Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (27 page)

Ahead of them, the alien fleet grew clearer on the display as the drones passed through its formation, emitting nothing to betray their presence.  Four carriers alone were a significant threat, James knew, and the presence of smaller alien ships with plasma guns would prevent him and his fleet from entering close range.  But then, at close range, the aliens had the advantage.  It was far better to stand off and hammer the aliens with long-range fighter strikes ...

But at their speed, they can probably force us into a close engagement if they wish
, he thought, grimly. 
Those ships are faster than ours
.

“Twenty minutes to optimal range,” Farley reported.  “They’re still showing no sign of being aware of our presence.”

“Good,” James said.  He felt sweat trickling down his back as he leaned forward.  “Tell the CAG that I want all fighters to launch as soon as the Admiral gives the word ...”

The display flared with sudden red light.  “Shit!”

***

“They pinged us, sir,” Lopez reported.  “I think we stumbled across a passive warning platform; it just went active long enough to sweep us.”

Ted sucked in a breath.  One of the frigates was already locking weapons on the platform, but the damage was done.  Clearly, the aliens placed more faith in remote platforms than humanity ... and he had to admit it had paid off for them.  The fleet had been detected and the sweep had probably revealed everything the aliens wanted to know about its size and composition.

“Launch fighters,” he ordered.  There was no point in sneaking around any longer.  The aliens knew they were there.  “All mass drivers are to commence firing.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said.

“Good,” Ted said.  He settled back in his chair, trying to remain calm.  At this range, the aliens would know they’d detected the human ships within seconds, at best.  And then they’d react.  But what would they do?  “Launch a second set of drones towards the planet.  I want to know just how they’re reacting to us.”

***

“Launch fighters,” Kurt said.  “I say again, launch fighters!”

The rooks had done well, part of his mind noted, but being bloodied always helped pilots to overcome their last lingering issues.  All six squadrons of starfighters streamed out of their launch tubes without any problems, then shook themselves down into formation without more than a handful of instructions from the Wing Commanders.  Kurt felt a sudden stab of guilt as he thought of Rose, out there risking her life while he was safe in the Fighter Control Centre, then pushed it aside.  If it had been up to him, he’d be out there too.

He turned his attention to the alien carriers and frowned.  The aliens were launching fighters, but instead of angling out to attack the humans at once they were holding their ground and waiting.  Waiting, he asked himself, for what?  Were they weighing the odds of successfully defeating the humans or were they considering something else?

Or were they just bait in a trap?

The alien starfighters spread out, then opened fire on the mass driver projectiles as they flashed towards the alien fleet.  They were alarmingly successful, Kurt noted absently; a handful of projectiles were missed, but none of them struck home.  Perhaps the aliens had just decided not to waste their firepower on harmless projectiles.  Behind the starfighters, however, the alien starships kept altering position.  Clearly, they weren't taking anything for granted.

“Kurt,” Admiral Smith said, as his image appeared in the display.  “The starfighters are to take the offensive and engage the alien craft.”

“Aye, sir,” Kurt said.  He tapped his console, issuing orders.  “It feels good to have the advantage in numbers as well as surprise.”

“Yes,” the Admiral agreed.  “But we shouldn't get overconfident.”

***

“The aliens are pulling back,” Lopez reported.  “They're declining to engage us.”

Ted wasn't too surprised.  For once, humanity had a colossal advantage and he intended to use it ruthlessly.  The aliens weren't stupid.  It would make far more sense, he knew, for them to pull back and escape, then watch from the edge of the star system or the next tramline for an opportunity to go back on the offensive.  Pitting four carriers up against six was asking for trouble, particularly when humanity held several other advantages too.

But he had no intention of allowing the aliens a chance to escape.  Four carriers ... no one knew how many carriers the aliens had, but he was fairly sure that four carriers would be a significant chunk of their mobile firepower.  Taking them out now, while he had a chance to engage with superior odds, would make it harder for the aliens to retake the system later.  He couldn't allow them to slip past without at least
some
attempt to take out their ships.

The aliens knew the problem as well as he did, he saw, as their starfighters assembled.  There was nothing subtle about their formation, not now.  They just wanted to intercept the humans and drive them away from the capital ships.  Ted wondered, absently, if the aliens had figured out how to separate the bombers from the fighters, then decided it was unlikely to matter in the long run.  The odds favoured the aliens when it came to shooting down incoming missiles.

“The mass drivers are to keep firing,” he added.  They had no shortage of projectiles – and a few hours near an asteroid would provide all the additional ammunition they needed.  “If we can keep the aliens concentrating on multiple threats, so much the better.”

On the display, the starfighters were rapidly closing in on the alien formation.  Ted couldn't help noticing that the rooks had improved enormously ... carefully, his eyes sought out the icon marking Prince Henry’s starfighter.  He muttered a curse under his breath as he realised that the Prince was going to be in the thick of the fighting once again, then dismissed the thought with some irritation.  The Prince had wanted to be a true pilot.  He'd managed to get his wish – and risk his life in the process.

We should all be that lucky
, Ted thought, ruefully.  From what Fitzwilliam had said, he rather liked Prince Henry. 
Not everyone gets what they want in life
.

He
was
an aristocrat now; technically, he'd been one from the moment he’d been knighted.  But it was different, he suspected, for someone born into the Royal Family.  They rarely had a chance to do anything, let alone prove themselves.  It was odd; on one hand, the aristocracy headhunted men and women who had proved themselves, while it tended to be less sanguine about letting its children prove themselves.  Or was it just the Royal Family?

“Admiral,” Lopez said, “the orbital stations are launching starfighters.”

Ted nodded, pushing his thoughts aside and switching the display back to examine Target One.  It looked as though the aliens had screwed up,  but he knew better than to take that for granted.  There were no real figures available on just how much endurance their starfighters possessed, yet everyone agreed they had more than human starfighters.  It was quite possible that the aliens thought they could engage the human fleet from the rear while their carriers reversed course and attacked from the front.  And they might be right.

“The CSP is to remain in place,” he ordered, softly.  “If the aliens are trying to pincer us, we'll soon know about it.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“We’ve got them on the run,” North snapped.  “Now we just have to run them down.”

“Don’t get cocky,” the Wing Commander snapped back.  “They’re not panicking, they’re withdrawing in good order.”

Henry couldn't disagree with her.  The alien carriers were retreating – slowly, but surely – and yet their starfighters were carefully positioning themselves to block the human advance.  It suggested they didn't want to pull back too quickly, just avoid contact as long as possible ... but it wouldn't be very long at all.  No carrier could match a starfighter’s rate of acceleration. 

“Prepare to engage,” the Wing Commander ordered.  “Concentrate on scattering their formation rather than punching through to the carriers.  Leave them to the bombers.”

“Understood,” Henry said.  The other pilots chimed in seconds later.  “We’re ready.”

He found himself wondering just what the alien commander was thinking.  The slow retreat suggested either a trap or a simple bout of indecision.  If the aliens held their ground, they would be destroyed; if the aliens retreated, their commander would be accused of lacking Moral Fibre.  Did the aliens worry about reputations and suchlike too?  He honestly didn’t know, but it seemed likely.  The alien commander might want to put up a good show for his superiors without actually risking his ships.  But it was already too late for that.

Carefully, he activated the automatic gunner as the alien starfighters lunged towards the human craft, then concentrated on evading incoming fire.  As always, the alien starfighters filled space with countless bolts of deadly plasma, with two human pilots vanishing in tiny explosions because they’d accidentally dodged straight
into
a streak of light.  He noted one of the alien craft vanishing as his starfighter scored a direct hit, then swooped around as one of the aliens targeted him personally.  Moments later, North picked the alien off and let out a cheer.  Henry grinned and made a mental note to buy North a beer during their next period of shore leave.

“The Japanese are breaking through,” the Wing Commander said.  “Cover them.”

The aliens had made the same observation, Henry realised, as he broke off from his engagement and swooped after the Japanese bombers.  Almost all of their fighters were racing for the bombers, ignoring the human starfighters snapping at their heels.  Seven Japanese bombers were wiped out in quick succession, then the aliens scattered as the human starfighters blew right through them.  Enough Japanese bombers survived to mount an attack run on the closest alien carrier, but only one missile managed to detonate.  Damaged, bleeding plasma, the alien carrier continued to limp away from the battlefield.

“They’re tougher than they look,” an American voice observed.

Henry barely heard him as one of the alien pilots locked on him and opened fire, forcing Henry to throw his craft into a dizzying series of spirals and evasive tricks.  The alien was good, he realised numbly, good enough to almost burn his craft out of space twice.  By the time the alien broke off in search of easier prey, his uniform was completely soaked in sweat.

“Line up on me,” the Wing Commander ordered.  “Another flight of bombers is coming through.”

Henry nodded, then fell into a protective position around the American bombers.  The aliens, depleted slightly, seemed hesitant for a long moment, then swooped down on the bombers, forcing the human fighters to cover them.  Henry picked off one of the alien fighters, then dodged another fighter as the American bombers started to launch their missiles.  Moments later, an alien carrier had been blown into flaming debris.

“That’s two,” an American voice carolled.  “We
got
the ...”

His voice cut off with a sudden terrible finality.  Henry didn't need to glance at the overall display to realise that the American had been killed, picked off in a moment of carelessness or distraction.  He gritted his teeth as the recall order came in, summoning them back to the carriers.  Like some of the other pilots, he wanted to argue, but there was no time.  Besides, the planet-side fighters were closing in on the human fleet from the rear.  The CSP might well be overwhelmed ...

***

“The alien starfighters are closing in,” Farley reported.  “They’re going after the American carriers.”

James nodded, unsure if the aliens knew they were targeting Americans or if they were merely going after the biggest ships in the human fleet.  Not, in the end, that it mattered, he knew.  One good strafing run and there would be nothing left of the carrier, but an expanding ball of plasma.  And the human fleet would be seriously dented.

“Order our guns to cover them,” he ordered.

He gritted his teeth as the storm broke over
Franklin Roosevelt
.  The Americans fought back savagely, surprising the aliens with the plasma cannons attached to the carrier’s hull.  They hadn't expected anything of the sort, James realised, even though they should have been prepared for it.  But it wasn't enough to force the aliens to pull back.  A hundred plasma bolts slammed into the carrier’s hull, burning through her thin armour and blazing through her innards.  James didn't want to
imagine
what sort of hell her interior had become, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the carrier died. 

“Get to the lifepods,” he muttered, urgently.  The Americans might be saved if they abandoned ship.  “Get to the lifepods ...”

The American carrier exploded.  For a moment, the alien craft hung in space – a gesture of respect or contempt; James couldn't decide which – and then went hunting for other targets.  The remaining American  fighters tore into them, followed rapidly by French and British fighters from the CSP.  James let out a sigh of relief as the aliens scattered, then either fell back to the planet or died under vengeful human fire.  But they'd already scored one big victory, he knew.  Five thousand American spacers had just died.

“
Franklin
is gone, sir,” Farley said.  “I’m picking up a handful of lifepods.”

“Detail a SAR team to pick them up,” James ordered.  The aliens didn't make a habit of going after SAR operations, as far as anyone knew, but most of the previous battles hadn't lasted long enough for anyone to find out for sure.  “And then bring them back to the ship.”