yorkshire, were apparently still getting organized. But they were taking a long time to do it.

Third Sister Pilot came to her and bowed. “Sister, I have one of the krait pilots on the communicator. She is very troubled and wishes to speak with you.”

The screen filled with the image of a Pilot. As old as First Sister Pilot, but a different model. She bowed and spoke: “I am Second Sister Pilot, 13^th Satori Creche, Special Savak Commando. I command the krait vessel that attacked the Victorian war ship Rutland three hours ago.”

“The Emperor’s Blessings to you and your men, Sister,” First Sister Pilot said from the London. “You have achieved a great victory over our enemies!”

“I fear not,” Second Sister said. “My men transported onto the Rutland, and its navigation lights are on and blinking, but…” She stopped, biting her lip.

A cold knot formed in First Sister Pilot’s stomach. Something was wrong. “Speak, Sister! We have no time to waste!”

Second Sister Pilot swallowed. “They do not call me! They should have taken the ship by now, but they do not call me to bring the krait into their loading dock. “And…and-” she dipped her chin in confusion — “there are no bodies!”

And now First Sister Pilot understood. One of the first tasks for the victorious Savak commandos was to herd all the prisoners into the loading bay, then open the loading bay doors and expel them into space. The bodies of the enemy dead would follow shortly. When a ship was taken there should be hundreds or thousands of corpses floating outside within a few hours.

“No bodies? Are you sure?”

Second Sister Pilot nodded. “I have a close visual of the entire area. There are no bodies.” She threw up her hands. “There should be bodies!”

First Sister Pilot cut the connection, waving to get the attention of her bridge crew. “Third Sister, call the krait commanders who attacked the Yorkshire and Kent, tell them to scan the area around each ship and report if they see any bodies. Fourth Sister, locate any kraits in the area who have not already attacked a target and vector them in to these three ships. Hurry!” She turned to the last two of her beloved sisters. “Turn on targeting radar and make ready for missile launch!”

• • • • •

“Targeting radar!” the Sensors Officer shouted. “We have been acquired by targeting radar. Source is the London.”

“That tears it,” Captain Gur said. “Ready all weapons to fire on my command! Flash message to Rutland and Kent to commence firing as soon as they are able.”

Grant was sitting just behind Benny Peled and could watch the preparations. Between them, the Yorkshire, Kent and Rutland had a missile throw weight roughly equal to that of the London, and several more lasers. But the battleship’s anti-missile defenses would be formidable, designed to fight off an enemy flotilla made up of at least one battleship and several cruisers. A lot would depend on who suffered the first damage, for that would make them more vulnerable to the next round of fire, and that could quickly cascade into annihilation.

“Fire all missiles!” Gur ordered.

Grant frowned. Why not use the lasers first?

The holo display suddenly showed several lasers from the London lance out at the Yorkshire, then several more at the Rutland. Damage alarms sounded.

“Our missiles are away. Impact in two minutes,” reported the Weapons Officer.

“Laser hits on the forward magazine and laser turrets three and five,” called the Systems Chief, his voice high-pitched with tension. Everyone on the bridge froze for a moment, collectively holding their breaths. If the forward magazine exploded, the ship would be destroyed. The Systems Chief became aware of the sudden silence and looked around, abashed. “Uh…no fire and no explosion, but the automatic loader is jammed. Missile tubes eight through sixteen can’t reload.”

Grant winced. Half their missile tubes would stay empty until it was fixed. And two of their six lasers were down.

“Get a damage team on it!” Gur snapped. “Missile status?”

“One minute to target.”

“Chaff! London is shooting chaff and its automatic defense systems have engaged. Bird shot, lasers and zone blasts!” Bird shot was the name for a gun that shot thousands of small pellets at very high velocities. They spread out like a shotgun blast; one or two pellets could disable an incoming missile. Zone blasts were war heads that spread out to form a rough globe measuring several miles across, then exploded simultaneously, destroying anything within its center.

“More laser shots from the London! The Rutland is taking a pounding!”

“Weapons, why haven’t our laser batteries fired?” Gur demanded.

“Awaiting your orders, sir,” the Weapons Officer replied.

“Well fire, dammit! You think this is a bloody church social?” Four heavy lasers fired and automatically began recharging. It would be two minutes before they could fire again.

“London’s defense system took out all but two of our missiles. Can’t get a good reading on damage inflicted.”

As Grant watched, the London fired its lasers again, raking both the Rutland and the Kent. But why wasn’t it firing missiles? The London had forty missile tubes. Where were they?

• • • • •

“First Sister! The ship’s computer will not allow access to the missile system without the proper authentication code.”

This had not been anticipated. Once the ship was taken, they did not think they would have to fight with other Victorian ships before joining the Dominion flotilla. First Sister Pilot ran through the technical specifications for the weapons system. All of the Sister Pilots were bred to be engineers, and trained from childhood to memorize prodigious amounts of technical information. She had studied the Victorian weapons’ systems for months.

“The ship’s computer controls only access to the central firing system,” she told her fellow Sister Pilots. “Missiles can be launched individually from their missile bays. The lasers can be fired directly from their turrets. Go quickly! Open fire as soon as you can!”

• • • • •