Alarm of War

target. Fire all lasers and missiles on my order.”

On the battle display, she watched as the last line of missile mines blinked rapidly and disappeared. Then there was the telltale red symbol of an enemy ship emerging into open space.

“Mine field has been breached,” Merlin said solemnly. “Enemy missile cruiser is emerging.”

Gods of Our Mothers, help us now, Emily thought. She thumbed the comm button. “All weapons, fire! Fire!”

On the Dominion battleship Vengeance, Cookie peeked cautiously around one corner. Nothing. There was a large sign on the far wall with an arrow pointing to the left. She turned to her troops. “Anybody read Dominion?”

A private held up his hand. “I do, Sergeant. Lived on Timor for a year with my grandparents and learned it pretty good, I guess.”

“Get up here,” she hissed. He trotted up and she saw his name tag read “Albert Meyer.” “Can you read that sign, Meyer?” She pointed to the end of the corridor. He peeked around, then pulled back.

“Says the Combat Command Center is down there to the left,” he reported.

“That sound like the Bridge to you?”

He nodded. “Actually, the Bridge on a Dominion ship is just used for docking and stuff like that. The CCC is where they control the ship when they’re in a battle. That’s what we want, Sarge.”

Cookie looked back. She had about thirty men, all armed with either Tilleke air guns or captured blasters from the Ducks. Many of the Savak air guns had run out of ammo or air, and most of the captured blasters were getting low as well. Wisnioswski still carried a spear; his ‘lucky charm,’ he called it. She had lost about half of her force, but had just teamed up with the survivors from another. There was some pretty heavy fighting going on behind them, and the sounds of gunfire were steadily moving closer.

Time to move.

“The room we want is just up ahead,” she whispered to the others. “Once we get in, shoot everybody you see, got it? That’s why we’re here, to take out the people in that room.”

Everybody nodded. Some looked scared, some excited, some like they just wanted to finish it one way or another. Another deep vibration ran through the deck; the Vengeance had just fired its main batteries again.

“Let’s do it,” Cookie said.

The lasers and missiles from the New Zealand, Yorkshire and Kent smashed into the first Dominion cruiser. For a long moment nothing happened, then it seemed to physically swell, its hull plates bubbling like the skin of a frying sausage. Then rents tore through its hull in a dozen places, venting air and flame into space. The ship leaned slowly to one side, as if it were slowly losing its balance, and began a slow head-over-tail tumble.

Moments later, the second Dominion cruiser emerged, lasers and missiles firing as it came.

Emily’s battered little task force sat naked and helpless. It would take a few minutes to reload their missile tubes — the ones that still worked — and their lasers had empty capacitors. “Chaff and decoys!” she ordered, then hit the comm button to connect her to Skiffington and Stein.

“Get back into the minefield!” she said crisply, tucking her trembling hand back under her thigh and sitting on it. She paused, closing her eyes. Run or fight? If I run, the Ducks will be all over Atlas in minutes. But fight with what? Nothing left but three battered hulls. She wanted to weep, but forced herself to speak calmly.

“The big Dominion battleship is going to come through any minute. I want you to evacuate all nonessential personnel. If a weapon is not functional, send that crew off as well. Put them in shuttles and send them to Atlas.”

Grant Skiffington and Lissa Stein exchanged a look. She knew what they were thinking: first she fired her Omega drones, now she was evacuating crew.

“Emily, listen-” Grant Skiffington began.

“When the big battleship starts to come through, we are going to ram it,” Emily said matter-of-factly, both of her shaking hands now tucked under her armpits. “All three of us. I’m pretty sure that the battleship is the one carrying the anti-matter missiles. If we can take that out, Atlas should be able to hold its own until Admiral Douthat arrives. Save as many of your crew as you can, but be ready in ten minutes. New Zealand out.” She punched the comm button.

Her bridge crew stared at her, open mouthed.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But I need all of you to command the ship. Alex, designate the nonessential crew. If in doubt, send them to the shuttle bay. We can control most of the weapons from here.” The weapons didn’t really matter, she knew. They weren’t going to kill that big bastard ship with less than a dozen missiles; they were going to kill it by ramming it with three Victorian cruisers accelerating to full military speed.

The crew continued to stare at her, and her eyes fell on Tobias Partridge. He is so young, she thought. And what’s more, Partridge was assisting Chief Friedman, not in charge of the sensors himself. Alex Rudd was watching her from behind Partridge. He sensed what she was thinking and nodded, pointing at the young man.

Chief Gibson nodded as well. “He’s just a lad,” he said softly.

“Mr. Partridge,” she said, “Go to the shuttle bay and evacuate to Atlas. Quickly, if you please.” Partridge looked stricken, glancing at the two Chiefs and back to Emily. She said nothing. He stood abruptly, jaw clenched, then left without a word. As he left, Emily felt herself loosen a little. At least I could save him.

On the Atlas, Queen Anne and Sir Henry sat in a small room, watching a duplicate battle hologram that showed the second Dominion cruiser emerging from the minefield.

“Why don’t they fire?” the Queen asked in frustration, referring to the three Victorian ships led by Emily Tuttle.

“I rather suspect that they are out of missiles,” Sir Henry said harshly. They had been arguing on and off for hours, with Sir Henry urging her to take a fast ship and leave for Refuge, and the Queen stubbornly refusing.

On the holo display, several small dots of light suddenly appeared, leaving the three Victorian cruisers and heading slowly towards Atlas. The Queen frowned, leaning forward to see more clearly.

“Are those courier drones?” she asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” said Hiram Brill from the doorway. “They’re shuttles. Captain Tuttle has ordered all nonessential crew to try to make it to the Atlas.”

Queen Anne looked at him in confusion. Sir Henry blanched, then cursed under his breath. Hiram nodded grimly. Anne glanced at Sir Henry, then back to Hiram. “What?” she asked, half perturbed, half alarmed.

“Emily has sent off the nonessential crew because she is preparing to ram the Dominion battleship, Majesty.”

“Oh,” said Anne Radcliff Mendoza Churchill, queen of all Victoria, in a very small voice.

Cookie peeked around the corner. There it was, the entrance to the Combat Control Center. With ten guards milling about in front of it. The actual entrance was probably thirty yards down the corridor. There were no side doors, no joining corridors. Once they rounded the corner and attacked, they would be exposed for the full thirty yards.

Nothing for it. Do, or die trying. She smiled, despite herself. We’re havin’ fun now.

Behind them, the sounds of fighting grew louder. The Duck armored troops were getting closer. Runners had told her that three of the five armored troops had been killed, but the butcher’s bill among the Victorian Marines had been gruesomely high.

“Wisnioswski!” she whispered. In a moment, the big Marine was crouched beside her, pistol in one hand, spear in the other.

Cookie looked him full in the face. “Havin’ a good time, Wisnioswski?”

He smiled broadly and held up his spear. The shaft was red with blood almost its entire length. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Sarge!”

Cookie leaned closer to him. “We’ve picked up about ten grenades from the dead Duck soldiers. Gather them up from our guys and bring them to me. Be quick about it!”