Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (16 page)

Susan frowned, inwardly.  Her experience of actual combat was limited, but it struck her that Admiral Boskone was taking a serious risk in splitting his forces.  The Americans might just manage to catch one of the formations and bring superior force - vastly superior force - to bear on it before the other formation managed to intervene.  But it wasn't her place to say so.

“I don’t expect to be able to
keep
the system,” Admiral Boskone added, dryly.  “But I do want to take out the facilities before we have to leave.”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Blake said.

“I believe they’ll concentrate on defending Marina itself,” Admiral Boskone said.  “Accordingly, you’ll take command of Churchill-One and attack the gas giant facilities with maximum force. 
Vanguard
will lead a fleet consisting of three cruisers, two escort carriers and five destroyers.  The remainder of the fleet will attack Marina itself and attempt to pin down the Americans.  We will not, of course, be aiming for a decisive battle.”

“Because it would lead to our decisive defeat,” Susan said, before she could stop herself.

Admiral Boskone smiled.  “Quite right,” he agreed.  “Churchill-Two will be fighting a long-range engagement, rather than pushing forward as hard as possible.  The Americans will find themselves forced to remain in place, rather than advancing themselves to deal with you.”

It sounded workable, Susan conceded.  The time delay would actually work in their favour, for once.  Even if the Americans tracked the British ships as soon as they came out of the tramline, they’d still need to commit themselves very quickly if they wanted to save the gas giant’s facilities.  She glanced at the display, running through the calculations in her head.  It would take at least an hour for a signal from the gas giant to reach Marina ... and four hours for any ships,
leaving
Marina, to reach the gas giant.  And that was the
optimistic
scenario, for the Americans.  It might easily take them longer to realise the danger.

She glanced at the admiral, feeling a flicker of admiration.  If he wasn't planning to actually
keep
the system, and he didn't have the firepower to be certain of victory, his options opened up.  Wrecking the system’s industries wouldn’t do any immediate damage to Marina, but it would make it harder for America to continue the war until victory.  Or, at least, that was what he would argue in front of the umpires.

We always assumed that wars would be short
, she thought.  It had been a prevalent assumption, back before First Contact. 
But the First Interstellar War lasted over two years, with both sides capturing and recapturing dozens of star systems
.

“Your precise orders are on the chip,” Admiral Boskone said.  “I will, of course, expect you to adapt them to your situation, then forward the orders to your subordinate commanders.  Set up a provisional chain of command too, in case something happens to
Vanguard
.  I'm sure she’ll draw a great deal of fire.”

“The Yanks did try to sneak up on us, sir,” Captain Blake said.  There was nothing in his tone to suggest he’d been in his cabin while Susan held command.  “Our sensors picked them up before they could get into firing position.”

“Very good,” Admiral Boskone said.  He nodded towards the fleet lists.  “But I’m sure the Americans would happily trade a cruiser for a battleship.”

Susan nodded.  It was cruel to suggest that a starship, even a small cruiser, was expendable, but it was true.  The Royal Navy had taken eight years to construct
Vanguard
, learning a great deal about the process along the way; the United States Navy would have taken less than a year to produce the cruiser.  By any reasonable standard, the trade-off would have been heavily-weighted in America’s favour.

Particularly when all that’s really at stake are bragging rights
, Susan thought.  By long tradition, the crews of ships that were ‘destroyed’ in war games were the ones who bought the beer afterwards. 
Admiral Pournelle won’t even have to consider truly sacrificing the ship
.

Admiral Boskone rose.  “Your XO has promised me a tour of the ship,” he said.  “I’ll expect a report from you, Captain, by the end of the day, detailing your planned formation and chain of command.  Once we start the games, you’ll be on your own.”

Susan nodded.  Once the two formations had diverged, any orders from the admiral would be hopelessly out of date by the time they arrived.  Captain Blake would hold formal command ...

She groaned, inwardly.  She could cover for him on the bridge, but it would be far harder when she needed to issue orders to the rest of the formation.  They’d be in Captain Blake’s name, yet if one of the commanding officers needed to talk to him personally ... she cursed, inwardly, as she rose too.  She'd need to give the admiral his tour, then hurry back to inspect the captain’s planned dispositions.  Mason would need to hold the conn for a great deal longer.

At least we rotated other officers through the slot
, she thought, silently congratulating herself on her foresight. 
He can be relieved if necessary
.

“We’ll start with the bridge, Admiral,” she said, out loud.  “If you’ll come with me ...?”

Chapter Fifteen

“Long-range sensors and IFFs confirm it,” Lieutenant Charlotte Watson reported.  “We have an audience.”

“Then we’d better not fall on our faces in front of them,” Susan said.  She'd known that the war games weren't exactly a secret, but the presence of seven starships from seven different nations, watching the proceedings, was more than a little alarming.  Britain and America wouldn't be the only nations who’d draw lessons from the games.  “Communications, send them the standard warning.”

“Aye, Commander,” Parkinson said.  “Message sent.”

Susan nodded.  Lacking an Earth-type world, Marina was technically an open system, even though the Americans had a solid claim on both Marina itself and the gas giant.  There were no legal excuses for chasing the watching ships out of the system, even if the war gamers had had the time to play hide and seek.  Perhaps it would have been better to hold the games in the New Washington or Britannia systems, but one of the other objectives was to test the fleet’s logistics skills.  They couldn't do
that
in a settled system.

They won’t be able to see the data we exchange
, she thought, as she settled back into the command chair and glanced at the timer.  Thirty minutes until kick-off, when the first war game would begin in earnest. 
And they won’t have seen the pre-game planning sessions either
.

She forced herself to wait, resisting the temptation to review the operation plan for the umpteenth time.  Thankfully, Mason and the tactical staff had been able to review it and offer suggestions of their own, but it had still taken her longer than she’d wished to complete the document and forward it to Admiral Boskone.  Captain Blake had been no help whatsoever; he’d sat in his cabin and drunk his wine, she assumed, while she did the work.  And the hell of it was that she almost wished he’d
stay
there while the war game played out.

“Captain on the bridge,” Mason said.

Susan cursed, inwardly, as the hatch hissed open behind her.  She rose from the command chair and turned; the captain was striding into the compartment, looking supremely confident as he nodded to her, then took the command chair.  It wasn't going to be easy, Susan realised, when it became clear he wasn't going to take the conn.  The bridge crew wouldn't know who to look to for orders. 

And we’re not departing Earth this time
, she thought. 
We’re going into battle against a cunning foe
.

“Captain,” she said.  “You have the conn.”

Captain Blake blinked, his confidence clearly flickering out of existence.  “I have the conn,” he said.  “Remain on the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” Susan said.  She would have preferred to go to the secondary bridge - it was her duty station, if the shit hit the fan - but there was no point in arguing.  The post-battle assessment would make the captain look very bad, if they lost, yet it probably couldn't be blamed on her.  “The war game will start in” - she glanced at the timer - “ten minutes.”

“Excellent,” the captain said.  If Susan hadn't been able to see the undertone of concern, even fear, she might have relaxed.  As it was, all she could really do was worry.  “Inform me when the games begin in earnest.”

Susan sighed inwardly and took her seat, keeping one eye on the long-range sensor display as two new starships blinked into existence.  The Russians had kept a low profile for the past ten years, but now there were no less than
three
Russian ships watching the war games.  Susan had heard rumours that the Russians had been building up their military,
despite
the staggering losses they’d taken in the First Interstellar War, yet there had been very little hard data.  Now, it was clear the Russians were
very
interested in watching the games.

The timer reached zero.  A low buzzing sound ran through the compartment.

“The exercise has now begun,” Susan said.  She keyed her console.  “Exercise protocols; I say again, exercise protocols.  All duty stations confirm.”

The captain gave her an odd look, which she ignored.  Regulations didn't stipulate that
all
duty stations had to sound off, but Susan knew it was better not to take chances.  Lighting up an American starship that was trying to creep up on
Vanguard
was one thing; accidentally blowing her out of space was quite another.  Even if it didn't start another human-on-human war, it would be the end of the entire crew’s career.  She didn't dare risk a blue-on-blue.

“Signal from the flag, sir,” Parkinson said.  “We are to proceed as directed.”

Susan glanced at the captain, who nodded.  “Set course for the gas giant,” she ordered.  The Americans had promised not to track the ships as they made their way away from Marina, but in their place she would have been able to make a very good guess at their location.  “Best possible speed.”

“Aye, Commander,” Reed said.  “We will enter firing range in five hours.”

“Good,” Susan said.

She glanced down at her console.  All duty stations had confirmed that the exercise protocols were up and running, ensuring there was no risk of a friendly fire incident.  There would be no shortage of arguments after the engagement, she was sure, which the umpires would have to sort out, but at least there would be no real danger. 
Vanguard’s
crew might cover themselves with glory, or wind up with egg on their faces ... she pushed the thought aside, annoyed.  Right now, a friendly fire incident was the least of her worries.

“Maintain course and speed,” she ordered, turning her attention to the display.  “Inform me the moment any American ships are detected.”

She sighed inwardly.  Sneaking up on the gas giant would be easy, but Admiral Boskone had specifically ordered the fleet not to use any cloaking devices or stealth systems.  She wasn't sure if he wanted to keep the latest cloaking devices secret from the Americans, or if he intended to use them later, yet it hardly mattered.  The Americans would have no trouble detecting the task force as it approached its target.

Unless he’s hoping the Americans will attempt to defend the gas giant and discover, too late, that their homeworld is under attack
, she thought.  It made a certain kind of sense, although it had a whiff of the trying-to-be-clever stench she recalled from the academy.  Grand plans that depended on the enemy reacting in a certain way, she’d been taught, were doomed to spectacular failure. 
But then, if they get caught between two fires, they might not be able to react in time to deal with even one of them
.

She tossed the possibilities around in her head, while keeping an eye on the captain.  She’d half-expected him to slip back into his Ready Room, but instead he stayed on the bridge, just like a
real
captain.  Susan felt a bitter stab of pain, mixed with an emotion she didn't care to identify.  There was something to be said for being the
de facto
commanding officer, but, at the same time, it wasn't her responsibility. 
She
was just meant to take as much as possible of the burden of running the ship off his shoulders.

“I’m picking up two cruisers orbiting the gas giant,” Charlotte said, suddenly.  “Both of them just lit up their drives.”

Susan glanced at the display.  Unless the Americans had developed something completely new, the cruisers had shown themselves almost as soon as they should have seen
Vanguard
and her escorts.  It made little sense, which worried her.  She’d have been happier if she’d come up with an explanation for their behaviour, even if it were wrong. As it was, they’d given up the advantage of stealth for nothing.  Neither ship would last long enough to get into firing range.

“Launch a spread of probes beyond the screen,” she ordered.  The beancounters would howl -
again
- but she was damned if she was allowing the Americans to distract her from another threat.  “And monitor sensors for any signs of turbulence.”

“They may be defending the planet,” the captain said.  He sounded hesitant.  “Admiral Boskone predicted as much.”

Susan frowned.  It was still too early to get any solid lock on the remainder of the American fleet - or, for that matter, Admiral Boskone.  Theoretically, Churchill-Two was blazing towards Marina at unimaginable speeds, but there was no way to know for sure, now the formation was out of sensor range.  The icons on the display were really nothing more than guesses.

But reasonable ones
, she told herself. 
The Yanks wouldn't have sought a deep-space engagement unless it couldn't be avoided
.

“We have to be careful,” she said.  “Who knows what’s lying in wait for us?”

She leaned back in her chair and forced herself to relax.  The gas giant was growing larger on the display, but it would still be nearly an hour before they could engage their targets.  Maybe the American ships intended to bug out, leaving the facilities to be destroyed.  No one would ever accuse the Americans of not being brave - there was no shortage of glorious last stands in American history - yet standing and fighting would only add two destroyed cruisers to the list of smashed facilities.  She couldn't have blamed the American commanders for bugging out in search of reinforcements.

“I’m not picking up any additional ships near the gas giant,” Charlotte reported.  “But all of the facilities are altering position.”

The captain looked up.  “Running?”

“No, sir,” Susan said. 
Vanguard
could give a cloudscoop a twenty-four hour head start and still catch it within an hour.  “They’re trying to evade any KEWs we might be launching.”

Which isn't something I’d care to try in those facilities
, she added, silently. 
Their drives are little more than glorified station-keeping reaction thrusters.

She glanced at the tactical console.  “Commander Mason, do you have a firing pattern locked into the computers?”

“Aye, Commander,” Mason said.  He sounded confident, although if the facilities continued a random evasion pattern they were likely to be hard to hit at such a distance.  “We can smash most of the facilities with buckshot unless they have some pretty good point defence ...”

“Captain,” Charlotte interrupted.  “Both American cruisers just blasted out of orbit.  They’re heading straight for Marina.”

Susan blinked.  It looked almost as though the Americans couldn’t make up their minds.  And yet, they’d had ample time to run the calculations and come up with a plan.  Hell, they could have traded long-range fire with the squadron before turning and running for their lives.  A shot or two fired for the honour of the flag would look better on the after-action reports.

We’re being screwed
, she thought. 
Something isn’t right
.

“Launch a second set of probes,” she ordered.  “And then order the screen to spread out and deploy active sensor nodes.  There’s no point in trying to hide.  They already know where we are.”

“Aye, Commander,” Charlotte said.  Parkinson echoed her a second later.  “I ...”

She broke off.  “New contacts,” she said, as red icons blinked on the display.  “Starfighters, right behind us!”

Susan stared.  Starfighters couldn't cloak.  They were simply too small to carry
any
form of stealth gear; hell, their drives were easy to detect even at long range.  And yet, the Americans had somehow slipped over a
hundred
starfighters into range without being detected.  How the hell had they done that?

She glanced at the captain.  He was frozen, staring at the display as though he couldn't believe his eyes.  Susan swallowed ... she’d been issuing orders, on the assumption he would just watch, and yet ... he jerked free, staring up at her with wild eyes.  He looked as if he were having a panic attack.

“Evasive action,” he ordered, his voice quavering.  “Get us out of here!”

“Aye, Captain,” Reed said.  “Taking evasive action.”