H.M.S. New Zealand, hunting for supply ships behind the Dominion fleet
Captain Julie Grey’s Battle Group coasted ghostlike behind the Dominions, desperately trying to locate the Dominion supply ships. People spoke in whispers and subconsciously tried not to make noise. They knew no one could possibly hear them, but they couldn’t help themselves; they’re survival depended on them not being detected.
Emily knew the mission poised on the razor edge of chance. If they located the Dominion supply ships before they themselves were discovered, they would attack and leave the Dominion attack fleet with empty magazines and no choice but to retreat. But if the Ducks discovered them hiding, then they would have to run or fight for their lives. Either way, it would soon be ship against ship, each side trying to annihilate the other, killing men and women they did not know and would never see.
Emily had to marvel at the terrible beauty of it.
“Penny for your thoughts?” It was Captain Grey, sipping a mug of tea, looking tired.
Emily smiled. “I was just thinking how this little skirmish might determine the entire outcome of the battle, or the fate of Victoria, all of it.” She frowned. “Part of me is horrified at the risk, part of me can’t wait to see how it comes out.”
Grey smiled wanly. “The combat leader’s dark little secret. Welcome to the world of the professional soldier, Emily.”
For hours, Admiral Douthat harassed the Dominion’s right flank, which had the greatest concentration of destroyers and frigates. She dropped in mines, missile pods and used her own destroyers for sudden slashing attacks.
The Dominion responded with a torrent of missiles, shooting at anything within range. Finally, two of the Dominion frigates — the ships with the smallest magazine capacity — signaled Admiral Mello’s flagship.
“Admiral, two of the frigates request permission to fall back in order to rearm with missiles from the colliers.”
Admiral Mello looked up from the holo display, clearly preoccupied. “What?”
“Two of the frigates have run dry, sir. They want permission to go to the back of the fleet to rearm with the colliers.”
Mello nodded his assent and turned back to the holo display. No one saw his smile.
On the H.M.S. New Zealand, Alex Rudd was monitoring both the tactical display and the sensors, ignoring the angry glare of the Sensors’ Officer.
“Tallyho,” Rudd said softly. “Two Duck frigates coming in past reconnaissance drone Number Seven.
“Fuel status on Number Seven?” Captain Grey asked.
“More than half, Ma-am. She’s good for up to eight hours.”
“Okay, once the DUC go past her, put her in behind them, say, oh, three hundred miles. Passive sensors only, and video. Bring her up to match speed slowly, Alex, then kill the propulsion and let her coast behind them. I do not want to spook our feathered friends.”
The reconnaissance drone followed the two Dominion war ships for another ninety minutes, reporting back that they finally stopped and were joined by three other ships. The three new ships showed only low propulsion signatures. No radio signals were detected.
“There they are,” Grey breathed reverently. She turned to Emily. “You’re plan is working, Lieutenant.”
Emily frowned. Bogey One had something like eighty five ships, or close to four Victorian Battle Groups. A Victorian force that large would have had at least six supply ships, and maybe as many as eight.
“There should be more supply ships than this, Captain,” she said. There should be another three at least, maybe five.”
“You may be right, Emily, but I’ll take what I can get.” Grey raised her voice. “Merlin!”
The ship’s computer responded immediately. “Yes, Captain Grey?”
“We’re attacking. Change to Max.”
The bridge crew exchanged apprehensive glances.
There was a pause, then the ship’s computer came back, but its voice was stronger, rougher. “Orders? Who shall I attack?”
Emily couldn’t explain how, but the “Max” persona reeked of restrained violence. Max had been the brainchild of the Fleet’s psychological warfare experts, who had tweaked the software so that Max would default to the most aggressive option whenever it had to make a tactical decision. The shrinks also figured that if the ship’s computer sounded more like a blood thirsty warrior, it would imbue a more aggressive spirit into the ship’s deck crew, including the captain. Fleet war games had confirmed this, although dissenting Fleet psychologists had noted that one unforeseen side effect was that sometimes the captains using Max fought long after they should have cut and run, saving their ships to fight on more advantageous terms another day. The net result was that ships using Max inflicted more damage on the enemy, but died at a higher rate as well.
Gradually an informal protocol had developed: Captains used Max only in situations where they thought they might have to fight to the death, and were determined to do as much damage as they could before they were killed.
If Emily had had any doubts about how desperate their mission was, they were instantly dispelled.
Powered down, as stealthy as they could be, the Coldstream Guards coasted in on their targets. The Number Seven reconnaissance drone kept up its visual record, and they watched as the first of the Dominion frigates sided up to a collier, followed shortly by the second.
“Solid fix for the lasers, Captain. Just reaching outer edge of missile range now,” Emily reported.
Grey shook her head. “We may only have one chance, so let’s wait until we’re closer. Max, C2C all members of the Battle Group. I will commence firing for the entire Group from the New Zealand. No one is to fire on their own.”
Yes, Captain. Preparing for the attack.”
Emily hid a smirk; Max always sounded like a badly written video game. But looking around the bridge, she had to admit that Max’s melodramatic presentation did have an impact on the crew. They looked grimly determined to wage war.
The Battle Group coasted onward. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
“Captain, we are now in the Yellow Zone,” Chief Gibson said, voice rising a bit. The Yellow Zone was where the enemy ship had a fifty percent chance of detecting them on passive sensors. The Red Zone was where the probability rose to ninety percent.
Emily sat down and buckled her battle harness. She licked suddenly dry lips.
“Prepare to fi-” Captain Grey began.
She never finished.
The H.M.S. New Zealand, all 150,000 tons of her, violently heaved up and down like a feather in an unexpected gust of wind. Everything that was not secured went flying through the air — coffee mugs, papers, com slates, chairs and people — and smashed into the ceiling, clung there for a fraction of a second, then smashed hard onto the deck.
Then the noise came, the groaning, screeching, violated shriek of steel walls and decking as they shook and twisted and then ruptured as the force of a dozen laser strikes raped the New Zealand from stem to stern.
And then came the anguished screams of the injured and the roaring of precious air venting into space.
Emily, saved by her battle harness, sat upright in her chair, feeling like Alice in Wonderland as she watched the world go crazy. Papers and objects and people flew past her. Someone’s foot kicked her in the head as they flew by, and a coffee cup sailed by still upright, not spilling a drop, until it shattered against the bulkhead. Immediately in front of her, she watched as Captain Grey went straight up and cracked viciously into the ceiling, seemed to float there for a moment, then smashed into the floor. Blood welled from her eyes and ears.
With a groan, the ship settled.
Emily started to unbuckle, thought better of it and tilted her head up. “Max! Max, defenses free! And engage auto-repairs of all hull leaks. Seal all compartments.” She twisted around, trying to find Alex Rudd, but couldn’t see him. She was on her own.
From across the smoke filled, blood splattered bridge, Chief Gibson smiled and gave her a thumbs up. She could have kissed him.
“Max, enlarge holo display and show the source of whatever the hell it was that hit us.” The display obediently grew larger. The Dominion colliers were still there, but the two frigates were moving away from them, accelerating rapidly, anxious to get away from the obvious target the colliers presented. “Max where are the ships that shot us, dammit?”
Four red circles appeared and began to blink. They were above the Coldstream Guard’s plane of advance, about halfway between the New Zealand and the three Dominion colliers. “Tactical, get a lock on those ships! Max, status report.”
“ Destroyer South Wales, Code Omega. Destroyers Swansea and Repulse, damaged but operable; Cruiser Emerald Isle damaged but operable. Cruiser New Zealand damaged but operable.” The phrase “damaged but operable” unfortunately covered a lot of ground, from minor damage to the hull plating to loss of most of the crew.
“Got a lock on the shooters, Lieutenant,” Chief Gibson said calmly. “Looks like four large cruisers. Computer ‘s guessing three beamers and a missile cruiser. Looks like they all fired their lasers and are recharging.”
“Sweet Gods of Our Mothers, let’s not wait!” Emily said. Hadn’t she heard that the Dominion beamers had an entire engine array dedicated just to recharging their lasers? “Max, all available weapons to fire on the four cruisers. Now! Now! Now!” She motioned to Gibson. “Find the damn colliers before they get away. Pilot, take us down one hundred miles, then resume plane of advance. Head right for the colliers. Tactical.” Chief Friedman looked at her, face pale with shock, eyes too bright. Don’t fold on me now, she thought desperately. “Chief, as soon as we find the colliers again, lock on the nearest one with all lasers, then take the next one with missiles. Got it?” He nodded jerkily, but turned to obey.
In the midst of this she became aware that Captain Grey was on her knees, holding onto the captain’s chair for support. Blood flowed freely from a head wound and covered her face. Where she touched the chair, she left a bloody handprint. Emily raced forward to steady her. With Chief Gibson’s help, she put Grey into the captain’s chair.
“You!” she said to a young rating named Partridge. “Call for a medic!”
“Emily.” Grey clutched weakly at her arm. “Move over, I need to see the holo.” Her voice was a slurred whisper. Emily dutifully stepped aside and Captain Grey peered myopically at the holo display of the battle.
Grey frowned, squinted and shook her head. “Can’t see,” she murmured in frustration.
Emily stripped off her uniform blouse and used it to wipe the blood from Grey’s eyes and face. Grey blinked several times and peered at the display, but shook her head again. “Blurry…eyes.” She tightened her grip on Emily’s arm. “Tell me what’s happening!”
Meanwhile a flurry of laser shots had lanced out at the still recharging Dominion cruisers, followed by a ragged volley of over one hundred and fifty missiles. While most ships managed to flush their missile tubes, the damaged ships were lucky to shoot half of their compliment of missiles. The New Zealand, with twenty two tubes, only managed to shoot nine.
“We’ve been ambushed by four Dominion ships, probably cruisers,” Emily told her. “We lost one ship and several others are damaged. We are trying to shoot the Dominion ships before they recycle their lasers.”
“Supply ships? Where…” Grey paused, panting for breath. Her skin had a sickly greyish hue and she was covered with sweat.
“Where the hell is the medic?” Emily shot at Partridge.
“On the way up, Ma’am, but there’re wounded everywhere and they keep stopping.”
“Communications!” When there was no reply, she swiveled the chair to face the Communications Station. The Comm Officer lay crumbled on the deck in a pool of his own blood. Above him, staring fixedly at nothing much at all, was his assistant, a rating named Betty McCann. “Betty? Comeon, Betty, look at me,” Emily pleaded.
Chief Gibson left his station, marched to where McCann was standing and shouted into her face: “Sailor! Your Captain is giving you an order. Now get your head out of your ass and do your job! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
McCann blinked rapidly, then nodded once.
“Betty, connect me to the rest of the Battle Group, audio only,” Emily ordered.
“Emily!” Grey said urgently. Blood dribbled from her mouth. “I must keep command. Captain Wicklow won’t press the attack.” She collapsed back in her chair, exhausted from the effort of speaking.
Emily hesitated. By all rights her first duty was to tell the Battle Group that Captain Grey was out of action and let command pass to the next most senior captain, Captain Wicklow of the Gloucester. She glanced about desperately for Alex Rudd, but couldn’t see him. Damn! She turned back to the hologram display of the entire battle space.
“Emily, go in and finish it,” Grey ordered weakly. “You can do this.”
And Emily was suddenly certain that she could do it. She had a plan, but she didn’t know if she could convince the other captains to go along with it.
“Betty, are we up?” she demanded.
“Re-ready,” McCann stammered. Behind McCann, Emily could see Naama Denker, the medic, hurry onto the bridge, followed by one of her assistants carrying medical gear.
“This is the New Zealand,” Emily broadcast to the Coldstream
Guards, carefully omitting just who on the New Zealand was calling. “Looks like they were expecting us. On my mark, all ships to shoot off chaff pods and ten seconds later, two sets of decoy drones. Send the first set of drones to travel twenty degrees to the right flank of the Dominion cruisers, the second set to move directly away from the cruisers. Our attack force will continue in the direction of the Dominion supply ships. New Zealand will control all offensive weapons for the first volley. If you are too damaged to fight, you should follow the drones away from the Dominion cruisers and try to reach Atlas. Acknowledge orders.”
One by one the ships acknowledged.
“Hits on the Dominion cruisers!” Tactical shouted. “Looks like one of them got hit hard and is falling back. A second is hurt, but can’t get a good read on it.”
“Mr. Gibson, do we have those damn colliers yet?”
“They are on a diagonal course that will take them behind the Dominion cruisers. From there they can turn and head straight back toward Bogey One, Lieutenant. They are accelerating, but still moving slow.”
The Dominion energy cruisers finished recharging and fired their second round. Only two of the four ships fired. But still…
“Destroyer Canberra has engine damage and is dropping out of line. Swansea reports loss of missile controls. Minor damage to other ships”
They were down to twelve fully operational ships. Not good. Not good at all. “Chief Gibson, do you have a lock on the supply ships?”
“Not yet. Lots of chaff and ECM. Another minute or so, skipper.”
“Max!”
“Who shall I attack?”
Gods of Our Mothers, I need a chess player assassin, not a brawler. “Max, switch program to Merlin.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Tuttle?” Merlin’s voice was wonderfully soothing.
She explained what she wanted to do. “The timing is critical. We need to be on the firing line just as everyone’s lasers have recharged. If we get there too soon, we’ll be sitting ducks.”
“A course with that time line is on the holo display, Lieutenant.”
Emily studied it. Next to her Naama Denker was working on Captain Grey, inserting an IV line. The captain looked pasty white, but slightly more focused. She smiled weakly at Emily.
Emily took a deep breath. “Betty, open the com to the other ships, audio only.” When Betty nodded, she said: “New Zealand to all ships. On my mark, fire all weapons at the cruisers, then launch your decoy drones. After the first volley, turn over navigation and chaff launchers to Merlin. Recharge your lasers immediately and reload all missile tubes. Merlin will coordinate the next attack. Acknowledge!”
She was gambling and she knew it. The ship captains in the Coldstream Guards were a proud lot and not above arguing with orders they didn’t like. And they wouldn’t like these. Giving control over to the AI for anything other than missile defense would be a blow to their pride. If they discovered that it was not Captain Grey giving the orders, but a mere Lieutenant, one of them — probably Captain Wicklow on the Gloucester — would assume command and her attack would fall apart.
“This is the Southampton. I must protest, Captain Grey. This is no time to risk a computer glitch. Tell us what you want to do and we’ll do it.”
“H.M.S. Gloucester here. I concur with Southampton. I will not turn over my ship to Merlin if we’re facing close-in maneuvering against heavy cruisers.”
Dammit, there was no time for this. The Dominion cruisers would have their lasers recharged in a moment. She turned urgently to Captain Grey. “Captain, I need to have Captain Wicklow relieved. Will you back me up?”
Grey coughed and took a rattling breath. “We need to kill those supply ships, Emily,” she wheezed. “What do you need me to do?”
Emily shouted to the ceiling microphone. “Merlin! Identify the Gloucester second in command.”
“The second in command is Lieutenant Commander Kamela Greer.”
Emily turned back to Captain Grey. “I need to get Captain Wicklow out of there now.”
Captain Grey gritted her teeth, and then broadcast to all ships: “Captain Wicklow, you are relieved,” she said in an almost normal voice. “Lieutenant Commander Greer, you are now acting captain. Acknowledge your orders!” Then she slumped back in her chair, eyelids fluttering.
“You’re killing her, goddammit!” Naama Denker hissed. “I need to take her to sickbay now.”
“No,” Emily replied. “She stays here on the bridge until I tell you. I need you to keep her in that chair and keep her awake.”
“If anything happens to her,” Denker spat, “I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Fine, do that,” Emily said absently, her eyes scanning the holo display.
Around her, the bridge crew was staring open mouthed. One of them started to say something, but Chief Gibson cut them off with a sharp gesture.
“Lieutenant Commander Greer, acknowledge your orders!” she barked.
“This is Greer.” Greer didn’t sound very happy. “Orders acknowledged. Standing by to execute.”
Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She would probably hang for this. Well, bugger them if they can’t take a joke. “All ships, fire on the cruisers, then assign chaff and navigation control to Merlin. Execute now!”
More lasers and missiles reached out for the Dominion cruisers, then the chaff bombs burst open, hiding Emily’s ships from the Dominions behind a cloud of foil, but effectively blinding the Victorian sensors. The holo display went to snow.
For a few moments, both sides would be groping about in the dark. But Emily had planned for this.
“Merlin, you have navigation control of the entire Battle Group. Execute.” Then she sat back in her battle harness and contemplated the ruin of her career.
Merlin fired off more chaff rockets, guiding them in close to the Dominion cruisers and exploded them there, further hindering their sensors. The cruisers slowly began to fall back.
Then, Merlin took the entire Battle Group to maximum acceleration, crossing in front of the Dominion cruisers, and curving in an arc to the Victorian’s left flank.
As they crossed in front of the cruisers, the entire Battle Group was hideously vulnerable.
On board the Dominion cruisers, there was elation. They had neatly surprised the Victorian attack force trying to sneak up on the supply ships, scoring at least one kill and inflicting a lot of damage. But the long recharge time for the lasers had prevented them from full exploiting their advantage. Now it looked like the Vickies might be running…or attacking. It was hard to tell through the jammed sensors.
“Targeting radar! We are being hit with targeting radar from our left. Missiles! Numerous missiles incoming. ETA is four minutes.” The Dominion Tactical Officer hastened to activate the ship’s anti-missile defense.
The Dominion ships fell into a frenzy of activity, bringing their ships about to bring as many of the anti-missiles batteries to bear as possible. All their attention was focused on their left flank, and no one noticed the quick glimpses the sensors picked up of the Coldstream Guards flashing across their stern. In moments hundreds of half inch lasers were firing a continuous stream of protective fire in the direction of the incoming missiles. A well-placed anti-matter warhead exploded, destroying many of the incoming drones.
Finally, the Dominion cruisers’ powerful active sensors burned through the ECM of the drones.
“These are not missiles,” the Sensors Officer announced. “These are drones! Only drones.” There was a collective sigh of relief.
It was nothing more than a feint, a feint to keep them off guard while the Vickies escaped. “They’re running,” said the lead captain, with barely suppressed glee. The supply ships were safe and the Vickies were in disarray. It was time to disengage while the Vickies were still licking their wounds. He ordered one last missile volley in the direction they had last seen the Vickies, then began to withdraw.
“Gods of Our Mothers, Emily, are you trying to kill us all?” She looked up to see Alex Rudd, a white bandage wrapped around his head, dried blood still on his face.
On the holo display, they could see the last volley of Dominion missiles exploding behind them. The Repulse reported more damage and fell out of line.
“Did I ever tell you that before I joined the Fleet, I sold furniture for a living?” Emily asked absently. “I wasn’t very good at it.”
Rudd peered at the holo display, trying to make sense out of what he saw. “Did you really cross their front?” he asked, incredulously.
“Yes, and I relieved Captain Wicklow of command, too. I don’t think he was happy.”
Rudd looked at her, aghast.
The tactical display showed them entering the chaff cloud on the right flank of the Dominion cruisers. The path of the entire Battle Group hooked sharply to the right.
““How is the captain?” Rudd asked Naama Denker.
“Alive, no thanks to Lieutenant Tuttle,” Denker snapped. “She’s got a concussion and I think she’s bleeding internally. I need to get her into a medipod and get her stabilized, but I am under orders not to remove her from the bridge.”
Captain Grey opened her eyes and weakly patted Denker on the hand. “In a fight, Naama. Do your best.” Her eyes closed again and her chin rested on her chest.
Rudd shook his head, his eyes shifting from Grey to Emily to the tactical display and back again. “Sweet Gods, Em, if those cruisers see us coming in, they’ll chew us to pieces.”
“I know.”
“We will emerge from the chaff cloud in five seconds,” Merlin warned.
“All ships, prepare to fire everything you’ve got,” Emily shouted.
The Dominion cruisers turned away from the Victorians and accelerated steadily, but it would take time to get up to cruising speed. The holo showed a roiling cloud of EMC snow and chaff behind them and to the sides, but the lead captain could see the precious supply ships to his left, piling on the acceleration, no doubt anxious to put as much distance from the last known position of the Vickies as they could.
The holo display suddenly flashed crimson. An alarm chimed. The captain looked up, annoyance battling with alarm.
“Well, what is it?” he snapped.
They came out of the chaff within six hundred miles of the DUC cruisers. Almost sitting on them. “Fire!” Emily shouted. “Fire and reload and fire at will. Merlin, fire decoy drones. Right down their throats!”
Surprised as they were, the Dominion ships reacted swiftly, pouring laser and missile fire back at the on-rushing Victorian war ships. The frigate Mt. McKinley shuddered and rolled over, tumbling end over end. Life pods popped out of its hull, but there were pitifully few. Her sister frigate Annapurna lost huge chucks of her hull to an anti-matter missile. Air and bodies streamed out. A second missile hit made it spin clockwise like a child’s top. One solitary life pod emerged from the chaos, only to be holed by a laser.
Both the Victorian and Dominion crews raced to reload missiles and recharge lasers. The longer recharge time for the Dominions spelled the difference; the surviving Victorians fired three dozen lasers into the enemy ships, then launched another missile volley.
Three of the DUC cruisers fell silent. The fourth, which had turned away sooner, continued its desperate acceleration, popping chaff and decoys behind it, and made its escape.
“Damage report?”
“We’ve got sixty two dead, many injured. Missile batteries 4, 5, 9 and 12 are out. Laser turret 3 is down, but should be back up soon. All six engines operable, but Engine 2 will need some work as soon as we can get at it. Life Support systems are satisfactory, but the moisture scrubbers got knocked out in that first attack, so it is going to be pretty damp in here real soon.” This was Seaman Partridge, barely old enough to grow a beard, standing in for the Systems Officer, who was injured or dead, Emily didn’t know which.
Emily turned weary eyes on the three Dominion supply ships, which only now realized they were on a course toward the enemy rather than away from it.
Emily opened a com line to them. “This is Her Majesty’s Ship New Zealand. You have thirty seconds to get to your life boats and get clear, then we’ll destroy your ships.”
The captain of one of the supply ships called back. “You can’t do this. We have wounded. We need more time.”
Emily’s left hand was shaking. She put it under her thigh and sat on it. She felt eerily disconnected, as if she were watching herself from a distance. Keep it together, Emily.
“You want more time?” she said acidly. “You have invaded my Sector, killed my Queen and attacked us without provocation or mercy, and now you tell me you want more time? Fine, then, I will give you time to put your wounded into your life boats and give you safe passage, but on the condition that you tell me where the other supply vessels are. Surely you have their coordinates.”
His eyes shifted sideways, then back to her. “I’m not required to tell you-”
“So be it. All ships, prepare to launch on my mark,” Emily ordered crisply. Now her right hand was shaking, too. “Five, four, three-”
“My God, where is your humanity?” the supply ship captain cried. “We’re defenseless.”
“You tell me where those other supply ships are and I’ll see if I can find my humanity,” Emily snapped back. “You are out of time, Captain. Last chance to save your crew.”
He glared at her, then nodded abruptly, shoulders slumping.
“We have the coordinates of the other Dominion supply ships,” Emily broadcast to the other Coldstream Guard ships. “They are five thousand miles away, below our plane of advance. We are going to attack them, then find our way back to the Atlas.”
Time was the critical factor now. The Dominion cruiser that got away would alert Bogey One and reinforcements would be coming. They had to do this quickly. But this time, Emily intended to go in smart. She sent one flight of ten reconnaissance drones in front of her, and behind them, but six hundred miles above their plane of advance, she positioned forty decoy drones. She brought them up to cruising speed and then let them coast, powered down and virtually invisible to anything but active sensors.
Then she sat back to wait. Beside her, Naama Denker knelt beside the unconscious Captain Grey, monitoring her vitals. “She needs to be in a medipod,” Denker said sternly.
Emily shook her head. “If she goes to sickbay, command will pass to Captain Wicklow. The Captain told me not to let that happen.
“If she dies, command will pass too,” Denker said coldly.
Alex Rudd drifted in again, head still bandaged and looking pale.
“Are you here to relieve me, Alex?” she asked. She hated the thought of it, yet at the same time it would be a tremendous relief to hand over responsibility to someone else.
Rudd shook his head. “I keep getting dizzy spells and have to lie down. Probably got a concussion. Anyway, you’re doing fine.” He looked at her, chewing his lip. “Did you really relieve Captain Wicklow of his command?”
She shrugged. “I needed Merlin to coordinate a time-on-target attack. Wicklow refused to yield control. There wasn’t time to debate it.”
Rudd wearily rubbed his forehead. Wicklow was known for treating is subordinates ruthlessly. He never forgot a slight, no matter how small. And he had friends in Court, influential friends who were rumored to be close to the Queen’s brother, the Duke of Kent. “If he finds out it was you, Emily…”
Emily shrugged again. She had already figured out that much. “I’m going to nail those Dominion supply ships, Alex. After that, well…”
Rudd looked around the deck. There was broken glass and blood smears everywhere. “Not much like the simulations, is it?”
Emily smiled wanly. “Real blood.”
On the Dominion command ship, Admiral Mello looked up in alarm as Jodi Pattin joined him, white faced.
“We just received a courier drone from the supply ships you were using as bait. The escorts have been destroyed and the remaining supply ships are at risk.”
Blood drained from Mello’s face. This was to be the decisive battle, by which he would destroy or capture the space station Atlas and defeat Victoria for all time. But he needed to be fully armed. He was almost out of missiles. Without the supply ships he would be reduced to fighting only with lasers by the end of the next engagement.
“Where is Admiral Kaeser?” he raged at Captain Pattin. “I need him here to make an all-out assault on that bloody space station.” He looked up at the holo display — the space station Atlas was so close, so very close. He was being forced into a mistake. He could sense it, but he couldn’t avoid it, only try to cope with it. First he had to save his supply train, then find the damnable plodding Admiral Kaeser and get him into the battle. Then, but only then, could he regain the momentum.
But it grated on him, by God. He turned sourly to Captain Pattin. “Very well. Send forty ships back at emergency speed. Secure the supply ships.” This would leave him with less than forty ships to pursue the Atlas. Not enough. “We will drop back from the Atlas and resume the attack when our task force has returned and when Admiral Kaeser joins us.” The plodding old fool. Hadn’t he warned Hudis that appointing Kaeser was a mistake!
Captain Pattin turned and snapped out orders.
Chief Gibson approached them, a worried look on his face. “Call coming in, Lieutenant Tuttle; it’s Captain Wicklow of the Gloucester. He’s in a bit of a fluster and demands to speak to Captain Grey.”
Emily closed her eyes. Not now.
But Alex Rudd held up a hand. “Communications, open it to me at my station. He stepped over to the Tactical Station, where the camera would not show Captain Grey slumped in her chair. “Yes, Captain Wicklow, may I help you?”
Captain Wicklow’s face was beet red. “Where is Captain Grey? I need to speak to her at once.”
Emily leaned over to Naama Denker. “Can you wake her up, give her a shot or something?” Denker glared at her, but readied a stim shot and administered it to the captain. Grey twitched and groaned.
“The Captain is supervising some emergency repairs, sir,” Rudd told Captain Wicklow.
“Get her. I need to speak to her now.”
Rudd shook his head. “My apologies, Captain Wicklow, she gave orders that she was not to be interrupted unless it was an emergency. May I pass along a message?”
Captain Grey’s eyes opened, but she looked about in confusion. Emily leaned close to her and quickly explained. “We are getting ready to attack a second group of supply ships, but Captain Wicklow has called demanding to speak to you. If he thinks you have been seriously injured, he may take command.”
Captain Grey shook her head as if to clear it. It must have hurt her because she cried out and bit her lip, taking sharp, deep breaths. Her complexion, if possible, became even whiter. Denker hastened forward, but Captain Grey held up her hand. “I’m okay,” she said. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”
On the comm screen, Wicklow’s face grew redder. “I am giving you an order, Lieutenant. Get Captain Grey. Now.”
Captain Grey nodded to Betty McCann, who activated the camera on Grey’s chair. “Captain Wicklow,” she greeted him. “I am surprised to see you on the Gloucester’s bridge since I expressly relieved you of command.” She was struggling not to slur her words and Captain Wicklow looked at her strangely.
“I am calling to protest your order, Captain,” he said. “There were no grounds for relieving me of command. Now that we are going into battle again, I…request that you allow me to resume command.”
“No,” Grey said flatly. “You have been relieved. Lieutenant Commander Greer is now in command. We can discuss this when we return to Atlas, but I have no time for it now.”
“But-”
“My order stands, Captain. You are to confine yourself to quarters.”
Captain Wicklow stared at her with a look of undiluted hatred. “You have not heard the last of this, Captain. Gloucester out.” The screen went blank.
With the call over, Captain Grey deflated like a toy balloon. She breathed deep ragged breaths while Denker fused over her.
“Recon drones have found them!” called out Chief Gibson.
Rudd mentally counted to five, then had Communications call back the Gloucester and asked for Lieutenant Commander Greer. When she appeared, Rudd changed the com setting so that only she would hear him.
“Kamela,” Rudd greeted her. They had been in the same class at the Academy. “We may be going into action in a few minutes. We need to know that you are in control of your command.”
Greer flushed, but nodded. “I’m in a difficult situation here, Alex.”
“I understand,” Rudd replied. “But you are the captain of the Gloucester now, Kamela. Captain Grey expects you to act like it.”
She blew air out her mouth. “I hear you, Alex.”
Rudd nodded. “And Kamela, a word to the wise: Don’t let Wicklow bother Captain Grey again in the middle of an operation. New Zealand out.”
Emily avidly watched the holo display. There were six supply ships accelerating toward Bogey One. Okay, but where were the armed escorts? She studied the display as the recon drones slowly spiraled out from them, using minimal power to try to stay undetected. Then a red triangle appeared, then a second, then several more, formed in a tight, arrow shaped wedge less than two hundred miles from the supply ships. They were flying parallel to the colliers in the same plane of advance. There they were, but what were they? Frigates? Cruisers?
“Talk to me, Chief,” she said to Chief Gibson.
“No active sensors from either the supply ships or the escorts, so it looks like they are trying to sneak away. They know we’re looking for them. The colliers are accelerating hard. They must be red-lining their inertia compensators.”
“What are they?”
“Merlin says three frigates and three destroyers. Can’t tell if they’re missile heavy or laser heavy.”
Emily nodded. “Tactical!” she could see Rudd still at the Tactical Station, thank God. Chief Freidman stood beside him, looking uncertain and fretful. Have to replace him when this is over. It was a shame. Freidman was a twenty year veteran, he deserved better, but he was unraveling before her eyes. “Send the drones around the enemy ships to a point a thousand miles to the front of them. Profile the drones as frigates and destroyers, with a couple of cruisers thrown in. I want the drones to go to active sensors as soon as they are in position, then bring them straight in towards the supply ships. As soon as the escort ships react, have the wasps — ” every other drone carried a small missile instead of a sensor pack — “flush their missiles at the escort.”
“Emily,” Captain Grey whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, Captain?” Emily knelt down beside her.
“Whatever happens, get those supply ships, do you understand?” Grey gasped. “If we take out the supply ships, the Ducks won’t be able to mount a strong attack, Atlas will escape.” She weakly clutched Emily’s arm. “Atlas must escape.” Then her body contorted in a spasm, her eyes rolled up and blood gushed from her mouth; she would have fallen over except for the harness.
“Damn you!” Denker spat at Emily as she frantically inspected the captain. “She’s going to sickbay now whether you like it or not.”
Emily nodded numbly as Captain Grey’s unconscious form was placed on a gurney and hastily wheeled to the lift. For a long time she just sat there, oblivious to the crew and the shifting holo displays, then Chief Gibson was next to her, handing her a cup of coffee. “Lieutenant? Lieutenant, we’ve got to get ready, got to position the drones for the attack.”
Emily nodded, clutching the coffee mug for warmth. She was very cold.
It took three hours to send the drones in a long curving path outside of sensor range of the Dominion ships. Control of the drones at that range was tricky at best, but Rudd compensated by placing relays in a ‘string-of-pearls’ arc behind the drones, and they conveyed his instructions forward to the drones and their reconnaissance reports back to him. It wasn’t perfect, and Emily could hear him cursing as he lost control over first one, then three of the precious drones. One of them actually started to cross in a long diagonal line behind the Dominion ships and they were forced to kill its propulsion for fear of it being seen by enemy sensors.
Still, at that end of the three hours, the thirty seven remaining drones were finally on an intercept course with the Dominion supply ships. “Set the drones to active sensors,” Emily ordered quietly. “Let’s see if we can goose them.” She signaled Betty to open up a channel to the rest of the Coldstream Guards. “In a moment,” she broadcast to the other ships, “the escort for the Dominion supply ships should see our drones coming in from their front. With luck, they’ll think they are Victorian frigates and destroyers and will move forward to protect the colliers. When they do, we will accelerate and take the colliers from behind before they can escape. The colliers are the primary target. Don’t let yourselves get distracted by the escort until the colliers are dead.”
Chief Gibson interrupted. “Skipper! The Dominion escort has picked up the sensor sweep by the drones. They’re accelerating to put themselves between the drones and the supply ships.”
“Status of the supply ships?” Emily asked.
“Beginning to turn, skipper,” Gibson replied. Emily’s eyebrow arched up. That was twice in a row he had called her ‘skipper,’ a name usually reserved for the ship’s captain. “Yes, definitely turning and looks like they will reverse course to come right back at us.”
All of the other Coldstream Guard ships seemed to be obeying her orders without further protest. Good, she thought. Focus on the fight, not on who is giving your orders.
“Have the wasps fire their missiles at the escorts,” she ordered. “I want the escorts focused on their front.” She turned back to the Coldstream Guards channel. “All ships, accelerate to military speed and prepare to fire on the supply ships.” To Rudd at the Tactical Desk: “When will they be in missile range?”
“Six minutes,” he answered, not looking up.
“All ships, the supply ships should be in missile range within six minutes. In six minutes activate targeting sensors,” she said. “New Zealand out.”
“Targeting sensors!” Gibson suddenly shouted. “We’re being hit with S-band targeting sensors!”
Emily was confused. Had the Dominion escorts turned and come back?
“Multiple ships approaching from the northwest. Merlin estimates thirty five to forty war ships. Classified as Dominion. ETA outer missile range in four minutes.”
So, the Dominion had sent reinforcements to protect the supply ships. A few more minutes would have been nice, Emily thought.
On the holo display, the four colliers continued their hard turns, trying to head back to the protection of their escort ships and shield themselves using the escorts’ anti-missile screen. Emily leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. What to do? If she took the time to kill the supply ships, the newly arrived Dominion ships would be on her. But if they didn’t kill the supply ships, none of what they had done would matter and Atlas and the rest of the Home Fleet would perish.
She smiled grimly. Now we’re having fun.
“All ships, surrender tactical command to Merlin and prepare for hard maneuvering!” The holo display had finally displayed up the new threat, a distressingly large cluster of red triangles in the upper left corner, closing on them fast.
On board the Gloucester, Captain Wicklow saw his chance. There was no way the Coldstream Guard could survive an attack by forty Dominion ships. Either Captain Grey was leading them into disaster or — his brow wrinkled in suspicion — or something had happened to Grey. Either way, this was his chance.
Emily was startled to hear a voice over the command net. “Stop!” It was Captain Wicklow on the Gloucester. “All ships, this is Captain Wicklow. I am ordering you to fall back. We are outnumbered and cannot risk any further engagement. Follow me and we’ll make our way back to the Atlas. All ships, acknowledge this order!”
There was a long moment of confused silence, then a confusion of voices as the other captains tried to make sense out of what was going on. She looked at the holo display again.
The new Dominion reinforcements were sweeping in from the northwest, not yet in missile range. The supply ships were turning frantically to the right and the original Dominion escort was now accelerating briskly toward the drones.
In just a few minutes, the supply ships would be totally exposed. Not for long, but long enough. And if they could kill the supply ships, Atlas might stand a chance, and with Atlas, all of Victoria.
“Joe, what the hell are you doing?” It was Captain Rowe of the Bristol.
“I am next in line of command behind Captain Grey,” Wicklow answered calmly. “It is clear that Captain Grey is no longer in command of her ship. She would never have ordered this attack.”
“Gods of our Mothers! Joe, this is no time for-”
“This is precisely the time, Captain Rowe, and I will remind you that I am the senior officer now that Captain Grey is no longer able to command.”
“What do you mean? Captain Grey is-”
“If Captain Grey is still in command, I want her to get on the conference net and confirm her suicidal order. Captain Grey? Captain Grey, if you are able, please confirm your orders at once!”
With a desperate glance at Alex Rudd, Emily thumbed the com button. “This is Lieutenant Tuttle of the New Zealand, Captain Grey is unable to come to the bridge at this time, but I have orders to execute this attack.”
Wicklow smiled to himself, now it would be easy. “I don’t know what you’ve done to Captain Grey, Lieutenant, but in her absence I hereby take command of the Coldstream Guards. To all ships: Fall back now and follow me to Atlas. Confirm your orders or face disciplinary charges!”
Later, Emily was surprised that she hadn’t needed more time to make the decision, but as she listened to Wicklow and mentally compared him to Captain Grey, broken, bleeding and resolute in her duty, there really was no choice.
“Sir, I respectfully must decline your order to retreat as I am already under orders from Captain Grey, who is both superior to you and is my commanding officer.” Even as she said it, Emily felt like she was outside her body, watching herself say someone else’s lines. She was dimly aware that Rudd was staring at her, open-mouthed. From the com screen, twelve faces suddenly stared at her.
“This is insubordination!” Wicklow gritted. Who was this foolish woman?
“Not at all, Sir,” Emily said calmly. “I am obeying my orders. Admiral Douthat ordered us to destroy the enemy supply ships, and Captain Grey ordered me to attack them.”
“Don’t play lawyer with me, Tuttle,” he snapped. He leaned into the camera and pounded his fist against the console. “That was before the Dominion reinforcements arrived. We have to fall back and I will not have my orders questioned by a junior officer.”
“Be that as it may, Captain Wicklow, I will obey my standing orders. The supply ships are our absolute priority, even if it means endangering this attack force. Admiral Douthat was clear on that. In just a few minutes, we will have a window in which to fire on the supply ships. With luck, we will be able to escape from the reinforcements before they get too close.”
Wicklow smiled slightly, and Emily knew then that she had somehow fallen into his trap. “Lieutenant Tuttle, I charge you with insubordination, desertion and cowardness. You are under arrest.”
Emily stared at him incredulously, but her shock gave way to anger. She snapped her fingers at Chief Gibson and pointed at her eyes. Gibson looked startled and glanced at Alex Rudd for confirmation.
Rudd nodded, looking unhappy. “Do it, Chief.” A moment later the New Zealand’s targeting sensors lashed out and enveloped the Gloucester. Lt. Commander Rudd barked: “Weapons Officer, prepare to fire missiles and lasers on my command!”
Captain Wicklow looked down at his instruments, then up to Emily, his expression furious. “Are you mad? You dare to put targeting sensors on the Gloucester, one of Her Majesty’s ships?”
There was no turning back, Emily knew. “If you try to interfere with my lawful orders, I will take any steps necessary to stop you. I ask you to stand down, sir. Will you comply?” On screen, she raised her hand to give the signal to fire.
Wicklow glowered at her. “Very well, Tuttle, enjoy your little game, but at the end of the day, I will see you hang for this.” Then, addressing the other captains, Wicklow said: “As senior officer of the Coldstream Guards, I am ordering all of you to join me as I return to the space station Atlas, so that we may rejoin the Home Fleet. Anyone who refuses will face charges. Gloucester out.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then,
“Gloucester, this is Bristol. Unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”
“Gloucester, this is Australia. We are also unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”
“Gloucester, this is Perth. Unable to comply due to standing orders from New Zealand.”
And on they went, all except the destroyer Canberra, until the last ship, the tiny frigate Everest, issued its reply as well. “Gloucester, this is Her Majesty’s Ship Everest, Captain Johanna Fuller speaking. I’m sticking with the New Zealand. We’ve come too far to shirk our duty now.”
Captain Wicklow’s face grew dark as he stared at each of them in turn. “You shame the uniform you wear,” he said at last. “And I will see to it that none of you wear it much longer.”
A minute later, the Gloucester curved away from the small clutch of Coldstream Guards, dutifully followed by the destroyer Canberra. In a few moments they were gone. The remaining eight ships stayed in formation around the New Zealand.
Emily slumped back against her chair, then blew out a breath. “Just one big, happy family,” she said.
“This is not exactly how I pictured the end of my career,” Alex Rudd said mournfully.
“Private call from the Bristol,” Betty McCann announced. “It’s Captain Rowe for you, Lieutenant Tuttle.” Emily shot a glance at Rudd, who shrugged.
Captain Rowe’s face appeared on the screen. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “You’re playing a very dangerous game here, young lady.”
Emily looked back at him levelly. Alex Rudd came and sat beside her.
“Alex,” Captain Rowe greeted him. Emily remembered that Alex Rudd had started out as the junior Tactical Officer on the Bristol. Rowe turned his attention back to Emily, fixing her with a hard stare.
“No bullshit, Lieutenant. Is Julie Grey dead?”
Emily shook her head. “No, sir, but she’s badly injured.”
He looked at her appraisingly. “Does she know what you’re doing?”
She didn’t want to lie to this man. “Captain Grey gave me specific orders to destroy the enemy’s supply ships, sir. She did not want to give up command to Captain Wicklow for fear he would not fulfill the mission. As to the details, I will tell her when she regains consciousness.” If she regained consciousness.
“Captain Wicklow is within his rights to have your head on a platter, you know that?”
“We have to destroy the Dominion supply train,” she said evenly. “We are out of time. I have a plan in place. Captain Wicklow is content to break contact and run.” Beside her, Rudd nodded in agreement. Rowe’s eyes flickered to him.
“You in on this charade, Alex?”
“All the way,” Rudd replied firmly. “Captain Grey was using Emily’s plan when she was injured in the first attack.”
Chief Gibson was suddenly standing beside them. “I’m in this, too, Captain Rowe.”
Rowe’s face split into a broad grin. “I’ll be dammed, it’s Chief Gibson, the scourge of new lieutenants everywhere. I thought they retired your sorry ass, Chief.”
“Can’t get rid of me, Captain. Fleet’d fall apart in a heartbeat.” He frowned. “Captain, I was with Lieutenant Tuttle when she took out those two freighters that buggered the Invincible and Isle of Man. If it weren’t for her, Lionheart woulda been royally screwed. She’s right smart and she’s plenty fierce. With all respect to Captain Wicklow, nuthin’ timid about her.”
Rowe considered for along moment, then pursed his lips. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but okay, Tuttle, your show. I’ll do my best to keep Wicklow off you, but fair warning, when all this is over, you’re going to have to pay the piper. And Alex, you’ll be right there with her.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said, not daring to believe what she just heard.
“Good luck. Bristol out.”
Emily took a long, shuddering breath. Get back in the game, girl. “Sensors! Status report! Where are the escorts and where are the supply ships?”
Chief Gibson pushed young Partridge aside and scanned his readings. “Dominion escorts are firing on our decoys. In another minute or so they’ll burn through the ECM and realize they’ve been suckered. The Dominion supply ships just passed into our missile range, but still at extreme range. They’re not evading yet, so I don’t think they know we’re here.”
“Merlin, assume tactical control of all weapons!”
“I have tactical control of all weapons systems,” Merlin confirmed.
Emily used a wand to mark an area between the Victorian ships and the Dominion group rushing toward them. “I want light chaff cover throughout this area.”
“That is within parameters,” Merlin replied.
”As soon as the chaff is placed, I want EMP bursts here and here, and I want proximity bomblets fired continuously into this area.”
“Munitions levels are low, Lieutenant. We have no more than eighty missiles worth of proximity explosives.”
“Then that will have to do,” she said. “Have lasers recharged?”
Merlin paused, then: “Lasers will complete recharging in thirty three seconds.”
Emily described the maneuver they were going to make. It would look like a backwards question mark, swinging the battle group away from the oncoming bogies and near the supply ships, then continue curving back the way they had come. “Fire lasers at the supply ships when we are at our closest point. If sensors don’t show kills, shoot whatever missiles are available.”
“Incoming missiles!” Gibson warned. “Merlin estimates four hundred plus missiles coming at us from the new bogey. ETA fifteen minutes!”
Emily took a moment to dictate a message to First Fleet to give Admiral Douthat a status report, downloaded it and launched the courier drone. Finished, she pulled her battle harness tight. “All ships, set close defense systems to full automatic! Radical maneuvering in ten seconds!” She took a deep breath. The white, strained faces of her bridge crew stared back at her. “Merlin, commence the firing and maneuvering sequence!” This was going to be very close.
Exhausted and spent, Emily fell back into the confines of the battle harness. She willed herself to relax, but then the New Zealand abruptly accelerated to full military speed and snapped to the right. The rest of the Coldstream Guards followed, as if joined at the hip.
“Closing on the supply ships,” Chief Gibson choked out. “Will be at our closest point in six minutes, forty seconds. The missiles from the Dominion reinforcements will reach us in about thirteen minutes.”
Emily caught Rudd’s eyes. He nodded. “Looks like we may be late for dinner,” he said calmly.
Emily worked at giving him a smile, but didn’t think she’d managed it. Macho bullshit, she thought. She calculated that each of her remaining ships had thirty three missiles chasing it. None of us are getting out of this alive. And the thought, the blunt acknowledgement of it, somehow gave her peace.