Alarm of War

Lionheart,” he said.

Emily nodded. So would she.

“This is ridiculous,” Bishop said in exasperation. “It’s a malfunction! Even if you put targeting radar in a freighter, what good would it do? Freighters don’t have missiles, for God’s sake!”

Emily’s eyes darted back to the cluster of freighters at anchor. “Merlin, focus sensors on those freighters. Are they doing anything unusual?”

A pause, then: “Still detecting a single S-band targeting sensor, but source is intermittent and cannot be precisely located. Other than that, only normal freighter activity is observed.”

“The Dominion uses S-band emissions,” Chief Gibson said.

Something urgent and ugly crowded into Emily’s thoughts. What if -

“Merlin, what normal freighter activity did you see?”

“The D.U.C. Blue Swan is unloading cargo.”

Emily quickly scanned the list of ships in the area within the circle. Eight freighters, but no tug boats or cargo ferries. No barges. Nothing that a freighter could unload its cargo onto. So, if they weren’t unloading cargo, what were they unloading?

A cold hand grabbed Emily by the heart. “Chief, sound battle stations!”

“What!” Bishop scowled. “Nonsense, belay that or-”

The klaxon sounded.

On the Blue Swan, the air hummed with tension. “How much longer?” the Captain demanded.

“Ready to launch in three minutes!” the Weapons Officer said, his eyes glued to his console screen. The two missile pods were almost clear of the cargo area, floating straight up over the ship. Each pod held four missiles.

“Any sign of activity from our target?”

“Not yet, Captain,” the Sensors Officer replied.

“Do you have a solid fix?” No time for half measures, the Captain thought. He had no illusions that they would escape from this little adventure, so he wanted to make sure the battleship was dead.

The Weapons Officer shook his head. “I need a few more seconds of the targeting sensors to lock her in.”

“Okay, as soon as the pods are clear of the hold, paint her again. But for God’s sake make sure you get a solid lock! We won’t get a second chance.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Two more minutes!”

Hiram leaned forward as the Omega Drone’s message was finally decrypted. The holo display showed a middle-aged man slumped forward, staring intently at the camera.

“This is Captain Michael Zizka of the H.M.S. Bawdy Bertha, attached to the Second Fleet for the action in the Tilleke Sector. Twenty three hours ago, the Second Fleet was destroyed in an ambush by Tilleke and Dominion forces.”

Everyone in the FIC stopped what they were doing and looked at one another in horror.

“No fuckin’ way!” someone exclaimed. Someone else started to talk, but Hiram shushed them.

“-repeat, Second Fleet was ambushed by forces from Tilleke acting in concert with Dominion of Unified Citizenry war ships. Omega logs from several of our ships are attached to this recording. As far as we can tell, more than 70 of our ships were destroyed outright, and a large number seem to be disabled and just sitting in space.” On the screen, Captain Zizka wiped a weary hand across his face. “We can’t tell what happened to the rest. We’re being chased by three Dominion destroyers. We’re approaching the worm hole into Gilead. Once we’re through, I intend to launch as many courier drones as I can.”

Gods of Our Mothers, thought Hiram. He tried to imagine the mood on the clumsy, slow freighter as it ran hell-for-leather from three sleek Dominion war ships.

“I hope this message makes it to you, Victoria,” Captain Zizka was saying. “They’re coming. Get ready to fight. As God is my witness, they’re coming.” He paused, then looked steadily into the camera.

“Remember us,” he said softly.

The transmission ended.

“Fire in one minute!” the Captain of the Blue Swan ordered.

“Warheads armed!” the Star Born’s Weapons Officer shouted. The outer doors of the Star Born were open and the two missiles were poised in their launchers.

“No need to shout, Lieutenant, I can hear you perfectly well,” Captain Streather said calmly. “Release the missiles, but make sure the transponders are working properly.”

A small vibration ran through the ship as tractor beams pushed the missiles away. Small thrusters aligned them properly, then nudged them downward. They each confirmed their target’s coordinates, then began to fall into the thin upper atmosphere of Cornwall, the home planet of the Victorian Sector. Home of Queen Beatrice.

Transponders came to life, telling anyone who cared to ask that the missiles were two cargo ferries in route to the Biscay Cargo Port located on the outskirts of the capital city.

“Weapons Officer, what have we got to fire on the Blue Swan?”

The Weapons Officer was Chief James Friedman, a burly man with a drooping mustache that made him look like a kindly walrus. He grimaced. “It will take at least two minutes to spool up lasers. None of the main missiles are loaded, figure at least ten minutes to get them fully launch ready. Only thing we’ve got ready to go is the ship’s anti-missile defense system.”

Emily considered. The Blue Swan was only three hundred miles away, well within the anti-missile system’s range. Gods of Our Mothers, it was so close they could throw rocks at it.

“Chief, bring weapons to bear on the Blue Swan and fire!” she ordered.

“Belay that, goddammit!” Bishop shouted. “The Dominion are our allies! You can’t fire on a helpless freighter!”

“That freighter is using sensors to target the Lionheart!” Emily said firmly.

“You don’t know that, Tuttle. For all you know, they could be — ”

Emily held up a hand. “Enough! Merlin, record without commenting the following.” She faced Bishop. “Lieutenant Michael Bishop, I hereby remove you from command pursuant to Article 13.27(a) of the Fleet Code of Justice for dereliction of duty and suspicion of treason.” She motioned to the Marine guard. “Corporal, remove him from the CIC and confine him to his quarters.”

The Corporal hesitated, staring at her wide eyed.

“Do it, or I’ll have you up on charges!” she barked.

The Corporal stepped forward and grasped Bishop by the arm.

Bishop looked stunned. He started to say something, but Emily turned her back on him.

“Chief Friedman, I order you to fire,” she said, working hard to keep her voice steady. The Weapons Officer shared a quick look with the Sensors Officer. Chief Gibson grinned wolfishly.

“Lieutenant gave you an order, Jimmy,” he said.

Chief Friedman nodded. “Yes, she did, by God.” He entered the coordinates and hit the firing stud. Fifty “Bofor” guns swiveled to the Blue Swan’s heading and shot ten thousand spent ziridium slugs, paused, then fired again. Twenty five Cobra missile launchers, designed for mid-range anti-missile defense, fired their missiles and automatically reloaded.

On the Blue Swan, the Weapons Officer called: “First missile away!”

The torrent of missiles and projectile slugs from the New Zealand reached the Blue Swan a moment later. A war ship, with its thick armor, might have shrugged it off, but the thin-skinned freighter shuddered and heaved under the impact as hundreds of slugs pierced the outer hull to tear through bulkheads and decks, and missile warheads exploded to tear away entire sections of the hull plating. The bridge crew, caught by ricocheting slugs, were virtually shredded in an instant, never knowing they were even