Alarm of War

them was booby trapped and killed three crewmen, but we got into the others okay. One was empty; each of the other two had a dead woman aboard, ‘Pilots,’ from what little we understand of their ranks.”

“Tell me what the problem is, Corporal, please. This other stuff just makes me want to crawl into a corner,” Romano said, no trace of humor in her voice.

“Okay, Artificial Intelligence Interface Systems Specialist Linda Romano, here is the problem: If we’re right, each of the Savak ships has a device that allows these bastards to transport themselves from this crappy little ship to its target without killing them in the process. The problem is that we’re not sure which set of controls relates to the transporter. Nothing is labeled. We can’t figure out how to make it work. And, truth be told, we’re scared shitless we’re going to push a button and there will be a big ‘boom!’ followed by intense unpleasantness and death.

“So, Romano,” Cookie continued. “Can you figure out how to make the transponders work?”

Romano eyed her impassively, but Cookie could almost hear the gears turning. “Can I look inside, please?”

“Sure.” Cookie led her to a small hatchway near one end of the cylindrical ship. Once inside they could see two longs rows of bucket seats facing each other. Above the seats was a curious mesh of wire and what looked like flood lights. At the end near the hatchway there was a waist-high partition, then five more chairs in a single row, facing a console with banks of dials, knobs, switches and computer screens.

Romano stared at the consoles for a long time, then gracefully stepped over the petition and sat in one of the chairs. For a minute or two she just sat there, looking, then she reached out and brushed her finger tips along the surface above and below several of the controls. Romano turned back to Cookie. “When do you need this?”

“Yesterday would be good,” Cookie replied.

Romano snorted. “Only a ship’s Captain can command completion of a task before it has begun, Corporal, and you’re not a Captain.” She gazed at the console. “I’ll need a hand here, maybe Nancy and Jimmy.”

Cookie nodded. “I can get whoever you need.”

Romano didn’t reply, and after a moment Cookie left her, gazing intently at the console and humming quietly to herself.

Chapter 57

On the D.U.C. Vengeance

In Pursuit of Space Station Atlas

Admiral Mello stood in front of the holo display with Commander Pattin, watching as the Victorian Home Fleet swept in. “They’re concentrating on the hedgehogs,” Commander Pattin said. Two were already dead. As they watched, another died under a hundred lasers. Mello only had fifteen ships to support them because he had sent the others back to the rear to save the supply ships. Without the rest of the warships to protect the hedgehogs, the Victorians could come in close and use their lasers to advantage. Whenever Mello sent a wing forward to support them, it came under withering missile fire.

“Sensors report that some of the Vicky ships are towing missile platforms. That explains why their missile attacks are so heavy. But it means they can’t keep this up much longer,” Pattin said.

On the holo display another hedgehog died.

Mello scowled. “They won’t have to keep this up much longer. If they kill another couple of the hedgehogs, they’ll be able to fire all their missile platforms and we don’t have the weight to stop them. We need to pull back.”

“The hedgehogs are slow. If we pull back fast enough to save the rest of the First Attack fleet, we’ll lose them,” Pattin protested.

Mello wanted to scream. They were so close. “Orders to the carriers,” he said briskly. “Launch all fighters and attack the Vickies.” The carriers were his secret weapon, and he had intended to save them for the moment of maximum impact. But needs must, he thought bitterly. Needs fucking must.

On the H.M.S. Lionheart, the Sensors Officer stiffened in alarm. Suddenly his screen showed a hundred fast moving objects coming straight at them. Too slow to be missiles, but accelerating harder than any war ship he had ever seen. “Captain!” he called. “Something is coming, but I don’t know what it is. A hundred small vessels, smaller than gunboats. They came from those two big ships just behind the Dominion line.”

Captain Eder squinted at the holo display. Whatever they were, they were very small and closing rapidly. He scowled. He did not particularly care for surprises. In his experience, surprises meant something unpleasant. A thought nagged at him, something from one of the history courses he took at the Academy.

The fighters launched from five hundred miles. One hundred missiles targeted the cruisers Brisbane and Tasmania, which had been in the van of the Victorian attack. Anti-missile defenses lashed out in a desperate effort to protect the two ships, but the cruisers were too far in front. The missiles struck.

“Gods of Our Mothers have mercy!” Eder groaned. The Tasmania was a shattered hulk; the Brisbane turned sluggishly away from the threat, vomiting air and bodies. “Those are fighters! The Dominions have carriers with a fighter wing!”

The fighters bore in, flashing past the wounded Brisbane and closing in on the next line of Vicky war ships.

Now Eder remembered the history class. Old Earth battles with ships that sailed on massive oceans and small, fast planes that went out to hunt them. The planes had been hideously vulnerable, but gruesomely effective.

“All ships,” he bellowed. “Auto-fire all ship anti-missile defenses. And saturate your area with zone defenses.” As he watched two more ships flashed their Code Omega signals, a destroyer and a frigate. But to even things out another hedgehog — the fifth — blew up and yet another staggered out of its line, trailing air and debris.

• • • • •

Admiral Mello watched the holo display. He didn’t like what he saw. Five hedgehogs dead and two more badly shot up. The carrier fighters claimed four Vicky ships now, but the fighters themselves had taken a beating. One hundred fighters had gone out, barely forty had come back. If the Vickies continued their attack much longer, it could spell disaster. He turned to Commander Pattin. “Call back the forty ships we sent to support the supply ships. Tell them to abort their mission and return immediately.”

“And the supply ships?”

“We’ll have to use Admiral Kaeser’s supply ships,” he said. And just where the hell was Admiral Kaeser?

Aboard the D.U.C. Fortitude, Admiral Kaeser did a slow orbit around the Victorian home planet, Cornwall. Around him were the other sixty four ships of the D.U.C. Second Attack Fleet. His orders were clear: he was to wait at Cornwall until he joined up with Admiral Mello, and then together they would seize the space stations Atlas and Prometheus and destroy the Victorian Home fleet.

But Prometheus was reduced to ashes, Atlas was gone, the Home Fleet absent, and Admiral Mello and the First Attack Fleet were nowhere to be seen.

“No courier drones?” he asked again for the tenth time. Both Sensors and Communications shook their heads. Kaeser shook his head. “Just so,” he sighed.

Where the devil was Admiral Mello?

Emily watched in morbid fascination as the holo display shifted with their turn. At the top of the display she could see the Dominion escort attacking what they believed were Victorian war ships coming from the north. Any moment now they would get close enough to realize they were just drones and would turn back to protect the