The Trafalgar Gambit (Ark Royal) (33 page)

“They may have orders to act only if certain conditions are met,” Parnell said.  “I’ve had missions like that in the past, sir.  Once we slipped fifty miles into hostile country, only to withdraw five days later as silently as we came.”

“If that’s the case,” Ted said, “what conditions will activate their orders?”

Parnell shrugged.  “Impossible to say, sir,” he said.  “Unless we want to try to take them now ...”

Ted cursed under his breath.  If they had proof – clear proof – that it was the Russians, they could have rounded them all up and locked them in a sealed hold until the ship returned to Earth.  But now, without clear proof, it would cause a major diplomatic incident at a time the human race could hardly afford it.  The alliance against the aliens was fragile enough, after the Battle of Earth, without him adding to the tensions threatening to rip it apart.  He doubted the Prime Minister would thank him for starting a second war.

“We can't,” he said.  He paused.  “Can we arrange a ... fake accident for our CAG?  Something we can use as an excuse to put him in sickbay for a few weeks?”

“Of course we can, sir,” Parnell said.  “But that would also deprive you of his services over the forthcoming weeks.”

“True,” Ted agreed.  No matter how he looked at the situation, he saw no way to do anything, but wait for the enemy to make their move.  And with aliens on his ship, another alien starship keeping them close company and a prince who might have been placed under alien control, there were just too many variables for him to keep juggling safely.  “
Bollocks
!”

He looked up at the display.  The alien starship was holding position on one edge of the flotilla, out of plasma weapons range – he hoped.  If the aliens intended an elaborate trick ... he shook his head.  Unlike some human planners he could mention, the aliens didn't seem intent on devising the most complicated plans possible, simply because they could.  It would have been far easier to simply shadow
Ark Royal
until a fleet was massed to smash her into rubble. 
And
they’d have the advantage of knowing just where the carrier was going and what it would encounter.

“Yes, sir,” Parnell said.  “I felt safer on Target One,
knowing
the enemy were just lurking below the waves.”

Ted had to smile.  “We’ll reach the destination the aliens have selected within nine days,” he said.  The potential consequences nagged at his mind.  If his calculations were correct, the War Faction would have time to prepare a warm welcome.  And then there were the Russians ... if it
was
the Russians.  His head hurt just trying to keep track of the different factions, human and alien, involved in the war.  “And then we will see.”

“Aye, sir,” Parnell said.

He paused.  “With your permission,” he added, “I'd like to run a series of counter-boarding drills for the Marines.  It would mean sealing off several decks, but ...”

Ted’s eyes narrowed.  “Why ...?”

“We need the practice,” Parnell said.  “The aliens who boarded the ship didn't know where to go, I think; they had to make guesses about where to send their forces.  And besides, we’re better soldiers than them, I think.  They’re just not designed for fighting on dry land.”

Ted nodded.  “I’d hate to fight them in the water, though,” he said.  “Even Mermen wouldn't be able to match them.”

“True,” Parnell agreed.  “I’d not expect anyone, even an SBS operative, to be able to keep up with them in the water, certainly not without specialist equipment.  The aliens could simply out-swim them.”

He paused.  “Do you realise the aliens must know our biological requirements very well?”

“They had captives,” Ted said.  “I assume they must have dissected dead bodies too ...”

“As far as we can tell, they provided their captives with a proper atmosphere,” Parnell said.  “They didn't have any trace of anything, but a standard air mix in their bloodstream.  And yet they managed to avoid the bends completely, sir.  They couldn't have been more than a few metres below the water.”

“They might have discovered the hard way how fragile we can be,” Ted said.  Several alien captives had died in captivity, for reasons no human had been able to understand.  Theories ranged from being lonely – which made more sense now – to simply lacking a trace element they needed to eat.  But then, surely,
all
of the alien captives would have died.  “Or maybe they were just careful.”

“Maybe,” Parnell said.  “But both captives thought they might be much further below the water than they were.”

He shrugged.  “A mystery we may solve when we talk properly,” he said.  “Sir ...”

Ted looked up, sharply.

“Get some sleep,” Parnell said, bluntly.  “You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” Ted said.  He had just too many pieces of paperwork to do.  And then he had reports to read, review and sign.  It never seemed to end.  “But I don’t have time ...”

“You need to be alert,” Parnell pointed out.  He took a long breath.  “Do what I was told to do on my first deployment as a Junior Lt.”

“And what was?”

Parnell smiled.  “Leave the paperwork until we started home,” he said.  “If you die on deployment, I was told, they won’t hire a medium to force you to finish it.”

“That wouldn't be the strangest thing the government has invested in,” Ted said.  “But I’ll do as you suggest.”

He waited until Parnell had left, then walked over to the sofa and lay down.  There was no point in going back to his quarters, not now.  Besides, his quarters just felt odd these days, even though he wasn't sharing them with one of the ambassadors or another outsider.  And he would be closer to the CIC.

Sleep didn't come easy, despite his exhaustion.  He was almost tempted to order a sedative, but knew he shouldn’t.  He’d be asleep, dead to the world, if something happened.  It wasn't something he could do without clearing it with both Captain Fitzwilliam and his XO – and perhaps the ship’s doctor.  Sighing, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

He was awakened, what felt like seconds later, by the howling of the GQ alarm.

“All right,” James said, as he took his command chair.  “What do we have?”

“Incoming enemy starfighters,” Farley said.  Red icons appeared on the display, so close together that they threatened to blur into a shapeless mass.  “I count nineteen of them, perhaps more.  They’re flying in very close formation.”

“Prepare to launch ready starfighters,” James ordered.  He glanced at the link to the CIC, but Admiral Smith hadn't linked in yet.  “And stand by point defence.”

He gritted his teeth as a nasty thought struck him.  “Get a line down to the diplomats,” he added.  Once, they had been able to assume that all alien contacts were hostile.  They couldn’t do that now.  “Ask them to talk to the aliens and confirm the newcomers are hostile.”

“Aye, sir,” Davidson said.

James nodded, then glanced at the display.  Nineteen starfighters ... so where was their carrier?  Long-range sensors showed nothing.  The carrier could be under stealth, but it would still have to be somewhere close by ... unless, of course, the aliens had managed to extend their endurance.  But there were hard limits, even for them. 

“Enemy starfighters are reducing speed,” Farley said, suddenly.  “They’re angling away from us.”

James frowned.  What the hell were they doing?  If they’d hoped to get into attack range before he managed to launch his remaining starfighters – which was the only tactic he thought made sense – they should be charging in to attack, not angling away.  Or had they suddenly changed their mind for some reason?  It would be unlike the aliens, but they
had
to have taken a beating in the recent battles too.

“CAG reports all starfighters ready to launch,” Davidson reported.  “The diplomats have not yet replied.”

“Tell them it’s urgent,” James snarled.  Diplomats!  They could talk all day about non-essentials before approaching the really serious matters.  But he didn't have time for arguments over the shape of the conference table or how many assistants and aides each ambassador would be allowed.  “We need an answer before the newcomers enter engagement range.”

He cursed under his breath.  Standing pre-war orders forbade him to open fire until the enemy opened fire or if he had a
very
good reason to believe there was an immediate threat to his command.  It was easier to patch up a diplomatic misunderstanding if there were no casualties on either side.  Now, he had clearance to engage the aliens wherever he found them, but good reason to think he should exercise a little caution.  They were already at war with one alien faction.  The others should be kept neutral, at the very least. 

“Captain,” Farley said, softly.  “The CAG is requesting orders.”

“Launch two squadrons of starfighters, then move the CSP into intercept position,” James ordered.  He would almost have been happier with a swarm of enemy starfighters bearing down on his ship.  At least he would have had good reason to assume hostile intent.  “And hold the remaining starfighters at readiness.”

The red icons flickered in and out of existence as they moved around the edge of the flotilla’s sensor perimeter.  James frowned, wondering if the aliens were just trying to force the humans to exhaust themselves.  He couldn't ignore the enemy starfighters, but he couldn't deploy too many of his own away from the ship.  It could all be a costly diversion.  Having his pilots flying constantly would drain them as surely as anything else. 

“Launch four ballistic probes, backtracked along the alien course,” he ordered.  “If there is a carrier out there, I want to find it.”

“Aye, sir,” Farley said.  There was a long pause as he worked his console.  “Probes deployed, sir; I say again, probes deployed.”

“Good, James said.

He nodded, tersely.  Sensor stealth and even cloaking devices had their weaknesses.  If the alien carrier was doing anything other than pretending to be a hole in space there was a very good chance the probes would pick up at least a sniff of its location.  And then ... he scowled as he realised the diplomats had still not replied to his messages.  There was no way to know if the enemy starfighters were friendly, neutral or actively hostile.  The only evidence he had that pointed to anything other than hostility was the simple fact they were holding outside attack range rather than closing in to engage the carrier.

“The diplomats say the aliens insist the starfighters aren’t theirs,” Davidson said, suddenly.  “They’re hostile.”

“Good to know,” James said, dryly.  The War Faction had shown its willingness to kill members of other factions before.  Humanity would regard that as an act of war, but the aliens seemed to think differently. Or, he wondered inwardly, perhaps they had problems understanding the other factions.  “Warn all starfighters that they are cleared to engage, if the aliens enter attack range.”

Long minutes ticked by.  The aliens held their position, neither moving closer nor moving away.  James had never been a starfighter pilot – his family had flatly forbidden him to attempt to enter the Academy – but he was familiar with their logistic requirements.  It was a rare starfighter that could handle more than an hour or two of flying time without needing its life support packs replaced.  The alien starfighters seemed to have similar limitations. 

So why aren't they attacking
?  He asked himself. 
Or doing something other than poking at the edge of our sensor network
?

“Launch a recon shell of drones,” he ordered, slowly.  It was possible the aliens were trying to divert his attention from something else, sneaking up on the other side of the flotilla.  Or, perhaps, that the Peace Faction’s starship was a Trojan Horse.  “I want to know if anything is trying to sneak up behind us.”

The Admiral’s face appeared in the display.  James felt his eyes narrow in concern.  The Admiral looked haggard, utterly exhausted.  It wasn't uncommon for Admiral Smith to work long hours and not get enough sleep – James had known him long enough to be certain there were fewer more dedicated officers in the Royal Navy – but they couldn't afford it.  He made a mental note to suggest the Admiral return to bed, then leaned forward.  There was no way the Admiral would go to bed now.