Alarm of War

Close up, the London’s anti-missile defense was awesome to behold. The Rutland’s missiles were blotted from the sky. The Kent’s salvo, coming in on the heels of Rutland’s, fared better, but only five missiles got through and the London’s armor shook them off. More lasers shot out on all sides, a score from the London targeted the Rutland while Yorkshire and Kent returned the favor. Then two missiles salvoed from the London and struck the Kent. Grant stared at the holo in morbid fascination.

“Lost communications with Rutland and Kent, sir,” Sensors reported.

“London is getting its missile system on line, but they must be firing individually. We took out one of her laser turrets,” Weapons chimed in.

“Sensors, have Merlin do a C2C with Rutland and Kent to get a damage report,” Captain Gur ordered. The C2C was a parallel communications system used by the ships’ computers, allowing them to exchange data directly with each other. It was usually used to maintain current data on each ship’s state of readiness, but could be used to communicate if a ship’s primary communications system was knocked out.

“More missiles inbound!” warned Weapons. “They’ve got five up now.”

Yorkshire’s automatic defense system went into action, but it was not as robust as London’s. Four of the attacking missiles were quickly disabled, but the last missile stubbornly plowed ahead until bird shot detonated it less than a mile from the ship. The destroyed missile spewed hundreds of basketball sized shaped charges, a dozen of which struck the Yorkshire moments later, not far from the bridge. The ripple of explosions shook the Yorkshire and alarm sirens hooted, adding to the cacophony. The bridge crew exchanged worried glances.

The junior officer at Navigation shook her head. “It’s a blustery day, Pooh!” Grant just stared at her.

“We’ve got to take out London’s anti-missile system!” Commander Peled said.

“Can we land a boarding party of Marines on London? Give the Tilleke a taste of their own medicine?” Grant asked.

Peled shook his head. “The Tilleke have those bloody transporters, we only have shuttles. London would blow them out of the sky long before they reached her.

“Merlin reports heavy damage to Rutland. It’s lost its aft magazine and fires are reported on several decks. One anti-matter bottle is damaged, but holding. At least for now. Rutland’s Merlin estimates fifty percent chance of failure within the next three hours. Two hundred crewmen dead. Many wounded. Captain Sheffer is requesting we come along side to take off her wounded.”

A thought struck Grant. Far-fetched, but ridiculously simple.

“Commander,” he asked. “If you wanted to shut down the Yorkshire’s anti-missile system, what would you do?”

Peled shot him a puzzled look. “I’d just turn it off.”

“But how, exactly?”

“We can do it manually, of course, but usually we just tell Merlin to shut it down.”

“Will Merlin accept orders from me?” Grant asked.

“Yes, you’ve been logged in as one of the ship’s officers.” Commander Peled’s eyes opened wide. “You think that you can-”

Then a gust of cold air blew against his face, and snow began to fall.

“Intruders!” Grant shouted, snatching up a pistol. Don’t they ever stop?

Chapter 31

The H.M.S. Yorkshire

In Tilleke Space

Commander Peled slapped the com button. “Intruder alert! Marine guard to the Bridge! Intruder alert!”

The two Marine sentries brought their rifles up to their shoulders. The snow squall swirled, grew more intense, and then just as suddenly abated. Ten Savak commandoes stepped forward.

“Shoot! Dammit, fire!” Gur shouted.

Grant threw himself to the floor and crawled to the nearest computer console, half shielding himself under a chair. Shots rang back and forth; people screamed; there was the sound of running. He could hear the curious “pop-pop-pop-pop!” of the Savak air rifles. From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of a second snow squall appearing out of nowhere.

“Merlin!”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Contact London’s Operations Computer by C2C.”

“The London is no longer under Victorian control, Lieutenant. Do you still wish me to proceed with your request?”

“Yes!” A body splattered with blood fell to the floor in front of him. He flinched violently. “Hurry, dammit!”

“As you wish, Lieutenant.” A pause. “You are now connected to London’s onboard Operations Computer, Aberdeen Model 12A46. You may speak now.”

“Mildred! Mildred, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can, Lieutenant Skiffington. How are you today?”

“Not so good. Mildred, verify who I am through voice analysis.”

“You are Lieutenant Grant Skiffington of Her Majesty’s Ship London, currently assigned as personal aide to Admiral Oliver Skiffington, commander of the Second Fleet. Your voice shows high levels of stress associated with elevated levels of adrenalin. You are presently not on board the London.”

“Mildred, I want you to disable the ship’s automated anti-missile system.”

Something fell across his legs. He turned and saw the open, staring eyes of Captain Gur. He flinched violently, got hold of himself and kicked the body off, flinching again as the Captain’s head struck the floor.

The voice of the Weapon’s Officer cut through the chaos. “Two more missiles in bound. We have launched four missiles at the London! Laser hits on Turret Three!”

“Lieutenant, I cannot comply with your command as you are not the commanding officer on the London,” Mildred said reasonably. “Also, I note that your stress level has increased sharply. I would advise you to see medical assis-”

“Stop!” He gritted his teeth. “Mildred, who is the commanding officer of the London?”

A blaster pistol clattered to the deck beside him. He grabbed it and held it in front of him. Across the bridge, Commander Peled shouted. “Weapons, do not fire more missiles until I give the order. We need to kill their anti- missile defense.”

“The commanding officer of the London is Admiral Oliver Skiffington,” Mildred said cheerfully. “His orders were effective on-”

“Stop! Mildred, can you see Admiral Skiffington?”

“Yes.”

Grant cursed. A Savak commando stepped past him, firing from his hip. Grant shot him once in the back of the leg, then a second time in the head when he collapsed to the floor.

“Mildred, where is Admiral Skiffington?”

“Admiral Skiffington is presently thirty six feet from the loading bay hatch.”