Alarm of War

Maybe something good would come out of this. The Atlas could start building warships almost immediately. Rebuild the Fleet, go after the Ducks-

“Why aren’t they firing?” Rudd mused. Emily looked up, startled. He was right; they were in missile range of the Dominion war ships, so why weren’t they firing?

It was Toby Partridge who figured it out. “They’re herding us through the worm hole,” he suggested. “The Fortitude must have anti-matter missiles. They’ll follow closely behind us and try to hide behind our FOF transponders, just like we did with those Duck supply ships. Once in, they’ll take a shot at the Atlas.”

“That’s nuts-” Emily began, but then fell silent, considering. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Alex Rudd. “Alex, what if they don’t intend to come through behind us, but want to get close enough to the wormhole entrance to shoot a missile carrying an anti-matter warhead, programmed to go through to Refuge and identify Atlas? If the missile sees Atlas, it pursues it. If it doesn’t, then it picks a secondary target, like maybe the Lionheart or some other nearby Victorian ship. The missile would actually be protected by our ships’ FOF transponders for the first minute or so.”

Chief Gibson had been listening in, and now he turned to them with a frown. “Be a long shot to expect just one missile to reach the Atlas,” he said gruffly.

Rudd shrugged. “Who says they only have one? Maybe this new battleship of theirs has several, and it and all four cruisers fire everything they’ve got. All those missiles would come flying out of the wormhole two minutes later, maybe a hundred or more. Heck more like one hundred and fifty, plus the usual EMC drones and decoys. Yeah, it’s a long shot, but what have the Ducks to lose by taking it? One anti-matter missile gets through and Atlas is crippled. If a couple get through, she’s ruined, maybe even destroyed.”

Emily shook her head. “Are they that smart? I mean, they have been coming at us like a sledgehammer all this time. This, this has finesse, this is a rapier thrust instead of a battle axe.”

Rudd and Gibson looked at one another. “Well,” Rudd temporized-

“Begging your pardon, sirs,” Partridge interrupted, “but you’re forgetting that this is a different admiral you’re fighting now.

Emily cursed under her breath. She raised her head. “Merlin, display time when the Dominion ships will be within missile range of the wormhole!”

Almost before she stopped speaking, the display changed:

Time to missile range to wormhole: 07:33

“Merlin, prepare a courier drone with the following message!” She spoke rapidly for thirty seconds. “Launch drone!”

On the Dominion battleship, Fortitude, Admiral Kaeser stood with his hands behind his back. The three Vicky ships would reach the worm hole soon. He marveled that the Atlas had managed to escape. Mello was a fool, he thought bitterly, an arrogant, self-centered fool.

“About fifteen minutes to the worm hole, Admiral, but we can launch in about seven minutes. That will leave the birds with enough fuel to maneuver on the other side.” Captain Bauer told him. Bauer looked at the battle display. “They must have figured out what we’re doing by now,” he said.

Kaeser pursed his lips. “Knowing what we are about is the easy part. Stopping us from doing it, that is the hard part.” On his order, his ships would launch every missile they could, and launch a second volley as soon as they were able. The Fortitude would fire its three precious anti-matter missiles, each programmed to recognize the Atlas and home in on it. “Still,” he said wryly, “we’ll need more than a little luck to make this work.”

“It is a very bold plan, Admiral,” Bauer said.

Admiral Kaeser made a rude noise. “Not bold, Captain, just desperate. I will not risk any more of our ships to kill the Atlas; we have few enough as it is, thanks to Admiral Mello. But I am happy to spend the rest of our anti- matter missiles on a long shot.” He turned to face Bauer. “Status of the three Vicky ships?”

“Still running for the wormhole, Admiral.”

Admiral Kaeser pursed his lips thoughtfully. He would use the Vicky ships to cover his missiles for the first critical moments they entered Refuge space. Or, if that plan didn’t work out, he would turn the missiles on the Victorian ships and simply return to Cornwall.

“Just so,” he murmured, and turned back to the battle display.

Emily told her plan to Skiffington and Stein. “Timing is the key here. If they figure out what we’re doing, they might just decide to kill us and call it a day,” she explained.

“How much time do we have?” Skiffington asked.

Emily glanced at the time display. “Five minutes. Turn your fire controls over to my Merlin. And remember; don’t brake for more than five seconds. We just need a good sensor flare.”

“You know this is pretty goddamned chancy, don’t you?” Stein grumbled.

Emily stared at her coldly. “I think it’s called ‘war,’” she replied.

On the Victorian battleship Lionheart, Admiral Douthat gave a quiet prayer of thanks as the space station Atlas moved slowly away from the worm hole, deeper into the Refuge sector. A single ship appeared on her sensors, its transponder displaying that it was a Victorian warship. The Lionheart’s comm display had opened to show a young woman scowling at her.

“This is Captain Elizabeth Neuwirth of the H.M.S. Frigate Matterhorn of the Third Fleet. To whom am I speaking?”

Douthat blinked in surprise. She knew some Third Fleet ships had been left behind when Second and Third Fleets went to Tilleke, but what the hell was a Third Fleet frigate doing here in Refuge? “I am Admiral Douthat, commanding officer of the Home Fleet. What can I do for you, Captain?” She tried, almost successfully, to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Neuwirth didn’t back down. “I was sent here by Lieutenant Brill to prepare Refuge for Atlas’s arrival. Where’s Brill?”

Before Douthat could reply, someone on the screen whispered to Captain Neuwirth and she nodded. “Admiral, I just received word that Lieutenant Commander Brill is calling me from the Atlas. Tell your ships not to enter further into Refuge space until Brill has confirmed your identity. I will get back to you shortly.”

Admiral Douthat bristled. “Matterhorn, I intend to stay with the Atlas. I have thirty warships with me. If you think your little frigate is going to stop us, you are sadly mistaken.”

Neuwirth smiled wolfishly. “Admiral, before you do anything you might regret, may I suggest that you first make a sensors sweep of the area?”

The comm screen blinked off. Douthat scowled. Who the hell was this frigate captain? And just what did she mean, ‘Until Brill confirmed her identity?’

“I’m the damn admiral here,” she muttered. Then her attention was caught by a harsh trilling sound. It was the alert that warned they were being painted by targeting sensors. She turned to Captain Eder. “What?” she asked.

Eder pointed wordlessly to the battle display.

Douthat stared for a moment, then unexpectedly smiled. The battle display showed not one, but two large forts on either side of the worm hole entrance, studded with missiles, lasers and even some of the rail guns that were too bulky to put on anything but battleships. Even Lionheart didn’t have one.

And emerging from behind the forts were dozens upon dozens of Refugian gunboats, nimble little warships that carried three missiles and a bow laser, but had no armor at all.

“Well, well,” she said happily. “A little surprise for the Ducks if they come through.” She nodded briskly. “Message to all ships, activate Dark Matter Brake and hold in place pending further instructions from our hosts.”

And so they sat, until a sensors officer called: “Courier drone coming through the worm hole from Victorian space. Signal indicates an emergency message!”

Douthat looked up in alarm. Dammit, it could only be one thing: the surviving Coldstream Guards were in